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jamjarEpilogue, I guess to the girl!Mark fic. Warning, potentially OOC (as opposed to the main fic, with was just OOBody). Nastiness ahead. Inspired by some of the comments about chapter 5. It wasn't going to be smut, but... huh. Basically, I just wanted to see Aerael with someone else's blood on him, and Mark with Aerael on him.
The incubus knew why Aerael was there the moment he opened the door and tried to shut it again, but Aerael pushed forwards. There was a satisfaction in the initial fight. Aerael liked the adrenaline rush a fight could bring, liked feeling his body work, his punches connect and even the pain when the other got in a lucky shot wasn't exactly a deterrent. After the fight was finished, however, and he had the other incubus incapacitated enough to be punished, any of the satisfaction from the fight vanished. It wasn't about the challenge, anymore, wasn't about conquering the other boy. It was about inflicting enough pain and damage to insure that the message "Do not challenge Aerael" was properly heard, by everyone.
It went against his nature. Aerael was a sadist only as far as his partners were masochists. Oh, he liked pushing those limits, making them enjoy more pain than they thought they could take, but he didn't take the pleasure some took in hurting someone, only for the sake of hurting them, no desire to balance it out. Pain alone didn't feed him. It never had. He had to bite down on the urge to make it pleasurable, when he knew it'd be so easy. The other fae was hurling his glamour at him, and Aerael wasn't immune, but he was older and age brought a degree of self-control.
It wasn't in his nature, but it was necessity. It wasn't even personal. He didn't have hate as a comforting incentive for this little bit of torture. He didn't feel anything about this incubus, other than annoyance that Mark had got him involved in their business. It was simply that a public challenge demanded a public response. Aerael's position wasn't strong enough that an insult like this could be accepted without it being seen as a sign of weakness, but he had too much status for this to be ignored by others.
He was clinical and precise, each snapped off feather and broken bone calculated for efficient punishment.
When it was finished and the incubus was bleeding and broken on the floor, unable to focus enough to bring his glamour out, Aerael looked at him. There was nothing there to arouse desire, but he knelt down for the coup de grace. A slight brush of his fingers, accompanied by a powerful flaring of his own glamour and barely conscious, with enough blood loss to make an erection impossible, the incubus was writhing against his own broken bones, trying to beg with a throat worn out with screaming.
Aerael stood up and looked down at himself before deciding against having a shower, instead getting some paper towel and wiping off most of the blood and sweat before leaving. There wasn't much on him anyway, and he really felt like a long soak in his own bath.
"You might survive," he told the broken lust faery, though he wasn't sure if he could understand him. "If someone finds you, feeds you and takes you to a healer. That's more than I could promise if you'd managed to take off with my meal." He looked around. The room was messy enough that he couldn't tell if the apartment was shared, if the nameless one on the floor had a roommate to take him to a hospital, or at least provide some energy so he could start healing himself.. "For your sake, I hope your neighbours are newly weds."
He left the apartment, shutting the door behind him. He felt too drained to fly, but he had thought ahead and a car was waiting for him. He'd underestimated the time it would take to deliver his message, and the car had been waiting for ten minutes. He didn't remember anything of the ride home, not with the images of his recent bloody task still in his head.
Mark was waiting in his bedroom. His eyes were bright with excitement and Aerael wondered of Mark had found a new toy and how he could persuade Mark to wait a few nights before trying it out.
"I know what you did," Mark said. Anyone else, and those words would've sounded like a threat or a warning or a bad teen horror movie, but Mark just sounded pleased and impressed.
"What?"
"I was going to go after him myself," Mark said casually. "But I thought I'd wait and see what you did first. I knew you'd do something, though I didn't realise what a something it would be."
"The incubus," Aerael said, understanding hitting him.
Mark nodded. "The incubus. I'm amazed you left him living, Aerael, when it would have been far easier to kill then inflict that kind of damage on him and leave him breathing." He paused and ran an assessing eye over Aerael, a smile gracing his lips. "He would have taken me back to his place, you know." Mark said, after a moment "Fucked me and fed from me enough that I would have been useless for you for days. Your favourite food supply stolen from you and a once in a lifetime opportunity gone. On Faery, poachers are turned into the beast they stole. On Gaia, they'd cut off their hands, like common thieves."
"This wasn't for you," Aerael said, feeling every one of his years. He felt tired, almost exhausted, and Mark was standing there, eyes half closed in pleasure, and his presence was having its usual affect on Aerael.
This was not what he wanted, not now. Not with Mark standing across the room and Aerael half-wanted to tell him to get the hell out of his house, and half wanted him to come closer so he could wash away his tiredness in that familiar lust.
"I know," Mark said. His tongue darted out, licking his lips like his dragon ancestor would have tasted the air. "You did it because you cannot allow another incubus to challenge you like that. It's a threat to your position. Aerael, do you think that makes it any less wonderful?"
Mark moved forwards. "You smell," he laughed, the sound clear and joyful. "You smell fantastic, actually. Amazing." He moved, fast enough that Aerael couldn't have stopped him if he wanted to, lifted one of Aerael's hands and pressed his face against it.
"Like blood and pain, pet." Mark dropped Aerael's hand and leaned in to start nuzzling his neck.
Bacchus's balls, that wasn't just desire touched with once-removed sadism in Mark's aura. There was something warmer there, something full and joyful, sharp and brilliant and hot, like razor blades left too near the fire.
Mark was licking his neck, nibbling it, hard enough for Aerael to feel it but soft enough for it to seem like Mark wasn't so much tasting Aerael as asking permission.
"You smell like you've been hunting," Mark said. He kissed Aerael, deep and searching, and drew back with a look of mixed disappointment and frustration he didn't seem aware of. He kissed Aerael again, harder still, nicking the mouth. It didn't seem to be deliberate, more Mark being unusually careless, but Mark took full advantage of it, as if it was what had been lacking before.
"You are so very beautiful," Mark said, drawing back from the kiss. One hand went around Aerael to trace his wings, smoothing the feathers and feeling the power contained with them. "Amazing Aerael. It was amazing. I knew, I knew it was right to leave him to you," Mark was almost babbling. His eyes were wide and glowing, something between approval, lust and adoration held there. He said something in his native tongue, something hard and guttural and Aerael couldn't make sense of the words, but he could pick up on the one.
"Come to bed, Aerael," Mark said. He walked backwards, left hand slipping from Aerael's wing to his shoulder while the right one left his waist to hold his hand, lightly, loosely.
"Leave it, Mark," Aerael said, following Mark reluctantly. "I'm not in the mood right now and I'm too fucking tired to play your little games tonight."
The back of Mark's legs hit the bed and he stopped. "Would you wish to take the passive role today? Let me do all the work, if you're tired from your earlier exertions." His hands started moving again, going up to brush against Aerael's face, his throat, fingertips stroking through his hair before the palms came back to rest lightly against the sides of Aerael's neck. "I can recharge your batteries, so to speak."
It was so tempting. It was probably bad reinforcement, and rewarding Mark for all the wrong things, but Aerael wanted lust to wash away the taste of that undesire away. He wanted to feed off of Mark's need, drown in it.
And, on some level, he wanted to punish Mark for having made it necessary. The nasty truth was, the best way to punish Mark would be to walk away. The nastier truth was, Aerael didn't quite feel up to that right now. It wasn't even the hunger prompting him to stay. the plain truth was that Mark was being -for Mark- impossibly nice. Not gentle, but closer to loving than he almost ever was. It wasn't even submission, Mark's not-so-occasional desire to feel pain, as well as inflict it.
"Will you behave if I do?" Aerael asked. He pushed Mark down so he was sitting on the bed, looking up at him.
Mark smirked. "I promise, I'll be very good."
"Not quite what I asked," Aerael said.
"Very well. I promise not to give you any pain you do not desire, or inflict on you any spells you do not specifically ask for." He opened his mouth and let the edges of his teeth graze Aerael's neck, pressing down almost enough to draw blood before moving back to look Aerael in the eye. "Aerael, you come to me in another's blood and pain, smelling of a good hunt and a better kill, and you think I could let you get away without a taste? Without wanting you to taste me?" He tilted his head up, exposing his neck in an open gesture of submission. At the same time, his hand spread out on Aerael's neck, forcing his chin up so both their necks were stretched out in almost identical positions.
Mark's hands drifted to Aerael's waist, holding him lightly. "Do you know what it'd do to? To have you willingly under me, after seeing how beautifully you took care of that interloper?" He brushed the side of his face against Aerael's cock through the leather trousers. His mind brushed against Aerael lightly. ~Incomparable Aerael, fierce and vicious and breathtaking.~
Another brush, stronger this time, with and edge of Markkas's glamour held in it. Not enough to trap Aerael's mind, but enough to show Mark's potential, like a display of strength. It was oddly tantalising, like showing off for a mate rather than intimidating a rival.
Mark's nails dug into his hips, drawing little crescents of blood and Aerael's hips went forwards of their own accord and Mark -when had he undone Aerael's fly?- was waiting, sharp teeth and careful tongue. The feel of his mind was suddenly stronger, encompassing Aerael like a fog. Aerael could feel Mark's lust, hungry and desperate even while he acted with uncommon warmth, as if Aerael was something, not only desirable, but absolutely necessary.
From Mark's mind came pictures of Aerael, looking especially predatory. Flying through the streets. Stalking his prey. Catching it. The brutal punishment replayed, but seen through Markkas's eyes, it had all the lust, all the passion it lacked at the time. In Markkas's mind, Aerael looked sharper, stronger. Every blow seemed, not only powerful, but beautiful too. He could feel Mark's joy, heavy as his lust, as he replayed the act, balanced out by that steady, warm glow, approval, worship, affection. Mark's mouth was as skilled as ever and Aerael could feel himself about to come, knew Mark knew it too, and felt a dark possessive note thread through Mark's lust, creep into his mind's voice, until the ~mineminemineminemine~ was as clear as if he'd said it out loud.
No! He pushed Mark back, ignoring the part of his body that was screaming at him for doing something so stupid, when he was so close. No, he wouldn't let Mark have control like that, not now. Bacchus could take his balls if he'd let Markkas reduce him to a quivering wreck, after having done something so unpleasant that, while it wasn't for Mark, wasn't definitely caused by him.
The bastard seemed just as pleased with this as he was with Aerael in his mouth. He was struggling, but not enough to actually get away, just enough to feel Aerael hold him down. His lust was as rich and dark as ever, but triumph and possessiveness mixed in with it, even as he offered up his neck for Aerael to take. He didn't seem especially masochistic-not in the mood where he needed pain, as opposed to just enjoying it- but there was a sense of that submission in there, twisted offering like underneath the constant stream of mineminemineminemine, Mark was saying yours. Like offering pain up as a gift, offering himself up to Aerael, every bit of lust, every sensation drawn out from his body, bribe and bait for Aerael.
He realised that these weren't all his thoughts. Mark's telepathy, normally clear and reasoned, was all over the place. He was leaking almost, and Aerael could barely tell their thoughts apart, stopped trying when he realised it really didn't matter right now. He bit Mark's neck,
The memories were his, but the emotion colouring them was all Mark. They were memories that demanded to be repressed, scrubbed out of his mind, but with Mark's mind riding him, he took joy in them. From Mark's point of view, the actions were wonderful -he, Aerael, was wonderful- and oh, it was better than perfect, to be here, on Aerael's bed, while Aerael's teeth took Mark's offered neck Mark's teeth ached to return the favour, wanted to feel Aerael's blood, which wasn't the strongest he'd ever tasted, or the sweetest either, but was in some way better than anyone else's, created to pour down Mark's throat, as his body was created to cover Mark, just like this.
Mark's blood tasted good, tasted like desire taken right at the moment of love, when your heart's so full with emotion it feels like it's breaking, an almost painful joy. Aerael realised with distant shock that it was what Mark would feel if he was taking the blood. The rightness of it came more from Mark then him, even if the lust it triggered belonged utterly to Aerael.
He tore his mouth free, but couldn't resist going back to lick at the wound. It must have hurt Mark, because he purred, back arching, pulling his hands free to touch Aerael, alternating between gentle strokes and digging his nails in, raising sharp red lines across Aerael's back, his chest.
~Aerael, take me." Mark's voice came through loud and clear, with a disturbing amount of truth attached to it, as if the words had more than their usual meaning. It was followed by an image of Aerael fucking Mark, while Mark buried his teeth into him.
~Or let me take you,~ Mark suggested. His hands went down to stroke Aerael's cock. Images flew thick and fast- Mark taking Aerael from behind, pulling his hair back sharply to try and get a good angle on the neck. Both sitting, Aerael in Mark's lap, on his cock. Aerael lying on his back while Mark lowered himself onto him, although that image was quickly disregarded because it put Aerael's neck too far from Mark's mouth.
~Your neck, let me, need your~ Mark said, the words dropping straight into Aerael's brain. It was early for this. Normally, Mark liked waiting for the end, letting his bite serve as the grand finale, but there was no way Aerael could refuse the utter need. Mark was trying to lean up, mouth open and hungry, only the awkward angle keeping him from reaching his target.
"Now, Aerael!" Mark half-begged, half-ordered and habit made Aerael want to refuse, just because it was so fun to tease Mark like that, but his sense of humour found itself beaten to death by his libido. Instead he hooked Mark's legs over his shoulders, grinned once, before pressing in.
Mark tried to reach up and pull him in further, but Aerael resisted. "Where's your self-control?" He asked Mark, between gasping breaths. "Losing it so- Bacchus's balls!" Because Mark had just dropped several of Aerael's fantasies including the shamefully fluffy one, with the rose-petals and candles used for no other purpose than providing soft, romantic light, with the promise to fulfill them, if Aerael would just bring his neck down.
Not a promise he could resist, even if he suspected Mark would break it afterwards. Just trying to bring his neck down pushed him further in and there! Mark let out something perilously close to a whimper, but didn't lose track of his goal. His words were in his native tongue, utterly incomprehensible to Aerael right now, but the mental images accompanying it needed no translation.
Mark's teeth went in, biting deep and true and it wasn't the best position for this, awkward and putting a staring on his back and neck, but none of that mattered, not when he was already in Mark, not when Mark's glamour was hitting him like the rush from an ex-Catholic schoolgirl at her first orgy. One final, confused blast of images- the incubus at the bar, Aerael standing over him covered in blood, Mark and Aerael oroborus-style, biting into each others necks at the same time- and then Mark's mind dissolved into sensation, taking Aerael's with it.
end.
The incubus knew why Aerael was there the moment he opened the door and tried to shut it again, but Aerael pushed forwards. There was a satisfaction in the initial fight. Aerael liked the adrenaline rush a fight could bring, liked feeling his body work, his punches connect and even the pain when the other got in a lucky shot wasn't exactly a deterrent. After the fight was finished, however, and he had the other incubus incapacitated enough to be punished, any of the satisfaction from the fight vanished. It wasn't about the challenge, anymore, wasn't about conquering the other boy. It was about inflicting enough pain and damage to insure that the message "Do not challenge Aerael" was properly heard, by everyone.
It went against his nature. Aerael was a sadist only as far as his partners were masochists. Oh, he liked pushing those limits, making them enjoy more pain than they thought they could take, but he didn't take the pleasure some took in hurting someone, only for the sake of hurting them, no desire to balance it out. Pain alone didn't feed him. It never had. He had to bite down on the urge to make it pleasurable, when he knew it'd be so easy. The other fae was hurling his glamour at him, and Aerael wasn't immune, but he was older and age brought a degree of self-control.
It wasn't in his nature, but it was necessity. It wasn't even personal. He didn't have hate as a comforting incentive for this little bit of torture. He didn't feel anything about this incubus, other than annoyance that Mark had got him involved in their business. It was simply that a public challenge demanded a public response. Aerael's position wasn't strong enough that an insult like this could be accepted without it being seen as a sign of weakness, but he had too much status for this to be ignored by others.
He was clinical and precise, each snapped off feather and broken bone calculated for efficient punishment.
When it was finished and the incubus was bleeding and broken on the floor, unable to focus enough to bring his glamour out, Aerael looked at him. There was nothing there to arouse desire, but he knelt down for the coup de grace. A slight brush of his fingers, accompanied by a powerful flaring of his own glamour and barely conscious, with enough blood loss to make an erection impossible, the incubus was writhing against his own broken bones, trying to beg with a throat worn out with screaming.
Aerael stood up and looked down at himself before deciding against having a shower, instead getting some paper towel and wiping off most of the blood and sweat before leaving. There wasn't much on him anyway, and he really felt like a long soak in his own bath.
"You might survive," he told the broken lust faery, though he wasn't sure if he could understand him. "If someone finds you, feeds you and takes you to a healer. That's more than I could promise if you'd managed to take off with my meal." He looked around. The room was messy enough that he couldn't tell if the apartment was shared, if the nameless one on the floor had a roommate to take him to a hospital, or at least provide some energy so he could start healing himself.. "For your sake, I hope your neighbours are newly weds."
He left the apartment, shutting the door behind him. He felt too drained to fly, but he had thought ahead and a car was waiting for him. He'd underestimated the time it would take to deliver his message, and the car had been waiting for ten minutes. He didn't remember anything of the ride home, not with the images of his recent bloody task still in his head.
Mark was waiting in his bedroom. His eyes were bright with excitement and Aerael wondered of Mark had found a new toy and how he could persuade Mark to wait a few nights before trying it out.
"I know what you did," Mark said. Anyone else, and those words would've sounded like a threat or a warning or a bad teen horror movie, but Mark just sounded pleased and impressed.
"What?"
"I was going to go after him myself," Mark said casually. "But I thought I'd wait and see what you did first. I knew you'd do something, though I didn't realise what a something it would be."
"The incubus," Aerael said, understanding hitting him.
Mark nodded. "The incubus. I'm amazed you left him living, Aerael, when it would have been far easier to kill then inflict that kind of damage on him and leave him breathing." He paused and ran an assessing eye over Aerael, a smile gracing his lips. "He would have taken me back to his place, you know." Mark said, after a moment "Fucked me and fed from me enough that I would have been useless for you for days. Your favourite food supply stolen from you and a once in a lifetime opportunity gone. On Faery, poachers are turned into the beast they stole. On Gaia, they'd cut off their hands, like common thieves."
"This wasn't for you," Aerael said, feeling every one of his years. He felt tired, almost exhausted, and Mark was standing there, eyes half closed in pleasure, and his presence was having its usual affect on Aerael.
This was not what he wanted, not now. Not with Mark standing across the room and Aerael half-wanted to tell him to get the hell out of his house, and half wanted him to come closer so he could wash away his tiredness in that familiar lust.
"I know," Mark said. His tongue darted out, licking his lips like his dragon ancestor would have tasted the air. "You did it because you cannot allow another incubus to challenge you like that. It's a threat to your position. Aerael, do you think that makes it any less wonderful?"
Mark moved forwards. "You smell," he laughed, the sound clear and joyful. "You smell fantastic, actually. Amazing." He moved, fast enough that Aerael couldn't have stopped him if he wanted to, lifted one of Aerael's hands and pressed his face against it.
"Like blood and pain, pet." Mark dropped Aerael's hand and leaned in to start nuzzling his neck.
Bacchus's balls, that wasn't just desire touched with once-removed sadism in Mark's aura. There was something warmer there, something full and joyful, sharp and brilliant and hot, like razor blades left too near the fire.
Mark was licking his neck, nibbling it, hard enough for Aerael to feel it but soft enough for it to seem like Mark wasn't so much tasting Aerael as asking permission.
"You smell like you've been hunting," Mark said. He kissed Aerael, deep and searching, and drew back with a look of mixed disappointment and frustration he didn't seem aware of. He kissed Aerael again, harder still, nicking the mouth. It didn't seem to be deliberate, more Mark being unusually careless, but Mark took full advantage of it, as if it was what had been lacking before.
"You are so very beautiful," Mark said, drawing back from the kiss. One hand went around Aerael to trace his wings, smoothing the feathers and feeling the power contained with them. "Amazing Aerael. It was amazing. I knew, I knew it was right to leave him to you," Mark was almost babbling. His eyes were wide and glowing, something between approval, lust and adoration held there. He said something in his native tongue, something hard and guttural and Aerael couldn't make sense of the words, but he could pick up on the one.
"Come to bed, Aerael," Mark said. He walked backwards, left hand slipping from Aerael's wing to his shoulder while the right one left his waist to hold his hand, lightly, loosely.
"Leave it, Mark," Aerael said, following Mark reluctantly. "I'm not in the mood right now and I'm too fucking tired to play your little games tonight."
The back of Mark's legs hit the bed and he stopped. "Would you wish to take the passive role today? Let me do all the work, if you're tired from your earlier exertions." His hands started moving again, going up to brush against Aerael's face, his throat, fingertips stroking through his hair before the palms came back to rest lightly against the sides of Aerael's neck. "I can recharge your batteries, so to speak."
It was so tempting. It was probably bad reinforcement, and rewarding Mark for all the wrong things, but Aerael wanted lust to wash away the taste of that undesire away. He wanted to feed off of Mark's need, drown in it.
And, on some level, he wanted to punish Mark for having made it necessary. The nasty truth was, the best way to punish Mark would be to walk away. The nastier truth was, Aerael didn't quite feel up to that right now. It wasn't even the hunger prompting him to stay. the plain truth was that Mark was being -for Mark- impossibly nice. Not gentle, but closer to loving than he almost ever was. It wasn't even submission, Mark's not-so-occasional desire to feel pain, as well as inflict it.
"Will you behave if I do?" Aerael asked. He pushed Mark down so he was sitting on the bed, looking up at him.
Mark smirked. "I promise, I'll be very good."
"Not quite what I asked," Aerael said.
"Very well. I promise not to give you any pain you do not desire, or inflict on you any spells you do not specifically ask for." He opened his mouth and let the edges of his teeth graze Aerael's neck, pressing down almost enough to draw blood before moving back to look Aerael in the eye. "Aerael, you come to me in another's blood and pain, smelling of a good hunt and a better kill, and you think I could let you get away without a taste? Without wanting you to taste me?" He tilted his head up, exposing his neck in an open gesture of submission. At the same time, his hand spread out on Aerael's neck, forcing his chin up so both their necks were stretched out in almost identical positions.
Mark's hands drifted to Aerael's waist, holding him lightly. "Do you know what it'd do to? To have you willingly under me, after seeing how beautifully you took care of that interloper?" He brushed the side of his face against Aerael's cock through the leather trousers. His mind brushed against Aerael lightly. ~Incomparable Aerael, fierce and vicious and breathtaking.~
Another brush, stronger this time, with and edge of Markkas's glamour held in it. Not enough to trap Aerael's mind, but enough to show Mark's potential, like a display of strength. It was oddly tantalising, like showing off for a mate rather than intimidating a rival.
Mark's nails dug into his hips, drawing little crescents of blood and Aerael's hips went forwards of their own accord and Mark -when had he undone Aerael's fly?- was waiting, sharp teeth and careful tongue. The feel of his mind was suddenly stronger, encompassing Aerael like a fog. Aerael could feel Mark's lust, hungry and desperate even while he acted with uncommon warmth, as if Aerael was something, not only desirable, but absolutely necessary.
From Mark's mind came pictures of Aerael, looking especially predatory. Flying through the streets. Stalking his prey. Catching it. The brutal punishment replayed, but seen through Markkas's eyes, it had all the lust, all the passion it lacked at the time. In Markkas's mind, Aerael looked sharper, stronger. Every blow seemed, not only powerful, but beautiful too. He could feel Mark's joy, heavy as his lust, as he replayed the act, balanced out by that steady, warm glow, approval, worship, affection. Mark's mouth was as skilled as ever and Aerael could feel himself about to come, knew Mark knew it too, and felt a dark possessive note thread through Mark's lust, creep into his mind's voice, until the ~mineminemineminemine~ was as clear as if he'd said it out loud.
No! He pushed Mark back, ignoring the part of his body that was screaming at him for doing something so stupid, when he was so close. No, he wouldn't let Mark have control like that, not now. Bacchus could take his balls if he'd let Markkas reduce him to a quivering wreck, after having done something so unpleasant that, while it wasn't for Mark, wasn't definitely caused by him.
The bastard seemed just as pleased with this as he was with Aerael in his mouth. He was struggling, but not enough to actually get away, just enough to feel Aerael hold him down. His lust was as rich and dark as ever, but triumph and possessiveness mixed in with it, even as he offered up his neck for Aerael to take. He didn't seem especially masochistic-not in the mood where he needed pain, as opposed to just enjoying it- but there was a sense of that submission in there, twisted offering like underneath the constant stream of mineminemineminemine, Mark was saying yours. Like offering pain up as a gift, offering himself up to Aerael, every bit of lust, every sensation drawn out from his body, bribe and bait for Aerael.
He realised that these weren't all his thoughts. Mark's telepathy, normally clear and reasoned, was all over the place. He was leaking almost, and Aerael could barely tell their thoughts apart, stopped trying when he realised it really didn't matter right now. He bit Mark's neck,
The memories were his, but the emotion colouring them was all Mark. They were memories that demanded to be repressed, scrubbed out of his mind, but with Mark's mind riding him, he took joy in them. From Mark's point of view, the actions were wonderful -he, Aerael, was wonderful- and oh, it was better than perfect, to be here, on Aerael's bed, while Aerael's teeth took Mark's offered neck Mark's teeth ached to return the favour, wanted to feel Aerael's blood, which wasn't the strongest he'd ever tasted, or the sweetest either, but was in some way better than anyone else's, created to pour down Mark's throat, as his body was created to cover Mark, just like this.
Mark's blood tasted good, tasted like desire taken right at the moment of love, when your heart's so full with emotion it feels like it's breaking, an almost painful joy. Aerael realised with distant shock that it was what Mark would feel if he was taking the blood. The rightness of it came more from Mark then him, even if the lust it triggered belonged utterly to Aerael.
He tore his mouth free, but couldn't resist going back to lick at the wound. It must have hurt Mark, because he purred, back arching, pulling his hands free to touch Aerael, alternating between gentle strokes and digging his nails in, raising sharp red lines across Aerael's back, his chest.
~Aerael, take me." Mark's voice came through loud and clear, with a disturbing amount of truth attached to it, as if the words had more than their usual meaning. It was followed by an image of Aerael fucking Mark, while Mark buried his teeth into him.
~Or let me take you,~ Mark suggested. His hands went down to stroke Aerael's cock. Images flew thick and fast- Mark taking Aerael from behind, pulling his hair back sharply to try and get a good angle on the neck. Both sitting, Aerael in Mark's lap, on his cock. Aerael lying on his back while Mark lowered himself onto him, although that image was quickly disregarded because it put Aerael's neck too far from Mark's mouth.
~Your neck, let me, need your~ Mark said, the words dropping straight into Aerael's brain. It was early for this. Normally, Mark liked waiting for the end, letting his bite serve as the grand finale, but there was no way Aerael could refuse the utter need. Mark was trying to lean up, mouth open and hungry, only the awkward angle keeping him from reaching his target.
"Now, Aerael!" Mark half-begged, half-ordered and habit made Aerael want to refuse, just because it was so fun to tease Mark like that, but his sense of humour found itself beaten to death by his libido. Instead he hooked Mark's legs over his shoulders, grinned once, before pressing in.
Mark tried to reach up and pull him in further, but Aerael resisted. "Where's your self-control?" He asked Mark, between gasping breaths. "Losing it so- Bacchus's balls!" Because Mark had just dropped several of Aerael's fantasies including the shamefully fluffy one, with the rose-petals and candles used for no other purpose than providing soft, romantic light, with the promise to fulfill them, if Aerael would just bring his neck down.
Not a promise he could resist, even if he suspected Mark would break it afterwards. Just trying to bring his neck down pushed him further in and there! Mark let out something perilously close to a whimper, but didn't lose track of his goal. His words were in his native tongue, utterly incomprehensible to Aerael right now, but the mental images accompanying it needed no translation.
Mark's teeth went in, biting deep and true and it wasn't the best position for this, awkward and putting a staring on his back and neck, but none of that mattered, not when he was already in Mark, not when Mark's glamour was hitting him like the rush from an ex-Catholic schoolgirl at her first orgy. One final, confused blast of images- the incubus at the bar, Aerael standing over him covered in blood, Mark and Aerael oroborus-style, biting into each others necks at the same time- and then Mark's mind dissolved into sensation, taking Aerael's with it.
end.
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-28 08:21 pm (UTC)*kicks lj to make it load*
*spots jamjar fic*
*zeros in*
THUD!
oh baby.
i can't even begin to give you a proper comment, and for that, i truly apologise. but i love it.(brain tired and all out of sorts and kinda achy and need to go to bed soon) i could see mark totally getting off on aerael doing something like that (bloody aerael visual--purrrrrr), and aerael not totally pleased and yet not totally displeased, either. *nods* so i don't think a scenerio like this is totally outside the realm of possibility. i'd like to
thinkhope that even mark slips up from time to time, and falls into a virtual frenzy of admiration, warm regard and pure straightforward *wanting* of his favorite partner--after all, this IS aerael we're talking about. ~_^*is hoping that hit somewhere in the realm of making sense*
no subject
Date: 2003-05-28 11:40 pm (UTC)