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sparkindarknessTime of some sex I think. Sure it doesn't enchance the plot any but its been a while and I need to get writing again. Time to lubricate (dirty minds) my mind again and let the muses play
Darren was looking a lot better since his freak out in the library. I wondered warily if that’s all he’d needed, not even a freak out at something, just a general freak out to vent all the weirdness and stress of the situation.
I still didn’t get it. No, that’s not right, I can get the shape of it, but I’m not going to claim to get it. Darren was 16 when he ran away from these people - ran so far he had to cross the Atlantic before he was sure he was free of them, and even then he had to go into hiding. And they still found him and tried to kill him - and forced him to kill them and fucked up though they may be and even when they try to make his life a living hell killing them still fucks him up. So yeah, I get that Darren’s freaking out in a major way but I’m not going to claim to understand this shit, I don’t think anyone can relate to this kind of shit unless they’ve been through it.
He looked comfortable now, more at ease... no... I tuned my vision to straddle the veil between worlds, let the spiritual background that surrounded us speak to me - not just the spirits and awakened beings but the spiritual resonance around me, how things link together and how someone’s presence sends ripples through the spiritual planes. For a brief second I stood, nearly overwhelmed by massive sensory input. The spirits burned brightly in my eyes, each launching a cacophony of sounds, every object had its resonance, its past, its imprinted history and memories.
The wooden wall panels spoke in high, elegant tones of centuries of careful tending and polish, absorbing the admiration and tenderness endless years of admirers and servants had lavished upon them, underneath was the deep bass resonance of the mighty oaks they once were, the modulating music speaking of past winters and summers, of droughts and floods and rains and gentle sun. The painting looming over us trilled the spirit of the bright, flirtatious woman caught in oils, I could sense her history, her string of lovers and her childish games and her love of magnolia blossoms that added their thick scent to her spirit. A gentle rhythm spoke under her dazzling style, the quiet imprint of the painter, a thoughtful deep man who had been amused by her fluttering but had longed to spend his days under a blue sky, the sharp cold rush of air marked the power the great outdoors had had on his spirit, almost drowning out the dutiful drone of the gilded frame, a powerful aged shepherd to support the exuberant wild spirits it displayed. Beneath me the floors rose up, sensation piled on sensation of materials and passing feet and all the people who had lived and crossed these wooden floors, every thread in the carpet and curtains added its song, each carrying fragments of melody for every soul who had passed, every sun beam that had shone, every dust mote that had landed and every tickly draft that had ruffled across their surfaces.
I focused through the deluge to Darren. He moved through the spirits without leaving a ripple, they moved around him gently, undisturbed by him, accepting him. That’s pretty damn unusual for a Sorcerer, most spirits know what he is and stay the fuck away. They don’t treat him as a natural part of the landscape. Fuck they rarely treat anyone like that.
“Rick?” Darren’s voice rippled across my heightened awareness, flat and dull and quiet in the barrage. I blinked and pushed down my spirit senses. The drowning, overwhelming sensations fell away, leaving me lost, alone, dull - but stable and free and rested.
And as an added bonus I got to see Darren’s room. Or suite, anyway. Wow. Even driving up to the place I can’t get used to the idea - my boyfriend grew up in a castle. A huge, fucking castle. A huge, massive, ancient fucking medieval castle! The sitting room was bigger than the one in my apartment and entirely panelled in a dark, reddish wood. The floor is the same wood, but you can’t see most of it since it’s covered in layers of carpets all in dark red and browns and greens. There are 2 massive paintings covering the walls, both winter landscapes done so well that just looking at them makes me fucking cold. But there is a fucking huge green veined white marble fireplace (I’ve never seen green-veined marble before, but I guess if Camaalis wants green veined white marble they’re not going to take any shit from uppity minerals and are going to have their fucking green-veined marble) I could walk in and stand up without banging my head. The roaring fire must be burning a whole tree. The furniture was all nearly black wood with green velvet cushions and even thin lines of very dark gold.
“They haven’t changed it since I left...” Darren said quietly. He moved from cupboard to cupboard finding them all full of his stuff, books, ornaments, clothes even toys.
“This was your room when you were a kid? All the antiques and shit?” I asked, sitting down reaaaaal careful.
“Of course, why not?” He frowned, throwing himself down casually on a sofa near the fire, fumbling in a large box on the marble fire place.
“Why not? Fuck, why not let toddlers play with the antique furnishings? Hey, have you got any ming vases, I’d like to do some juggling!” I threw a cushion at him that was probably worth more than my entire apartment.
“All the furniture is antique. We don’t think of the furniture that way. We haven’t spent lots of money on it or sought it out or spent lots of time acquiring it - it’s just there and always has been. Ah-ha!” He suddenly pulled out a long black metal rod with three prongs on the end.
“Oooh, kinky, medieval bondage equipment!” I said.
He spared me a brief glare. “It’s a toasting fork, you pervert.” He reached down again and pulled out a large cloth wrapped basket. Actually grinning he skewered some bread and held it out to the flames. “Crumpets, muffins, pikelets, tea cakes! Gods, I’ve missed these.”
I love his smile, he uses it so rarely. And when he does it’s like a whole new person bursts out of him. You never see how much Darren has been marked, how much all the fear and sadness and pure shit he’s been dealt has been printed on his face until that smile shines through and all the fucking shit that clings to him falls away.
I leaped onto the couch next to him, trying not to wince as the ancient thing creaked. I grabbed him as he turned and kissed him. I could spend hours with my lips pressed against his, soft and wet and so very gentle. I burrowed one hand into his hair, cradling his head while my other stroked over his back, feeling the muscles relaxing under his silk shirt.
I pulled away gently, his smile was just for me now. “So, do I taste better than crumpets?”
He kissed me again, running his tongue along my lips. “Hmmm... maybe.” I squirmed as his lips traced down my neck, a feather light touch that tickled and teased. I lost my breath as I felt his teeth - then he bit me, fucking bit me really hard. He licked the sore spot and I could feel him grin. “Yes, maybe..”
He traced his tongue down my neck, quick fingers undid the buttons on my shirt. Then his teeth sunk into the hollow of my shoulder, I writhed against him, it tickled and fucking hurt and felt good and hot. Darren worked his way down the centre of my chest, leaving painful bite marks and long, hot wet lines of his tongue behind him. He licked and bit his way across every inch of my chest before biting his way down my abs. Ouch, he was determined to bite every fucking muscle!
That smile just turned a whole lot more evil. He’s good at evil, really fucking good at evil. He’s also got clever fingers that can undo my belt before I even know where his hands are. He pops open my jeans and grins again “Maybe...” then he licked a long slow path from my stomach to my cock. His tongue was strong and firm and felt so hot it should fucking burn.
He took me in his mouth and it was incredibly hot. Darren knew my every quirk and kink. His fingers danced across my balls, slipping down to stroke the skin between my balls and my arsehole. Just a tickling touch but it made me writhe and buck against him, but he road me down not stopping for a fucking second, his mouth followed my every move, like he knew exactly how I’d twitch and shake. He knew exactly what his mouth was doing to him and knew how to draw me higher and higher. He sucked up and down, the pressure of his mouth never slacking for a second. He pulled the full length of me down until his lips met my balls. I struggled, making whining noises deep in my throat, the chair creaked under my hands as I grabbed it in a fucking death grip, it was so intense. It wasn’t enough that Darren sucked me down his throat in hard, powerful strokes, though that was more than fucking awesome. No, he knew how to use his tongue, oh fuck did he know how to use his tongue. Even while sucking me he managed to explore every part of my cock with his tongue, lingering gently around the base of the head, teasing it perfectly along with that fucking awesome pressure and amazing heat.
The orgasm fucking blew me away. It was fucking amazing, mind blowingly intense. I know I yelled his name and yelled to several gods and spirits - fuck, I yelled myself hoarse screaming all kind of shit. It felt so good it fucking hurt, felt so good I wanted to beg it to stop and fall on the floor crying like a fucking baby if it ever ended. He played my body like a master, riding me through the orgasm until I did beg him to stop and let me land; fuck it was just too good.
Spent, I lay gasping as Darren sat back on his heels with a smugly satisfied look on his face. I groaned, trying to catch my breath and move muscles that felt like blocks of wood. My right hand was throbbing; looking down I realised I had snapped length of the couch arm clutched so hard that my hand was nearly bruising.
“Definitely tastier than crumpets.” Darren announced. I just grinned at him and drunkenly pulled him into a hug.
Darren was looking a lot better since his freak out in the library. I wondered warily if that’s all he’d needed, not even a freak out at something, just a general freak out to vent all the weirdness and stress of the situation.
I still didn’t get it. No, that’s not right, I can get the shape of it, but I’m not going to claim to get it. Darren was 16 when he ran away from these people - ran so far he had to cross the Atlantic before he was sure he was free of them, and even then he had to go into hiding. And they still found him and tried to kill him - and forced him to kill them and fucked up though they may be and even when they try to make his life a living hell killing them still fucks him up. So yeah, I get that Darren’s freaking out in a major way but I’m not going to claim to understand this shit, I don’t think anyone can relate to this kind of shit unless they’ve been through it.
He looked comfortable now, more at ease... no... I tuned my vision to straddle the veil between worlds, let the spiritual background that surrounded us speak to me - not just the spirits and awakened beings but the spiritual resonance around me, how things link together and how someone’s presence sends ripples through the spiritual planes. For a brief second I stood, nearly overwhelmed by massive sensory input. The spirits burned brightly in my eyes, each launching a cacophony of sounds, every object had its resonance, its past, its imprinted history and memories.
The wooden wall panels spoke in high, elegant tones of centuries of careful tending and polish, absorbing the admiration and tenderness endless years of admirers and servants had lavished upon them, underneath was the deep bass resonance of the mighty oaks they once were, the modulating music speaking of past winters and summers, of droughts and floods and rains and gentle sun. The painting looming over us trilled the spirit of the bright, flirtatious woman caught in oils, I could sense her history, her string of lovers and her childish games and her love of magnolia blossoms that added their thick scent to her spirit. A gentle rhythm spoke under her dazzling style, the quiet imprint of the painter, a thoughtful deep man who had been amused by her fluttering but had longed to spend his days under a blue sky, the sharp cold rush of air marked the power the great outdoors had had on his spirit, almost drowning out the dutiful drone of the gilded frame, a powerful aged shepherd to support the exuberant wild spirits it displayed. Beneath me the floors rose up, sensation piled on sensation of materials and passing feet and all the people who had lived and crossed these wooden floors, every thread in the carpet and curtains added its song, each carrying fragments of melody for every soul who had passed, every sun beam that had shone, every dust mote that had landed and every tickly draft that had ruffled across their surfaces.
I focused through the deluge to Darren. He moved through the spirits without leaving a ripple, they moved around him gently, undisturbed by him, accepting him. That’s pretty damn unusual for a Sorcerer, most spirits know what he is and stay the fuck away. They don’t treat him as a natural part of the landscape. Fuck they rarely treat anyone like that.
“Rick?” Darren’s voice rippled across my heightened awareness, flat and dull and quiet in the barrage. I blinked and pushed down my spirit senses. The drowning, overwhelming sensations fell away, leaving me lost, alone, dull - but stable and free and rested.
And as an added bonus I got to see Darren’s room. Or suite, anyway. Wow. Even driving up to the place I can’t get used to the idea - my boyfriend grew up in a castle. A huge, fucking castle. A huge, massive, ancient fucking medieval castle! The sitting room was bigger than the one in my apartment and entirely panelled in a dark, reddish wood. The floor is the same wood, but you can’t see most of it since it’s covered in layers of carpets all in dark red and browns and greens. There are 2 massive paintings covering the walls, both winter landscapes done so well that just looking at them makes me fucking cold. But there is a fucking huge green veined white marble fireplace (I’ve never seen green-veined marble before, but I guess if Camaalis wants green veined white marble they’re not going to take any shit from uppity minerals and are going to have their fucking green-veined marble) I could walk in and stand up without banging my head. The roaring fire must be burning a whole tree. The furniture was all nearly black wood with green velvet cushions and even thin lines of very dark gold.
“They haven’t changed it since I left...” Darren said quietly. He moved from cupboard to cupboard finding them all full of his stuff, books, ornaments, clothes even toys.
“This was your room when you were a kid? All the antiques and shit?” I asked, sitting down reaaaaal careful.
“Of course, why not?” He frowned, throwing himself down casually on a sofa near the fire, fumbling in a large box on the marble fire place.
“Why not? Fuck, why not let toddlers play with the antique furnishings? Hey, have you got any ming vases, I’d like to do some juggling!” I threw a cushion at him that was probably worth more than my entire apartment.
“All the furniture is antique. We don’t think of the furniture that way. We haven’t spent lots of money on it or sought it out or spent lots of time acquiring it - it’s just there and always has been. Ah-ha!” He suddenly pulled out a long black metal rod with three prongs on the end.
“Oooh, kinky, medieval bondage equipment!” I said.
He spared me a brief glare. “It’s a toasting fork, you pervert.” He reached down again and pulled out a large cloth wrapped basket. Actually grinning he skewered some bread and held it out to the flames. “Crumpets, muffins, pikelets, tea cakes! Gods, I’ve missed these.”
I love his smile, he uses it so rarely. And when he does it’s like a whole new person bursts out of him. You never see how much Darren has been marked, how much all the fear and sadness and pure shit he’s been dealt has been printed on his face until that smile shines through and all the fucking shit that clings to him falls away.
I leaped onto the couch next to him, trying not to wince as the ancient thing creaked. I grabbed him as he turned and kissed him. I could spend hours with my lips pressed against his, soft and wet and so very gentle. I burrowed one hand into his hair, cradling his head while my other stroked over his back, feeling the muscles relaxing under his silk shirt.
I pulled away gently, his smile was just for me now. “So, do I taste better than crumpets?”
He kissed me again, running his tongue along my lips. “Hmmm... maybe.” I squirmed as his lips traced down my neck, a feather light touch that tickled and teased. I lost my breath as I felt his teeth - then he bit me, fucking bit me really hard. He licked the sore spot and I could feel him grin. “Yes, maybe..”
He traced his tongue down my neck, quick fingers undid the buttons on my shirt. Then his teeth sunk into the hollow of my shoulder, I writhed against him, it tickled and fucking hurt and felt good and hot. Darren worked his way down the centre of my chest, leaving painful bite marks and long, hot wet lines of his tongue behind him. He licked and bit his way across every inch of my chest before biting his way down my abs. Ouch, he was determined to bite every fucking muscle!
That smile just turned a whole lot more evil. He’s good at evil, really fucking good at evil. He’s also got clever fingers that can undo my belt before I even know where his hands are. He pops open my jeans and grins again “Maybe...” then he licked a long slow path from my stomach to my cock. His tongue was strong and firm and felt so hot it should fucking burn.
He took me in his mouth and it was incredibly hot. Darren knew my every quirk and kink. His fingers danced across my balls, slipping down to stroke the skin between my balls and my arsehole. Just a tickling touch but it made me writhe and buck against him, but he road me down not stopping for a fucking second, his mouth followed my every move, like he knew exactly how I’d twitch and shake. He knew exactly what his mouth was doing to him and knew how to draw me higher and higher. He sucked up and down, the pressure of his mouth never slacking for a second. He pulled the full length of me down until his lips met my balls. I struggled, making whining noises deep in my throat, the chair creaked under my hands as I grabbed it in a fucking death grip, it was so intense. It wasn’t enough that Darren sucked me down his throat in hard, powerful strokes, though that was more than fucking awesome. No, he knew how to use his tongue, oh fuck did he know how to use his tongue. Even while sucking me he managed to explore every part of my cock with his tongue, lingering gently around the base of the head, teasing it perfectly along with that fucking awesome pressure and amazing heat.
The orgasm fucking blew me away. It was fucking amazing, mind blowingly intense. I know I yelled his name and yelled to several gods and spirits - fuck, I yelled myself hoarse screaming all kind of shit. It felt so good it fucking hurt, felt so good I wanted to beg it to stop and fall on the floor crying like a fucking baby if it ever ended. He played my body like a master, riding me through the orgasm until I did beg him to stop and let me land; fuck it was just too good.
Spent, I lay gasping as Darren sat back on his heels with a smugly satisfied look on his face. I groaned, trying to catch my breath and move muscles that felt like blocks of wood. My right hand was throbbing; looking down I realised I had snapped length of the couch arm clutched so hard that my hand was nearly bruising.
“Definitely tastier than crumpets.” Darren announced. I just grinned at him and drunkenly pulled him into a hug.