lowercasing-blog

[lowercasing-blog]

strangeness and charm (asra/mc, soft R?)

for a friend on twitter who requested the mc wanting asra to be more dominant with them.  it ended up less ~sexy, more sappy, than i started off wanting it to be, but they love asra SO MUCH that i think i just started getting sappy by proximity.

also i’ve barely written asra before.  hopefully i didn’t Fuck Up too terribly.

you love that asra cares so much about you.  really.  you do.  as much as you know you don’t need it - and insist so to him whenever he’ll listen - you love that he’s so protective over you, gentle and cautious when he touches you, checking in often that you’re alright during the nights you spend doing more than sleeping in the bed you’ve shared for so long.

it’s just - sometimes, you wish he wouldn’t worry, that he wouldn’t use such care when his hands are on you; that the fingers running through your hair would tighten in it and pull, that the lips on your clavicle would be replaced on occasion by teeth.  that he wouldn’t treat you so much as if you were breakable, but more as if he wants to see how far you’ll bend for him before you do.

you tell him as much one night, half-asleep - the only time your sense of shame weakens enough to allow it - your chin resting on his chest.  not in as pretty words - there’s more stumbling over them, more mumblings of “uhh..” followed by momentary silences, but the point, you hope, still gets across.  otherwise, your burning-hot cheeks and flip-flopping stomach are for nothing.

“so, uh… i just thought you’d want to know.  that that’s, you know… an option.  if you wanted it.  if you wanted me that way,” you finish nervously, cringing into yourself on the inside.  you’re making such a fool of yourself, it’s a wonder if he wants you any way now.

“mmm.  i’ll take that under consideration,” asra says thoughtfully in response, craning his neck to kiss the top of your head.

well, it’s not a flat-out no, and for that at least you’re grateful.

“asra, i’m home!” you call towards the back room of the shop, dropping your bags unceremoniously by the door and shedding layers of scarves and sweaters.  “it’s freezing out there, i swear i thought my fingers were going to fall off while i was waiting on that bag of dried scorpion tails, i still can’t really feel- asra?”

no response from the back of the shop.  you kick your boots off to the side of the welcome mat and pad in stockinged feet towards the door to asra’s workspace, which… is open.  that’s unusual.

“asra?” you ask for a third time, feeling a bit ridiculous as you poke your head around the doorframe.  it’s usually dim in here, but the atmosphere feels even darker than usual, covered lanterns filling the room with a deep red hue.

asra’s standing with his back to you, bent over a book; he starts a little when he hears your footsteps.

“did you really not hear me come in?”

“no, i - my apologies.  i was distracted.”

“clearly.”  you grin and step further into the back room, peering at the book before him.  “caught up in your reading?”

“i’m afraid i couldn’t concentrate.”  asra matches your grin with his own, skirting the table at the center of the room to meet you.  “i missed you,” he adds, guiding you closer with a hand on the small of your back to kiss you.

“i was hardly gone for an hour!” you protest, frowning.

“you’re very easy to miss,” he says with grave seriousness that lasts about ten seconds before his smile breaks back through.  “and i was thinking of you that whole time.”

you break into a nervous giggle, feeling your face heat up.  you’ve been together with asra, in one way or another, for how long and he’s still able to make you feel like this, like a giddy preteen with their first real crush?  “thinking about what exactly?” you ask as he places a hand on your face, thumb absently stroking over your cheekbone.

“hmm, things.”

“always with the mysteries,” you tease.  “what things?”

light dances in his eyes and he runs a finger over your lips; you part them almost unconsciously.  “you’ve given me a lot to think about recently.”

“what does- oh.”  you’re definitely sure you’re visibly blushing now.  “that.”

“yes,” he agrees, “that.”

you take in a breath, about to respond, and in that split second his fingers slide into your mouth, pressing down gently on your tongue; you forget about breathing entirely, too consumed by the heat spreading through your entire body.

“asra-” you try and say around him, and he presses his fingers in slightly further, not far enough to gag you, just to get his point across: shh.  a small sound, somewhere between a huff of frustration and a soft groan, escapes your throat, muffled.

he tilts his head, taking in your reaction, taking inventory of your reddened cheeks, your shallow breathing.  “is this alright?”

you nod, more enthusiastically than you mean to, and he laughs softly.

“good.  as long as you’re sure.  you know i never want to pu-”

you pull away before he can even finish his sentence, your gaze narrowing.  “asra.”

“what?” he asks, all fake innocence and wide eyes.

“are you asking because you want to know, or because you want to hear me say it?”

he tilts his head again, faux-thoughtfully.  “both?”

bastard.  you take a step closer, body almost pressed up against his.  “yes.  yes, it’s alright, asra.  i wouldn’t have asked you to- to-”

“to... how exactly did you put it?”  his hand is back in your hair, gently tilting your head back so you’re forced to look him in the eyes; his mouth shows no hint of a smile, but his eyes shine with amusement.  “to dominate you?”

“don’t… use my words against me,” you grumble with a roll of your eyes.  “yes.  i want that, alright?  i want you to-”

you don’t get to finish your sentence because asra’s kissing you then, grip on your hair tightening ever-so-slightly, and you comply wordlessly as he guides you back until your shoulders hit the doorframe.  he’s always kissed you like your lips are the air he needs to breathe, like it might just be the last time, but there’s a new hunger there tonight, and it sends a shiver skipping up your spine.

“i should have told you i wanted this sooner.” you break away from the long enough to kiss to tease him; he answers with a bite to your lip and your legs all but turn to jelly beneath you (which you now realize is not a cliche but an entirely possible phenomenon and you maybe owe the writers of bad romance novels more credit in the future.)

you’re both beaming like fools.  asra grabs your hands, entwining your fingers with his, and in a flash he’s got your wrists pressed against the wall behind you on either side of your head; he leans in close, tucking his head under yours, his lips barely brushing your collarbone when he speaks.

“we’ll just have to make up for lost time, then.”

“hard for us to do that when you won’t stop talking,” you tell him, light-headed.

“that depends…”  his tongue follows the curve of bone up to your shoulder, and you forget how to breathe momentarily, “on what’s being said.”

“such as?”

“use your imagination,” he murmurs in your ear, releasing one of your hands; seconds later you feel his fingers skim over the sensitive skin of your thigh, pushing your skirt up around your hips.  “you can’t have forgotten all your good ideas from last night already?”

of course you remember, and he knows that, and thinking of the things you admitted you wanted him to tell you - and other things you were too ashamed to say, held back by your hammering heart, afraid that if he looked into your eyes he’d be able to see those words and commands you so desperately wanted to hear - makes you feel terribly exposed, as if your late-night thoughts and least repeatable daydreams are pinned down on display like exotic insects to be examined.

“asra, please,” you whisper, grip tightening on his hand.

“please, what?”  his fingers inch higher, slowly, torturously.

you swallow, but your throat is still dry, your voice still barely audible in reply.  “please just touch me, i’ve fucking waited long enough-”

“well.”  he lets go of your other hand, gently placing his fingers around your throat, and just that simple gesture, the promise of it, makes your heart beat a thousand times faster with anticipation.  “since you asked so nicely...”

your eyes lock onto his as his hand tightens, and you see so much there, years of pride and concern and affection, all evident in the way he touches you (even now, even like this) but even more crystal-clear in his gaze.

i love you, you tell him, not out loud, but you hope he understands it in your own eyes, and he answers in the way he kisses you, in the upwards curve of his lips against yours as the fingers at your throat release and you gasp for air-

i love you, too.

[lowercasing-blog]

such a tender trap (mc/julian, R)

so, this is the first real thing i write for this fandom - the first thing i’ve written and finished in a while, actually! - and it’s blatant porn without plot.  AS YOU DO.  i guess thirst for tall, masochistic plague doctors is my ultimate Writing Motivation™?????

anyway, have 1.5k-ish of entirely self-indulgent first-time mc/julian to christen this new writing blog!  i wrote this thinking of the apprentice being a trans man, but it’s vague enough that i guess you can make your own decision based on your preferences as far as that’s concerned :’)

i had laid such a tender trap hoping you might fall into it but love hit me like a sudden slap one kiss, and then i knew it. - MASSIVE ATTACK, “THE HUNTER GETS CAPTURED BY THE GAME”

julian devorak is, by all accounts, an imposing figure. tall, broad-shouldered, signature dramatic coat and plague mask cutting a sinister silhouette, even without his reputation among the people of vesuvia as a cold-blooded murderer.

well. if they saw him now, you have a hard time believing they'd call the man beneath you imposing or fearsome. not with his coat long since discarded on the floor, shirt open and barely hanging on his shoulders; not with the flush across his face or the desperate way he looks into your eyes when you take both his wrists and pin them above his head.

you look down at him, trying to seem cooler, more detached, than you are, trying to hide the hunger in your own eyes that you see in his as well. keeping his hands in place with one of yours - both of you know he could easily break free, and the fact that he doesn't sends a little thrill through you - you let your other hand wander, down over his neck, his collarbone, his chest.

"hold still for me."

he nods, one side of his mouth twitching upwards. good. that's all you need to see. your other hand leaves his wrists, sliding down to cup the side of his face, stroking his cheek. this is a good look for him, this whole totally at your mercy thing. not that he - unfortunately - has any bad looks, just one of the many frustrating things about him.

you feel a shiver run through his body when the hand on his chest travels further, gently thumbing over one nipple, and then a soft exhale as you roll it between your thumb and forefinger. encouraged, you lean down, tongue running over the other before taking it between your teeth - and you feel his hips buck against your thigh.

instantly, you're sitting back up, hands at your sides again. "what did i say, doctor?"

the disappointment is evident on his face, but he still grins. "that you've been waiting to do this since i first broke into your master's shop?"

you raise your hand and then - a sharp crack as your hand hits his cheek, your palm stinging. he gasps, and you can all but see him struggle not to moan. it's, for lack of a better word, adorable; it makes you want to simultaneously kiss his face better and hit him again. "before that, you ass."

he swallows. "'hold still.'"

you nod, brushing his hair out of his face. "that's better," you tell him, leaning back down to press a kiss to his collarbone, following the line of it with your tongue until you reach his throat. his heartbeat thuds under your lips in a rhythm that, you decide, is just a bit too slow for your liking, and you sink your teeth into the flesh just below his adam's apple.

he twitches under you, and god, it's cute. you can feel him hard against your leg and tell just from the tension in his body that it's taking everything he has not to grind against you as you trail bite marks down his chest; you don't even need to look back up at him to know he's got his bottom lip between his teeth again trying to hold back his noises of pain and pleasure. you stop when you reach his hips, hooking your thumbs over the waist of his trousers, looking up with what you're sure must resemble a predator's smile.

"is this okay?"

julian doesn't even take a half-second to think it over. "yes."

another flash of your teeth. "good."

he makes a noise almost like he's choking when you run your tongue over his erection through his clothing, which just makes you laugh.

"you don't have to be so quiet. i want to hear you."

that gets a full-blown moan out of him, and you're not sure if it's by your request or because of what you've said, not that you really matter, because he sounds pretty and eager and you can actually feel him getting harder at your words and it's, basically, the best feeling you can imagine.

"good boy." you kiss him again, just above his hipbone, and straighten up to look directly at him.  “tell me what you want.”

“i’ll do whatever you want.”  his voice rasps, low with desire, breath hitching in his throat as you trace a finger down the obvious tent in his trousers.  “please.”

“that’s not what i asked.  i want to know what you want.”

“i want…” his eyes fall closed, and he turns his head to the side, away from you, ashamed.  “i want to fuck you.”

you answer by pressing your thigh harder against him, not bothering with a reprimand as he rolls his hips into you; instead, you lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth, softly.

“there.  was that so hard?”

he laughs shakily in response, then more warmly as your hands fumble with the closure of his pants and pull them roughly out of the way; at least he has the common sense not to continue laughing when you nearly tip off the side of the bed in your haste to remove your own.  seemingly unconsciously, his tongue darts over his bottom lip as you slide your underthings off and toss them unceremoniously on the ground.  truthfully, you’re a little embarrassed by the hungry way his eyes take you in; it’s not that nobody’s ever seen you mostly naked before, but no one’s ever looked at you this way, not quite this ravenously.  encouraged, you straddle him, not taking him inside you yet but running your nails down his chest, and he shudders.

“has anyone ever told you that you’re an - mm - that you’re an awful tease?”

“you’re the first, actually,” you reply with a grin.  “must be something about you that makes me want to tease you.”

his breath catches in his throat as you press against him and you know he can feel how wet you are, how much it’s killing you to make him wait, too.  “i seem to have that effect on people.”

“hmm. how terrible that must be for you.”  you roll your hips against him, experimentally, nails digging harder into his skin at the shock of pleasure.

“ah - it’s a tragedy, fuck-” his hands, still held dutifully above his head, clench and twitch as you rub up against the head of his cock, grinding yourself against it, and your own hands grab at his hips to steady yourself, because your knees suddenly feel very weak.

“still alright?”

“stop asking me that,” he says through clenched teeth as you slide over his length again, “because you already know the answer.”

“i’m being polite.  wouldn’t want to overwhelm you,” and when you say overwhelm, you reach down and guide him just inside you, and he flat-out whimpers.

“i’d far prefer it to you torturing me like this.”

you can’t help but chuckle at that.  “something tells me that’s not true.  you’d love for me to torture you.”

“that’s not- oh-” a sudden intake of breath cuts his retort short as you drag your nails over his hipbones, hard enough to raise pink welts almost immediately.  “that’s not fair.”

you smile, sinking down torturously slow to take him further into you, savoring the way his breathing quickens.  “this wouldn’t be very much fun if i played fair.”

“fair enough,” he mutters, eyes closing again, and you take that as enough encouragement to continue, setting a lazily slow but steady rhythm, holding him down so he doesn’t try to speed it up.  there will - hopefully, you try not to think too hard about a future where you won’t have the opportunity - be enough time for rough, demanding encounters further on, later days for him to be aching and exhausted and covered in black and blue; tonight, you can take things slow and terribly gentle.  a different kind of torture.

the whole time, you watch him, catalogue every breathy little moan, every movement that makes him shiver and tremor, everything that makes him twitch inside you, and it’s debatable which is better: when you finally come, clenching around him, your head dropping to rest against his chest because your arms are too busy shaking to hold you up; or his groan as he comes inside you moments later, disregarding - or just forgetting entirely - your orders not to move and tangling his hands in your hair.

you lie together, both sweaty and spent, neither of you willing - and, at least in your own case, not entirely able - to move.  you press a kiss to julian’s chest, just below the space between his collarbones, and he brushes away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“‘wouldn’t want to overwhelm me.’  tch.  sure,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around you.

as much as you can manage, you shrug.  “you seem more ‘adequately whelmed’ to me.”

“i don’t believe that’s a word,” julian replies seriously.

you punch him lightly in the shoulder without looking up.  “stop nitpicking my vocabulary and just hold me, you pompous idiot.”

a glance at his face isn’t necessary; you can hear his rakish smile in his voice.  “gladly, my dear.”

he does, and you wonder if fate will be kind enough to let you spend the rest of your days in his arms.