{SoC} Survivors of Cascadia • View topic

Carnivorous Intimacy

It was quiet, suddenly, and he'd only had two glasses of blood. They'd been talking, drinking, Karl was sprawled across the foot of the bed, While Mark laid up near the pillows. Mark wasn't exactly comfortable - the room was too hot and close and the ugly carved headboard was digging a pattern of flowers and vines into his spine - but he was lazy and he just wanted to sit here and talk to Karl and drink the sweet vitae they were sharing. And then they were quiet, Karl didn't realize until a few minutes had passed and then it was suddenly uncomfortable. Karl moved up next to Mark and yawned slightly into the fleshy palm of his elft hand and then sat back against the headboard. He was bone-tired, far enough gone to sleep upright, and his glass was tipping dangerously towards the bedspread, threatening to spill the few mouthfuls that were left inside in a puddle on the bed. Mark lifted the glass away and he snorted, remotely aware that he'd been half-asleep."You're tired aren't you?" Mark said, swallowing the rest of his blood. "Go to bed.""'m in bed," he said, and slumped over and a little down, mostly on his side. It was too hot to bother pulling back the spread, and he was already stripped down to tank and boxers, and he was tired, all of a sudden. And he slipped into a deep slumber.
Mark was still awake, when he opened his eyes an hour or maybe two later. Awake and watching him with glittering eyes. Mark didn't sleep as much as Karl did, the idea of sleep ment two different things to them, for Karl it was beauty sleep of course, toreadors blood were all alike, all in the interest of Art and beauty of course. Karl knew that Mark was awake more then him it made him feel safe, because he knew Mark would protect him. At this time Karl was curled on his side, head on a forearm, and he reached out, touched Mark just where his shirt had pulled up in the back, showing an inch or so of skin. He wasn't cool, but his skin was dry. He rubbed his fingers back and forth on that inch of skin, rising the shirt up a little more. Mark didn't say anything, didn't look at him, and he wasn't looking at Mark, either, just that little bit of skin, and then he leaned forward and touched it with his mouth. And licked it, not-entirely-wet tongue dragging, rippling over Mark's dry, warm skin, tasting him lightly, feeling him tense, still, Karl leaned back, head on his forearm, and took a breath, before he looked up. Mark was looking at him like they'd never seen each other before, looking at him puzzled and
questioning and sexual, suddenly sexual, and he dragged his cotton-dry tongue over his own lips, intending to say something, wishing he had that other glass of blood so he could moisten what felt like the Sahara inside his mouth. Mark then laid down, all in one smooth motion. They were mirrored; his head was on his forearm and he was looking at Karl. He knew he could go back to sleep, close his eyes and when he opened them again it would be night again and Mark would be there, watching him. They would do this again, maybe, in some other apartment somewhere else, He was almost certain that's what would happen when Mark moved forward, big, awkward body all of a sudden liquid grace sliding over the shiny-chintz-paisley bedspread, and when he closed his eyes he did so because Mark's were too close, and he couldn't see anything else, anyway. There was nothing here to see, Fingers dug into his ribs, he felt the rising heat that pressed against his hip, fitting right into the hollow by his own groin. He groaned into Mark's mouth, eyes squeezed so tight he thought they might get swallowed back into his brain, blinding him forever. He wanted to stop kissing and breathe, even though his body didn't breath being dead, It was just a symbolic action , unaware that his own hands were clawing into the back of Mark's head, holding him fast and close and tight and there, unwilling to let him go. Mark finally wrenched away, panting, and he latched onto Mark's neck, sucking in bruises with lips and teeth and tongue, feral and hungry, so hungry, starving. His body was starving, and he was clawing onto Mark for his last meal, legs twined around Mark's thighs, thrusting his heat up and hard against heat, wanting to come. Mark whispered something, trying to get away from him, but he held on tighter until something penetrated his fuzzy brain and made sense, making him realize that Mark wasn't trying to get away but just slow down, and maybe he was hurting him and he let go with everything all at once, falling back into the mattress and wishing it would swallow him up. He unclenched his fingers and his legs and his eyes, boneless and ashamed and panting and still so needy he wanted to explode, or maybe run away. Mark pried his fingers out of his palms, licking over the half-moon crescents he'd dug in there, and that was sexy, too. Mark was sexy, and he wondered what sort of blindness had overcome him that he'd never seen that before. He'd spent so much time with Mark, and he'd never really seen beauty, just the sweetness, the power and everything else he had to offer. Karl had lowered his body downward to Mark's lap fiddling with Mark's trousers, Mark was still whispering at him, or maybe just at his skin, whispering nothings that barely made it to his ears. It wasn't until his breath stopped being so harsh and tight in his lungs and his heart wasn't pounding quite so much that he could hear what Mark was saying, and still it didn't quite make sense. "Oh," his mouth said, and "yes," and "here," and Karl's tongue licked up the leg of his shorts and down the hollow of his hip where his heat had fit so perfectly, and his entire body shivered from that wet, slick, intimate touch. Karl licked him, just there, over and over again, not to force Mark over into a instant pleasure, as he thought he should want, to taste his splitting, jerking cock, but to keep him there, in that spot, in that hollow that wasn't anything, was just skin and didn't do anything and couldn't react, but it was sexy. It was sex, and it was Mark, and he was thrusting into the air, brushing wet pre-cum against Karl's ear, into his hair, and it was soft and he was just fucking the air and it was enough, it was too much. Not enough for Mark, though, because he stopped, panting, breathing in through his nose to clear his head, hands digging into his hips to hold him fast even though he wanted to keep thrusting up. He could come, he knew he could, and he just wanted to come, but Karl wouldn't let him, stopped him, and he made a noise of protest and tried to get away, to slide up the bed, grabbing on to the headboard. Mark wouldn't let him do that, either, climbing up his body until they were face-to-face, and he wanted to shut his eyes because Mark was too close but Mark wouldn't let him, just stared at him. He gasped and fought against the kiss, choking as Mark breathed into his lungs, making him dizzy and scared, terrified. His legs raised, feet flat against the mattress, and he was still holding on to the headboard, which felt like it would snap in two between his clutching hands. Mark was between him and over him and on top of him and holding him, keeping him there, keeping him from just climbing straight up the wall and onto the ceiling, away. When he wrapped one leg around Mark's waist and thrust, again, there was no way to pretend that he wasn't asking what he was asking, demanding. Mark stripped the tank away from him, managing to get it up only around his wrists, because he refused to let go of the headboard. He couldn't, even though his fists were tight, cramped muscles and his bones might snap at any moment. His boxers were wet with sweat, spotted in the front with pre-come, and it was a fight to get them off, over his hips and away. Mark pawed at him and he thrust, again, impatient for it to be done. He was tight, and it was another struggle for Mark to push a finger inside him, because he was fighting it with everything he had it felt so good, so good he knew it was going to kill him. He moaned, low and deep and long in his throat, when Mark pushed in another finger, and everything opened, all of his body opened all at once, even though he was still so tight. He thought he felt the carved wood give way under his fingers, sure there would be ten indentations there if he ever managed to pry himself away. He was thrusting and moved with the rhythm of Mark's fingers, taunting him with heat and capture, undulating his body in long, rippling arcs of muscle. He wanted to open his mouth and howl like some wild animal calling his mate - only, his mate was right here, already fully prepared to take him. It was blunt, and hot, and wet, and he didn't know how Mark could possibly stand it - he could feel how tight he was, tight and welcoming at the same time. He clenched, hard, and Mark was all gritted canine-like teeth and squinting at him, swearing under his breath. That almost made him laugh, relaxing enough to let Mark all the way in and they both froze when pubic hair and bone suddenly slammed against his ass. He thought it wasn't right, that it was supposed to hurt more, wasn't it? He was only playing the act of the prey in order to bring Mark closer to extreme lust. Mark looked at him with exactly the same thought written over his face, of course Mark knew it was an act. He flexed and wriggled, experimentally, waiting for pain to come and almost embarrassed to feel none of it. It was comfortable, fucking good, and he was suddenly absolutely certain it was going to get a whole hell of a lot better before it was over and he wanted that better to start right now. He tightened his leg around Mark's waist and pushed against him, knowing that Mark would push back, unwilling to give up control in this. The thrusting was slow and gentle, at first, and he had to move again, because he didn't want slow and gentle, dammit, he wanted hard and pounding and deep, he wanted deep and oh god, oh yes, there, right there, right there and Mark was slamming into him and he was crying out with it, and it wasn't possible, it just wasn't possible to come so much, right from the middle of his spine, everything draining out of his body over his chest and stomach and Mark, and fuck he hadn't even touched himself and oh, god don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.

He was drenched when he opened his eyes, sweat-slick and come-sticky and Mark was right on him, half-dead or maybe just asleep, mouth breathing hot against his neck. He felt like one gigantic cramped muscle, his hands still red and burning, his head throbbing, his body used and flattened out. He pushed gently against Mark's chest as Mark's arms closed around his frame, laying there in his lovers arms.

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