𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕: Louis having to reteach Lestat to be gentle because he doesnt want you to get hurt anymore
𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.
[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]
-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-
Being their "endless fountain" has definitely had its perks, including money, sex, and even, in some cases, what feels like love. However, Lestat would never tell a human that he loves them he finds them most inferior. Louis did promise to change you in ten years if you stayed around long enough, that was five years ago so you're just about there.
Being with them both is like living in the clouds and it's normally great until nights like this where Lestat's being pushy and needy and doesn't take no for an answer. He wants sex, sex from you, from Louis, and you, he just wants to be near you but he had drained you too much last night and Louis had to pull him off of you.
To combat Lestat pesterin' you, you lay in Louis's lap as he reads to you. His skin was warm against yours due to your body struggling to process the blood loss it had experienced the day prior. Louis smelled like whiskey, fresh cut wood, and a faint smell of a book that had been cracked open after being left up on the shelf for so long; It was the perfect comforting scent to put you to sleep. He read to you quietly until you fell asleep, his pointed nails languidly dragging over your scalp, your heart had slowed as if on queue to tell Louis you're finally getting rest.
Lestat opens the double doors at the same time, being as loud as he can not even trying to hide his jealousy. It pisses him off how easily Louis can comfort you and how your heart beats beside his.
"Lestat, you don't have to make your anger so obvious to everyone." Louis said as he kept his eyes on his book, trying not to give in to the bitchy blonde man stomping his feet like a child having their first temper tantrum.
"Well, if I'm angry it's both your fault, you both lounge around as if I don't exist!" Lighting a cigarette to try to help calm his irritation and nerves as he rounds the couch catching a glimpse of you, so pale, so soft, so fragile, like a butterfly.
"If you wake her, Les..." Louis threatens but not as in a way to be cruel but moreso out of protection, you're weak and tired and this is the much-needed rest you need.
"She's at such peace with you it almost makes me sick." He blows out the smoke through his nose, rolling his eyes as a bit of show that he's annoyed even if both Louis and he know he's lying, he loves you just as much as Louis.
Louis knows this because the one of the few days you went out on your own Lestat heard a scream and could've sworn it was you and had searched the whole city to make sure you were safe and in Louis's words "a man doesn't worry so much unless he at least feels some typa way for someone else." which of course made Lestat scoff and stomp home.
"The way she clings to you, balling your shirt in her fist like she's afraid you'll disappear." Lestat took another drag with feigned annoyance, it's the same way he looks at Louis. He ashes the cigarette before he approached you both, his fingers trying to be gentle for the first time in ages, watching the way Louis's fingers gently guide along your scalp but he scratched you by accident.
You whimper but stay asleep, a bead of blood forming where the cut was which made Lestat panic a little and back up.
"Mon Cher, it's fine she didn't even wake. Just be careful with your nails." Louis cut his thumb with his pointer finger and smoothed his blood over the small cut to heal it. "Try again."
Lestat rakes his knuckles softly down your back, your body leaning toward his hands, and his breath hitches, you don't mind his touch? You aren't shying away from him like you usually do, his eyes found Louis with the expression of surprise and a faint light of happiness.
"I don't know how you do it, Louis. It seems impossible for me. She doesn't care for me like she does you."
"You should see her when you sing in the other room, you think she's content with my reading? That's nothing like when you sing." He smiles as he thinks about it. "She is so content and happy, she's like liquid against whatever or whomever she's lying on. Lestat, she does love you regardless of how you feel about her. She keeps talking about how she wants to sleep with us in our coffins, she loves us both equally and would not be parted from us."
"Can I- Can I hold her?" Lestat asks with a worry that's uncharacteristic of his unfeeling and uncaring nature for humans, he's hidden himself for so long, afraid he'll lose everyone close to him so much that he hasn't noticed how rough and cruel he's been to you.
Louis nods seeing how much this means to Lestat, he trusts his lover to be gentle with their other. Lestat gently kissed her up with one arm around her back and the other under her knees, his scent of cigarettes, lavender, and, leather, something so intricate, interesting, and complex which caused you to stir a bit but ultimately you stayed asleep as he lowered you into his coffin and got in alongside you, playing with your hair like Louis did. He tucked his face into your neck, feeling your pulse against his lip, normally he'd be drinking from you but for once (since Louis) he's holding himself back content with just feeling you close, letting your pulse lull him to sleep like the most beautiful symphony he's ever heard.
Louis stayed up reading his books, keeping an ear out but trusting Lestat wants to be gentle for once. Lestat can save his roughness for once you're given "The Dark Gift" when you can keep up with them both a lot more than your human stamina allows.
Dominium utile: (Latin for "useful ownership") [Roman & feudal law] refers to the right to use, enjoy, and profit from property, borrowed from the legal owner.
Pairing: Vampire Jasper / Guy Anatole
Word count: 6k Rating: [E] explicit
Tags: prescription drug use (don't cold turkey quit benzos ya'll), telepathy, older man/younger man, threats of violence, power imbalance, blood, blow jobs, soft dom Jasper, sub Guy, jealous/possessive Jasper, first time, biting,blood drinking, scenting, blood as lube (the AR universe is so fun), anal sex, canon compliant. (AO3)
This is recon only so do not engage.
Guy tries to get comfortable in the suffocating clutches of fine silk and goose-feather down. His thoughts refuse to settle though, as turbulent as his body, tossing and turning and wondering just what the fuck it is that’s wrong with him. That orange prescription bottle stands at the ready, taunting bright through the shadows from the nightstand.
I could give you a plan but whatever you come up with in the moment will work far better…
Walking tall and confident into the London Mother House had seemed like an excellent idea roughly four hours ago. Guy had learned fast enough that vampires could smell uncertainty like blood, hot and flush beneath the skin, and he can only hope he shielded it away well enough until now, left to settle alone in his own thoughts and their consequences. He idly wonders if his bedroom door is locked, too. Another barrier slid shut by a man built of striking bone structure and calm wit as he’d bid his leave… Leaving him to simmer in a high thread count and no idea what to expect come morning.
These people are dangerous.
Jasper had been nothing like he'd expected, though. Slow movements and soft words. No baring of teeth or promise of threat. No shows of grandeur nor displays of power; and yet it practically rolled from his shoulders in commanding, warning waves amongst the mingled scents of vetiver and malt whiskey.
Alarm bells had rung louder than the whispers in Guy’s mind for the entirety of their meeting but he must have said something right. He is still alive and intact. All there is left to do now is get himself together, get some rest, and slip back on the mask of a self-assured man in search of revenge and information. No problem... No problem at all. A part of this particular persona is even partially true, so why does his heart still beat too-quick in his chest like he’s lying through his teeth? Why does he still feel dissected by a look, too knowing in its worldly intensity, though he is alone in the room? It had started with the mention of that goddamn book, like every other terrible thing in his life, and refuses to let him go.
Fitting, he thinks with all the self depreciation he's accumulated since, cushioned amongst the soft frills and creature comforts of the prison he'd stepped right into without a second thought…
Guy gives up on fighting the good fight alone, swallows down a pair of little blue pills, and dreams only of sharp fangs and matching icy eyes.
+++
Just trust me. Just trust me. Just trust me.
Guy is so fucking sick of hearing that. From everyone. So tired of being lied to and led astray by other people's agendas. That phrase has always proved a red herring wrapped in false intentions, and yet, and yet Jasper’s thick fingers drag tender through Guy’s curls and he doesn’t draw away; lifts them carefully to tend to the weeping wound just beneath. A single fang descends to pierce skin, too quick for Guy to really see, and then Jasper’s thumb is smoothing light against his forehead, a peace offering sealed with blood in exchange for something like camaraderie and Guy can hardly argue the results left behind on his unblemished skin; how they take so much easier than the actual whispered words of faith.
That bit of Jasper’s blood is still roiling in his system as he’s led from the bathroom to a wardrobe closet twice the size of his New York apartment. The garments inside could probably cover his debt. Classical Chopin drifts in, soft against his ears, from somewhere beyond in the connected foyer because of course it does. The interior design rivals the elegance of the rooms they've left behind, dripped in red velvets and cool golds, though the clothes, themselves, are dark in contrast.
“Not really doing much for the vampire monochrome allegations,” Guy says as he eyes the endless selection for something to help him ‘look sharp’ for this next insanity-case level mission. They are not much his style at all really. He is a simple man with cheap, attainable tastes. But he can't help but notice in the warm lighting how well the rich florals flow and twine across Jasper’s chest and down the lengths of his forearms in the black Burberry he’s chosen this morning. How the buttons part open and then cling just right to the bulk of him as if expertly tailored to do so…
Jasper chooses that exact moment to slow the trail of his hand along the fabrics. The curious look he finally decides to send back nearly raises all the blood to Guy’s cheeks from where it has fallen into his stomach. He knows for certain with the glean of lapis eyes and the slightest cock of a graying brow that he's been made. “I just mean, the selection is nice, very, uh, vogue, but the variety is — lacking,” he stammers through but, as always, prevails. “A plaid and jeans would do just fine...”
Jasper chuckles, a deep vibrato that catches in his chest and barely meets the air. He returns to browsing and Guy can finally return to breathing. “Cute. Jeans will get you killed in this kinda place, kid. Almost as fast as an unprotected mind,” he sends another pointed look over his shoulder before pulling a pair of dress shirts down by their hangers. “The New York Mother House must train a bit differently than they do around these parts.”
The taunt comes good natured but strikes Guy wrong after already being called out a short while ago for an ability he’d never shared aloud... Hadn't even dared yet try again on Jasper after locking eyes with him that first time through sheer fate and three centimeters of tempered glass.
“How do you know so much about me Jasper? Really. No bullshit.”
The vampire in question goes still a moment before ambling right back into his personal space as if another wound need tending. Soft amusement lines his features, and Guy is beginning to notice just how often it does whenever he speaks. Jasper holds the collar of a deep blue shirt up near Guy's chin, gauges his first choice. He imagines the color would accentuate his eyes, a few shades darker but just as deep, while watching as Jasper's own flicker between his face and the soft cotton. Again and again.
“You're not exactly a difficult read.” The blue shirt gets tossed aside, abandoned to the ground as Jasper repeats the same exercise with a sleek, long sleeve black number. More similar to his own. “Boy loses parents young, lives a forward driven life while trying to make sense of it and the world that betrayed him, only to find out that even that wasn’t real. Every single decision made for him along the way… Talamasca only takes care of the people they know for certain they're going to need. And if they did all that just to send you to me – well, you must be a pretty special Guy.”
The truth lands, but the levity doesn't. Guy very nearly rolls his eyes.
“My training was expedited,” he says defensively as the selected shirt and a matching coat are draped over the arm he’d thrust out for emphasis. “Seven days.” This part gives Jasper pause, so quick that someone not watching for it would have missed it. Guy still studies the lines of his face with pointed intent. “I guess Helen wanted the position filled before my predecessor could go cold.”
Jasper laughs again. Real and deep.
“Easy boy,” he beckons with all the flair of one calming a spooked horse. Jasper takes a step back, eyes trailing down the length of Guy’s neck, across the stiff line of accusation that tightens his shoulders. His head cocks to the side, tossing a rogue wisp of silver hair down across his brow. “I'm starting to think Helen knew exactly what she was doing sending you here,” he smirks a wicked thing and with it Guy feels like he still has more questions than answers. Like his heart just may race free from its cage if they’re not answered in full. It must be the vampire blood in his system. “I didn't touch her by the way…” Jasper continues, earnest. “Sole? Soledad, was it? That one wasn't me either.”
“And I'm just supposed to take your word on that, too?”
Jasper sidles forward again, eye to eye, and unlike every other time a vampire has ignored the general importance of a personal bubble, Guy realizes that it doesn't frighten him really. Not in the way it should. The instinctual fear is still there, of course, raising his pulse and tightening his throat; the natural side effects any prey would feel beneath the scrutiny of a predator’s undivided attention.
This one simply claps a clawed paw down over his shoulder, light, careful.
“Take it, don't take it — I'm not gunna tell you how to live your life kid,” the vow is simmering coals on his tongue, “but I will offer a word of advice from someone who’s been around a very, very long time.” Guy watches transfixed as that same hand drags slow down the outside of his arm, caresses around the crux of his elbow, until finally a pair of sharp nails trail soft, pink lines along the pale skin of the inside of Guy’s wrist. Fingertips fall still over his pulse. Jasper’s hand closes easily around it and draws it up near his mouth. “It is never too late to rebel against your makers,” Jasper inhales through his nose and, at the darkening of his eyes, Guy can only expect to see the tragic descent of fangs; imagines the bright sting as they would sink deep into gossamer skin. His breath catches in wait. Interest is there in Jasper's expression but it never comes. “As it seems you already know... I can still smell the rot of every immortal that's touched your skin,” cool breath ghosts over that which has been deemed tainted. “You really are making quick work of London, huh?”
Guy snaps his arm away, too fast, too late.
“It comes with the job.”
“Oh, I’m sure it does,” Jasper laments, still in good spirits as he lets his newly emptied hand fall slow. Successful in his scandalization. “Shower first and let’s get to work. The last thing they need in that unholy hotel is another dirty Jezebel,” Jasper fucking winks at him and it leaves Guy feeling so flustered that the indignation flaring somewhere deep behind it has no real time to flourish, no time to even reach his lips, before the vampire is turning away toward the door.
“Wait,” Guy flounders, watching the obsidian swash of broad shoulders stall in the open frame. He remembers his own new set of clothes now clutched against his chest. Only one thing comes to mind. “What was wrong with the blue one?”
Jasper turns around. Tilts his head. Looks at him as if he should know better, though he has never felt more left in the dark about anything in his life. “I want you to blend in, not be devoured, kid,” he clarifies. “I meant it when I said I think we could have some fun together… Don’t let me down,” and with a faux scold of his finger he’s gone.
Guy lingers alone in the wardrobe for way too long, wondering just exactly what the fuck it is he’s gotten himself into and why it feels so fascinating.
+++
I know what you're going through and that’s why I won't let you down…
Jasper does scare him, actually.
Guy has never felt more pinned between a rock and a hard place than splayed across asphalt beneath his scathing wrath. It was not supposed to go this way. He had done nearly everything right. Stayed cool, gathered information, reported back…
Just tell me who she is.
That book again. It always comes back to the book. Guy thinks he’ll burn it himself after he gets his own answers.
A ring-studded backhand so hard it rattles his teeth.
I don’t know what you think happened with her!
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing he says is getting through. Jasper is too far gone. Frothing mouth and tangling hands. Flailing as if he can’t decide which part of Guy to pin against the ground; his wrists, his shoulders, his entire head. Instinct kicks in and Guy can only let it happen, but in the chaos within Jasper’s distraction, within his rage, the cracks in his defenses glean bright behind Guy’s eyes like sunkissed splintered glass. The flashing sights beyond the seams steal the rest of his fight.
Bloodshed, worse than anything Guy’s ever seen. A quaint home coated in various body parts and viscera. Worn down boots and raw fingertips. A young man, around his same age, blue eyes and sandy hair, trudging through thick flurries of sideways blowing snow. The pain the man exudes blankets Guy like an angry sea, heavy and turbulent. More seizing than even the hand tangling tight in his hair.
Guy watches frozen, seeing the first time as sharp fangs plunge down past glistening lips and he finds he has never really known true fear until now. Not when he thought his mother dead. Not when a zombified, snarling cannibal had stared him down. Not ever had he been so sure that he looked into the fetching face of death…
Ironic, in a way, his mind unhelpfully provides right as cool breath hisses down over his throat; that he had truly tried everything in his power not to end up in this exact position. How he had thrived beneath the adrenaline of it all, dumped his downers from an open window, taken a breath of iron-laden air and finally felt alive.
Say it. Say it. Say it…
He does, and the death he expects doesn’t come. Not for a while, anyway.
Guy is on a ferry, well into the brisk clutches of a breezy London night, when he feels anything remotely close to that again. Doris, thankfully, sleeps safe in her cabin but his own mind will not stop. Hasn’t for days. So it is almost biblical when time and the wind fall still in sync. When the world grows completely, blessedly silent in his ears. Guy takes a last, long draw of the chilled night air into his lungs. Pure unfettered relief. His thoughts can finally shift from what if and when to here and now.
That fiery grave has been his prison from the moment he escaped.
All there is left to do is face his keeper.
+++
Guy awakens once again in a cage of linens. Warm, thick quilts and black cotton sheets. He blinks away sleep from heavy eyes and the bedroom is new but the styling is not. Animal oil paintings and ancanthus wallpaper. The trapped scent of fine, woodsy soaps in the pillow cases. His pulse shoots up into his throat with recognition. With realization…
“Oh you’re awake. Fantastic.” It slithers up like foreboding from the foot of the bed. Jasper lounges in a high backed chair, bared feet crossed atop the wood railing of the footboard. Devastating in a simple white tee and loose grey sweatpants. He flicks the silver lid of a zippo lighter open closed, open closed; as much an accessory in his nimble hand as the sterling rings on his fingers. The flame flashes hot in bitter blues.
Fear shifts to borderline panic. Guy can't help but remember the last time he’d watched fire burn there. He longs for the quick melt of a benzo beneath his tongue…
“Where am I?”
Open. Closed.
“Amsterdam. Amarillo,” Jasper shrugs, “Armenia. What's it matter?”
“They’re going to come looking for me-” Guy tries carefully.
“Or,” Jasper offers, with the silencing raise of a finger, “I can let Helen know I foiled your shitty escape attempt by sending her your balls in a box... Since she owns them anyway.”
Guy squirms to sit up. Presses his back more firmly against the headboard.
“Jasper–”
“They tortured me, you know,” he’s cut off again by a disgusted sneer, “your puppeteers. Gassed me, clapped me in irons and tried to have me do their bidding,” Jasper snaps his fingers, “just like that... Rows and rows of gifted humans, like you, served up like fucking Thanksgiving turkeys and all I wanted – all I could fucking think about was grinding your carotid between my teeth…” The lighter flicks open again, burning flame, closed. “So I took just enough blood to get me right back where I really wanted to be. Toe to toe with the Talamasca rat that tried to have me burnt alive.”
Jasper rises to his feet.
“Wait, wait,” Guy throws his hands out in defense, shakes his head, “I’m not with them anymore! I never really was! And I swear Jasper, I didn’t know Doris was going to light you on fire! Jesus-”
Jasper closes in on the right side of the bed and Guy is running out of space to scramble back to the left. That fateful lighter is still in his hand…
“Oh, stow it pup. The only reason I didn’t realize she followed you home in the first place was because her scent was already all fucking over you. So don't you goddamn dare lie to me again.”
Guy nearly falls to the ground off the opposite side of the mattress. He rises slow on unsteady legs. Takes another healthy step away.
“Really? What did you expect, Jasper?! You asked me to trust you then threatened to feed me in chunks–” he struggles down a dry swallow in a closing throat, “in chunks, to a wild horde of halflings. I was telling you the truth then about not knowing much of anything about that girl… just like I'm trying to tell you now, but you're still not fucking listening to me.”
Jasper stills, watching. Always watching. Guy tries to carefully keep what it’s always done to him concealed in the farthest reaches of his brain.
“Oh my hearing’s just fine. All I'm getting is that you've learned nothing. You fit right in with them. Playing dolls with their mindless little agents was peachy but I guess training them better than their handlers ever could was what went too far. Do you see where their priorities lie now? Did you really think they were going to be able to hide you away from all this, huh?” Frigid eyes thin to blade sharp slits. “From me?”
Guy takes a pair of centering breaths. Tries the truth again, because if he's going to do anything new right now, lying to a pissed off vampire is last on the list.
“Honestly no,” he admits. “I think all they ever really wanted was the Seven-five-two and a powertrip. Just like you. I'm just a throwaway pawn that got caught in the middle of it all.”
Jasper chuckles, a mean-hearted rip at the back of his throat.
“Oh you silly, ignorant boy,” he seethes, his torso gravitating forward though his thighs are already pressed flush against turneddown sheets. “The whole point of collecting that information was to dismantle Talamasca from the inside…” his head tilts in that lingering scrutiny he slips so easily into and Guy suddenly feels like his feet are pinned to the floorboards in preparation for dissection, “and as with any good coup, there are other ways to infiltrate.”
Guy's back hits the wall so hard the breath leaves his lungs. Little sparks of white flicker in his vision from where the rear of his head connects and bounces. Jasper’s hands cusp the base of his throat, pin the curve of his shoulder. Guy can spot the lighter past him, abandoned on the mattress and thankfully out of play, though he already knows the real weapon presses closer, closer, chest to chest.
So Guy lets go, the same. Lets his head rest back lax against the drywall. Lets Jasper pick and prod into his mind without any more real restraint… The arguments with Helen. Doris’ deception. The immediate disinterest that came along with it.
The dread of watching that burst of flame fill the air in a stuffy basement… The exhilaration of running while knowing he’d be chased and caught sooner or later anyway. The bright, blissful feeling of being alive deep in the pit of his belly and, as always, the particular fear that spurs it on…
“You reek of it,” Jasper says low, nose gliding inches away from the corded muscle of Guy’s neck, and his voice is no longer taunting him, no, he’s accusing.
“You do scare me sometimes. You try to… But,” Guy whispers, hopeful in his forming belief, “you’ve had every opportunity to kill me and I'm still here. If you were going to, you would have already.
A puff of air leaves Jasper’s nose, chilling over the juncture of his shoulder where the skin there prickles with anticipation. Guy turns his head just enough to see his face. To gauge his teeth… to see if he'd pushed too far. Still rounded, still human…
“Do you know your mind has not shut up about them since you frolicked cocksure into the mother house?” Jasper purrs near his ear. “About a lot of things, really… So brazen in your youth. For the record, no one's ever talked to me like that and lived long enough to try it again. Good for you,” he nods forward, closer, an inch of air between lips. “I should have bent you over Owen's desk right then and there… knocked you down a peg or two.”
To his own horror, Guy flushes and groans at the image it paints behind his eyes. But fuck, does it feel something like victory.
“Like that, hm?”
Guy doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as nod his head, but the god yes his mind emits must ring as loud in both their ears.
“Makes sense,” Jasper deigns, calmed and centered, a predator still within the confines of its natural habitat. He straightens back enough to meet his eyes in harsh assessment. “Always so quick to follow orders. To impress everyone around you. A poor little runt kicked from the litter and left to trail behind whoever will take the lead that day…”
Guy throws caution to the wind and closes the space between them. He can’t take it anymore. The burning words, all of them, strike too close to home. The southern rush of blood ever since the thought of being manhandled. Used by a being whose strength eclipses his by a factor pushing infinite.
And he must be doing or thinking something right, because Jasper kisses him back like flint strikes steel, efficient and wild and reckless. Groans wantonly against his tumbling mouth. “I have faced nothing but suffering since you walked through my door,” Jasper pants to the high walls as Guy drags his mouth away, down the musculature of his neck to descend further, quick and streamlined, to his knees, two knobs of bone clunking down hard against the wood. “You gorgeous, insufferable boy.”
And fuck, Jasper was right. Guy will do anything to keep those praises flowing from his mouth.
His sought after prize is already full and waiting as Guy slips it free from Jasper’s waistband.
For a moment he can only take it in, unmoving. The mouthwatering thickness of it. The angry flush. The way it would stretch him open so wide, should Jasper so choose. He has always been a curious young man, rebellious college hookups and locker room trysts, but in his brief resume there has been absolutely nothing comparable to this.
With the growled out fuck that pierces his mind, Guy looks up, wide eyed in wait.
Jasper’s hand strokes soft against his cheek, trails a languid path to the rear of his head, fists once more into the thicket of his curls. Tilts his head an inch higher.
“Go on then,” he murmurs in reverence. “Prove yourself.”
Guy parts supple lips around crown as Jasper takes the base of himself in hand. Slowly, lazily feeds him more, inch by inch. The pad of his opposite thumb hollows Guy’s cheek inward against his own teeth; flush with veined, velvet skin.
Guy starts to experimentally move and suck, and the raw sound it pulls from Jasper is every bit inhuman. Blue eyes meet onyx, as if Jasper has been waiting; the smallest slice of iris peaking past blown out pools of ichor.
“Shit, you look so good like that,” Jasper curls his thumb past the corner of Guy’s mouth, careful of the sharpened tip. Fucks it in slow alongside his own cock. Drool drips in a wayward line down Guy’s chin, tinted pink. The stretch burns hot across his lips. “Look at you. On your knees and thriving. But it’s not quite enough, is it baby boy?” Jasper uses his hold to shake Guy's head in the negative, though his mind has already long since agreed. “That’s right, so tell me what the fuck it is that you want and stop,” a shallow thrust, “holding,” another, “back-” another.
It's still not even all the way in and his throat threatens to spasm around the intrusion. He wants more than he knows how to put into words, occupied as he is. His whole body feels on fire as if the match had been struck and penance delivered as expected. It is all consuming and ever changing and still not enough, not enough, not enough…
Everything, Guy’s mind screams into the silence where his mouth cannot. Please, I want everything…
He is quickly emptied with an obscene squelch as Jasper manhandles him back up and onto the bed, his bed, pillows and blankets tossed askew about the room in promising declaration of rougher delights. There is the flail of limbs and twists of body as Guy’s clothes are gruffly torn away and tossed about like debris in the wake of some great tempest.
It feels dirty, belly down and bare beneath the fully-clothed sworn enemy with a proven track record of being his destruction. He can’t help but wonder what his handlers would think should they see him now, captured and bested and craving.
“It wouldn’t matter,” Jasper grits close behind him, a different animal entirely. Hardship roughened hands guide up hips and press down flat against his spine. “They could be right here in this room, spewing their lies in your ears, and I’d still do my damndest to fuck the loyalty right out of you.”
The twist in Guy’s stomach is visceral, a spine arching pleasure that urges him to go against his body’s new rearrangement and rut down against the sheets. It is a new sort of surrender that he already knows will become a necessity, like drugs. He has always been a creature of habit.
Jasper lets loose a sound of feigned pity, all poor thing, as a hand glides higher up long, svelte muscle to shoulder blade. It is pushed down rough against the pillows.
“Here I’d like you to use your words,” Jasper says. A soft hiss. A shift of the mattress between his knees. Viscous liquid drops thick and slides heavy down between the globes of Guy’s ass. The muscles low on his back twitch at the new sensation. “Have you ever done this part before?”
Guy turns his face just enough to make out the flexed forearm caging his hip, untamed locks of silver hair framing a heathen sort of hunger. Experience exudes from every pore of this man and Guy can't help but feel lacking.
“No.”
A warm sound of satisfaction resounds.
“Good. I’ve scented the company you keep. Not all of us are companionable."
Jasper’s fingers gather up the slick and grow insistent, a deep, dull pressure that aches and soothes in equal measure. It radiates through every inch of him, from the tight point where an attentive hand presses forward slowly, tenderly, to high in his temples and down to the very tips of his curling toes.
“You think you’re companionable?” It slides from Guy’s teeth with a garbled gasp as the first knuckle breaches and burns.
“Christ, you have no idea,” comes Jasper’s strained answer. “I swear to be a sonofabitch in every other circumstance you drag me into, but I would never, not ever, wound your pride. Not here.”
It's not hard to believe but Jasper proves himself to be a thorough, honest man. Obsessive he’d once claimed. Strategic in a way that has Guy writhing like a wounded animal deeper on two fingers and still he desperately longs for more. Needs it like the air that won't take and the release that slowly builds and threatens, though his cock hangs full and neglected in the air.
“Tame that mind of yours,” Jasper warns, “or this isn't going to last as long as I'd like.”
Guy flails his hands through the sheets, searching for purchase, for something to keep him worldly and grounded while the downward curve of Jasper's fingers send supernova explosions dancing behind his eyes. One fist meets the frilled hem of a pillowcase, the other, Jasper's forgotten lighter, still warm from the hours upon hours of deliberation that had somehow led to a second awakening instead of any worser fate.
“I thought about it for a while,” Jasper breathes into the back of his neck, drawing closer, his full weight draping heavy across his back. He feels caged in by iron; amber, blood, and old tobacco. All consuming and everywhere. A firm hand takes him by the throat, tilts it up till muscle strains. “Snapping your neck with my own two hands… Tossing you off that boat in the middle of the Thames… Strapping you down and setting the bed aflame...”
Guy doesn’t know what it says about him but the threats only push him nearer to oblivion and farther from any sort of sense of self preservation. You wouldn’t, you couldn’t, you won’t, his mind dares, unprompted.
Just as sudden, Jasper’s fingers leave him hollow once more. Gaping and empty. It feels more like a punishment than any he’s yet received. The whine that leaves his throat is borderline petulant.
I never meant for anyone to get hurt. And he means it. It is the core of who he is. The whole reason he’d spent years of his life studying law. Why he’d joined an organization that claimed to help make any sort of order in the world. Why he decided they were wrong the moment he’d been forced to see the violence it would cost, the lives it destroyed, the truth… I didn’t want any of it…
“Oh baby I know,” Jasper hushes his silent prayer with molten benediction. It raises the fine hairs at his nape. “I’ve been rooting around in that stubborn fucking brain of yours for long enough to see what it is you really want, – how full of surprises you are,” that firm hand leaves his throat to pet, again, through wild curls, a ruffle if not for the grip. Guy is beginning to deduce that Jasper just may be forming new addictions of his own. “But I want you to say it.”
The muscle of Jasper’s thighs press flush up against the rear of his own, still fully clothed, and Guy longs to be able to see everything at his back. How they must look together beneath the broken scale of power, one stripped bare and the other holding every inch of the reins in crushing hands.
Next time, Jasper thinks, fuck, you kinky thing. “If you say it,” he says aloud, and it sounds nearly as urgent as Guy feels.
Jasper trembles where they touch, lean muscle taut and craving release. The strength of a behemoth bound and barely contained in wait of one young, mortal, human man.
To be the one capable of rendering such a being to such a state…
“Say it,” Jasper repeats, broken. Tortured. And the pain there is what overshadows his own trespasses and breaks him too.
“You, Jasper. I want you,” Guy cranes his head to the side as much as he can in its capture. “Fuck, just take me. Fuck me. Please… please –”
Jasper fills him with divine focus, unhurried and remorseless, and Guy just may black out. The stretch is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. The pain is unreal. Licks of fire and whispers of pleasure battling and entwining until Jasper starts a creeping rhythm and pleasure takes the lead. His full effort presses him down flat into the mattress. His lips lave wet kisses down the side of Guy’s offered neck, around the curve, across the back of his shoulderblade. Human teeth nip light at the skin there, as Jasper finally presses all the way in, all the way home, with a snarl that reverberates straight from his throat to Guy’s cock.
He can’t help but feel the slightest bit of disappointment.
“Christ kid, you’re insatiable,” Jasper pants, edges of control fraying a bit more with every rise and fall of his chest. “You're mine if I do this, you understand me? Not your deranged bitch handler’s. Not that grubby little girl’s... Mine.”
He understands. He still wants. Greedy as charged.
Yours, Guy’s mind sings back at the well earned claim and rush of endorphins it brings. “Yours, Jasper,” he repeats, sure and even, just because he knows it will be appreciated in the open air.
“Good boy, fuck, I knew you could be so good.”
Jasper's mouth follows, just as wicked as his words, slipping wild and messy back up, up to linger open at the thickest stretch of meat above collar bone and Guy can't decide where he’d like him most. Jasper could devour him entirely if he chose that very moment to do so and he is certain he wouldn't much care.
Arms encircle around him, barring his chest and trapping his middle, and with the simple crook of his chin in surrender finally, finally, finally sharp fangs sink deep into sinewy muscle with a low hiss near his ear and Guy is reduced to a boneless heap against the pillows.
Jasper fucks into him at the same time, groans muffled into broken skin and Guy can feel the slow draw of his lifeblood away like a wine drunk haze, all while receiving a dizzying live dripfeed of exactly how divine he tastes. How that dark curiosity had been peaked almost immediately, pinned similarly on a cement floor. How he’d very nearly had him there.
Guy’s back tries to arch on its own accord but there simply is nowhere to go against luxury layered abs and an iron will. Nails dig red crescents into vulnerable skin to hold him still, every fine-tuned facade of courtesy and restraint fading into the bleak background of pure, primal need.
He will likely be a battered thing should he survive the night. Jasper is dangerous after all, just in ways he guarantees Helen had never imagined. Guy would have it no other way.
You wound me, Jasper slithers in somewhere behind his closed eyes, but it is graveled with the languorous mirth of a beast long after the kill. I could stop right now if you'd like…
“Don't you fucking dare,” Guy hisses at the same time a targeted, rolling thrust hits just right, and with the sharp tug of the reins and the inexcusable order, Jasper is a saddle broken stallion set free.
The mahogany frame of the bed creaks out a damning rhythm against the wall. A forearm slips askew in the rush, up Guy's neck into his bleary peripheral. Scarlet stains in trailing lines from a wound that already no longer exists and he is struck light-headed with the realization that it is Jasper's own blood that eases his entry, hot and wet with each resounding slap of thigh against ass. He can't help but taste it from skin.
“Jasper,” Guy exhales, and he is spilling into the sheets, pathetic and untouched. A whining, pulsing, fucked out mess of pleasure and awe.
Yes, yes, you beautiful, perfect boy.
Jasper’s jaw unlocks and he soothes the sting with drawn sweeps of a tepid tongue, his thrusts growing sloppy at the milking clutch of velvet muscle. Two more pumps and with a roar to the ceiling his body goes rigid. Molten heat floods deep in Guy’s abdomen. He had been promised a purpose of passion and has never felt more fulfilled.
“My first mistake that night was letting you out of my sight,” Jasper gasps in answer, settling in loose-limbed and heavy where he lay with no evident intent to move. “I don’t think I’ll let that happen again.”
Guy plants lazy kisses up his bicep and thinks he wouldn’t mind.
