[ Henry likes to do that, doesn't he? Make a grab for Alec's chin. His hand snaps up to catch Henry by the wrist, tugging his grip away. ]
You kissed me, Henry. Is that not alluring enough for you?
[ Again, the sound of thunder fills the room. Low, rolling, threatening. Almost an outward manifestation of the storm Henry saw in his mind. Alec's pulse thrums with it, the thrill of having Henry, big bad I'm-going-to-end-the world Henry, struggling beneath him.
His free hand comes up to catch Henry by the chin instead, to hold his gaze. The light in his eyes dances wildly as he leans down, down, down, so very close. His voice goes low, breathy. ]
You really gonna lie there and tell me you don't want. This.
[ A slow, languid roll of his body from where he sits. Sweet, sweet friction. ]
[Henry does enjoy grasping Alec by the chin, touching his face; just one more hint of powerplay at his disposal. But of course he’s deprived of that, too, when his wrist is pulled away, and it leaves him with fingers curling claw-like, unable to grasp at anything.
Instead, Alec grips his chin, forcing his gaze upwards into that stormy, electric light behind his eyes. He’s close, so, so close— and there it is again. That deep, dark intensity that he had seen once before, utterly arresting, like being caught in a pressurized atmosphere just waiting to roil and break. It leaves Henry without a reply, barely even remembering to exhale, and definitely not remembering to look indignant. He is mesmerized for that half-second by something as severe in intensity as himself, like looking into a mirror and finding stormlight staring back, elegant and challenging.
And then Alec grinds so utterly languorously around him, and he’s wrenched back into reality by the treacherous nature of his own body. The coiling heat in his belly, bolting all the way down to his groin. Henry sets his jaw, but it’s too little too late. Out comes a guttural sound, reverberating low, head craning up on instinct to reveal the smooth tract of his neck.]
[ There's so much here that happens that Alec likes. The way he seems to hold Henry captive that has little to do with his physical grip. The way he startles him with the movement of his body. That noise that rumbles up out of him, almost in answer to Alec's thunder. The pretty way he bares his throat, certainly unintentional but enticing all the same.
He smiles, an expression that has more in common with a knife in the dark than anything nearing joy. ]
I know.
[ His grip slides from Henry's jaw to catch a fistful of his hair instead, his grip tight, unmoving as if he were made of steel rather than flesh and blood. His breath whispers past Henry's lips as he ducks his head to instead help himself to the exposed line of his throat. Teeth catch unkindly against skin, and Alec's tongue passes over the marks he leaves in his wake. ]
Edited (i didn't forget to pick an icon don't look at me) 2022-11-22 00:20 (UTC)
[Held by fingers fisting tightly in his hair, pulling at his scalp, Henry should only feel a flare of agitation, of indignation; how dare he press him down, how dare he try to control him like this? And there is a small part of him that does feel that way, his mind clawing for some kind of warning to snipe back.
None comes.
Instead, that thrill again, the sting melding with pleasure and shooting straight down to his hardening cock between his legs. His pride declares that he should pry that hand away, but everything else wants to indulge in it. Even the hard line of Alec’s teeth against his neck results in the same physiological reaction, his jaw setting and his Adam’s apple bobbing.
His mouth is so warm.
A wholly belated realization, a few moments later, hand rising to grip hard at the back of Alec’s neck:]
Don’t leave a mark. [He practically hisses it out.]
[ Henry's pulse practically races under his mouth, and Alec smiles sharply into his skin. This is what he wants, to work Henry up to the point where he forgets to resist, to get him so lost in the sensation that he doesn't fight back.
They're not quite there, as evidenced a moment later when a hand closes around the back off his neck. Alec laughs, his breath stiflingly warm against Henry's throat. ]
What's the matter? Embarrassed?
[ He settles his hips again, his weight against the hardness at the apex of Henry's legs. This doesn't feel like an objection to him. ]
[It was never an actual objection, no, and his body is certainly showing every sign of enjoying it, hard and starting to throb against Alec's weight. But Henry's face twists with sharp facetiousness, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.]
If you leave a mark, then I'll tell everyone who asks that it was you who put it there.
[Alec seems like a private man who wouldn't want even a shred of his intimacy, heated as it is, put on blast.]
[Again, those invisible hands roam up Alec's chest, then down his back, then trailing back around to his thighs, up and up. Unheeding any clothing that might be in the way.]
You haven't exactly swept me off my feet just yet.
[ He quite literally swept Henry off his feet. And has kept him from getting his feet back under him ever since.
Again with the psychic bullshit. The pass of that invisible touch isn't unpleasant, and there's something to be said for a partner with near unlimited hands at their disposal. He trails off in a hum that dips so low it may as well be a purr. His grip wrenches harder in Henry's hair. ]
If you wanna touch me so bad, Henry, just fucking do it.
[For as long as Henry’s willpower remains in one piece, not yet crumbled under Alec’s everything, he will not take to being bossed around, even in ways that make his heart thud hard in his ribcage. Even when his hair is wrenched again, delightfully forceful.
He’s going to do the opposite of using his hands. The opposite of rising to the bait. It’s almost petulant how that invisible touch all but coalesces right at Alec’s crotch, stroking up and against the contour of him. Back down again.]
[ If Henry's being so terribly clever, so petulant and defiant, then why is Alec grinning like the cat that caught the canary? He breathes out a low, rolling laugh as he angles his hips into those invisible hands, relishing in the sweet heat that sparks through him.
He's got your number, Henry Creel. ]
Yet, you're doing it anyway.
[ He never specified that he needed to use his hands, now did he? ]
[Fuck. He is insufferable. The irritation that rakes against his insides should not be so interwoven with a hot, hungry need, but it is, and that’s just all the more frustrating for it.
Notably, Henry’s powers do not cease their attentions.
But also, he’s propping himself up on his shoulders and attempting to sit up. How’s Alec’s grip on his hair?]
[ He's counting the continued use of that phantom touch a victory. If he didn't think Henry would absolutely rankle at a bit of praise, he might be tempted to give it. As it is, he rocks his body along with the sensation, rewarding Henry a little for his efforts in turn.
When Henry moves to sit, Alec holds his grip for a second or two, unmoving. A very real warning that he could keep him there if he wants to - but as it stands, he doesn't want to. He relents, letting Henry ease himself up.
[He will not visibly react to that irritatingly wonderful feeling of Alec rolling his hips against him, even if his body is, once again, betraying his interest in every other feasible way. Note: the slight flushing of his pale skin across the cheekbones as he tries to sit up but remains held by the hair.
Just for a few seconds, he looks like an animal wanting to be let off its leash.
But then Alec relents, and Henry’s hands are immediately drawing up and under his shirt, greedy to feel with his own hands. Yes, it’s a concession. A small one. But pile little victories upon little victories, and maybe Alec is on the right track of getting Henry to unravel for him.
[ Oh he does note that color creeping into Henry's cheeks. As if he would ever miss those little details. One more point for him. (They're not actually keeping score.)
As strangely pleasant as the pass of Henry's powers has been, it pales in comparison to a real touch, the electric heat of skin on skin as his hands dip beneath Alec's shirt. He breathes out a pleased little sigh, straightening a little so he can pull his t-shirt off. The order can slide, since he's happy to let Henry explore. And unlike Henry, Alec's skin is far from unmarred. He has plenty of marks, scars left by blades or bullets or stray bolts of lightning. A map of his mercenary career written on his body.
(The answer, by the way, to the unasked tattoo question is twelve.) ]
[Oh, every mark is like a little secret revealed to him, tantalizing in ways that aren’t just physical. Scars and burns, old wounds healed over from who knows how many years ago. How many layers to Alec can he someday peel apart, getting him to tell the tale behind each one?
Henry’s more eager than he’d like to admit; the way his gaze rakes across him initially is more than proof of that. But the scarring temporarily pauses this growing urgency. His hands smooth up Alec’s torso, warm and present, but then he traces along the line of an old injury with his fingertip.
The gesture is strangely delicate. Like how he would handle a spider.]
Look how much of your life is carved into your skin.
[ Meanwhile, he finds Henry's sudden fascination, well, fascinating in its own right. The gentleness with which he draws long, slim fingers along an old scar sits entirely at odds with their whole encounter until now. The calm in the eye of the storm.
Those questing fingers send a shiver down his spine. He remembers that mark, a long, slender line carved into his flesh from the claws of a wraith. A soul so corrupted and angry it turned itself into a monster. Maybe there's something poetic in Henry's fixation on it now. ]
That's what happens when you live a life like mine.
[Maybe Henry would have made a good wraith if the Upside Down didn’t claim him first.
That finger trails to the very, very edge of Alec’s faded wound, stopping right where the ridge of old scar tissue smooths back into normal skin. His eyes flick up at him.]
Excitement at every turn? I hope you share a few of these stories with me someday.
[ Alec keeps his eyes on Henry's face as he inspects the scar, so when odd-colored eyes flick up in his direction, their gazes meet. This little interlude has done little to quell the heat simmering just under Alec's skin, but perhaps the storm in his eyes isn't quite so wild. ]
Maybe someday.
[ He draws his hands up Henry's chest. He no longer has his magic in play, for now, but his palms are warm all the same. Slide up to his shoulders to ease his shirt away. They might as well be even. ]
[Warm and enough to light another spark — not that the flame had been even close to dying. Henry’s shirt slips down his shoulders, and he shrugs the material off, letting it crumple just behind him. The rest of his skin matches what was previously bared, smooth and pale and unmarred by any scarring, so utterly different than what the lightning storm had done to him when he was banished to another plane. Different than the wet misshapen “complexion” of a man who’d been there for years.
Even so. Compared to Alec’s scarring, they could hardly be more different.]
For now…
[For now, he slides his hand over another prominent scar, but Henry’s not as keen to linger on this one with just his fingers. Instead, he brings his mouth onto it, lips sealing across the raised edges, pressing his tongue down. Laving generously.
The sting of teeth come next. This is how you leave a love bite: in places where someone can't see!]
The velvet heat of Henry's mouth on raised skin turns his blood molten, makes the subdued light in his eyes flash brighter. Fingers curl into Henry's hair again, encouraging rather than restraining. His grip pulses tighter at the first sting of teeth, but even that seems to be a request for more rather than a request to stop.
A low little sound rumbles up out of Alec, something breathless and gravelly. Fuck. Okay, Henry can win this one. ]
[He’s already decided he doesn’t mind the grip in his hair, but feeling Alec react with an even tighter pull against his scalp is satisfying. He’ll take that win. One point for Henry. (No one’s keeping score.)
The curve of his mouth tugs upwards, utterly pleased, and when he’s nearly certain he’s left a subtle, swelling mark, Henry eases his head back as much as Alec will allow him to admire his handiwork.
Good. But not enough.
The second nearest scar gets the same treatment. His tongue slides against the smooth curve of it, followed by his lips. And then, of course, the teeth. Hard. That's how he likes it, isn't it?]
[ How strange this is. Alec can't remember the last time someone paid this much attention to his scars, if ever. Most people tended to avoid them, figuring they were personal or painful, and here is Henry, determined to make his mark on every single one.
Muscles flex under the pass of Henry's mouth, but his whole body jerks at that sudden bite. Harder than the rest. No, Alec hasn't exactly been subtle about his preferences, and that stinging pain settles on just the right side of pleasure for him. A sharp intake of breath that leaves his lungs again in a low groan.
His fingers twist into Henry's hair to pull, to tug him back sharply. Not because he didn't like it, but because he wants to return the favor, to descend on the blank canvas of Henry's skin and leave his own mark. Like for like. He dips down to find a spot along Henry's clavicle, the warm slide of his tongue heralding the sharp bite that follows soon after. ]
[Henry enjoys finding the imperfect pieces of people, those hairline fractures everyone keeps hidden beneath. The secrets. A scar hiding beneath one’s clothing is just the physical version of the same thing. He enjoys the feeling of uneven skin beneath his tongue, and the planes of muscles flexing beneath. He loves Alec’s groan, and wonders if he can incite more sounds like that from his throat.
But then Alec decides to return the favor, yanking his hair back and exposing the line of his throat again, the pale contours of his shoulders and chest. He exhales, caught off guard by it. His lips are shining from their attention given to the other man, and they part in an inhale. His attempt to speak is breathy—]
Was that too much for you to h—
[Speaking was a mistake, actually. The moment Alec’s teeth meet the line of his clavicle, his words gutter out into a noise that would be more embarrassing if not how the poignant sting of pain mixes with pleasure. Excitement. Oh, he wants more of that. Alec’s making him so, so hard with just the promise of it.]
[ Oh, yes. The noise that he pulls out of Henry with the harsh attentions of his mouth is the sweetest one yet. It doesn't tell him anything he hasn't already figured out - that Henry likes it just as rough as he does - but he zeroes in on it all the same. Like blood in the water. He doesn't leave that spot until it's red and angry beneath his lips, thrumming with the same pulse that beats insistently where their hips are slotted against one another.
And then he moves downward, leveraging Henry back onto his back as he languidly draws his mouth over the pale expanse of Henry's chest, letting him wonder when the next sting of pain will bloom. It happens eventually, perhaps just long enough for impatience to make the payoff all the sweeter, teeth digging in harshly to smooth skin. Alec wears his life carved onto his body. Henry can at least wear the signs of this encounter for a day or two. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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You kissed me, Henry. Is that not alluring enough for you?
[ Again, the sound of thunder fills the room. Low, rolling, threatening. Almost an outward manifestation of the storm Henry saw in his mind. Alec's pulse thrums with it, the thrill of having Henry, big bad I'm-going-to-end-the world Henry, struggling beneath him.
His free hand comes up to catch Henry by the chin instead, to hold his gaze. The light in his eyes dances wildly as he leans down, down, down, so very close. His voice goes low, breathy. ]
You really gonna lie there and tell me you don't want. This.
[ A slow, languid roll of his body from where he sits. Sweet, sweet friction. ]
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Instead, Alec grips his chin, forcing his gaze upwards into that stormy, electric light behind his eyes. He’s close, so, so close— and there it is again. That deep, dark intensity that he had seen once before, utterly arresting, like being caught in a pressurized atmosphere just waiting to roil and break. It leaves Henry without a reply, barely even remembering to exhale, and definitely not remembering to look indignant. He is mesmerized for that half-second by something as severe in intensity as himself, like looking into a mirror and finding stormlight staring back, elegant and challenging.
And then Alec grinds so utterly languorously around him, and he’s wrenched back into reality by the treacherous nature of his own body. The coiling heat in his belly, bolting all the way down to his groin. Henry sets his jaw, but it’s too little too late. Out comes a guttural sound, reverberating low, head craning up on instinct to reveal the smooth tract of his neck.]
You're insufferable.
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He smiles, an expression that has more in common with a knife in the dark than anything nearing joy. ]
I know.
[ His grip slides from Henry's jaw to catch a fistful of his hair instead, his grip tight, unmoving as if he were made of steel rather than flesh and blood. His breath whispers past Henry's lips as he ducks his head to instead help himself to the exposed line of his throat. Teeth catch unkindly against skin, and Alec's tongue passes over the marks he leaves in his wake. ]
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None comes.
Instead, that thrill again, the sting melding with pleasure and shooting straight down to his hardening cock between his legs. His pride declares that he should pry that hand away, but everything else wants to indulge in it. Even the hard line of Alec’s teeth against his neck results in the same physiological reaction, his jaw setting and his Adam’s apple bobbing.
His mouth is so warm.
A wholly belated realization, a few moments later, hand rising to grip hard at the back of Alec’s neck:]
Don’t leave a mark. [He practically hisses it out.]
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They're not quite there, as evidenced a moment later when a hand closes around the back off his neck. Alec laughs, his breath stiflingly warm against Henry's throat. ]
What's the matter? Embarrassed?
[ He settles his hips again, his weight against the hardness at the apex of Henry's legs. This doesn't feel like an objection to him. ]
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If you leave a mark, then I'll tell everyone who asks that it was you who put it there.
[Alec seems like a private man who wouldn't want even a shred of his intimacy, heated as it is, put on blast.]
Is that what you want?
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[ No, Alec normally wouldn't want that sort of information out in the open, but at the moment he feels confident enough to call Henry's bluff. ]
Be sure to add in how much you like being beneath me, while you're at it.
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Don't give yourself so much credit.
[Again, those invisible hands roam up Alec's chest, then down his back, then trailing back around to his thighs, up and up. Unheeding any clothing that might be in the way.]
You haven't exactly swept me off my feet just yet.
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I'm giving myself the perfect amount of credit.
[ He quite literally swept Henry off his feet. And has kept him from getting his feet back under him ever since.
Again with the psychic bullshit. The pass of that invisible touch isn't unpleasant, and there's something to be said for a partner with near unlimited hands at their disposal. He trails off in a hum that dips so low it may as well be a purr. His grip wrenches harder in Henry's hair. ]
If you wanna touch me so bad, Henry, just fucking do it.
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He’s going to do the opposite of using his hands. The opposite of rising to the bait. It’s almost petulant how that invisible touch all but coalesces right at Alec’s crotch, stroking up and against the contour of him. Back down again.]
Don’t pretend to know what I want.
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He's got your number, Henry Creel. ]
Yet, you're doing it anyway.
[ He never specified that he needed to use his hands, now did he? ]
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Notably, Henry’s powers do not cease their attentions.
But also, he’s propping himself up on his shoulders and attempting to sit up. How’s Alec’s grip on his hair?]
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When Henry moves to sit, Alec holds his grip for a second or two, unmoving. A very real warning that he could keep him there if he wants to - but as it stands, he doesn't want to. He relents, letting Henry ease himself up.
What's he up to? ]
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Just for a few seconds, he looks like an animal wanting to be let off its leash.
But then Alec relents, and Henry’s hands are immediately drawing up and under his shirt, greedy to feel with his own hands. Yes, it’s a concession. A small one. But pile little victories upon little victories, and maybe Alec is on the right track of getting Henry to unravel for him.
For now—]
Take off your shirt.
finally a use for this icon
As strangely pleasant as the pass of Henry's powers has been, it pales in comparison to a real touch, the electric heat of skin on skin as his hands dip beneath Alec's shirt. He breathes out a pleased little sigh, straightening a little so he can pull his t-shirt off. The order can slide, since he's happy to let Henry explore. And unlike Henry, Alec's skin is far from unmarred. He has plenty of marks, scars left by blades or bullets or stray bolts of lightning. A map of his mercenary career written on his body.
(The answer, by the way, to the unasked tattoo question is twelve.) ]
s i r
Henry’s more eager than he’d like to admit; the way his gaze rakes across him initially is more than proof of that. But the scarring temporarily pauses this growing urgency. His hands smooth up Alec’s torso, warm and present, but then he traces along the line of an old injury with his fingertip.
The gesture is strangely delicate. Like how he would handle a spider.]
Look how much of your life is carved into your skin.
no subject
Those questing fingers send a shiver down his spine. He remembers that mark, a long, slender line carved into his flesh from the claws of a wraith. A soul so corrupted and angry it turned itself into a monster. Maybe there's something poetic in Henry's fixation on it now. ]
That's what happens when you live a life like mine.
no subject
That finger trails to the very, very edge of Alec’s faded wound, stopping right where the ridge of old scar tissue smooths back into normal skin. His eyes flick up at him.]
Excitement at every turn? I hope you share a few of these stories with me someday.
[Just not… you know. This afternoon.]
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Maybe someday.
[ He draws his hands up Henry's chest. He no longer has his magic in play, for now, but his palms are warm all the same. Slide up to his shoulders to ease his shirt away. They might as well be even. ]
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wetmisshapen “complexion” of a man who’d been there for years.Even so. Compared to Alec’s scarring, they could hardly be more different.]
For now…
[For now, he slides his hand over another prominent scar, but Henry’s not as keen to linger on this one with just his fingers. Instead, he brings his mouth onto it, lips sealing across the raised edges, pressing his tongue down. Laving generously.
The sting of teeth come next. This is how you leave a love bite: in places where someone can't see!]
no subject
The velvet heat of Henry's mouth on raised skin turns his blood molten, makes the subdued light in his eyes flash brighter. Fingers curl into Henry's hair again, encouraging rather than restraining. His grip pulses tighter at the first sting of teeth, but even that seems to be a request for more rather than a request to stop.
A low little sound rumbles up out of Alec, something breathless and gravelly. Fuck. Okay, Henry can win this one. ]
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The curve of his mouth tugs upwards, utterly pleased, and when he’s nearly certain he’s left a subtle, swelling mark, Henry eases his head back as much as Alec will allow him to admire his handiwork.
Good. But not enough.
The second nearest scar gets the same treatment. His tongue slides against the smooth curve of it, followed by his lips. And then, of course, the teeth. Hard. That's how he likes it, isn't it?]
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Muscles flex under the pass of Henry's mouth, but his whole body jerks at that sudden bite. Harder than the rest. No, Alec hasn't exactly been subtle about his preferences, and that stinging pain settles on just the right side of pleasure for him. A sharp intake of breath that leaves his lungs again in a low groan.
His fingers twist into Henry's hair to pull, to tug him back sharply. Not because he didn't like it, but because he wants to return the favor, to descend on the blank canvas of Henry's skin and leave his own mark. Like for like. He dips down to find a spot along Henry's clavicle, the warm slide of his tongue heralding the sharp bite that follows soon after. ]
no subject
But then Alec decides to return the favor, yanking his hair back and exposing the line of his throat again, the pale contours of his shoulders and chest. He exhales, caught off guard by it. His lips are shining from their attention given to the other man, and they part in an inhale. His attempt to speak is breathy—]
Was that too much for you to h—
[Speaking was a mistake, actually. The moment Alec’s teeth meet the line of his clavicle, his words gutter out into a noise that would be more embarrassing if not how the poignant sting of pain mixes with pleasure. Excitement. Oh, he wants more of that. Alec’s making him so, so hard with just the promise of it.]
no subject
And then he moves downward, leveraging Henry back onto his back as he languidly draws his mouth over the pale expanse of Henry's chest, letting him wonder when the next sting of pain will bloom. It happens eventually, perhaps just long enough for impatience to make the payoff all the sweeter, teeth digging in harshly to smooth skin. Alec wears his life carved onto his body. Henry can at least wear the signs of this encounter for a day or two. ]
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