sparkindarkness | A fic update. Light & Dark - the faery boys *loves faeries still*

It hit me it had been a long time since I last wrote any actual smut, I know it's not essentil to write smut all the time, but my boys are going into withdrawl (of coruse I'm not such a obsessed loony that I was suffering similar problems. No. Of course not. Besides it may help with the excess morning letching - remind me to find otu tomorrow).

Anyway, some smut from the faery boys, because they were the only ones in a vaguely smuttable place. Wretched plot getting in the way of my sex scenes!

Ilatheril stared at me with silent, unreadable eyes. I met them with the same inscrutable gaze, looking but not seeing. Many none sidhe cannot meet that gaze, the gaze that stares straight through someone, penetrating deep within, seeming to raise every hidden secret up to the surface to stand before that cold, all knowing, judging gaze. It is a stare that seems to focus the full power and majesty of the near god like being before you.

And, of course, it is just one more masque the sidhe use. We have no such powers, not against other fae anyway, more often than not the stare is just a disquieting mask behind which deep thoughts roil. At times I think this is the reason why we rule the fae. Not our glory, not our earth moving magic, not even our truly unbearable beauty and charisma that cause even the mightiest to look upon us with awe. No, it is because we think. We think for hours at a time, processing every perfect memory, every facet of information gathered by our magically enhanced senses. We analyse everything in unbelievably minute detail. It is our greatest asset, and at times our greatest weakness, especially for the Seelie. We think deep, but not quickly. Every one of us is like a brilliant spy master with the greatest information net in the world. We can process vast amounts of information and discover intrigues that the most perspective of competitor could not even imagine, but we need that information to act. Without it we freeze, grow confused. We need time to organise and structure our thoughts, to examine and dissect everything until we are ready to act.

The sun had died in the tall elegant windows of my chambers. Moonlight filigreed the room with silver, made our slightly luminescent skin glow dimly. Ilatheril’s head was in shadow, either by accident or design. His intense purple eyes seemed to gather all the light in the room and burn with inner power. We had sat, motionless, for hours, I do not even know how many. Too much has happened, too many shocks and surprises too many unpleasant revelations and revolutionary thoughts laced with painful memories long buried. Unseelie or not, Ilatheril is still sidhe, we both understand the need to think.

“It’s not good. It’s too much. Don’t suppose there’s some special meditation techniques I should’ve been taught that helps you deal when someone throws a shitload of thinking at you?” He looks tired, utterly worn thin, like he has just finished a gruelling hike or marathon. I can understand it, these thoughts do not rest easily on the mind.

“No, I am afraid not.” I move, bringing my body out of its near suspended animation. I blink for the first time in about half an hour. “We just need time. Assuming you do not sleep of course?”

He breaks out of stasis and grins. “Alright, I guess you have a right to patronise. No, I don’t sleep, gods, even I know sidhe don’t sleep. So, that’s it, we just go through standard meditation until we can handle this? Wow, that’ll tale like a month. Immortal or not, I’m not that patience. What do you guys, hells, and ours for that matter, do during war?”

I grimace irritably, making the effort of will to let my emotions show, rather than hiding them. I need his trust. “Honestly? We have none sidhe advisors who can think on the spot. And then spend an unreasonable amount of energy hiding our panicked confusion from our subjects.”

“So, you lie to everyone basically and bloody hope it all turns out Ok? Bloody brilliant, just what people need in a leader.”

“What both courts do it. It is necessary. We are superlative leaders when haste is not required, and when it is, people panic. They worry and argue and work at cross purpose. Could a Norn or a Troll unite them in such times of crisis? Could the Horned Ones, the Satyrs or the Wyldchangers inspire people to follow them in such conditions? Maybe. But we know that all sidhe can.”

“I don’t like it. You’re saying we can trick people into relying on us even in times when they can rely on us least!”

“Yes. I do not like it either. That is part of what being a noble means - doing what you have to, what is good for the people, even when you do not like it.”

There was another long pause, while Ilatheril considered it. I let him, even as the minutes stretched to an hour, more. Sidhe are patient, Seelie doubly so. We know the value of time to think.

He finally raised his head and grinned... impishly. I do not think I have even seen incubi, satyrs or nymphs with anything close to the mischievous potential in that face. “I give. This officially breaks the record for too much crap at once. So I’m going to put it all on the back burner for a while. We’ve got a more pressing problem.”

“A problem? You do not seem overly concerned about it.”

“Well, it’s easily fixed. Oh, soon-to-be-husband of mine.”

“Soon-to-be? The marriage was valid by the laws of the Seelie and the... well the guidelines of the Unseelie. We made sure it was, the whole treaty is dependant upon our union!” If there was a flaw in the wedding... Mother’s Blood! It cannot be.

“So, I guess it’s real important we finish the ceremony. And last I checked no marriage is valid ‘till it’s, what's the pretty word? Ah, ‘Consummated.’ So, you got a bed round here, or can we use that fancy table in the corner? Or the floor I suppose, feels fairly comfy.”

I just gaped. I admit it. My education never covered how to respond to such a statement. “B-but you said you were afraid of me earlier!”

“And? That’s hardly a problem; adds spice.” His grin widened as he stood smoothly from his chair, starting to walk towards me. I leaned back in my chair, trying to push through the hardwood back behind me.

“Just like that? We try to kill each other in the crypts then make love upstairs!? I still have the bruises you gave me!”

“Perfect. Bruises can certainly add spice. And we can try killing each other upstairs as well if you want, definitely makes things interesting if snuff’s your thing.”

He was leaning over my chair now, our faces inches away. The chair back was unyielding. “It-it is not my thing!”

He leaned closer, his whole body pressed against mine, draped across me. “Personally I’ll try anything once. Some things I‘m willing to try again and again and again...” he ground himself into me with each word. “If you must, Seelie, consider it a necessary evil. And a fun one.”

He kissed me, pushing my head back. His mouth was surprisingly gentle, and incredibly warm. Just the tender, soft press of lips moving against mine. A line of heat stretched from my mouth in a long erotic line down my body, as every nerve fired into painful eagerness. He never closed his eyes as he kissed me, those incredible glowing purple orbs never wavered from mine, darkened with power and lust. It was unbelievably exciting. It was utterly terrifying.

He pulled back slowly, just enough for me to see his possessive smile. Just enough for me to analyse that predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands slide down my chest, tracing the muscles of my torso through my robes, pressing through the thick expensive cloth, almost digging to find flesh. I can almost feel their heat through the many layered garment. I try to follow their progress down my stomach, but my eyes are held prisoner by his weighted gaze.

There was a blur of motion, caught only just in the corners of my trapped eyes. Under Ilatheril’s strong hands my robes had torn their full length from neck to lower stomach. My own hands gripped the Unseelie’s wrists tightly, tight enough to bruise, before he could widen the rent any further. I knew my eyes had widened and breathing quickened with sudden, uncertain fear, but I could not seem to control either.

His predatory grin never slipped, it grew wider if anything. He twisted his hands in my grasp. I tried to tighten my grip, but I could not hold him. I was reminded with a sickening jolt how much more physically skilful he was than I. The thought did not reassure me with his body pressed hard and firm against mine. He pulled and turned his wrists perfectly out of my hands even as my fingers dug into his flesh and my nails scored long, deep trenches in that icily pale skin. Rich, incredibly red blood welled in the furrows, liquid garnets that flowed freely to fall in heavy drops on the ruined shreds of my robes. His breathing quickened then, but it was not fear. The lust burned hotter in his eyes, his face slackened with perverse pleasure at the injuries. He raised one arm gracefully to where we could both see it. Eyes never leaving mine, he licked the blood of his arm, lapping at it like a cat with cream. I saw his throat convulse as he swallowed his own blood.

The back of the chair splintered as I pushed against it, almost desperately. Ilatheril swallowed again, closing his eyes rapturously while blood dripped down one corner of his mouth. When he opened his eyes they were glowing, beyond any pretence of it being a trick of the moonlight. They cast a dark purple light across the room that made the shadows dance as if to invisible candles. But the choreographer of this dance was far darker, with half seen, half formed figures cavorting in the fragile boundary between light and darkness.

He straddled my legs, kneeling either side of me, pushing his whole weight down on top of me. He leaned in towards me. His tunic felt unbelievably smooth against my bare chest. I could feel his heartbeat pound heavily next to the rapid patter of my own. He raised one blood covered hand towards me.

“Want a taste?”

I shook my head mutely, my voice choked in my chest. His bloody hand moved closer, dripping crimson droplets onto my face. The chair back collapsed completely as I pulled violently away from the Unseelie side. I staggered clumsy, sprawling on the floor, utterly gracelessly. Ilatheril followed me without a pause. A sheet of night black hair fell from behind his ear, blanketing across my chest and mingling with my golden river that framed my prone form. I looked up through a tunnel ff black hair, lit only by twin purple globes that managed to make the darkness deeper. His hand continued to descend.

“No...” I choked on the word. It was fruitless, the hand touched my lips, brushing the thick, unbearably hot blood across them. The blood glowed in the purple lights of Ilatheril’s eyes, full of ephemeral illusions just beyond comprehension.

The Unseelie’s head descended, his lips opening. His full, sweet mouth met mine, rich with the metallic tang of blood. His tongue forced its way between my teeth, roamed forcefully through my mouth, hot and strong, it probed deep and exploring. I could not think, my body wanted him, my mind was repelled by him. Fear and lust ran roughshod over my heart and through my mind. Woven over it all was the delicate scent of magic as our power answered calls older than civilisation. Calls of flesh on flesh, mouth on mouth and the intimate dance of two bodies pressed together.

It ran through me like a knife, plunged through my body like a spear thrust. My back arched with the force of it, I tried to scream past Ilatheril’s mouth at the sheer intensity of it. Magic and power shot into me, a spell so ancient it almost defied the description. It was incredibly powerful, drawing upon strength from the very land around is. It was massive and hot and cruel; cruel as a winter storm, vast and uncaring driven by unknowable power. It was passion and lust manifest, overruling all rational thought, destroying any concept of choice or preference. It was the mating imperative, it was the darkest passions of the night, it was the power of new spring growth. Ilatheril took it, raised it and through it into me past our locked lips.

I was lost now. Lost in a sea of power far greater than anything I could call. Hands grappled together, clothing was torn asunder in the desperate fumbling of panting need. We lay naked on the floor, our lithe pale forms entwining into each other, limbs writhing like a next of white, glowing snakes. Purple and lilac eyes were closed, we had gone beyond the need for eyes, all senses were focused on the wonderfully electrically alive sense of touch. We lay in a thick quilt of knotted and tangled hair, gold and ebony hopelessly mingled into one exquisitely woven carpet that shifted like a wild animal as we rolled over and over on top of it.

I rolled on top of the other sidhe, pushing down hard on his shoulders so hard that the thud of his back against the carpet seemed to echo through the castle. Mouth sealed upon his, I kissed him with a ferocity i never thought I had, kissed him so hard I was no longer sure that some of the taste of blood was not from a split lip. He did not protest, merely growled, animal and inarticulate, while his fingers clawed savagely at my back, tearing shallow cuts in my skin.

The pressure was too great, even sidhe could not hold this power! I rose above him, forcing his legs into the air. I used the only lubrication we had, freely flowing blood from what seemed to be a thousand cuts, so savage was our passion. I spread the thick hot liquid inside him, moving with frenziedly sharp motions, uncaring if my ministrations hurt the Unseelie. I do not think he cared either, he just writhed and groaned and growled, so lost to his feral side that speech was beyond him.

I could wait no longer. Barely taking the time to align myself with him, I plunged my hard, full manhood inside him. The power that tortured us roared ever harder, giving me no time to ease into him, no time to be gentle even if I could force myself to think that clearly. It roared and screamed, demanded surcease now, demanded release, demanded sex.

I pushed as far into him as I could, not even hesitating before pulling back to plunge in again. It was sex of such passion, such insane fury that sex seemed to be the wrong word for it. Surely that gentle, intimate term could never apply to this violent, thoughtless rutting? I plunged into him like a must crazed beast in the field, I pounded into him with a force that would have killed a human. He responded to every thrust, pushing backwards with his hips to make it deeper, harder, and faster. He was not screaming anymore, just panting, grunting and growling, he did not have the strength to spare on screams. My breath whistled like a bellows as I brought our shining flesh in a rhythm so rapid our bodies blurred.

He staggered and rolled over onto his stomach, my manhood never leaving him, my thrusting never pausing. He raised himself up, forcing me to do the same, using the extra angle to thrust even harder, so hard I knew that he was bruising. And I knew he loved it, revelled in the pain as I took him far harder than a natural creature could.

How long did it last? How long did we pound pour bodies together with every pounce of our strength? How long did we dance the first dance? Minutes? Hours? Perhaps days in a near endless orgy of shining sensation and burning ecstasy. It filled us, flowed over us, until in a scalding wave, we came together. Our power chased outwards, pushed aside the massive tension that had built within in the sweet rush of orgasm and to the echoes of our hoarse, near tortured cries as we came in wave after wave of incredibly intense pleasure.

Outside thunder rolled. A storm rolled in ponderous might, blanketing the castle in its heavy blanket.

I collapsed. Limbs to weak to hold me, body drained by the power we had called and the exertions I had forced upon it. I lay supine on top of the mat of hair, slowly trying to control my breathing. Ilatheril collapsed next to me, managing only to drag his abused body as close to mine as he could, and entwine a leg around mine. We lay in a tangled mess on the floor, thick we sweat and blood and seed and savoured the aftermath in silent awe.