Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Possession ❯ Plaything ( Chapter 2 )

"Will she get better?" Jason Caleb Glace asked lowly as he watched the pale, blonde girl breath shallowly upon the sterile hospital bed. She looked like a fragile doll, or a princess under some evil spell. The vitality and cheer that seemed such a part of her had vanished.

"I guarantee you that she will. I have it within my power to ensure that she makes a full recovery in at least two months," the silver-haired man replied gently. The boy flinched away from the warm fingers that brushed against his neck. "Jason?" He swallowed convulsively and bowed his head. The fingers returned and began to gently massage the tension and fear tightening his muscles.

"Do you understand?" The man leaned against him. The fingers left his neck and danced about his shoulders. "There is no going back." Sharp teeth nibbled the rim of his ear. "You will be mine." Arms locked possessively about his waist. "Forever."

"If she gets better," the boy whispered harshly. He shuddered as the man's rich, honeyed laugh slid across his skin.

"Oh she will, my lovely. I shall see to it personally." Strong fingers ran down his chest and dipped lower. The boy jerked forward, away from the probing fingers, but found himself unable to wriggle from the other's grasp. "And I shall see to you even more personally, never fear. I'm going to make you scream for me."

The boy froze as the words registered in his stunned mind. Whimpering in sudden fear, he struggled against the man's unmoving arms. With a startled shriek he found himself thrown to the floor and pressed down by the philanthropist's superior size. Skillful hands roamed his helpless body. He tried to cry out, call for help, but a pair of silken lips devoured his own. Warm fingers slid up his T-shirt and moved playfully across his nipples. A startled gasp opened his mouth wide as the oddest, most inexplicable jolt of sensation ripped through him. A warm, wet tongue slid into the sudden opening and he gagged.

His muffled groans of protest drowned in the voracious mouth moving purposefully against his own. He tried to push the offensive, invading tongue out, but only succeeded in eliciting a husky moan from the man. To his horror he felt something decidedly rigid pulsing against his thigh. Panic gripped him and he thrashed about. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! Please!

And only a few feet away Crepe Awlin slept on in a cloud of painkillers. Outside the thin door nurses and doctor's hurried about their business. And he was lying helplessly beneath the weight of a silver-haired man, a demon whom he had invited to him. If only he had known…He still wouldn't have reneged. This was for Crepe. But…

The man reared back and smiled down at him with unnerving tenderness. He looked so serene, so loving, and for a moment Jason simply wanted to bask in the tranquility of his face. Then the man began working the button and zipper on his jeans. The boy cried out and struck at him with fists and feet. Still smiling the man moved between his kicking legs and grasped his wildly flailing arms. He made a slight disapproving sound and pinned the boy's wrists together above his head with a single, elegant hand. Jason's dark brown eyes widened when he found himself effectively restrained.

"P-please don't. Please!" Panting from the exertion he watched with horror as the man deftly undid the zipper of his pants with one hand.

"You've already agreed, Jason. There's no going back now." Soft lips pressed delicate kisses against his cheeks, nose and forehead. "You are mine now. I will do whatever I want to you. I own you, forever."

"I didn't…"

"Are you sure?" A wicked glint glowed within his pale green eyes. "Perhaps this is what you've always wanted. Maybe you need to submit." A tender hand traced the contours of his face and the peach fuzz dusting his upper lip. "You're so tender and…hard." The man laughed delightedly as he felt the proof of the boy's unwilling desire. A deep flush stained Jason's tan cheeks. He tried to rationalize the evidence away. The man couldn't be right. He'd never wanted…

"Why?" Tears began to trail down to wet the short hair at his temples. He blinked rapidly, eyelashes stuck upon the tears left unshed.

"Because you're too delicious to pass up. Because I've wanted you for a very long time now," the man answered gently. With a small purr of pleasure he sipped each teardrop and licked the salty path to his temple. "I would still have had you whether or not this girl fell ill." Horror filled the boy and poured out through the despairing wail that left his lips.

Jason Caleb Glace stared blankly at the white tile ceiling. He could feel the man tugging down his jeans and underwear. Cold air hit him and he shivered reflexively. Silken lips trailed across his temple and sucked insistently upon his bottom lip. Murmured praises drifted into his ears as warm fingers played with his erection. He watched the man watching him. Pale green eyes captured his own and a generous mouth curved in almost religious adoration. His hips were lifted. He knew what was coming. He squeezed his eyes close, tears leaking between the seam of his lids.

"I want to hear you scream, lovely." And he did. Hitching, sobbing screams issued from his throat as the man violently thrust into him. He surged upward, found his arms firmly pinned down, and sagged down. Oh gods, he could feel it inside of him! He squirmed, seeking easement of the burning pain engulfing him, and only served to cause the man to moan harshly and bear more fully into him.

"N-no!"

"Yes," the man hissed. Jason's eyes rolled back as a warm hand wrapped securely about his hard length. He shuddered, suspended between pain and pleasure. He pumped helplessly into the forcefully even as a rigid column of flesh savaged him. Why wasn't anyone coming to his rescue? Couldn't they hear his screams of pain? Of horrible pleasure?

His eyes snapped open in terror as a single, spine bending, shudder ran the entire course of his slight body. He arched up, voice a high whine, and felt the tension, insidiously coiled about his groin, snap. He flopped back upon the body-warmed linoleum and gazed unblinking at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell in the frantic effort to provide his body with enough oxygen. The man continued his plunging thrusts into the boy's limp and unresisting form. The man moaned huskily and stilled. Jason waited expectantly for him to withdraw, to finally leave his soiled body.

"You're perfect," the man whispered with a surprisingly controlled voice, and found his own release. The boy curled up onto his side and sobbed softly when the man finally pulled out. Through tear blurred eyes he watched the man calmly straighten his clothes. In a matter of moments he looked as if he had just gotten dressed, and not like he had just assaulted a minor in a hospital.

"I don't think I like your name anymore. Your parents gave it to you. From now on you'll use a name I give you." The man ran elegant hands through his long silver-hair and smiled tenderly at the wretched boy.

"What…name?" he croaked. The man hummed thoughtfully and tapped his chin with a tapered finger.

"Carrot."

"What? Why?"

"You're good for the eyes." The man glanced at a watch and made a small sound of annoyance. "I have a meeting in an hour. Come along now. I have to get you home." The boy stared at himself. The sticky reminder of his release covered his stomach. He reeked of sex and fear. How would he get out of the hospital without someone noticing his condition?

"Oh my, you need to be cleaned up," the man observed with a whimsical chuckle. "You'll have to take a bath later."

"What?"

"Put yourself in order and come along."

"But…" Hastily he jerked his T-shirt down and pulled up his pants. The man approached him with soft footfalls and tilted his head up. Pale green eyes burned into his. In their depths he saw a universe burning.

"I want you to remember this. Do you know why no one came?" The boy shook his head. "I didn't want anyone to interrupt us. That is merely a small demonstration of my power. Remember that and behave accordingly. There will be no one coming to your rescue, ever." Tenderly the man kissed him. He shivered, unsure whether he wanted to lean forward or backward.

~*~*~*~

Cyprian Alexander Mint caressed the delightfully resilient flesh of the boy. Slowly, carefully he traced each inch of flesh with the tips of fingers. Here and there he would take a bit between thumb and index and pinch until the boy squeaked in complaint. He grinned tenderly and twisted the soft skin on the inside of his thighs.

"How did you enjoy the party?" the philanthropist inquired laconically. Playfully he nibbled a sensual path along the slight curve of the boy's narrow hips. He shifted as if to escape. Cyprian gripped his thighs to dissuade him of the idea. He had no intention of letting his toy escape, though, at times, he did enjoy a bit of a chase beforehand. Hunting the frightened boy through the mansion and the gardens had proved a very stimulating entertainment, especially the inevitable conclusion. However, he was not inclined to indulge in such exertions this night.

"Why do you even bother asking?" the boy demanded with a tired sigh. Cyprian chuckled softly against the silken skin beneath his cheek. The hint of lemons and soap that always accompanied the boy filled his olfactory sense. Definitely lemon soap, he decided and made a note to keep it in supply.

"Perhaps I'm interested in a fairly unbiased opinion. Or perhaps I'm only making conversation."

"Whatever." The boy let loose a pained howl as Cyprian bit deeply into the flesh of his hip. The boy panted slightly as he attempted to regain his composure. The man lapped at the small trickle of blood seeping from the perfect imprint of his teeth. The boy groaned softly and shifted restlessly upon the linen sheets. Such pretty distress flushed his cheeks and neck.

"I expect an answer when I ask a question, lovely." He moved up till he lay full across him, noses touching. The boy blinked slowly, anger and fear seething in his dark eyes, and turned his face away. Cyprian clucked in disapproval and forced the boy to look him in the eye. "Well?"

"I hated it. I hate you." The man laughed and kissed the reddened cheeks. Perhaps Simon had been right; perhaps he had been spoiling the boy. However, he still maintained that spirit was not a bad thing. It added a delectable piquancy to the whole affair.

"I didn't ask you for your feelings about myself," he murmured with a warm smile. Rapaciously he kissed the pouting, trembling lips, fingers sinking into the boy's wiry black hair. The mouth remained firmly, obstinately closed. Undaunted he probed the seam with his tongue and applied pressure to the place where the jaw hinged to the skull. The boy's lips parted upon a pained, startled gasp and he invaded. The delightful flavor of the boy drowned him. Unrestrainedly he moaned as he explored every exquisite centimeter of the moist heaven. Simon had been right: the boy was addictive. He tasted of innocence and defiance, of life and the promise of death. He tasted of power.

"So you hate me?" he queried between soft bites down the boy's quivering throat.

"I do." He noted the wavering quality of his young voice and smiled.

"But you still want me, want this." The boy gasped and arched against him as he encircled his erection with one hand. Slowly, lovingly he stroked it, pumped it till the boy was beyond hard, beyond ready. He played him about the razor thin edge of orgasm, feeling the taut body flex and undulate against him. Venomous imprecations filled the darkened room as the boy struggled against the man's skillful ministrations. Cyprian licked up the drops of dewy sweat trailing down the boy's stretched throat.

"Shit! Shit!" the boy screamed as he pumped helplessly against the philanthropist's moving hand. The boy's hands reached out and tangled in the man's long ponytail. Twisting, shrieking, the boy gripped the silver locks and jerked hard. Cyprian bit back a gasp of pain and kissed the boy's gapping mouth. Sharp slivers of pain jabbed his skull from the abused roots. However, he enjoyed the delicious burning, as it was a sign of the youth's loss of control. He had finally yielded, surrendered so exquisitely, and after such a determined fight, too. Simon was wrong, actually. A little fire made the meal that much more enjoyable. And, after watching the boy's tight form sulking so prettily about the party, he was ravenous.

Disentangling the boy's hands from his hair, he moved back and took in the gorgeous sight below him. Still twitching with the need for release, the boy stared at him with unfocused eyes, his supine form glowing in the wan light. The pupils had dilated till only a small sliver of chocolate brown could be seen at their perimeter. Cyprian had never seen another person's eyes do that. It was a testament to the quiescent force shimmering below the youth's fragile skin. There was something not entirely human in him.

"You're perfect," Cyprian breathed reverently and kissed one pebbled nipple. He raised the slender hips and watched those gorgeous eyes slowly focus. Fear and anticipated pain slid into those dark orbs. He smiled tenderly. He never took the precious, delicious boy with the aid of messy lubricants. He wanted to feel every burning, clasping inch of him, and he wanted the boy to feel the same. There would be pain, most definitely, but there would also be pleasure, and soon the boy would be too far-gone to differentiate.

The boy shuddered, cried out and arched up. Cyprian moaned as the boy's warmth surrounded him. He was always so tight no matter how many times the man took him.

"Lovely."

"Shit." Cyprian smiled down at the sweating, cursing boy. Exquisite palpitations shook his body and clenched the sheath surrounding the man's pulsing erection. With torturous slowness he pulled out, drawing choked sobs from the shifting form below him, and pushed back in. For a moment he simply watched the dance of emotions across the youth's face. Pain, humiliation, lust and so many more brushed color into his cheeks.

Hands braced on either side of the boy's head, he began a steady movement. The boy refused to close his eyes and Cyprian enjoyed the shocked pleasure shown therein. Each twist of hips elicited the most endearing little panting gasps from the boy's reddened lips. Clenching so sweetly about his length, the boy began to undulate and moan. He might hate the philanthropist, but he loved the possession, the supplication. Of that Cyprian had no doubt, especially not when he sobbed so prettily for more and tried to tug him closer with desperate hands.

He had never felt the need to ask the boy if he wanted this. Receiving an answer was only the palest imitation of true dominance. Nay, the true subjugation of another only happened when the subjugator perceived the moment of surrender, and the one being subjugated embraced it. Solely through the erotic language of flexing limbs and arching back was a true master crowned. Greedy sighs and uncontrolled reflexes, shivers and husky moans waited in attendance upon him. The slave could beg, but the true master would never require it. Pleading should come naturally to the slave under the ministrations of his sovereign.

That peculiar wounded keening, which always signified the boy's most powerful orgasms, filled the room. Panting from the exertion Cyprian thrust more forcefully. Muscles flexed and bunched as he pounded into the wildly gyrating form trapped beneath him. The tingling, near painful, force of climax weighted down his limbs. With an inhuman howl the boy arched upward with enough force to momentarily lift the larger man. Wet heat splashed across their touching stomachs. The boy sagged against the shaking mattress. The tight sheath of the boy's passage clenched forcefully around him. He thrust in deeply, paused, and allowed the tension to snap through him. A soft, controlled sigh passed his parted lips and he crested the pinnacle.

For a moment he allowed himself to rest fully upon the still-quivering youth and catch his breath. The boy shifted restlessly, coltish limbs, smooth and young, brushed against him. Satiation running through his veins, Cyprian slid off to the side. The ambient glow of the moon washed the boy's damp body with silver. Lazily the man drew one elegant finger down the boy's flat stomach and navigated the outer rim of his navel.

"Leave me alone," the boy choked twisting away. Cyprian smiled with amusement and dragged the weakly flailing against his chest.

"How can I do that when every inch of your skin begs to be touched?" Lovingly he trailed the tips of his fingers across the boy's chest. "To be caressed and kissed." He laved the delicate shell of his ear. The boy squirmed helplessly and finally gave in with a resigned sigh.

"Again?" He turned shadowed eyes to the philanthropist, who smiled wickedly.

"Do you want to?" the man murmured as he cuddled closer.

"No."

"Then sleep." The boy murmured something that sounded like a curse or a prayer and stilled. Tenderly Cyprian stroked the thin chest of the boy as he drifted off. The gentle exhalations brought a content smile to the man's pale lips. There was something so endearing about the boy held tightly in his arms. The affronted innocence and pride that crinkled his brow even in sleep entrapped the man's fancy. And the fact that he smelled of lemons, of all things…

Whispering a kiss against the boy's head, Cyprian closed his own eyes and surrendered to the chaos that was his dreams.

* * *

From Sarryn:

This story seems to be going along at a pace that is slower than I intended. I hope you will all bear with me as I muddled through this story. I believe it has become a bit more complicated than I intended. Due to this fact and the writing style I have chosen to adopt, the plot is not progressing as fast as I wanted.

For those of you who want torture…it is coming soon, and it involves roses.

Thank you and please REVIEW with comments and questions. And remember to keep in mind that I don't, under any circumstances, accept flames.