The thought has occurred to me...but after a man has possessed a rare treasure, a counterfeit of it brings no joy. I cannot rebuilt what I have lost, so I must seek something new.
[He looks over Isaac's form, naked and sprawled, skin pink from the heat of the water, looking as languid as Hector's ever seen him, laughing.]
And from where I stand, it doesn't look so poor a choice.
[He bows his head in mimicry of a servant to his lord, the role he's played this night, and turns back toward the hallway to leave.]
hope this timeskippery is okay -- let me know if you wanted anything changed
[Isaac's hair is still drying when he comes for him, lead by the pulsing thread of magic tethering them to each other through walls and floors and wards. Down, down from the tower and along a stretch of hallway, unhurried but not without purpose. What's left of his bottle swings in one hand and the other he holds out in front of him, a small flame shedding its soft, flickery light over the walls and the spiders furring their corners, guiding him. The clacking of his heels stops outside the room Hector has claimed for his own, only a moment. He tests the knob and the door opens, a wry smile crooking his lips when the energies of Hector's protective spell sweeps over every inch of bared skin as he passes.
It's quiet inside. He can hear the soft rush of air in and out his lungs, his heartbeat in his ears. The room smells of must and fur and Hector's sleep-warmed, earthy musk - not unpleasant. He leans heavily against the doorframe, helping himself to a sip as he looks to the darkened shape of Hector's body in his bed and wonders how long it'd take Hector to notice him, or if he was even asleep at all. Curiosity wins out before long; he snaps his fist shut and kills the flame, making his approach with a smooth rolling of his hips.]
[Hector lies in his bed, drowsing. He'd returned from Isaac's quarters and given himself a much less luxurious scrubbing down with cold water from a wash basin before laying himself down. He has already resolved that when he rises tomorrow, he will begin collecting materials to build himself a tub as fine as Isaac's.
His instincts are honed to sense threats; foreign magical signatures, hostile intent. Isaac's aura is known and accepted, and his approach doesn't send Hector shooting up from his furs. He's vaguely aware of the noise and the glow in the hallway, and he shifts lazily from his side to his back to peer up into the darkness.
His eyes catch the silhouette of his rival standing above him, and he hums, pleased.]
Come, sit.... [He murmurs, drawing back the furs to make a place for him.]
[Isaac doesn't, not for a while, his expression calmly inscrutable when reaching to touch him. He's come without his gauntlets for once, the pad of his finger warmed over Hector's skin as he traces the sharp neckline of his tunic with a nail, thoughtful.]
It seems I kept you waiting.
[He husks, not looking up. With a grim uptick to his smile, he lifts his hand away and settles for sitting sideways, only half of him on the bed, one foot still in contact with the floor as if in readiness to leave at any moment.]
I imagine you feel them circling the tower like gnats as well...? [The succubi, he means. He could have let one in and still isn't sure why he hadn't and what brought him here instead, courting what seems like their next regret. The wine's not all to blame, but neither could deny that it has played enough of a part. He sniffs and holds it out to Hector if he'll have any - what little is left sloshing around, at least.]
[It is too dark to see well, but Hector can feel where Isaac settles, can smell the lingering scents of teas and soap. He reaches out and trails fingertips up his arm, an idle caress.]
I didn't know if you'd come.
[He takes the bottle Isaac offers and lifts it to his lips. Isaac hasn't left him much more than a mouthful, enough to whet his appetite but not satisfy. He hopes it isn't an omen of what's to come...or not come.]
Yes, they're an annoyance, but I've barred their entry.
[Isaac has Hector all to himself, whether he wants it or not.]
[He looks to the wall, listening to the rush of wine to Hector's mouth, the pop of his lips peeling off the bottle. Hector should be asleep - they both should be. But here they are, together again. Never by accident.
He idly traces the seal of Solomon into his thigh, sighing.]
I was half-hoping I might bear witness to a vicious, bloody battle upon this night -- you and them locked in a bitter struggle over damaged goods.
[He chuckles into the dark, his shoulders shaking. Hector stepping out, steel in his hand and in his jaw, and returning drenched in succubus blood would've been a lovely surprise.]
Ah... [He smiles vaguely at his lap] ...how disappointing.
[Hector rolls to his side, this time facing Isaac. He props his head up on his hand.]
You said before you would have killed anyone who touched me. Now you wish to be a spectator. Which is the truth?
[Hector is more than the equal of any succubus, so he'd not lose unless he was completely caught off guard, or if they came in numbers enough to overwhelm him. But Isaac has presented him an opening to probe, so probe he does.]
If you want to see me fight, I am happy to indulge...in the morning.
[Despite the sing-song, mocking lilt to it, there's an honest weariness in his tone.]
'twas not you I meant. ...Although you too are as much a broken man as I. [Or he'd like to believe so, anyway, to lessen the hot sting of shame forever burning a hole in his chest. He sticks a hand out for the wine, flapping his fingers impatiently, only to remember that Hector has no doubt polished it off.]
Is that what you want- for me to fight the demons for rights to you? I thought you'd consider it trespassing for me to interfere with their coming to your keep. I'll allow them no longer.
[Isaac is welcome to the empty bottle, and whatever last lingering droplets might be coaxed from it. Hector hands it over and pushes himself up.]
Do you need more? [Leaving the warm nest of his blankets to trek down the chill stone hallways isn't ideal, but he'll do it to keep Isaac content.]
What man would refuse such a lively demonstration of fierce want?
[He isn't sure he means what he says, but he's past the point of caring, the wine having worn down the jagged edges of sobriety. The chattering of his demons have quieted down and everything feels fuzzy and faraway, a little easier to live with.]
Yes, be a dear and fetch another bottle, would you? 'twould be a shame to have it gather dust.
[He'll help himself to Hector's bed in the meantime, crawling into it and lying over the place on the mattress his body has warmed.]
I will hold you to that. [Hector declares into the night air. He slides out of bed, and sees Isaac's shadowy form usurp his spot in the furs. He should be angry about it, but even as he shivers, it feels like a victory. Isaac is in his bed, warm and at ease, and it is Hector's doing.
He holds in a hiss as bare feet touch stone floor. He cheats a little at the task, and calls upon one of his fairies to race ahead and bring a new bottle. He meets the creature halfway, its speed greatly hindered when burdened with the wine.
Even with the journey halved, his toes feel like ice blocks by the time he returns to his bed, bottle in hand.]
You would have made quite the spoiled lordling in another life. [He says, but fondly, as he nudges Isaac to make room for him.]
Lordling? [Isaac scoffs, though he isn't affronted enough to deny Hector the room to settle beside him. He shifts, grudgingly.] I would be lord at the least... and order my enemies to be hanged by their entrails from the trees surrounding my castle, as an example to the others.
[He lets the image wash over him, rolling onto his back after a moment and filling his lungs with a long, sleepy breath and feeling joints pop up alone his backbone.]
For that cheek of yours, you would be first man I would have bent and flogged. By my own hand, of course... [Wetting his lips, he turns his head from the ceiling and looks hazily into Hector's face.] ...for I would not leave to my subjects a task so deeply personal.
[Hector slips beneath the blankets and sets the bottle on Isaac's chest. Isaac bade him fetch the wine. He'll sulk if he doesn't at least sip at it.]
What tool would you use to flog someone for so 'deeply personal' an offense? [The question comes breathy to his lips, as if he were speaking of a flirtation, not bodily harm. With them, maybe it is one and the same.
He starts to picture it, Isaac in fine garb, and Hector stripped to the waist, bound to a flogging post. His pulse flutters, and he doesn't turn to try to meet Isaac's gaze in the darkness.]
Would that be another of your examples for all to see, or would I merit a private audience?
[The breathless edge to Hector's voice captures his attention, unexpected, putting a hint of a smirk on his lips.]
You and I alone.
[He purrs. In reaching for the bottle, he clumsily bumps it with his knuckles and knocks it off his chest. It lies at his side, cool glass pressed to his ribs, while his fingers smooth down his belly and over his bulge.]
You shall be stripped and bound to a beam first... [he palms himself, kneading] ...I should like you to be properly introduced to the bite of the whip.
[The castle dungeon had had all manners of tools to rival those the Church reserved for heretics and blasphemers - and among them, whips with tails and some without, others woven with shards of metal and bone and meant for tearing ragged flaps of skin and meat away on every stroke. There's as much beauty, at times, in simplicity as with brutal efficiency; he'd wanted to savour the experience laying every stroke with precision and care, inflicting as much pain as possible without ending the punishment prematurely. Of course, the presence of a fairy would help.]
A simple leather one would do. And when you could no longer bear to stand, you would be bound to a sawhorse, naked as the day of your birth.
[The scene unfurls in the darkness behind his eyes, fresh and bright: laying kisses over Hector's raw, wealed back, staining what little skin left untouched behind his hungry lips; wandering behind him, where the sawhorse forced Hector's taut, quivering legs apart, and sliding an oil-slicked candle up the split of his cheeks before easing it inside him. Lighting it and letting it burn slow, wax puddling over the floor.
Half the pleasure would be in the build of anticipation for the both of them: pacing, humming to himself while lazily swishing the whip around. Feinting, twice in a row, just to watch Hector's body tense and wobble anxiously before the next snap lifted him onto the tips of his toes, sizzling stripes overlapping.
Blood pounds in Isaac's cock.]
...You might even come to enjoy it.
[It hangs in the air like a promise, a smile in his voice. He shifts onto his side after a minute, contemplating Hector through half-lidded eyes - the sort of long, unblinking look that can lay a man bare. Then he closes the distance with a lazy stretch of his arm, nails hooking into Hector's trousers. That he might've drank too much to be effective is a real possibility, but there's enough to be done with fingers alone, if that's the case. Hungry flesh wouldn't say no to the attention.]
[Hector shudders. The picture Isaac paints is simple and visceral. Hector's gut churns with dread anticipation.
This close, he hears and feels Isaac shifting to touch himself. Hector's breath hitches, and his cock stirs. Having spent years in a vampire's court, he is no stranger to pain, but what Isaac speaks of, torture edged with teasing, pain delivered with the promise of forced pleasure...Hector has no defense against that.
...he doesn't know that he wants to defend himself against it.
Isaac reaches for him, and Hector rolls to face him, drawing closer when he should pull away. They face each other under the merciful veil of darkness.]
...you are the lord of this castle. Whatever punishment I merit, you alone can deliver.
[He is well aware he is offering himself up like a lamb for slaughter.]
[Their eyes lock and Isaac feels a snap of adrenaline that ends in a trill low in his gut. Hector knows better than to turn to him, and he knows better than to answer to the fierce tug of lust, but they're nearly chest to chest and thigh to thigh, with a full bottle of wine between them, and neither are backing down. There is rope up in the tower, but he'd rather take his time crafting a sleek whip meant for Hector alone, wanting to relish every moment he held it firm in his hands.]
Then, as lord... I demand that you yield.
[He lifts his hand away to frame Hector's face, sweeping his thumb down his lower lip, tenderly.]
...Show me, Hector, just how badly you have ached for me.
[He smiles vaguely, mock-pitying, at the soft slick of Hector's lips and tongue as they welcome him, his gaze dropping between them where Hector is less seen and more felt, grinding into him, flush against his thigh.]
You poor thing...
[Snorting softly, his hand drifts to press into Hector's shoulder, not with the force to roll him onto his back but with just enough to convey the intention. He pushes up to sit cross-legged, after, dizzied with the sudden shift in gravity. His head is still swimmy and throbbing a full-skulled throbbing when he takes Hector by the legs and hauls him over his lap with effortless, careless strength, thighs loosely framing Isaac's hips.]
Soon will come the day when you know the kiss of the lash... [it's barely above a whisper, a promise edged with a playful threat] ...but for now, we shall simply have to make do.
[Both his hands thrust up into Hector's tunic, fingers fanning on the way down, his nails raking the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his stomach. His touch lightens, slowing, as he reaches Hector's waist, and with a finger alone he skims his shape through his pants, unhurried.]
Let there be light... [He teases, pausing to reach for the bottle and skewering the cork with a nail again, popping it easy. He helps himself to a healthy swig, rolling it around in his mouth before swallowing. This wine is a little sweeter, fuller in taste, sliding cool down his throat. Even easier to drink than the last.]
...'twould be a shame to work by touch alone.
[But even as he says it he tips the bottle just enough to pour a little over Hector's belly, leaning over him to catch it as it drips with a sweep of his tongue, sucking the wine off his skin.]
[Hector allows himself to be positioned according to Isaac's whims. If he fights, Isaac will lose his playfulness; being pliant gives Isaac space to explore him. He ends up where he wants to be anyways, with Isaac between his legs.
The rake of nails down his bare belly has him shuddering. He inhales sharply, and holds in the breath when Isaac pours the wine. He shivers in spite of his resolve to be still. His stomach isn't a particularly efficient cup for Isaac to sip from, but he tries to serve in this role that Isaac has put upon it.]
...you're doing a fine job thus far....
[Light or no, Isaac is sending every nerve in Hector's body firing. His legs spread further apart, and his ankles draw together around Isaac, instinctively trying to encircle him to keep this delicious torture going.]
[Isaac doesn't mind - or rather, he doesn't care, only dimly aware of Hector moving to bracket his body while he skims his nose along that bare stretch of stomach, peppering it with suckling kisses. Drunk as much on wine as on the smell of soap and him battering his senses. He stops to rest his head against him a moment, hot cheek against hotter stomach, feeling the swell of his breath. He curves his hands around his ribs.]
Have your fairy fetch a candle. [He insists in a sleepy drawl, sighing into him.] ...And oil, perhaps, to spoil you with. Yours will not be a body like any other.
[Then, as if a thought occurs to him, he lifts his head to look him straight in the eyes through his messy fringe.] I should like to better see you, and relish every last inch of your flesh.
[Isaac could ask anything of Hector then, with his breath blowing hot against the spit-moistened skin of Hector's belly, and Hector would agree to it. To anything except leaving.
He silently calls out the fairy and sends it rushing to collect oil and candle to offer up to Isaac.]
Mmmmm. A benevolent lord you prove to be....
[The fairy flits back with a candle, which he offers up to Isaac like tribute. Isaac needs no match to light it. The little vial of oil follows. Hector had that near at hand, in case the occasion to use it arose.]
The loyalty of my subjects does not go unrewarded...
[He straightens up, looking to the devil on its arrival and sliding the candle from its grasp. The oil next, set down beside him. After a look around and some consideration, he realizes there isn't a place on the bed to keep the candle without the risk of lighting the bedding, and there's enough sense left in his head to recognize that Hector wouldn't find it as amusing as he would.]
Allow me to put your devil to good use. [He'll hand the candle back to it and tap the wick, a wisp of fire from his fingertip catching. The flame flutters gently, bathing Hector in a dreamy-hazy glow. He breathes softly through parted lips, mesmerized, his eyes tracing every line of his tensing body for a long moment.] Beautiful...
[Then the spell breaks - and the hands that work Hector's pants down his hips and midway down his thighs pin his legs back enough to fold him in half, dragging him closer for them lie back to chest.]
...more than enough to break a priest's will and have him renouncing God for but a taste. [He huffs a laugh, reaching for the wine again.]
[All this time Hector has spent wanting to touch Isaac in gentle caresses, to taste his skin, to drink up the sight of him and be allowed to murmur sweet nothings...all these long months, and all he needed do was submit and let Isaac do all of those things to him. It's a startling realization, and Hector feels entirely unbalanced by it.
The fairy hovers above them, flying in little circles and sending faint flickering candlelight spilling down upon them. Shadows dance across Isaac's face, and Hector looks up at him from where Isaac has positioned him, as a supplicant.]
You need renounce nothing to have me. I am here for the taking.
[Isaac sips at the wine, but Hector writhes against him with a deeper, darker thirst.]
[He hums his pleasure, an eye still on him while he drinks.]
...Indeed.
[There isn't a man alive, he thinks, who could say no to another man laid out like a sumptuous banquet, this exposed and trusting. He doesn't need to spread him to consider what he's working with, but he can't take his hands off him either way, feathering his middle finger along his taint to the soft of his balls and back, feeling a clenching in his guts when he stops to sweep his thumb over the furled skin of his hole. That Hector doesn't seem scandalized in all this is as surprising as the fact that he himself remains soft and that he has made his peace, mostly, with the dampening effect of the alcohol. His hand is that much unsteadier when he dribbles wine onto Hector again, some of it sliding down his spine and his crack. Isaac nips hungrily at an ass cheek and moves to lay broad swaths of spit around and over his hole without thinking twice of it, as if it's what he's always done, tasting the rawness of Hector and wine. He has nothing but time, now, to go with his unusual generosity, fingers wrapping around Hector's cock and tugging to a lazy rhythm.]
[Isaac doesn't spread him open, but Hector parts his legs wider willingly, bearing himself for Isaac's attentions.
A finger is what he expects, what he is dizzily anticipating, but Isaac is loath to be predictable. He comes at him with wine and with his tongue, and Hector screws his eyes shut and buries his face into the bunched-up blankets to muffle his groaning.
Fuck. Fuck. It is even more breathtaking than when Abel did it, because this is Isaac, in a rare mood to reward and to coax pleasure rather than to inflict pain. Hector drinks it in greedily, like a man come across a desert oasis.
He has had barely more than a mouthful of wine, though he feels as drunk as Isaac from pleasure alone. His cock dribbles in the circle of Isaac's fingers, red and straining already. Hector won't last long. He rolls his hips to get more friction out of that unhurried fist.]
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[He looks over Isaac's form, naked and sprawled, skin pink from the heat of the water, looking as languid as Hector's ever seen him, laughing.]
And from where I stand, it doesn't look so poor a choice.
[He bows his head in mimicry of a servant to his lord, the role he's played this night, and turns back toward the hallway to leave.]
hope this timeskippery is okay -- let me know if you wanted anything changed
It's quiet inside. He can hear the soft rush of air in and out his lungs, his heartbeat in his ears. The room smells of must and fur and Hector's sleep-warmed, earthy musk - not unpleasant. He leans heavily against the doorframe, helping himself to a sip as he looks to the darkened shape of Hector's body in his bed and wonders how long it'd take Hector to notice him, or if he was even asleep at all. Curiosity wins out before long; he snaps his fist shut and kills the flame, making his approach with a smooth rolling of his hips.]
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His instincts are honed to sense threats; foreign magical signatures, hostile intent. Isaac's aura is known and accepted, and his approach doesn't send Hector shooting up from his furs. He's vaguely aware of the noise and the glow in the hallway, and he shifts lazily from his side to his back to peer up into the darkness.
His eyes catch the silhouette of his rival standing above him, and he hums, pleased.]
Come, sit.... [He murmurs, drawing back the furs to make a place for him.]
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It seems I kept you waiting.
[He husks, not looking up. With a grim uptick to his smile, he lifts his hand away and settles for sitting sideways, only half of him on the bed, one foot still in contact with the floor as if in readiness to leave at any moment.]
I imagine you feel them circling the tower like gnats as well...? [The succubi, he means. He could have let one in and still isn't sure why he hadn't and what brought him here instead, courting what seems like their next regret. The wine's not all to blame, but neither could deny that it has played enough of a part. He sniffs and holds it out to Hector if he'll have any - what little is left sloshing around, at least.]
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I didn't know if you'd come.
[He takes the bottle Isaac offers and lifts it to his lips. Isaac hasn't left him much more than a mouthful, enough to whet his appetite but not satisfy. He hopes it isn't an omen of what's to come...or not come.]
Yes, they're an annoyance, but I've barred their entry.
[Isaac has Hector all to himself, whether he wants it or not.]
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[He looks to the wall, listening to the rush of wine to Hector's mouth, the pop of his lips peeling off the bottle. Hector should be asleep - they both should be. But here they are, together again. Never by accident.
He idly traces the seal of Solomon into his thigh, sighing.]
I was half-hoping I might bear witness to a vicious, bloody battle upon this night -- you and them locked in a bitter struggle over damaged goods.
[He chuckles into the dark, his shoulders shaking. Hector stepping out, steel in his hand and in his jaw, and returning drenched in succubus blood would've been a lovely surprise.]
Ah... [He smiles vaguely at his lap] ...how disappointing.
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You said before you would have killed anyone who touched me. Now you wish to be a spectator. Which is the truth?
[Hector is more than the equal of any succubus, so he'd not lose unless he was completely caught off guard, or if they came in numbers enough to overwhelm him. But Isaac has presented him an opening to probe, so probe he does.]
If you want to see me fight, I am happy to indulge...in the morning.
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Oh, Hector, Hector, Hector~
[Despite the sing-song, mocking lilt to it, there's an honest weariness in his tone.]
'twas not you I meant. ...Although you too are as much a broken man as I. [Or he'd like to believe so, anyway, to lessen the hot sting of shame forever burning a hole in his chest. He sticks a hand out for the wine, flapping his fingers impatiently, only to remember that Hector has no doubt polished it off.]
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Is that what you want- for me to fight the demons for rights to you? I thought you'd consider it trespassing for me to interfere with their coming to your keep. I'll allow them no longer.
[Isaac is welcome to the empty bottle, and whatever last lingering droplets might be coaxed from it. Hector hands it over and pushes himself up.]
Do you need more? [Leaving the warm nest of his blankets to trek down the chill stone hallways isn't ideal, but he'll do it to keep Isaac content.]
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[He isn't sure he means what he says, but he's past the point of caring, the wine having worn down the jagged edges of sobriety. The chattering of his demons have quieted down and everything feels fuzzy and faraway, a little easier to live with.]
Yes, be a dear and fetch another bottle, would you? 'twould be a shame to have it gather dust.
[He'll help himself to Hector's bed in the meantime, crawling into it and lying over the place on the mattress his body has warmed.]
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He holds in a hiss as bare feet touch stone floor. He cheats a little at the task, and calls upon one of his fairies to race ahead and bring a new bottle. He meets the creature halfway, its speed greatly hindered when burdened with the wine.
Even with the journey halved, his toes feel like ice blocks by the time he returns to his bed, bottle in hand.]
You would have made quite the spoiled lordling in another life. [He says, but fondly, as he nudges Isaac to make room for him.]
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[He lets the image wash over him, rolling onto his back after a moment and filling his lungs with a long, sleepy breath and feeling joints pop up alone his backbone.]
For that cheek of yours, you would be first man I would have bent and flogged. By my own hand, of course... [Wetting his lips, he turns his head from the ceiling and looks hazily into Hector's face.] ...for I would not leave to my subjects a task so deeply personal.
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What tool would you use to flog someone for so 'deeply personal' an offense? [The question comes breathy to his lips, as if he were speaking of a flirtation, not bodily harm. With them, maybe it is one and the same.
He starts to picture it, Isaac in fine garb, and Hector stripped to the waist, bound to a flogging post. His pulse flutters, and he doesn't turn to try to meet Isaac's gaze in the darkness.]
Would that be another of your examples for all to see, or would I merit a private audience?
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You and I alone.
[He purrs. In reaching for the bottle, he clumsily bumps it with his knuckles and knocks it off his chest. It lies at his side, cool glass pressed to his ribs, while his fingers smooth down his belly and over his bulge.]
You shall be stripped and bound to a beam first... [he palms himself, kneading] ...I should like you to be properly introduced to the bite of the whip.
[The castle dungeon had had all manners of tools to rival those the Church reserved for heretics and blasphemers - and among them, whips with tails and some without, others woven with shards of metal and bone and meant for tearing ragged flaps of skin and meat away on every stroke. There's as much beauty, at times, in simplicity as with brutal efficiency; he'd wanted to savour the experience laying every stroke with precision and care, inflicting as much pain as possible without ending the punishment prematurely. Of course, the presence of a fairy would help.]
A simple leather one would do. And when you could no longer bear to stand, you would be bound to a sawhorse, naked as the day of your birth.
[The scene unfurls in the darkness behind his eyes, fresh and bright: laying kisses over Hector's raw, wealed back, staining what little skin left untouched behind his hungry lips; wandering behind him, where the sawhorse forced Hector's taut, quivering legs apart, and sliding an oil-slicked candle up the split of his cheeks before easing it inside him. Lighting it and letting it burn slow, wax puddling over the floor.
Half the pleasure would be in the build of anticipation for the both of them: pacing, humming to himself while lazily swishing the whip around. Feinting, twice in a row, just to watch Hector's body tense and wobble anxiously before the next snap lifted him onto the tips of his toes, sizzling stripes overlapping.
Blood pounds in Isaac's cock.]
...You might even come to enjoy it.
[It hangs in the air like a promise, a smile in his voice. He shifts onto his side after a minute, contemplating Hector through half-lidded eyes - the sort of long, unblinking look that can lay a man bare. Then he closes the distance with a lazy stretch of his arm, nails hooking into Hector's trousers. That he might've drank too much to be effective is a real possibility, but there's enough to be done with fingers alone, if that's the case. Hungry flesh wouldn't say no to the attention.]
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This close, he hears and feels Isaac shifting to touch himself. Hector's breath hitches, and his cock stirs. Having spent years in a vampire's court, he is no stranger to pain, but what Isaac speaks of, torture edged with teasing, pain delivered with the promise of forced pleasure...Hector has no defense against that.
...he doesn't know that he wants to defend himself against it.
Isaac reaches for him, and Hector rolls to face him, drawing closer when he should pull away. They face each other under the merciful veil of darkness.]
...you are the lord of this castle. Whatever punishment I merit, you alone can deliver.
[He is well aware he is offering himself up like a lamb for slaughter.]
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Then, as lord... I demand that you yield.
[He lifts his hand away to frame Hector's face, sweeping his thumb down his lower lip, tenderly.]
...Show me, Hector, just how badly you have ached for me.
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He shifts closer to Isaac's body, letting his cock prod against Isaac's thigh, a growing, rising testament to the desire Isaac is asking him to prove.
He releases Isaac's thumb and kisses at the fingertip, the knuckle, whatever skin he can reach.]
Please, I've had nothing but my own hand since the last time you fucked me....
[He rocks his hips, seeking the heat and friction of Isaac's thigh through the layers of clothes that separate them.]
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You poor thing...
[Snorting softly, his hand drifts to press into Hector's shoulder, not with the force to roll him onto his back but with just enough to convey the intention. He pushes up to sit cross-legged, after, dizzied with the sudden shift in gravity. His head is still swimmy and throbbing a full-skulled throbbing when he takes Hector by the legs and hauls him over his lap with effortless, careless strength, thighs loosely framing Isaac's hips.]
Soon will come the day when you know the kiss of the lash... [it's barely above a whisper, a promise edged with a playful threat] ...but for now, we shall simply have to make do.
[Both his hands thrust up into Hector's tunic, fingers fanning on the way down, his nails raking the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his stomach. His touch lightens, slowing, as he reaches Hector's waist, and with a finger alone he skims his shape through his pants, unhurried.]
Let there be light... [He teases, pausing to reach for the bottle and skewering the cork with a nail again, popping it easy. He helps himself to a healthy swig, rolling it around in his mouth before swallowing. This wine is a little sweeter, fuller in taste, sliding cool down his throat. Even easier to drink than the last.]
...'twould be a shame to work by touch alone.
[But even as he says it he tips the bottle just enough to pour a little over Hector's belly, leaning over him to catch it as it drips with a sweep of his tongue, sucking the wine off his skin.]
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The rake of nails down his bare belly has him shuddering. He inhales sharply, and holds in the breath when Isaac pours the wine. He shivers in spite of his resolve to be still. His stomach isn't a particularly efficient cup for Isaac to sip from, but he tries to serve in this role that Isaac has put upon it.]
...you're doing a fine job thus far....
[Light or no, Isaac is sending every nerve in Hector's body firing. His legs spread further apart, and his ankles draw together around Isaac, instinctively trying to encircle him to keep this delicious torture going.]
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Have your fairy fetch a candle. [He insists in a sleepy drawl, sighing into him.] ...And oil, perhaps, to spoil you with. Yours will not be a body like any other.
[Then, as if a thought occurs to him, he lifts his head to look him straight in the eyes through his messy fringe.] I should like to better see you, and relish every last inch of your flesh.
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He silently calls out the fairy and sends it rushing to collect oil and candle to offer up to Isaac.]
Mmmmm. A benevolent lord you prove to be....
[The fairy flits back with a candle, which he offers up to Isaac like tribute. Isaac needs no match to light it. The little vial of oil follows. Hector had that near at hand, in case the occasion to use it arose.]
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[He straightens up, looking to the devil on its arrival and sliding the candle from its grasp. The oil next, set down beside him. After a look around and some consideration, he realizes there isn't a place on the bed to keep the candle without the risk of lighting the bedding, and there's enough sense left in his head to recognize that Hector wouldn't find it as amusing as he would.]
Allow me to put your devil to good use. [He'll hand the candle back to it and tap the wick, a wisp of fire from his fingertip catching. The flame flutters gently, bathing Hector in a dreamy-hazy glow. He breathes softly through parted lips, mesmerized, his eyes tracing every line of his tensing body for a long moment.] Beautiful...
[Then the spell breaks - and the hands that work Hector's pants down his hips and midway down his thighs pin his legs back enough to fold him in half, dragging him closer for them lie back to chest.]
...more than enough to break a priest's will and have him renouncing God for but a taste. [He huffs a laugh, reaching for the wine again.]
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The fairy hovers above them, flying in little circles and sending faint flickering candlelight spilling down upon them. Shadows dance across Isaac's face, and Hector looks up at him from where Isaac has positioned him, as a supplicant.]
You need renounce nothing to have me. I am here for the taking.
[Isaac sips at the wine, but Hector writhes against him with a deeper, darker thirst.]
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...Indeed.
[There isn't a man alive, he thinks, who could say no to another man laid out like a sumptuous banquet, this exposed and trusting. He doesn't need to spread him to consider what he's working with, but he can't take his hands off him either way, feathering his middle finger along his taint to the soft of his balls and back, feeling a clenching in his guts when he stops to sweep his thumb over the furled skin of his hole. That Hector doesn't seem scandalized in all this is as surprising as the fact that he himself remains soft and that he has made his peace, mostly, with the dampening effect of the alcohol. His hand is that much unsteadier when he dribbles wine onto Hector again, some of it sliding down his spine and his crack. Isaac nips hungrily at an ass cheek and moves to lay broad swaths of spit around and over his hole without thinking twice of it, as if it's what he's always done, tasting the rawness of Hector and wine. He has nothing but time, now, to go with his unusual generosity, fingers wrapping around Hector's cock and tugging to a lazy rhythm.]
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A finger is what he expects, what he is dizzily anticipating, but Isaac is loath to be predictable. He comes at him with wine and with his tongue, and Hector screws his eyes shut and buries his face into the bunched-up blankets to muffle his groaning.
Fuck. Fuck. It is even more breathtaking than when Abel did it, because this is Isaac, in a rare mood to reward and to coax pleasure rather than to inflict pain. Hector drinks it in greedily, like a man come across a desert oasis.
He has had barely more than a mouthful of wine, though he feels as drunk as Isaac from pleasure alone. His cock dribbles in the circle of Isaac's fingers, red and straining already. Hector won't last long. He rolls his hips to get more friction out of that unhurried fist.]
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