FIC: More Than God (2/4)
Title: More Than God (2/4)
Author: Daemonikk
Summary: Based on nanomites's prompt (#1 of 27) "Everything is for sale."
Rating: M15, drifting pleasantly to R in the next one.
Notes: Good Lord, this is easily the biggest fanfic I've written. Ever. Oh, by the way, gratuitous handporn.
“...Sir?” Rex raised an eyebrow, not quite following where this was heading.
“As you say... Everything is for sale.” He walked back to Rex, taking his time. His footsteps clicked against the tiled floor. Rex could almost physically feel his gaze raking him like fingertips as he methodically took in Rex's body. He shivered despite the warmth of the lab.
“You see, Doctor, I am a man with a taste for fine things.” He came to stand in front of Rex, again just slightly closer than was comfortable. Rex fancied he could feel the man's gentle breath on his face. McCullen smiled, disarmingly, charmingly, and raised his right hand, caressing Rex's face over the rubber-like material of his mask. “And a man that knows exactly what he wants...”
There was no way Rex could misunderstand him now. For several seconds, his only response was to blink rapidly as his heart rate ratcheted upwards.
McCullen's smile faded under the heat of the very apparent lust in his eyes. He drew closer, and now Rex knew he could feel the man's breath on him, their chests a bare inch or two apart. “To be terribly blunt... How much would it cost me to have you for the night?”
Rex felt his back stiffen. He felt behind him for the benchtop, for something solid to keep himself steady, finding it nearly pressed up against his back. He gripped the edge with both hands and stared at McCullen, while desperately trying to make his movements appear nonchalant and not at all hurried or panicked.
“You've... Never expressed any interest in me in, uh, that way before,” Rex stuttered, unused to being at a loss for words. But what exactly do you say in these situations?
“Haven't I?” McCullen chuckled. “You must not have been paying attention,” he muttered, stroking his hand slowly down Rex's neck and shoulder, “I certainly tried to make myself as clear as possible. All those long stares, the comments on your clothes, the offers for dinner... Really now, Doctor, this seemed the only way to get your attention.”
Rex felt like slapping himself. It suddenly seemed so obvious when it was all spelled out like that. “I didn't mean to ignore you,” he started, feeling McCullen's hands moving down both of his arms to nudge down his gloves, rubbing gently at his wrists, and oh God why did he have to do that, “I must have just been so focused on my... lab work...” His voice faded out as McCullen's thumbs stroked the underside of his wrists, one of the few places on his body that still had full sensation.
McCullen smiled brightly, “Oh, no harm done. You got there in the end.” His expression darkened, the smile becoming a smirk. “So... You like that?”
Rather than risking his voice breaking embarrassingly over this simple contact, Rex simply nodded, looking down at McCullen's tie pin to avoid those burning eyes. When so much of the body was dulled to sensation, the points that were not damaged often became highly sensitive. And such was true for Rex, though 'sensitive' was rather a blithe word for it. He should decline this, he really should.
McCullen felt a little thrill at Rex's affirmative action, a tiny prickle of joy at this one little shard of conquest. His thumbs smoothed over the small swathes of skin, pressing a little harder. He massaged between the fine bones of his wrist, feeling the soft beat of a pulse just beneath the skin, so fast. He allowed his thumbnails to lightly, just lightly, scrape over that pulse...
He was rewarded with a soft groan, so soft it was almost not there at all. He smiled at the way Rex's eyes widened, mortified with himself for his response. “One thousand,” he stated clearly, continuing his slow massage of Rex's wrists.
“What?” Rex asked, brows furrowing a little in confusion.
“A thousand dollars to spend the night with me.”
Rex wanted to pull away from him, but that light, tormenting touch on his wrists may as well have been manacles. Still, he had some dignity. “No.”
“No?” McCullen arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Well, that was terribly cheap of me. Two thousand.”
It's very hard to scowl when you're trying to ignore maddening little touches on unusual erogenous zones, but Rex tried his level best. “No.”
McCullen released one of his wrists, just enough to lift the hand away from the benchtop. He took hold of the edge of the latex, drawing it slowly down over Rex's limp right hand, noting how he did not help nor resist. “Four thousand.”
“No.” Rex cursed the slight tremor in his voice, his eyes locked on McCullen's manipulating fingers, watching the glove being stripped steadily from his hand to reveal the fish-white flesh beneath.
McCullen released the other wrist, laying the glove on the bench as he took Rex's bare hand in both of his. He stroked the translucent skin, tracing over the occasional scar and rubbing gently at the undamaged parts. He took his time, tracing over the fine, elegant bones and knuckles, listening to the soft whisper of Rex's breathing as it hiked. “Eight thousand.”
Rex squeezed his eyes closed against the sensations the older man was coaxing from his traitorous skin, tilting his head up to face the ceiling. “No.”
Raising Rex's hand to his clavicle, he let the silk of his shirt and tie brush the delicate skin. He leaned closer, pressing their bodies together, Rex propping himself against the bench with his free left arm. Rex could feel warm breath on the back of his hand. His eyes snapped open and he dropped his head to meet McCullen's smouldering stare.
“You have such marvellous hands, you really shouldn't cover them so,” McCullen murmured, his lips grazing the skin by a hair's breadth as he spoke, moving over the back of Rex's hand, knuckles, fingers, and back again. “Sixteen thousand.”
“No.” Although he was secretly rather flattered that McCullen thought so. He suddenly had to bite his tongue to keep silent, as the moment his denial was heard McCullen's tongue dragged its tip almost daintily from his index knuckle to his wrist.
Author: Daemonikk
Summary: Based on nanomites's prompt (#1 of 27) "Everything is for sale."
Rating: M15, drifting pleasantly to R in the next one.
Notes: Good Lord, this is easily the biggest fanfic I've written. Ever. Oh, by the way, gratuitous handporn.
“...Sir?” Rex raised an eyebrow, not quite following where this was heading.
“As you say... Everything is for sale.” He walked back to Rex, taking his time. His footsteps clicked against the tiled floor. Rex could almost physically feel his gaze raking him like fingertips as he methodically took in Rex's body. He shivered despite the warmth of the lab.
“You see, Doctor, I am a man with a taste for fine things.” He came to stand in front of Rex, again just slightly closer than was comfortable. Rex fancied he could feel the man's gentle breath on his face. McCullen smiled, disarmingly, charmingly, and raised his right hand, caressing Rex's face over the rubber-like material of his mask. “And a man that knows exactly what he wants...”
There was no way Rex could misunderstand him now. For several seconds, his only response was to blink rapidly as his heart rate ratcheted upwards.
McCullen's smile faded under the heat of the very apparent lust in his eyes. He drew closer, and now Rex knew he could feel the man's breath on him, their chests a bare inch or two apart. “To be terribly blunt... How much would it cost me to have you for the night?”
Rex felt his back stiffen. He felt behind him for the benchtop, for something solid to keep himself steady, finding it nearly pressed up against his back. He gripped the edge with both hands and stared at McCullen, while desperately trying to make his movements appear nonchalant and not at all hurried or panicked.
“You've... Never expressed any interest in me in, uh, that way before,” Rex stuttered, unused to being at a loss for words. But what exactly do you say in these situations?
“Haven't I?” McCullen chuckled. “You must not have been paying attention,” he muttered, stroking his hand slowly down Rex's neck and shoulder, “I certainly tried to make myself as clear as possible. All those long stares, the comments on your clothes, the offers for dinner... Really now, Doctor, this seemed the only way to get your attention.”
Rex felt like slapping himself. It suddenly seemed so obvious when it was all spelled out like that. “I didn't mean to ignore you,” he started, feeling McCullen's hands moving down both of his arms to nudge down his gloves, rubbing gently at his wrists, and oh God why did he have to do that, “I must have just been so focused on my... lab work...” His voice faded out as McCullen's thumbs stroked the underside of his wrists, one of the few places on his body that still had full sensation.
McCullen smiled brightly, “Oh, no harm done. You got there in the end.” His expression darkened, the smile becoming a smirk. “So... You like that?”
Rather than risking his voice breaking embarrassingly over this simple contact, Rex simply nodded, looking down at McCullen's tie pin to avoid those burning eyes. When so much of the body was dulled to sensation, the points that were not damaged often became highly sensitive. And such was true for Rex, though 'sensitive' was rather a blithe word for it. He should decline this, he really should.
McCullen felt a little thrill at Rex's affirmative action, a tiny prickle of joy at this one little shard of conquest. His thumbs smoothed over the small swathes of skin, pressing a little harder. He massaged between the fine bones of his wrist, feeling the soft beat of a pulse just beneath the skin, so fast. He allowed his thumbnails to lightly, just lightly, scrape over that pulse...
He was rewarded with a soft groan, so soft it was almost not there at all. He smiled at the way Rex's eyes widened, mortified with himself for his response. “One thousand,” he stated clearly, continuing his slow massage of Rex's wrists.
“What?” Rex asked, brows furrowing a little in confusion.
“A thousand dollars to spend the night with me.”
Rex wanted to pull away from him, but that light, tormenting touch on his wrists may as well have been manacles. Still, he had some dignity. “No.”
“No?” McCullen arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Well, that was terribly cheap of me. Two thousand.”
It's very hard to scowl when you're trying to ignore maddening little touches on unusual erogenous zones, but Rex tried his level best. “No.”
McCullen released one of his wrists, just enough to lift the hand away from the benchtop. He took hold of the edge of the latex, drawing it slowly down over Rex's limp right hand, noting how he did not help nor resist. “Four thousand.”
“No.” Rex cursed the slight tremor in his voice, his eyes locked on McCullen's manipulating fingers, watching the glove being stripped steadily from his hand to reveal the fish-white flesh beneath.
McCullen released the other wrist, laying the glove on the bench as he took Rex's bare hand in both of his. He stroked the translucent skin, tracing over the occasional scar and rubbing gently at the undamaged parts. He took his time, tracing over the fine, elegant bones and knuckles, listening to the soft whisper of Rex's breathing as it hiked. “Eight thousand.”
Rex squeezed his eyes closed against the sensations the older man was coaxing from his traitorous skin, tilting his head up to face the ceiling. “No.”
Raising Rex's hand to his clavicle, he let the silk of his shirt and tie brush the delicate skin. He leaned closer, pressing their bodies together, Rex propping himself against the bench with his free left arm. Rex could feel warm breath on the back of his hand. His eyes snapped open and he dropped his head to meet McCullen's smouldering stare.
“You have such marvellous hands, you really shouldn't cover them so,” McCullen murmured, his lips grazing the skin by a hair's breadth as he spoke, moving over the back of Rex's hand, knuckles, fingers, and back again. “Sixteen thousand.”
“No.” Although he was secretly rather flattered that McCullen thought so. He suddenly had to bite his tongue to keep silent, as the moment his denial was heard McCullen's tongue dragged its tip almost daintily from his index knuckle to his wrist.