A truly incomplete story from my now-defunct blog. This doesn't have a complete plot yet, so suggestions welcome.
It began with the touch of a nose, then cheek, then lips, sliding against his roped calves and traveling slowly up his legs. He started, waking in still panic, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, muscles clenching with the urge to run.
“Shh.”
It came from the mouth that trailed over the muscles of his upper leg, a simple exhalation, simultaneously reassuring and terrifying.
“I—“ he began in a whisper.
The pinpricks of teeth sunk into taught thigh. “Shh."
He nodded, whether or not his acquiescence could be seen. There was stone beneath his body, worn and uneven. The ground and air were warm enough for him to perspire lightly. Something terrible was happening, or had already happened. Both, perhaps?
Where was he?
The back of his head ached.
Nose and lips brushed ever upward, causing him to twitch when they dipped over his groin, almost to his flaccid cock, then swiftly upward to his navel. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. Still blackness. He tensed, ready to sit up, and felt teeth again. He forced himself to relax.
A shuffling noise reached his ears as the phantom nose and lips pressed harder into his stomach. Was this person crawling over him? He wanted to reach out, reach upward, to touch this person who was touching him. There was soft hair followed the smooth caress of skin, tickling. Was it a man or a woman? Did it truly matter?
The shuffling ceased and the nose and lips raised slightly, continuing their former path over and up his body. They traveled into the depression of his neck, and lightly up the side.
“Your name.” The lips whispered directly into his ear, and he shuddered. The two words were slightly accented, though he couldn’t place the intonation. He felt silky hair, a strong jaw sliding against his own, then an ear settle over his mouth.
His name? He had one, did he not? What had others called him, before he had stumbled upon that awful scene?
“Mikail.” He tasted salt with the word, and spoke quickly so that the ear would stay close. “Tell me yours.”
Again, the head turned and Mikail shivered as lips traced the path of his jaw to his ear. “Cillian,” the voice breathed.
Mikail exhaled. A man, then. He turned his head, using touch to find the man’s ear. “What are you doing with me?”
Rather than answer, Cillian moved. A light scuffing noise sounded, the firm brush of ankles against each of his arms, then fingers, two hands together, came to rest on his stomach. The hands trembled for a moment, then the other man’s weight laid heavy on Mikail’s chest. The hot press of thigh and buttock quivered sporadically, as though it took tremendous effort to keep from collapsing completely. After a moment of stillness Mikail dared move his hands, slowly, so that a simple tensing of the other man’s thighs could still his movements. He ran his hands over the splayed fingers, slowly, carefully to the wrists…
Cuffs?
Mikail probed the edges of the bonds, a material that felt like a cool, supple cross between metal and leather. The bonds were tight, just barely enough for Cillian to rotate his wrists slightly behind him. Mikail pressed the other man’s hand to let him know he understood. Neither was there by choice.
He lifted his hand, intending to bring the man’s ear to his lips again, and was stopped immediately by Cillian’s fingers tensing on his stomach. Mikail put his hand back, instead running his fingers lightly up smooth skin, over muscle and bone, up to the man’s ear. It was bizarre to think that there was danger in the air; Mikail could think of no reason why he would need to touch the man constantly. He pulled gently, using his free hand to keep Cillian from collapsing onto him completely.
“Why—“ he paused. Whether or not it was necessary, Mikail had the distinct sense of immediacy, as though he needed to put all the important questions into one. “How do we get out of here?”
In response Cillian pressed his head against the other man’s hand and shook it slowly, sitting up again. Mikail’s hand slid back down to his neck. Was it that he was unable to say, or unwilling?
This was completely surreal. After yesterday…Yesterday! What had really happened? Mikail wasn’t sure whether or not to trust the vague memory and near-overpowering sense of horror and revulsion that accompanied the recollection. Perhaps the terror stemmed from the translucence of his remembrance, that it was all at once something and nothing solid.
Without knowing why, perhaps to reassure himself, Mikail trailed his fingers up the other man’s jaw and chin and pushed them into Cillian’s mouth.
“Pfft!”
The toneless sound penetrated the ink-dark air as Cillian shook his head violently, using his tongue to push the invading digits from his mouth. Mikail immediately suspected the other man was protecting something, but mentally shook himself; he had no idea for what he had been searching in the first place.
A scraping noise shocked them both. Mikail tensed, fists clenched while Cillian flattened himself against the other man’s chest. They lay there in silence, breathing shallowly, ears straining for further sound.
A thump, like a sledgehammer against a cliff, and overheard the fluttering of a thousand wings.
Another thump.
Cillian brushed his lips against the larger man’s ear again. “This needs to be quick. You must not move.”
Before Mikail had time to ask any questions Cillian was shuffling backward, slithering toward his feet. He wanted to ask what was so urgent if he was not allowed to stir. He should have been frustrated, but something about the impenetrable blackness, the indefinite memories, and the surrealistic whispering nude man who crawled over him and trailed his nose over Mikail’s bare skin that wiped his mind blank.
With his head resting on Mikail’s abdomen, Cillian settled between the supine man’s thighs. Another thump disturbed the still air. Mikail tensed, and his fellow prisoner bit at his navel in warning.
This is bizarre, Mikail thought emptily. Cillian’s lips, now parted and panting, had glided down to his sleeping cock. The languid kisses he was feathering over the member played a nearly comical contrast to his earlier request for haste. Cillian’s tongue shot out, running down the stirring cock before his lips descended over the head. Mikail clenched every muscle in his body, afraid of sharp teeth if he moved too much.
Cillian’s sealed his lips over the cockhead and swirled his tongue over the sensitive flesh. Mikail bit his lip, his breath sailing though his nostrils in a desperate attempt to remain as silent as possible. Cillian nuzzled down the length of the shaft, coaxing it gently. Mikail responded, blood rushing to his member, weighting his loins. The other man was moving his head frantically, as though his life and safety hinged on his ability to bring Mikail to orgasm. Cillian’s hair was titillating the insides of his thighs, brushing at the base of his cock every time the other man raised his head.
I might be going insane.
Blood rushed from the rest of Mikail’s body to his cock. His hands rose of their own accord, reaching, but he stopped before he touched Cillian’s head. What little coherence he had left was being driven away by the incessant slick heat of Cillian’s mouth. He was sucking on the glans, gently, softly, while his tongue flicked over the tip. Mikail’s thighs trembled every time Cillian’s tongue dipped into the slit, milking out more and more precum. As Mikail’s shaft swelled and filled those insistent lips traveled down one side of it, then the other, nibbling at the engorged veins. The supine man listened to his breathing deepen and forced himself to relax his muscles.
Despite having his hands fettered, Cillian devoured Mikail’s cock as though it was candy. The man was voracious, dragging his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin, taking Mikail’s balls into his mouth and playing them with his tongue, then finally sliding back up to the head. Cillian slid his lips over the tip, paused and inhaled, and sank his mouth onto Mikail’s cock. Mikail groaned helplessly, unable to stop the sound wrung from his throat or his hands from twining themselves into Cillian’s long hair. His lips parted, panting, trying not to thrust into Cillian’s mouth, wary of gagging him.
Cillian’s nose pressed into his pelvis, his throat rippled around the tumescent cock, then his head rose. Mikail felt as though his bones were melting into the hard stone beneath him. Cillian made a little noise in his throat, the noise reverberating through the tip of the phallus trapped between his teeth, traveling through Mikail’s nerves.
Mikail arched his back, clenching his fists tighter. Cillian whimpered, plump lips still wrapped around the cockhead. The last vestiges of consciousness tugged his attention to the satiny strands of hair brushing like feathers against hist taut testes, caressing him in encouraging strokes.
He pulled desperately at Cillian’s hair. I’m going to come, I’m going to come! At the last moment the man pulled his mouth from Mikail’s cock. Spurting into the darkness, muscles clenching in taut ecstacy, a cry burst from his helpless lips.
Cillian’s lips descended onto his inner thigh, wet lips spread wide.
And then there was a great and horrifying pain, and all turned to light.
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