FIC: Something Wicked (1/1) NC-17 Brideshead Revisited
TITLE: Something Wicked
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Sebastian/Charles
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: A deed without a name
DISCLAIMER: Brideshead Revisited and all the characters therein belong to the estate of Evelyn Waugh and other people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to oxoniensis and inlovewithnight and ladyhamilton for beta and hand-holding. Proof that asta77 and widget285 are evil.
Sebastian’s rooms are always filled with fine things, which is why Charles is usually so careful when he manoeuvres them between the tables and vases and decanters on their stumbled way to the bedroom. But sometimes, like tonight, it is so full of passion and fire and the desire to disregard everything but this - though in truth, neither of them is capable of doing so.
The lights are off and the room is dark, Sebastian no doubt having had the curtains drawn to offset the effects of the previous night’s champagne at the celebration of the end of Trinity term. They stumble over something and go tumbling to the bed. Sebastian laughs, the sound like whiskey poured over ice. He wriggles beneath Charles’s weight and tugs him closer.
“Kiss me.”
It’s not a request so much as a demand that Charles has every desire to fulfill, and he does, capturing Sebastian’s mouth with his own. It tastes of heavy port and light champagne and they’re both terribly drunk and will regret it only for mere moments in the morning until the first glass of wine sobers them both up. Sebastian’s tongue is warm and heavy on his and Charles captures it, sucks on it light and teasing until Sebastian moans into his mouth, his body reacting in other ways, less vocal but no less heard.
Pulling away, Charles wrestles with his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders. Sebastian had already made short work of Charles’s buttons on the journey from door to bedroom, and his shirt follows easily after, though Sebastian’s roaming hands make the task harder. All the better, Charles thinks with another kiss at Sebastian’s parted lips, for the trouble it takes.
His hands find Sebastian’s jacket and shirt in equal disarray - he would be remiss not to take advantage of an opportunity presented - and he guides them open and off Sebastian, tugging him away from the bed to strip away the outer layers as well as the thin undershirt that Sebastian wears. They are flesh on flesh, and Charles shudders slightly at the warm feel of Sebastian’s skin, like he’s been left out too long in the sun.
He knows what he wants tonight, given determination and courage of sorts by the lazy night and fine drink, the tedious party that had gone on around them while he and Sebastian had traded quips and bon mots until Sebastian’s eyes had taken on a particularly wicked glint and he’d leaned in and whispered, most indelicately, what he wanted Charles to do to him. It had caused a blush Charles could not blame on the port and Sebastian had laughed with delight and gone on to embellish with more and more delightful and depraved acts.
But it is this that Charles wants, that Sebastian wanted before his wit got too clever for the room. He slides down Sebastian’s body, fingers trailing over bared skin and fine hairs. Sebastian’s nipples are tight and hard with the cool air of the room and anticipation, his eyes hot as he watches Charles slide further still, sinking to his knees at the end of the bed, his hands curved under the waistband of Sebastian’s trousers.
“Charles…” He raises himself up, the intensity of his gaze enough to make Charles’s body surge with newfound heat. His voice shakes with the same tremors that stir his fingers as he reaches down and strokes the back of Charles’s hands where they rest against his stomach. “Charles.”
It is, he supposes, one of the prayers that Sebastian sometimes offers up, the familiarity and ease of repetition giving the simplest of words a kind of reverence. Charles unbuckles Sebastian’s belt and undoes his trousers, tugging them down the lean thighs. Sebastian sprawls on the bed like the gorgeous hedonist he is and Charles stares at him for a moment, finding perfection in the sweep of skin, the arc of muscle, the curve of cock.
“Sebastian,” he whispers, wondering if, in his agnostic tongue, it sounds anything like the prayer that Sebastian routinely offers up. He wants his taste and will steal it if need be. Sebastian shivers and his lips part, his tongue sliding over them as if seeking the residual taste of the evening. Charles leans in and breathes against the hard flesh, the low rumble of desire in his throat given voice as Sebastian’s body reacts, stiffening further at the attention.
Charles turns his head, his breath at the base of Sebastian’s shaft, his tongue daring to brush the skin drawn tight with arousal. Sebastian’s body jerks slightly at the sensation and he seems to press harder against the bed, though his hips rise toward Charles’s mouth.
His tongue runs the length of Sebastian’s erection from base to tip, rasping slightly against the flesh, his mouth dry from anticipation and need. A shudder runs down Sebastian’s spine and he groans, his breath stuttering past his lips. Charles reaches out, trailing his fingers along the foreskin, tugging it slightly to expose the sleek head. He licks his lips, letting the tip brush Sebastian again, finding himself bereft as Sebastian jerks away, shifting and tripping off the bed in a frantic sort of haste.
“Wait," Sebastian gasps. "You must…you must wait.”
“You wanted this,” Charles reminds him breathlessly, frustrated in the face of rejection. “At the table. You want this.”
“Yes.” Charles isn’t sure he hears the word, whispered so low and heavy, thick with desire. “Yes.” Sebastian is shaking his head, though Charles is unsure if it’s a reaction of its own or simply a result of the shaky need that seems to infuse the rest of Sebastian’s body. “I do. I just…you must wait.”
Waiting doesn’t seem an option, though Charles sinks back on his heels as Sebastian turns away from him, searching the room for something Charles can’t see.
“There you are.”
It’s the knowing sing-song quality of Sebastian’s voice that nearly steals laughter from Charles’s lips. Sebastian can whisper the most wicked of things in Charles’s ear, can do terrible things to Charles’s senses and defences in the car or in darkened hallways, but he cannot do anything in the disapproving, glassy stare of Aloysius.
“What a naughty boy you are,” he continues, tucking the stuffed bear under his arm and walking toward the main room. “Setting yourself in the middle of the floor for attention. Just for that, I’m afraid you’ll have to spend the night by yourself. No. I’m sorry. It’s the only fitting punishment.”
He comes back moments later, still naked and near-perfection, though there’s a frown Charles can see in the light from the other room. “I’m sure he’s very contrite.”
“As he should be.” Sebastian’s frown changes soon enough as he gets on his knees in front of Charles, sly grin replacing it easily. “You’re not contrite, are you, Charles?”
“Not in the slightest, my dear Sebastian.”
“Still naughty then?”
“As a schoolboy.” He kisses him softly, as though starting again, only letting Sebastian pull away to sit on the edge of the bed, lean back to watch in a sort of relaxed haze as Charles rests his hand against the base of his erection, curving around it and leaning in. “You, however, have been distracted.”
“I have. Terribly so.”
“I shall have to remedy it.” He breathes against the skin again, feeling it respond. “Drench you in wine and drink champagne from your skin.”
“You’d waste too much. Try again.” There is laughter in his voice and his eyes drift shut slowly as Charles’s hand and mouth move around Sebastian’s cock, stroking him to hardness once more.
Charles brings his hand down, the flesh in his grip pulled back to expose Sebastian completely. The promise of wine or champagne is unnecessary now, drunk as he ison the scent of Sebastian’s skin, the headiness of his taste. Charles’s tongue darts out again, then he takes Sebastian in, revelling in the heavy weight on his tongue.
His hands stroke along Sebastian’s thighs as his mouth moves in its intended course. Sebastian’s body is like a wire, wound round parted hands and drawn taut. He massages the spread of flesh beneath his fingers, digging slightly rough against the tender give of skin near the apex of Sebastian’s thighs, tangling in the dark blond hairs that shadow Sebastian’s cock, the slippery wet of his own mouth coating flesh and hair and palm as his hand strokes in tandem with his mouth.
“Ch-arles,” Sebastian’s voice is thick and low and desperate, and Charles cannot help but press his tongue to the underside of Sebastian’s length, suck hard against the rigid flesh. Sebastian’s hands scramble at the bed linens and his hips follow the urgent slide of Charles’s mouth. His words have failed him, descending from sharp wit to soft nonsense, Charles’s name given a place of honour on his lips.
He slides away as he feels Sebastian nearing the edge, the action drawing a mewled protest from Sebastian’s lips. He does not hear it, cannot hear it, for fear he’ll he sink back to his knees and take Sebastian in again. But this night is for him as well, and so he loosens his trousers and sends them toward the floor, his own hardness eager and wet at the thought of Sebastian’s near-sated flesh.
The ointment is in a small pot that Sebastian keeps on his dresser. Everyone assumes it’s pomade for his hair or lotion, and Sebastian takes no small delight when someone quite noble or self-important uses it for anything but for what it is intended. Charles has never made such a mistake, but he credits his successes only to Sebastian’s low pleas that have echoed in his ears every time he’s had occasion to use it.
“You’re wicked,” Sebastian moans softly, one hand reaching out toward Charles. “Positively wicked.”
“That, my dear Sebastian, is the most delightful thing about me.”
“Who says such a horrible thing?”
Charles smiles down at him, his hand stroking his shaft slowly, coating it. “You do.”
“You see? I’m always right about such things.” He pouts with a delicate push of his lower lip, the tempting sight made more so as he lifts his legs, angling himself up. “I have a deep and abiding affection for wicked, you know.”
Charles's cock fits tight against Sebastian’s tensed muscle. He leans in and nips at Sebastian’s still present pout, smiling as his mouth opens in protest, the sound lost to the groan of pleasure as Charles penetrates him. “Deep, most assuredly, Sebastian.”
“Oh…oh, and wicked.” His eyes close, his mouth opens on heavy breaths. “So wicked.”
“I could stop.” He lies with a smile, and wonders if it is a lie when they both know the truth so well. He cannot stop. Even this early into whatever this is, he is well aware that stopping is never an option.
“If you stop, I shall die.” Sebastian’s voice is different like this, deeper, older. He’s not the soft, easy school boy when Charles is inside him, but a man. A man made of choice and need and defiance. The words sound strange - a child’s words and threats given voice in a tone that almost makes Charles believe him. “Never stop, Charles.”
“Never, Sebastian.” He kisses him again as Sebastian reaches between them and begins to stroke himself, matching his movements to the roll of Charles’s hips. The kiss ends and they both push closer, and Charles closes his eyes. It is a vow he knows he will break and wonders if it makes the words mean less right now. “Never.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Sebastian/Charles
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: A deed without a name
DISCLAIMER: Brideshead Revisited and all the characters therein belong to the estate of Evelyn Waugh and other people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to oxoniensis and inlovewithnight and ladyhamilton for beta and hand-holding. Proof that asta77 and widget285 are evil.
Sebastian’s rooms are always filled with fine things, which is why Charles is usually so careful when he manoeuvres them between the tables and vases and decanters on their stumbled way to the bedroom. But sometimes, like tonight, it is so full of passion and fire and the desire to disregard everything but this - though in truth, neither of them is capable of doing so.
The lights are off and the room is dark, Sebastian no doubt having had the curtains drawn to offset the effects of the previous night’s champagne at the celebration of the end of Trinity term. They stumble over something and go tumbling to the bed. Sebastian laughs, the sound like whiskey poured over ice. He wriggles beneath Charles’s weight and tugs him closer.
“Kiss me.”
It’s not a request so much as a demand that Charles has every desire to fulfill, and he does, capturing Sebastian’s mouth with his own. It tastes of heavy port and light champagne and they’re both terribly drunk and will regret it only for mere moments in the morning until the first glass of wine sobers them both up. Sebastian’s tongue is warm and heavy on his and Charles captures it, sucks on it light and teasing until Sebastian moans into his mouth, his body reacting in other ways, less vocal but no less heard.
Pulling away, Charles wrestles with his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders. Sebastian had already made short work of Charles’s buttons on the journey from door to bedroom, and his shirt follows easily after, though Sebastian’s roaming hands make the task harder. All the better, Charles thinks with another kiss at Sebastian’s parted lips, for the trouble it takes.
His hands find Sebastian’s jacket and shirt in equal disarray - he would be remiss not to take advantage of an opportunity presented - and he guides them open and off Sebastian, tugging him away from the bed to strip away the outer layers as well as the thin undershirt that Sebastian wears. They are flesh on flesh, and Charles shudders slightly at the warm feel of Sebastian’s skin, like he’s been left out too long in the sun.
He knows what he wants tonight, given determination and courage of sorts by the lazy night and fine drink, the tedious party that had gone on around them while he and Sebastian had traded quips and bon mots until Sebastian’s eyes had taken on a particularly wicked glint and he’d leaned in and whispered, most indelicately, what he wanted Charles to do to him. It had caused a blush Charles could not blame on the port and Sebastian had laughed with delight and gone on to embellish with more and more delightful and depraved acts.
But it is this that Charles wants, that Sebastian wanted before his wit got too clever for the room. He slides down Sebastian’s body, fingers trailing over bared skin and fine hairs. Sebastian’s nipples are tight and hard with the cool air of the room and anticipation, his eyes hot as he watches Charles slide further still, sinking to his knees at the end of the bed, his hands curved under the waistband of Sebastian’s trousers.
“Charles…” He raises himself up, the intensity of his gaze enough to make Charles’s body surge with newfound heat. His voice shakes with the same tremors that stir his fingers as he reaches down and strokes the back of Charles’s hands where they rest against his stomach. “Charles.”
It is, he supposes, one of the prayers that Sebastian sometimes offers up, the familiarity and ease of repetition giving the simplest of words a kind of reverence. Charles unbuckles Sebastian’s belt and undoes his trousers, tugging them down the lean thighs. Sebastian sprawls on the bed like the gorgeous hedonist he is and Charles stares at him for a moment, finding perfection in the sweep of skin, the arc of muscle, the curve of cock.
“Sebastian,” he whispers, wondering if, in his agnostic tongue, it sounds anything like the prayer that Sebastian routinely offers up. He wants his taste and will steal it if need be. Sebastian shivers and his lips part, his tongue sliding over them as if seeking the residual taste of the evening. Charles leans in and breathes against the hard flesh, the low rumble of desire in his throat given voice as Sebastian’s body reacts, stiffening further at the attention.
Charles turns his head, his breath at the base of Sebastian’s shaft, his tongue daring to brush the skin drawn tight with arousal. Sebastian’s body jerks slightly at the sensation and he seems to press harder against the bed, though his hips rise toward Charles’s mouth.
His tongue runs the length of Sebastian’s erection from base to tip, rasping slightly against the flesh, his mouth dry from anticipation and need. A shudder runs down Sebastian’s spine and he groans, his breath stuttering past his lips. Charles reaches out, trailing his fingers along the foreskin, tugging it slightly to expose the sleek head. He licks his lips, letting the tip brush Sebastian again, finding himself bereft as Sebastian jerks away, shifting and tripping off the bed in a frantic sort of haste.
“Wait," Sebastian gasps. "You must…you must wait.”
“You wanted this,” Charles reminds him breathlessly, frustrated in the face of rejection. “At the table. You want this.”
“Yes.” Charles isn’t sure he hears the word, whispered so low and heavy, thick with desire. “Yes.” Sebastian is shaking his head, though Charles is unsure if it’s a reaction of its own or simply a result of the shaky need that seems to infuse the rest of Sebastian’s body. “I do. I just…you must wait.”
Waiting doesn’t seem an option, though Charles sinks back on his heels as Sebastian turns away from him, searching the room for something Charles can’t see.
“There you are.”
It’s the knowing sing-song quality of Sebastian’s voice that nearly steals laughter from Charles’s lips. Sebastian can whisper the most wicked of things in Charles’s ear, can do terrible things to Charles’s senses and defences in the car or in darkened hallways, but he cannot do anything in the disapproving, glassy stare of Aloysius.
“What a naughty boy you are,” he continues, tucking the stuffed bear under his arm and walking toward the main room. “Setting yourself in the middle of the floor for attention. Just for that, I’m afraid you’ll have to spend the night by yourself. No. I’m sorry. It’s the only fitting punishment.”
He comes back moments later, still naked and near-perfection, though there’s a frown Charles can see in the light from the other room. “I’m sure he’s very contrite.”
“As he should be.” Sebastian’s frown changes soon enough as he gets on his knees in front of Charles, sly grin replacing it easily. “You’re not contrite, are you, Charles?”
“Not in the slightest, my dear Sebastian.”
“Still naughty then?”
“As a schoolboy.” He kisses him softly, as though starting again, only letting Sebastian pull away to sit on the edge of the bed, lean back to watch in a sort of relaxed haze as Charles rests his hand against the base of his erection, curving around it and leaning in. “You, however, have been distracted.”
“I have. Terribly so.”
“I shall have to remedy it.” He breathes against the skin again, feeling it respond. “Drench you in wine and drink champagne from your skin.”
“You’d waste too much. Try again.” There is laughter in his voice and his eyes drift shut slowly as Charles’s hand and mouth move around Sebastian’s cock, stroking him to hardness once more.
Charles brings his hand down, the flesh in his grip pulled back to expose Sebastian completely. The promise of wine or champagne is unnecessary now, drunk as he ison the scent of Sebastian’s skin, the headiness of his taste. Charles’s tongue darts out again, then he takes Sebastian in, revelling in the heavy weight on his tongue.
His hands stroke along Sebastian’s thighs as his mouth moves in its intended course. Sebastian’s body is like a wire, wound round parted hands and drawn taut. He massages the spread of flesh beneath his fingers, digging slightly rough against the tender give of skin near the apex of Sebastian’s thighs, tangling in the dark blond hairs that shadow Sebastian’s cock, the slippery wet of his own mouth coating flesh and hair and palm as his hand strokes in tandem with his mouth.
“Ch-arles,” Sebastian’s voice is thick and low and desperate, and Charles cannot help but press his tongue to the underside of Sebastian’s length, suck hard against the rigid flesh. Sebastian’s hands scramble at the bed linens and his hips follow the urgent slide of Charles’s mouth. His words have failed him, descending from sharp wit to soft nonsense, Charles’s name given a place of honour on his lips.
He slides away as he feels Sebastian nearing the edge, the action drawing a mewled protest from Sebastian’s lips. He does not hear it, cannot hear it, for fear he’ll he sink back to his knees and take Sebastian in again. But this night is for him as well, and so he loosens his trousers and sends them toward the floor, his own hardness eager and wet at the thought of Sebastian’s near-sated flesh.
The ointment is in a small pot that Sebastian keeps on his dresser. Everyone assumes it’s pomade for his hair or lotion, and Sebastian takes no small delight when someone quite noble or self-important uses it for anything but for what it is intended. Charles has never made such a mistake, but he credits his successes only to Sebastian’s low pleas that have echoed in his ears every time he’s had occasion to use it.
“You’re wicked,” Sebastian moans softly, one hand reaching out toward Charles. “Positively wicked.”
“That, my dear Sebastian, is the most delightful thing about me.”
“Who says such a horrible thing?”
Charles smiles down at him, his hand stroking his shaft slowly, coating it. “You do.”
“You see? I’m always right about such things.” He pouts with a delicate push of his lower lip, the tempting sight made more so as he lifts his legs, angling himself up. “I have a deep and abiding affection for wicked, you know.”
Charles's cock fits tight against Sebastian’s tensed muscle. He leans in and nips at Sebastian’s still present pout, smiling as his mouth opens in protest, the sound lost to the groan of pleasure as Charles penetrates him. “Deep, most assuredly, Sebastian.”
“Oh…oh, and wicked.” His eyes close, his mouth opens on heavy breaths. “So wicked.”
“I could stop.” He lies with a smile, and wonders if it is a lie when they both know the truth so well. He cannot stop. Even this early into whatever this is, he is well aware that stopping is never an option.
“If you stop, I shall die.” Sebastian’s voice is different like this, deeper, older. He’s not the soft, easy school boy when Charles is inside him, but a man. A man made of choice and need and defiance. The words sound strange - a child’s words and threats given voice in a tone that almost makes Charles believe him. “Never stop, Charles.”
“Never, Sebastian.” He kisses him again as Sebastian reaches between them and begins to stroke himself, matching his movements to the roll of Charles’s hips. The kiss ends and they both push closer, and Charles closes his eyes. It is a vow he knows he will break and wonders if it makes the words mean less right now. “Never.”