Three fingers, quickly done, and then he slides down the bed, lifting Michael's legs on either side to settle on his shoulders. A few strokes along his own cock, slicking it fully, and he meets eyes with Michael.
Nothing but me, Michael.
And he pushes in, slow at first and finally in. He shudders a moment, from the sensation and the heat, before stilling. He rocks back and forward experimentally, hands resting on either side of Michael's torso and massaging with his thumbs.
He inhales deeply as Nick enters him and just drops his head back to feel everything for a long moment. It's just Nick, all Nick; there is nothing else.
He starts slow, barely moving. One hand moves from Michael's hip to curl around him, pumping in long, steady strokes that match Nick's own movements. His eyes remain on Michael's, even as he drops his head back, and he moves, steady, slow, deep movements, the bed creeking with them.
And Nick has to hold back his own tears because he knows Michael does. And he knows that other than this, and those things which he Will Not Do...this is all he can do for him.
His next thrust is harder, faster. He matches it with the next, his rhythm once again matched by his hand around Michael.
Michael pants, almost in-time to Nick's rhythm and starts moving his hips as much as he can, trying, wanting.
Harder. Nick... more.
Nick's hand on his cock is drawing him closer, but he doesn't want him to stop.
Then, the question... and he answers: Yes. He doesn't remember ever allowing Nick to bite him before, but now, he doesn't care. He'd welcome the pain if it would help.
Harder, faster, almost violent. The bed creaks and screams at the movement and Nick bites his lip, summoning all of his self-control to keep himself going. Then hand around Michael squeezes, rough and erratic. Maybe even a little painful. But he'll always give Michael what he wants. At least for tonight.
This is why he wanted Nick - the strength, the power, the twinge of pain. It hurts, it makes him shudder, but no one else can or will do what Nick will. Not like this, anyway.
He doesn't even have time to give Nick warning, he just screams as he comes; wordless sound and his fingers grip the sheets so tight he almost puts holes in them.
He can't speak, so: Fuck, yes, Nick... and it's that hissing sound again. Need...
He growls, deep and loud, and keeps going. It's automatic, his own need still unfufilled. Eyes wild and golden, fangs dropped and visible through parted lips, he thrusts, fingernails pricking twothreefour half-moon shapes in Michael's hip.
A few more to the collection.
Finally, almost done, riding along that sharp sharp edge, he thrusts in one last time, diving forward to bite into the flesh of Michael's shoulder as he comes, a jolt of his own pleasurepain traveling through the bite.
Nick can keep going as long as he needs; to Michael, it doesn't matter - it's Nick.
He never figured it would have this effect, but he starts panting harder at the sight of the fangs, almost like he wants the bite, needs it. And he can feel Nick's fingernails in his hip and he welcomes the pain.
Jesus-fucking-christ, Nick! and he moans, deep and low, as the pleasurepain moves through his body; his own fingernails digging into Nick's back, hard. Fuck. God, yes. Fuck yes. Needed...
Nick's eyes flit to Michael's shoulders, as if searching for something, and his hands reach out to touch something that is there only for him, perhaps. Or that only he knows is there.
Michael's eyes widen - startled wide. And he starts breathing hard, very hard.
No. No. No. God, no. Shit.
"Nick..." he pants, blinking finally, "you can't tell anyone. Fuck. Nick, no one. Not anyone. Dammit. I knew there was a reason... fuck." He clamps his eyes shut, his teeth together and growls - angry, defensive. But, for whatever reason, he hasn't made Nick get up yet.
He sighs into the bed, the pillows. "Fuck it." Eyes still closed, angry tears slide out. "Please, don't ever call me that and please don't tell anyone else. Please, Nick." Pain rushes back... it was gone, but it's coming back - different pain, but it feels the same.
"I've slept with most of the people in this place when David was gone...and I've bitten almost all of them. To learn their secrets...to know their souls."
He's naked and covered in bloodsweat...but he looks utterly comfortable.
"I tell no one. I never tell. For most, I use that knowledge to control and manipulate. I swear...on my own honor, on David...I wouldn't do that to you."
There's one last muffled 'thank you' as he moves in, curling into Nick as much as he can and he drifts off to sleep, pushing the pain away again, just for the night.
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Three fingers, quickly done, and then he slides down the bed, lifting Michael's legs on either side to settle on his shoulders. A few strokes along his own cock, slicking it fully, and he meets eyes with Michael.
Nothing but me, Michael.
And he pushes in, slow at first and finally in. He shudders a moment, from the sensation and the heat, before stilling. He rocks back and forward experimentally, hands resting on either side of Michael's torso and massaging with his thumbs.
Fast or slow, Michael? Hard or gentle?
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I don't care. All... one... whatever. Take me.
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More. Slow, fast, hard, whatever. Need this.
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His next thrust is harder, faster. He matches it with the next, his rhythm once again matched by his hand around Michael.
May I bite Michael?
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Harder. Nick... more.
Nick's hand on his cock is drawing him closer, but he doesn't want him to stop.
Then, the question... and he answers: Yes. He doesn't remember ever allowing Nick to bite him before, but now, he doesn't care. He'd welcome the pain if it would help.
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He doesn't even have time to give Nick warning, he just screams as he comes; wordless sound and his fingers grip the sheets so tight he almost puts holes in them.
He can't speak, so: Fuck, yes, Nick... and it's that hissing sound again. Need...
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A few more to the collection.
Finally, almost done, riding along that sharp sharp edge, he thrusts in one last time, diving forward to bite into the flesh of Michael's shoulder as he comes, a jolt of his own pleasurepain traveling through the bite.
Yes
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He never figured it would have this effect, but he starts panting harder at the sight of the fangs, almost like he wants the bite, needs it. And he can feel Nick's fingernails in his hip and he welcomes the pain.
Jesus-fucking-christ, Nick! and he moans, deep and low, as the pleasurepain moves through his body; his own fingernails digging into Nick's back, hard. Fuck. God, yes. Fuck yes. Needed...
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Don't blaspheme in my head when I'm fucking you, Michael. It stings.
And he pulls his fangs out, licking carefully at the wounds...
And then his eyes go wide.
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It only stings if I do it while you're fucking me? Yeah, he can snark when he's been fucked to shit-knows-where and back.
He closes his eyes and sighs. "What the fuck is wrong, Nick?" he manages to speak between pants.
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"Nothing."
His voice is far away.
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The bite and what Nick can do and does doesn't even register with him just now.
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"Gabriel."
He meets eyes with Michael.
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No. No. No. God, no. Shit.
"Nick..." he pants, blinking finally, "you can't tell anyone. Fuck. Nick, no one. Not anyone. Dammit. I knew there was a reason... fuck." He clamps his eyes shut, his teeth together and growls - angry, defensive. But, for whatever reason, he hasn't made Nick get up yet.
He sighs into the bed, the pillows. "Fuck it." Eyes still closed, angry tears slide out. "Please, don't ever call me that and please don't tell anyone else. Please, Nick." Pain rushes back... it was gone, but it's coming back - different pain, but it feels the same.
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He looks to Michael.
"I've slept with most of the people in this place when David was gone...and I've bitten almost all of them. To learn their secrets...to know their souls."
He's naked and covered in bloodsweat...but he looks utterly comfortable.
"I tell no one. I never tell. For most, I use that knowledge to control and manipulate. I swear...on my own honor, on David...I wouldn't do that to you."
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Eyes still closed, tears still falling; he doesn't want to open his eyes; doesn't want to see anything - at all.
Through a strained voice he isn't even sure is working, he says, "Thank you."
He's exhausted, from sex, from pain, from thinking, from feeling. He needs to rest, sleep, something. But not alone. Stay with me. Will you?
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"As you wish."
And he settles down.
Sleep.
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