Work Text:
“He never slept here.” Will had remarked softly, sounding sure about it. His certainty would have surprised James, except that he knew it was true too. He had long ago given up on being terrified by these moments of inherent insight about Him. He assumed it must be the same for Will - they were both here because of the Dark King.
“He won’t kill you for lying down next to me,” James had said, when Will had wanted to take the long seat. It might have been a guileless statement, made with regard for Will’s comfort, but it wasn’t. It was born from James’ desire to be close to Will. The connection that flared between them was shocking, an ever present hum, exciting and comforting in equal measure. It drew him to Will, like a moth was drawn to a flame, knowing the danger of the heat, but uncaring in its desire for the light. That irresistible pull was why James had come to seek him out in the inn. Whenever Will spoke, in his calm, sure voice, James had the instinct to obey him, to sink down before him and do as he was told.
Now, Will lay beside him, the heat from his body warming the space between them, a space that felt uncrossable, no matter how much James yearned to eliminate it. It had been years since James had shared a bed with someone. Not since the Hall. Before he had been forced to flee it.
They had long since stopped talking, but Will wasn’t asleep yet. On the blanket, James’ fingers twitched to reach out, to slide into the dark curls framing Will’s face, to see if they were just as soft and silky as he imagined them to be. The longing burned through him, a searing heat in the pit of his stomach. In Will, there was something that called to him, something that answered the gentle probing of his magic. Like a sleeping tiger it was coiled in on itself, waiting to be unleashed. A tiger that would devour James, whole.
For all that Will was gentle and kind, there was danger within him. A darkness, tainting his pristine soul, the same way James was tainted, rotten to the core. The touch of the Dark King, corrupting everything. Their lives, forever entwined.
Gradually, Will’s breathing evened out and James’ fingers stopped their restless fidgeting on the blanket. It took him longer to fall asleep, conscious of the tether humming between them, like the aftermath of lightning.
*-*
He dreamed of Sarcean. Of his long robes swishing across darkly marbled floor, the whisper of his silken hair on a pillow, the ghost of his breath on James’ shoulder, raising goosebumps.
He wasn’t James, he was Anharion, and the weight of the collar was heavy around his neck. Dressed in soft, loose garments, he entered a room to find Sarcean already waiting, his long frame sprawled out on a chaise, the remnants of his meal on a silver platter next to him on a small side table.
“My love,” Sarcean greeted him, and the sound of his smooth, velvety voice travelled through him, leaving James breathless, fear and desire warring in his belly.
“My king,” he heard himself answer, and even while internally he recoiled in anxiety, his dream-self moved inexplicably closer to the man before him.
Sarcean’s eyes on him were warm and amused, his mouth twisted in a boyish smirk that seemed obscenely out of place on his handsome, elegant features. “I hope you haven’t come to talk about politics, Lieutenant,” Sarcean said with an arch of a dark eyebrow. “I fear my capacity for our enemies' games is exhausted for today.”
“Do I seem dressed for talk about strategy, my lord?” Anharion said.
Another slow smirk as Sarcean raked his eyes over Anharion’s soft trousers and loose tunic. “No,” he agreed, sounding smug and satisfied. “You look like you’ve come to my bed.”
A shiver of fear raced through James at the tone of his voice, even while something within him rejoiced at the note of possession in Sarcean’s tone. Yours, he thought, with reverence and twisted excitement. It had been like this whenever he thought of the Dark King. All his fear mixed up with elation that the most powerful man in the world desired him above all else.
Aloud, Anharion said, “I’ve been giving orders all day. It tires me.”
Sarcean watched him with his dark eyes, face expressionless. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again. “Come here.” A command, softly given. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make people do what he wanted, least of all Anharion.
Trembling inside, James felt his limbs move forward, compelled. But it wasn’t Sarcean’s order that had made Anharion’s body move. The shock of realisation travelled through him, even as he complied.
“Kneel,” Sarcean said, and James dropped to his knees, folding gracefully, tension seeping from him, his gaze lowered. Fingers in his hair, gently stroking. More strain leached from his body, Sarcean’s touch unravelling him. Exhilaration raced through him, and he found his breath was coming faster. The gentle fingers that had carded through his hair were now moving to his cheek, travelling downwards to cup his jaw. A thumb stroked over his lips and James parted them on a whispering breath. The low burn of arousal overshadowed his anxiety, like the warmth of a hearth fire chasing away the chill of icy limbs.
His chin was lifted and he gazed up, his mouth dropped open. Sarcean looked down at him with Will’s eyes, dark and wide, his fingers leaving his jaw after a soft caress.
“Undress.” Another of the sparse, sure commands, and with trembling hands, James reached for his tunic, lifting it over his head, letting it fall to the floor beside him. His nipples were pebbled, rosy pink and erect, and he was acutely aware of Sarcean’s eyes on him, appraising. He had to get up to remove the loose trousers. They fell away with a whisper, pooling at his ankles. Holding Sarcean’s gaze, he stepped out of them, kicking the fabric away with his bare feet. Naked, he stood before him, aware of the flush of his skin and the plumping of his cock as it rose from his nest of blonde curls. Ashamed, he wanted to hide his arousal, but when he moved his hand, Sarcean pinned him with a forbidding stare.
“No,” he said. “You will not hide what is for me.”
Saliva had collected in James’ mouth and he swallowed soundly, his flush intensifying as Sarcean perused him slowly, like one would judge a horse at the market. He stood still, while Sarcean rose from the chaise and stepped forward, to circle him. His gaze felt like the touch of ghostly fingers, hungry and possessive. Once he had circled him completely, Sarcean reached for his hand and pulled him down onto the chaise with him, so that James nearly sat in his lap.
“You are so very beautiful,” Sarcean murmured, his fingers playing with a lock of James’ long hair, his dark-brown eyes travelling his body with naked hunger. He wound more of his hair around his fingers, then pulled; a sharp, surprising tug that left James gasping, bringing tears to his eyes, even while it made his cock twitch traitorously. He ought to be afraid. He ought to be insecure. He’d never been naked with another human being. Instead, arousal was simmering in his body, sharp and sweet.
“Command me,” he rasped, his voice close to begging, pulling against the hand in his hair. James relished the sting, even as he reeled from Anharion’s - his own - words. In his dream, they were one. “Take my control. Show me I’m yours. No one else’s.” The truth of his words hurt. James wanted it. He had always wanted it.
Sarcean’s gaze made him shiver. “Oh my sweet friend,” he whispered, slowly releasing his grip on Anharion’s hair. He got to his feet, and now it was him who undressed, sliding off his dark robe in one smooth motion. James felt his breath stop for a moment as Sarcean’s pale skin was revealed to him, his limbs long and lean, elegant and less muscular than Anharion’s warrior body. His gaze fell to Sarcean’s cock, long and darkened with desire, rising from black curls that shadowed his groin and crawled upwards like vines to his belly button.
“Remember how it was the first time?” Sarcean said conversationally as he stepped closer again, his long fingers circling the base of his cock, giving himself a tug. “When you came to me, begging me to defile you, to release you from your vows?”
“Yes,” Anharion said, and James found himself on edge, unable to look away from Sarcean’s cock, flushed and beautiful. He had dreamed of Sarcean before, but never quite so coherently, never quite so explicitly.
“And I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” Breathless.
“You want to be good for me, don’t you?”
“Please,” James heard himself whimper, and didn’t know exactly what it was he wanted, only that he wanted: for Sarcean to step closer, to take him, to hurt him, to pleasure him.
“Open up,” Sarcean said, and it was as if the ground was being pulled from underneath James’ feet. He - Anharion - he did what Sarcean ordered him to, groaning when Sarcean slid his cock over his tongue, pressing inside. The taste and weight of him overwhelmed his senses, but his body complied, allowing Sarcean to slide deeper. Hot and hard and smooth like velvet, unforgiving yet gentle. James gave himself willingly, his need a bright, burning thing.
Sarcean moved, and his hands in James’ hair were gentle now, even as he made him take him deep and held him there, with Sarcean’s cock down his throat, nose pressed into Sarcean’s curls, not allowed to take in air. He was released to gasp desperately, before he was pulled back down. The lack of oxygen made his head swim, but in his lap, his own arousal was rock-hard and he moaned around the length invading him. With surprise he noted that he loved it, the lack of air, the being used, the reverent way Sarcean's fingers caressed his face.
“So good for me,” Sarcean praised hoarsely, his voice breathless too, as if he’d been running. The slow, deep slide of his cock was hypnotising. James was aware of the sounds he was making, the sloppy and lewd noises of his wet, drooling mouth, the abandoned whimpers when he came up for air. His hands had found their way to Sarcean’s hips, where he dug his fingers in. In front of him, Sarcean had started to tremble with tension, his movements jerky. “Don’t,” he said, voice desperate, “don’t … swallow.”
With a soft cry, Sarcean gave himself over, slumping forward a little as he spilled inside James’ mouth, the aftershocks making his tall frame shake. His hands were petting at James’ sweaty hair now, his voice full of praise. James was flying, the taste of Sarcean bitter on his tongue.
“Show me,” Sarcean instructed as he pulled back, his voice shot through with gravel, but his eyes soft, a warm brown, the colour of a black kitten’s fur, resting in the sun.
Obediently, James let his mouth drop open, showing what was held on his tongue. His body was humming, so alive.
A shudder went through Sarcean, and he looked pleased. “Good boy,” he murmured, “good boy,” his hands on James when he petted his cheek clumsily. He leaned in abruptly, like he couldn’t help himself, taking James’ mouth, tongue invading where his cock had been. The way Sarcean distributed his come with his kiss was lewd, the taste intensified as it spread on James’ tastebuds.
Moaning, James gave himself over to the sensation, chasing the taste of Sarcean in both their mouths, until he was suddenly pushed back.
“Now get on all fours, and show me what else there is for me, sweetheart.”
James found himself moving immediately, a sense of danger as he turned his back on Sarcean, coming on the tailend of his arousal. His cock was hanging heavily between his legs, dripping wet. He knew what Sarcean wanted, had performed it in another life often enough. Propping himself up on one shoulder, he shifted his legs, reaching behind himself.
Sarcean was faster, his hand reaching out to pull James’ cheeks apart. A gust of cool air on his sensitive skin made James moan where his face was pressed into the edge of the chaise. He felt on the brink of something, not quite himself and yet like he was being true to himself for the first time ever. He whined when Sarcean started to massage his arse, the movement pulling on his rim.
“Please,” he sobbed, his body strung so tight it was almost unbearable.
“To think you denied yourself for so long,” Sarcean said softly, his thumb caressing the furled opening of James’ body, making him shudder. “To think you’ve suppressed this part of you, taking vows, when in fact you were the one made to be worshipped.”
James made a sound of agreement, before searching out his opening to probe at the tight muscle. Behind him, Sarcean was breathing noisily, watching. With a moan, acutely aware of Sarcean’s eyes on him, James slipped a finger into himself, then another, dry. It was good, so good, with Sarcean’s eyes on him, better than when he had done it before, in the solitude of his bed at Sinclair’s townhouse. Thinking of him. Always thinking of … him.
“Wait,” Sarcean said, stilling his hand. “I want something else.”
Sarcean’s warmth left him for a moment, and confused, James turned over to find he had strode over to the dresser, where a pair of unlit, wooden candlesticks stood. They were beautifully carved, smooth, rounded mahogany, and after a short consideration Sarcean picked up one, discarding the candle. When he returned, his eyes were dark.
“A gift,” he said, holding it out. “For you.”
“Sarcean…” Anharion’s voice shook as James got the implication.
“You don’t want to deny my gift, do you?” Sarcean asked slyly, with a tilt of his head, looking way too amused at his hesitation. “After all, didn’t you give over total control to me?”
Swallowing, James watched as Sarcean picked up the dipping bowl of olive oil from his meal, pouring its remaining contents over the candlestick, making the dark wood shine and glisten. Despite his erstwhile hesitation, he accepted when Sarcean handed the candlestick over, unable to deny him, not even something so filthy, so depraved.
“On your back, like this,” Sarcean instructed, settling down in front of the chaise, on his knees between James’ spread legs. “So I can watch.”
With shaking hands, James brought the candlestick in between his legs, flinching a little when the carved sconce brushed against his sensitive, tight opening. The candlestick didn’t have a wax pan, for which he was grateful, only a set of rounded shapes all the way down to the base. It was long, but slender. He glanced at Sarcean to make sure this obscenity was truly his intention, but only met dark, liquid eyes full of heat.
Biting his lips, he reached down, to pull his cheeks apart as he pressed the tip of the candlestick against his opening. Unprepared as he was, the stretch was harsh, and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip harder, twisting the slippery wood between his fingers, before he found an angle that worked. His own, long-drawn out groan was echoed by Sarcean’s.
“That’s it,” Sarcean said with rough satisfaction. “Show me how good you take it.”
Whimpering, James slid the candlestick deeper, groaning at the stretch and the way his arse accommodated its ridges. Without thinking, he reached down for his neglected cock, to relieve some of the tension.
“No,” Sarcean said, stilling his hand. “I haven’t said you can touch yourself. Hand above your head.”
With a broken whine, James complied. He wanted to be good, but he was so close already, and he hadn’t even started. He paused, taking some gulping breaths, aware of the weight of the candlestick inside him, of its not inconsiderable length still outside his body.
“Deeper.” He looked up to find Sarcean watching him with sadistic intensity, a challenge in his eyes. “You can take it.”
When he didn’t immediately comply, Sarcean reached down, and shoved the candlestick forward, causing James to cry out in shock and protest.
“There you go,” Sarcean said, satisfaction audible in his voice. “Now, fuck yourself with it.”
There wasn’t a moment where James considered not following Sarcean’s order, and he realised that it was because he wanted to. He wanted to follow his orders. He wasn’t compelled to do so, he wanted to. To please Sarcean. To see his dark eyes shine with love and affection. With pride.
He moved the candlestick, aware of Sarcean’s eyes on him. On his belly, his painfully erect cock swayed, leaking clear fluid into a puddle. His legs started trembling and with a soft sound, Sarcean reached out, placing one in the cradle of his arm, the other onto his shoulder. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of James’ thigh.
With a sob, James chased the high he had been promised. Even without a touch to his cock, he was so close. So close. He sought out the spot inside him that sparked with pleasure whenever the candlestick hit it right, and pressed at it until his vision swam. The room was filled with the noise of the wet slide of wood and flesh and the increasingly desperate sounds spilling from his lips. Sarcean was murmuring in a low, soothing voice, his hands stroking along James’ legs.
He was nearly there, he was so close, just a little push, just…
“Stop.”
The command pierced through the veil of arousal and left him reeling. With a sob, he stilled his hand obediently, his heart pounding, his body shaking with the delayed promise of orgasm.
“Please,” he whimpered.
“Not yet.”
He looked up through hazy eyes to find Sarcean studying him as if he was one of his experiments. A finger trailed through the slick on his stomach, where his cock had leaked clear fluid. James shuddered, watching Sarcean bring the finger to his lips and taste him.
“Now - go on.”
With a sob, he did as he was commanded. Again, he felt his arousal climb as Sarcean instructed his movement. Faster, harder, deeper, slower… he did what he was told, held back from the brink.
When Sarcean stilled his hand a third time, he was aware he was sobbing.
“Please, let me come,” he said brokenly, shaking.
“You’re here, because you want to not be in control. You gave it to me, remember?” Sarcean said calmly, unbothered by the state James was in.
James shook his head, but it was true. His cheeks were wet and hot. He felt ruined.
“Soon,” Sarcean promised, another gentle kiss to his ankle. “Again.”
James shook his head in denial, feeling like he wasn’t able to go on, too shaken and frayed.
“Let me help you.”
It was Sarcean’s hand moving the wretched object now, and he wasn’t gentle, and he wasn’t considerate, instead he moved with precision. When James cried out and jerked, he sped up his thrusts. When he writhed in overwhelm, he pressed at the spot he’d found harder. His arm was moving harshly, the tendons in his strong forearms tensed.
“Hold on, hold on,” Sarcean whispered, his soft voice at odds with the punishing way he was fucking him, and James caught a glimpse of his eyes. Dark and beautiful and familiar. Will’s eyes. The thought fled again, and he yelled as the candlestick jabbed him again precisely where pain and pleasure were mingling.
He was screaming and then he was floating, silenced, as sensation became too much. His body seemed to shut down. Still, he wasn’t able to come.
“Sweetheart.” A whisper against his ear, soft hair brushing against his neck. He was gathered in strong arms, kisses placed against his cheek, onto his lips, wet and soft and good. “You’re doing so well. You’re doing perfectly.”
He whined when Sarcean drew back, but it was only to press kisses against his inner thighs. “Look at you,” Sarcean whispered reverently, “so hot and loose.” He pressed his mouth there, too, to the place where James was swollen and needy, and James moaned at the tongue that invaded him, so good, but not enough.
Sarcean seemed to have mercy, because he didn’t tease him long, and instead pulled until James slid from the chaise into his lap. With a practised move, Sarcean rearranged them, a hand gentle on James’ hip, guiding him onto his cock.
“Take your pleasure now,” Sarcean said, and stroked a strand of hair from James’ eyes. “You’ve earned it.”
Gasping, James settled himself, the girth and heat of Sarcean’s cock perfect. He slung his arms around Sarcean’s neck, pressing his forehead against him, his body weak and soft, wrung out.
“That’s it,” Sarcean said as James started moving, stroking a hand soothingly up his spine. “You’re back in control.”
When James drew back, he found Sarcean smiling at him, his eyes glittering with fondness. Before his eyes, Sarcean morphed, his features narrowing a little as his cheekbones became more pronounced, his nose a little smaller, his hair shortening until it was a messy tumble upon his forehead. His eyes stayed the same. Will’s eyes.
“Will,” James gasped, his pleasure mounting. “Will…”
“Yes. Let go. Let go.”
*-*
James came to, gasping. A sliver of moonlight fell across the bed, illuminating his surroundings. There was stickiness in his sleeping trousers, and a lingering sense of arousal. His heart was hammering.
Next to him, on the bed, Will shifted, restless. He was still sleeping, his eyes behind his closed eyelids moving rapidly.
“Let go,” he whispered. “Let go.”