A/N:
…Mrr. . Straight from the RPG, baby -- Lance/Pietro slashy goodness. Yum.
Lance = Lady E, Pietro = Psycho B. You know. The usual.
Pavor nocturnis: Latin for "night terrors."
Disclaimer: Is this really fricking necessary? For chrissakes… ::mutters: .;
Pavor Nocturnis: Chapter One
By: Lady Eternal & Psychodelic Barfly
Pietro's heart jumped as he heard the rumble of their lone vehicle screech to a stop outside along the curving driveway, and the engine cut. The car door slammed, and thirty-odd seconds later, the front door did as well. Darting to the mirror to give himself a last once-over, Pietro dove onto the bed, clicking the metal handcuffs loosely around his slim wrists and posturing seductively, wriggling a bit to smooth the red on black flame satin pajama bottoms down his calves.
He pressed his lips together to stifle a sigh... what if Lance didn't like it? He had been working all day... and he knew of his issues with submissive domination. But Lance did, however, enjoy being in charge, and even more than being in charge he loved seeing Pietro partially nude and laid out on any flat surface waiting especially for him, so Pietro's mind was torn: either Lance would like this, or he wouldn't.
Lance paused for a moment in the front hall, having tossed his bag and his keys in the corner. A half-second was all he needed to decide between a glass of water and a decidedly stronger liquid that he had squirreled away upstairs in his bedroom... If Toad or Fred ever found out I keep a bottle of brandy behind one of the loose panels in my bedroom... I don't even wanna think about Pietro finding it. That kid should definitely never get drunk... or find out I've got a habit. Still, he's prolly out boosting something from the mall, so I should be okay to grab a quick drink... Taking the stairs two at a time, Lance reached the second floor determined to at least dull the edge of the day with his secret stash.
Pietro heard the heavy tread of Lance's footfalls heading up the stairs, getting ever closer to his room and, ultimately, his prize. Pietro swallowed nervously, unable to breathe as he heard Lance's fingers on the doorknob... he'd left the door mostly closed, but unlatched, just as Lance had done that morning after Pietro'd ushered him out of the house to school (late, as usual). Lance won't expect a thing, not a thing, he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time. His breath caught inextricably as the door was pushed open, and a weary silhouette appeared in the doorway...
Even if Lance missed the slight indrawn breath in his frustrated state, he couldn't possibly miss the presence of his lover awaiting him in his bed. By now, he could sense Pietro without hearing the slightest footfall. A soft smile curved across his face as he took in the sight of his pale, snowy-haired lover: long, supple legs draped in red and black satin across the bed, his lean hips and slender torso half-turned in expectation of his arrival, azure eyes soft and dark in arousal just from anticipation of an afternoon tryst, delicate hands... dangling from a pair of glinting handcuffs.
For a moment, Lance couldn't breathe. Pietro was waiting for him in handcuffs? What the hell was going on here? "Pietro?" he managed, hoping his voice didn't sound like the croak of shock he seemed to hear.
"Miss me, lover?" Pietro purred, trying his damnedest to be slutty and/or alluring, whichever Lance happened to find more attractive at the moment. He turned, laying flat on his back, and arched upwards, stretching luxuriously like a satisfied feline and drew his legs up, crossing one over the other, swinging the top leg back and forth slowly, enticingly. He locked his eyes on Lance, pleased to see how... how... what was Lance feeling?
Stunned. That was the only word to describe what Lance was feeling... utterly stunned. His body's base response to Pietro's allure barely registered as his mind tried to process the glint of steel, the flash of light off the polished metal bringing back memories... Oh, God... No longer caring what Pietro might think, Lance suddenly strode across the room and all but tore the loose panel from the wall, removing the bottle and drinking deeply in an effort to keep the past from mingling with the present. "Yes, I missed you... where the hell did you get those?" he demanded raggedly, gesturing at the handcuffs with the hand holding the bottle.
Pietro's brow furrowed in confusion to Lance's reaction... and the fact that he'd just broken another spot in his wall... to get at alcohol. "Uh, just... the.. Halloween shop at the mall, they were on clearance... Lance, are you okay? Did something happen at work?" he asked immediately, concerned that maybe he'd had an incident and wasn't feeling himself. Pietro tried to get up to comfort the rock-tumbler, but was painfully reminded of his bindings as they bit into his soft, white flesh. Damned cheap, lousy... cheap... stupid... cheap handcuffs, he griped, wincing and watching Lance down another swig of rum. Or whatever the hell he was drinking. Fuck if Pietro was an alcohol expert. "Lance...?"
Lance saw the wince, reminded of his first attempts to free himself from similar bonds... the way the metal had cut into his flesh... how he'd begged... "Work was work," Lance replied shortly, replacing the cap on the bottle before he would be forced to down the last of the contents and replacing it in the panel. I can fix it later... Feeling the warmth of the liquid flow through his veins, he began to breathe a little easier. Casually, almost predatorally, he assessed his lover again. Slowly, he paced towards the bed, the leisurely advance of the hunter who knew the trap had been sprung. "You decided that you wanted to experiment with bondage?" he asked quietly.
"Err... yeah, I guess," Pietro replied uneasily, squirming now under Lance's unreadable gaze. "I didn't really even think... about what it was... called, but yeah..... you're mad, aren't you?" he wailed, feeling awful about being unable to hide the tear that trailed from his eye at the possibility of his well-planned evening of seduction going to hell in a handbasket. He turned his face to the opposite side, a pained expression obvious for Lance to see... and to size up. "You can just unlock them and I'll go... I'm sorry, Lance," he whimpered.
Reaching the bed, Lance climbed in with the grace of a jungle cat, hovering over his crestfallen lover on all fours. Ducking his head close, his lips brushed over the trail the single crystal tear had made down that alabaster cheek. "You don't want me to do that, though, do you?" he murmured. His lips brushed across Pietro's spider-fine lashes, his sensitive temple, his breath curling warmly over the delicate shell of Pietro's ear. "Do you, Pietro?"
"Nnn-n-no," Pietro affirmed, inhaling the pleasant aroma of the liquor on Lance's breath. "I just thought... I thought maybe you'd like this, but maybe I was wrong." Pietro's eyes drifted to the side, avoiding Lance's at all costs. "Was I bad...?" he asked after several moments of having Lance perched over him, completely still, save for the ragged breathing and racing heart Pietro could hear easily, egging on his excitement...
The innocent question, so easily assimilated into the little game Pietro had initiated, sent a shiver racing down Lance's spine. Every nuance of his dominant's behavior was etched in Lance's mind: the way every syllable dripped with as much malice as tenderness, every movement as affectionate as it was gracefully lethal... and if that was the game Pietro wanted to play, Lance found it almost frighteningly easy to slip into the role. "Bad?" he reiterated softly, the word little more than a heated breath against that delicately curled ear. With a sudden fierceness, his teeth snapped out and sank into the lobe, all but drawing blood as Pietro gave a tiny cry of shock. "Oh, yes... yes, you were... you must be punished, little one; such misbehavior shouldn't be left unaddressed..."
Pietro cried out at the shock of pain. The feel of a gentle tongue soothing over the violated spot quelled his immediate fear and misgivings, but in any case... he really didn't know just what Lance was capable of. Though he'd been in Pietro's role in his youth, and must feel sympathy toward him for it, he was almost equally well-versed in the ways of the master. Pietro shivered.
Gimme that strange relationship... Pietro thought to himself, knowing how entirely screwed up they both were, enjoying something that dredged up such awful memories for Lance... though he seemed to be enjoying himself muchly. ...Never felt pleasure or pain like this, something so right but it feels so terribly wrong... and I keep holding on...
"Oh, little one," Lance murmured, raising his hand to slowly trace the slim line of Pietro's torso with his fingernails. "You have no idea what I could do to you... the things I could teach you... pleasure and pain are equal parts of each other, you know. I can punish you in ways that would make you beg, but you wouldn't know whether you wanted it to stop or go on and on until you'd come too many times to count. Is that what you were inviting here, my love? A lesson in just how much pleasure can be found in pain?" His lips whispered back down Pietro's jaw, his teeth suddenly sinking fiercely into the tender underside. The harsh sting drew another cry from the gypsy even as Lance suckled on the wounded flesh, drawing the cry out into a low moan. "Is that what you wanted from me?"
"Yesss..." Moaning and writhing under Lance's skilled manipulations, Pietro fell willingly into his own trap. "Yes, I've been a bad boy, too, Lance... I just thought you should know that," he added, yelping as Lance's teeth sunk into his neck again, this time drawing blood -- blood Pietro could feel sliding down his throat and onto the pillow beneath his head. Marked. He'd been marked.
Leisurely, Lance raised his head again, slowly surveying his prey... soft and pale and vulnerable beneath him... settling back on his haunches, he continued to peruse his snowy haired lover, watching those azure eyes as they devoured him now, no longer looking away. Good. He wants to know how pain and fear mingle with love and lust... let him watch. Let's see just how far he's willing to take this... Stripping off his shirt with slow, feline grace, he watched Pietro's Adam's apple bob almost nervously. His hair fell around his shoulders, his skin tawny by sheer genetic luck, his muscles firmed and toned by lifting weights and grunt work at the home improvement place in town. Those wide, naive blue eyes glittered in appreciation, and Lance relished the sight, even as he pulled a surprise of his own from the pocket of his jeans.
He quirked an eyebrow as a slight pressure from his thumb snapped open the blade. "Lesson the first: fear."
Pietro blanched. Lance was springing a fucking switchblade on him? That couldn't be fair! It was supposed to be Lance doing things to him, not using stupid... weapons on him! Someone could be seriously injured!
Chest puffing up like a little bird as he prepared to start in on a lengthy lecture, Pietro squeaked in shock when the blade came down, sharp and swift, through the mattress just to his left; Lance's right. He choked and sputtered, his eyes wide and surprised, filled with true uncertainty and... fear? God, he didn't want to have to fear Lance! What had he gotten himself into?
Lance saw the ashen-faced fear wash over Pietro's face and inwardly quailed. The part of him that would end this game now, however, was safely tucked in a little corner of his mind; Pietro had invited this, and he would not soon forget that it was best to know that with which he chose to meddle before he decided on these little games... and perhaps, just perhaps, he would understand Lance a little better in the end as well. "You invited this," Lance taunted, slowly drawing the blade out of the mattress. His grip was almost negligent as he then slowly traced the tip of the blade across Pietro's smooth, unmarred chest... down along his ribs... "You wanted this... and yet you don't know what I'm going to do, do you? You're not really certain I won't cut you, are you?"
Pietro's breath caught. He stared at Lance, wondering at his expression of utter... un-Lanceness, for lack of a better word. He was so cold, so formal, so far away from even the primal, animalistic male who'd begun to ravish him senseless, then stopped to frighten him and... become someone else. Jesus. The knife was against his skin now, Lance was dragging it lazily along his torso...
Light as air, he traced the line of Pietro's chest, down over his stomach, following the waistband of the satin pajama pants. He watched Pietro's huge eyes tracing every movement; without warning, he took hold of the soft material and slashed it open down the front, watching in a mixture of power and latent sorrow as Pietro's eyes slammed closed and his body tensed away from the motion. "Careful, Pie... you wouldn't want me to slip because you moved..."
Blue eyes squeezed shut in horror at the hideous sound of ripping fabric as his new pants were shredded. He slitted one eye open cautiously, hearing Lance murmur something along the lines of, "Stay still or you're gonna be gutted like a fish." Okay, okay, he reasoned, Lance didn't quiiiiite say that, but... oh god, just put the fucking knife down already, baby, please... He kept his mouth tightly shut, defiance oozing from every pore. He wouldn't let Lance win. No.
Lance could smell the fear and the resistance coming from the younger mutant. An intoxicating perfume to the persona he'd adopted; sickening to his true self. Since when had he ever given anyone anything of his true self? Pietro had perhaps come the closest, but what Pietro wanted right now wasn't a glimpse of Lance's soul; it was a long, hard, exotic fuck, and Lance was going to give it to him. The material drifted raggedly over Pietro's hips, baring an erection fueled by as much fear as desire. Lance's lips curved in a predatory smile a fraction of a second before the hand with the knife was moving again, gliding like a fairy's wing past that little puckered navel, tracing up the ridge of Pietro's erection... slowly... ever so slowly the tip followed the underside of that sensitive ridge of flesh...
Pietro didn't dare move a muscle -- Lance was holding his very manhood hostage. Okay, this is where the game turns from fun to fucking scary, he worried, biting his lip and coaxing out a small quantity of blood. Maybe it was time, Pietro decided, to call it off: Lance had been drinking, this was entirely foreign to him, and it was frightening him so badly his bladder was begging to rebel, even worse than when he'd played hide-and-go-seek with his sister for fun as a child... or played the game with Wanda, hiding from their father and his ever-ready backhands, or blood-redirections. Mmyeah, those were always a blast. "Lance... please don't hurt me," he whispered brokenly, ashamed to admit his game was set and matched. He was not in control.
Something in his voice penetrated. Ducking close, Lance slid the knife away and closed it as his teeth sank into the sensitive tip of Pietro's erection, worrying it with his sharp incisors until Pietro was crying and bucking beneath him. Before Pietro could come, Lance released it, noting with satisfaction that the flesh was an angry, almost bruised purple-red. It would be sensitive for days, sharply reminding him every time he even became aroused... "I told you you'd beg," Lance murmured.
Crying freely now, Pietro's tears coursed down his cheeks to dampen the blood-dropletted pillow beneath his head. Lance was biting his penis! Motherfuckingsonofawhore!!! his mind screamed as his body betrayed him and bucked wildly for Lance, his head thrashing from side to side. He had to stop this, before his mind became too clouded to think clearly.
Why hadn't he thought he'd even need a stop-word, a safe-word of any kind? Why should he, when this was just Lance? What could he even say to Lance not to stop him dead in his tracks? He cried harder when Lance eased off his bruised, aching member, his betraying hips leaving the bed to follow Lance's mouth in protest. Damn them! he hissed.
Lance saw the tears and yearned to kiss them away, the part of himself that desperately wanted this to be over growing stronger by the minute. He didn't really have the heart to play this role, not for long... not for nearly as long as Pietro had wanted... and yet Pietro was quickly discovering that he really didn't have the stomach for it, either... Stripping the rest of his clothes away, Lance slid gracefully between those parted thighs. His thumb brushed back and forth over the flesh he'd just attacked, the sob of pain mingled with pleasure that left those ribbon-candy lips like a knife in his own heart. "Lesson the second: know your limits." Urging those supple legs around his hips, Lance slid deep into Pietro's body, his thumb still tormenting the bruised tip of Pietro's erection.
Pietro's throaty cry quickly melded into a moan, enjoying the feeling of being taken, possessed, split in half by his keeper... and yes, he knew now more than ever before that Lance was, indeed, his keeper. Broken, and made whole, all in one excruciating, incredible instant... and he reveled in the brutal feel of being taken raw. He was such a whore.
Lance stroked him leisurely, a counterpoint to the rhythm of his hips, his heart as raw and aching as the flesh he now tortured... he couldn't let go of the persona... not yet... Gripping Pietro's hips powerfully in one hand, he picked up the pace with the other, constantly rolling the tip of Pietro's cock under his thumb and absorbing Pietro's cries like blows to his heart... punishing him for ever allowing himself to engage in this game with Pietro to begin with...
Now, with the knife long gone and Lance loving him as he should, Pietro's sense of control began to creep back into his consciousness. Twisting and rocking under Lance, being roughly shoved with each pounding thrust, Lance jerking at his throbbing member, the sounds of breath and skin and chain-link metal clinking... "God Lance, fuck me harder! Harder!" Pietro begged wantonly, utilizing his long legs to pull himself as far inside Lance as humanly possibly. "Laaaance," he moaned, no longer aware of what he was doing or saying, only in it for the raw, primal pleasure of it all... and surrender. "Lance... you are my fucking god!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, and upon hearing that, Lance banged his abused body so violently, he broke the headboard's spindle right off, freeing the linked hands and enabling them to cling like small, panicked animals to Lance's body.
Lance lost control, taking Pietro harder, deeper... barely, he heard the snap of the wood as Pietro's chained hands broke free of their anchor, falling around his shoulders to dig tightly into the muscles of his back... somewhere in his mind he was able to formulate enough neurons to lift Pietro from the bed and slam him against the wall, pinning the slender gypsy by the sheer force of his hips as one hand stroked Pietro even harder, the other lacing into Pietro's hair possessively as his mouth slanted over Pietro's in a fierce, claiming kiss... He felt Pietro's lithe body trembling beneath his hands, his erection quivering in anticipation of an incipient orgasm... Lance couldn't hold on much longer... "Come, Pie," he snarled, his teeth nipping fiercely at Pietro's already bruised lower lip. "Come for me now."
Fulfilling his role of utmost obedience to the letter now, Pietro's penis let loose with an impressive stream of semen, coating Lance's hand, seeping through his fingers and lubricating the final few strokes as Pietro felt Lance explode deep within him, thrusting with a blinding accuracy that managed to locate and stimulate Pietro to another, smaller orgasm.
"I... did..." he gasped, body numb and limp from the brutal treatment. "Have I been a good boy, Lance?" he panted, staring deeply into the dark eyes.
Lance shuddered, falling back into himself as the other persona slid away like water down a pane of glass. He couldn't handle that... nodding blindly, he tried to catch his breath and found that he couldn't... his head swam with more than just passion's aftermath and he slid free of Pietro's body, stumbling across the hall just barely in time to be violently ill.
* * * * *
In a flash, Pietro was up and after his loverboy, at his side the second he heard the first gagging sounds. Picking the tiny lock on the cuffs with the key he'd stashed nearby in the bedroom, Pietro managed to unlatch one half of the contraption, and reached to hold the damp sable hair in a loose grasp, his other hand smoothing soothingly up and down Lance's naked back, feeling each upheaval directly, seeing the muscles around his spine retract and recoil with each gag... "Lance, Lance, do you need me to call someone? Are you okay?"
Pietro's mind worried over a million possibilities as he waited, waited... finally the retching ceased. Pietro handed Lance a towel, standing in place and wringing his pale hands nervously, eyes locked on Lance, who was propped up against the toilet, eyes half-lidded.
Weakly, Lance shook his head, a tremor racing through him as the cool porcelain sharply contrasted with the spike in his body temperature caused by the vomiting. He needed to swallow a couple of times before he could find his voice. "Are... you okay?"
"Me? OfCourseI'mOkayYouIdiot! Jesus!" Pietro muttered as he knelt down and hugged him tightly, vomit residue be damned. "I love you, I'm sorry I did that to you, and I'll never do it again," he promised quickly, rising to get Lance a glass of water to drink or... swish.
The words hit Lance like physical blows. Pietro? Apologizing to him? Lance knew what he'd done, had known precisely what he was doing when he'd pulled out his old switchblade. When Pietro returned with the glass of water, it was a shaking pair of hands that took it, trembling lips that sealed around the rim, tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes that closed as he slowly drank to rid his mouth of the taste of vomit. "Pie, you don't have to apologize to me. You're not the one that pulled a knife."
"...I know. But I asked for it, so shut up," Pietro ordered, taking the downed glass and refilling it straight from the tap. "D'you want some... drugs, or something?" he asked further, rifling through the medicine cabinet. "I think we might have some Maalox or something..." The dangling remains of the handcuffs banged against the mirror as Pietro grabbed a bottle of chewables and shoved a half-dozen into Lance's mouth, no opposition allowed.
Lance quickly spat five of them into the bowl beside him, obediently munching on the last one and washing it down with the water. "You're only s'posed to take one, Pie... and you're technically not supposed to take any kind of medication with alcohol unless you want to die." He chuckled self-mockingly. "Good thing I just threw up most of what I drank."
Bleary eyes turned up towards his still naked lover. "How'd you get out of the cuffs?"
"Damn it, Lance! It says right fucking here: 'for adults, chew 2-4 tablets to relieve upset stomach'!" Pietro grabbed the bottle and dumped a few more into his palm. "And I had a key hidden... around," he said mysteriously. "Didn't think I'd be able to get at it without help, but... seeing as you kinda... broke the bed, I could," he said, smiling weakly. "C'mon, take at least two more," he demanded, pressing the pills into Lance's hand and fiddling with the second half of the locked cuffs.
Lance's eyes shuttered closed for a moment, and then his hand latched around Pietro's wrist, yanking the slender mutant into his lap for a tight, clutching embrace. "I love you, Pietro... I swear to whatever God might be listening: I'd never hurt you... you know that, right?"
Pietro smiled, curling into the embrace. "I know, Lancie," Pietro assured him, patting his hand. "If I didn't trust you, would I have locked myself into your bed and let you do what you did, hmm?" He purred in Lance's ear. Lance tried to capture his mouth, but Pietro pulled away quickly.
"Nuh-uh, not until you brush your teeth!" Pietro insisted, and squealed at the playful pinch on his bottom. "And maybe not even then... that taste never goes away," he complained, wrinkling his small nose in distaste.
Lance chuckled softly, starting to feel some of the self-loathing slip away. "Y'know, Pie... it's not like I'm entirely opposed to the idea of tormenting you while you're handcuffed to the bed. You just need to avoid those S&M signal words... or surprising me like that. Surprise me with anything else: roses and massage oil, a role-playing fantasy; hell, even with sex in the shower! Just... not handcuffs or leather or toys or anything like that... okay?" He nuzzled Pietro's neck, his tongue lapping at the wound he'd caused earlier. "You just... need to be a bit careful with me... okay?"
"Mmm," Pietro agreed. "I need to take extra special care of my little Lanciepoo... and we should start with that shower," he snickered wickedly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I think you need a niiiiice shampoo, don't you?" he said, sitting up and taking Lance's hand. "And maybe a deep conditioning treatment, and a massage..." he babbled on as he started the water, peering over his shoulder and gazing appreciatively at Lance's backside as said boy stood over the sink and slopped a blob of Colgate onto his toothbrush. "Coming?"
* * * * *
A/N: Fwah… phase one complete. ::shifty eyes:: .