Repercussions

It had been his own slip of tongue that landed him in such a compromising position. That ripped the clothes off his body, snapped seams, popped buttons, tore into and through the uniform he wore like a second skin upon his limber body. Dietrich had never seen them this up close, those mysterious shadows. He didn’t understand them and had never bothered to ask. Demons, he assumed, summoned at Isaak’s will, taking on whatever form he desired. He hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. Until those shadows emerged from the floor beneath him, thick tentacles rising around him, winding around his limbs. Quick, too quick to reach. Hands bound behind his back as he was forced onto his knees by a strength he could not compete with. Wide hazels looked up at Isaak, lips parted but immediately silenced by the thick presence of smooth darkness against his mouth.

Quiet footsteps against dark, plush carpet led Isaak to the black leather chair in the corner, shadowed by the darkness that had fallen outside hours prior. Shadows dancing across his pale features, heightened by the flickering candlelight on the table beside him. He smiled, leaning toward the soft glow. A thin clove lit, puffed at quietly, releasing sweetly scented smoke into the air of his study. “You look frightened, Dietrich,” he commented quietly, shrugging off the long uniform jacket he had donned earlier that afternoon. Legs were crossed casually as he sank into the leather of the chair.

Indeed Dietrich looked frightened – or surprised. Perhaps a bit of both. He could see the boy’s wide eyes beneath the haphazard strands of rich brown; could see him try to swallow against the pressure that had wrapped itself around his neck. But the best of it all was the way he gasped, crying out softly around the smooth head of the tentacle that had pushed itself past his lips, soon to become slick with saliva, mimicking a well-known activity the Terran had on many an occasion been terribly happy to perform. Even if the situation frightened him, the wandering fingerlings of those shadows across smooth skin, the contours of toned muscles was enough to race a shiver down his back. Eyes still staring within Isaak’s deep grey ones as he forcefully sucked at the foreign objects that raped his mouth. It did not last very long, however. Not before its presence slinked away, sliding all too quickly down and around his body, tightening along his thigh and inching upward.

His body moved on its own without warning. Finding himself upon his back, legs parted obscenely by the smooth cool shadowy presences winding tightly around his ankles. Slickness pushed against his unprepared entrance and he knew without questioning that it was his own saliva he was feeling. Releasing a groan despite himself, Dietrich writhed against the plush carpet, arms still tightly bound, this time above his head. Isaak knew him well. His powers restrained, his attention diverted by the slithering mass that kept him pinned against the floor. “Isaak, you son of a bitch,” he managed to cry out – or rather, groan out, the older man noticed with a ghost of a smirk upon pale lips. How he watched him closely, every movement, every reaction, every expression that crossed those young features. Still he fought, trying to put an end to this, trying to stop it even though his body cried out in pleasure, even though his cock throbbed, pulsing desperately at the apex of his thighs. Ah, but he knew Dietrich would not admit it. Not just yet, at least. Not while his shadows wrapped around his pulsing member, caressing him, molesting him, applying the pressure necessary to elicit a stifled cry from behind gritted teeth.

The cry that followed was positively delicious. The arc of his back; the sudden look of pleasure upon his features; the hesitation, uncertainty of whether to try and pull away or impale himself further upon the invading presence penetrating him deeply, slamming roughly against his prostrate without warning.

Smoke swirling around him, Isaak shifted in his seat. Gloved fingers reaching up to loosen the knot of his tie, going as far as pulling it completely loose, silky black falling against the stark white of his shirt. That too was loosened, buttons undone midway down his chest. Curiously enough, he still appeared composed even if he did not feel it. In fact, his pants had become highly uncomfortable over the last couple of minutes. But he kept his trousers undisturbed, watching the writhing mass on the floor. Dietrich’s cries had been cut off as his mouth was raped unwillingly once again, forcing his lips open, sliding against his tongue roughly, almost in cue with the summon that fucked his ass mercilessly, milking his pleasure, making him like it. And he did. Secretly.

Sweat beaded across his body, against pale skin. The exertion taxing him – nor was it incredibly cool within the darkened study. His breath ragged around the dark phallus engulfed between those pretty lips. Isaak knew him well to know when to stop. Devilishly so, no less. He noted the hint of pre-come upon his lover’s cock, the way his cheeks were flushed, the way his body writhed, the half-whimpered moan that escaped his lips as all pleasure suddenly stopped. But he was not released. No. He was not quite done with him just yet.

Shadows brought him over, half dragging him, half carrying him along the short distance to shove him once more, onto his knees in front of him. The older man still sat as he originally had. The ashtray beside him considerably fuller, much like the bulk in his pants, stretching the dark fabric. He watched those hazel eyes, so full of lust, so full of need fall upon the all too obvious bulge, and grinned. Moistening his lips, he uncrossed his legs; going as far as draping one rather casually over the armrest of his chair. The sight alone was enough to cause Dietrich to peer up at him, take in the pale perfection of his half-bared body. Hints of smooth muscle revealed beneath the stark white of his shirt, still properly tucked into his pants. But not for long. Watching those eyes follow his every move, Isaak slid gloved fingers down the length of his chest, popping the button of his pants with practiced ease, sliding the zipper down ever-so-slowly. There was no rush. The night was young.

“What do you think you’re doing, Magician?” The ever-present snark coming through, albeit breathlessly. Gloved fingers pulled his arousal from the confines of his pants, baring his swollen length so very close to the Terran’s young features. From his angle he could see the marks upon his body, now obvious at the short distance. Marks deeply imbedded along his neck and shoulder. Some even upon his sides. Teeth marks. Angry red. Recent. His magic rippled – his power – pulling him forward. A dark tentacle wound around his torso, the tip brushing along his cheek, causing the slightest of shivers. How endearing. Down and pressing along a short line of marks. Isaak smiled pleasantly.

“How does it feel Puppet Master? To be at the other side of the strings for once?” A fresh clove was lit. He exhaled deeply, sliding a finger up the underside of his cock. Long black strands slid from his face, sliding against his chest as he leaned his head back against the cool leather of the chair. Grey eyes still focused on him, watching. Intent. “Finding yourself at someone else’s every whim?” He breathed, his voice low, but a soft purr.

Dietrich gasped as his legs were pulled apart once more, his body bent forward. Isaak’s intention was far too clear. Mouth mere inches from his cock before those long fingers twisted none-too-gently into his hair. Forcing him down, forcing him to swallow his length as shadows wound up his thighs. His own cock tangled beneath the pressure of the summoned darkness, fondling him, reminding him of the pleasure that could be oh-so possible.

“It must drive you mad,” the words slurred although he was still rather composed given the present situation. Still coherent enough to take a deep drag of his cigarette, releasing its slowly as lips enveloped him; as his cock was devoured by the scalding, moist heat of Dietrich’s mouth. Such a pretty mouth it was. “But I assume you are enjoying yourself…”

As much as he loved watching him like this, it grew almost impossible. The boy was talented. He had plenty of practice in the long years – long Terran years, that is – he had spent with them. He was more than able at his task and did it well despite his initial complaining. Not that his complaining was always a bad thing; for instant the muffled groan that echoed around his cock as the thick head of his physical shade pushed into his body once again. Having little leeway to breathe, much less cry out as fingers gripped his hair tightly, Dietrich whimpered, his body moving instinctively to impale himself upon the magicked force all around him. His wrists bound behind his back, but seeking a way out of this was the farthest thought in his mind. Even Isaak’s words did not get too much a rise out of him – not when his body was invaded, filled so deeply, raped of his freedom in such an intimate way enough to make him squirm; enough to make his knees hurt with the pressure, the slight friction against the carpet. He could no doubt find them scabbed later on.

It was only then, watching that glorious sight unfold before him that his composure dropped, unable to keep up the charade much longer. His hand demanding against the back of his young lover’s head; lips parted as each breath escaped him shakily, dark lashes pressed to pale cheeks, head resting back against the chair, causing long strands to create a thin veil across his visage with each movement. The cigarette forgotten, dropped into the tray. Fingers pressing into the armrest upon which he leaned, the perfect representation of gloriously wanton. Such a rare, unexpected sight to those that knew little of him.

He felt Dietrich’s movement. He felt him fight against the limited movement he had, wanting to break free if only to properly impale himself directly upon his cock instead of sucking him as he was. No matter. There would be time for that later. Now they played according to his rules. And rules demanded that mouth around his length; demanded the presence of that cool, dark phallus thrusting smoothly into the Terran’s long since willing body. It did not last very long; not with the way that talented mouth pressed against his heated flesh, the way his tongue roughed roughly at the underside of him. So enthusiastic, so goddamn eager.

It was only when his world exploded in a cloud of white behind his eyes; when a short gasping cry escaped pale lips that his fingers loosened, that Dietrich found himself momentarily free, but not released. The bonds at his arms loosened, but that cool presence did not disappear; definitely not from within the depths of his body. He was generous enough to lick him clean, suck down every last remainder of his climax, leaving Isaak to gasp quietly against the leather of his chair, lashes fluttering, muscles twitching with short-lived pleasure. Still he had some control to give his lover what he wanted. Instant release. It wasn’t hard. Not when his palms fell to either arm rest – well, one upon the arm rest, the other upon Isaak’s own knee that draped over the edge. Holding onto the only thing he had as his head bowed, lips parted. Fucked senselessly, shoving his body back into the only thing that offered him pleasure, against the tight, slick hold at his cock. Teeth grit, stifling a cry, a deep, rumbling groan in the back of his throat.

Unlike last time, Isaak wasn’t so quick to stop the damage of unwanted fluids upon his clothing. Or, in this case, upon his no doubt expensive rug. Not like Dietrich gave a shit at the present moment, pressing his forehead down against the older man’s thigh, feeling the soft fabric of his trousers that had never even been removed as pleasure claimed him, wracking his body until all power that held him up seeped away completely, back to wherever it had come from. His senses were too cloudy to hear the approaching footsteps; booted feet against the marble floor before being hushed by the now-ruined carpet.

Isaak’s senses were keener, however, and he peered up. Not putting in the effort to actually move so much as simply open his eyes. A glimmer of white and gold; the slight appreciative clapping of hands. The deep, mirthful rumble of a chuckle. Laced with lust. The sight disappeared before he could look at him. He didn’t have to look much farther. Long, dark nails slid beneath his chin, raising his head. Grey eyes met blue. No shame, no fear. Only slight amusement.

“A wonderful performance,” he murmured, leaning down, darkly tainted lips so close to his ear. Blue visage running down the length of Isaak’s body to look upon the Terran, crumbled against the edge of the chair. A wicked smile. “I expected nothing less out of you.” Cain added with an appreciative purr.