October 18, 2012 by Lyn
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Directly after Chapter 2: Timora.
“This is my room.” Speed opened the door and stepped inside, despite the way Gregori was holding his wrist. He liked the way Gregori was holding his wrist – firmly, without pain but with the certain threat of it underneath the surface.
“Invite me in.” He liked that, too. No fucking around; Gregori got right to the point.
“Please come in, Gregori, sir.” He lowered his eyes, making it sound coy, and stepped back into his room, using the bigger boy’s grip on his wrist to reel him in. “Would you like to see my etchings?”
“That’s a line so old it’s petrified.” He seemed pleased. Speed liked that it pleased him.
“I decided to make it new again.” He tilted his head towards his desk, asking permission and pointing all at once. Sell it. Be, be with every muscle, the perfect sub, and see if he bites.
Speed hoped he bit. Unlike some of the other bears around here, Gregori didn’t have rend-and-tear predator teeth. Speed wasn’t certain he’d like quite that much pain.
“You… ha.” Gregori moved that way, allowing Speed enough play to get to his desk. “You did, indeed. Are you using acid?”
“I am.” He picked up his favorite print. “Professor Akatil said he had a set-up for printing, too, down in the basement. I did this one before I came here.”
As a come-on, it left little to the imagination; as a self-portrait, even less.
“You can’t have drawn this from life.” Gregori sounded amused, but he also sounded impressed.
“Photos,” Speed allowed. The etching, one of his best, showed him bound in a complex hogtie, gagged, and blindfolded. he looked through his eyelashes at Gregori. “I could use some new photos to work from…”
This was written to a prompt in my monthly Giraffe Call – still open in my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth. Leave a prompt on the theme (“The Norm,” this month), get a microfic.