Only my 2nd fic, so all reviews are welcome! It's pretty much PWP, but considering the weird relationship between these two, not completely impossible, I think.
Notes on the text:
The present is just after the second season. I'm assuming Irons is either dead or comatose, but definitely not in working order.
The past would be prior to meeting Sara.
Warning!
Rating : NC-17
This is a slash fic, with sexuallly explicit situations between two men! Don't like? Don't read. It's that simple.
Disclaimer: Alas, poor me! None of these characters are mine!
Present.
I don't know why she came here, standing there in her world of right and wrong.
So sure that what she did is right. That she slew the dragon, saved the world. She doesn't see, the world is the dragon.
She thinks she saved me too.
How could I explain it to her? She has no frame of reference, no idea of our world. Strange rules and stranger liberties. A world so utterly different from hers. She is out of place, homesick, timesick. Judging this new thing by standards that can never apply.
Everything about us unsettles her.
I didn't need saving. He is not a cruel man.
But, she says, he hit you! and she does not understand why I smile. I try to explain, the only time he truly hurt me was when he left me, thinking he was dead. She thinks he did me a favour.
She is probably right. I learned a lot during that time. Despair, and rage. I even died. And for a moment she understood. And then that moment was gone.
I could show her. All I need to do is close my eyes and I'm there again, relive the memory as if it's the first time.
Post-traumatic stress syndrome she says.
I ignore her. I take her hand. The blade drags her into my memories with me.
Past.
I do not know what to expect.
I'm early, formal dress as ordered. I am nervous.
He is late, lesson the first. He is in control.
His delay gives me time to wonder. To question my choice. Was it wise? Yes, it was. He's the best teacher I ever had. Whatever others taught me, music, poetry, violence, he improved upon. He's an excellent teacher, harsh but excellent.
Yes, my choice was sensible.
He's here.
He closes the door behind him and looks at me. I steal a look at him as best I can with my head bowed down. Grey suit, impeccable as usual. Definitely not nervous. He never is.
"Look at me." Cautiously I lift my head. I never look in his eyes. Sometimes he forces me, when he thinks I lie, or by way of punishment. He lifts his hand towards my face and I flinch, just slightly. Nothing anyone would notice but he did and he narrows his eyes. His hand hesitates in mid air, he misunderstands. I shock both of us by grabbing his hand before he can pull back. Instantly I let go again, cursing myself.
"Forgive me."
He will punish me now, he will leave. I go back to default stance, head down, eyes down, hands behind my back.
"Ian, look at me." He does not sound angry. I gather my courage and look up again. He's smiling. Somehow he's pleased. He strokes my face. Perhaps my choice was not so wise.
Employer, teacher, master.
Making me exquisitely uncomfortable.
"There is nothing to forgive, Ian." he moves closer to me. "In this room, during these lessons, you are allowed to tell me what you want, you can touch me. Here you must learn to speak about your desires."
I understand. I also understand what he does not say. Outside this room, nothing changes.
"So tell me, is this what you want? You may still choose another teacher."
I swallow hard. There really is no going back now.
"Yes, this is what I want." He smiles again, but makes no move towards me. I am at a loss about what to do next.
"Undress me." Relieved I move towards him, this is something I know, but he stops me.
"No. Slowly. This is not an assignment, Ian. It is exploring."
I try, but my programming interferes. He understands. He takes my hands, removes my gloves. Dressed in a very formal suit, I suddenly feel naked. He slides his fingers over the pressure point in my palms. Lightly, feathery. But it makes me shiver. With that little move he wakes every nerve in my body. Makes me acutely aware of every touch. Makes sure that this experience will be imprinted on my mind forever.
He knows this.
He reaches up, loosens my hair. He likes my hair long. Even though, in my profession, short hair is more convenient. As it falls around my face he puts one hand on the back of my head and pulls me closer, whispers in my ear. The warmth of his breath a caress on my neck. His scent envelops me. Subtle but warm and very male.
"This room is special, Ian, these lessons are special."
He holds me still, holds me mesmerised. He's creating a bubble in my conditioning, a separate place, different rules.
A dangerous thing to do. Give the wolf some leeway. Only I'm not sure which one of us is the wolf. Neither of us is a likely candidate for little red riding hood.
His hand slides down to my shoulder, down my chest and I think he can feel my heart pounding. He takes the jacket from my shoulders, loosens my tie, unbuttons my shirt. One button at a time. As he gets to my stomach he slips a finger between the buttons, caressing the skin and my heart skips a beat. Now I know he can feel it pounding because he smiles.
When all the buttons are undone, he lets the shirt hang open, and kneels down. Starts to unlace my boots. No! This is not right, I cannot let my master undress me like this! I try to step back but he is faster. He gets up and grabs me, pulls me close. Again he whispers in my ear "In this room, it's ok, Ian." and the heat of his breath on my ear makes me shiver again, makes me give in. He gets down again and finishes unlacing my boots. I step out of them. He takes off my socks, brushing a thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of my feet, just below the ankle.
Strange. Such a small, soft touch. Intimate like a kiss.
He gets up, puts his hands on my chest. They're warm and smooth and strong. He slides up to my shoulders and down my arms, brushing off my shirt. It falls on the floor. I resist the urge to pick it up and put it away. Then his hands slide down my stomach, with a touch so light it is teasing and I breathe a little faster. I tense up, but he just unzips my pants and slides them over my knees, my underwear follows and I'm now completely naked before him.
He steps back and looks at my body. Studies me.
Just when I begin to feel exposed, he looks up at me.
When he speaks his voice is different. Lower than I'm used to, huskier.
"You are beautiful."
Beautiful? I have been called many things, mostly adjectives on the unpleasant end of the descriptive continuum, but beautiful? Scars and all? I lower my eyes again, but with a hand on my chin he forces me to look at him. The look in his eyes!
He means it! He really thinks I'm beautiful.
"Undress me, Ian." This time another tone creeps in his voice, an asking tone, a longing tone.
I like it.
I do as he asks, as he did to me, slowly, savouring the touch of cloth and buttons and skin. So intense without the gloves. I feel like I'm unwrapping a present. With each layer I take off, the warmth of his body increases, released from imprisonement in layers of grey clothes and cool smiles. As I take off his pants, my cheek brushes past his groin and I can feel he is getting hard. On the way back up I graze my fingers over the inside of his thigh and I'm pleased to hear his breath come slightly sharper.
At last I reach bare skin. I've seen him naked before, but never really looked at him. Never like this.
I do now. He is slim, muscles less pronounced than mine, but strong. Narrow hips, smooth skin, paler than mine, dark pink nipples, silver hair around his hardening cock.
I find him attractive. There is something deeply arousing about the power and heat radiating off him, contrasting with the coolness of his colouring.
Like moonlit steel.
I feel my body react to the sight of him and I realise I lied.
My choice was neither wise nor sensible.
I know him better than anyone, but I want to know him completely.
Scent, touch and taste.
I want him to feel passion for me. To find pleasure in me.
I chose him because in the deep, secret places of my soul I desire him.
Master, teacher, father.
Lover.
He steps away from me. What did I do wrong?
"Why am I here, Ian?" He looks me in the eye, his voice is soft, his tone almost playful. I'm instantly wary. He's dangerous when he uses that tone.
"Because you have told me to learn."
"That is why you are here. Why am I here?" He sounds as if he's willing to wait eternally for my answer. If only it is the right answer. And I know what he means.
"Because I desire you."He shows the smallest hint of a smile, and his breathing quickens. But it seems he is not satisfied. Frantically I search for the reason he wants to hear. I don't want him to leave, not now. And then I find it.
"Because I need you." My voice sounds strange to me, shaky. Another truth I had not realised, but I cannot deny it now.
He knew. He simply wanted me to know as well.
Lesson the second.
I do need him. Because he is the only one to look at me without fear, without loathing. He gives me purpose, a place where I fit. He has seen me shot and bleeding, has seen me murder and lie. He has seen me cry. And still he thinks I'm beautiful.
And now he is satisfied. He steps closer to me, until we're almost touching. Almost. The warmth of him, his scent, his nearness is intoxicating and it is my breath that comes faster now.
"What do you want?" he asks.
"I want to touch you." I whisper. It's a full smile now, only slightly smug.
"Then do." Hesitantly I trail a finger over his chest, brush past a nipple and am immensely pleased to feel him shiver. He is so close to me. My desire to feel him becomes an ache. I want... I want to kiss him but I dare not. Instead I lower my head, my heart pounding, expecting him to draw back. He doesn't. I trace the lines of his neck with my lips, my tongue. Slight stubble there, strangely pleasant. He catches his breath when I bite, but he doesn't stop me. Encouraged I put both hands on his chest, slide them downwards over hard muscles. No softness, no yielding female curves. As I move down over his stomach, I brush against the tip of his erection. It awakens a different desire in me. Something primal, competitive and dominating.
It shakes me to the core.
I pull back but he follows with a knowing smile. He pushes me back till I hit the wall and I have nowhere to go.
"Relax." He reaches out, caresses me all over, carefully, taking his time, as if he's trying to see me with his hands. It calms me down, weakens the decrees of my conditioning, rules that make him untouchable. His hands ignite a slow fire in my skin. He catches my ear with his mouth and I melt into his embrace.
How did he know I would?
His mouth moves down my throat and I turn my head to give him better access. He pulls back a little to look at me and I shiver at the loss of his warmth against me. He singles out a scar, traces it with his finger, then licks it like a predator. It's a possessive gesture and I find it intensely erotic.
"I remember this one."
So do I, the bullet broke my collarbone. I remember seeing him with my blood on him and thinking for a split second I'd failed.
"You saved my life that day."
He rights himself til he looks me in the face. Then he comes closer, his mouth just over mine. I wait with beating heart. "Thank you, Ian." I love the way he says my name. And then I feel his lips on mine, soft, gentle. For a second he remains like that. Then I feel his tongue stroking my lips, and I open my mouth for the kiss I wanted since I saw him naked.
He's a great kisser, coaxing, teasing. Tastes like coffee and brandy. Somehow during that kiss my hands find themselves roaming his body. I pull him closer, I want to feel his hardness against me, but he resists. Suddenly, I feel his hand on my cock, playing with the tip and I stop breathing. He breaks the kiss.
"Breathe, Ian." He laughs.
He moves downwards, sucks a nipple, while slowly stroking me. I think this is heaven, but he is not done. He continues kissing, licking and biting his way down, singling out scars, literally reading me like a book, his voice humming against my skin, claiming me, astonishing me by remembering them all, scars from fights, trainings, punishments, until he kneels before me. My breath is no longer under my control. It goes fast and shallow. My mind reeling from what he's about to do. He gives me a wicked smile. His tongue touches my head and I try to stifle a moan. I succeed somewhat but then his mouth closes over my cock and I whimper. I throw my head back and hit the wall as he sucks me hard. Oh, such skill! Involuntary I try to thrust but he pins my hips against the wall. He's strong and it heightens my desire. I want to run my fingers through his hair, hold his head, but I can't bring myself to do it. He is still my master. I start to tremble and try to hold on to the wall. He's going to make me come and it scares me, to be this vulnerable, so out of control in front of him. But then he releases me, moves up again. "Not yet." he whispers in my ear. I desperately try to collect my senses. Not really working. He squeezes me to lessen my arousal and it works. He nuzzles my throat, plays with the hairs on my chest, then caresses my mouth with his fingers and I bite them, suck them. He works his way down again, gets me as hard as before. One hand is curled around me and the other teases my balls, then spreads my legs a little. Before I can think about what he's planning his mouth is on me once more, but he's teasing this time and I want more, more... Then I almost lose it as he slides a moist finger inside me. He stops all movement as I try to catch my breath, try to adjust to the intrusion. I regain some control of myself but then he starts to move inside me. He brushes exactly the right spot and I have to grab his shoulders for support. He does it again and I moan, helplessly lost in the sensations. He drives me to distraction, then stops again, squeezes me, allowing my desire to cool somewhat, then gets me so hard again, so hard it aches. He pumps me faster, outside and inside and I forget myself.
"Oh. Father, please..." The words are no louder than a breath but he hears. He stops. No.
"Don't..." I whisper, dizzy with pleasure. He looks at me, the concern in his eyes doesn't register right away with me.
"Please what, Ian? What is it you want?" He asks, softly, huskily.
"I want, I want to come." I manage haltingly, my breathing erratic. He smirks, resumes what he was doing. "Then do." he whispers. His mouth closes on my aching cock again and he sucks me hard, makes a turning movement with his mouth that drives me mad, while his fingers move in and out of me faster, harder. The pleasure becomes cruel, my heart going far too fast, I can't hold back anymore, don't want to. My breath stops and I'm caught in that endless moment right before orgasm, when the world disappears.
Oh.
Father.
Then I come, in his mouth.
When I catch my breath again and regain my senses, I'm kneeling on the floor and he's holding me.
When did my knees give out? He kisses me again, tastes like brandy and coffee and Ian now. Somehow it makes me feel very territorial. Mine.
He lets me go. Looking into his eyes I see I'm not the only one feeling ownership.
"Good?" he asks as he helps me up. I don't really manage a coherent answer, but he sees it on my face, in the sluggishness of my movements. And he smiles his superior smile.
"Then show me what you've learned." He makes it sound like a challenge.
Time for a little revenge, I think. I want to make him writhe with pleasure.
But first, another kiss. I put my hands around his face, kiss him deeply. This time no teasing, he answers with passion, with hunger and I feel his erection press against me. I let my hands slide down to his shoulders. His hands move down my back. Once again I move my mouth to his neck. He closes his eyes and makes a little sound that tells me he likes it. Must remember that. Meanwhile I move us closer to the bed. With a final bite I push him off balance and onto the bed.
How does he manage to fall gracefully?
He seems surprised, but not offended. In fact he seems pleased and I see his eyes go darker with passion. He always liked a challenge. He reaches up and pulls me down, rolling me over, so I'm under him. He goes to lick my nipple, but this is my turn and although he is strong, he's not black dragon strong. I flip him on his back and straddle him. He gives in for the moment. He looks up at me.
"So now what?" His voice is all sex and my desire is growing again by the second.
"Now I show you what I've learned." I let my eyes wander over his body. "Beautiful." I whisper. There's a flash of something in his eyes, but it's gone too fast to tell what it was.
Oh yes, beautiful. The man seems made of heat and silver. No scars, except the one on his hand. Flawless skin, but I left marks on his shoulders. I kiss them. I tease one hard nipple, licking, biting, as I stroke his chest, down over his abdomen, flat belly, strong muscles, past his cock, along the inside of his thighs, back up to cup his balls. I can feel his heart and breathing speed up. His excitement is contagious. I love that I am doing this to him. Love the sight of my hands on him.
I lick the palm of my hand and take him in hand. He throws his head back and moans as I slowly move up and down. I squeeze him a little tighter, go a little faster. God, I love watching what it does to him. He opens his eyes and looks at me, looking at him. I never saw that look in his eyes before. I can't quite name it. But I have waited long enough, I want to know his taste. I move down over him, take him in my mouth. He inhales sharply and bucks his hips, but I pin him down as he did to me. He tangles his hands in my hair as I suck him. I stop a moment to wet my fingers. As I resume and slide them inside him he gives a little shout. I wait a while til I feel him relax around me. I have to search a moment for the right spot inside him, but I know I found it as I see him arch his back. and feel his hands tighten on my hair. He lets out soft moans as I continue. The sounds of his excitement, the hardness in my hands and mouth makes me hard as he is.
Suddenly he grabs my hair, pulls me away from him. "Stop." his voice is raw. Did I hurt him? Did I displease him? He opens a drawer next to the bed and takes something out.
"You learned well, I think it's time we moved on, don't you?" he smiles at me, breathing hard. I'm not sure what he means, but I'm glad he's not displeased with me.
Then I see what he's holding. Instantly my nervousness returns. It's a lubricant. I can't help but cast a quick glance at his erect penis, wet and glistening from my mouth. He is well-endowed, this is going to hurt.
He knows I'm nervous, I can't hide it from him, not now. He comes close to me, strokes my face. "It won't hurt too much."
He is not a cruel man. He knows the nature of violence, the value of pain. He knows it well enough to use it sparingly. He does not delight in suffering. He punishes, yes, but only when I deserve it. He can be harsh, misinformation, manipulation, yes all this, but he does not tell an outright lie. Dangerous, demanding, but not cruel. And so I believe him. He kisses me, a soft, tender kiss. But he does not proceed. He needs something from me. I look into his eyes, hold his gaze. "I want this." I do. I have come this far, I want it all now. Still he doesn't move. It occurs to me, maybe he needs me too."I trust you." This time I see it in his eyes, clearly, unmistakably. Yes, he needs me too. Kenneth Irons, powerful, independent, cold, needs me. Not just too guard him, to kill for him.
He needs me.
Ironically, by showing me his need, he binds me to him more closely, completely. Binds me in honour, loyalty and love.
And he probably knew.
But now the need in his eyes is replaced by something else : pure lust. He pushes me on my back, gets between my legs, totally in control again. He gets me so hard, hands, lips, tongue, teeth, til I'm ready to beg for more. He puts the lubricant on his fingers, slips them inside me, stretching me, teasing me. When he thinks I'm ready, he puts more lube on his hand, then rubs it on himself. The sight of him rubbing himself is deeply arousing. I can't take my eyes off him.
"No condoms this time, I want to feel you around me, no barriers, Ian." My heart skips another beat. I'm ridiculously grateful he wishes to be so close to me. Even though I know he probably knows my health status better than I do. I feel his tip against me, then he slowly pushes in. I gasp for air. God, he's huge! It hurts and he stops, gives me time to relax. I force myself to do so. It helps that the sight of him entering me turns me on somehow. I look at his face as he pushes further in. I can see he's holding back the urge to just thrust. Once I relax, it actually hurts less than I feared. He pulls out, until only his tip is still inside me, then moves in again, a little deeper this time. I start to get accustomed to his size. He angles his thrusts a little and I cry out with pleasure as he hits that spot again. I look at his face and I see that his control, his ability to hold back is crumbling. He wraps his hand around my erect cock and starts to stroke me. By now the pain is drowned out by pleasure. I start meeting his thrusts, I want him as deep as I can take him. I want to see that control break! He knows what I'm doing and smiles. A wolfish smile. He makes it rougher and has me writhing on the bed. He lets go of me, and I whimper in frustration.
"Do it for me, Ian."
After all this he still manages to make me shy. It is one thing to be worked by him, another to do it myself in front of him. But of course being shy when he's inside me is silly at best, and he wants me to, so I comply. I reach down and stroke myself to his rhythm. He watches me. It pleases him, turns him on. Then he slaps my hand away and takes over again.
There is nothing tender about us anymore. This is primal, it is a battle for mastery. I want him to go faster and he does. He rides me hard, rides me til I beg him to be allowed to come. His movements become erratic, he is as close to the edge of climax as I am. He leans over, whispers in my ear. "You're so sweet, Ian, so tight. I want to feel you come." That just pushes me over the edge. As I come, so does he, shouting my name.
We lie in each other's arms, heart rates and breathing slowing down.
I could die now, and be content.
I feel sore, but it is nothing compared to being shot. I feel his smile against my throat. "I think we will have to wait a while now, for you to show me what you've learned."
And I just laugh, for the first time in my life, I laugh without holding back in the presence of my master.
Present
She pulls her hand from mine. Her eyes brimming with familiar loathing. But I know she felt the truth of it. The temptation. It makes no difference though.
"Freak."
Just one word. But it severs our worlds.
I sigh as I hear her leave.
There were a few more official sessions. As I resumed my normal duties, I knew I had learned jealousy.
Lesson the third.
Sometimes I went back to that room. Relived it all. Limbs, alabaster and honey entangled. His hands, his mouth on my body, his breath on my skin. The heat and the tightness of him, the hardness.
Sometimes he joined me there. When he was tired of being in control, when he needed someone who knew him, who loved him.
Sometimes he joined me when I needed him.
That night, after Aras, he found me staring at the ceiling. Aras, my lady's lookalike, but nothing like her. The things she did to me, the things I did to her …
If Sara knew, she'd have cut me open and fed my entrails to the dogs.
And I would have thanked her.
That night he wasn't gentle. I didn't deserve it. I fought the orgasm as long as I could, but he rode me till I broke. And as I came, so did the tears.
He sat with me then, stroking my hair, soothing the scratches she left on me. He told me of Elizabeth, and loss.
He stayed 'til I slept.
A few days later, Sara destroyed him.