Prompt Post: ROUND FIVE
ROUND FIVE IS CLOSED
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<< ROUND FOUR | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND SIX >>
Rules post.
Posting Guidelines.
Flat view.
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
There is a delay on comments appearing when there is a URL in the message body. This is due to an LJ anti-spam ( Read more... )
Charles had barely moved. At the words he raised his hand half-dazedly to his neck. He was naked, Erik saw with a painful tightening in his belly, and the absurd flush on his cheeks had spread downward, leaving a mottled pink splotch at the top of his chest. He said, “I--” and swallowed. Erik saw his throat move under the angry mark the blade’s edge had left. His vision went briefly white at the edges.
“I -- I’m sorry,” Charles said, with some difficulty. “I thought -- you reached for me in your sleep, and I --”
“I told you I wouldn’t touch you,” Erik snapped. “Did you think I’d break my word so quickly?” It was asinine, this offended dignity. Clearly he had broken his word. He bit down on the inside of his cheek.
“No. No, it wasn’t that,” Charles said to the bedclothes. He ran a slightly shaking hand through his sleep-rumpled hair. “I--”
“Go,” Erik said. He could not speak any louder or he would lose control of his voice. “Will you go, for God’s sake?”
Those wide, smoke-rimmed blue eyes fixed on his again. Erik met them like a blow.
Finally the sooty lashes flickered. The vivid gaze released him. “I’m sorry,” Charles said again, sounding dazed. He slipped from the bed. He was -- God, the boy was more than half-aroused, though he turned quickly to hide it. The sun was, painfully, even sweeter to him than the lamplight had been: it gentled the shadows at his hipbones, brushed his pale skin with pink. Erik wanted to strangle himself.
The whole thing was too humiliating to be borne. He could not think of the last time he’d been so mastered by infatuation. He stared fixedly past Charles, at the mosaic on the far wall. He was still achingly hard. The windows, he thought with regret, were probably too narrow to hurl himself through.
The slave straightened and offered Erik a small, rueful half-smile. Erik watched him coldly, not moving. Charles’s smile faltered a little. He moved past Erik to the door, passing close. Erik smelled the spiced wood of the harem, and closed his hand into a fist.
He passed; Erik almost breathed again; and then there was a hand pressed hesitantly to his bare arm. Charles’s palm was warm and dry. A glow roared through Erik’s body, groin to scalp. He closed his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Charles said softly. “Please. I didn’t.” He didn't seem to recognize the absurdity of it. Erik held himself perfectly still, said nothing.
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Erik heard himself say, “No.”
“No?” Charles echoed.
“You,” Erik said, and went nowhere with it. “You -- should come again. I don’t want another.”
A long moment. Then Charles said, “As you like, lord.” His voice was carefully neutral.
"If you're afraid," Erik said curtly, hating himself and Charles and the King and every damned instant of this unbearable mortification, "you needn't--"
"I'm not afraid," Charles said. Erik was going mad, clearly, but he thought there was something like a laugh behind that voice. Charles's fingertips closed warm on Erik's elbow again. Then Erik heard his footsteps across the flagstones, and the soft closing of the door.
For a long time he stayed where he was.
Then he said, aloud, “You’re an idiot.” His laugh came out a bitter little cough.
This was what he’d come to, so close to his goal. He was a hypocritical old lecher, lust-mad over some highborn delicatus who’d read him a few nice lines and made sheep’s eyes in his direction over dinner. He barely noticed he’d slammed his fist onto the tray on the side-table until it was crashing to the floor, the heavy goblet ringing as it spun on the stone.
It was enough to shock him back to his senses; he dug the heel of his hand into his eye and exhaled.
Well, the thing was done, it couldn’t be helped now. He’d have to work around it, that was all. He had worked around a feeling before. It was no different than anger or fear or even hunger. It could be ignored. He gripped the coin so hard that its edges cut into his palm and went to the washbasin.
A few petals still floated on the water. For an instant instead of his own reflection Erik saw pale dark-ringed blue eyes, a heated cheek, the ghostly flare of sensation that was Charles’s skin sliding against his.
“Hell,” Erik said wretchedly, and plunged his head into the frigid water.
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but srsly you have a vivid writing style!
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