Nathaniel Graison (
nathaniel_kitten) wrote2009-09-27 11:36 am
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Incubus Dreams - October 16th-18th
Since their discussion with Anita, Asher and Nathaniel haven't really discussed much. They've simply been enjoying the freedom without guilt Anita's acceptance has allowed them. But Nathaniel knows there is something they really do need to talk about. As reluctant as he is to break the comfortable joy Asher and he have been savoring, he knows better than to let something fester.
Nathaniel climbs into bed with Asher, sitting beside the dead form of his lover, and waits for the sun to set enough for Asher to wake. He smiles faintly, brushing his fingers through beautiful golden hair, his heart tightening with how much he feels for Asher. It never lessens, that gut-turning need to be close to Asher and never let go, and Nathaniel never wants it to become less intense.
Nathaniel climbs into bed with Asher, sitting beside the dead form of his lover, and waits for the sun to set enough for Asher to wake. He smiles faintly, brushing his fingers through beautiful golden hair, his heart tightening with how much he feels for Asher. It never lessens, that gut-turning need to be close to Asher and never let go, and Nathaniel never wants it to become less intense.
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"Good evening," he murmurs, a slight upward curve to his lips.
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"I hope you have no plans tonight, cher," he murmurs. "I thought we could spend it here."
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Fascinated by the play of muscle under pale skin.
"We can do whatever you'd like," he says, eyes still moving over Asher's body. "And afterwards, we can talk."
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"About what, cher?" He asks, being a little cruel and teasing Nathaniel by stroking the wooden lid of the box, not opening it, not yet.
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His eyes are bright as he stares at Asher's hand, stroking that lid.
"After," he whispers, practically vibrating with excitement.
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"Are you sure, mon chat? If it is important, I am happy to discuss it now."
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Nathaniel's eyes continue to stare at that hand, almost willing it to open the damn lid and pull out the toys they'll play with.
"After."
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"How hard, cher?" He asks softly. "Blood or bruises?"
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"Which do you want, Asher?" he whispers. "Do you want to see bruises or blood?"
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"Blood," he says at last, picking up the knife by the hilt, turning it slowly in his hand, letting it glint in the light.
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"Yes," he practically pants, painfully aroused already. "Blood."
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So many ways, so little time...
"Lie down, mon chat," he says at last, already reaching for leather cuffs from the box, buckling them around Nathaniel's wrists quickly and efficiently.
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But now... now that he is about to be given exactly that, he absolutely craves it like one being given a hit from their addiction of choice.
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He picks up the knife, letting the flat of the blade rest against Nathaniel's chest, the tip just pricking his throat.
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And his arousal never wilts.
He almost expects, once the blade comes to rest there on his stomach, that Asher will move with the quickness vampires have -- a quickness faster than even a lycanthrope -- and sink the blade into his gut, just to hear him scream.
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He hisses when the blade just bites into flesh, and then moans when Asher's tongue presses to it. Nathaniel's eyes close, the wet heat of Asher's tongue moving up his body that much more vibrant with sight gone. His cock twitches, his toes curl, and his nipples tighten around the silver piercing them.
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He circles Nathaniel's nipple with the tip of the knife, again not breaking skin.
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How to lull the victim into giving themselves up into the tender mercies of one who would have their blood and their screams and their submission. It's an odd train of thought, and Nathaniel is quick to banish it, arching his chest just a little, his hands tightening into fists.
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"Patience, mon chat," he murmurs thickly. He scores two shallow cuts just above Nat's collarbones, little trickles of blood pooling in the hollows of his shoulders, Asher dipping his head to drink. He will take Nathaniel apart peice by peice, cut by cut, a far slower torture than any Gabriel could have devised.
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No, Gabriel was never so gentle in his pain. As much as he'd loved Gabriel, what they had done together, what Nathaniel had been taught through those endless nights, it had never been like this. It never could have been. It is like comparing a pre-schooler's finger paintings with a polished, classical artist's work. Night and day.
Nathaniel is not stupid. He will never be stupid. The wereleopard knows what Asher does in these moments, what he does when they simply make love quietly, slowly. It is a relearning of intimacy, of trust, of pain, of pleasure.
Asher will find his weaknesses, what makes him weep, beg, shudder, arch for his vampire, and he will carefully tend them instead of exploiting them.
A shuddering breath leaves Nathaniel's lips as he tilts his head back, offering his throat. "I had control until I met you," he whispers.
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He rests the knife over Nathaniel's heart, voice quiet. "Your body," he whispers, twirling the knife expertly, carving a spiral into the thin flesh of Nathaniel's chest, dragging the knife up to the right. A second line mirrors the first as Asher continues, "your heart," He draws a horizontal line across the two marks, carving his initial into Nathaniel's chest.
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