GlamourLust, girl!mark fic, part 7
Apr. 27th, 2003 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jamjarPart 7 (in which smut ensues, but not as much the audience would like)
Note: Woo! So, I figure there's probably two or three smut parts left, and a kind of epilogue/sequel, which won't be all that nice, but will have a little more m/m. Writing m/f is hard work, dammit. Anyone sees and errors- and I did write this piecemeal, so there's probably a lot- let me know.
Never having to worry about burglars was a perk of being who he was, one that meant Aerael never had to worry about locking the doors to his balcony. It lead straight into his bedroom. He put Markkas down and let him catch his balance. The lights were off and Mark's eyes were so dark the blue was shadow-thin. They looked unusually open. It was the dark, Aerael realised, something that normally wouldn't bother either of them, but was now making Mark half-blind. He enjoyed the air of vulnerability it gave Mark before he switched the lights on.
Mark blinked and then turned to face Aerael, the temporary vulnerability vanishing and leaving him looking much more like his usual self. He undid the belt on the coat and let it fall open. He took a few more steps backwards, shrugged off the coat and dropped it on the floor.
"Turn around so I can get a proper look at you," Aerael said. Mark raised an eyebrow and did a slow pirouette, ending by resting his hands on his hips.
"You know, this body is practically untouched," he said. "Just think of all the new things it can learn."
Aerael raised an eyebrow in deliberate mimicry of Mark. "Virginity or near virginity isn't really a lust faerie kink."
Markkas smiled. "Really? Just think of it, Aerael. Me, unmarked by anyone else. None of the little habits picked up from past lovers. The only ones to hold claim to my body, you and me."
"And Iolaus."
Mark waved a hand, dismissing that argument. "Oh, your sibling doesn't count. It was a one-night stand, with, on his part, a complete stranger and I had to hold back so much of myself. That's not enough to leave a mark on me. You know me, Aerael. You'll be the only person of significance I'll have allowed to touch me." He touched the side of Aerael's face with one surprisingly gentle hand. "The only one I'll have trusted enough to take a whip to me. Doesn't that have a certain appeal?"
It did, and Mark was a complete bastard for using the lure of his trust against Aerael.
"Or a knife, maybe," Mark said softly, as if musing on the possibilities. "There's one in my bag. I took it from your kitchen, so it may lack the delicacy you'd prefer." He lowered his eyes and stared up at Aerael through his lashes, all poorly-feigned innocence and the beginnings of a pout. "You wouldn't betray my trust in you, would you, Aerael? I can trust you not to hurt me except in the ways I want, can't I?" He took a step back and ran his hands down his body, as if he was smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in the dress.
"Were you worried about my safety back at the bar?" He asked, teasing and with a note of disbelief that Aerael would worry about mark's safety more than the people with him. "Or just worried someone else would get to me first? Someone less worthy, perhaps. Our kind of games need a delicate touch, if both parties are to come out in the same condition they went in. maybe you were just worried about the kind of damage a careless lover could do to me, when I have so little idea of how much I can tolerate like this."
The energy generated by Mark's desire was so strong Aerael half-expected the air to bend under it, shimmer like a heatwave. Instead Mark just stood there, completely still and so sure of his own control that Aerael felt much like the incubus at the bar, his own ability to taste lust used against him. Mark wasn't giving an inch of control, using his own surrender to Aerael as a tool to keep control, as if Aerael hadn't had a lifetime's more experience topping from below. And the worst thing was, it was still halfway to working. Part of Aerael just wanted Mark to keep that same lust, strong and sweet as Turkish coffee, pouring out of him.
Mark moved, just a small gesture to stroke one of the bracelets. The presence of iron was just enough to disrupt Aerael's reading of him. Humans could be all kinds of dangerous, in certain situations, and Mark was wearing most of that danger on his wrists. Not that Aerael objected to the bracelets, exactly. They could add a little spark to the situation. Now, though, Aerael needed Mark to take them off, the little symbolic gesture of Mark stripping himself of external defences. "Take the bracelets off," he said.
Mark raised an eyebrow, then pulled the bracelets off and dropped them on top of the coat. "And the dress?" he asked, hands moving to the hem to tug at it.
"Leave that on for now," Aerael said. He pulled Mark's hands away, repositioned them at his waist and ducked his head to kiss Mark as he gave in to instinct and dropped his control of his glamour.
He realised his mistake a second after his glamour hit Mark. Mark was completely open to his glamour and under its influence, his lust was intensified, distilled and it was impossible for Aerael, impossible for any lust fae, not to take what was there, dive in to it and just keep pushing his glamour on Mark to keep that feeling coming out of him. Mark pulled him to the bed, or he pushed Mark onto it, hands reaching under dresses, into jeans and Mark growled and tried to tear them off with nails so much blunter than his normal sharp-edged talons. His frustration only made his desire stronger and Aerael deliberately refrained from making the jeans disappear, just to let that frustration build.
And it was worth it when he finally let them disappear and felt Mark's triumphant grin as his fingers touched skin, only to cry out when Mark bit Aerael's shoulder, all teeth and no mitigating glamour.
"That hurt!" Aerael said.
"Just fucking deal with it," Mark snarled, lapping at the blood. while he tried to wriggle impossibly closer. "Chaos, you smell-" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Good, Aerael, you smell really good." he rubbed his cheek against Aerael's shoulder and neck like a cat, and when he looked up his face was smeared with blood, unlike his usual fastidious eating. Mark only made a mess eating when he wanted to make a statement, but he wasn't thinking rationally enough for that. He pushed his mouth against Aerael's for a kiss that was borderline painful, all teeth and tongue and he tasted dark and sweet and utterly out of control.
Aerael grabbed both of Markkas's wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head, forcing him still. Mark struggled against it, saying things in three languages, only two of which Aerael could understand, alternatively cursing and begging, and pouring out energy that fed Aerael's glamour like spilling a gallon of lighter fluid onto a bonfire.
He had a sudden image of how traditional this must look- the incubus, black wings outstretched, pinning down a struggling woman- before he suddenly found that Mark had managed to wriggle his legs free, wrap them around Aerael's body so the heels were digging into him like little spurs. He could spare enough focus to strip Mark's knickers away, but that was about it, and any thoughts he might have had about teasing Mark, drawing it out, or at least waiting until they were both completely naked were drowned out by Mark's voice saying this he couldn't quite spare the attention to listen to,. though he could make out odd words like "fault" and "glamour" and "more". And then he was in Mark and it was so good, better and the urge to drain Mark completely was there, was always there, but at the same time he knew it was impossible, like drying to drink the Atlantic. Mark came seconds before he did, nails, teeth and heels digging in.
Aerael collapsed, temporarily drained although he could feel new energy buzzing under his skin. Mark detached slowly, fingers relaxing one and at time, head falling back onto the pillow. Aerael let go of Mark's wrists and half-rolled off Mark, wriggling down so his head was resting on Mark's belly. Mark looked down at him and for a moment felt a weird surge of protectiveness. He raised a hand to stroke Aerael's hair, pushing it back from his face. Aerael looked up. "What?" He said.
"Nothing," Mark said. He pulled away and stood up, straightening his dress and pulling down the hem. His hair was still messy, but that was as much from the flight as the fuck, and he was still completely dressed. He put is hands under the dress, wriggled and managed to take off the kickers and throw them away. "Aerael, why am I still dressed?"
Aerael shrugged and rolled over so he could stay looking at Mark. "Hey, you're the one that jumped me."
Mark spun round and glared at him. "That's your fault! You used your glamour on me and I had no…" he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, before opening them to look at Aerael. "I had no defence against it. You could have fed from me until you'd drained me completely and there was nothing I could have done to stop it. even if I'd wanted to," he added quietly. Unspoken was the statement that while Mark was normally as susceptible to Aerael's glamour as the next necromancer, he did have ways of removing that threat. The simplest, of course, would be killing Aerael, but in truth he could always teleport himself away, knock Aerael unconscious, use the pretty knife that was nothing more than a necklace with him like this.
"I gave you my word I'd use no magic on you in bed you didn't ask or," Mark said after a moment. "I think you should give me the same."
"No. You'll have to trust on you being important enough to me that I won't give you any," Aerael grinned, "any permanent harm." The same way I have to trust you normally.
The last statement went unsaid, but Mark heard it as clearly as if Bonnie had give him back his telepathy.
"Anyway, Beautiful, I still need to punish you for the bar," Aerael said, softly and with something that could have been compassion if he hadn't been speaking to Mark.
Mark felt a moment of genuine fear. He wanted that, wanted to test this body, see what it could tolerate, and then he wanted to Aerael to push it just that little bit further than its limits. The experience before had frightened him, though. He'd had no defences against Aerael, and no matter how enjoyable the experience had been, in retrospect his own vulnerability frightened him. He'd lost all control over himself, over Aerael and over the situation. He wouldn't have been able to stop Aerael if Aerael went too far, took too much.
"Mark, I have a lot more experience keeping my lovers in one piece than you," Aerael said, reading Mark's thoughts on his face. "Even when they're human." Aerael touched the bite. He'd forgotten how sharp human teeth could be when they really wanted to bite down. "You're still a little sadist," Aerael said. He held up his fingers to Mark. "Does it taste so good even when you're human that you need to bite every incubus you meet?"
"Not good, exactly. It tastes different," Mark said, moving to sit next to the bed. "More simple. More like copper, less depth." He licked Aerael's fingers clean. "Fresh blood feeds the soul, as well as the body, otherwise I'd never go hunting. Just stay at home sucking on bottles like my brother."
Swift recovery was an incubus talent, and Aerael found his position, lying on his front, rapidly becoming uncomfortable. Mark finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then wiped that on the dress.. He made a face. "I need a bath."
tbc.
Note: Woo! So, I figure there's probably two or three smut parts left, and a kind of epilogue/sequel, which won't be all that nice, but will have a little more m/m. Writing m/f is hard work, dammit. Anyone sees and errors- and I did write this piecemeal, so there's probably a lot- let me know.
Never having to worry about burglars was a perk of being who he was, one that meant Aerael never had to worry about locking the doors to his balcony. It lead straight into his bedroom. He put Markkas down and let him catch his balance. The lights were off and Mark's eyes were so dark the blue was shadow-thin. They looked unusually open. It was the dark, Aerael realised, something that normally wouldn't bother either of them, but was now making Mark half-blind. He enjoyed the air of vulnerability it gave Mark before he switched the lights on.
Mark blinked and then turned to face Aerael, the temporary vulnerability vanishing and leaving him looking much more like his usual self. He undid the belt on the coat and let it fall open. He took a few more steps backwards, shrugged off the coat and dropped it on the floor.
"Turn around so I can get a proper look at you," Aerael said. Mark raised an eyebrow and did a slow pirouette, ending by resting his hands on his hips.
"You know, this body is practically untouched," he said. "Just think of all the new things it can learn."
Aerael raised an eyebrow in deliberate mimicry of Mark. "Virginity or near virginity isn't really a lust faerie kink."
Markkas smiled. "Really? Just think of it, Aerael. Me, unmarked by anyone else. None of the little habits picked up from past lovers. The only ones to hold claim to my body, you and me."
"And Iolaus."
Mark waved a hand, dismissing that argument. "Oh, your sibling doesn't count. It was a one-night stand, with, on his part, a complete stranger and I had to hold back so much of myself. That's not enough to leave a mark on me. You know me, Aerael. You'll be the only person of significance I'll have allowed to touch me." He touched the side of Aerael's face with one surprisingly gentle hand. "The only one I'll have trusted enough to take a whip to me. Doesn't that have a certain appeal?"
It did, and Mark was a complete bastard for using the lure of his trust against Aerael.
"Or a knife, maybe," Mark said softly, as if musing on the possibilities. "There's one in my bag. I took it from your kitchen, so it may lack the delicacy you'd prefer." He lowered his eyes and stared up at Aerael through his lashes, all poorly-feigned innocence and the beginnings of a pout. "You wouldn't betray my trust in you, would you, Aerael? I can trust you not to hurt me except in the ways I want, can't I?" He took a step back and ran his hands down his body, as if he was smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in the dress.
"Were you worried about my safety back at the bar?" He asked, teasing and with a note of disbelief that Aerael would worry about mark's safety more than the people with him. "Or just worried someone else would get to me first? Someone less worthy, perhaps. Our kind of games need a delicate touch, if both parties are to come out in the same condition they went in. maybe you were just worried about the kind of damage a careless lover could do to me, when I have so little idea of how much I can tolerate like this."
The energy generated by Mark's desire was so strong Aerael half-expected the air to bend under it, shimmer like a heatwave. Instead Mark just stood there, completely still and so sure of his own control that Aerael felt much like the incubus at the bar, his own ability to taste lust used against him. Mark wasn't giving an inch of control, using his own surrender to Aerael as a tool to keep control, as if Aerael hadn't had a lifetime's more experience topping from below. And the worst thing was, it was still halfway to working. Part of Aerael just wanted Mark to keep that same lust, strong and sweet as Turkish coffee, pouring out of him.
Mark moved, just a small gesture to stroke one of the bracelets. The presence of iron was just enough to disrupt Aerael's reading of him. Humans could be all kinds of dangerous, in certain situations, and Mark was wearing most of that danger on his wrists. Not that Aerael objected to the bracelets, exactly. They could add a little spark to the situation. Now, though, Aerael needed Mark to take them off, the little symbolic gesture of Mark stripping himself of external defences. "Take the bracelets off," he said.
Mark raised an eyebrow, then pulled the bracelets off and dropped them on top of the coat. "And the dress?" he asked, hands moving to the hem to tug at it.
"Leave that on for now," Aerael said. He pulled Mark's hands away, repositioned them at his waist and ducked his head to kiss Mark as he gave in to instinct and dropped his control of his glamour.
He realised his mistake a second after his glamour hit Mark. Mark was completely open to his glamour and under its influence, his lust was intensified, distilled and it was impossible for Aerael, impossible for any lust fae, not to take what was there, dive in to it and just keep pushing his glamour on Mark to keep that feeling coming out of him. Mark pulled him to the bed, or he pushed Mark onto it, hands reaching under dresses, into jeans and Mark growled and tried to tear them off with nails so much blunter than his normal sharp-edged talons. His frustration only made his desire stronger and Aerael deliberately refrained from making the jeans disappear, just to let that frustration build.
And it was worth it when he finally let them disappear and felt Mark's triumphant grin as his fingers touched skin, only to cry out when Mark bit Aerael's shoulder, all teeth and no mitigating glamour.
"That hurt!" Aerael said.
"Just fucking deal with it," Mark snarled, lapping at the blood. while he tried to wriggle impossibly closer. "Chaos, you smell-" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Good, Aerael, you smell really good." he rubbed his cheek against Aerael's shoulder and neck like a cat, and when he looked up his face was smeared with blood, unlike his usual fastidious eating. Mark only made a mess eating when he wanted to make a statement, but he wasn't thinking rationally enough for that. He pushed his mouth against Aerael's for a kiss that was borderline painful, all teeth and tongue and he tasted dark and sweet and utterly out of control.
Aerael grabbed both of Markkas's wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head, forcing him still. Mark struggled against it, saying things in three languages, only two of which Aerael could understand, alternatively cursing and begging, and pouring out energy that fed Aerael's glamour like spilling a gallon of lighter fluid onto a bonfire.
He had a sudden image of how traditional this must look- the incubus, black wings outstretched, pinning down a struggling woman- before he suddenly found that Mark had managed to wriggle his legs free, wrap them around Aerael's body so the heels were digging into him like little spurs. He could spare enough focus to strip Mark's knickers away, but that was about it, and any thoughts he might have had about teasing Mark, drawing it out, or at least waiting until they were both completely naked were drowned out by Mark's voice saying this he couldn't quite spare the attention to listen to,. though he could make out odd words like "fault" and "glamour" and "more". And then he was in Mark and it was so good, better and the urge to drain Mark completely was there, was always there, but at the same time he knew it was impossible, like drying to drink the Atlantic. Mark came seconds before he did, nails, teeth and heels digging in.
Aerael collapsed, temporarily drained although he could feel new energy buzzing under his skin. Mark detached slowly, fingers relaxing one and at time, head falling back onto the pillow. Aerael let go of Mark's wrists and half-rolled off Mark, wriggling down so his head was resting on Mark's belly. Mark looked down at him and for a moment felt a weird surge of protectiveness. He raised a hand to stroke Aerael's hair, pushing it back from his face. Aerael looked up. "What?" He said.
"Nothing," Mark said. He pulled away and stood up, straightening his dress and pulling down the hem. His hair was still messy, but that was as much from the flight as the fuck, and he was still completely dressed. He put is hands under the dress, wriggled and managed to take off the kickers and throw them away. "Aerael, why am I still dressed?"
Aerael shrugged and rolled over so he could stay looking at Mark. "Hey, you're the one that jumped me."
Mark spun round and glared at him. "That's your fault! You used your glamour on me and I had no…" he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, before opening them to look at Aerael. "I had no defence against it. You could have fed from me until you'd drained me completely and there was nothing I could have done to stop it. even if I'd wanted to," he added quietly. Unspoken was the statement that while Mark was normally as susceptible to Aerael's glamour as the next necromancer, he did have ways of removing that threat. The simplest, of course, would be killing Aerael, but in truth he could always teleport himself away, knock Aerael unconscious, use the pretty knife that was nothing more than a necklace with him like this.
"I gave you my word I'd use no magic on you in bed you didn't ask or," Mark said after a moment. "I think you should give me the same."
"No. You'll have to trust on you being important enough to me that I won't give you any," Aerael grinned, "any permanent harm." The same way I have to trust you normally.
The last statement went unsaid, but Mark heard it as clearly as if Bonnie had give him back his telepathy.
"Anyway, Beautiful, I still need to punish you for the bar," Aerael said, softly and with something that could have been compassion if he hadn't been speaking to Mark.
Mark felt a moment of genuine fear. He wanted that, wanted to test this body, see what it could tolerate, and then he wanted to Aerael to push it just that little bit further than its limits. The experience before had frightened him, though. He'd had no defences against Aerael, and no matter how enjoyable the experience had been, in retrospect his own vulnerability frightened him. He'd lost all control over himself, over Aerael and over the situation. He wouldn't have been able to stop Aerael if Aerael went too far, took too much.
"Mark, I have a lot more experience keeping my lovers in one piece than you," Aerael said, reading Mark's thoughts on his face. "Even when they're human." Aerael touched the bite. He'd forgotten how sharp human teeth could be when they really wanted to bite down. "You're still a little sadist," Aerael said. He held up his fingers to Mark. "Does it taste so good even when you're human that you need to bite every incubus you meet?"
"Not good, exactly. It tastes different," Mark said, moving to sit next to the bed. "More simple. More like copper, less depth." He licked Aerael's fingers clean. "Fresh blood feeds the soul, as well as the body, otherwise I'd never go hunting. Just stay at home sucking on bottles like my brother."
Swift recovery was an incubus talent, and Aerael found his position, lying on his front, rapidly becoming uncomfortable. Mark finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then wiped that on the dress.. He made a face. "I need a bath."
tbc.
