Title: Dazzle

Author: Shala Atare (shalandree@hotmail.com)

Website: no site

Rating: NC-17

Pairing/main characters: Chamber/Iceman

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: Two boys and a big bed. Also, chains.

Disclaimer: Take them back. Please, take them back.

Date: Dec 2001

Notes: A rather belated reply to the Handcuff Challenge.

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Dazzle

By Shala Atare

 

Isn't it strange how the guy in the handcuffs is controlling the situation?
Perfectly calm on the bed; eyes almost closed, though the cuffs have got to be cutting into his wrists. I can see the skin pulling and whitening underneath them. Glint from under his eyelashes when he smiles quietly inside my head and *dares* me.
No idea how it ended up like this. Had planned on an all-nighter in front of the TV - hell, I was sitting down with the remote and a giant-sized bag of Doritos when I heard the front door click.
That was what made me get up, I think. No one eases the door shut like that. We're a household of extroverts, on the whole - a slamming door says 'I'm here, come pay attention to me!'
I was fast enough to catch Jono before he'd made it up the stairs. 'Hey.'
Ducked his head, clutching his coat tighter around himself before he turned to look down at me. *Bobby.*
It was dark in the hall. It only took me a really long time to figure out why.
'Bandages back?'
A quick hand, sneaking up to touch his neck.
*Sometimes it's better not to have a searchlight attached.*
I took two steps up, closer. 'Where've you been?'
Close enough to see that his eyes looked bigger than normal. Another step. Mascara. Oh.
*Out. Dad.* He turned away and moved up the stairs. I followed, still clutching the remote - hey, I'd fought for the privilege of using it, I wasn't going to casually lay it down. Hank *bites*.
'And nightclubs let you in?' I'd meant it as a real question. It came out sounding...weird.
Overprotective. Shut up, Papa Drake.
*A few. They know I'm not going to be drinking.* He reached his room, turned into the doorway. Moved to close the door, found me in the way.
Bounced the door off my foot a couple of times and stared at me. I'm not sure what he saw, but he shrugged and walked away. Flicked on a light. Paused for a long moment at the foot of his bed, then peeled the coat off.
'...um...' Which was not what I'd been intending to say. But the sentence that had been coming up my throat died a painful, strangled death in my mouth.
What with the dress and all.
*Gorgeous* dress. Black and shiny and high-necked and tight in all the right places; ending just the barest inch past halfway down his thighs. Which were clothed in fishnets.
Brought my eyes up from an examination of his calf muscles to meet a glare fierce enough to start fires.
Held the eye-lock long enough to realise that if anyone was going to speak, it would have to be me.
'...how long have those clubs been letting you in, then?' Notice the distinct lack of the word 'dress' in that sentence.
Slow blink. *Few years, now. New York's good about bending the rules.* Stood for another moment, then looked down. His hands moved to smooth at the dark fabric, and then to pull at the hemline. *I...am going to bed.*
But it was too good to last. 'The...um...dress?' I tried to stop it, I really did. I'm weak.
His hands clenched suddenly tight, crumpling material between his fingers. *They're that type of club.*
Without any intervention from my higher brain functions, I propelled myself across the room and put out a hand to touch.
Smooth and silky and body-warm and *exactly* like touching bare skin. I could feel the bandages making tiny ridges underneath, and then an empty sort of *pressure*. A non-solid, pushing outward.
No heartbeat, no breathing, none of the normal sounds a body makes. Just a light whisper from the cloth when he took a step back and a quiet *What're yer doing?*
'Dunno.' Pulled my hand back, then stretched out again. Let my palm rest over the spot where his nipple should have been. Petted the fabric. 'Just...'
He didn't move away. Stood for a long moment under my touch. Until finally my brain caught up with my muscles and I let my arm drop to my side. 'Sorry.'
Backed away towards the door; noticed I was still holding the remote and switched hands frantically.
Come to think of it, the remote could explain some of that little exchange. Adrenaline rush, and all. Power gone to my head.
*...'s okay.* Tilted his head almost consideringly, watched me bump into the wall and then edge over into the doorway. I changed hands on the remote again.
*Bobby...yer don't have to go.*
I whacked my head on the doorframe. '...uh.'
*Come back in.* A tiny crinkling in the corners of his eyes. The unpleasant child was laughing at me. The dress clung in ways that were probably illegal when he crossed the room to grab my wrist. *C'mon?*
'I should. Hn. I should go, 'cause I've got TV rights for the night. And, um. Yeah. X-files re-run. Good one. With the, um, things. You know. And their thinginess. Going now.' Tiny little baby steps out the door.
*Shut up, will yer?* He put more power behind the tug than I'd expected. Pulled me right out of the doorway.
Closed the door. Pried my fingers open one by one and dropped the remote on the floor. Held my hand cupped in both of his, just patting the palm.
I lifted fascinated eyes from my arm to look at his face. Met his gaze with something of a jolt. Centuries older than he should have been; tired and aching and damaged. Not, somehow, sorrowful. The bandages had pulled down from one cheek, letting out a trickle of
light that threw shadows up under his cheekbone and the line of his eyebrow, glinting on the tips of his eyelashes. Sort of demonic; because angelic doesn't quite do it for the sensation of low-grade lust that was settling firmly at the base of my spine.
Didn't resist when he moved in and closer. I let my lips press against the side of his face, drag up to mouth at his temple, his hairline. Warmer than just human, fever-hot under my tongue.
A sudden scuffle of hands and movement; we backed into the bed and went over in a tangle. Long fingers that dragged along my stomach under my t-shirt and then found a nipple. I pawed blindly at the dress, trying to find the fastening on the neck. Finally had to lift
my mouth from where it was trying to leave a hickey through bandages and peer at the damn thing. 'How the fuck did you climb into this?'
The fingers to slid out from under my shirt, which caused me to bemoan my lack of fine motor skills. A quick movement at the nape of his neck and the fabric fell open. Pullpullpull and, yeah, come off?
*There's buttons.* Long, slow, deadly slide underneath me to offer his back. Lengthy row of tiny black nuisances. His hands started at the bottom and I started at the top and we met - well, not quite in the middle. A lot above the middle, actually. He was the one with practise, okay?
And finally, finally able to pull the material away.
Drew it down over his shoulders, over his back, over the second skin of bandages until I saw real skin at the base of his spine. Rested my fingertips on that patch of paleness until he extended a question into me. *?*
''S okay. Like, nice.' Pulled the dress down around his hips, had to stop and stare at the little triangle of black lace that was revealed.
*Can't exactly wear boxers with this, yer know?* His legs were still pinned together by the cloth, but he half-turned in another murderous slide to look at me.
*Christ, yer freaking out.*
'No, I'm not.' But I *was* freaking out. Quite abruptly, and very definitely. 'Jesus, it's not *that* long since I had sex -'
An eye-crinkling smile. Pulled out from under me and shoved the dress down over his - he was still in his fucking *boots*. The final surreal touch. Sat cross-legged on the bed and gazed at me. *How long's it been since yer had sex with *me*?*
Long pause. 'What?'
*There's yer answer, then.* Quiet sigh I'm sure I shouldn't have heard. *'S not like I'm not used to this.*
'Christ, Jono, it's not *you*.' It was the *lace*, or...something. Maybe just the maleness under the lace.
He leaned over, fished under the bed for a moment. Let me have a good long look at the lace that was fucking with my mind. Came up with handcuffs.
'...nn.' A hollow little laugh at the back of my mind, entirely mine: fucking *goths*.
Another eye-scrunching grin. More in one night than I'd gotten out of him in a month. *For me. Sometimes it helps. To be in charge. Subconscious shit.*
'...ffng.' Because he was sitting there in bandages and fishnets and leather and snapping handcuffs around one thin wrist. Then lying back and looping the chain through the headboard and offering his other wrist to me.
And it does help, a little, on some deeply subconscious level. I am *not* in charge here. I know, I *know* that those cuffs couldn't hold him for one second longer than he wanted. But the Stone Age in me is soothed by the immobility of my prey.
So here I am.
*I'm completely at yer mercy.* Absolutely deadpan, but with raspy laughter that sits just under his words.
And a violet smoothness under that, little curls of unidentifiable emotion. And more below that, layers of sound and light and smell that flash themselves into my brain. Can't tell how much of that he means to be projecting; won't ask him about it.
Lay a hand on his stomach and think very hard about this, then decide that thinking is probably only going to make it worse. Lean down and lick a stripe across his skin, just above the lace. Move up to mouth the bandages, tracing the binding over his chest to his neck. 'Can you, y'know, feel anything? Through them?'
*Not really. Pressure, is all.* Indifference in his voice, bruised black rage beneath it. Flicks his eyes away, then back to stare me down. And down I go, to maul his stomach and leave the sticky questions unasked.
Occupy myself with trying to bring up the blood to the surface. Leave a mark, hear me roar. Only I can't.
Figure out after a while that Jono doesn't technically have circulation anymore. Another round of freak-out; try not to show it but I know I can't shield worth a damn. Jono doesn't say anything, just lies still and lets me panic into his stomach muscles.
And I get over it. Hook thumbs under the waistband of the panties and pull them down over his thighs. Figure that, yay, I've used up all my freaking out for the next five minutes or so. Am able to touch without having to watch my hand shake. Close my hand around him, run my thumb over the head. Get a funny little not-voice sound and a fizz of light on the edges of my
vision.
He tries to spread his legs, lets a burst of impatience hit me when he finds they're still tangled
in the panties. Try to drag them over his boots with one hand, find out that getting lace off over buckles requires two hands and a lot of attention. Realise this is the clumsiest sex I've had in years and then realise I don't give a good goddamn, not really.
Back up. Seal my mouth around the tip and hold his hips down when he tries to jerk up. Push down onto him, then back. Gag a little. Shit.
*Y'know...no such thing...as a bad blowjob.* Words accented with colour. A grin that settles itself inside my skull without needing a physical counterpart. Try to swallow again; choke, curse very loudly in silence, and wrap a hand around the base instead. Squeeze. *...yeah...*
Find that the longer I'm here, the more Jono crawls in through the cracks in my shields. Colour and noise, texture and emotion. A 3-D tour of what it looks like inside a telepath.
Unhurried minutes, and then he shivers and *oh* and something in my head shatters. His hips snap up, hit my nose hard enough to make me see stars but that doesn't make much difference because I'm already seeing stars, the entire fucking Milky Way poured straight into my brain. A small noise that is the furthest thing from vocal in the world.
Discover that I've got my eyes squeezed shut in a perfectly useless effort to make the galaxy leave me alone.
*...hh...oh...sssshit.* Soundless apology, smoothing down aggrieved synapses with a not-touch. *Got to not *do* that.*
'Happen...often?' Resist the urge to dig knuckles into my eyes and blink very fast instead.
*No. Not often.* The next thought down is a garbled version of *don't exactly get a lot of practise*
''s all right.' Rest my face on the sheet beside his hips and watch the last of the stars fade out. Gonna have a pounding headache later. Notice vaguely that the pain in my head has had absolutely no effect on my hard-on; small smile into the cotton. Yay, little Bobby.
Drag myself up the bed after a while and put a hand in his, still in the cuffs. 'You unbelievable bastard.'
The expression I manage is halfway between a grin and a grimace, but he knows what I mean. 'I should punish you.'
*Hmh.* Tiny snort of amusement.
Swat him across the shoulder. 'I could. You're the one in handcuffs.' Try another open-handed slap, this time across his belly. Pause to let both of us feel it.
Notice that no blood is rising up under the handprint.
'Nah. 'S not. I don't. Not really the bondage type.'
*And here I was just about to offer yer the riding crop.*
Bump my forehead against his. 'Shut up, brat.' He's still burningly warm. Can't figure out why I'm surprised by that. 'Do you have one?' And would I be *at all* surprised?
*Do yer want one?* Perfectly serious.
Bite him instead. Sink teeth into his forearm and leave imprints. If he died tonight they'd have a perfect ID on the killer. Run a calming lick over the mark and gnaw my way down his arm to his shoulder.
Teeth on the edge of the bandages and get mentally pushed back.
*Just...don't?*
Skip down over off-limits black and come to the pale skin of his hip. He spreads his legs for me. The buckles on his boots catch my clothes when they slide under me. *You're dressed.* He sounds accusing and faintly surprised.
Look down at the ancient, ancient sweatpants and smiley-face t-shirt with holes in both armpits. 'Sort of.'
*Hmh. There is a layer of non-living substance between us.*
This is true. Fortunately this is easily remedied, allowing the buckles on his boots to snag skin instead of cloth next time he moves his legs.
'Fffck! Boots come OFF.' Dab at the blood beading on the scrape. You'd think my pain threshold would rise over the years, but apparently I'm a wimp.
Find out that I'm as incompetent with buckles as I am with other closures. Fasten teeth into his newly revealed fishnet-clad ankle in a rather childish display of temper and fling the boot across the room.
*Bobby...what exactly are yer planning on, here?*
Halt halfway down the other boot. 'What?'
*Yeah, I thought so. Fuck me?*
And. Ngh. Jesus. Blatant manipulation? Yesyesyes, shouts little me.
'...'
*Well, what *were* yer planning, then?* And a grin that *oils* its way around my consciousness.
'...You are. Brat. Unbelievable brat.'
*I've got lube.*
Muted white noise that kind of blocks out the next couple of minutes, and yeah, it *is* far too long since I've had sex.
Body-memory works, and that's good. Put my head down on his stomach and work a finger inside him. Flashing sparks obscure my sight as Jono gets back into the ball game. Another finger.
Why am *I* the one who whimpers? Much, much warmer than just human, and somehow *pretty*: look up the length of him stretched out tight as a bow and want to say 'Oooo.'
So I do. 'Oooo.'
He stops right in the middle of a complicated writhe down towards me and stares. *'Scuse me?*
'You're all. Laid out. And sort of pretty.' Receive a disbelieving stare. Twist my fingers a little more - right, moving on, then.
Get anotherr wriggle, and fail completely to make him move on. *Pretty.*
'...You know. Tied down and, just. *There*. Pretty.'
Low laughter as he lays his feet flat against the bed and tries to make his arms stretch even more to reach down to me. *You. Are a fucking nutter. Say it again.*
'I'm not lying. I don't lie. Except, you know, when I do. But I'm not lying now. *Pretty*. Seriously.' Try a third finger; stop when the little burst of pain goes up *my* spine. 'Sorry.'
*No. Do it. It's okay.* Proves his point by somehow finding another inch of give in the cuffs. Press up and in and I just *want*. With an intensity that's been missing for a long time.
*ooooh please please christ please fuck just please*
Abrupt jump into incoherence when I find the spot I've been reaching for. The feedback is rushing through the lower parts of my consciousness again, a cataract of glitter that threatens to blind me. I can feel parts of my mind stretching in ways that are *wrong*.
'nnn...Jono...' Bite into my lower lip and take my fingers away. 'You know I'm not a telepath, you bastard...' Twist up my face into something resembling a smile, something to take the edge off the words, because I don't want to break the mood here, don't want to have to get up and take a cold shower, but it fucking *hurt* last time and I really don't want to sit through that again.
Still only the tiniest of expressions on his face, but there's a flash of need and shame directed at me though my gut. The light slows, trails off into a trickle instead of a waterfall. *Yeah.*
Think that it's now or never; plant a slick palm on his thigh and pull myself up his chest. ''S fine. I'm fine. Just, y'know, go easy on the loser with no shields.' Push a thigh in between his legs and ease them apart. 'All right? With this?'
*Mmm. Better go slow, loser.* The last of the light is pinched off. Slow is okay. I can do slow. Sssslow and sweetly tight, yeah; slow is good.
Searingly hot inside; beyond fever-hot, beyond anything human. Drop my temperature a bit without willing it. He surges up against me *oh* so I guess it's the right thing to do.
Still slow, slower, until I'm almost not moving at all, but there's a sensation of speed over everything as my ears fill with the sound of my blood rushing past. Gentle clenching of his muscles that feels *so good*, god, better than any movement that small should be.
Still flashing through every layer of thought in his head, glimpses of red/warm/soft, but it doesn't hurt like that overload of power. Seeing enough to know that if it's really good for me, it's a little bit better for him. Only the slightest of movements now, with a kind of amplification from Jono that's blowing the top of my head off. Little touches on his face and
his arms, and I'm staring at my hand but I don't have any control over it at all.
'oh oh Jono god pretty boy so pretty god' Delicate little brushes of my fingers over his cheeks. Now I'm not moving at all; the waves of heat are still rolling up my spine.
And he presses his feet against the bed for traction and pushes *up* and then *up* again, hard surges that draw a wail from the back of my throat. My hand is still on his face, but gripping him now, strong enough to leave marks on anyone who could still bruise. Lower my head and press a cheek against his and drive my hips forward to meet him.
Slick slide and press and the babble from the lower levels of my own mind drowning out even Jono's noise for a moment. Another thrust and I'm balanced so delicately on the edge of coming. This deep, tortured groan is in my ears, and it must be me because I'm the only one here who could be making it, but I can't feel my throat moving anymore at all, can't in fact feel anything except the dizzying intensity centred in my stomach.
Aching tenseness all over that feels like it should hurt but doesn't, drawing tighter and tighter like a spring coiling. And *oh christ* and the wall Jono's built over his power threatens to burst, threatens to but doesn't so I can watch while his entire mind goes white/black for a moment and takes me with it.
This extremely *heavy* feeling in my muscles is kinda nice. So relaxed I can't even blink. I'm staring at the spot just behind Jono's right ear and thinking vaguely that I would like to lick it, but. Yeah. That would require me to open my mouth, and move my tongue and shift all *sorts* of muscles around and. Maybe I'll just lie here for a minute instead.
He moves first; curls his hands inside the cuffs and tilts his head upward to look at them. *I can't feel my fingers.* Wholly matter-of-fact - not complaining.
Just mentioning. Oh, by the way. I'd like to use my hands again.
'Mmm. Key?' I don't *wanna* move. I wanna stay right here and go to sleep on my own personal radiator.
*On the table there.* Lie still for a moment before I drag myself to the edge of the bed and stretch for the key. Unlock the cuffs and hold his wrists for a while, rubbing at the marks they left.
Don't flinch when he removes them from my grasp and lays them flat against my chest. The beat of my heart is louder in his head. *Hope yer appreciate what yer got.*
Wrap an arm around him and smile into his hair. 'So do I.'

 

END