OOC: Otherways: Start of a fic?

[ahsatan_natasha]

Rating: Um. It's gotten naughty. R? At least.
Warnings for piano, French, boysmut, not!wings, and handcuffs. So far.
Wordcount: Just about 3350. In less than a day and a half. Oh lordy me.

It's been a long time since he's played, really.

This isn't to say he's not often at the piano, and indeed he's seldom absent from it for more than a week at the most. And when he sits at the keys, it's not as though he simply watches them; no, he plays.

But he doesn't play, not like he's playing now, pouring what's left of the good in his soul into the music as it comes to him; never knowing which notes are next, but trusting in his ability, in the piano, but most of all in the music itself to lead him.

He doesn't mind if they listen, but there are very few just now with whom he'd care to speak, and perhaps this is why there is a certain starkness to the music he plays. It is simpler to play something that is beautiful but perhaps frightening than it is to play and to maintain a silent request in the air around the piano that he be left alone at the same time.

And so he plays, and he has been playing for hours and finally, finally it's enough for him to forget himself, for him to forget times and names and places and faces and thoughts and emotions, but most of all... it is enough for him to forget himself.

So when the handsome, honourable knight comes up behind him, cup of tea in hand, past the music, perhaps it's not odd that he doesn't notice, lost and selfless as he is just now.

When the handsome, honourable knight with a wicked glint in his eyes comes closer, and rubs his free hand down the pianist's back lightly while pressing a kiss to the side of his neck at the same time, it is less than an instant before the breath is caught in his throat with a sound not unlike a whimper, while his hands clench on the keys in a discordant squawk.

-- Alex--

He's leaning into the touches, which perhaps isn't a surprise; both the hand on his back and the lips currently nibbling along the line of his neck, his head tilted to the side, and it's all he can do to move his hands from the keys to the bench, to renew their grip where there's no risk to the instrument. Such a long time spent with no-one to touch him, let alone no Alex, son beau chevalier, and perhaps it's not a surprise at all that he should react so, even now, that he should have no thought and no words left to him but those to identify son amour, until the hand running over his back is buried in dark blond hair instead, as Alex tilts his head back and claims his lips in a kiss.

Again, a quiet sound in the back of his throat, as both hands lift again from the piano bench, one quickly transferring Alex's tea to the piano and just as quickly coming back to wrap itself around his hip, to rest at the small of his back, while his other hand is at the back of Alex's neck pulling him down into the kiss and making it remarkably easy for him to deepen it.

(loveneedlustwantloveAlex)

Alex straightens, still carding his hand through blond hair but breaking the kiss, pulling another quiet sound of protest from the back of his throat at the loss.

"You're so tense, my angel. How long has it been since you've... since you've slept?"

Possibly a substitution, there, but if there's another question he wants to ask he will still have to ask it before it can be answered. And this question... well, this question is hard enough. How long has it been? Days, without a doubt. Weeks, just as likely. Months, perhaps, or even years? Chronos is the one who keeps track of time, not he.

He looks down at the keyboard again, even if he is still leaning into Alex's touch at his hair. "Don't know, really."

A quiet sound of protest, or perhaps closer to frustration, from Alex this time, at that; and then the hand is gone from his hair, smoothing over his hand where it has dropped from the back of Alex's neck to rest over his heart. Grey eyes watch, faintly smiling, as Alex picks up his hand and kisses the back of it softly.

"Come upstairs with me?"

He stands, not tightening his hand around Alex's (although oh, how he'd like to), but most certainly not pulling away, either.

"Anything you ask of me, mon chevalier."

And he follows Alex upstairs.

Alex stops, letting him close the door behind them, before hooking his hand at the back of his angel's neck and leaning up into another kiss. Another quiet sound from him at that, his arms tightening around Alex, but the kiss is perhaps disappointingly brief before he's pulling away again.

"Mon amour -- "

But there's a finger at his lips, silencing him, and Alex's hand on his again, tugging him across the room.

"Come to bed with me."

Almost, but not quite, a question, not that it matters; he can think of nothing Alex could ask that he would not do his best to grant. He certainly does not hesitate in following him again, across the room, and he does not protest the theft of kisses as Alex strips him of his shirt, any more than he protests the loss of his jeans as he pushes Alex's shirt back off his shoulders, trailing kisses down the line of his neck.

And he is not protesting, although perhaps he is surprised, as he is pushed back onto the bed while his knight is still dressed almost completely; and then he has a lapful of Alex kissing him, hard and hot and full of desire, and he is not protesting at all, quiet almost-whimpering sounds in the back of his throat or no.

Alex sits up, pulling back just slightly, almost smiling, an odd light in his eyes; and he leans down to whisper a question, breath warm against his ear again.

"Think you can turn over, angel?"

The echo of an earlier question, that, and he's smiling a little as one hand cups the side of Alex's face, nipping lightly at the hollow below his ear.

"If you let me, oui, mon amour, je peux."

Alex pulls back again, shifting from his lap, sitting beside him and running one hand lightly over his chest as he leans down to kiss him again softly, if briefly. Turn over, my love?

And so he does, stretching out across the bed, head turned to watch Alex still, over his shoulder.

Alex is smirking, rather wickedly. "Close your eyes?"

He raises an eyebrow at his lover, but does so, settling back against the bed again. He is, perhaps, almost expecting the light touch that follows, but if so he had been expecting a teasing stroke over something closer to black ink than it used to be, not this soft brush of fingertips over the unmarked skin at the small of his back.

As always, Alex's skin is almost cool in contrast to his own, but tonight he could not ask for more, as the cool skin of those strong hands starts to slowly smooth over his back, and this touch is not teasing, non, not that, but rather firm, if gentle. A quiet, almost soundless moan is the first to result, and half of that is from the brush of sleeve against skin.

Alex pauses, for a moment, long enough to take off his shirt, that that not happen again. And then he starts over, this time at his neck, working from there to his shoulders, and for now at least he's melted against the bed with a low groan.

Ohhh, Alex...

It sounds as though he is smiling, but also distracted; concentrating, perhaps, on the task to hand.

"Shhh, angel. You need to relax, you're too tense."

There's strength in Alex's hands, used to the weight of sword and shield, as fingertips start to dig in gently, kneading at the muscles of his shoulders, unraveling knots; once with a pop, almost audible, and a noise from him that's not quite a whimper. And then those hands are smoothing lower over his back, gentler but not particularly light, and as sword-calloused fingers drag over marks that look like ink, his entire body tenses again, flexing back towards Alex, a long low whimpering moan escaping his throat as his head is tipped back, eyes not quite open, turning toward Alex, who stops.

"Angel, Parry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -- "

No, no mon amour... Because he does not think he can speak, yet, with Alex's hands resting still on his back, with every breath almost a whine, and even this much thought is almost too much. Don't - don't stop -

Alex looks down at him, green eyes dark as his hand smooths down his angel's back, just barely brushing over those marks. "But you need to relax."

Another quiet whine of a whimper as a result, falling from him freely, as he arches back towards Alex again.

don't stop please mon amour don't, don't stop, this- oh please, so good, don't stop it's helping, so long since -

A kiss pressed to his shoulder, as Alex continues, looking down at him curiously, as best he can see. "Since what, my love?"

Since you - mon Nicola' - anyone - has done this -

He cuts off, letting out another whimper instead, breathing high and fast with his hands clenching and unclenching into and out of fists, and it is perhaps clear that he will not take much more of this before - and it's too late, really, as he's already turned onto his side, facing Alex, one of those hands catching at the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss with pleasepleasepleasemyloveIneedyou filling the room.

Alex's hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. "No, angel, I told you, you need to relax. And you told me you didn't want me to stop. Turn back over."

And there's a bit of a whine in the back of his throat again at that, as he exhales, but he does as Alex says, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets again. Alex's hand smooths down his spine, not touching any of those marks-that-aren't-feathers anymore, not again, not yet. Down his spine, and up, and back again, slow and steady, until he turns to look at Alex again.

"Are you going to stay still this time?"

A quiet sound that is perhaps meant to be a laugh, and sounds more like the breath catching in his throat. If that's what you want you're better off chaining me to the bed, mon chevalier.

The hand on his back stills, just between where wings once took root, and again there's a quiet whimper of a sound as he presses back against it. Please, oh... mon amour, please, don't stop, oh -

Alex pulls back, though, just slightly, shifting on the bed until for the moment at least his head rests only inches away from his angel's.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

Grey eyes open, wide and dark and trying to focus on green while he's still trying to determine why an almost-cool hand is no longer resting against too-warm skin. If that's -

He swallows, hard, biting on his lip almost as hard in order to focus on Alex again and not on the sensations still ghosting over his back.

"If that's what it will take to keep you from stopping..."

Quiet, that, hardly more than a whisper, and there's the faintest of smiles and when he shifts slightly again there's the almost inaudible clink of the links of a small chain shifting against each other.

(no silk scarves, no soft touches, not if he's to stay sane if Alex continues, and after all he does not look as though he intends to stop)

He turns back, again, onto his side just slightly, just enough to hold the handcuffs out to Alex, who does not accept them yet.

"You're sure you want me to do this."

Not a question, quite, but perhaps a plea of reassurance nonetheless. Alex has his own reasons to have issues with such circumstances.

Please, mon beau chevalier, mon amour, mon Alex...

He hesitates another moment, another long moment, before accepting them; and then another moment spent studying them, his other hand rubbing lightly down the center of his angel's back, pulling quiet whimpers from him while his hands keep clenching into fists again, making a mess of the bedding.

When Alex's hands shift back to his shoulders again from his back, and he can think, he is somehow surprised to discover, as he relaxes once more, that Alex has indeed already acceded to his request, cool metal biting lightly into his wrists as he absently tests his restraints. They will hold, unless he concentrates, and with Alex doing that --

Something between a whimper and a moan, again, head dropping to the bed between his outstretched arms as he arches into Alex's touch once more. Splayed fingertips dig in lightly, following the patterns etched onto his skin, and then again, deeper, firmer, working on the muscles of his back. And he does not know how Alex knows to do such a thing, but he's not thinking, not right now; questions will come later, if he can remember to ask.

And then Alex does it again.

A third time, as well, working steadily over his back, working all the way down as far as the marks of feathers go, and if he could think he still couldn't say when, precisely, his hips started to rock forward against the bed just slightly, any more than he would have been able to say when it was that the press of Alex's hand to the small of his back stilled him again.

Again, and again, and the sounds he's making aren't stopping and he can't catch his breath and Alex doesn't speed up, doesn't change anything at all that he's doing as he works his way steadily up and down his angel's back, changing pressure and pattern rhythmically enough, and the sounds he's making are stopping but only because he's trying so very hard to keep his breath, harsh and gasping just now.

When words come, they're in French, beautiful and melodic even as a quiet whimper, even if Alex can only hear one word in three and understand less than that. His head is turned to the side, has been for some time now, since perhaps the second time Alex started over, as he tries desperately to have enough breath to continue to plead with Alex; and the metal of the handcuffs is biting into his wrists again as he tries to pull away, to roll over and pull Alex into a kiss that's even more desperate, to remember the words to say Please, Alex, I am yours for always, take me, please but the cuffs are strong, as he'd meant them to be, and the frame of the bed is strong as well, and his wrists will be bruised in the morning and he does not care.

He lost English what feels like hours ago, and he's lost French as well now, and his quiet wordless cries aren't nearly so quiet anymore, as his entire universe narrows to the feel of Alex's hands on his back, and a long low sound that's nothing if it's not a scream is ripped from his throat, head arching back, and Alex still isn't stopping and so neither can he, and the stars exploding aren't just outside the window downstairs anymore, and his back may be relaxed but nothing of the rest of him is, as he collapses into shudders.

But Alex doesn't stop, one hand still smoothing over the middle of his back between what used to be wings, and his other hand is lower, slick and smoothing his way as his angel cries out again, and oh the bruises that will be marking his wrists tomorrow. And as Alex presses in not quite slowly, one hand still smoothing over his back as the other wraps around his hip to hold him still, still more cries and moans are pulled from him, and he can't catch his breath, and the sudden sharp small pain of teeth in his shoulder brings a whimper that turns into another scream as fingernails drag over ink and Alex settles into a rhythm that's nothing like soft or gentle, and oh, how he wants to tell Alex how very much he loves him, but he cannot remember the words in any language but this, this flexing of bodies and these whimpers and cries and moans and screams and if he could think, he would think that if Alex continues he is going to run the risk of passing out or dying from this and he does not care.

So much, too much, and he's at the edge of blackness when he feels more than hears a faint cry from Alex as well, teeth in his shoulder again, and the only reason he can hear it at all is that he is long past the ability to make any noises at all but the slight whimper riding behind every gasped breath. He's shuddering, sprawled out on the bed beneath Alex, body loose and fluid and uncoordinated, and the only point of anything like tension is where the cuffs are still keeping his hands in midair.

It is Alex, of course, whose hand smooths over his arm on its way to release the cuffs, dropping them to the floor beside the bed. It is Alex, of course, who slowly and carefully rearranges him, rearranges them both, on the bed, into a more comfortable position for sleep, as he is busy still trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Shh, angel, sleep now, is all he says, pressing a kiss to blond hair, pulling him close to rest his head on his knight's shoulder, and one of Alex's arms is wrapped around his shoulders carefully while the other hand is carding through that blond hair softly.

Still he's trying to catch his breath, as he turns in towards Alex as best he can, so very tired and exhausted for more reasons than one, as he manages to wrap an arm around Alex in turn. Tu... tu me dé...

The arm around his shoulders drops, hand running lightly - and so very carefully - over his back, just down the center of his spine, avoiding something that didn't used to be almost just ink. "What is it, love?"

Quiet, for several minutes, as he calms, not trying to speak again yet. Quiet, until perhaps Alex may almost think he is asleep, or may think he is almost asleep, or both. But then he turns, just slightly, grey eyes opening long enough for him to find Alex, to reassure himself perhaps that he is there, for Alex is not the only one who has been apart from his beloved for far longer than he would have wished.

It's nothing more than a quiet whisper of sound, almost harsh, when he speaks; after all, so many screams, for whichever cause, will not be without effect. Almost harsh, and quiet, yes, but still melodic for all of that, really.

"Tu me déchires... aux morceaux..."

He smiles, a little, mostly around the eyes perhaps.

"Et me reconstruises... avec ton amour... mon beau chevalier..."

His eyes slip closed again with a quiet sigh, as he curls up against Alex, closer, head pillowed on his chest. And it is not so very long after that before he drifts off to sleep for the first time in far too long, as he hears Alex whisper in turn "I love you, my angel."