[ Adrian averts his gaze, still embarrassed, but for a different reason now. Eliot doesn't comment about his shortcomings, doesn't seem particularly disappointed, and that's... unexpected. It's impossible to misread the man even if he tries, because Adrian can somehow feel that he's still confidently unbothered. Still curious, if not interested.
It's all very novel. ]
...Sorry. I can pay for the motel. [ He murmurs, since he's the one who insisted. He'd also like to avoid having Fern come back to the van when he's in the middle of... Whatever this is. Wherever this is going. He understands the mechanics of sex well enough, it's just that it doesn't exactly match a dull textbook description.
He turns back to Eliot, whose hand is still resting so perfectly in line with his pact mark that Adrian almost wonders if he should dissuade him. Eliot smirks at him, infuriatingly charming, and he bites his lip.
For better or worse, he hasn't gotten anywhere by being coy. He wants to know what Eliot can do beyond his penchant for violence and... ] Eliot — I would like to... do something for you, in turn. If you are amenable... to that. But not here.
[ It's not nearly as smooth as anything that seems to come out of Eliot's mouth. He has no idea what he's doing, or if this is how things are supposed to go. He gives Eliot's chest a gentle push, more request than demand. ] I need to clean up.
[ It feels good to be touched but, at the same time, all of this contact all at once is edging him towards over-stimulation. ]
[ It's more curiosity than anything else—how exactly does he mean to 'clean up'—that has Eliot stepping back, and even then he goes with a great deal of reluctance. It's as though there's something inside him that resents the space between them and Eliot fights the urge to frown. There's an easy answer there after all, this strange thing that links them, that lets him know the things that Adrian keeps secret. But even though he doesn't like it, he can't deny how useful it is to have this kind of insight.
Like the fact that Adrian's embarrassment feels particularly good. ]
'If I am amenable'.
[ Amazing how someone who—
—head tilted back, throat bared
—And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
—So please, help me.
—can manage to sound so stiff and formal now. If he is amenable, as though Eliot isn't already planning how best to fuck him, to take him apart. He feels... ravenous almost, the way he wants to ruin him. Mess him up. Guess he shouldn't really be allowed to have something so pure in his hands.
[ Adrian does frown briefly as Eliot steps away. It's paradoxical. He'd been the one to ask for space, yet the sudden loss of contact only makes him want to drag Eliot right back to his previous position immediately.
He's just come. If nothing else, it ought to take the edge off, but instead he feels dizzy with desire that isn't entirely his own. His understanding of what he's supposed to do, what he's even offering, is somewhat... academic, to say the least. Eliot's plans are vivid flashes, fully realized, rough and messy. Adrian's hand goes to his own throat, where Eliot's had been. He's grateful for the wall behind him.
He knows these aren't his thoughts, because he's never really entertained the idea of being bent over someone's lap, spanked and fingered open. Choked. Made to come with tears in his eyes. Eliot wants to treat him like an object to be played with until it's broken, and Adrian... finds both the danger and the desire intoxicating. Eliot is not the first to want to ruin him, but he is the first to ask.
Adrian flexes his fingers, as he often does before a spell. It takes him a minute to focus on the actual spell and not what Eliot is thinking about, to move his fingers in the specific sequence required. ]
I pray for your cleansing grace.
[ The nature of his magic — a request to his patron, rather than something inherent to him — makes this feel somehow even more scandalously filthy. It's one thing to clean up a blood stain, or the dirt and sweat of a day's work, and another to make this particular stain on the front of his trousers vanish, knowing its origin.
Realistically, he knows that Raphael doesn't care to monitor every spell he casts, even when their connection is more clear... and yet, that doesn't change the fact that it's humiliating to ask such a thing.
He smooths out the front of his shirt, entirely unnecessarily, to have an excuse not to look at Eliot. ]
I can... tell. [ He can think about why he can tell a bit later. Adrian clears his throat. ] Lead the way.
[ Eliot grins, unrepentant, but very kindly doesn't comment on that, or the sudden awkwardness, or the hand Adrian briefly presses to his own throat as though he's unable to bear it being left uncovered even for a second, or the way Eliot can feel Adrian's want like the heat from a furnace. It keeps igniting his own, like they're caught in a feedback loop, self-reinforcing, and if Eliot doesn't make the move out of the alleyway now they're gonna end up starting all over again.
He takes a step back, and then another, feels as though cold air has rushed to fill the space between them. ]
Come on. If you're not dead set on getting a room we can go back to mine. My car ain't too far from here anyway.
[ He leads them out of the alley at any rate and down the road in the direction of his car. He figures that regardless of if they do just get a room somewhere or not, Eliot's not gonna be leaving his car here unguarded for so long. ]
[ It's all sort of a blur after that. Eliot leads, and Adrian follows. A new image comes to mind every now and again, like a plate being laid on the banquet table, but it is at least easy to tell which ones come from Eliot and which ones come from his own racing thoughts.
Not that it does him much good to know the full breadth of Eliot's creativity.
Adrian all too easily gets tangled in the logistics of all of the things he really can't (shouldn't) do, not without potentially hurting Eliot all over again. That doesn't mean the offer isn't tempting; an apple so red and perfectly sweet that breaking the skin with his teeth feels inevitable.
Mercifully, driving takes some concentration from Eliot. Adrian, in the passenger seat, has the wherewithal to send a text message to Fern, lest she worry and come looking. He's with a friend, he tells her. Morgan will come and get her if anything goes awry but he — might not be back until morning. (Surely, being kept until morning is a fantasy like the rest of Eliot's ideas.)
Otherwise, he keeps his hands very primly in his lap and gazes through the window, eyes unfocused. If he watches Eliot's hand fondle the stick shift, he might very well go insane.
Of course, the relative peace between them doesn't last. Adrian watches Eliot get into a minor tiff with another driver, cut them off, and even though he doesn't say anything, Eliot picks up on his disapproval. They start arguing.
They keep arguing in the parking lot of Eliot's motel, then all the way to his room. Adrian tells him he could have been the bigger person, and Eliot tells him to get over himself. As soon as the door closes behind them, they're in each other's faces again.
Would you shut up about it already? Eliot growls. Adrian grabs him by the shirt again, drags him close to where he stands at the edge of the bed. ]
I thought you were going to make me. What happened to your lofty ambitions, Mr. Spencer?
[ Usually Eliot's anger burns hot and hotter inside him. A lot more explosive when it's frustration or irritation, a crucible for when he approaches true anger, cooking right up until the moment he gets to act.
This time the feeling calcifies inside him, hardens and then sharpens, focuses on the irritating man in front of him goading him because he doesn't seem to understand cause and effect. Eliot doesn't bother to respond, just steps back, knocks away the weak hold Adrian has on him and then kicks out his knee, a hand on his shoulder to force him down. On the ground, on his knees, looking up at Eliot. If he tries to get up Eliot will force him down again. Hopefully it doesn't take long for him to get the message to stay put. ]
Yeah, I said a lot of things, didn't I?
[ The question is rhetorical. Eliot moves away as he speaks, but only as far as his bedside table so he can grab a string of condoms before returning. ]
But you said some things too. About doing something for me in return. Isn't that right?
[ Rhetorical again. Already his hands are at his waistband, belt chiming as he undoes it and then his jeans. His actions are unhurried: fishing his cock half-hard out of his boxers, tearing open a condom, and then rolling it on. He taps the tip of it to Adrian's bottom lip and a quiet thrill goes through him like lightning going to ground. ]
[ There ought to be some sharp reply at the tip of his tongue, some further enticement, but Eliot actually kicking him shuts him up fast. The brief flare of pain as his knees hit the ground too quickly is barely remarkable -- no, it's the hand on his shoulder, forcing him to remain, to look up (as blow after blow comes raining down). Adrian drops his gaze. His lungs seems to burn until he remembers how to breathe again.
Eliot isn't going to hurt him, not in any way that he can't abide... But there is some part of him that does want to be hurt, for once, on terms he's already chosen. He's seen the worst that Eliot can do to him. Fear is not what he feels. ]
Whatever you want. [ He says, as if it needs to be clarified. As if he doesn't want to swallow his tongue for how eagerly the quiet admission comes.
He settles more comfortably on his knees, anticipation tying his stomach into knots. He understands the mechanics. It's just -- application.
He watches everything Eliot does, bottom lip caught between his teeth, hands folded over each other in his lap. Despite all his goading, he wants to be good. Useful. Or used, at least.
(What would his family think of all of this? Does it matter, after everything else? He's already disappointed them. He's already too far from home to ever find it again.)
He opens his mouth slowly, breathing through his nose as he leans forward to take the head of Eliot's cock. It feels larger than he expected it to. All he can taste is latex and a hint of salt, but the nearly naked heat of another body this intimately close is intoxicating. He can smell Eliot's arousal, bitter and musky, and a part of him wonders what it tastes like.
His cheeks hollow out as he sucks, taking another inch before pulling back to lick at the tip, just under the glans. He looks up at Eliot when he does, expression singularly focused, like he's hoping to figure out what Eliot enjoys by analyzing his reaction.
He has no idea how he's supposed to take the rest of it into his mouth without choking but -- he'll surely find a way. ]
[ Eliot makes a noise deep in his throat as his cock pushes past Adrian's lips into the heat of his mouth. Relief, maybe, except it's not nearly as neutral as that. Far too much entitlement in there. Like it's the natural order of things, Adrian on his knees, mouth open for whatever Eliot will give him. Whatever you want he'd said. Who knew Adrian could get so sweet?
The feeling echoes inside him, as though it's coming through from both ends and a smile flickers across his lips, there and gone again. He curls his other hand around the back of Adrian's head, and on the next push in he tilts it for a better angle, offering another hum as he slips in deeper. The condom dulls a lot of the feeling, but every flick of Adrian's tongue still feels revelatory, gets him fully hard in no time at all.
He wonders if it makes him a bad person to like the way it stretches out Adrian's mouth. The little noises he makes as he chokes.
Whatever you want.
Eliot tightens his grip on the back of Adrian's head and snaps his hips forward. ]
[ The echo of feeling is... strange. A shadow of warm heat envelops him, but that noise that Eliot makes is what teases him back to full arousal, warm as honey. He wants more of that. He wants to be good.
He tenses when Eliot's hand curls into his hair, fleetingly concerned that he's being too incautious, but then Eliot forces him to tilt his head up and pulls him so far forward that his dick bumps against the back of Adrian's throat. He struggles to relax against the intrusion. If his mouth wasn't full, he might start coughing, but Eliot doesn't give him long enough to do that.
He gets a breath in between every movement, and then Eliot is forcing Adrian's head forward until he's right up against the back of his throat again, Adrian swallowing around him instinctively even as his eyes water enough to blur his vision. He's barely managing to keep up with Eliot dragging him by the hair, but it's not until he feels Eliot push further into his mouth that he starts to panic, pulling away from the hand gripping his hair, pushing at Eliot's hips.
Eliot is so much stronger than he is, can hold him in place so easily regardless of how he fights— Adrian looks up at him, pleading. It's too much. It's too fast. He can't do it. ]
[ It's strange. Everything is fine, is right, up until it's not. Panic blooms like the sudden force of a bomb and Eliot lets go of Adrian as though he's on fire, pulls away and then crouches to check on him as he chokes and fights to breathe.
(Should have known better, Spencer.)
This is probably the part where he leaves Adrian alone. It certainly ain't the part where he touches him again. His hands hover over him, useless, and then with a sharp exhale through his nose he sets a hand on his shoulder, the second on his chest. ]
Breathe. That's it. All you gotta do is breathe. Slowly. [ added as Adrian wheezes ] Feel where my hand is. Push it out with your chest.
[ The words are largely rote, like Adrian's just some faceless victim right now. Compartmentalisation. He got real good at that being a soldier. Helps him not to feel the things he doesn't want to. ]
As soon as he's free, Adrian is on his hands and knees coughing into the motel carpet. Thankfully, he doesn't vomit, but there's a faint taste of bile at the back of his throat. Some detached part of him notes; dizzy, rapid heartbeat. He should have slowed down sooner. He should have gotten some rest before he tried to do any of this.
He doesn't expect Eliot's hands on him again. Adrian tenses, instinctive, but he grabs for the hand on his chest to hold it there. He takes slowly deepening breaths, chest rising to meet Eliot's touch, just as instructed.
There is something horribly reassuring about Eliot's reaction, despite everything. Despite knowing that, for a few moments, Eliot had enjoyed hurting him. Adrian has put his faith in the wrong people before, and has most certainly been hurt by that faith, but the immediate concern makes it clear that he had been correct in his assumptions. Eliot will do nothing to him that he doesn't invite.
...Which makes it even more obvious who ought to shoulder the full blame for this situation. ]
Sorry. [ Adrian manages finally, voice hoarse. He manages to sit up on his knees again and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He doesn't manage to meet Eliot's gaze, though frustration and disappointment and guilt are already beginning to bleed back into him as the panic recedes. ] I'm sorry, I thought I could do it. [ He makes a sound too brief and bitter to be a laugh. It's always like this, getting in over his head and coming up short. ]
I'm fine. I'm fine. [ His grip on Eliot's hand hasn't eased. ] Please don't leave. We can try again.
[ Anything inside him that might have wanted, any speck of desire, has gone sour now. To think that someone like him could want to— could think about playing pretend in hurting someone and not have it turn into something real. There's a tangle of emotion sitting thick and sticky at the back of his throat like bile, and it doesn't taste like his. And it was him who did that.
And yet, for some reason Adrian still holds his hand to his chest like the past ten minutes never happened. Eliot can feel the way Adrian's heart races under his palm but for some reason he still wants to be here. Wants Eliot here.
Does Adrian have anyone else? Someone like that is bound to be tripping over friends but if he doesn't then maybe Eliot's all he's got right now. Fuck. The hand on Adrian's shoulder smooths down his spine in something approaching comfort and Eliot softens his voice even further. ]
Come on. Let's get you some water and then... [ He stalls out here. It's far too late to be sending Adrian out alone, especially when he's pretty sure his magic all got used up earlier. And if he doesn't have anyone to pick him up then... ] You can take the bed. I'll stay over there— [ he jerks his head over towards the door ] —and drive you home in the morning.
[ He can feel that Eliot's already too far out of it, and frankly... exhaustion is starting to catch up with him. He doesn't know that he can do it right now, at least not the specific way that Eliot had wanted. He'd expected to see Eliot's disappointment, if not his anger, but all of that is instead directed... inward. He doesn't seem to care at all that Adrian couldn't do what he wanted, only that he himself had pushed too far. He doesn't like that he's crossed some line that neither of them had been aware of until it happened.
Eliot's hand on his back feels good, warm and real, but he never speaks to Adrian this softly, like he's coaxing a frightened animal. Adrian wants to enjoy it, but all he can hear is the guilt layered into it. He can get some water and then... Adrian follows Eliot's gaze, and the slow burn of exhaustion and unhappiness suddenly crystalizes. It's as if the world falls back into sharp relief, the burning in his chest old and familiar. ]
In the hallway? [ He finally lifts his hand away from his chest to grab Eliot's jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He meets Eliot's gaze, their faces barely an inch from each other. The damage to his throat lends a slight roughness to his voice when he speaks. ] Enough. I panicked. I'm sorry that I made a mess of things... but you didn't do anything that I didn't invite you to do.
If you are under the impression that you've caused some grievous wound, or that I am afraid of you now — you will reconsider that impression. Are we clear?
[ His grip eases just slightly. ] I understand if you do not wish to continue... but I will not understand the rest.
[ Eliot jerks his head back before his reflexes realise that it's not an attack.
(And even if it was, could he begrudge Adrian a hit or two after what just happened?)
Instead he gets the complete opposite. Instead he gets an Adrian who decides to comfort him. An Adrian who wants him to know, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't do anything wrong. An Adrian who seems to think that... he's the one at fault? ]
Stop.
[ His voice comes out rough too, but that's mostly because he's happy he didn't somehow manage to traumatise the kid. His hand lifts to flick Adrian on his stupid forehead before— fuck, he remembers the curse. He tugs on his hair instead. ]
If I ain't at fault then that goes double for you. Don't ever apologise to me for that ever again.
[ His gaze slides away for a second, and then he forces it back. As much as he'd rather chew glass than have this conversation, Adrian clearly wants to keep doing this, so... ]
Alright. What are you inviting me to do to you then?
[ Adrian's shoulders sag. A part of it is relief that it seems to have been enough to snap Eliot out of whatever spiral he was falling into, and a part of it is just... concession. He doesn't agree — it is his fault — but he isn't going to keep fighting about it right now.
He bites his lip, worrying at it while he considers how to answer Eliot's question. In truth, he doesn't have a clear answer to give. ]
I was... curious. I wanted to see what you liked, and then if I liked it as well.
[ There's more that he could say. He'd been curious about the feelings Eliot had, and the intensity of those particular desires. They don't hate each other, he doesn't think, but Eliot doesn't like him either. That had been a part of what made it appealing to see where it went. There was none of Strahd's flattery, no dark seduction, just — interest.
If Eliot's interest lends itself toward hurting him, then it's a finite and straightforward enough kind of pain, and pain is something he's well accustomed to tolerating in exchange for what he wants.
Carefully, too embarrassed to meet Eliot's gaze, he continues: ] I would... like to learn what pleases you. If you don't mind going a bit more slowly, for now.
You'll help me, won't you?
[ That last bit is purely manipulation, but Adrian isn't trying to hide it in the slightest. It's better if Eliot clocks it, uses it to light the fuse again. It's easier to get out of his head when Eliot is pushing him around.
He's wrung out and tired, but he knows that if he doesn't do this now, he'll certainly lose his nerve by morning. ]
[ Not like it was especially subtle. But damn if it doesn't get him like it got him the first time. Like the words just bypass his brain to hook right into the pit of his stomach and pull. He wants it, and it's easy when all that is is giving Adrian what he wants. It's when his own desires come into it that things get dangerous.
But that's fine. He can go at Adrian's pace. Give him what he wants, show him a good time—
I was... curious.
—and then drop him off in the morning and never think about it ever again. ]
But alright.
[ He goes to stand up. Realises his dick has been hanging out the entire time like this is some slapstick comedy show, and then decides 'fuck it' and stands up anyway so he can sit on the bed. ]
Come here.
[ He gestures to between his thighs with one hand while the other works his dick hard again. Flashes back to what it was like to have Adrian on his knees like this before, mouth stretched wide, cheeks hollow, and, well, it doesn't take all that long at all. ]
[ He can repent for his shameless manipulations later, if at all. Eliot will take him back to the motel in the morning, and then they'll both forget all about this, and perhaps remember why they disliked each other so very much. He's certainly not expecting that this will mean anything. It's just... A trading of favors. An unusual pleasure at the end of an otherwise miserably long day. The less special it is, the better.
He watches Eliot stand up, blushes again as he has the same realization, and politely averts his gaze for a moment like Eliot's dick wasn't just in his mouth.
He gets up and follows Eliot at his invitation, hesitating only a moment before he sinks back down on his knees again, between Eliot's thighs. He rests his cheek against the inside of Eliot's thigh, just past the knee, and he does watch as Eliot works himself back up to attention, gaze shifting between Eliot's hand and his face, waiting for his turn. It's that same feedback loop again, Eliot's pleasure and lack of shame feeding into his own. It doesn't take long at all, but when Eliot invites him forward again he shakes his head.
He can't ruin this again. ]
May I? [ He raises his own gloved hand and taps the back of Eliot's, as if asking permission to take hold of him. ] I can't concentrate if I'm worried about bumping into your hand... but you can pull my hair again, if you like.
[ It seems safe enough, so long as Eliot is careful of where he puts his hand... And Adrian hadn't minded all that much. His locs will be frizzy in the morning anyway, if he's going to spend the night. He might as well get something else out of it.
Once they've settled the issue, he doesn't hesitate to lean forward and take Eliot into his mouth again. Having his own hand there makes it easier to control how much he can be encouraged to take, and that in turn makes it easier to get a full breath when he needs it, and to take more when he's pushed. His free hand settles on the inside of Eliot's thigh, tightening whenever he truly needs a moment to breathe.
He still chokes until tears sting at his eyes, but the overwhelmed panic seems to have receded now. He just wants to make this good for Eliot. He just wants to be good for something, for once. ]
[ He drops his hand, lets Adrian take over, his thinking along the same lines of maybe it'll go better this time if Adrian has control over it.
(If all temptation is removed.)
He lets out a long exhale as Adrian sinks his mouth down on his cock, muscles in his neck going loose, head falling back for a brief moment. He keeps his hands clutching at the edge of the bed to begin with, not wanting to test his control. Offers a lot of yeahs and goods, tells him to take his time with the head, go slowly down the shaft. Focuses on keeping his hips still, breathing steady like he's relieving pressure. Venting heat.
But just hearing Adrian choke is enough for his hand to find its way to the back of his head, flexing against his locs like it's a struggle not to apply any pressure. ]
Fuck. [ That's more of a long exhale too. There's an echo of need between them that means that this is hitting him harder than it should be, a thread of desperation that makes everything more... more. ] Take it easy, sweetheart.
[ He tugs at Adrian's hair but only to get him to ease up, to take his time. He likes the choking far too much to let it continue on like this. ]
[ Eliot's sudden shift toward accommodation isn't unwelcome — if anything, it's a bit reassuring, further cementing the belief that he has no true ill intentions towards Adrian. (Whether he even likes Adrian is a separate question entirely, and not one that is particularly relevant.)
It makes for a very curious dichotomy. On the one hand, Adrian can feel that Eliot likes to hurt him — to an extent — and on the other... this. Guilt.
He decides that perhaps tomorrow he will feel better equipped to dissect it all, and for the moment he puts his focus toward what is directly in front of him. It's different from the first time, Adrian realizes immediately. Not being quite so overwhelmed means that he can hear the softer sounds of Eliot's pleasure, can adjust according to his encouragement and begin to understand what he likes. Heat stirs in him again, and Adrian mostly tries to ignore it, at least until Eliot starts speaking more.
Being told what to do isn't something he's ever particularly liked, but in this instance it comes with the reward of good in a tone that he's not heard from Eliot before. It is a strange and humiliating thing to be praised for, and yet it warms him all the way through, a slow and steady drip of honey that makes it terribly easy to think of nothing else. Adrian nearly shivers with pleasure every time Eliot tells him he's done something he likes.
He forgets his exhaustion and the little ache in his jaw or in his knees from being on them for so long, even the needy ache of his own cock against the inside of his shorts. He thinks of nothing but that sweet, warm sensation of good. When Eliot grabs his hair again, even the gentle flex of his hand makes Adrian groan softly around him. He can feel what Eliot wants, and how nice it might be to disappear into it.
When Eliot pulls him back, he makes a soft sound of protest at the back of his throat. Adrian pulls off entirely, trying to catch his breath even while he speaks. ]
But that's not what you want. [ He tries to scrape some semblance of coherence together before he looks up at Eliot. This might be a mistake, but it is less risky than pushing too far too fast all over again. ] You like it when I choke and struggle. I can feel it.
[ He likes Eliot's hands on him, more than any of the rest. He likes the pleasure that echoes between them. If there's more too it, he's not quite ready to think about it. ]
All of your sweet words and your concerns... [ He licks the head of Eliot's cock, still looking up at him, his breath ghosting over it as he finishes speaking. ] And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
All of your sweet words and your concerns... And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
He can still see it. Can see so very clearly the bruises left on Adrian's face, can map the shape to them and reconstruct just how Eliot put them there. How somehow he managed to go so far and no further, left him bleeding and bruised but nothing more than that. Some trick, some quirk or accident made him stop except in his dreams he didn't. He doesn't, and it's indistinguishable from the truth now so maybe he instead all he sees is the moment he decides not to stop. Can hear how Adrian begs him for mercy until he can't anymore.
Eliot's inhale was sharp but his subsequent exhale is even. Measured. ]
That sounds like a complaint.
[ His hand on Adrian's head slips down, cups the back of it, tilts it up until their eyes meet. ]
Is that what you wanted? [ He huffs a laugh, but there's very little humour in it. ] Did you want it to linger? Did you wanna wear something of mine so you couldn't help but think of me? So that everyone who saw you could know what happened? Know how much you liked it?
[ There it is. He can feel the violence rising to the surface like the sharp edge of a blade being pulled from its sheath. ]
I intended for it to be a reassurance.
[ He lets Eliot tilt his head up, fingers still threaded into his hair. That the look in his eyes is dangerous, and it quickens his breath just as effectively as a blade against his throat.
Adrian bites his lip, a not unpleasant shiver running through him. He'd started this, but he doesn't immediately know how to respond, or exactly what kind of response Eliot is expecting. He just hadn't expected to be asked what exactly he wanted.
He answers the only way he knows how, hesitant, but honest: ] I don't want anyone to know, except for you. I don't know... what I like, except having your hands on me. However you will have me. [ He tries to drop his gaze, remembers Eliot's hand. ] If it's pleasant, or of it hurts — if it leaves a mark, or if it doesn't — I don't know that it matters.
[ It feels good to be touched in any way at all, after so long. If it weren't for the curse, he would happily turn his face and kiss the same hands that had nearly killed him all those weeks ago.
Adrian thinks he might leave it at that, but he considers what Eliot is offering again: a mark, like a lingering touch, like a jacket thrown over his shoulders on a cold night. Something of mine. Something offered, instead of inflicted. ] ...No. I think that a mark would be nice. Where would you leave it? How?
[ He wonders if Adrian even knows what he's saying, if he's doing it on purpose, playing him like he's a fucking mark, getting him to give whatever the hell it is that Adrian wants from him.
If it's pleasant, or if it hurts... I don't know that it matters.
He hates that the words get to him, that he hears if it hurts and his whole body tightens, that he hears a mark would be nice and thinks—
—the indentation of his hands at Adrian's hips.
—a heavy hand on his ass for speaking out of turn.
—a ring of bruises around his throat, around his wrists.
Violence begetting violence. Must count for something that Adrian's the one asking for it though, right? ]
Ain't no mark I could give you that would last longer than a day, right, sweetheart?
[ A reassurance, he called it, but that tells him all he needs to know about Adrian, how badly this is all fated to end. And yet. ]
But maybe... [ He fights with himself a second. Gives in. Lets his other hand slip down to Adrian's chest, lets it stop just over his nipple. ] I'd pierce you. Right here.
[ Though none of it is particularly deliberate — Adrian would consider his words far from artful — his offer seems to have an interesting effect. Eliot's response is so strong that Adrian can feel it, a kind of violent desire that he's only experienced fleetingly, himself.
Eliot's voice is rough, even around that sweetheart, sharp and mocking. Eliot most certainly wants to hurt him, but it is novel to be wanted with such intensity for something other than his magic or his nature. His eyes fall half-shut.
He doesn't move for a moment when Eliot's hand gets to his chest, the material of his shirt thick enough to blunt out anything but the faint pressure. He leans forward, pressing his chest into Eliot's hand, pulling against his hold deliberately. He wants to be touched, piercing or not. ]
You don't like me. [ It's not accusatory, just a plain statement of fact, sharp only because of the shortness of his own breath. ] I thought you would prefer knowing that this was temporary... and now you're offering a ring? You're not thinking with your head. Allow me to help you clear it.
[ Adrian opens his mouth, leans in to take Eliot's dick again. He thinks that will probably be sufficient for Eliot to be eager to shut him up, and perhaps finish.
...but he thinks about that idea. A piercing. A bruise. Being wanted to the point of violence. ]
[ No, he doesn't like him. And he definitely isn't thinking clearly. But Adrian is thinking about this backwards; it's because this is so temporary that the idea of something permanent sounds so tempting. The idea that Eliot can just... etch himself into Adrian's skin. Leave a mark that never fades. Colour everything Adrian does from here on out.
Not that he ever would. They'll do whatever it is they want to tonight and then they'll probably never see each other again and Eliot will move on with his life. Nothing to it. Same as all the other people he sleeps with.
(But to call it 'offering a ring'? Please. Obviously Eliot's not the only one not thinking clearly.)
This time his head bows low over Adrian's body, hand cupping the back of Adrian's head as his mouth sinks back down onto Eliot's cock. He doesn't force it, but he also doesn't stop it if Adrian gets a bit too eager again, starts choking around the head of his cock. He likes it. Knows that Adrian likes it too. And isn't this what it's all about in the end?
Besides, he is close. Closer, for the way Adrian takes direction so very well, for the little blooms of pleasure Eliot feels from him each time he praises him. For his mouth stretched wide, and the fan of lashes across his cheeks, and the needy way he squirms, as though his own pleasure is intrinsically liked to Eliot's. Eliot opens his mouth to warn him, and then remembers that he doesn't need to and instead just lets the feeling rise, feels his stomach tense and his thighs shake before he comes with a quiet grunt. ]
[ He knows when it happens, warmth echoing in the pit of his own stomach. There's no change in the taste on his tongue, nothing he can really feel in a physical sense, only this echo that makes it difficult to tell where he ends and Eliot begins.
The aftermath is nice; the sort of blank, unthinking pleasure he could bask in. He waits until Eliot begins to soften in his mouth before pulling back, almost reluctant.
The rest of the world slowly comes back into focus, and Adrian works his jaw against his own hand, makes a little face when he wipes some of the drool from the corners of his mouth. The uncomfortable feeling in his trousers tells him that he must have come again at some point, but he genuinely can't guess when it must have been. Probably after some sweetheart or good, just like that. With his head a little clearer, it's a bit embarrassing.
He still has a perfect view of the tip of the condom full of come and something about it is pleasing in a different way than words. That isn't something that one can lie about.
He could still go again, Adrian knows, but his stamina isn't endless and the rest of him would only like to go to bed.
Adrian shifts to the side so that he can sit on the carpet (and get out of Eliot's way) with a soft hiss of discomfort. His leg has fallen asleep, and his knees hurt. ]
...We should get ready for bed. I'm sure you don't want me here too late.
[ He swallows against the taste of latex all the way in his throat. He's too tired to think about this too much, but all he has to remember is that it doesn't mean anything, and they'll both forget about it come morning. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It's all very novel. ]
...Sorry. I can pay for the motel. [ He murmurs, since he's the one who insisted. He'd also like to avoid having Fern come back to the van when he's in the middle of... Whatever this is. Wherever this is going. He understands the mechanics of sex well enough, it's just that it doesn't exactly match a dull textbook description.
He turns back to Eliot, whose hand is still resting so perfectly in line with his pact mark that Adrian almost wonders if he should dissuade him. Eliot smirks at him, infuriatingly charming, and he bites his lip.
For better or worse, he hasn't gotten anywhere by being coy. He wants to know what Eliot can do beyond his penchant for violence and... ] Eliot — I would like to... do something for you, in turn. If you are amenable... to that. But not here.
[ It's not nearly as smooth as anything that seems to come out of Eliot's mouth. He has no idea what he's doing, or if this is how things are supposed to go. He gives Eliot's chest a gentle push, more request than demand. ] I need to clean up.
[ It feels good to be touched but, at the same time, all of this contact all at once is edging him towards over-stimulation. ]
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Like the fact that Adrian's embarrassment feels particularly good. ]
'If I am amenable'.
[ Amazing how someone who—
—head tilted back, throat bared
—And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
—So please, help me.
—can manage to sound so stiff and formal now. If he is amenable, as though Eliot isn't already planning how best to fuck him, to take him apart. He feels... ravenous almost, the way he wants to ruin him. Mess him up. Guess he shouldn't really be allowed to have something so pure in his hands.
Of course, all he says is: ]
Sure. I'd be amenable.
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He's just come. If nothing else, it ought to take the edge off, but instead he feels dizzy with desire that isn't entirely his own. His understanding of what he's supposed to do, what he's even offering, is somewhat... academic, to say the least. Eliot's plans are vivid flashes, fully realized, rough and messy. Adrian's hand goes to his own throat, where Eliot's had been. He's grateful for the wall behind him.
He knows these aren't his thoughts, because he's never really entertained the idea of being bent over someone's lap, spanked and fingered open. Choked. Made to come with tears in his eyes. Eliot wants to treat him like an object to be played with until it's broken, and Adrian... finds both the danger and the desire intoxicating. Eliot is not the first to want to ruin him, but he is the first to ask.
Adrian flexes his fingers, as he often does before a spell. It takes him a minute to focus on the actual spell and not what Eliot is thinking about, to move his fingers in the specific sequence required. ]
I pray for your cleansing grace.
[ The nature of his magic — a request to his patron, rather than something inherent to him — makes this feel somehow even more scandalously filthy. It's one thing to clean up a blood stain, or the dirt and sweat of a day's work, and another to make this particular stain on the front of his trousers vanish, knowing its origin.
Realistically, he knows that Raphael doesn't care to monitor every spell he casts, even when their connection is more clear... and yet, that doesn't change the fact that it's humiliating to ask such a thing.
He smooths out the front of his shirt, entirely unnecessarily, to have an excuse not to look at Eliot. ]
I can... tell. [ He can think about why he can tell a bit later. Adrian clears his throat. ] Lead the way.
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He takes a step back, and then another, feels as though cold air has rushed to fill the space between them. ]
Come on. If you're not dead set on getting a room we can go back to mine. My car ain't too far from here anyway.
[ He leads them out of the alley at any rate and down the road in the direction of his car. He figures that regardless of if they do just get a room somewhere or not, Eliot's not gonna be leaving his car here unguarded for so long. ]
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Not that it does him much good to know the full breadth of Eliot's creativity.
Adrian all too easily gets tangled in the logistics of all of the things he really can't (shouldn't) do, not without potentially hurting Eliot all over again. That doesn't mean the offer isn't tempting; an apple so red and perfectly sweet that breaking the skin with his teeth feels inevitable.
Mercifully, driving takes some concentration from Eliot. Adrian, in the passenger seat, has the wherewithal to send a text message to Fern, lest she worry and come looking. He's with a friend, he tells her. Morgan will come and get her if anything goes awry but he — might not be back until morning. (Surely, being kept until morning is a fantasy like the rest of Eliot's ideas.)
Otherwise, he keeps his hands very primly in his lap and gazes through the window, eyes unfocused. If he watches Eliot's hand fondle the stick shift, he might very well go insane.
Of course, the relative peace between them doesn't last. Adrian watches Eliot get into a minor tiff with another driver, cut them off, and even though he doesn't say anything, Eliot picks up on his disapproval. They start arguing.
They keep arguing in the parking lot of Eliot's motel, then all the way to his room. Adrian tells him he could have been the bigger person, and Eliot tells him to get over himself. As soon as the door closes behind them, they're in each other's faces again.
Would you shut up about it already? Eliot growls. Adrian grabs him by the shirt again, drags him close to where he stands at the edge of the bed. ]
I thought you were going to make me. What happened to your lofty ambitions, Mr. Spencer?
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This time the feeling calcifies inside him, hardens and then sharpens, focuses on the irritating man in front of him goading him because he doesn't seem to understand cause and effect. Eliot doesn't bother to respond, just steps back, knocks away the weak hold Adrian has on him and then kicks out his knee, a hand on his shoulder to force him down. On the ground, on his knees, looking up at Eliot. If he tries to get up Eliot will force him down again. Hopefully it doesn't take long for him to get the message to stay put. ]
Yeah, I said a lot of things, didn't I?
[ The question is rhetorical. Eliot moves away as he speaks, but only as far as his bedside table so he can grab a string of condoms before returning. ]
But you said some things too. About doing something for me in return. Isn't that right?
[ Rhetorical again. Already his hands are at his waistband, belt chiming as he undoes it and then his jeans. His actions are unhurried: fishing his cock half-hard out of his boxers, tearing open a condom, and then rolling it on. He taps the tip of it to Adrian's bottom lip and a quiet thrill goes through him like lightning going to ground. ]
Open up.
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Eliot isn't going to hurt him, not in any way that he can't abide... But there is some part of him that does want to be hurt, for once, on terms he's already chosen. He's seen the worst that Eliot can do to him. Fear is not what he feels. ]
Whatever you want. [ He says, as if it needs to be clarified. As if he doesn't want to swallow his tongue for how eagerly the quiet admission comes.
He settles more comfortably on his knees, anticipation tying his stomach into knots. He understands the mechanics. It's just -- application.
He watches everything Eliot does, bottom lip caught between his teeth, hands folded over each other in his lap. Despite all his goading, he wants to be good. Useful. Or used, at least.
(What would his family think of all of this? Does it matter, after everything else? He's already disappointed them. He's already too far from home to ever find it again.)
He opens his mouth slowly, breathing through his nose as he leans forward to take the head of Eliot's cock. It feels larger than he expected it to. All he can taste is latex and a hint of salt, but the nearly naked heat of another body this intimately close is intoxicating. He can smell Eliot's arousal, bitter and musky, and a part of him wonders what it tastes like.
His cheeks hollow out as he sucks, taking another inch before pulling back to lick at the tip, just under the glans. He looks up at Eliot when he does, expression singularly focused, like he's hoping to figure out what Eliot enjoys by analyzing his reaction.
He has no idea how he's supposed to take the rest of it into his mouth without choking but -- he'll surely find a way. ]
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The feeling echoes inside him, as though it's coming through from both ends and a smile flickers across his lips, there and gone again. He curls his other hand around the back of Adrian's head, and on the next push in he tilts it for a better angle, offering another hum as he slips in deeper. The condom dulls a lot of the feeling, but every flick of Adrian's tongue still feels revelatory, gets him fully hard in no time at all.
He wonders if it makes him a bad person to like the way it stretches out Adrian's mouth. The little noises he makes as he chokes.
Whatever you want.
Eliot tightens his grip on the back of Adrian's head and snaps his hips forward. ]
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He tenses when Eliot's hand curls into his hair, fleetingly concerned that he's being too incautious, but then Eliot forces him to tilt his head up and pulls him so far forward that his dick bumps against the back of Adrian's throat. He struggles to relax against the intrusion. If his mouth wasn't full, he might start coughing, but Eliot doesn't give him long enough to do that.
He gets a breath in between every movement, and then Eliot is forcing Adrian's head forward until he's right up against the back of his throat again, Adrian swallowing around him instinctively even as his eyes water enough to blur his vision. He's barely managing to keep up with Eliot dragging him by the hair, but it's not until he feels Eliot push further into his mouth that he starts to panic, pulling away from the hand gripping his hair, pushing at Eliot's hips.
Eliot is so much stronger than he is, can hold him in place so easily regardless of how he fights— Adrian looks up at him, pleading. It's too much. It's too fast. He can't do it. ]
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(Should have known better, Spencer.)
This is probably the part where he leaves Adrian alone. It certainly ain't the part where he touches him again. His hands hover over him, useless, and then with a sharp exhale through his nose he sets a hand on his shoulder, the second on his chest. ]
Breathe. That's it. All you gotta do is breathe. Slowly. [ added as Adrian wheezes ] Feel where my hand is. Push it out with your chest.
[ The words are largely rote, like Adrian's just some faceless victim right now. Compartmentalisation. He got real good at that being a soldier. Helps him not to feel the things he doesn't want to. ]
How are you feeling?
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As soon as he's free, Adrian is on his hands and knees coughing into the motel carpet. Thankfully, he doesn't vomit, but there's a faint taste of bile at the back of his throat. Some detached part of him notes; dizzy, rapid heartbeat. He should have slowed down sooner. He should have gotten some rest before he tried to do any of this.
He doesn't expect Eliot's hands on him again. Adrian tenses, instinctive, but he grabs for the hand on his chest to hold it there. He takes slowly deepening breaths, chest rising to meet Eliot's touch, just as instructed.
There is something horribly reassuring about Eliot's reaction, despite everything. Despite knowing that, for a few moments, Eliot had enjoyed hurting him. Adrian has put his faith in the wrong people before, and has most certainly been hurt by that faith, but the immediate concern makes it clear that he had been correct in his assumptions. Eliot will do nothing to him that he doesn't invite.
...Which makes it even more obvious who ought to shoulder the full blame for this situation. ]
Sorry. [ Adrian manages finally, voice hoarse. He manages to sit up on his knees again and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He doesn't manage to meet Eliot's gaze, though frustration and disappointment and guilt are already beginning to bleed back into him as the panic recedes. ] I'm sorry, I thought I could do it. [ He makes a sound too brief and bitter to be a laugh. It's always like this, getting in over his head and coming up short. ]
I'm fine. I'm fine. [ His grip on Eliot's hand hasn't eased. ] Please don't leave. We can try again.
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[ Anything inside him that might have wanted, any speck of desire, has gone sour now. To think that someone like him could want to— could think about playing pretend in hurting someone and not have it turn into something real. There's a tangle of emotion sitting thick and sticky at the back of his throat like bile, and it doesn't taste like his. And it was him who did that.
And yet, for some reason Adrian still holds his hand to his chest like the past ten minutes never happened. Eliot can feel the way Adrian's heart races under his palm but for some reason he still wants to be here. Wants Eliot here.
Does Adrian have anyone else? Someone like that is bound to be tripping over friends but if he doesn't then maybe Eliot's all he's got right now. Fuck. The hand on Adrian's shoulder smooths down his spine in something approaching comfort and Eliot softens his voice even further. ]
Come on. Let's get you some water and then... [ He stalls out here. It's far too late to be sending Adrian out alone, especially when he's pretty sure his magic all got used up earlier. And if he doesn't have anyone to pick him up then... ] You can take the bed. I'll stay over there— [ he jerks his head over towards the door ] —and drive you home in the morning.
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[ He can feel that Eliot's already too far out of it, and frankly... exhaustion is starting to catch up with him. He doesn't know that he can do it right now, at least not the specific way that Eliot had wanted. He'd expected to see Eliot's disappointment, if not his anger, but all of that is instead directed... inward. He doesn't seem to care at all that Adrian couldn't do what he wanted, only that he himself had pushed too far. He doesn't like that he's crossed some line that neither of them had been aware of until it happened.
Eliot's hand on his back feels good, warm and real, but he never speaks to Adrian this softly, like he's coaxing a frightened animal. Adrian wants to enjoy it, but all he can hear is the guilt layered into it. He can get some water and then... Adrian follows Eliot's gaze, and the slow burn of exhaustion and unhappiness suddenly crystalizes. It's as if the world falls back into sharp relief, the burning in his chest old and familiar. ]
In the hallway? [ He finally lifts his hand away from his chest to grab Eliot's jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He meets Eliot's gaze, their faces barely an inch from each other. The damage to his throat lends a slight roughness to his voice when he speaks. ] Enough. I panicked. I'm sorry that I made a mess of things... but you didn't do anything that I didn't invite you to do.
If you are under the impression that you've caused some grievous wound, or that I am afraid of you now — you will reconsider that impression. Are we clear?
[ His grip eases just slightly. ] I understand if you do not wish to continue... but I will not understand the rest.
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(And even if it was, could he begrudge Adrian a hit or two after what just happened?)
Instead he gets the complete opposite. Instead he gets an Adrian who decides to comfort him. An Adrian who wants him to know, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't do anything wrong. An Adrian who seems to think that... he's the one at fault? ]
Stop.
[ His voice comes out rough too, but that's mostly because he's happy he didn't somehow manage to traumatise the kid. His hand lifts to flick Adrian on his stupid forehead before— fuck, he remembers the curse. He tugs on his hair instead. ]
If I ain't at fault then that goes double for you. Don't ever apologise to me for that ever again.
[ His gaze slides away for a second, and then he forces it back. As much as he'd rather chew glass than have this conversation, Adrian clearly wants to keep doing this, so... ]
Alright. What are you inviting me to do to you then?
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He bites his lip, worrying at it while he considers how to answer Eliot's question. In truth, he doesn't have a clear answer to give. ]
I was... curious. I wanted to see what you liked, and then if I liked it as well.
[ There's more that he could say. He'd been curious about the feelings Eliot had, and the intensity of those particular desires. They don't hate each other, he doesn't think, but Eliot doesn't like him either. That had been a part of what made it appealing to see where it went. There was none of Strahd's flattery, no dark seduction, just — interest.
If Eliot's interest lends itself toward hurting him, then it's a finite and straightforward enough kind of pain, and pain is something he's well accustomed to tolerating in exchange for what he wants.
Carefully, too embarrassed to meet Eliot's gaze, he continues: ] I would... like to learn what pleases you. If you don't mind going a bit more slowly, for now.
You'll help me, won't you?
[ That last bit is purely manipulation, but Adrian isn't trying to hide it in the slightest. It's better if Eliot clocks it, uses it to light the fuse again. It's easier to get out of his head when Eliot is pushing him around.
He's wrung out and tired, but he knows that if he doesn't do this now, he'll certainly lose his nerve by morning. ]
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[ Not like it was especially subtle. But damn if it doesn't get him like it got him the first time. Like the words just bypass his brain to hook right into the pit of his stomach and pull. He wants it, and it's easy when all that is is giving Adrian what he wants. It's when his own desires come into it that things get dangerous.
But that's fine. He can go at Adrian's pace. Give him what he wants, show him a good time—
I was... curious.
—and then drop him off in the morning and never think about it ever again. ]
But alright.
[ He goes to stand up. Realises his dick has been hanging out the entire time like this is some slapstick comedy show, and then decides 'fuck it' and stands up anyway so he can sit on the bed. ]
Come here.
[ He gestures to between his thighs with one hand while the other works his dick hard again. Flashes back to what it was like to have Adrian on his knees like this before, mouth stretched wide, cheeks hollow, and, well, it doesn't take all that long at all. ]
You wanna open up for me?
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He watches Eliot stand up, blushes again as he has the same realization, and politely averts his gaze for a moment like Eliot's dick wasn't just in his mouth.
He gets up and follows Eliot at his invitation, hesitating only a moment before he sinks back down on his knees again, between Eliot's thighs. He rests his cheek against the inside of Eliot's thigh, just past the knee, and he does watch as Eliot works himself back up to attention, gaze shifting between Eliot's hand and his face, waiting for his turn. It's that same feedback loop again, Eliot's pleasure and lack of shame feeding into his own. It doesn't take long at all, but when Eliot invites him forward again he shakes his head.
He can't ruin this again. ]
May I? [ He raises his own gloved hand and taps the back of Eliot's, as if asking permission to take hold of him. ] I can't concentrate if I'm worried about bumping into your hand... but you can pull my hair again, if you like.
[ It seems safe enough, so long as Eliot is careful of where he puts his hand... And Adrian hadn't minded all that much. His locs will be frizzy in the morning anyway, if he's going to spend the night. He might as well get something else out of it.
Once they've settled the issue, he doesn't hesitate to lean forward and take Eliot into his mouth again. Having his own hand there makes it easier to control how much he can be encouraged to take, and that in turn makes it easier to get a full breath when he needs it, and to take more when he's pushed. His free hand settles on the inside of Eliot's thigh, tightening whenever he truly needs a moment to breathe.
He still chokes until tears sting at his eyes, but the overwhelmed panic seems to have receded now. He just wants to make this good for Eliot. He just wants to be good for something, for once. ]
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[ He drops his hand, lets Adrian take over, his thinking along the same lines of maybe it'll go better this time if Adrian has control over it.
(If all temptation is removed.)
He lets out a long exhale as Adrian sinks his mouth down on his cock, muscles in his neck going loose, head falling back for a brief moment. He keeps his hands clutching at the edge of the bed to begin with, not wanting to test his control. Offers a lot of yeahs and goods, tells him to take his time with the head, go slowly down the shaft. Focuses on keeping his hips still, breathing steady like he's relieving pressure. Venting heat.
But just hearing Adrian choke is enough for his hand to find its way to the back of his head, flexing against his locs like it's a struggle not to apply any pressure. ]
Fuck. [ That's more of a long exhale too. There's an echo of need between them that means that this is hitting him harder than it should be, a thread of desperation that makes everything more... more. ] Take it easy, sweetheart.
[ He tugs at Adrian's hair but only to get him to ease up, to take his time. He likes the choking far too much to let it continue on like this. ]
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It makes for a very curious dichotomy. On the one hand, Adrian can feel that Eliot likes to hurt him — to an extent — and on the other... this. Guilt.
He decides that perhaps tomorrow he will feel better equipped to dissect it all, and for the moment he puts his focus toward what is directly in front of him. It's different from the first time, Adrian realizes immediately. Not being quite so overwhelmed means that he can hear the softer sounds of Eliot's pleasure, can adjust according to his encouragement and begin to understand what he likes. Heat stirs in him again, and Adrian mostly tries to ignore it, at least until Eliot starts speaking more.
Being told what to do isn't something he's ever particularly liked, but in this instance it comes with the reward of good in a tone that he's not heard from Eliot before. It is a strange and humiliating thing to be praised for, and yet it warms him all the way through, a slow and steady drip of honey that makes it terribly easy to think of nothing else. Adrian nearly shivers with pleasure every time Eliot tells him he's done something he likes.
He forgets his exhaustion and the little ache in his jaw or in his knees from being on them for so long, even the needy ache of his own cock against the inside of his shorts. He thinks of nothing but that sweet, warm sensation of good. When Eliot grabs his hair again, even the gentle flex of his hand makes Adrian groan softly around him. He can feel what Eliot wants, and how nice it might be to disappear into it.
When Eliot pulls him back, he makes a soft sound of protest at the back of his throat. Adrian pulls off entirely, trying to catch his breath even while he speaks. ]
But that's not what you want. [ He tries to scrape some semblance of coherence together before he looks up at Eliot. This might be a mistake, but it is less risky than pushing too far too fast all over again. ] You like it when I choke and struggle. I can feel it.
[ He likes Eliot's hands on him, more than any of the rest. He likes the pleasure that echoes between them. If there's more too it, he's not quite ready to think about it. ]
All of your sweet words and your concerns... [ He licks the head of Eliot's cock, still looking up at him, his breath ghosting over it as he finishes speaking. ] And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
[ That much is, in fact, true. ]
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All of your sweet words and your concerns... And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
He can still see it. Can see so very clearly the bruises left on Adrian's face, can map the shape to them and reconstruct just how Eliot put them there. How somehow he managed to go so far and no further, left him bleeding and bruised but nothing more than that. Some trick, some quirk or accident made him stop except in his dreams he didn't. He doesn't, and it's indistinguishable from the truth now so maybe he instead all he sees is the moment he decides not to stop. Can hear how Adrian begs him for mercy until he can't anymore.
Eliot's inhale was sharp but his subsequent exhale is even. Measured. ]
That sounds like a complaint.
[ His hand on Adrian's head slips down, cups the back of it, tilts it up until their eyes meet. ]
Is that what you wanted? [ He huffs a laugh, but there's very little humour in it. ] Did you want it to linger? Did you wanna wear something of mine so you couldn't help but think of me? So that everyone who saw you could know what happened? Know how much you liked it?
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I intended for it to be a reassurance.
[ He lets Eliot tilt his head up, fingers still threaded into his hair. That the look in his eyes is dangerous, and it quickens his breath just as effectively as a blade against his throat.
Adrian bites his lip, a not unpleasant shiver running through him. He'd started this, but he doesn't immediately know how to respond, or exactly what kind of response Eliot is expecting. He just hadn't expected to be asked what exactly he wanted.
He answers the only way he knows how, hesitant, but honest: ] I don't want anyone to know, except for you. I don't know... what I like, except having your hands on me. However you will have me. [ He tries to drop his gaze, remembers Eliot's hand. ] If it's pleasant, or of it hurts — if it leaves a mark, or if it doesn't — I don't know that it matters.
[ It feels good to be touched in any way at all, after so long. If it weren't for the curse, he would happily turn his face and kiss the same hands that had nearly killed him all those weeks ago.
Adrian thinks he might leave it at that, but he considers what Eliot is offering again: a mark, like a lingering touch, like a jacket thrown over his shoulders on a cold night. Something of mine. Something offered, instead of inflicted. ] ...No. I think that a mark would be nice. Where would you leave it? How?
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If it's pleasant, or if it hurts... I don't know that it matters.
He hates that the words get to him, that he hears if it hurts and his whole body tightens, that he hears a mark would be nice and thinks—
—the indentation of his hands at Adrian's hips.
—a heavy hand on his ass for speaking out of turn.
—a ring of bruises around his throat, around his wrists.
Violence begetting violence. Must count for something that Adrian's the one asking for it though, right? ]
Ain't no mark I could give you that would last longer than a day, right, sweetheart?
[ A reassurance, he called it, but that tells him all he needs to know about Adrian, how badly this is all fated to end. And yet. ]
But maybe... [ He fights with himself a second. Gives in. Lets his other hand slip down to Adrian's chest, lets it stop just over his nipple. ] I'd pierce you. Right here.
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Eliot's voice is rough, even around that sweetheart, sharp and mocking. Eliot most certainly wants to hurt him, but it is novel to be wanted with such intensity for something other than his magic or his nature. His eyes fall half-shut.
He doesn't move for a moment when Eliot's hand gets to his chest, the material of his shirt thick enough to blunt out anything but the faint pressure. He leans forward, pressing his chest into Eliot's hand, pulling against his hold deliberately. He wants to be touched, piercing or not. ]
You don't like me. [ It's not accusatory, just a plain statement of fact, sharp only because of the shortness of his own breath. ] I thought you would prefer knowing that this was temporary... and now you're offering a ring? You're not thinking with your head. Allow me to help you clear it.
[ Adrian opens his mouth, leans in to take Eliot's dick again. He thinks that will probably be sufficient for Eliot to be eager to shut him up, and perhaps finish.
...but he thinks about that idea. A piercing. A bruise. Being wanted to the point of violence. ]
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Not that he ever would. They'll do whatever it is they want to tonight and then they'll probably never see each other again and Eliot will move on with his life. Nothing to it. Same as all the other people he sleeps with.
(But to call it 'offering a ring'? Please. Obviously Eliot's not the only one not thinking clearly.)
This time his head bows low over Adrian's body, hand cupping the back of Adrian's head as his mouth sinks back down onto Eliot's cock. He doesn't force it, but he also doesn't stop it if Adrian gets a bit too eager again, starts choking around the head of his cock. He likes it. Knows that Adrian likes it too. And isn't this what it's all about in the end?
Besides, he is close. Closer, for the way Adrian takes direction so very well, for the little blooms of pleasure Eliot feels from him each time he praises him. For his mouth stretched wide, and the fan of lashes across his cheeks, and the needy way he squirms, as though his own pleasure is intrinsically liked to Eliot's. Eliot opens his mouth to warn him, and then remembers that he doesn't need to and instead just lets the feeling rise, feels his stomach tense and his thighs shake before he comes with a quiet grunt. ]
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The aftermath is nice; the sort of blank, unthinking pleasure he could bask in. He waits until Eliot begins to soften in his mouth before pulling back, almost reluctant.
The rest of the world slowly comes back into focus, and Adrian works his jaw against his own hand, makes a little face when he wipes some of the drool from the corners of his mouth. The uncomfortable feeling in his trousers tells him that he must have come again at some point, but he genuinely can't guess when it must have been. Probably after some sweetheart or good, just like that. With his head a little clearer, it's a bit embarrassing.
He still has a perfect view of the tip of the condom full of come and something about it is pleasing in a different way than words. That isn't something that one can lie about.
He could still go again, Adrian knows, but his stamina isn't endless and the rest of him would only like to go to bed.
Adrian shifts to the side so that he can sit on the carpet (and get out of Eliot's way) with a soft hiss of discomfort. His leg has fallen asleep, and his knees hurt. ]
...We should get ready for bed. I'm sure you don't want me here too late.
[ He swallows against the taste of latex all the way in his throat. He's too tired to think about this too much, but all he has to remember is that it doesn't mean anything, and they'll both forget about it come morning. ]
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