Chapter Text
Don't imagine this.
You aren't even trying to seduce him. You just want to be with him. But he is so stubborn, you could scream in frustration. He can't see it- how it's okay for things not to be perfectly rule-bound for all eternity. How it's okay to be loved. To love you. It is okay, it is possible to figure things out together. But he won't even try.
So don't imagine yourself in the Dreaming, in the throne room with him, the air lit up in a hazy glow from the sunlight streaming through the high stained-glass windows. (There is no 'sun', really, it's all his creation- you marvel for a second). He's standing at the foot of the stairs, he won't even face you. You are exhausted trying to reason with him, so you just walk up to him and put your arms around him from the back.
His body, as it does every time you touch him, goes slightly rigid. But then you feel him relaxing as if against his own will, feel him giving into the embrace- just the littlest, tiniest bit, but you feel it. He lets you hold him. And that's when it occurs to you. That's when you start wanting it. Again. And why, you think this time, should you stop? He has so many rules, and you have respected them so far, but where has it got you? And when have you ever really cared for rules ?
Are you imagining this? Don't you dare.
You let go of him, go around, stand on the first stair. You are facing him now, just his height on this step, there are barely three inches between you. He is watching you. He feels your sudden purpose, but is unsure of the intent. What will you do now? His piercing ocean-blue stare makes you weak in the knees. But you can't be weak now.
Listen to me. Don't imagine the very first moment that you start this. In this moment, you reach out, ever so slow, and just barely, barely touch his forehead, brushing away a lock of night-black hair. He is watching you still. You put your fingertips on his right cheek now, feather-light. His gaze locked with yours, you trace the fingers down, from his cheekbone to jaw. His eyes flicker for a millisecond, but the rest of him could be carved out of stone. Your thumb is hovering just over his bottom lip, and you bring it close, you bring it down until just a fraction of the tiniest possible distance exists between the two. But you don't touch him there, and his mouth opens slightly in involuntary anticipation. You feel his warm breath on your thumb, and you hear it escape him, short, and, standing this close, audible. You do it then, you put your thumb there, but not on his lips, but between. You press down, and as he closes his mouth around it in surprise, as you feel the inner softness of his swollen bottom lip, you feel as if electric sparks, not blood, are zipping through your veins. Just for half a second, though, because right after that, quick as a serpent, his hand is on your wrist, pulling it away.
Don't imagine this, him saying, 'Stop it'. Commanding, in that voice, the voice you feel you'd do anything for, anything it tells you to. But not this.
So, with your wrist encircled in his fist, you lean forward, until your face is brushing his cheek. His grip tightens on your wrist, but he doesn't move. Your lips graze his earlobe, and then they are against his ear, and you whisper slowly, breath hot, tongue touching, 'Make me, Dreamlord.'
You have felt his resolve, all this time. He is unwavering when he wishes. And he cannot be manipulated. But this is different. You have not done anything like this before. And you are not trying to seduce, manipulate, get your way. You just want him, it, all of it. This yearning, the pain, is real, honest, the most honest thing, and he can feel it, and cannot ignore it. It makes you powerful, it makes him weak. You realize that as you hear him take a breath that wracks through his body, his hand letting go of your wrist, him backing away, but still unable to leave. His eyes look like a thousand storms are coming, his pale cheeks have a tint of rose you've never seen before, his mouth is set in a firm pout that you know means disapproval but it just makes you want to taste him more.
Are you imagining that you will? Do you know how you do it? You do it patient, and slow.
You walk up to him again. Down that step, you're shorter, and as you stand against his chest, he looks down, opens his mouth to say something, but you hold up your hand, and say, 'No.'
He stops, startled, and you continue, 'I have listened to you. Done as you wish. So far. But now...', you take hold of his wrist, start leading him as you walk, 'you will’..., not a long walk, just to this wall, 'do...' holding both his wrists now, you have him with his back against the wall, 'as...', you push forward until you are pressed against him, 'I say.'
Don't imagine, I remind you, that you stay still, feeling his slender but powerful frame against your whole body, his eyes burning like blue ember, his breath just a little ragged as your breasts press on his chest, your thighs on his. The long cloak he wears, it is thin, and as glacial as he looks, you can almost feel the heat coming off him.
'Listen to me,' he says, his gaze urgent- and even desperate?- 'this is-'
You hold both his hands, bring them up, pressing them on the wall beside his shoulders, elbows to palms, not failing to notice the lack of resistance in them. 'Wrong?', you finish his sentence for him. You lean forward and put your mouth on his throat, 'Unwise?' His head falls back against the wall. 'Bad?' You kiss his throat, open-mouthed, tasting with tongue, just below his Adam's apple. He makes the tiniest sound that's between a groan and a gasp. He tries to move a little, but you hold him with your body, a body that now feels like it's on fire. But you will be patient.
Are you imagining this? That you trail kisses up his throat, smaller and smaller, until when you're up to his jaw and it's just a brush with your lips? Then you lean back again, and look at him. His eyes were closed, but they open as he says, voice hoarse, 'Why won't you stop?''
It almost makes you laugh. 'What do you know what it's like to want you? The agony?'- you feel like saying. But you won't say it. You will show him.
And, with his flushed cheeks, messed hair, half-closed eyes, parted lips, and ever-so-slightly shivering body, does he know how much it sounded like an invitation to not stop?
You don't bother answering. Instead, you slip a hand under his cloak. His eyes follow it as it disappears, then he swallows once as he feels it on his chest. You have never touched his bare body before. It's hard, and smooth, lean and sinewy. You slip the other hand in too, and slowly caress his chest and stomach with your palms. He's looking at you, and you look into those eyes, and you say with your eyes what you can't put into words, that this is it, this is happening, but this is not all of it- this heat and bodies wanting bodies, it is more, so much more- genuine affection, real respect, galaxy-deep love that you thought did not, could not exist in the universe, until it did, in you, for him.
Don't imagine you putting your arms round his bare back under his shirt as you rest your forehead against his face. Then your hands are out and on his shoulders, and he still hasn't touched you once, and it hurts. But you will see. You will see how he resists.
You kiss his chin. A tiny, small kiss, a peck, really, close mouthed. His head is resting against the wall, his eyes are closed again, his mouth a line, his chest rises and falls against yours, he makes no sound. You stand on your tiptoe, brush away a fringe of hair, and kiss on his forehead. A little longer now, pressing down for a few seconds. Once. Then again. And again. Are you still imagining this?
You brush your nose on his cheek. He's expecting kisses there, and his eyes flutter in surprise when you take his hand and kiss his wrist and palm instead. Then you take each of his fingertips in your warm mouth, sucking on them, soft and slow. Your other hand is lightly playing with his hair, your fingers moving through it. You see his mouth open, hear his breathing get heavy. As you lightly bite on his forefinger, his opens his eyes, stares, not saying anything. All your nerve endings fray in a shower of sparks when you realize he is silently begging you to stop. Because it has to be you, because he can't make you, he can't push you away, he can't resist you.
You're still imagining this? That when you realize this, you cannot be patient much longer? So, you kiss his cheek now. Dainty, quick, this one. One kiss. Two. Three and four and five. Each a little longer than the last now, a little hungrier than the last. Six, seven, eight... his both cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids. His lips are parted, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... hot and wet, on his browbone, jaw. Nose, and chin. He murmurs something, throaty, hoarse. You realize he is still saying 'Stop.' And then, 'Please stop.'
Don't you imagine this, that you will not stop. That was never an option. You plant your trail of blazing kisses on him, down his jaw and throat, then up on his face again, you want to mark him. You bite softly, you suck with your lips, you taste with your tongue, and when you kiss the corner of his open mouth, he moves and almost closes it around your lips- wanting you now, wanting you desperately.
But you won't give in right this moment, and you move your lips away, suck on his earlobe, then delicately swirl your tongue once in his ear. He shudders, letting out a 'nnnghh' sound that's almost like a whimper. His hands, limp for so long, are now around you, holding you against him. Still resisting, still bound by some kind of rule, he doesn't do anything more, doesn't guide you. He stands, helpless, eyes shut, half-panting, torment and want etched on his face, half-murmuring still, almost unintelligible, but those two words, 'please' and 'stop', and how long will you resist?
Don't imagine that when you start hearing just one word, you can't. Not anymore. Because now, he's just saying, whispering, 'Please'. Over and over. 'Please.'
Close, you reach out with your tongue and brush it slowly across his lower lip. In your arms, he shivers. His mouth is open. You kiss just his top lip, once. Then you give in too. You kiss him, and you let him kiss you, and he kisses you like you could never even have thought of being kissed before, and he devours your kiss like he has not been kissed in a thousand years, and both are probably true, and this is real.
Are you imagining this is real?