thene (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thene) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
last_herald_mage2013-09-02 05:14 pm
thene) wrote in last_herald_mage2013-09-02 05:14 pm
Entry tags:
pwp, Van/Sfef
I wrote about half of this last year before Gilda posted her way more IC take on this scenario - you remember, the fic that left you unable to even look at a glass of cold water without wanting to cry because THIS AWFUL SHIP. Just finally dug up the draft and finished it. 1400 words, pure smut, Van/self, no redeeming features here.
Vanyel pressed his back against the door and counted to ten, hoping the feeling pent-up inside him would dissipate. It didn't.
I'm just tipsy. Well, drunk, really. He hadn't meant to be - he had led Stefen into his room that evening with entirely good intentions - but Stef had kept on refilling his glass, over hours of merry music and intimate conversation, and the young Bard's charm had made him forget many of his pledges of purity. Was he trying to get me hammered? It was hard to think over Stefen's actions when each memory made him twitch, uncertain about what he'd allowed and why; Stef had seemed so casual at first, hadn't he, almost coy? He'd left it to Vanyel to deepen their discussions and give him opportunities to press his attentions.
We've got to stop doing this. Every time, I come closer to making a terrible mistake.
It wasn't just that Stef had been forward - it was that Vanyel had felt something at that, something more than his usual instant dismissal of any overtures that happened to come his way. Something that still pressed against the inside of his ribs and refused to go away. This can't go on. The more he gets to know me, the more he'll realise I'm not the vaunted hero he's been throwing himself at - but the more I get to know him, the more I hate saying goodnight to him. He drooped his head against his shoulder, feeling very unsteady. And he'd called Stefen infatuated! No, it's just the drink inflaming me. If I were sober, I'd know better. I've always, always known better.
So why does part of me want him to keep on being forward with me until he's got me on my back -?
The image made Vanyel tremble on his bare feet, and he pressed his knees together uncomfortably. He knew he shouldn't even be acknowledging those unbidden cravings. Would that I was what I'm so used to pretending to be. Desireless, content to be alone! He slumped into a chair, and with his head in his hands he recited all his causes of resistance. Too young - even though he's of age, even though he's never known what it is to lean on someone else. Not safe - he'd be in danger if my enemies knew we were so much as friends, even with him being in sight of Randi's personal guard most of the time.
He noted the caveats clinging tight to his protestations, leeching at their fervour. Oh come on! Even without so many reasons against it, I'd need a reason for it. And there are none. He's attractive and utterly charming but it could never, ever be worth it. He'd be just another sweet young thing with nothing to offer me but his innocence, and I have never accepted that bargain from anyone. Beyond the guilt of it, that kind of naive proposition held no interest for him -
- then why, why, is Stefen so tempting to me?
Van's hands curled in the ends of his hair. He could deal with temptation. He'd suffered far worse torments. If he had to, he could relieve it sensibly, alone, with only his skulking imagination for comfort. He tried to apply his last dregs of virtue to quiet its clamouring, and failed.
What's wrong with me? I can't even get his voice out of my mind.
He turned, tossing one leg over the arm of the chair, guilt waging a futile war against frustrated impulses. What if he did want to give me what I want from him? What if...?
His eyes closed, and it was as if Stefen's image had been waiting in the shadows to seize him and kiss him and straddle his lap. Oh great gods, that was too easy to imagine - grinding down, warm and hard and - He bit his lip, rolled irritably to his feet, and strode to the mirror behind the door. He stared sternly at himself, and tried to make his declaration as final as possible. "No, you old fool, no. On my life and my honour, I'm not going to touch him."
The face that looked back at him seemed distinctly unconvinced, and the swell below his belt did not help its cause at all.
He hung his head, tried counting to ten again, gave up after five and threw himself onto his bed. Fine, then. No one will know. It's not changed my friendships before now - well, he liked to think that Tantras, for one, was unaware of his place amid Vanyel's erotic firmament. And 'Fandes was already asleep - though if there was any real message behind her recent teasing, she seemed to think that he should be closer to Stefen than he already was. She'd do well to get used to him ignoring her romantic advice. He stripped in resignation, and slid under his sheets.
The shade was waiting for him, kissing an imaginary path down his neck, cold tingles that weren't more than the breeze at the window. Oh, stars, if he could - The fantasy was too vital, too real. Another mistake - Van had seen him close to naked, at the hot springs. No wonder it was so easy to think of that lithe, wiry body against his own, shifting and stroking him. Asking without words - no, there would be words - for Van to touch him back. He ran the palm of his hand over his cock, base to tip, thinking of warm flesh pressed against his own, moving against him. It's been so long, I should be used to just imagining I'm not alone...
His eyes snapped open, and his heart lurched with confusion. The gentle light that flickered against the walls seemed to mock him. Why was he even hoping to ever not be alone? I'm drunk, he reminded himself, and doused the too-truthful candles with his mind, content to shine a light only on his perverse dreams. Drunk, and just imagining -
- Stefen rolling back onto the bedcovers next to him, stretching his perfectly-formed body, and inviting him to touch. Not like a boy - gods, no, Van wanted confidence, and a dream would at least offer him that. Too easily, again. Whispers, quiet demands. Vanyel would reach for him with unsteady and profanely reverent hands, circling his slender waist, pulling his naked body close again - and oh gods, Stef's cock. It would be hard and thick, priapic, and Stefen would smile wickedly as he pressed against him, maybe - yes - daring him to keep touching. Vanyel scrunched a hand, closing it around nothing. He throbbed, as if his blood were running hot into bone-dry valleys. Oh, why not think of both hands, one tightening at the base and the other exploring the firm head, slipping at the soft sheath and spreading a gem of fluid out from its eye. His blood seemed to spin in his ears, froth and vertigo, echoes of Stef's voice telling him what he wanted to do with it. If Vanyel wanted it. If I -
His head arched between the pillows, his body aching. Sick, or needy, he couldn't tell. I wouldn't. Not - really. But if I think of him looking me in the face and asking to - He curled his legs up to his chest, feeling nerves tighten even in his feet. It's been too long, I'm going mad. That's why I'm so - susceptible. The only reason. But the thought of Stef touching him - he slipped one hand between his tight-pressed thighs, reaching, warm and frantic currents in his brain determinedly steering him away from reason. It's best it's irrational, surely - I'm not thinking of him, not an inexperienced child, I want - someone who wants me like this - and his sweat-damp fingers stroked his own entrance. He rocked back, his spine twitching with sensation. If I thought for a moment he'd - Vanyel's fingers toyed at his boundaries, his other hand closing hard over his cock.
And the shade murmured, Oh, you know I would.
He was shaking for minutes afterwards, and wondered if he was going to throw up. It had been too long. If I don't - take care of myself - I'll get foolish. And I'm drunk. That's all that happened. No harm will come of it. Would he be able to meet Stefen's eyes the next morning? Probably so. Would he ask Stefen by for dinner? Certainly not. It's not that I don't trust myself, he thought uneasily. But the last thing I should do is seem desperate for his company.
Once his trembling subsided he couldn't feel much any more, as if a passing storm had left some calm in its wake, discarding his body like driftwood. All he could feel was the remnant of that hurt behind his ribs. I'm not, he reminded himself. I know better.
Vanyel pressed his back against the door and counted to ten, hoping the feeling pent-up inside him would dissipate. It didn't.
I'm just tipsy. Well, drunk, really. He hadn't meant to be - he had led Stefen into his room that evening with entirely good intentions - but Stef had kept on refilling his glass, over hours of merry music and intimate conversation, and the young Bard's charm had made him forget many of his pledges of purity. Was he trying to get me hammered? It was hard to think over Stefen's actions when each memory made him twitch, uncertain about what he'd allowed and why; Stef had seemed so casual at first, hadn't he, almost coy? He'd left it to Vanyel to deepen their discussions and give him opportunities to press his attentions.
We've got to stop doing this. Every time, I come closer to making a terrible mistake.
It wasn't just that Stef had been forward - it was that Vanyel had felt something at that, something more than his usual instant dismissal of any overtures that happened to come his way. Something that still pressed against the inside of his ribs and refused to go away. This can't go on. The more he gets to know me, the more he'll realise I'm not the vaunted hero he's been throwing himself at - but the more I get to know him, the more I hate saying goodnight to him. He drooped his head against his shoulder, feeling very unsteady. And he'd called Stefen infatuated! No, it's just the drink inflaming me. If I were sober, I'd know better. I've always, always known better.
So why does part of me want him to keep on being forward with me until he's got me on my back -?
The image made Vanyel tremble on his bare feet, and he pressed his knees together uncomfortably. He knew he shouldn't even be acknowledging those unbidden cravings. Would that I was what I'm so used to pretending to be. Desireless, content to be alone! He slumped into a chair, and with his head in his hands he recited all his causes of resistance. Too young - even though he's of age, even though he's never known what it is to lean on someone else. Not safe - he'd be in danger if my enemies knew we were so much as friends, even with him being in sight of Randi's personal guard most of the time.
He noted the caveats clinging tight to his protestations, leeching at their fervour. Oh come on! Even without so many reasons against it, I'd need a reason for it. And there are none. He's attractive and utterly charming but it could never, ever be worth it. He'd be just another sweet young thing with nothing to offer me but his innocence, and I have never accepted that bargain from anyone. Beyond the guilt of it, that kind of naive proposition held no interest for him -
- then why, why, is Stefen so tempting to me?
Van's hands curled in the ends of his hair. He could deal with temptation. He'd suffered far worse torments. If he had to, he could relieve it sensibly, alone, with only his skulking imagination for comfort. He tried to apply his last dregs of virtue to quiet its clamouring, and failed.
What's wrong with me? I can't even get his voice out of my mind.
He turned, tossing one leg over the arm of the chair, guilt waging a futile war against frustrated impulses. What if he did want to give me what I want from him? What if...?
His eyes closed, and it was as if Stefen's image had been waiting in the shadows to seize him and kiss him and straddle his lap. Oh great gods, that was too easy to imagine - grinding down, warm and hard and - He bit his lip, rolled irritably to his feet, and strode to the mirror behind the door. He stared sternly at himself, and tried to make his declaration as final as possible. "No, you old fool, no. On my life and my honour, I'm not going to touch him."
The face that looked back at him seemed distinctly unconvinced, and the swell below his belt did not help its cause at all.
He hung his head, tried counting to ten again, gave up after five and threw himself onto his bed. Fine, then. No one will know. It's not changed my friendships before now - well, he liked to think that Tantras, for one, was unaware of his place amid Vanyel's erotic firmament. And 'Fandes was already asleep - though if there was any real message behind her recent teasing, she seemed to think that he should be closer to Stefen than he already was. She'd do well to get used to him ignoring her romantic advice. He stripped in resignation, and slid under his sheets.
The shade was waiting for him, kissing an imaginary path down his neck, cold tingles that weren't more than the breeze at the window. Oh, stars, if he could - The fantasy was too vital, too real. Another mistake - Van had seen him close to naked, at the hot springs. No wonder it was so easy to think of that lithe, wiry body against his own, shifting and stroking him. Asking without words - no, there would be words - for Van to touch him back. He ran the palm of his hand over his cock, base to tip, thinking of warm flesh pressed against his own, moving against him. It's been so long, I should be used to just imagining I'm not alone...
His eyes snapped open, and his heart lurched with confusion. The gentle light that flickered against the walls seemed to mock him. Why was he even hoping to ever not be alone? I'm drunk, he reminded himself, and doused the too-truthful candles with his mind, content to shine a light only on his perverse dreams. Drunk, and just imagining -
- Stefen rolling back onto the bedcovers next to him, stretching his perfectly-formed body, and inviting him to touch. Not like a boy - gods, no, Van wanted confidence, and a dream would at least offer him that. Too easily, again. Whispers, quiet demands. Vanyel would reach for him with unsteady and profanely reverent hands, circling his slender waist, pulling his naked body close again - and oh gods, Stef's cock. It would be hard and thick, priapic, and Stefen would smile wickedly as he pressed against him, maybe - yes - daring him to keep touching. Vanyel scrunched a hand, closing it around nothing. He throbbed, as if his blood were running hot into bone-dry valleys. Oh, why not think of both hands, one tightening at the base and the other exploring the firm head, slipping at the soft sheath and spreading a gem of fluid out from its eye. His blood seemed to spin in his ears, froth and vertigo, echoes of Stef's voice telling him what he wanted to do with it. If Vanyel wanted it. If I -
His head arched between the pillows, his body aching. Sick, or needy, he couldn't tell. I wouldn't. Not - really. But if I think of him looking me in the face and asking to - He curled his legs up to his chest, feeling nerves tighten even in his feet. It's been too long, I'm going mad. That's why I'm so - susceptible. The only reason. But the thought of Stef touching him - he slipped one hand between his tight-pressed thighs, reaching, warm and frantic currents in his brain determinedly steering him away from reason. It's best it's irrational, surely - I'm not thinking of him, not an inexperienced child, I want - someone who wants me like this - and his sweat-damp fingers stroked his own entrance. He rocked back, his spine twitching with sensation. If I thought for a moment he'd - Vanyel's fingers toyed at his boundaries, his other hand closing hard over his cock.
And the shade murmured, Oh, you know I would.
He was shaking for minutes afterwards, and wondered if he was going to throw up. It had been too long. If I don't - take care of myself - I'll get foolish. And I'm drunk. That's all that happened. No harm will come of it. Would he be able to meet Stefen's eyes the next morning? Probably so. Would he ask Stefen by for dinner? Certainly not. It's not that I don't trust myself, he thought uneasily. But the last thing I should do is seem desperate for his company.
Once his trembling subsided he couldn't feel much any more, as if a passing storm had left some calm in its wake, discarding his body like driftwood. All he could feel was the remnant of that hurt behind his ribs. I'm not, he reminded himself. I know better.