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jamjarMark prowled around the room restlessly, wings constantly shifting and resettling. Aerael kept a watchful eye on him. It didn't do to let your guard slip around Mark when he was like this.
Decisions, decisions. Let Mark go off and burn out his appetite on some unsuspecting victim, or redirect all that energy to a form Aerael found easier to swallow? Both had their good points. Mark could be so wonderfully post-coital after a good hunt, warm and alive and easy, curling up against Aerael like a lazy cat. Or Aerael could burn some of that energy off. Aerael could be as wicked as he wanted, and sometimes that was enough to trip Mark's not-so-hidden masochism, his desire to test his own limits.
"Do you want me to find the toys, Beautiful? Looks like you've got some energy I can make use of."
"That isn't what I want tonight," Mark said. His eyes tracked Aerael's movements with visible hunger. "Aerael..."
" Are you sure, Beautiful? I'm feeling particularly inspired right now." Aerael shrugged. "But if that's not what you want, you might as well leave," Aerael said with a casualness he didn't entirely feel. "You don't want me on the handle-side of the whip, and I won't be on the receiving end when you're like this."
"I don't want to leave," Mark said. "Not when there's such a lovely meal in front of me." He raised his eyes to meet Aerael's and there was restless hunger and wicked humour there. Markkas managed a credible version of Aerael's trademarked pout. "You never want to play my game."
"I don't trust you not to break your toys."
"You're a little more resilient than most of them. And in all honesty, what's the chance I could find someone to match up to you out there. You have no idea how good you taste."
There was enough sincerity mixed in with the lust behind that last bit of flattery to almost cancel out the bitter taste of sadism underneath, the
"Come on, aren't you a bit curious about what it's like to be with me when I'm feeling... aggressive?"
"No," Aerael said firmly. "I have a pretty good idea what it's like already. It doesn't make me want to try it."
"Really? Not even a little?" Mark's eyes called him a liar, and the bastard was almost right. No, Aerael had no desire to end up like one of Markkas's dead-before-morning, one-night stands, but there was a part of him that wanted to know what it was like when Mark was like that, how his lust would taste when all his hungers were being fed.
"You know, it's only fair to let me have free reign sometimes. You always demand I keep so much of myself in check, while I let you have your wicked way on me."
Aerael laughed. "Oh, is my poor baby feeling a little hard-done by?" He grinned, making sure to show his teeth. "Want me to kiss you better before I hurt you?"
"No. Not tonight." He said it with nothing in his voice, not even the usual automatic flicker of lust at any of Aerael's suggestions.
"You really aren't in the mood for anything else, are you?" Aerael said, a little surprised. "I'm not inclined to let to you test my limits right now."
"You'd only let me if I didn't really want it," Mark said, amusement in his voice that did nothing to break the tension. "My desires would not be so extreme with you, Aerael. Not when one of them is to keep you around for a good while longer."
"I can't trust you like this, let alone your desires," Aerael said.
"I'm crushed. All this time and you have so little faith in me?" Mark tried another of Aerael's pouts and Aerael was a little impressed that it retained it's power, even when transferred to Mark. Mark walked over to Aerael, trading in the pout for an evil smirk. "I could change your mind, perhaps," he said, moving in for what could be a kiss or a bite.
"Not likely," Aerael said, pushing him back. Mark just smirked and took Aerael's outstretched hand and brought it to his mouth, like a courtier raising a lady's hand for a kiss.
He didn't bite down. His teeth never broke the skin, even when they rubbed against it, almost gnawing, tongue flicking out to lick across the delicate underside of Aerael's wrist. He dropped it and stroked Aerael's chest, before moving round to stand at Aerael's back so he was pressed against Aerael's wings and leaning over his shoulder. One arm circled Aerael, holding him close in what could have been a hug or a restraint.
"Aerael, please," Mark said, his free hand holding Aerael's chin still as he rubbed his head against him like a cat. "I promise you, I won't hurt you beyond your ability to recover."
Aerael shuddered slightly at Markkas's tone. It was tempting, because it was Mark and everything about Mark was tempting, like Bacchus had distilled the essence of the attraction to things that were bad for you, and poured them into Markkas's too-beautiful body. Mark made you want things you shouldn't. Made you want things that, at the heart of it, you didn't want.
And worse than that, was the faint note of need that called to Aerael, that whispered that he could give Mark what he needed, he could be the one to do it, to feed that hollowness. It spoke to a different part of him, fed the desire to offer comfort, whatever was needed. Harder to ignore than the part that heard Mark's promises of sex and pain and both better than anything that went before.
"You would enjoy yourself," Mark said so low that the sound was felt, rather than heard. "My Aerael, you know I would not risk damaging you."
"We have very different definitions of what constitutes damage," Aerael said, wondering why he put so much effort into keeping his voice level when Markkas could read his mind and know it for a lie.
Mark wasn't even using his glamour, not really, but it hardly mattered when Aerael could feel the lust that was always so much better coming from Mark, so much stronger, the taint of sadism mixed in with a weirdly cherishing kind of possessiveness. "You are so beautiful in red."
He said it so softly, so warmly, that Aerael felt deeply wronged, that Markkas would sound so loving when he was hunting, that he'd speak with such care to a victim when Aerael had to practically fuck him into submission to get something even close to that.
"I could never risk losing you. Irreplaceable Aerael, you always demand that I admit I'm yours, but you never permit yourself be mine."
Which was the twisty logic that Aerael could have ignored as blatantly manipulative, if there wasn't that little echo-lust, Mark's reflected desire, stroking his instincts and pointing out how wonderful Markkas could taste, how satiated Aerael could be if he fed from him.
He broke, away, pushing Mark back with his wings so hard that Mark was knocked back the ground and rubbing his jaw where Aerael's left wing had clipped it. He glared at Aerael, chaos magic gathering automatically.
"Enough, Markkas. I'm not one of your victims." He hissed the last word out and tensed his muscles for a fight.
Mark got his feet, lust, aggression and frustration pouring off of him a rolling boil that made Aerael want to hold him, turn up his own glamour and use it like a club to pound Markkas into submission, or just to make use of his advantage in height and strength, even though a more rational part of his brain was telling him how pointless that would be. Bastard Mark, for pushing it until this point, and Aerael wanted to do a million things to punish him for it. He didn't bother even trying to hide his thoughts and if some part of his mind was pointing out that he'd obviously been spending too much time male if he was getting testosterone poisoning this badly, it was promptly beaten down by the part of him that wanted to challenge Mark, to prove himself against that beautiful body that was made for lust fae to feed from. Mark wanted all his appetites fed and dared to use Aerael's own nature against him. Aerael wouldn't back down, not when Mark had the audacity to use lust against him. It was his weapon, his battlefield, and Bacchus could strip his senses before he let Mark win this. The bitter taste of Mark's desire to hurt others, hurt him, flooded the air and only heightened Aerael's craving for Mark's submission, however temporary.
He wouldn't win if Mark used his magic, he knew that, but it didn't stop him taking a step towards Mark, teeth bared and mind full of images of a pretty, dark-haired drakthos with iron cuffs chaining him to the bed. Not a game, anymore than what Mark wanted to do to him was, and he'd make it happen or somebody would die in the attempt.
Mark let out a hoarse, involuntary scream of frustration, a predator's displeasure at being thwarted, and teleported away.
The tension disappeared into the vacuum created by Mark's absence and Aerael took a deep, shaky breath and tried to arrange his thoughts into something resembling rationality. Nope, it wasn't going to happen, not tonight. He just hoped it happened before Mark came back, hopefully satisfied with whatever poor unfortunate or two wandered into his path.
end
Decisions, decisions. Let Mark go off and burn out his appetite on some unsuspecting victim, or redirect all that energy to a form Aerael found easier to swallow? Both had their good points. Mark could be so wonderfully post-coital after a good hunt, warm and alive and easy, curling up against Aerael like a lazy cat. Or Aerael could burn some of that energy off. Aerael could be as wicked as he wanted, and sometimes that was enough to trip Mark's not-so-hidden masochism, his desire to test his own limits.
"Do you want me to find the toys, Beautiful? Looks like you've got some energy I can make use of."
"That isn't what I want tonight," Mark said. His eyes tracked Aerael's movements with visible hunger. "Aerael..."
" Are you sure, Beautiful? I'm feeling particularly inspired right now." Aerael shrugged. "But if that's not what you want, you might as well leave," Aerael said with a casualness he didn't entirely feel. "You don't want me on the handle-side of the whip, and I won't be on the receiving end when you're like this."
"I don't want to leave," Mark said. "Not when there's such a lovely meal in front of me." He raised his eyes to meet Aerael's and there was restless hunger and wicked humour there. Markkas managed a credible version of Aerael's trademarked pout. "You never want to play my game."
"I don't trust you not to break your toys."
"You're a little more resilient than most of them. And in all honesty, what's the chance I could find someone to match up to you out there. You have no idea how good you taste."
There was enough sincerity mixed in with the lust behind that last bit of flattery to almost cancel out the bitter taste of sadism underneath, the
"Come on, aren't you a bit curious about what it's like to be with me when I'm feeling... aggressive?"
"No," Aerael said firmly. "I have a pretty good idea what it's like already. It doesn't make me want to try it."
"Really? Not even a little?" Mark's eyes called him a liar, and the bastard was almost right. No, Aerael had no desire to end up like one of Markkas's dead-before-morning, one-night stands, but there was a part of him that wanted to know what it was like when Mark was like that, how his lust would taste when all his hungers were being fed.
"You know, it's only fair to let me have free reign sometimes. You always demand I keep so much of myself in check, while I let you have your wicked way on me."
Aerael laughed. "Oh, is my poor baby feeling a little hard-done by?" He grinned, making sure to show his teeth. "Want me to kiss you better before I hurt you?"
"No. Not tonight." He said it with nothing in his voice, not even the usual automatic flicker of lust at any of Aerael's suggestions.
"You really aren't in the mood for anything else, are you?" Aerael said, a little surprised. "I'm not inclined to let to you test my limits right now."
"You'd only let me if I didn't really want it," Mark said, amusement in his voice that did nothing to break the tension. "My desires would not be so extreme with you, Aerael. Not when one of them is to keep you around for a good while longer."
"I can't trust you like this, let alone your desires," Aerael said.
"I'm crushed. All this time and you have so little faith in me?" Mark tried another of Aerael's pouts and Aerael was a little impressed that it retained it's power, even when transferred to Mark. Mark walked over to Aerael, trading in the pout for an evil smirk. "I could change your mind, perhaps," he said, moving in for what could be a kiss or a bite.
"Not likely," Aerael said, pushing him back. Mark just smirked and took Aerael's outstretched hand and brought it to his mouth, like a courtier raising a lady's hand for a kiss.
He didn't bite down. His teeth never broke the skin, even when they rubbed against it, almost gnawing, tongue flicking out to lick across the delicate underside of Aerael's wrist. He dropped it and stroked Aerael's chest, before moving round to stand at Aerael's back so he was pressed against Aerael's wings and leaning over his shoulder. One arm circled Aerael, holding him close in what could have been a hug or a restraint.
"Aerael, please," Mark said, his free hand holding Aerael's chin still as he rubbed his head against him like a cat. "I promise you, I won't hurt you beyond your ability to recover."
Aerael shuddered slightly at Markkas's tone. It was tempting, because it was Mark and everything about Mark was tempting, like Bacchus had distilled the essence of the attraction to things that were bad for you, and poured them into Markkas's too-beautiful body. Mark made you want things you shouldn't. Made you want things that, at the heart of it, you didn't want.
And worse than that, was the faint note of need that called to Aerael, that whispered that he could give Mark what he needed, he could be the one to do it, to feed that hollowness. It spoke to a different part of him, fed the desire to offer comfort, whatever was needed. Harder to ignore than the part that heard Mark's promises of sex and pain and both better than anything that went before.
"You would enjoy yourself," Mark said so low that the sound was felt, rather than heard. "My Aerael, you know I would not risk damaging you."
"We have very different definitions of what constitutes damage," Aerael said, wondering why he put so much effort into keeping his voice level when Markkas could read his mind and know it for a lie.
Mark wasn't even using his glamour, not really, but it hardly mattered when Aerael could feel the lust that was always so much better coming from Mark, so much stronger, the taint of sadism mixed in with a weirdly cherishing kind of possessiveness. "You are so beautiful in red."
He said it so softly, so warmly, that Aerael felt deeply wronged, that Markkas would sound so loving when he was hunting, that he'd speak with such care to a victim when Aerael had to practically fuck him into submission to get something even close to that.
"I could never risk losing you. Irreplaceable Aerael, you always demand that I admit I'm yours, but you never permit yourself be mine."
Which was the twisty logic that Aerael could have ignored as blatantly manipulative, if there wasn't that little echo-lust, Mark's reflected desire, stroking his instincts and pointing out how wonderful Markkas could taste, how satiated Aerael could be if he fed from him.
He broke, away, pushing Mark back with his wings so hard that Mark was knocked back the ground and rubbing his jaw where Aerael's left wing had clipped it. He glared at Aerael, chaos magic gathering automatically.
"Enough, Markkas. I'm not one of your victims." He hissed the last word out and tensed his muscles for a fight.
Mark got his feet, lust, aggression and frustration pouring off of him a rolling boil that made Aerael want to hold him, turn up his own glamour and use it like a club to pound Markkas into submission, or just to make use of his advantage in height and strength, even though a more rational part of his brain was telling him how pointless that would be. Bastard Mark, for pushing it until this point, and Aerael wanted to do a million things to punish him for it. He didn't bother even trying to hide his thoughts and if some part of his mind was pointing out that he'd obviously been spending too much time male if he was getting testosterone poisoning this badly, it was promptly beaten down by the part of him that wanted to challenge Mark, to prove himself against that beautiful body that was made for lust fae to feed from. Mark wanted all his appetites fed and dared to use Aerael's own nature against him. Aerael wouldn't back down, not when Mark had the audacity to use lust against him. It was his weapon, his battlefield, and Bacchus could strip his senses before he let Mark win this. The bitter taste of Mark's desire to hurt others, hurt him, flooded the air and only heightened Aerael's craving for Mark's submission, however temporary.
He wouldn't win if Mark used his magic, he knew that, but it didn't stop him taking a step towards Mark, teeth bared and mind full of images of a pretty, dark-haired drakthos with iron cuffs chaining him to the bed. Not a game, anymore than what Mark wanted to do to him was, and he'd make it happen or somebody would die in the attempt.
Mark let out a hoarse, involuntary scream of frustration, a predator's displeasure at being thwarted, and teleported away.
The tension disappeared into the vacuum created by Mark's absence and Aerael took a deep, shaky breath and tried to arrange his thoughts into something resembling rationality. Nope, it wasn't going to happen, not tonight. He just hoped it happened before Mark came back, hopefully satisfied with whatever poor unfortunate or two wandered into his path.
end
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no subject
Date: 2003-03-18 05:11 am (UTC)I love this line. It is so Aerael and so expressive of what Mark can be.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-18 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-18 02:39 pm (UTC)"You are so beautiful in red."
He said it so softly, so warmly, that Aerael felt deeply wronged, that Markkas would sound so loving when he was hunting, that he'd speak with such care to a victim when Aerael had to practically fuck him into submission to get something even close to that.
damn, that's good. and a great in sight into thier relationship, what aerael might want from mark, and how very seductive mark can be when he's in hunting mode.
...you always demand that I admit I'm yours, but you never permit yourself be mine."
Which was the twisty logic that Aerael could have ignored as blatantly manipulative, if there wasn't that little echo-lust, Mark's reflected desire, stroking his instincts and pointing out how wonderful Markkas could taste, how satiated Aerael could be if he fed from him.
raowrs at twisty mark logic. um, yeah, see, 'cause you being aerael's and never the other way around has been the reason why a certain incubus is still around? *pokes mark* aerael's no fool.
and i love his reaction to it--the sheer maleness of it--the rage. and now we're left with two very frustrated dark fae on the prowl. everybody run! *hides the rest of her boys* ~_^
thank you, jamjar--that was fantastic.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-18 10:59 pm (UTC)maybe it'd be different.
and i love his reaction to it--the sheer maleness of it--the rage. and now we're left with two very frustrated dark fae on the prowl. everybody run! *hides the rest of her boys* ~_^
Aerael is so very male, and a predator too in his own way. While he might be inlined to play the submissive for Mark, I think the idea of Mark pushing him into it -especially using lust, which is Aerael's weapon- just runs about against his inner alpha male.
They're nothing but a pack of ringleaders!