Glamour Lust Thank you ficlets (2)

[jamjar]

A set of small thank you fics for interlock

She gave me these words to work from:

gleam, throw, cloak, and a pattern.


There it was again. Just a small glimmer on the edge of his consciousness, quickly snuffed out, but enough to distract him from the charmingly nervous young thing in front of him. Aerael smiled, good enough to break some hearts and mend some others, and made his excused while the human was still blinded. There was no point staying, when the nagging little tickle of power was only going to distract him from anything more serious.

He'd been feeling it all night, just on the edge of his senses. Like catching a glimpse of something in the corner of your eye, only to turn around and have it disappear. It spoke of glamour that was either very powerful, to hide itself so well, or very weak, and only strong enough to be noticed on odd occasions. Every time he settled on something to entertain him for the night, it would appear, flirting and vanishing almost the moment he became aware of it. He searched around the room for likely suspects, but found none.

Aerael shrugged and headed to the bar set up in one corner of the massive room, ordered himself a (hopefully lethal) champagne cocktail and wondered if he should switch forms. Champagne cocktails had an even nicer effect when it was his female body drinking them. He took a sip, leaning against the bar, and wondered if he should go back any of the likely prospects he'd scouted out earlier, magic-tease be damned.

There. The fae pair, obviously on their first trip to Gaia and just over the iron sickness. He straightened up and started to head over.

"Uh, excuse me." A woman, human and wearing the ubiquitous little black dress. Pretty, though not spectacular, but then pretty was often better than spectacular under the covers. all cats were not grey in the dark, but pampered pedigree Persian kitties rarely gave a good a ride as the domestic tabby.

Still, the fae had the feel of born again virgins, put off-balance by their exposure to the iron in Gaia's blood, under her oceans and deep within her core. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to brush past, "I'm on my way to meet some friends. Another time, maybe."

The woman stopped him, one hand resting on the middle of his chest, and a wave of desire hit him. Her eyes were dark and he could feel the glamour working on her, pouring through her hand into him. Her hand stayed flat on his chest as he pulled her in, kissing her, taking in her desire until he realised she was shaking, on the verge of fainting as he drew out too much of her energy too quickly. He pushed her away. She stood there, arms wrapped around herself, weak and hungry.

In contrast, Aerael felt about ten foot tall, not including wings or horns, and knew he was almost glowing with strength and vitality. "Who did you meet?"

She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes and started to step closer. He moved back and kept out of reach. "Before you saw me, who touched you."

"I don't understand," she said. Her eyes ran over his body, taking in each flex of his muscles, each twitch of his wings.

"I don't remember." She shook her head to clear it. "There was a woman, I think. Or a very pretty guy. I don't know, I… Incubi are not meant to leave you unsatisfied," she finished on a wail. He moved towards her without thinking, wings coming around as a shield., hand over her mouth to stop her attracting any more attention. Little sparks of desire flew off her and landed on him. His hand on mouth softened, and his fingers slipped in of their own accord.

"Bacchus's balls," he hissed. "No!" He drew back his glamour tightly. It had no effect on the woman, who nipped as his fingers with her teeth, but now he wasn't feeding from her he could think.

He drew his hand out of her mouth. "The person, man or woman?" He asked. "Human or fae?"

"I don't know, I told you, I don't know. It was dark and, oh please," she grabbed his hand and dragged it down, under the hem of her little black dress. "Does it matter?"

"Tell me." he slipped his hand under the lace of her French knickers, grateful, not for the first time, of wings that could act as curtains on a four-poster bed. He kept his voice low.

"I don't know, I couldn't see."

"Colours, wings, horns," he said, impatiently. "The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can…" he moved his fingers.

"Oh! Oh, he, she, fuck it, they looked pale and dark," she babbled, clinging to him. "Couldn't see wings or horns, wearing a cloak, I think they could have been hidden under, oh please, oh fuck."

Aerael bent his head and kissed her, swallowing up her cries. It went against every instinct in his body to ignore the lust and pleasure pouring out of her as he finally brought her off, to be so close and force himself to remain hungry. He concentrated on the image of what he'd do to the person who'd decided to play games with him through this woman.

He carried her to the cloakroom and put her down on a chair. She was unconscious as he put her down. She looked tired and drained, and would probably feel it for a month or so, but she was still alive, still capable of recovering.

He felt the lightning fast spark of that mysterious glamour that had been teasing him all evening and looked up.

Pale and dark. Leaning against the opposite wall, face hidden in the shadows, white shirt in stark contrast to the gleaming black hair that fell around his face. And it wasn't really a surprise to find out the cause of tonight's little drama, or shouldn't have been. The pattern was new, but several of the threads used in it were ones he was intimately familiar with.

"You said you were going out hunting tonight. Something about indulging in a little human contact." Aerael moved into the light. "If she hadn't had all her blood I'd have suspected you a lot sooner. It's not like you to make yourself go without."

Mark smiled. His teeth gleamed in the darkness and Aerael's eyes were drawn to the movement of lips and tongue when he spoke. "Oh, I just felt like something different. Solstice makes everyone a little playful, doesn't it."

"That woman, you did something to her."

"That's a given."

"Something with your glamour. Something that stripped my inhibitions as I fed from her."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Now that would be rather pointless, wouldn't it, pet? Lust fae are not known for their inhibitions, so why would I waste energy stripping away what isn't there to begin with."

"I'm inhibited against draining someone dry by the bar during a pre-solstice bash in the middle of fucking Manhattan, Markkas."

Mark waved a hand, dismissing the crowd. "I would have made sure there were no consequences from it."

"Not good enough, Mark," Aerael said. He leaned against the wall, bracing his arms either side of Mark's head.

Mark turned his head and spoke against Aerael's wrist. "I beg to differ, pet. I am more than good enough." He let his teeth come out and touch Aerael's wrist. "My little trick can't have thrown you off your game that much. She's still breathing, and you've had a good meal. I can taste your strength without even breaking the skin."

Aerael shifted position so one hand was resting on Mark's throat, sharp nail digging in just above the throbbing pulse. "Your little tricks… It's not a good idea to rob a lust fae of his restraints, Mark."

He wanted to take Mark back to the crowded party, wrap his hand around his throat and fuck him over the bar. He wanted to lock Mark in his room, weigh him down with iron chains until he was incapable of moving from Aerael's bed, with no energy left after feeding Aerael to even think of playing these stupid, pointless little games.

Mark laughed. "Aerael, the glamour disappeared the moment you found the culprit. Any trouble you're having restraining yourself is nothing to do with me."

Which they both knew, glamour or not, was the complete opposite of true.




~ ~ ~

"I don't understand," Mark said looking at Aerael with rare uncertainty in his eyes.

"What's to understand? It's a bed of nails," Aerael said cheerfully. "You're familiar with the concept, I trust."

"Yes, of course, but I don't see what they have to do with us," Mark said with growing impatience. He rested his hand on the top of the bed and felt the combination sharpness and burn of the gleaming iron nails. "Why is it even here?"

"This little sweetie was meant to go in the science museum, but a friend owed me a favour, so I borrowed it for the night. You know how these things work, don't you?"

"The weight is distributed over a wide area, so the nails never puncture the skin," Mark said slowly. "Aerael, what are you thinking?"

Aerael rested his hand on Mark's. The added weight pushed his hand a little harder onto the nails, not hard enough to pierce the skin, but hard enough that he could feel it that little bit more. "I think if one was to rest on a bed of nails, it would probably be very important to keep still," he said softly. "To make sure your weight was evenly distributed, that you didn't thrash around and slam your hands against the bed or anything."

Mark's eyes widened. "Chaos, Aerael, that's… I knew there was a reason why I kept you around."

Aerael smiled. "Then get undressed, and we can get started."

Mark stripped himself of his clothes without hesitating, then looked at the bed uncertainly. "How do I get on it."

Aerael scooped him up, carrying him, like a bride over the threshold, to the bed of nails. He laid Markkas down on it with elaborate, courtly romance, like the scene from a million romance novels and teen daydreams, and watched Mark squirm as he felt the sharp points of metal on his back. He pressed his hand low on Mark's stomach. "Be still," he said, both a warning and a command.

He let his hand go up, fingernails drawing on Mark's skin. He kept it light, feeling every twitch as he went painfully softly over Mark's ribs.

"For Chaos' sake Aerael, do something," Mark hissed.

Mark's skin felt feverish, which Aerael decided was probably equal parts desire and proximity to the iron. He was trying desperately hard to stay still, but it wasn't working very well. His eyes were closed and he chewed on his lower lip.

Aerael swooped down and pressed his teeth against mark's throat. Mark froze, paralysed for a moment, and then started to whimper. Words and images poured into Aerael's mind, his teeth biting down, Mark's teeth in his throat, both biting at the same time in a way he knew was guaranteed to cause severe neck strain. He pulled away, leaving the skin unbroken.

"Uh uh, Beautiful. Later. Patience is a virtue, you know."

But it wasn't really one of his, Aerael reflected, and as pleasant as it was to watch Markkas writhe around on a bed of nails, it didn't really lend itself to a good hard fuck, which was what he was in the mood for right now. Still, he couldn't leave it like that, so unfinished.

"Try to keep still," Aerael warned.

"Huh?" Mark opened his eyes and raised his head, just in time to see Aerael going down. His back arched and he tried to stop the movement when it pressed his wings down, trying to grab Aerael's horns and regain some kind of control.

"Hands off the headgear," Aerael said, pulling away. "Or I stop right now."

Mark let his hands fall by his side. "Good boy," Aerael said, before going back to work. Each stroke with his tongue made Mark press his hands, palm down against the nails, fingers spread. His heels dug in, he half-threw his head back, managing to soften the movement so his cheek rested against the metal, begging Aerael to stop teasing already, just finish it, please, for the love of Chaos…

And then it was over, and he was panting and sticky while a decidedly smug Aerael loomed over him, licking his lips.

"Lift me up," Mark ordered wearily.

"Not tired already, I hope," Aerael said, lifting him up and helping him stand on shaky legs. "I'm just getting started."

Mark shuddered and felt hundreds -thousands- of tiny pinpricks of iron-touched blood over half his body, setting his flesh burning and making everywhere, especially his back and wings, seem hypersensitive. he wondered how a whip would feel against them, or even Aerael's hand.

"Hmm." Aerael stood behind him and brushed Mark's hair forward over his shoulders, stroking Mark's back. "Beautiful, Mark. Like a negative of the sky on a clear night. Hundred of tiny, dark pin pricks making a pattern against a flawless background." He brushed his fingers over Mark's back and then brought his hand over Mark's shoulder, offering him his own blood. Mark accepted it, sucking his fingers clean in a way that echoed Aerael's earlier ministrations. Aerael let his free hand dance across Mark's wings, tracing the slight indents were the pins had pressed against, but not broken the surface. Mark shuddered and held them apart. He shook his hair back and it covered him like a cloak, like the folds of wings normally would if he was holding them half-stretched and framing his body. "To the more conventional bed?" he suggested.

Aerael nodded. "First time my bed's been described as conventional, but yes. As nice as the bed of nails is, it needs to go back without too many incriminating stains."

"Hmm. So," Mark began as he prepared to port to Aerael's room, "how difficult do you think it would be to have one of these made?"

end.

Comments

[ephemera.livejournal.com]

*rar!* - thank you! - they're gorgious. Love the power play between them in the first [all cat's are not grey indeed] and such pretty pretty visuals in the second.

[thistle-dear.livejournal.com]

Oh wow...those were lovely. O.O *loves on jamjar*

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I haven't a clue where the bed of nails idea came from. My own subsconscious scares me.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Your welcome- I do lopve twistyDevious!Mark, and as the second... I've asolutely no idea where that came from. My head is an interesting place to live, I fear.