September 4, 2015 by Lyn
Workin’ on our night moves
Tryin’ to lose the awkward teenage blues
His body beneath her was perfect. His skin was smooth and flawless, touched only by the tattoos that crawled across his skin, almost seeming to form words before falling away into random patterns.
She ran her hands over his chest, tracing the tattoos, not looking, yet, at his face, not wanting to know if he was still smirking. Were her nerves a lingering side effect of having been Owned by him for a week? Was he feeling similarly uncertain?
She had a week to find out, and she had all of tonight to establish a beachhead. She let her gaze trail slowly up his body, following the mesmerizing movement of the tattoos to his bare throat, to his smooth, stubborn chin, to his lips.
The set of his lips was the only thing that gave away any nerves at all. He was good, almost as good as she was at keeping the façade in place. She wondered what in his past had taught him that.
It wasn’t the time to ask, yet, so she filed the question away for later, and let her hand follow the line her eyes had been tracing. Chest, throat, chin, cheek. His jaw was tense, too. She’d been staring at him in silence for a while now.
Nose. Straight, patrician, almost delicate. High cheekbones; she stroked her hand over the cheekbone and resisted the urge to skip straight past his eyes to his very–expressive eyebrows.
Little flames danced in his irises, which were bleeding towards a bluish purple. Well, she was straddling him, both of them naked. Even without the added punch of her visions – which were, at the moment, mercifully silent – it was a situation that made the thoughts lean carnal. So very carnal.
She held his gaze, trying not to think about the heat of him between her legs.
“Do not lie to me,” she said, crisply and clearly. There were probably a dozen ways she could say that that didn’t allow as much wiggle room – but she preferred to leave him some leeway in which to tangle himself.
“Okay.” It was as much a question as an agreement. She wasn’t surprised; she hadn’t asked him anything that would require truth (or a lie) in answer. She should, she supposed. She ran her hands down his chest again, searching for questions that worked.
And realized, as she thought about him, about everything she didn’t know about him, that her fascination with his enigmatic, inscrutable self had blinded her to some pretty monumentally big questions.The vampire doesn’t find the goth girl that weird, sure, but…
Her mind shied away from the question she really wanted to ask. Long experience with the darker portions of her visions suggested she should leave that morass alone, but curiosity demanded she ask something.
“So what kind of school,” she asked, watching the flames flicker in his eyes, “allows and encourages…” A collar around his neck would have made for a beautifully dramatic gesture, but she settled for setting her hands on the sharp edges of his collarbone. “…has magical rules that enforce BDSM slavery?”
“This one,” he said simply, pausing just long enough to be maddening before elucidating. ”A school for Ellehemaei, to teach us the Law.”
“So the Law is slavery?”
“No, no… although Belonging is an important part of it, and you could view Belonging as slavery.”
She could. It certainly had bound her will and her actions as tightly as chains would have. “Do you?”
“No. It’s a part of what we are, as sure as breathing.”
She wondered if he’d feel the same in a week. “Like the horns, and the fangs, and the tattoos.”
“And the magic,” he nodded. “The Laws are another form of concepts being given power.”
“Like the Words,” she nodded. “But these… your tattoos. Are those the same?”
“No, they’re part of my Change. Part of that ‘horns and fangs’ category.”
“Everyone – every one of us – goes through a Change, then?” She’d worry about the oddness of being part of an “us” later.
“Everyone. But some of them are purely physical, and some of them have no physical component at all. They’re rather individualized.”
“So I have no way to knowing what to expect, then.”
“Pretty much. Although you said your visions have gotten more prevalent; that could be an early sign.”
“Ah.” She didn’t want to think too much about that; if her visions got any worse, she’d go mad. So she focused on his tattoos, tracing her fingers over the moving patterns.
“Changing sucks for most people, but you get over it. The physical ones hurt, but the doc’s got good pain pills.”
She laughed shortly. ”I’m not afraid of pain.”
“Clearly,” he smirked. “But, if you do grow horns, or wings, or a tail? That’s a whole new dimension of pain.”
“Thanks,” she murmured dryly, and, because she wondered, she asked, “are you trying to frighten me?”
“No, but maybe to warn you. If you feel a strange pain starting, don’t just let it go, head straight to Dr. Caitrin.”
“So noted,” she nodded, wanting to change the subject. His tattoos were right in front of her, sliding off his chest, around his ribs, to hide on his back. “Roll over?”
He complied, stretching languidly, the larger patterns of the tattoo displayed on his back before her.
“Beautiful,” she hissed, running her fingers over the whole design, chuckling gleefully as patterns danced away under her fingers to hide in his hair line.
She had massage oil in her nightstand, brought on a whim; still straddling his legs, she stretched to retrieve it. She drizzled the oil down his spine, watching the tattoos slip away from it.
He twitched, barely, and didn’t say anything. A little disappointed, she finger-painted the oil across his back for a moment, watching his shoulders, waiting for the tension to slip away. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“About myself? Like what?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to ask,” she teased, beginning to work the oil into his back, massaging lightly. “Something I don’t know already, clearly. Something… something from before you came here.”
“Life was pretty boring before Addergoole. I lived with my mom, it wasn’t that thrilling.”
“Must have been nice,” she muttered softly
“Not as much as you might think.”
“Really?” She began rubbing in earnest, feeling his muscles under her hands. “What made it … not nice?”
“It was a dull, dreary existence.”
“My heart bleeds in sympathy for you,” she murmured dryly. “I take it you find Addergoole more pleasant?”
“More interesting, at any rate.”
“I’m glad you find me interesting.” She bent low over his body, her nipples brushing the oil on his back, and kissed his neck. “I certainly find you so.”