Title: A Mad Affliction
A/N: I don't own the Hare, the Hatter or the Dormouse. Just this silly little plot.
It was the month of March, and he began to feel that particular heat dripping back into the lower part of his stomach. He glanced at the Hatter, seated a few chairs away. The Dormouse slept between them. He continued to stare at the Hatter. Long, elegant fingers cradled the thin cup, and he watched the cup touch prim lips, and he wondered at what tea would linger in the moist cavern of the Hatter's mouth.
Perhaps it was just the craziness of March, or maybe it was the insanity of love. Who could really tell in a mad place such as Wonderland. The Hatter turned and regarded him with lazy, dark eyes that were hidden beneath a black fringe of messy hair. "Hare?" That careful British tone rattled down his spine and coiled in the cradle of his hips. He felt himself growing very mad. "Yes Hatter?"
"It is the 14th of March again." He blushed and looked away, embarrassed.
The last 14th of March, he had forced the Hatter onto the table amid the teacups and kettles and claimed the pale flesh as his.
He ran narrow fingers through disheveled blonde hair and tugged at his left ear. His frame, undeniably human, stretched in mock boredom. He glanced up and bit back the cry as the Hatter dropped his lovely hazel gaze to the ground, wounded. "I understand." His long legs stretched under the table, and he stood slowly. Not so very long ago, he had whispered in Time's ear to change, and now he used it to his advantage. He lifted the Hatter's watch and marveled in the innocent look of shock.
"Why Hare, it is far past 6." He nodded, "Yes dear Hatter. Perhaps you should get to bed?" Dark hazel eyes lifted to his own of light blue, and the Hatter pushed away from the table and stood. He watched his friend walk away; each little sway of neat hips clung to by worn woolen trousers served to drive him madder.
A breath rattled free, and he followed the Hatter into the house with a fur thatched roof and chimneys like ears. Once in his room, he removed his red coat and cream shirt, and neatly folded his grey town pants. His bow tie clung to a corner of his dresser. And so, he laid down in his nest of straw, naked save the old striped boxers. Sharp sticks of hay poked at him, seemingly agitated that he should lie on them this night, of all nights. The 14th. He rolled about and hid his face in his pillow, trying to force sleep. But madness ran through his veins and soft sighs and moans filled his ears, ghosted touches lingered on his soft, caramel skin.
Madness left him feeling heated; it forced his breath to shortness, and caused an ache to dwell on, under his flesh.
"Hatter," he whispered and shifted restlessly. A shudder ribboned through his body, following his spine, and pooled in his hips. He slipped out of bed. His bare feet whispered on the polished wooden floor, and he passed twisted pictures and looking glasses. The Hatter's door lay open, just barely parted like a mouth dozing. He drew in a deep breath and pushed the barrier open just enough for him to slip through.
The whole room smelled of the Hatter, like silk and velvet and cotton and skin.
It drove him absolutely mad, and his heart began to kick in his chest. He drew nearer to the bed, and the maddened rush of heat boiled and pulsed in his stomach and hips. He truly was mad. Slowly, he crept to the Hatter's bedside, his knees touching the askew cotton covers. He listened to each calm breath and closed his eyes. When they opened again, he gingerly drew back the covers and stared at the thin, pale form of the Hatter. Ratty, old, polka-dotted boxers hung about slender hips, and he swallowed roughly. He crept into bed, the soft sheets whispering welcome to him and embracing him as the hay nest had not.
His body pressed close to the Hatter, and the other snuggled back into the embrace. Silken strands of sable hair brushed his face, and he nuzzled the dark head. Carefully, his hand stole to the Hatter's hip, and he pulled the other closer to him as his own hips shifted restlessly.
The Hatter gave a soft moan, and a whisper of a wordless plea fell daintily from his mouth. He dropped his lips to the Hatter's shoulder and let his hand wander. The boxers were soft, as only worn articles of cloth may be, under his fingertips. Those hips twitched in anticipation as his curious digits brushed lingering touches over the Hatter's statement of madness. And he breathed lightly upon the Hatter's neck, and the tip of his rough tongue traced the curled shell of the others ear. The soft moan made his madness flutter.
"Hare?" came the groggy question, and the Hatter turned to stare at him, dazed with sleep. Those hazel eyes were glazed and beautiful, and he stared for a long moment at his Hatter. Lashes fell heavily, laden with the remaining vestiges of sleep. He allowed his fingers to rub along the silken face of the other. The madness ran hot and needy through him.
Sharply, he rolled atop the other and pinned the Hatter to the soft mattress. And the Hatter moaned, so softly that his ears barely caught it. He dropped his head and fed from the lips of the other, swallowing each whimper and whine. His hips bucked and pressed in an unsated manner to the Hatter's own madness. He began to trail his hungry lips down the thin, pale column of the Hatter's neck, nipping and suckling at the milky skin.
His hands roved light, maddening touches down the others frame until the Hatter was positively mad for him. The other squirmed and writhed and bucked and twitched restlessly beneath him as his fingers and lips continued their light caresses downward.
Soft keens showered down from the Hatter and fluttered brilliantly soft in his sensitive ears. And he pressed a delicate kiss to the others hip.
By now, the madness was running wild and rampant, and he hadn't any inkling of how to slow it. The Hatter's hips bucked up, light and gentle, just the barest of a request. How could he say no? He had driven this poor being into a state of madness that rivaled his own, so he couldn't very well ignore it.
The old cotton slipped away so easily and laid all mad traces of the Hatter bare. A high keen tore from the others throat. All he could smell was silk, velvet, cotton, and skin. And of course madness.
A quiver rushed through the other and long, elegant fingers curled in his hair. "Please..." the Hatter begged, and madness pulled the narrow hips up. He touched his lips to a pale side and inhaled deeply. Those beautiful digits tightened in his sandy locks, and the Hatter keened.
He dragged his tongue up the quivering shaft, where all the madness of March had accumulated. The Hatter's head fell back, and a loud moan shuddered up from his chest. It fueled his own madness into a frenzy, and it throbbed against a lean leg. "Oh God, Hare." The words hung in the air before crashing into his tender ears, forcing a shaft of madness hard into his belly. And in an unthinking fit of need, he swallowed the leaking tip of the Hatter's shaft and suckled sharply, forcing the madness ever closer to dropping them both over the edge.
And under his ministrations, the Hatter continued to thrash. He released the March maddened flesh and crawled back up the others thin frame. Their lips melted together, and the Hatter's narrow fingers left his hair and pushed his threadbare boxers down. He kicked them to the floor and smashed his hips down to allow maddened flesh to stroke and rub maddened flesh.
The madness drove into them, and they ground and writhed against one another. He nipped at the pale neck and suckled at an ear, a jaw, a lip. It drove them faster, further until it was too much, and he pulled back. He removed his body from the Hatter's completely.
Hazel eyes, darkened by madness, peered up at him. Bruised lips parted in a lewdly mad smile. It forced the breath from his chest and the beat from his heart. The Hatter was driving him far madder then the month of March ever dared, and it swelled obviously in him. A decidedly innocent, beautiful, perfect moan from the other forced sanity sharply from his being.
He forced the Hatter over and pinned his hands to the bed as his body drew up to press against every inch of the exposed back. The other moaned lightly and wiggled beneath him.
Now, he was taller than the Hatter and more muscled, so it was quite easy to hold the other down. Of course the Hatter, being just as mad as he, welcomed it and moaned heavily. His narrow back arched and little knobs of bone jabbed him lightly in the chest and stomach. Eager hips pushed back into him and forced the madness to course sharply through him upon the touch.
As the madness pulsed through, he rocked his hips down on the Hatter's pert backside. The other moaned and arched restlessly under him. He pulled back just enough and then slowly intruded the Hatter's body. The other wiggled and whined beneath him, and he peppered gentle kisses upon the pale and quivering back.
"Oh," the Hatter breathed and together they lay panting, heaving, and overcome by madness.
Tight muscles clamped about his shaft, rippled along his length and drew him closer, deeper. He nipped at the Hatter's neck and pressed his hips closer, and listened to the little gasps and moans. As he licked and sucked at a shoulder blade, he drew back and forced his way back in. The Hatter bucked and twisted beneath him, up into him and his fingers clutched so beautifully at the sheets.
Madness forced the rhythm to a fervor that he was sure was hurting his Hatter, but the other never cried once in pain. Only gasps and mewls and sighs and moans of pleasure filtered from his lips. He bit down roughly on a shoulder and began to suck sharply, as his thrusts continued to reach long and deep into the complainant body.
The Hatter arched and bucked restlessly under him, driving him deeper, harder. And it fueled the madness until his fingers were digging sharply into the others neat hips and he was pounding furiously into the others clenching body. Their gasps and moans chorused together until his digits clung to the other and he fell shuddering against the Hatter. He panted heavily against the light sheen of sweat and he listen to the uncomfortable whine of the Hatter beneath him.
Slowly, with a lethargic bliss creeping into his bones, he pulled out and rolled the Hatter over. His lips melted to the others, and he slowly reentered the quivering body. His stomach rode against the pulsing, achingly hard madness with each steady and calmed thrust. The Hatter whimpered and arched, pressing his maddened length against his stomach, leaving behind little smears of milky fluid. He pushed deep into the others body until the Hatter gave out a cry of unadulterated pleasure.
He drove into the others body with a jarring, unfaltering rhythm, leaning closer to trap the others need between their slightly sweating bodies. Those lovely narrow fingers dug into his scalp, curling about strands of his hair, and a lean leg wrapped about his waist. The Hatter arched up into him, and he dropped his head to suck heavily on the exposed column of a throat. The other gasped sharply and the Hatter's body ran tense. "Oh, oh, oh..." little moans tripped and fell from bruised lips and he continued to suck on the neck until the skin was heated beneath his tongue.
And the curious, slick muscle ran teasingly on the bruised skin as his lips left the pale column of the Hatter's neck. His hips continued to draw back and force their way back in as he coaxed the Hatter through wave after wave of madness, as his length pulsed and quivered between their tightly pressed bodies and his own length throbbed and pulsed deep with the other. He nipped and suckled softly on an ear and then the soft spot behind the ear, and the Hatter gave a cry. The other pressed closer and he held him to his chest as the Hatter fell still.
They slumped back onto the bed, their bodies still connecting, and madness still leaking and pulsing from the Hatter. Those exquisite fingers uncurled from his abused scalp and ran shakily down his back. "The madness of March..." and the other fell silent with that British tone drying up quite suddenly. He rained kisses upon the others face until their lips touched, and his rough tongue pressed sharply into the Hatter's mouth. The other moaned, and he swallowed the sound. He could already feel the madness jumping to life again and the Hatter squirmed back, moaning heavily as he swelled again.
And so it continued through all of the 14th, whispered an exhausted Hatter some months later.
And the 15th, or so he said, feeling he knew the month of March best.
And the 16th, as the Dormouse so claimed after having been left so abruptly alone for so long.