Bound
Disclaimer: I don't own either the Coldfire Trilogy or the fairy tale 'The sleeping beauty', and no profit whatsoever is intended
Warning: explicit slash and the matching vocabulary...
A/N: Admittedly, it's debatable whether a man like Gerald Tarrant who's the very epitome of the phrase 'mind over matter' would use sex toys. But with regard to his insatiable curiosity, I don't think that the idea is too far fetched. What I deem even more likely is that he would find pleasure in dominating his sexual partner and torturing him a bit. I'm usually not very fond of the 'find pleasure in pain' literary outpourings seemingly so very much in vogue now (no, I haven't read 'Fifty shades of grey' yet, and I don't intent to do so in the near future). But I don't mind a hint of bondage, and this story just begged to be written.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Jaggonath, 1750 A.S.
Fidgeting restlessly on his chair, Darren let his gaze wander around their festively decorated garden; or, more precisely, around what counted for a garden in his lover's opinion. As far as the young heart surgeon was concerned, the term 'parkland' would have come much closer to the truth.
At any rate, it was a pretty sight. Colourful lampions hung from the trees in abundance, and the neatly trimmed bushes and hedges sparkled with innumerable fairy lights reflecting in the silver cutlery and the lead crystal goblets which were being constantly refilled by servants dressed in red livery.
The most precious champagne available on the market flowed freely, the buffet bent under the weight of every imaginable culinary delight, and with regard to the joyous faces all around him, there wasn't a sliver of doubt that the party in honour of him could be called a full success so far. Not that Mitchell had ever doubted it. Whatever Gerald was taking charge of seemed to thrive and prosper all by itself. Soon after their return to Jaggonath, the adept had given a by now legendary interview to Jenna O' Hara, the very same famous news presenter who had dropped the bomb by informing the stunned public that Andrys Tarrant's alleged killing of the Hunter had very likely been nothing but a sham. With his unrivalled aplomb, the adept had held nothing back. His calm admittance that he had been the Lord of the Forest in an era now the stuff of legends had caused a sensation surpassing everything Darren had thought possible in his wildest dreams.
But Gerald's brazen advance had born fruit. Instead of encountering fear and revulsion, he had become the darling of Jaggonath's high society literally overnight. Even ten months later, broadcasting stations all over the continent were still lining up for inviting him to a talk show, and his autobiography had been sold out within a week. Riding high on the wings of success, the adept had lost no time in reacquiring Merentha Castle from its hapless owner.
Due to his obligations at the hospital, very much to his chagrin Darren hadn't been present at the negotiation with the ne'er-do-well who had come close to game away the ancient family seat of the Tarrant line at the gambling table. But considering the fact that Frazer had deemed it wise to leave the area for good the very next day with just two suitcases, never to be seen again, it surely must have been a rather interesting conversation. Anyway, now the fairy tale castle with its finials, turrets and stained-glass windows was back in the hands of the man who had designed it nigh to a thousand years ago and was currently undergoing a thorough refurbishing. In about three months, they would finally move into their new home, keeping the villa they were currently living in as a city residence.
Busy with fighting the so very pleasurable sensation threatening to set his groin on fire, Mitchell didn't pay proper attention to the words of his dinner partner, the wife of the Lord Mayor, and settled for a non-committal smile. Imaging her reaction to what was going on under his dress pants, he almost burst out into a fit of hysterical laughter. Merciful God in heaven, how those pompous idiots would wag their tongues! But maybe, Gerald could create a new fad. It wouldn't be the first time since he had woken up from his enchanted sleep. Silken robes in pure Revivalist style seemed to be all the rage lately, and among the male guests he could detect one or two holding back their thinning hair with a golden band.
The newly minted heart surgeon snorted contemptuously. When would those copycats ever realize that they were making quite an exhibition of themselves? They could try to imitate the former Hunter to their heart's content, but it took more than a frazzle of silk and a headband to equal Gerald Tarrant. The adept was truly one of a kind. His beauty, consummate grace and aristocratic demeanour, not to mention his intelligence, singled him out as if he were a being wrought from other stuff than the ordinary mortals courting his favour.
Fondly, he gazed at his lover who was sitting across from him, apparently deep in conversation with the high and mighty Lord Mayor himself. Gerald didn't so much as darting him a quick glance, but his right hand inconspicuously strayed towards the pocket of his richly embroidered velvet vest, and at the very next moment the buzz inside Darren's most private part increased to a dangerously high level. Muttering a vicious curse under his breath, he clutched the arms of his chair in a death grip. Damn Tarrant in general and his naughty little games in particular!
In everyday life, they were equal partners. Admittedly, the adept could wield his acerbic tongue like a sword and sometimes succumbed to irritating bouts of arrogance which weren't easy to stomach. But he involved him into each important decision and more often than not agreed on a compromise in case they were taking a different point of view on the issue in question. Their sex life, though, was an altogether different kettle of fish.
There was no denying that Gerald loved to dominate him in bed. Or everywhere else they were being all over each other, for that matter. This didn't necessarily mean that his younger lover always had to spread his legs for him. Not by a long shot. In fact, the adept seemed to prefer being penetrated, riding wave upon wave of pleasure until the proceedings finally came to a satisfactorily end for both of them. But without fail, he dictated the rules of the game; and tonight he obviously had no intention whatsoever of straying from his chosen path.
All in all, Mitchell was thrilled that his mate didn't mind incorporating certain toys into their love play. Driven by Tarrant's insatiable hunger for knowledge, they had tried this and that to their mutual enjoyment. Or had rolled their eyes at the utter uselessness of their latest acquisition. But allowing Gerald to cajole him into wearing a vibrating butt plug to a garden party, let alone leaving him in possession of the damned remote control, hadn't been a prudent decision, to put it mildly.
Uh-oh! Desperately trying to get a grip on himself, Darren tried to concentrate on the memory of a difficult surgery he had performed the day before yesterday, but it was to no avail. Under normal circumstances, achieving orgasm just by means of anal play in any form whatsoever was far beyond him. Unlike his partner, he needed the more direct penile stimulation to find release. But if he wasn't completely mistaken, he was slowly but surely coming close for the very first time in his life. Unsettlingly close, and he fervently hoped that the first Neocount of Merentha would dial it down a notch before he was bound to provide plenty food for gossip for many days to come.
"Are you alright, Honey? You're looking quite flushed all of a sudden," the tarted-up woman at his side piped up.
"Indeed, Lady Riordan", his treacherous lover agreed without missing a beat. "I suppose our young friend had one glass too many of the delicious champagne. Maybe you should stick to mineral water for a while, Mitchell. You don't want to suffer from a hangover in the morning, do you?"
Still nursing his first glass of bubbly, the heart surgeon shot him a glacial stare which could have frozen a hot spring in midst of the dry season. Gerald just raised an elegantly arched eyebrow in sardonic amusement before focussing his attention on his former dialogue partner again. But evidently, the reason for his sudden blushing hadn't been lost on the most brilliant brain Darren had ever met, and the vibrations faded to no more than a faint tingle shortly afterwards.
Heaving a low but heartfelt sigh of relief, he got to his feet and made for the buffet, helping himself to another serving of the delicious uncrab meat salad and a few slices of toast. But the fork froze on its way to his mouth when the adept started to play with his favourite torture instrument once again.
At a moment's notice, the sensation in his rectum intensified to a nigh to intolerable level, making him tense up and gasp for air very much against his will. If this went on, he surely wouldn't last another minute without publicly disgracing himself. He could already feel his balls drawing up in preparation for the big event, could sense his impending climax crouching deep inside his abdomen like an uncat primed to pounce on his hapless prey. Suppressing a heated moan, the young man rather unceremoniously dropped his platter on the serving table and dug his fingernails deeply into the nubeech wood, bracing himself for the worst case scenario. But just an inch short of disaster, the assault on his nerve ends suddenly ceased.
Utilizing the faint remnants of the channel he had had with Mitchell's alter ego Damien Kilcannon Vryce, Gerald had been mastering the art of driving him up the wall by means of tease and denial to perfection right from the beginning. Reading his mind, he had taken him to the edge of orgasm and stopped just before he could reach the point of no return for hours on end until he had literally begged himself hoarse for release more than once. Not that he was complaining. The phenomenal discharge of pent-up sexual tension was definitely worth having a sore throat for a day or two. But as far as he was concerned, he'd rather scream the place down in the safety of their bedroom instead of provoking a scandal in a somewhat less private setting.
But hopefully, registering that he was on the verge of losing the battle, Tarrant had come to his senses and opted for postponing the final act of the drama to a more appropriate time. Whatever could be said about him, the adept was no fool, and he certainly couldn't want his partner to climax in front of an audience, could he?
Having calmed down a bit, Darren was just about picking up his plate again and returning to the dinner table when the thrice damned device came to life again with a vengeance. Close to despair, he decided to take French leave and rid himself of his attention-deprived hard-on in a more traditional way before something came to pass that he wouldn't be able to live down for the reminders of his days.
Becoming aware of his surroundings again, he realized that his feet had carried him to a small clearing. He couldn't be more than fifty yards away from the location of his near-humiliation, but other than for the pretty waterspout fountain gushing forth from a numarble statue in form of a pagan deity from their mother planet Earth, he could have been deep in the heart of a forest.
Presumably due to the limited operating distance of the remote, the butt plug was as quite as a numouse now, but in his state of feverish arousal he couldn't have cared less. With shaking hands, he pushed down his trousers and closed his fingers around his throbbing erection, but was stopped in his tracks by a very familiar light tenor. "So what have we got here?" Tarrant asked mockingly. "A disobedient child all alone in the woods, prey to whatever big, bad wolf passing by. Or shall I say lost in the mazes of the needs of his body?" All at once, the features so transcendentally beautiful in the moonlight hardened. "You know the rules, Mitchell. They're not up for negotiation. And now kindly take your hands off your privates, or suffer the punishment for your insubordination."
"Gerald, please, don't make me stop now. Just let me go on, and you can have your way with me later. I promise I'll play along with whatever you have in mind."
The former Hunter approached him as gracefully as an uncat on the prowl and tilted up his chin with a slender index finger until they were face to face. "Hearing you beg so nicely is such a delightful reward for my troubles that I'm inclined to grant your wish," he breathed. "On my terms, of course. But for a start, let's make sure that you won't feel tempted to use your hands again. We can't have this happening, can we?"
Before he could count to three, Darren found himself being pushed backwards against a chestnut tree. At the very next moment, his lover was behind him in a motion almost inhuman in its speed and fluency and pulled his arms around the stem. Something suspiciously feeling like a pair of handcuffs snapped close around his wrists, and he was trapped.
The young man tried to calm his racing heartbeat. It wasn't the first time that Tarrant was restricting his freedom of movement. On more occasions than he could actually count, he had found himself being tied to the bed posts, a rather reasonable measure of precaution if one wanted to keep his partner in a heightened state of sexual arousal for an extended length of time. But instead of lending a helping hand or at least switching on the damned vibration again, the adept just stepped back and admired his handiwork with evident satisfaction.
After what seemed like a small eternity, Gerald casually raised his left arm and consulted his watch, a deceptively plain gold piece which was worth a surgeon's entire annual salary. "I'm afraid we can't let our guests wait for our reappearance much longer," he said matter-of-factly. "Hence, you've got five minutes to get it over with. Should you make it in less time, there will be a bonus waiting for you."
His hackles rising, a presence dead and buried for five hundred years resurfaced from a place deep down Mitchell's soul. "I'd like nothing better, you vulking bastard," he fumed, utterly oblivious to the fact that his voice was a whole octave deeper than usual. "But aren't you forgetting something of vital importance? What about the stimulation required for 'getting it over with'?"
Tarrant blinked, and a strange expression of yearning flickered across his ageless features. But before the heart surgeon could make sense of it, he was back to his usual, aloof self. "Why, it seems that you are forgetting all about your rectal muscles," he retorted haughtily. "If I were you, I'd better put them into good use instead of whining about your fate. The night isn't getting any younger. And now have a good time!"
The sole occupant of his mind again, Darren hung his head. With regard to his previous experiences, he was dead certain that he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell to get sexual satisfaction from contracting his muscles around an inserted object of any kind whatsoever, let alone in the relatively short time span of five minutes. For that matter, Gerald could as well have told him to sprout wings and take to the air.
The adept chuckled. "But I would never ask the impossible of you. Whatever you might think of me, I'm not an ogre. As it happens, tonight I'm in a particularly lenient mood. Obey me without further resistance, and I'll see what I can do for you."
Registering the unmistakable tone of command in the low, controlled voice, a shudder of lust passed through the young man's body. If somebody had suggested that he had a submissive streak prior to his encounter with Tarrant, he would have tapped his head and suggested psychological counselling. But being at the mercy of his lover was arousing to such an extent that he couldn't close his eyes to the truth any longer.
As if in a trance, Mitchell started to do what he had been told, clenching and unclenching his muscles in a slow, but steady rhythm. At first, he thought it would be love's labour lost in the most literal sense of the phrase. But after a while, the gentle internal massage was beginning to take effect, and he doubled his efforts until his obedience was rewarded with a very welcome reactivation of the black rubber intruder, if only on the lowest level. On its own, the faint buzz wouldn't have been sufficient to transport him to the realms of ecstasy, but along with the rhythmical pressure on his sweet spot it was enough to send his pulse racing and his breath flying.
Panting, he gazed down on his nether regions and could barely believe his eyes. While Gerald had been fucking him, he had often lost the better part of his erection unless he had kept his little friend happy by simultaneously whacking off. But now he was rock-hard, his cock pointing up almost vertically, its veins standing out in stark relief and his glans a deep shade of purple glittering with his own fluids.
Stunned by the incredible sight, he was but dimly aware that Tarrant had shortened the distance and was standing right at his side now. But a pale finger touching his abdomen just below his belly button brought him back to the here and now with a start. It travelled leisurely ever southwards, tracing the length of his shaft until it reached the tip of his penis, and he shivered with pleasant anticipation. But as his pelvis thrust forward seemingly on its own account, the adept instantly snatched back his hand.
Fairly annoyed, Mitchell jerked up his head and glared at his tormentor, just to freeze to the metaphorical pillar of salt. In the dim light, Gerald's pupils had dilated so much that just a narrow ring of silver was circling an ocean of black as lightless as a true night. But it was the expression of untamed, feral hunger in those fathomless depths watching his every reaction which caused his hairs to stand on end all over his body.
His eyes never leaving his lover's face, the adept licked off the proof of his arousal very much in the manner of an unkitten enjoying a bowl of milk. When he had cleansed himself to the very last drop, he turned his attention on his flies, unlacing his pants and pulling them down over protruding hip bones ever so slowly as if he were having all the time in the world. Then his middle finger slipped inside him without further ado, and Darren forgot how to breathe.
Everything inside him screaming for release, he did his best to intensify the stimulation, picking up the pace and contracting his rectal muscles as hard as he consciously could, but somehow he seemed to be stuck at the plateau phase. "Gerald, you're driving me crazy. Please, please take pity on me and get me off. I can't take this any longer," he moaned, desperately trying to free his hands.
"I really don't understand why you're lamenting, Mitchell. You're doing fine," Tarrant purred into his ear. "Just stop thinking about it. Climaxing is about releasing inhibitions, giving in to the sensations without interference from your higher brain functions. But enough idle talk. You're running out of time. I want you to come for me. Now."
To the end of his days, he wouldn't find out what had actually caused it. Perhaps it was a mixture of the rather inspiring sight of Gerald playing with himself right in front of him and the twisted joy of submitting to the powerful will of a being almost a thousand and five hundred years his senior. Or even a sublime command planted inside his mind via the channel. Knowing the man in question for almost nine months now, he certainly wouldn't put this beyond him. Anyway, his entire perception changed at a moment's notice, and when another wave of lustful tension started to build up in his loins, he rode it without worrying where it would carry him.
The adept grasped his left nipple with his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently between them at first. But suddenly, he pinched the little nub of flesh so hard that it hurt, and the added stimulus was all it took to send Darren over the edge. His eyes closed in rapture, he wasn't even remotely aware that his lover had removed his hands as soon as he had reached the point of no return and was applying firm pressure at the mid-point between his anus and scrotum with three fingers. The mind-blowing surge of pleasure unlike anything he had previously experienced crested, rolled over him like a spring tide, and all he could do was biting down on midnight blue velvet in order to muffle the hoarse outcries he couldn't have suppressed even if his life had depended on it.
Coming halfway to his senses, Mitchell found himself sitting on the ground, leaning against the chestnut tree he had been chained to by the very man who was straddling him now, naked below the belt. To his astonishment, in spite of just coming down from the most intense peak of his entire life, he still had an impressive boner, a fact his vis-à-vis evidently was just about taking advantage of. "Keep in mind that I've promised you a bonus if you completed your task in less than five minutes," the adept breathed. "Hence, I had to make sure that you had a dry orgasm. No ejaculation, no refractory period. And now..."
Tarrant lowered himself onto him until his entrance touched his glans, and something inside the heart surgeon snapped. In the blink of an eye, he circled his lover's waist, pulled him down on the soft turf and rolled on top of him. "A bonus for me, is it?" he growled. "In this case, I'd rather claim it on my terms."
At the very next moment, he pressed forward into the tight, oiled channel. After all those months, he knew from experience that it would be easier for Gerald to come if he was either taken from behind or could be on top and ride himself to seventh heaven as he had doubtlessly intended to do. But keeping him on tenterhooks a bit was exactly the point of the matter.
Slender fingers were gripping his flanks now, urging him on. But dead set on taking it nice and slow, he pried them off and pinned the adept's wrists to the ground. "What's come over you, Mitchell? Release me at once!" Tarrant hissed very much in the manner of a disgruntled uncat. Faced with a mien which evoked rather disturbing memories of his mate's murderous past, Darren got rather cold feet, and he might have called off his journey to so far undiscovered countries at the eleventh hour if he hadn't felt something hot and hard prodding in his belly.
Gazing southwards, he couldn't help but breaking out into a broad grin. Judged by his straining erection, the former Hunter was obviously taking quite well to his teasing. In any case, he wasn't a weakling and could presumably break his grip in a heartbeat if he truly wanted to. But in spite of his token protests, Gerald was evidently enjoying the new game no less than he himself. "No way," the young man chuckled. "Climaxing is all about releasing one's inhibitions and giving in to the sensations. You've told me so, remember? But of course, you could always call it a day and go back to the party. We've been keeping our guests waiting long enough."
His eyes blazing with defiance, Tarrant glared daggers at him, and for a drawn out moment he feared that he had gone too far. But after a moment of tense silence, the adept's frown softened into a faint smile. "A taste of my own medicine, eh? Eventually, you'll pay for this trespass. Dearly. But for the time being, I have to admit that I'm feeling rather... intrigued."
"Is that so?" Still grinning, he deepened the penetration, and Gerald opened for him like a flower kissed by the first rays of the rising dawn, taking him in to the hilt without a hint of resistance. For a while, Mitchell stayed completely still, relishing in being engulfed by satiny heat fitting him like a custom-tailored glove. But then he gave in to the overpowering urge to move, twisting his hips for testing purposes until a low gasp told him that he had found what he had been looking for. Gotcha, he thought gleefully.
After several repetitions of the exercise, he could feel the tension rising in the lean body writhing beneath him in his very bones. Long legs came up and hooked around his hips like a steel trap, trying to force him into a faster rhythm, but still he refused to let himself be rushed. With one orgasm already under his belt, now it was him who could proceed at his leisure. And seeing the man he loved lost in sensation, moaning softly and tossing his head from side to side on a blanket of silky golden-brown hair, was quite a delectable experience which he verily intended to savour for a little bit longer.
Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Tarrant made a more serious attempt to free himself. But Darren had seen it coming and had prepared for the eventuality by shifting the better part of his body weight to his arms. "Shush, beloved. Don't fight me," he whispered. "It's no use. I'm calling the shots now, and the more you struggle, the longer it will take. It's up to you."
"Bastard. Son of a bitch," the adept choked out between gritted teeth.
"All this and more. Oh, and while we're at it, I'd rather you removed your long shanks from by back. Slowly but surely, it's getting somewhat uncomfortable.
"Don't be ridiculous. I can't see the point in..."
"You'd better not waste your breath on arguing with me, Gerald. Just do it. That's a good boy. And now spread them a bit further apart."
When Tarrant had rearranged his limbs to his satisfaction, the young surgeon set about holding his legs down with his own. Having him thus, the spread eagle position of his lithe frame the very picture of utter helplessness, was such a turn on that he very nearly cancelled his plan to drag this out as long as humanly possible. But somehow, he managed to control the need to speed up, keeping it slow and shallow with an occasional deeper thrust.
Laying skin to skin, Mitchell couldn't observe what was going on with the adept's nether regions. But he could hear his low whimpers, a sound sweeter to him than Josh Kilrain's famous Seventh Symphony, could feel his erection twitching violently against his abdomen each and every time his own cock hit home, and he realized that Gerald was close. But it wasn't until the beautiful face twisted into a grimace of pleasure and he felt his lover's muscles clamping around his shaft like a vise that he finally let go of his wrists and started pounding into him as if he wanted to fuck him into the ground.
Tarrant instinctively wrapped his arms around him, clinging to him like a drowning man while his entire body was jerking to the rhythm of the orgasmic contractions tearing through his abdomen. Finally, he sagged back with a last shudder. But knowing that he had to be far from being fully satisfied, Darren continued without easing up.
The adept was so very tight in the wake of his climax that the friction arising as he enthusiastically worked his pelvis back and forth was almost painful. Almost, but not quite. As a result of the intense stimulation, it didn't take long until a familiar tingling sensation in his groin warned him that the fun would be over soon if he didn't take any precautions. Mobilizing his last vestiges of self-control, he paused for a moment. But any attempts at slowing things down a bit were nipped in the bud when Gerald dug his fingers deeply into the soft skin of his buttocks and pushed him on with reckless abandon. "Don't you dare to stop now. Faster!" he demanded, and teetering on the brink of his sexual zenith the young man was only too willing to comply to his wishes.
After slinging his legs around his waist again, Tarrant arched up into him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Yes, right there, Mitchell. Harder. It feels so good," he moaned ecstatically. "I think I'm going to... oh GOD!" His voice rose to a long, piercing scream of pleasure which reverberated through the still night air like a cannon shot. But with the rhythmic pulse around him triggering his own climax, Darren couldn't have cared less about eventual eavesdroppers.
Quite a while later, when they were checking each others' clothes for grass stains and traces of other, even more telling substances, the heart surgeon suddenly got the giggles. "Mind informing me what's so funny?" Gerald inquired with a frown.
"What's so funny? Are you kidding?" Plucking a twig from his lover's hair, Mitchell grinned from ear to ear. "Just in case you haven't noticed yet, we've been making ourselves scarce for roundabout an hour now. Not to mention that with regard to the racket we've produced, every single soul withing earshot has to be in the know about the reason for our absence. You're going to have a hard time explaining this away."
The adept snorted scornfully. "Being accountable to none, I don't intend to explain anything. By now, most of our guests will have drunk themselves into a stupor, anyway, and won't be able to tell the difference between an orgy at Karril's rental stable and divine service. Don't let it trouble you."
"No problem! Even if I had to run the gauntlet, our love-making would be worth every second of it. But before we go back and take on the pack, I'd like to come forward with a proposal."
Tarrant raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. "I'm all ears, Mitchell."
"Pete has invited us to his birthday party next week. Nothing more spectacular than a barbecue with a few friends. But I've just been wondering whether you, well, would mind switching roles for a change. Would you do this for me?"
For a long time, his lover kept staring at him without blinking once, and under the scrutiny of the clear, grey eyes Darren felt a trickle of sweat running down his spine. "Just let me get this clear," the adept whispered at long last. "You want me to wear this nasty little device to a barbecue. And to make matters worse, you're doubtlessly planning on holding sway over the remote control. Is that correct?"
"Uh, in essence yes, beloved. Never mind. It was a stupid idea, and..."
"Not at all. In fact, I'm quite agreeable to your suggestion It's only fair. Tit for tad." The corners of Gerald's mouth curved upwards into a mischievous smile. "Let's only hope that our friend Anderson's rather cramped premises will offer certain, how should I put it politely, options to withdraw from the public eye for a while."
The young surgeon burst out laughing. Even after all those months, Gerald never failed to surprise him, but he wouldn't have had it differently. Still smiling, he flipped a last blade of grass off a silk-clad shoulder. Then they vanished into the darkness under the trees, bound by something infinitely subtler but no less durable than steely manacles.