Control
Title: Control
Characters: Kris Letang/Hal Gill
Rating: PG-13-ish
Disclaimer: I own my!Hal and my!Kris, who have taken up residence in my!brain. The real ones? Not so much. But a girl can dream…
Author’s Note: This pairing owns me. Literally. I’m thousands of words into their epic and I don’t feel like I’ve scratched the surface. But this vignette stands alone, hinting at what’s to come… And thanks go out to eggybread for the timely and efficient beta.
Kris lies face-down in white linen Heaven, a Paradise of comfort. A glancing touch, nearly light enough for him to believe he’s imagining it, glides across his shoulder blades and down his arms. He flinches and nearly moans, but manages to regain control.
And still the fingers move, coercing his eager muscles to dance. In his mind’s eye, he can see his shaking body as it responds to the master’s touch. Fingers and hands are suddenly replaced by lips and tongue, their wetness creating cool rivulets of sensation.
He’ll never make it, Kris thinks.
He’ll never remain silent.
Kris feels the lips journey down his lats and there is moisture: not just at his side, but trickling down his neck and his brow, tickling as it travels. His groin tightens. He swallows, but makes no sound.
And now the wetness is sliding all over his back, as if there were a skater performing compulsory figures-
Not figures, he realizes. Letters.
H. A. L.
“You spelled your name?” he croaks in disbelief, unthinking.
“Very observant,” Hal replies. “And you fail.”
Kris could argue, he knows, but it will make no difference. He broke the rule.
“Do we continue?”
Kris nods his head eagerly, almost puppy-like.
“It will only get harder.”
He knows this well and nods again.
“Turn over, petit.” As Kris obeys, Hal glances down and snickers. “Not the only thing that gets harder, I see.”
Kris merely grins, since one more word will end all this.
“Hands behind your head. Don’t make a sound,” Hal orders, laying the ground rules once more.
Kris does as he’s told and waits. As Hal reaches into the bedside table, Kris’s hungry gaze follows his every move.
His curiosity is noticed.
“Oh, no. Can’t have you knowing what’s coming next,” he says as he pulls out the familiar black leather sleep mask.
Kris opens his mouth and shakes his head in protest.
Hal grins widely. “You can’t argue. Well, you can, but then…”
He doesn’t need to finish that thought, doesn’t need to hammer home the obvious. But Kris knows a secret, one that he savors as Hal slides the mask across his eyes. For all that Hal is his master, Kris is in control.
The game ends when he decides it ends.
And as lips and tongue and teeth and scruffy beard begin their combined assault on his senses, Kris decides…
It’s not over.
Characters: Kris Letang/Hal Gill
Rating: PG-13-ish
Disclaimer: I own my!Hal and my!Kris, who have taken up residence in my!brain. The real ones? Not so much. But a girl can dream…
Author’s Note: This pairing owns me. Literally. I’m thousands of words into their epic and I don’t feel like I’ve scratched the surface. But this vignette stands alone, hinting at what’s to come… And thanks go out to eggybread for the timely and efficient beta.
Kris lies face-down in white linen Heaven, a Paradise of comfort. A glancing touch, nearly light enough for him to believe he’s imagining it, glides across his shoulder blades and down his arms. He flinches and nearly moans, but manages to regain control.
And still the fingers move, coercing his eager muscles to dance. In his mind’s eye, he can see his shaking body as it responds to the master’s touch. Fingers and hands are suddenly replaced by lips and tongue, their wetness creating cool rivulets of sensation.
He’ll never make it, Kris thinks.
He’ll never remain silent.
Kris feels the lips journey down his lats and there is moisture: not just at his side, but trickling down his neck and his brow, tickling as it travels. His groin tightens. He swallows, but makes no sound.
And now the wetness is sliding all over his back, as if there were a skater performing compulsory figures-
Not figures, he realizes. Letters.
H. A. L.
“You spelled your name?” he croaks in disbelief, unthinking.
“Very observant,” Hal replies. “And you fail.”
Kris could argue, he knows, but it will make no difference. He broke the rule.
“Do we continue?”
Kris nods his head eagerly, almost puppy-like.
“It will only get harder.”
He knows this well and nods again.
“Turn over, petit.” As Kris obeys, Hal glances down and snickers. “Not the only thing that gets harder, I see.”
Kris merely grins, since one more word will end all this.
“Hands behind your head. Don’t make a sound,” Hal orders, laying the ground rules once more.
Kris does as he’s told and waits. As Hal reaches into the bedside table, Kris’s hungry gaze follows his every move.
His curiosity is noticed.
“Oh, no. Can’t have you knowing what’s coming next,” he says as he pulls out the familiar black leather sleep mask.
Kris opens his mouth and shakes his head in protest.
Hal grins widely. “You can’t argue. Well, you can, but then…”
He doesn’t need to finish that thought, doesn’t need to hammer home the obvious. But Kris knows a secret, one that he savors as Hal slides the mask across his eyes. For all that Hal is his master, Kris is in control.
The game ends when he decides it ends.
And as lips and tongue and teeth and scruffy beard begin their combined assault on his senses, Kris decides…
It’s not over.