Racy chapter for you all again, because this is what, Chapter 9? Madness. This might turn out to be a somewhat longer fic than anticipated. Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not mine.
What Robin kept forgetting was that Bertrand was a tease. Once he had Robin immobilised and completely in his power, no matter how much they both wanted – even needed – each other, it was almost guaranteed that Bertrand would keep him moaning and squirming for hours before finally giving him what he wanted, whatever that was. And Bertrand always knew, somehow, exactly what would bring Robin right to the edge of euphoria and how to hold him there without letting him fall. Put like that, it sounded like torture, but blood, Robin loved it.
Gently, because Bertrand was always careful with Robin, the vampire repositioned his arms until he could pin both wrists down with one hand. Robin knew that meant trouble, because now Bertrand had a hand free. For now, it was braced against the side of the coffin as Bertrand broke away from Robin's lips and just stared down at him, like he was drinking in the sight. Maybe he was, but Robin knew that Bertrand had another reason for holding off like this. Maybe this time he could resist, maybe this time he could outlast Bertrand in this ridiculous staring contest… he should have known better, he realised, writhing involuntarily as he always did. Bertrand would never be beaten at this game. Robin didn't mind, because he knew where they were going next.
Sure enough, Bertrand's free hand came round to undo the buttons at the front of his shirt, torturously slowly, moving down his chest until he reached the fly of his jeans. He undid that too, and Robin whimpered with need, dignity forgotten. Bertrand simply moved the fabric aside, running a finger just underneath the waistband of Robin's boxers, before sweeping his tongue straight up from that point to his collarbone in one unbroken stroke. He'd had to let go of his wrists, briefly, to pull that off, but Robin was in no state to even think about moving as a shiver ran the length of his body.
"Bertrand, I-" His boyfriend silenced him with a kiss, then disappeared downwards again, pushing Robin's shirt right off his shoulders before pressing kisses to every inch of exposed skin he could find. Robin wasn't sure how much longer he could stand this, but it felt too good for him to keep his hands still and they flew to tug impatiently at Bertrand's shirt-buttons. He expected a reprimand for almost ruining the shirt, but Bertrand just sat up to pull the offending garment off and began unbuckling his belt. Robin reached down, but Bertrand caught his hand, pressing it against the side of the coffin with a look that just told him to keep it there.
Bertrand had slipped a hand inside his own trousers, but his other hand had tugged Robin's boxers down and wrapped around him in a way that made thinking really quite difficult. When Bertrand bent down to get his mouth involved, Robin gave up altogether and surrendered to the bliss.
Bertrand wondered, sometimes, how he had got here. If anyone had told him, even half a century ago, that he would be doing this willingly – and for a breather, no less – he would have reduced them to dust without even thinking about it. Now here he was, making Robin squirm helplessly, hands still pressed against the side of the coffin. He knew Robin got a strange thrill out of Bertrand taking control, but he also knew that his lover worried about Bertrand's own control issues. He wasn't sure how much of his professed enjoyment was down to not wanting to push Bertrand out of his comfort zone.
It had been almost six years since they'd first got together, and he knew everyone thought there were no boundaries left in their relationship. After all, they seemed to almost think as one unit, they were almost unbearably domesticated, they always knew what each other needed. There were some things, though, that couldn't be cured by kisses and coffin-sharing, things like Bertrand's trust issues.
He did trust Robin, of course he did, but there was something deep down inside that constantly warned him not to leave himself completely vulnerable. Even when he and Robin were alone, he was always half-aware of everything around him, trying to calculate how safe they each were if they should come under attack. He knew that his beloved breather was safest when Bertrand was free to react to threats, and that meant that letting Robin take control was a risky business. He tried, he really did, but something in his head was constantly screaming NOT SAFE until he took over again, taking control so that if something happened he could get Robin to the safest possible place and be defending him in seconds, without having to wait for the boy to realise he needed to let him.
Robin had always been so understanding of the demands and constraints that put on the physical side of their relationship; there were things he knew Robin wanted to do to him that Bertrand just couldn't allow, not yet. And he knew Robin wanted him to do other things to him, but Bertrand was afraid, above all else, of causing him harm. There were things they had never done, no matter how much they both wanted to, and that was just how it was.
This, however, this feeling of Robin against his tongue, he could do this. He was good at this, at least according to Robin and the myriad appreciative noises he made. Even now, Robin's hands were leaving the coffin walls, curling and tightening in his hair, and Bertrand's hand was moving with more urgency, and then Robin let out a strangled gasp and lay back, spent. Bertrand swallowed hard and allowed himself to move and collapse beside Robin, barely even surprised when Robin reached across to finish what Bertrand had started. He didn't have time to be surprised, too busy seeing stars and keeping his eyes fixed on Robin until they fluttered shut and he moaned urgently.
"Robin-!"
They decided to take a nap, after that, all wrapped up in each other and completely indifferent to the mess. It had been an emotional day, after all.
