To clarify: This is an AU of sorts, as the Seifer and Zell that are represented are characters that Xineko and I roleplay on a very regular basis. ^_^ My Seifer is not quite the sadistic bastard that you might be familiar with and Xiís Zell has a lisp and a tendency to run around the house wearing next to nothing. I know that many of you follow along with our charactersí livejournals, but for those of you who donít and would like to ~ links are at the end of the fic. Enjoy our addiction. You donít have to follow our rp storyline in order to appreciate this fic. Thereís going to be shmoopy kinkiness (is there such a thing?) and Zellís lisp is just too precious.
Written for Xineko ~ because Zellís just that unforgettable.
Play the Game
Let the game beginÖ
He knocks on the door, softly, hesitantly. Ridiculous, really, when you stop to consider precisely who and what he is to me.
"Come in." He knows what Iím thinking before he even opens the door and I can feel the delicious little shudder that courses through his beautifully compact body. The door opens, the tiniest fraction, and the golden crest of his hair is visible to me before anything else. And then his eyes meet mine. And I know that heís read my mind because after the brief, genuine smile he offers me, his gaze drops immediately to my lapÖto the collar and leash.
He grins at me, all pointed canines and full pink lips. I feel it all the way through.
"Am I interrupting thsomething?" His gaze darts around the room, teasing, and I know heís trying to keep it light. Keep it playful. ButÖI donít think I want it that way, and I know that he knows it. There is no thought that I might have, no matter how fleeting, that he isnít already aware of. Invasive, intrusive, maybeÖbut even as close as I have him, it can never really be close enough. Not with him.
He slips inside the room, easing the door closed behind him, leans back against it. His gaze is knowing and almost as predatory as my own. I feel the echo of his shudder as it skitters up my spine. That look. Itís the look he gives me when heís very near to capitulation. Itís also the way he lets me know that Iíll be the one with my knees pinned against my ears this time.
I glance down, taking in the midnight blue sarong heís wearing, scattered throughout with tiny flecks of glittery silver stars. The front of it is tented quite impressively. Itís how he lets me know that heís ready to play. And that heís game for anything I can dream up. Of us all, I believe that he is the most misunderstood one. Most people meet him and think that what they see is all theyíre getting. There is really only one other who has ever bothered to scratch the surface, find out whoís really under all that spiky hair and electric energy. Their loss. Our gain.
Heís thunder and rose petals. Heís lightning and thick, humid breezes. He is the faint, distant cry of the wolf that I can feel more than hear. Everything that I am begins and ends with him. And sometimes, like now, the need to dominate him, to subjugate him, flares within me. Nobody submits like he does. No one has ever been able to give me the release that he gives me. The freedom to take and take until I am fulfilled. And even then, he has more. He gives because he wants to and for no other reason. That he can submit to me so readily, obscure the flash of mischief in his eyes when he kneels before me, and make me believe that I control him is what always gets me off. Because I know it for the illusion that it is. I donít control him. I donít want to.
I open my mouth to speak, to tell him what I want, what to do, but heís already lowering himself to the floor. On all fours he crawls toward the bed, toward me. And never once does he try to hide the challenge in his eyes. Sinuous, faultless, his every movement is one of grace and discipline and it absolutely takes my breath.
I whisper his name; I canít seem to help myself. He smiles at me, almost mocking, a perfect replication of the sneer I can affect when it suits me.
"thShhhhÖ." He responds, drawing nearer, the muscles stretched taut across his shoulders, rippling subtly beneath his bare, bronzed skin. He still wears the gauzy scrap of silk low on his hips, but it hides nothing. The fluid sway of his hips as he nears me, covered though he is, leaves nothing to my imagination because I know his body as well as I know my own. And I know that beneath the sarong is nothing but smooth skin and scrolling black ink. He has no tan lines. And he has no flaws.
He reaches the side of the bed, leaning closer to rub his cheek against my leg before resting his chin on my knee and grinning up at me, his blue eyes glowing.
"Well go ahead." He prompts me, his knowing what Iím planning to do only making it all the more perfect. His gaze drops, his lips curving appreciatively as he acknowledges my erection, straining the confines of my thin, drawstring pants. It flashes through my mind, the image of those beautiful lips wrapped snugly around my cock, coaxing me, tempting me. His eyes meet mine, amusement reflecting back at me and I blush faintly, as I always do when I reach for him through our link and feel him, so solid and balanced. When I know heís feeling my every emotion, and is seeing my every thought. Heís the only one who can make me blush. The only one to know me well enough to merit it.
He places his hands on my knees, moving up and against me, insinuating his body between my legs and pressing his chest against my belly. He reaches between us to stroke my hardness and it responds as obediently as I expect he will.
I raise the collar to his neck, my hands steady even though my breathing is not, and he licks his lips when I fasten it securely. The collar fits him so perfectly, as it should, as I had it made just for him. For reasons totally unrelated to this, but he wears it anyway, and far more often than I ever expected him to.
The leash is already attached and I hold it slack, still staring down at him, just taking in the perfect picture he makes. I swallow, feeling my throat tighten as he leans up to trail his tongue along the middle of my chest, his eyes on mine. I bend my head to his neck, inhaling his scent and unable to repress my satisfaction when I recognize the scented oil he wears. Spices and green tea. Earthy and cool. It reminded me of him the first time I smelled it and heís worn it ever since. I taste his skin, so soft and familiar and I weaken suddenly, the urge to get down on my knees beside him and give myself over, the way I do sometimes when I simply cannot help myself any longer almost overwhelming. He senses it and whimpers, baring his neck to me, the bronzed flash of his throat tempting me, asking me to acknowledge him in the way that feels right to us. I sink my teeth into his skin, gently, in that vulnerable place where shoulder meets neck. He hisses, his fingers tightening on my knees and I bite just a little harder. But he doesnít say a word.
I wind the leash around my hand, tightening the slack as I stand gracefully, watching him lean back to rest on his ankles as he stares up at me. His eyes glow, bright, incandescent blue, as they always do when heís in my presence and I feel the orb that hangs suspended around my neck resonate slightly. Gone is the metal choker I used to wear. I took it off the day he gave me the orb, crafted from our love and his magic.
And I havenít worn it since.
I lift my hand to clasp the hematite crystal and the heavy weight of the orb as he raises himself slightly, pressing his lips to the ties of my pants. The smooth, polished surface of the orb warms my skin and my eyes close briefly as he tugs at the strings that secure my pants. He doesnít need to touch me to undress me. A turn of his head, a softly murmured incantation and my clothes simplyÖvanish. Just one of the many benefits of loving a sorceress. That he chooses to undress me this way only serves to let me know of his willingness to play the game.
Strings loose, he moves his hands to rest on my hips, guiding my pants down, sliding them off my hips, freeing my erection. I shiver slightly as he divests me of my clothing and he smiles up at me, watching carefully for the blush he knows I canít conceal.
I tug on the leash, pulling him closer to me, keeping him eye-level with my cock and he licks his lips in anticipation. As eager as he is, heís nowhere near as fascinated with my body as I am with his. Sometimes, after a long day, I canít even bring myself to exchange words with him before Iím on my knees, paying homage to him in the way he taught me.
He edges closer, rubbing his smooth cheek, the unmarked side, against my hardness, a small, breathless sound of appreciation rising within his throat. I watch him lick his lips slowly, his tongue snaking out to taste, to teaseÖjust to touch the very tip of my cock, the way he knows I like it.
"Wait." One word, softly spoken. Unnecessary, really, when words are never really needed between us. He looks up, his gaze questioning, patient.
I nod toward his sarong. I want him naked. I want to see the slope of his back, the sweet curve of his ass when heís leaning against me, sucking me off.
"Take it off." I tell him, my voice a little hoarse.
He drops one hand to his hip, working the knot one-handed, his eyes never once leaving mine. He doesnít pull it away, like heís unveiling himself for me, but rather lets it drape over him. I know that when he begins to move, to undulate his hips, it will fall away on its own. Maybe, if Iím very, very lucky, he will bring me almost to orgasm before he decides to let it slide away, knowing that the sight of his bare body combined with his lips on my cock will push me over the edge and into a bliss that I was, until him, unaware even existed.
He doesnít disappoint me, his movements careful and controlled as he pulls me closer to him, his gaze locked with mine as he places one sweet kiss to the tip of my hardness. I donít shiver. But he knows I want to.
"Please." I canít help it, it escapes me, unbidden, but he doesnít mind. I invariably end up begging one way or another anyway, why postpone the inevitable?
"Mmmhmmm, babyÖ." He murmurs, his lips covering my erection in that heartstopping way of his and he smiles around my cock when my head falls back in surrender.
The room is quiet and I can hear the soft, slurping sounds he makes, more for my benefit than for anything else. I whisper his name repeatedly, sometimes out loud, sometimes only in my mind as he angles his head and takes me all the way into his throat, his tongue more magic than any spell he knows. I know I wonít last as long as I want to, and he does nothing to draw it out. I like it hard and fast. He doesnít waste any time. He knows me too well.
I struggle to remain still, the urge to thrust into his mouth prevalent, but not something I ever allow myself to do. I feel his fingers curved over my ass, brushing my skin, his touch maddeningly light. Gods, but he is exquisite.
I make some impatient, warning sound, the leather leash cutting into the skin of my palms as I pull it tighter, giving him a scant two or three inches in which to move. He doesnít need it. His discipline is faultless.
I feel the muscles in my stomach tighten, heralding what I was already aware of. He pulls back at that moment, his fingers encircling the base of my cock, the pressure perfect as he draws back to lick and suck at the head of it, measured and perfectly timed.
I can feel myself pulling taut, like a rubber band, right before you send it sailing into the air with nothing but the tips of your fingers, and I draw breath, suspended and bottomless. I close my eyes and timeÖjustÖstops.
When I open my eyes it rushes over me in a dizzying swirl and I am coming. So hard and so much that my body appears to convulse. He never breaks eye contact. The sarong slides away and I am just barely coherent enough to notice the way his throat works as he swallows deeply, once, twice. I scream his name, as I always do. Itís the one thing I remember saying when itís all over. He tells me that Iím a talker and that I say all sorts of things when he is in possession of my body, but I never remember what it is that I say. I can only remember his name tripping off my tongue, repeatedly.
I do sink to my knees then, slowly and without thought to what comes next because Iíve just handed the reins over to him. No matter that I hold the leash. He has the control.
He wraps me in his arms, pressing his sweet body against mine, seeking my warmth. Strange that we fit so perfectly together, considering that I top him by almost a foot. I never count the inches that his hair contributes. Iíve seen him soaking wet and I can testify that he isnít always 5í5".
He murmurs my name, or some sweet variation of it, and my thoughts are simply obliterated. I am his.
He rests his cheek against my shoulder, licking me lightly, like he canít get enough of the taste of me. I love it when he does that. I pet him gently, my hand smoothing back his hair, which, amazingly enough, springs right back into place.
"I love you." I whisper. And I do. Completely, as I have never loved another.
"And I love you, thSeifer." He returns, his sweet voice low and breathy. I smile to myself; I do love the way he says my name.
"BabyÖ" I prompt him, some semblance of cognizance returning.
"Mmmhmmm?" He responds, already moving restlessly against me.
I stand, one quick surge of movement and he follows, mostly because Iíve got him on a leather strap and he has no other choice.
I look down at him, into his upturned face, so sweet and trusting. Gods, I love him. One minute heís predatory, one minute heís sweet and open and ready to belly up to me like heíd planned it all along. I know what he wants.
I lead him around to the foot of the bed where my sleigh-style bedframe ends. Itís such a beautiful, elegant piece of furniture. I like defiling it this way.
He needs no instruction and, with one teasing grin in my direction, bends over it slowly, fingers curling over the smooth wooden frame, back arched, ass upturned. Even his feet are exactly the right width apart. I step back, putting a little distance between us, loosening the slack on the leash as I move to admire the shape of his body. Sculpted and compact, every line, every sinew. He is perfection. The perfect little toy.
He arches his back a little more in a silent request. I canít. Not yet.
I kneel behind him, palming his bottom as I spread him open, wanting to taste him. The desire to do so too much to ignore. He stiffens slightly and I know, without having to look, that heís leaving teethmarks on his beautiful lips. WaitingÖ
I lick him slowly, from his scrotum toward the small of his back. One slow, thorough taste. He shudders. Itís enough. I stand again, raising myself to trail my tongue up his spine. Slowly and without resting my weight against him. I donít want to touch him too much. Not yet.
He moans softly, his fingers gripping the bed tightly. I reach beneath him, stroke him in a quick, upward motion. He whimpers. I bite his shoulder and he cries out. I smile.
"Do it." He growls at me, his gaze fixed to the floor. I lean over him then, resting my belly against his back as I whisper to him.
"Tell me what you want."
He rolls his hips once, lifting his ass in offering.
He says my name, softly, entreating, drawing out the Ďrí at the end of it, the way he always does when heís close to pleading and there is nothing in this world that fires my blood quite like that.
But his need is my own and I canít deny him anything. He knows it, and braces himself, awaiting the touch he craves, knowing even without reading my thoughts that I am already raising my hand to him.
I slap him, hard and stinging, across the rounded perfection of his ass and his back dips further, a hoarse cry escaping him. I pull back on the leash, tug his head back, watch his body arch. My own cock is rising high and full against my belly again and I wonder, idly, whether or not his orgasm will trigger my own. Sometimes it does, other times, it doesnít. When I strip away his defenses this way, his control slips, just the tiniest bit, and he can pull me along with him when he comes. This happens between us most of the time anyway, but when I get feedback from his release and Iím not even reaching for him, itís the most intense release that I am capable of, and it is always a surprise.
"Yes." He grounds out, his teeth clenched, his cock jerking beneath him. He likes to be spanked, likes to be tied and lashed. We have many straps and lengths of leather at our disposal, but I never strike him with any of them. If he wants me to make him come this way, I use the flat of my hand and nothing else. I like the way his skin heats beneath my touch; I like to see my handprint displayed so prettily over the surface of his beautiful ass.
I let the leash wind around my wrist and drop my hand to his scrotum, stroking lightly as I draw back to strike him again. I catch him on the curve of his right cheek this time, leaving the marks of my fingers on his skin and he howls. His neck is bared, pulled back tantalizingly and how I wish I could fix my teeth to it and feel his blood run over my tongue.
He cries out my name, his voice trembling slightly, and I respond accordingly. I reach beneath him; the leash still wrapped around my palm and wrist, and stroke him roughly. He begins whimpering, undulating beneath my ministrations and I draw back to slap him again. He is so far under with his own need that when I strike him this time, heís not prepared and I hear him hiss in surprise.
I can feel his cock jerking and twitching against the palm of my hand, even through the leather, and I squeeze his ass hard, reveling in the iniquity of his grinding and pleading.
"Yeths, yethsÖthSeiferÖ" His voice falters, his knees buckle and I catch him firmly around the waist as I stroke him harder, pulling at him, tightening my fist around him and he is making the damnedest noises; I just canít resist rubbing my cock against his warm, reddened skin. He is panting now, whimpering my name between great gasps for breath. I feel him tense, feel him quicken and I rub my thumb over the underside of his cock. He screams. Low and keening, he wails as jet after jet of hot, sticky semen coats my fingers. I work him, just a little more, until he is whimpering and shuddering and then I rub my hand against my chest, covering my skin with his release.
He turns to me then, blindly seeking my embrace, pressing his face against my chest as he sniffles quietly.
"I love you, angel." I tell him softly, and he nods, my own sentiments reflected back at me from the hazy confines of his mind.
I am unsure of what to do next, as I am satisfied in the way we have allowed one another release. He smiles up at me, tremulously and so fucking beautiful that it hurts to stare too deeply into his eyes.
He presses his fingers against my lips, gazing up at me with love and trust and all the things I never thought to experience with another person and my fingers go slack, allowing the leash to slip through my fingers and drape over his shoulder. He smiles then, playfully and hinting at mischief.
He kneels gracefully, retrieving his sarong and twisting it into one long length of sheer silk. He lifts it to my eyes, not speaking, not directing, and I duck my head slightly that he might have better access. He ties it behind my head, knotting it securely and stepping back. I realize that I no longer hold his leash, but this is the game and Iíve played it before. The only thing that changes is his approach to me, and I can honestly say that I am never disappointed. He has only to touch my body and I know bliss. I know heaven.
I feel him behind me, his fingertips light and insistent as they move over my back, tickling me gently, tracing the line of my spine. I smile faintly as he presses his sweet lips against my back, his arms going around my waist and hugging me to him.
"Oh, how I loveÖ" I begin to tell him, to whisper my love to him, my adoration. Heís heard it all before, he knows how itís going to end. His knees press solidly against the backs of my own and I find myself sprawled on my belly, on the ground, my knees pulled up beneath me, forcing my ass into the air, an offering to him.
I hear the subtle Ďclickí of the leash and he is pulling my wrists behind me, holding them immobile at the small of my back. He wastes no time in winding the leather about my wrists, knotting it tight. Gods, but he is good at that. I have to wonder if Luke is the one responsible for teaching him that little trick. I want to know whom I should be thanking.
He slaps my ass suddenly, sharply and I whimper in submission even as my cock is pressing against the carpet, so full and hard I feel as though I might come without his ever laying a hand on me.
He nudges my knees apart, opening me to him, my shoulders pressed against the floor and my back arched in what I can only imagine is a most degrading display. I feel him nudging against me, his cock straining toward me, toward the entrance to my body. I hear him murmuring quietly, feel, rather than hear the sparkle of magic showering us, and I am suddenly filled with the unmistakable fluid of his favorite lubricant. I know without asking that it will taste faintly of mangoes. And then he is inside me, pushing and stretching, and I have no choice but to turn my head to one side, lest I have my face pushed against the floor. The rug is rough against my cheek and his cock is full and heavy within me. The hard floor against my knees, the painful angle of my arms being held forcibly behind my back, I love it all. And well he knows it. This is what I need the most from him. This perfect, beautiful subjugation. Hearing him whisper to me, his lips hot and moist against my ear as he tells me how much he loves fucking me, how tight I am around his cock, how pretty I am kneeling before him with my ass in the air. Oh, but I could come from nothing but the sweet rasp of his voice. Because I know that after we are done, he will curl his body up next to mine and allow me to do whatever I wish.
He thrusts slowly at first, hesitantly as I adjust to his presence within me. I can feel his hand firm on the back of my neck as he licks the curve of my ear, chuckling softly when I moan.
And then he pulls back, changing the angle of his thrusts and I am lost as he begins to fuck me. Hard. There is no sweetness, so tenderness when he is fucking me. Because this is what I need from him. This rough, animalistic mating. Strange that I can allow myself the luxury of submitting to him, revel in it, in fact, when a year ago I would have rather died than give him the satisfaction. Only, itís not his satisfaction. Itís mine.
I am babbling now, I am aware of it, not of what I am saying, merely that I am saying it. He reaches down, grabs the ends of his sarong and pulls, jerking my head back and baring my neck. I am practically sobbing now, the need to feel him flooding my body with his release so strong that I am willing to say anything to get it.
"Please." I beg. Yes, I beg. I want to come, I need it. He can feel my need. I know this because I can feel him feeding it back to me in small, torturous amounts.
"Pleathse, what, thSeiferbaby?" He taunts me, much as I have taunted him a thousand times before.
"Please make me come." I pant, my voice unrecognizable even to my own ears as I plead and whimper and cry to him. He laughs, low and arousing.
"Make yourthself come, baby." He tells me, his voice still so perfectly modulated, while I am writhing on the floor like a mindless animal. I know what he wants. He wants to see me rubbing against the floor, struggling to find my own release while he pounds into me so masterfully.
"Yes." I whisper, my body already doing what my mind hasnít time to instruct. I spread my knees wider, lowering myself to the floor, practically on my belly even while my ass is still upturned and offering to him.
My belly tightens, I shudder. He pulls back on the sarong, causing my body to bow in the most unnatural way and Gods help me, but itís enough to make me scream out his name. I donít give a fuck who can hear us. My mind, my body belong solely to him and I donít care who knows it.
He thrusts hard, his rhythm perfect as he fills me completely, the tip of his cock hitting my prostate with each upstroke; the pleasure is mind numbing.
I yell; loud and supplicating as I feel myself hovering just on the brink of orgasm, that split second of absolute ecstasy before the rush of pleasure is too much for the body to withstand and it simply lets go. In that split second, he calls to me, his voice an echo in my mind and he offers to me the image that I present. Before him, kneeling, grinding, seeking release with my knees spread and my back arched painfully, trussed up like a slaveboy. I saw myself as he was seeing me at that very moment. I howled. Louder than he had before and twice as long and he releases the material that holds my head back, my back arched and I slump against the floor, the heat of my own release spreading over my belly and dripping onto the floor.
He slides his hands over my back and leans against me, gripping my shoulders tightly as he spills into me, his own cry of release soft and almost inaudible. The ringing in my own ears combined with the sharp, metallic taste of lightning drowns out all but the sound of my blood rushing through my veins and the faint, exultant cry of the wolf.
He collapses against me, his fingers working quickly to free my wrists from the leather restraints. I tuck my hands beneath me, resting my chin on them as I link my fingers together. His arms slide around my waist and I feel the sweet press of his lips against my shoulder as he whispers to me of forever.
I let my own release dry on my belly as I reach back to him to grip his hand and I exhale, finally.
"Forever, Zell. With youÖforever."
*le sigh* Here are the links, in case youíre interested.
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