Fic: Good
Title: Good
Series: Abide
Summary: It certainly didn't turn out the way Charles expected.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 4047
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s AU, first time, public humiliation, face slapping, collaring, rather a lot of soppy romance (or the D/s AU version thereof)
Pairing: Charles/Raven
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Chronologically, this takes place at the beginning of the series. Also, oh my god, what is this I don't even, I was going to write a couple more hundred words to finish off this little thing and then out came the epic romance novel of Charles and Raven's pure love. God, why do I do these things to myself. IT IS LIGHT OUTSIDE. I AM GOING TO BED.
It's a nice afternoon, probably too nice to be inside, but there's something a little bit decadent about that, to Charles's mind, staying in and letting the sunlight stream through the windows, sitting under the cool breeze from the fan, hiding out.
He's lying in bed studying; he's not doing it particularly well at the moment, but a photographic memory is a lovely thing sometimes. There's a tap at his open door, and he just waves a hand vaguely; it's Raven, and she never waits to be invited in anyway.
Raven climbs into his bed, lying down next to him, and he absentmindedly moves his arm so she can slip in and use his shoulder for a pillow. He's vaguely aware that proper sibling-type behavior doesn't include cuddling, at least not at the frequency with which he and Raven do it; but then again, he and Raven aren't actually siblings, so it hardly seems to matter. "What are you studying?" she asks.
"Anatomy," he tells her. He runs his fingers along her deltoid and up to her trapezius; if she's going to be here, he might as well use her as an object lesson. He reads the same half-page four times before he realizes she's distracted him entirely. What must her muscles look like as she changes? How do they shift underneath her skin?
The fact that she's in close proximity and smells of Raven is also distracting.
He puts the book down, turning towards her. "How was your day?"
"Godawful," she says, sighing. "Everyone is an idiot."
"So I've heard."
She snorts. "How about you?"
"Not much to complain about, really, except the hilariously misguided answers some of my students gave for today's quiz," he tells her. "And that's amusing enough that I'm willing to let it slide."
"So what happened out front earlier wasn't anything to complain about?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
Charles sighs; he had hoped Raven hadn't seen that. Getting into a fight with his top in public isn't exactly on his list of favorite activities. "It just got out of hand," he assures her. "I may have-" he looks for a delicate way to put it- "invited advances that I shouldn't have, but honestly, it wasn't enough that I should have been yelled at for it. It was a complete overreaction on his part."
"Again."
"This is only twice," he protests. "Three times at the most."
"I take it he hasn't punished you for it," she says.
"It's not like it's serious," Charles says dismissively. "I talked him down from doing anything drastic."
"You're going to break it off with him," she tells him.
He sighs. "Yes, well, that's a dismal but probably accurate prediction."
Raven takes a deep breath. "It wasn't a prediction," she says, "and it wasn't a request."
Charles looks at her in shock. This is exactly the kind of situation he's been trained to avoid, all alone with a top who starts making demands; he just never thought it would be Raven. He's supposed to be terrified right now, or at least incensed, but he doesn't feel that way at all. She doesn't look she wants to hurt him or take advantage of him; she's looking at him with wide, surprised eyes, like she can't believe she's actually gone through with it.
"How long have you wanted-" he asks, letting it hang.
She swallows. "Kind of a long time."
He thinks about her having to watch while he goes around with all those other tops. "Oh."
Charles has thought about it, the two of them, probably more than he should; they're lying here in bed together for Christ's sake. But a top just showing up to claim him, especially someone he's known forever but never considered, that's romance novel material.
But then she reaches over and wraps her fingers around his wrist, and he's struck by the rightness of it, her small hand holding him fast; he wonders if living in a romance novel would be all that bad. The main character always gets whatever hir heart's desire is, in the end, no matter if ze knew ze wanted it in the beginning.
He leans forward and very carefully kisses her, wondering it this is going to be the moment, the moment he realizes it's all wrong, that he shouldn't be doing this.
It's not.
Her hand goes tighter on his wrist, and her kisses are soft but insistent; it makes his heart beat faster, the feeling that she's caught him, that even in something this simple and light he's lost control. He relaxes, pulling her close, and this is happening now, this is actually happening, isn't an exploration or a trial run; this is happening and it means something, something that he already knows there's no going back from.
She pushes him down, pinning him against the bed and kissing him over and over. He wraps his hands around her hips, pulling at her until she takes the hint, straddling him; now she's got him covered up, no chance of getting away, and it feels so good, better than it has since- maybe ever, actually. This isn't exactly his first time or anything, but he's not a hundred percent sure he's not going to come in his pants.
She kisses him until he can't even breathe; she only lets him up so that she can bend down and bite at his earlobe, the side of his neck. "May I touch you?" he gasps. "God, Raven, please let me touch you."
She grins, sitting up and pulling off her shirt; he's seen her without it before, living with her for so long, but this is very different. It's very, very different when she reaches back and unhooks her bra, letting him see her gorgeous breasts for the first time. He wants so badly to reach out and take them into his hands, see if they're as absolutely stunning as they look, but he carefully refrains; if he tries to do it without permission, he might not get to do it at all, and that would be absolutely criminal.
"Well," she says, "what are you waiting for?"
She laughs as he pushes her back, down onto the bed, kissing her wildly as he lays his greedy hands on her. It's hard to keep himself from pawing at her too roughly- honestly, it's hard to keep himself from just planting his face between her breasts. He's afraid that, at the moment, he must be all enthusiasm and no finesse, but judging by the way she's moaning and grinding against him, that's exactly what's called for right now.
"Tell me," he begs. "Tell me what to do. I'll do anything-"
"Okay, okay, hold on." She pushes him away so she can wiggle out of her jeans and throw them off the bed, taking her panties with them. She grabs him by the wrist, pulling his hand towards her, and he moans when his fingers brush against the soft wetness between her thighs. "Your hand here," she tells him, but she's not done; she takes him by the back of the head, leading him to her breasts. "Your mouth here, and don't you dare stop until I say."
He doesn't hesitate for a single instant, palming her mound, rubbing her with his whole hand. She's wet enough that his finger slides in easily; he rocks it in and out, trying to figure out how she likes it. He could reach in and pull it out of her mind, but that's neither fun nor fair- it's cheating, on some fundamental level, for reasons that he can't articulate.
He bites gently at the skin of her breast as he kisses his way up to her nipple, and she gasps as he takes it into his mouth, sucking and licking. "Harder," she says, her grip on his hair tightening; he isn't sure what she means, so he just does everything harder, tugging at her nipple as he sucks, pushing his finger deeper into her.
She makes a frustrated noise, and Charles panics for a moment; he's doing it wrong, and he doesn't know how. "More fingers," she orders, and her voice is shaky, but her tone still leaves no room for discussion. "Use your teeth."
That's better, something he can work with; now he's getting a handle on it, which way this needs to go. He should have known Raven would want it like this, a little rough, a little more than just kissing and petting. He pushes two fingers into her, then three, and she groans, spreading her legs wider. "Yeah, that's good," she tells him, running her hand through his hair, her fingernails scratching against his scalp.
He lets his teeth scrape across her nipple, and she squirms under him, pushing up for more; he lets it slip out of his mouth, making his way downwards and biting at the lower curve of her breast, right where it's nice and sensitive. "Jesus, Charles," she gasps, half shock and half pleasure, and he smiles against her skin. He lifts his face away just long enough to get his mouth on her other breast. He moves his fingers faster, deep inside her, sucking hard on her nipple; she's getting close now, her breath coming ragged and fast.
"Don't stop," she groans, she's working her hips, pressing up against him, and suddenly she cries out, pulling on his hair so hard that it brings tears to the corners of his eyes. He can feel it when she comes, the way she clenches hard around his fingers, tight around his hand. It's amazing- she's amazing, absolutely incredible.
She said not to stop, so he doesn't dare, not until she bats his hand away. She pulls him up by his hair, kissing him hard, and when she pushes him away, her eyes are clear and bright. She looks relaxed and satisfied, but she also looks powerful, confident, radiant, like Charles is hers by right and of course he should satisfy her, because that's just the way of things. It's almost enough just by itself, just to see her that way and know that she has him like that.
Almost is very important there, because his cock is so hard that it's actually painful. "Raven," he pleads, his voice coming out in a whine. He'll beg, he'll beg all day if he has to, but it would be really, really nice if he didn't have to right now.
She nods, reaching down and undoing his fly, tugging his trousers down. "Touch yourself," she says. "Come on, Charles, I want to see."
It feels so good to finally get his hand around his cock; his fingers are still slick, still wet from her, and he moans just thinking about it. He's dying to come, aching for it, and he works himself quickly; he should probably slow down, make it look good, but he's a little too desperate. If she wants him like that, he's leaving it up to her to say.
"Look at me," she says, and his eyes snap to hers. She looks so hungry, so powerful, like she's going to keep him pinned right here forever and she knows he'll let her do it. He bites his lip; he knows he's blushing, his skin hot, but the edge of embarrassment, the knowledge that she can see very clearly how overwhelmed and eager he is, just adds to it.
He wants to look away, he wants to shut his eyes, but more than that he desperately wants to come. He can't keep in the noises any longer, groaning as he works himself, and he's getting too close, doesn't know how long he can hold off, if he even can. "Please, Raven," he begs, "please, let me show you-"
She leans up and puts her hand around his throat, tightening it just a little, just enough. "Do it now," she orders, and Charles makes a broken noise and comes, hard enough that his vision blurs for a moment.
He sits back on his heels, feeling dazed and contented, wrung out. Most of his come has ended up on her stomach, and he doesn't know what possesses him to lean down and lick it clean, but he does it anyway. When he looks up at her, she's looking back, staring at him. "Come here," she says, tugging on her shoulder and pulling him up to lay beside her. She takes his face in her hand, and she kisses him gently, slowly, grounding him.
She rests her forehead against his, petting his hair. "God, Charles, I love you."
"I love you too," he responds, and it's so beautiful to be able to say that without thinking, without worrying, without second-guessing or expecting to be rebuffed; they've been saying it for years.
--
His afternoon seminar has just let out, and everyone is more or less just milling around; Charles is milling around with them, talking with a top he doesn't know very well, someone from outside his department. Her name is Gretchen, and she's very attractive and very imposing; she may be flirting with him just the tiniest bit, but it's nothing, totally harmless.
They chat for a bit, nothing but casual conversation. Maybe he lets her touch him, but she's only flicking a piece of lint off of his sweater, which doesn't mean anything. There's really nothing objectionable about it at all.
Gretchen looks distracted for a moment, looking at some point behind Charles's shoulder; Charles frowns, but he keeps talking, thinking perhaps she's seen a friend across the courtyard. Then she does it again, and now Charles is curious enough to turn around.
Raven is standing behind him.
"Hello, darling," he says, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her forward. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"It's Wednesday," she tells him. "I always get done early on Wednesdays."
"I just didn't know you knew where to find me," Charles clarifies.
"I have your schedule and a map," she says, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's not hard to put two and two together."
He suddenly looks up and remembers that Gretchen is still standing there. "How rude of me," he says. "Raven, this is Gretchen, another student from my seminar. Gretchen-" He has the split-second panic that he does every time he has to introduce her, when he doesn't remember who he's said "top" or "sister" to; he's not keen on ever having to have a "But it's not incest, honestly" conversation with anyone. "This is Raven."
"Pleasure to meet you," Gretchen says, offering a hand, and Raven takes it.
"Likewise," she responds, and then she turns back to Charles. "I need to talk to you for a second." She's smiling, but she doesn't sound happy; Charles is wise enough to know a warning sign when he sees one.
"Of course," Charles says. "If you'll excuse me?" he says to Gretchen, while Raven is already pulling him away; she gives him a knowing look and turns to talk to someone else.
Raven drags him around the corner, out of sight. "I can explain," he says, giving her a winning smile. "It's really nothing at all. You see, all I was doing-"
He cuts off as she smacks him in the face. He stares at her wide-eyed; as punishments go, it's fairly light, but it's still shocking that she actually did it, no prelude, right here where anyone might walk by.
"It's not nothing," she tells him sharply. "And you're not going to do it again."
"I'm sorry," he says, stumbling over the words.
"What are you sorry for?" she demands.
"I'm sorry for not taking you seriously," he says, the first thing that comes to mind, probably the most honest response he could give.
"That's a good answer," she tells him. She hooks her fingers into the chain around his neck, the closest thing they can have to a collar until they leave for England, until they can be together like they're supposed to, without hiding or explaining. "And what else?"
He smiles, trying to get some of his own back, trying to ignore the way his heart is about to beat out of his chest. "For wasting my time looking at anyone who wasn't as beautiful as you."
She purses her lips, twisting the chain and tugging on it. "Avoid doing it when you see someone more beautiful than me."
"That would be quite impossible," he assures her.
She rolls her eyes. "If you weren't my good boy, I'd think you were awful."
Charles freezes. It's come up before with other tops, the "good boy" business. It's been said in the heat of the moment, sometimes used against him, mentioned as a joke; up until now, it has been a joke, because Charles has never done anything in his life to deserve that designation. He's been pressed and polite and solicitous, but all that is just rote, tactics drilled into him in very boring lessons where he spent most of his time staring out the window and only passed by reading the instructor's mind at the right moments. That's not good; that's just proper, the kind of behavior that's so meaningless that he'd do it for a dinner guest just as soon as his top.
He's never wanted to be good before- he's never had to be, not when he's always gotten off scot-free whenever he did anything wrong. All he's ever had to do was look pretty and say the right things, bat his eyelashes a little. That's all anybody's ever wanted out of him, enough to keep them happy; if Charles is going to be perfectly honest, it hasn't kept him particularly happy, as his track record shows.
Raven is already completely different from all those other tops. If Raven is willing to punish him just for flirting, then she's not going to let him push her around when it comes to bigger things; he gets the distinct sense that if he pushed hard enough, then that would be it: she'd walk away.
If he loses Raven, then he's lost entirely.
If that's how it is, then things have to change, and they have to change right now. If Raven wants him to be good, then he has to be good, end of discussion, because going on without her isn't an option, not when he needs her so much. He doesn't have any idea if being good is what he needs, but he wants to, very badly, wants to prove that he's worth it, worth putting up with, worth sticking around for. He can be good, he can be so good; if that's what it's going to take, that's exactly what he's going to do.
"Charles," she says gently, while he's still off in his own head. "It's okay." He presses his face into her shoulder, his fingers trembling as he grasps at her shirt, and he really wants to cry. "This is an honest question, and I'm not going to hold it against you," she tells him. "Was that too much?"
"I just," he says, and his voice comes out hoarse and broken. "Nobody's ever."
"I didn't mean to scare you like that," she tells him, petting his hair, but he doesn't miss the fact that it's not an apology. "Let's get you home, okay?"
He sighs, nodding, and she slips her hand into his, pulling him away.
--
There's nobody else in the room when Charles takes her collar. He could certainly afford a ceremony, just as lavish as you please; he doesn't know if anyone would come, but they could certainly milk Charles's relatives for fancy china. Charles wouldn't be bothered by having the ceremony publicly, either. That's the main reason people have private ceremonies, because there must be nothing more mortifying than being naked in front of one's top's parents; Charles's top has no parents and Charles has no shame, so that's not an issue.
But this isn't about anyone else, doesn't require anyone but the two of them. It's not for show; Charles isn't Raven's arm candy and Raven isn't Charles's guard dog. This is the two of them, together, partners, equal but opposite, and that's it.
Charles kneels, waiting, his eyes shut, naked except for the formal cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He can hear Raven walking around, candles being lit; he listens as her footsteps approach, as she comes to stand in front of him. She stands there for a long moment, and Charles tries not to think about what it would be like if she just walked away.
"Open your eyes," she says softly, and he looks up at her. The clothes she's chosen are elegant but simple- brand new, dark blue, just like the rhyme goes, but she's taking it to a new level, what with having her natural skin showing underneath them.
She's holding her palms out, and a collar- Charles's collar is laying across them. It's a strip of dark brown leather, medium width, and the brass plate that's riveted to the front just says R, in bold copperplate. Charles doesn't know if it's beautiful and it's his or if it's beautiful because it's his, but that is completely immaterial.
Raven takes a breath. "I give this in good faith," she says, the traditional beginning, and once she's said that, she relaxes. "You're not perfect, Charles," she tells him, which is not the most auspicious way to begin vows, but he'll see where this goes. "I thought about making a list of complaints, but that got long and inappropriate really fast." He gives her a look, and she grins. "The list of things I like about you is a whole lot longer, I promise. But you're good and you're determined and you're committed, and that's better than perfect." She smiles. "On top of that, I love you and I'm selfish. That's why I want you to wear this." Raven sighs. "I give this of my free will and without reservation."
"I accept this in good faith," Charles says; he had something eloquent and funny to go here, something befitting the occasion and the two of them, but when he looks at her, all of it vanishes. "I trust you," he says plainly. "You won't ever harm me on purpose, and you care about what's best for me. I can't even imagine what my life would be like without you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I accept this of my free will and without reservation."
Raven looks down at him, and she looks like she's about to cry, and he feels like he's about to cry. She kneels in front of him, offering the collar, and Charles looks down at it, at what's going to mark him as hers for life. "Do you accept this charge?" he barely remembers to ask.
"I accept," she says. "Do you give your consent?"
"I consent," he says, and the collar changes hands; Charles puts it around his neck and tightens it, then he bends forward so that Raven can buckle it.
The lock clicks shut.
Charles closes his eyes, breathing in, reaching up to touch his new collar; not too long ago, he'd been fairly certain this day would never come. He'd been quite happy with that notion, because he was sure he didn't want it. He still wouldn't, if it weren't for Raven. There's absolutely no one else he would do this with, no one else he trusts, no one else who's worth it.
There's no one else who thinks he's worth it.
The ceremony is essentially over; there are other things that go along with it, a traditional meal and suchlike, but here's the best thing about a private ceremony over a public one: in a public ceremony, they couldn't take a break to have victory sex on every surface in the apartment.
Raven gives him a look that says she knows exactly what he's thinking. "Hold on, let me deal with these candles first," she says, picking up the candlesnuffer and putting out the flames. "We can't let the house burn down just because-"
And that's as far as she gets before Charles throws himself into her arms.
--
Allow me to make the same note/warning here that I made on the AO3 version of this story: D/s AU is NOT reality. If someone hits you in the face in public for going against their wishes, and you haven't negotiated that as part of some kind of power exchange, that is abusive and you don't have to take it. This is fantasy. It does not represent reality.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/404288.html.
comments over there.
Series: Abide
Summary: It certainly didn't turn out the way Charles expected.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 4047
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s AU, first time, public humiliation, face slapping, collaring, rather a lot of soppy romance (or the D/s AU version thereof)
Pairing: Charles/Raven
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Chronologically, this takes place at the beginning of the series. Also, oh my god, what is this I don't even, I was going to write a couple more hundred words to finish off this little thing and then out came the epic romance novel of Charles and Raven's pure love. God, why do I do these things to myself. IT IS LIGHT OUTSIDE. I AM GOING TO BED.
It's a nice afternoon, probably too nice to be inside, but there's something a little bit decadent about that, to Charles's mind, staying in and letting the sunlight stream through the windows, sitting under the cool breeze from the fan, hiding out.
He's lying in bed studying; he's not doing it particularly well at the moment, but a photographic memory is a lovely thing sometimes. There's a tap at his open door, and he just waves a hand vaguely; it's Raven, and she never waits to be invited in anyway.
Raven climbs into his bed, lying down next to him, and he absentmindedly moves his arm so she can slip in and use his shoulder for a pillow. He's vaguely aware that proper sibling-type behavior doesn't include cuddling, at least not at the frequency with which he and Raven do it; but then again, he and Raven aren't actually siblings, so it hardly seems to matter. "What are you studying?" she asks.
"Anatomy," he tells her. He runs his fingers along her deltoid and up to her trapezius; if she's going to be here, he might as well use her as an object lesson. He reads the same half-page four times before he realizes she's distracted him entirely. What must her muscles look like as she changes? How do they shift underneath her skin?
The fact that she's in close proximity and smells of Raven is also distracting.
He puts the book down, turning towards her. "How was your day?"
"Godawful," she says, sighing. "Everyone is an idiot."
"So I've heard."
She snorts. "How about you?"
"Not much to complain about, really, except the hilariously misguided answers some of my students gave for today's quiz," he tells her. "And that's amusing enough that I'm willing to let it slide."
"So what happened out front earlier wasn't anything to complain about?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
Charles sighs; he had hoped Raven hadn't seen that. Getting into a fight with his top in public isn't exactly on his list of favorite activities. "It just got out of hand," he assures her. "I may have-" he looks for a delicate way to put it- "invited advances that I shouldn't have, but honestly, it wasn't enough that I should have been yelled at for it. It was a complete overreaction on his part."
"Again."
"This is only twice," he protests. "Three times at the most."
"I take it he hasn't punished you for it," she says.
"It's not like it's serious," Charles says dismissively. "I talked him down from doing anything drastic."
"You're going to break it off with him," she tells him.
He sighs. "Yes, well, that's a dismal but probably accurate prediction."
Raven takes a deep breath. "It wasn't a prediction," she says, "and it wasn't a request."
Charles looks at her in shock. This is exactly the kind of situation he's been trained to avoid, all alone with a top who starts making demands; he just never thought it would be Raven. He's supposed to be terrified right now, or at least incensed, but he doesn't feel that way at all. She doesn't look she wants to hurt him or take advantage of him; she's looking at him with wide, surprised eyes, like she can't believe she's actually gone through with it.
"How long have you wanted-" he asks, letting it hang.
She swallows. "Kind of a long time."
He thinks about her having to watch while he goes around with all those other tops. "Oh."
Charles has thought about it, the two of them, probably more than he should; they're lying here in bed together for Christ's sake. But a top just showing up to claim him, especially someone he's known forever but never considered, that's romance novel material.
But then she reaches over and wraps her fingers around his wrist, and he's struck by the rightness of it, her small hand holding him fast; he wonders if living in a romance novel would be all that bad. The main character always gets whatever hir heart's desire is, in the end, no matter if ze knew ze wanted it in the beginning.
He leans forward and very carefully kisses her, wondering it this is going to be the moment, the moment he realizes it's all wrong, that he shouldn't be doing this.
It's not.
Her hand goes tighter on his wrist, and her kisses are soft but insistent; it makes his heart beat faster, the feeling that she's caught him, that even in something this simple and light he's lost control. He relaxes, pulling her close, and this is happening now, this is actually happening, isn't an exploration or a trial run; this is happening and it means something, something that he already knows there's no going back from.
She pushes him down, pinning him against the bed and kissing him over and over. He wraps his hands around her hips, pulling at her until she takes the hint, straddling him; now she's got him covered up, no chance of getting away, and it feels so good, better than it has since- maybe ever, actually. This isn't exactly his first time or anything, but he's not a hundred percent sure he's not going to come in his pants.
She kisses him until he can't even breathe; she only lets him up so that she can bend down and bite at his earlobe, the side of his neck. "May I touch you?" he gasps. "God, Raven, please let me touch you."
She grins, sitting up and pulling off her shirt; he's seen her without it before, living with her for so long, but this is very different. It's very, very different when she reaches back and unhooks her bra, letting him see her gorgeous breasts for the first time. He wants so badly to reach out and take them into his hands, see if they're as absolutely stunning as they look, but he carefully refrains; if he tries to do it without permission, he might not get to do it at all, and that would be absolutely criminal.
"Well," she says, "what are you waiting for?"
She laughs as he pushes her back, down onto the bed, kissing her wildly as he lays his greedy hands on her. It's hard to keep himself from pawing at her too roughly- honestly, it's hard to keep himself from just planting his face between her breasts. He's afraid that, at the moment, he must be all enthusiasm and no finesse, but judging by the way she's moaning and grinding against him, that's exactly what's called for right now.
"Tell me," he begs. "Tell me what to do. I'll do anything-"
"Okay, okay, hold on." She pushes him away so she can wiggle out of her jeans and throw them off the bed, taking her panties with them. She grabs him by the wrist, pulling his hand towards her, and he moans when his fingers brush against the soft wetness between her thighs. "Your hand here," she tells him, but she's not done; she takes him by the back of the head, leading him to her breasts. "Your mouth here, and don't you dare stop until I say."
He doesn't hesitate for a single instant, palming her mound, rubbing her with his whole hand. She's wet enough that his finger slides in easily; he rocks it in and out, trying to figure out how she likes it. He could reach in and pull it out of her mind, but that's neither fun nor fair- it's cheating, on some fundamental level, for reasons that he can't articulate.
He bites gently at the skin of her breast as he kisses his way up to her nipple, and she gasps as he takes it into his mouth, sucking and licking. "Harder," she says, her grip on his hair tightening; he isn't sure what she means, so he just does everything harder, tugging at her nipple as he sucks, pushing his finger deeper into her.
She makes a frustrated noise, and Charles panics for a moment; he's doing it wrong, and he doesn't know how. "More fingers," she orders, and her voice is shaky, but her tone still leaves no room for discussion. "Use your teeth."
That's better, something he can work with; now he's getting a handle on it, which way this needs to go. He should have known Raven would want it like this, a little rough, a little more than just kissing and petting. He pushes two fingers into her, then three, and she groans, spreading her legs wider. "Yeah, that's good," she tells him, running her hand through his hair, her fingernails scratching against his scalp.
He lets his teeth scrape across her nipple, and she squirms under him, pushing up for more; he lets it slip out of his mouth, making his way downwards and biting at the lower curve of her breast, right where it's nice and sensitive. "Jesus, Charles," she gasps, half shock and half pleasure, and he smiles against her skin. He lifts his face away just long enough to get his mouth on her other breast. He moves his fingers faster, deep inside her, sucking hard on her nipple; she's getting close now, her breath coming ragged and fast.
"Don't stop," she groans, she's working her hips, pressing up against him, and suddenly she cries out, pulling on his hair so hard that it brings tears to the corners of his eyes. He can feel it when she comes, the way she clenches hard around his fingers, tight around his hand. It's amazing- she's amazing, absolutely incredible.
She said not to stop, so he doesn't dare, not until she bats his hand away. She pulls him up by his hair, kissing him hard, and when she pushes him away, her eyes are clear and bright. She looks relaxed and satisfied, but she also looks powerful, confident, radiant, like Charles is hers by right and of course he should satisfy her, because that's just the way of things. It's almost enough just by itself, just to see her that way and know that she has him like that.
Almost is very important there, because his cock is so hard that it's actually painful. "Raven," he pleads, his voice coming out in a whine. He'll beg, he'll beg all day if he has to, but it would be really, really nice if he didn't have to right now.
She nods, reaching down and undoing his fly, tugging his trousers down. "Touch yourself," she says. "Come on, Charles, I want to see."
It feels so good to finally get his hand around his cock; his fingers are still slick, still wet from her, and he moans just thinking about it. He's dying to come, aching for it, and he works himself quickly; he should probably slow down, make it look good, but he's a little too desperate. If she wants him like that, he's leaving it up to her to say.
"Look at me," she says, and his eyes snap to hers. She looks so hungry, so powerful, like she's going to keep him pinned right here forever and she knows he'll let her do it. He bites his lip; he knows he's blushing, his skin hot, but the edge of embarrassment, the knowledge that she can see very clearly how overwhelmed and eager he is, just adds to it.
He wants to look away, he wants to shut his eyes, but more than that he desperately wants to come. He can't keep in the noises any longer, groaning as he works himself, and he's getting too close, doesn't know how long he can hold off, if he even can. "Please, Raven," he begs, "please, let me show you-"
She leans up and puts her hand around his throat, tightening it just a little, just enough. "Do it now," she orders, and Charles makes a broken noise and comes, hard enough that his vision blurs for a moment.
He sits back on his heels, feeling dazed and contented, wrung out. Most of his come has ended up on her stomach, and he doesn't know what possesses him to lean down and lick it clean, but he does it anyway. When he looks up at her, she's looking back, staring at him. "Come here," she says, tugging on her shoulder and pulling him up to lay beside her. She takes his face in her hand, and she kisses him gently, slowly, grounding him.
She rests her forehead against his, petting his hair. "God, Charles, I love you."
"I love you too," he responds, and it's so beautiful to be able to say that without thinking, without worrying, without second-guessing or expecting to be rebuffed; they've been saying it for years.
--
His afternoon seminar has just let out, and everyone is more or less just milling around; Charles is milling around with them, talking with a top he doesn't know very well, someone from outside his department. Her name is Gretchen, and she's very attractive and very imposing; she may be flirting with him just the tiniest bit, but it's nothing, totally harmless.
They chat for a bit, nothing but casual conversation. Maybe he lets her touch him, but she's only flicking a piece of lint off of his sweater, which doesn't mean anything. There's really nothing objectionable about it at all.
Gretchen looks distracted for a moment, looking at some point behind Charles's shoulder; Charles frowns, but he keeps talking, thinking perhaps she's seen a friend across the courtyard. Then she does it again, and now Charles is curious enough to turn around.
Raven is standing behind him.
"Hello, darling," he says, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her forward. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"It's Wednesday," she tells him. "I always get done early on Wednesdays."
"I just didn't know you knew where to find me," Charles clarifies.
"I have your schedule and a map," she says, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's not hard to put two and two together."
He suddenly looks up and remembers that Gretchen is still standing there. "How rude of me," he says. "Raven, this is Gretchen, another student from my seminar. Gretchen-" He has the split-second panic that he does every time he has to introduce her, when he doesn't remember who he's said "top" or "sister" to; he's not keen on ever having to have a "But it's not incest, honestly" conversation with anyone. "This is Raven."
"Pleasure to meet you," Gretchen says, offering a hand, and Raven takes it.
"Likewise," she responds, and then she turns back to Charles. "I need to talk to you for a second." She's smiling, but she doesn't sound happy; Charles is wise enough to know a warning sign when he sees one.
"Of course," Charles says. "If you'll excuse me?" he says to Gretchen, while Raven is already pulling him away; she gives him a knowing look and turns to talk to someone else.
Raven drags him around the corner, out of sight. "I can explain," he says, giving her a winning smile. "It's really nothing at all. You see, all I was doing-"
He cuts off as she smacks him in the face. He stares at her wide-eyed; as punishments go, it's fairly light, but it's still shocking that she actually did it, no prelude, right here where anyone might walk by.
"It's not nothing," she tells him sharply. "And you're not going to do it again."
"I'm sorry," he says, stumbling over the words.
"What are you sorry for?" she demands.
"I'm sorry for not taking you seriously," he says, the first thing that comes to mind, probably the most honest response he could give.
"That's a good answer," she tells him. She hooks her fingers into the chain around his neck, the closest thing they can have to a collar until they leave for England, until they can be together like they're supposed to, without hiding or explaining. "And what else?"
He smiles, trying to get some of his own back, trying to ignore the way his heart is about to beat out of his chest. "For wasting my time looking at anyone who wasn't as beautiful as you."
She purses her lips, twisting the chain and tugging on it. "Avoid doing it when you see someone more beautiful than me."
"That would be quite impossible," he assures her.
She rolls her eyes. "If you weren't my good boy, I'd think you were awful."
Charles freezes. It's come up before with other tops, the "good boy" business. It's been said in the heat of the moment, sometimes used against him, mentioned as a joke; up until now, it has been a joke, because Charles has never done anything in his life to deserve that designation. He's been pressed and polite and solicitous, but all that is just rote, tactics drilled into him in very boring lessons where he spent most of his time staring out the window and only passed by reading the instructor's mind at the right moments. That's not good; that's just proper, the kind of behavior that's so meaningless that he'd do it for a dinner guest just as soon as his top.
He's never wanted to be good before- he's never had to be, not when he's always gotten off scot-free whenever he did anything wrong. All he's ever had to do was look pretty and say the right things, bat his eyelashes a little. That's all anybody's ever wanted out of him, enough to keep them happy; if Charles is going to be perfectly honest, it hasn't kept him particularly happy, as his track record shows.
Raven is already completely different from all those other tops. If Raven is willing to punish him just for flirting, then she's not going to let him push her around when it comes to bigger things; he gets the distinct sense that if he pushed hard enough, then that would be it: she'd walk away.
If he loses Raven, then he's lost entirely.
If that's how it is, then things have to change, and they have to change right now. If Raven wants him to be good, then he has to be good, end of discussion, because going on without her isn't an option, not when he needs her so much. He doesn't have any idea if being good is what he needs, but he wants to, very badly, wants to prove that he's worth it, worth putting up with, worth sticking around for. He can be good, he can be so good; if that's what it's going to take, that's exactly what he's going to do.
"Charles," she says gently, while he's still off in his own head. "It's okay." He presses his face into her shoulder, his fingers trembling as he grasps at her shirt, and he really wants to cry. "This is an honest question, and I'm not going to hold it against you," she tells him. "Was that too much?"
"I just," he says, and his voice comes out hoarse and broken. "Nobody's ever."
"I didn't mean to scare you like that," she tells him, petting his hair, but he doesn't miss the fact that it's not an apology. "Let's get you home, okay?"
He sighs, nodding, and she slips her hand into his, pulling him away.
--
There's nobody else in the room when Charles takes her collar. He could certainly afford a ceremony, just as lavish as you please; he doesn't know if anyone would come, but they could certainly milk Charles's relatives for fancy china. Charles wouldn't be bothered by having the ceremony publicly, either. That's the main reason people have private ceremonies, because there must be nothing more mortifying than being naked in front of one's top's parents; Charles's top has no parents and Charles has no shame, so that's not an issue.
But this isn't about anyone else, doesn't require anyone but the two of them. It's not for show; Charles isn't Raven's arm candy and Raven isn't Charles's guard dog. This is the two of them, together, partners, equal but opposite, and that's it.
Charles kneels, waiting, his eyes shut, naked except for the formal cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He can hear Raven walking around, candles being lit; he listens as her footsteps approach, as she comes to stand in front of him. She stands there for a long moment, and Charles tries not to think about what it would be like if she just walked away.
"Open your eyes," she says softly, and he looks up at her. The clothes she's chosen are elegant but simple- brand new, dark blue, just like the rhyme goes, but she's taking it to a new level, what with having her natural skin showing underneath them.
She's holding her palms out, and a collar- Charles's collar is laying across them. It's a strip of dark brown leather, medium width, and the brass plate that's riveted to the front just says R, in bold copperplate. Charles doesn't know if it's beautiful and it's his or if it's beautiful because it's his, but that is completely immaterial.
Raven takes a breath. "I give this in good faith," she says, the traditional beginning, and once she's said that, she relaxes. "You're not perfect, Charles," she tells him, which is not the most auspicious way to begin vows, but he'll see where this goes. "I thought about making a list of complaints, but that got long and inappropriate really fast." He gives her a look, and she grins. "The list of things I like about you is a whole lot longer, I promise. But you're good and you're determined and you're committed, and that's better than perfect." She smiles. "On top of that, I love you and I'm selfish. That's why I want you to wear this." Raven sighs. "I give this of my free will and without reservation."
"I accept this in good faith," Charles says; he had something eloquent and funny to go here, something befitting the occasion and the two of them, but when he looks at her, all of it vanishes. "I trust you," he says plainly. "You won't ever harm me on purpose, and you care about what's best for me. I can't even imagine what my life would be like without you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I accept this of my free will and without reservation."
Raven looks down at him, and she looks like she's about to cry, and he feels like he's about to cry. She kneels in front of him, offering the collar, and Charles looks down at it, at what's going to mark him as hers for life. "Do you accept this charge?" he barely remembers to ask.
"I accept," she says. "Do you give your consent?"
"I consent," he says, and the collar changes hands; Charles puts it around his neck and tightens it, then he bends forward so that Raven can buckle it.
The lock clicks shut.
Charles closes his eyes, breathing in, reaching up to touch his new collar; not too long ago, he'd been fairly certain this day would never come. He'd been quite happy with that notion, because he was sure he didn't want it. He still wouldn't, if it weren't for Raven. There's absolutely no one else he would do this with, no one else he trusts, no one else who's worth it.
There's no one else who thinks he's worth it.
The ceremony is essentially over; there are other things that go along with it, a traditional meal and suchlike, but here's the best thing about a private ceremony over a public one: in a public ceremony, they couldn't take a break to have victory sex on every surface in the apartment.
Raven gives him a look that says she knows exactly what he's thinking. "Hold on, let me deal with these candles first," she says, picking up the candlesnuffer and putting out the flames. "We can't let the house burn down just because-"
And that's as far as she gets before Charles throws himself into her arms.
--
Allow me to make the same note/warning here that I made on the AO3 version of this story: D/s AU is NOT reality. If someone hits you in the face in public for going against their wishes, and you haven't negotiated that as part of some kind of power exchange, that is abusive and you don't have to take it. This is fantasy. It does not represent reality.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/404288.html.
comments over there.