The sky outside was a breathtaking canvas of bruised purple bleeding into fiery orange. Levi was consuming his customary post-work repast – a bowl of something beige and bland that I affectionately referred to as "mush." He hadn't uttered a single word about the crown since Cassiel's provocative pronouncements. The silence on that particular subject was almost deafening.

So, the question remained, hanging heavy in the twilight air: how in the seven hells was I supposed to maneuver this stoic, brilliant, and utterly unpredictable man into a position where he would beg? The image, now felt like a genuine challenge, a puzzle box with far too many intricate latches.

I patiently waited for Levi to finish his remarkably unappetizing meal. As he placed the empty bowl down with a quiet clink, I leaned forward. "Levi," I announced, my voice a low purr. "I will wear that crown. But only if you beg for it. On your knees."

Levi's lips quirked into a genuine smile. "Interesting," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "So, you do harbor a desire to wear it after all. I confess, I was rather curious as to the precise nature of Cassiel's whispered enticements, but I rather suspect it revolved around this very proposition."

The infuriatingly perceptive bastard. He always sees more than he lets on.

"Yeah, the stage is set," I countered with a nonchalant shrug, gesturing towards the floor. "You, on your knees, presenting your humble request, and myself, resplendent in royal headwear."

Levi, had the distinct air of a magnificent lion who had just devoured a particularly succulent gazelle, a barely suppressed purr rumbling in his chest. Ah, he definitely wanted to play. A thrill shot through me.

I remained seated on the couch, watching as Levi moved with deliberate purpose. His tall frame approached, casting a long, imposing shadow that enveloped me, stealing the remaining light from the room. A subtle smirk played on his lips, a hint of the amusement I'd come to recognize. But there was something else swirling in the depths of his blue eyes, a spark beyond mere amusement. It was enjoyment, a tangible thrill at being challenged.

"Let's play," Levi purred. "I will gladly descend to my knees and beseech you to grace yourself with the crown's presence. However," his eyes gleamed with a dark amusement that colored every sharp angle of his face, "in return for this… display of humility, you will permit me one photograph. Taken precisely according to my specifications."

Devious bastard. Of course there is a catch. What twisted tableau is brewing in that brilliant mind of his? Part of me is wary, but the larger part… the larger part is utterly, shamelessly intrigued.

"What sort of instructions?"

Levi shook his head slowly. "Now, now... Wouldn't that rather diminish the thrill of the chase? Do you accept the terms of our little game?"

A single photograph versus the undeniable spectacle of Levi, humbled on his knees, begging for the privilege of seeing me wear the crown? There's hardly a contest. The visual alone… the sheer audacity of it… Yes. Oh yes. Seeing Levi beg is undoubtedly the more potent allure.

"Very well," I declared. "I accept your terms. One photograph, taken according to your mysterious instructions. But, Levi," I added, my voice dropping to a challenging purr of my own, "you have to beg really good. I expect a performance worthy of the grand occasion."

I could almost hear the rumbling purr that threatened to escape his chest. He was relishing this. And, against my better judgment, so was I.

Anticipation was a potent poison, swirling through my thoughts, each possibility more intriguing than the last. How would he debase himself, even for the sake of this game? What chosen words would escape those usually imperious lips? Would it be a brief, clipped request, or a drawn-out, theatrical display? And for how long would he maintain this uncharacteristic posture of supplication? The unknown was a tantalizing torment.

A stunned silence hung in the air as Levi, with an almost languid grace lowered himself until his knees rested on the floor.

What? He actually did it. The sight was so unexpected that for a moment, I could only stare.

Before I could process the shock of seeing him kneeling, his teeth closed around the fabric of my trousers. Seductively, he began to lower the material.

"W-what are you doing?" I stammered, my voice breathless, an undeniable arousal flooding through me at the sight of him on his knees like this.

"Begging with mere words?" Levi murmured, his voice a dangerous purr that vibrated through the air as he continued his descent of my trousers. "No, no. That would be far too… pedestrian. Savor this moment, fully. Every sensation."

With the final slide of fabric, my already eager erection was fully revealed. He hadn't even touched me with his hands. It was jus the sight of him kneeling between my legs, that sent a potent surge of power coursing through my veins.

Deliberately, he placed his arms behind his back. Damn him. First, he traced the entire length of my already throbbing erection with the flat of his tongue, his intense blue gaze never once breaking contact with mine. He savored the moment as if it were the most exquisite delicacy.

"Stop licking me like a cat," I managed, placing my hand firmly over his. "Do it properly."

To be honest, it wasn't the delicate rasp of a cat's tongue I was experiencing. It was like a lion meticulously stripping the last succulent morsels from a bone – deliberate, enticing, utterly consuming. And Gods, it was working.

Levi, without a hint of hesitation, obeyed. His warm lips enveloped the head of my erection. The heat of his mouth stole my breath. He wasn't just going through the motions; there was an intent focus, a masterful understanding of how to extract every ounce of pleasure. The suction intensified, pulling me deeper into his warm embrace, while his tongue danced a teasing rhythm against the ridge of my head. He'd vary the pressure, sometimes a reverent glide, other times a firm pull that made my hips thrust forward.

It's an art form, a masterful orchestration of sensation designed to unravel every last thread of my control.

But amidst the overwhelming pleasure… Levi, the formidable Levi, on his knees, my release painting his lips, his tongue. Yeah… This man, who had brought an entire nation to its knees not once, but twice, was now positioned between my legs, his sole focus my pleasure.

Fueled by that potent cocktail of sensation and the intoxicating awareness of power, and driven by Levi's masterful technique, I could feel the unmistakable tightening deep within my core. A guttural groan escaped my lips as I grabbed his hair, my fingers digging into the thick strands, anchoring him closer. My hips began to buck and thrust insistently against his mouth, demanding more. He didn't disobey.

Each thrust was a desperate plea, and Levi answered with a fervent intensity that pushed me closer and closer to the precipice. His mouth became a vortex of sensation, the pressure and the rhythmic flick of his tongue driving me wild. My breath came in ragged gasps, my vision blurring at the edges. With a shuddering groan that ripped from my throat, the dam broke. A torrent of pleasure erupted, flooding his mouth. My body convulsed, my grip tightening in his hair as wave after wave of pure sensation washed over me.

Damn… I fucking came all over his mouth. And he… he just took it. Didn’t utter a single word of protest. I had just used the great Levi, as the instrument of my own pleasure. I had brought him to his knees, and then… this. I did it. I actually fucking did it.

Would he swallow if I asked? Judging by the gleam in his eyes, he possibly would… This seductive devil, slowly opened his mouth, a blatant display of his willingness. What a picture.

"You don't have to swallow, Levi," I managed, my voice still thick with the aftermath. He hadn't explicitly offered, and the thought of a potential aversion crossed my mind. But Levi was amused. He rose smoothly, his strong fingers wrapping around my jaw, tilting my head back, forcing my mouth slightly open. He spat my own release back into my mouth.

He was… a creature of impulses I could scarcely fathom, a magnificent lunatic operating on a plane far beyond the confines of my own comprehension. How could such a thought even form in his brilliant, twisted mind?

Levi, retrieved a tissue from the table and offered it to me.

"Levi, why did you do that?"

Levi, regarded my confusion with a knowing smile. "Ah, my dear Raphael," he purred, his deep blue eyes sparkling with mischief, "I knew you would find it… stimulating. That is why."

"So," I murmured, the pieces of his bizarre performance slowly clicking into place, "that… that was part of your begging?"

"I needed to conjure a specific memory within my own mind, a recollection of a moment where you derived a particular… enjoyment from a slight act of degradation. I confess, I anticipated that your next command might involve me swallowing. However," a subtle smirk touched his lips, "I appear to have underestimated your capacity for… leniency. Therefore, I needed to improvise, to explore other avenues of supplication. My silence offered an opportunity for another act of silent… devotion."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The sheer audacity of this man knows no bounds. And "silent devotion"? That's his idea of devotion? It's twisted, it's perverse… and Gods help me, it's still incredibly arousing.

"The fuck is your brain, Levi?" I demanded, a bewildered laugh escaping my lips. "Like, what the actual fuck? That… 'degradation incident' happened nearly two and a half months ago! You dredged up that tiny sliver of information from the depths of your mind and weaponized it now?"

"Precisely, my dearest Raphael," he replied, his voice smooth and utterly unapologetic. "The stakes, as you yourself presented them, were exceptionally high."

Damn… Wait a minute. Did I just get played? Was this elaborate act of "begging," this descent to his knees and the subsequent… intimacy… all a carefully orchestrated manipulation? Fuck.

Levi sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Ah, my dearest Raphael. For some unfathomable reason, you consistently fail to grasp the extent of your power over me. You seem to perceive yourself as some helpless, naive creature ensnared by a villainous captor. But consider this: instead of issuing a simple demand for me to beg, you could have commanded me to wear a collar, to brand myself with your initials. The fundamental currency of power, my dear, is information. You possessed the knowledge of my desire to see you crowned; I held insights into your own… inclinations. Thus, we both engaged in a mutually consensual game of influence. There is no inherent transgression in spouses gently swaying their partners, is there? However," his gaze intensified, "there was a significant miscalculation on your part. You simply underestimated the depth of my yearning to see you adorned with that crown. Had you truly comprehended the intensity of that desire, a mere request for me to kneel would have fallen far short of the mark."

Why did I go for something so… tame? And he wanted to see me in the crown that badly? More than… all of that? It's almost… touching. In a deeply twisted, Levi-esque way. I did underestimate him. Underestimated his desire, underestimated his… willingness.

"Perhaps you are right, Levi," I conceded, the weight of his words settling in. "It's… easier, isn't it, to simply cast you as the manipulator, to feel like the unwitting pawn."

"Of course you were manipulated, my dear Raphael," Levi affirmed, his gaze direct and unwavering. "Just as you, in turn, manipulated me. There was something you desired from me, and you orchestrated events to obtain it. Just as I, in this moment, intend to obtain that photograph."

It's a bitter pill to swallow, but he's right. This isn't some simple dynamic of predator and prey. We're both… something else. Two forces constantly testing each other, pushing boundaries, exploring the strange landscape of our desires.

"Okay," I conceded. "You knelt, you… begged in your own unique way. The terms, have been met. So, tell me now, Levi. What exactly do you want from me for this photograph?"

"Get off the couch, Raphael," he commanded. "Take your clothes off. I'll retrieve my camera."

What? Take all my clothes off? Just like that?

Levi, utterly unfazed by my obvious bewilderment, simply turned and strode with purpose towards his bedroom. A million questions swirled in my mind, but I found myself beginning to undress.

He reappeared moments later, not just with the camera, but also with the box containing the crown and the red cape. Then, he carried the entire couch, angling it to face the towering window that stretched towards the high ceiling, positioning it to capture the golden hues of the late afternoon light.

Damn. The meticulousness of this planning was unnerving, almost breathtaking. I stood there in my underwear, feeling exposed and utterly intrigued, while he moved with the focused precision of a director setting a scene, checking the interplay of light and shadow across the empty space where I would soon be.

Once the stage was set to his exacting standards, Levi returned, the cape trimmed with luxurious white fur draped over his arm. He settled it around my shoulders. "The crown itself will be heavier than you anticipate, Raphael," he warned. "It will press down on your neck with a significant weight. Be prepared." Then, he lowered the crown onto my head.

He hadn't been exaggerating. The weight was immense, a tangible pressure bearing down on my neck, forcing me to adjust my posture to compensate.

"The fuck, Levi," I grunted. "This damn thing is going to snap my neck right off."

"I know, I know," he murmured, his voice gentle as he adjusted the cape around my shoulders. "We'll make it quick. Lay on your stomach on the couch. Place your elbows beneath your chin, and rest your chin on the armrest."

I followed his instructions, the cool leather of the couch pressing against my bare stomach. I positioned my right elbow beneath my chin, resting my weight. Levi retreated several steps, the distance allowing me to see the focused intensity in his eyes as he raised the camera to his face. "Leave your lips slightly parted, Raphael," he instructed, "the look I want is utter despair. A single, delicate droplet of a tear would be… exquisite."

Since when had he conjured this elaborate tableau? Well, if he wanted despair, he'd get it. After all, I was, ahem, an award-winning actor. What was a single tear for my demanding husband?

I was desperately scrolling through the mental sad imagery – whimpering puppies in the rain, the mournful strains of a forgotten melody, the fading photographs of lost loved ones.

"Hm…" Levi murmured from behind the camera. "Not quite. What I'm seeking is the look of a soul utterly crushed. And a silent, desperate plea etched in your eyes. As if the weight of the world, or perhaps just this crown, is about to extinguish your very light."

Damn… So incredibly specific. Focusing on a particularly vivid image of kitten looking lost, a single tear tracked down my cheek. I parted my lips just a fraction, subtly lifted my eyebrows in a silent appeal, and fixed my gaze a hair's breadth above the camera lens.

"Perfect," Levi breathed, and the click of the camera shutter echoed.

Levi hands, reached for the crown atop my head. As he lifted it a gasp escaped my lips.

"Damn, Levi," I said, rubbing my aching neck, "you are unbelievably specific. Even my director on that historical drama wasn't half as demanding with the lighting and the emotional cues."

"Ah, well," Levi replied, a thoughtful expression on his face as he adjusted the cape I still wore. "I wouldn't want to squander the fleeting beauty of the golden hour. But yes, I was precise in my vision. There's a certain undeniable power in capturing negative emotions in art, isn't there? Think of the countless iconic paintings throughout history. So many of them are imbued with a sense of melancholy, loneliness, profound sadness, even utter despair.”

"I… understand your artistic perspective, yes, you're right," I conceded. "Murals of fallen heroes, the sorrowful tales of martyred saints… those are the narratives that often grip the soul. But Levi," I paused, a genuine curiosity coloring my voice, "you… you don't empathize with that kind of sadness. You observe it, analyze it, perhaps even appreciate its power, but you don't feel it in the same way.”

"My inability to readily empathize, Raphael, does not equate to a complete absence of feeling," Levi countered. "While it is true that my own emotional landscape is often fleeting, it does not mean I am a stranger to sadness. Furthermore," a subtle intensity entered his voice, "I find a particular resonance in juxtaposed imagery. The sight of someone adorned in a crown, bathed in the most exquisite sunlight our world offers, yet utterly consumed by despair… there is a profound beauty in that contrast.

"There was this very specific photograph from my Academia years, taken by someone in the photography club. It captured a moment right after an intimate encounter between two individuals. One of them had a single tear tracing a path down their cheek. I never fully deciphered its meaning. Was it shame? Guilt? Desperation? Pain? But the image… it has remained etched in my memory nonetheless.”

The beautiful and the broken. The powerful and the vulnerable. It's classic Levi, finding beauty in the unsettling dissonance.

"Is it just artistic vision driving this, Levi?" I pressed, a lingering suspicion in my voice.

"If my sole intention was to capture an image of someone wearing a crown, Raphael," he replied, "I possess the resources to hire any number of professional models. No. This was never simply about the crown, or the light, or even the despair. This was about capturing a picture of you.”

Of me. He went through all this… the kneeling, the… the other thing… the crown, the specific lighting, the demand for a very particular kind of despair… all for a picture of me. Not just anyone in a crown. Me.

"Levi," I said, shifting uncomfortably, "this cape is… well, the fabric is nice, but this fur is incredibly itchy. It's practically sandpapering my thighs."

"Oh?" he murmured. He unfastened the clasp of the heavy cape. "Are you allergic to fur, Raphael?"

"What? It's fur?" I exclaimed. "I thought it was some kind of… imitation!"

Levi raised a knowing eyebrow. "Please, my dear. Given its texture and warmth, it's quite possibly winter stoat fur."

Stoat fur?

"The fuck, Levi?" I repeated, my discomfort growing.

"Cassiel mentioned even the late King would have envied its quality, dear," Levi explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's ermine. Made from the winter coat of a stoat."

"Shit," I breathed. "So they killed those tiny, beautiful creatures for this ridiculous thing?"

The image of small, white animals being trapped and killed for a decorative trim soured the whole experience. The weight on my neck had been nothing compared to this newfound weight on my conscience.

"Imitation fur or vegan leather are generally considered materials of lesser quality within the high-end fashion and art industries, my dear," Levi said, devoid of any judgment. "Furthermore, as you did not personally finance this particular garment, perhaps the weight of 'guilt' is somewhat misplaced."

His logic was impeccable, as always, yet it did little to soothe the image of the tiny creatures.

"I think… I'm actually going to cry, Levi… They… they killed those innocent little animals…" I choked out, tears now welling in my eyes and blurring my vision. "For what? For some rich assholes to swank around in at their houses…"

Levi remained standing there, a picture of utter bewilderment. My sudden descent into genuine sorrow over the fur trim seemed to short-circuit his understanding of the situation entirely.

He gathered my discarded clothes and began to help me put them on. "Hm…" he mused, his brow still slightly furrowed as he guided my arm through a sleeve. "Is this… also akin to the time you dissolved into tears over that refrigerator commercial?" He looked utterly perplexed, as if trying to categorize this unexpected display of emotion within his existing understanding of my eccentricities.

"No," I sniffled. "That commercial… it just tugged at some sentimental heartstrings. This is… this is genuine sadness over the loss of innocent life."

"I… understand," he said, his voice soft, as he buttoned my shirt.

Of course, he probably didn't comprehend. But helping me dress, the gentleness of his touch, was his own way of offering comfort.