[ no trouble at all, to take logan from wherever he is and put him in stephen’s house. a little trouble, maybe, to have set the stage readily for an argument--and even more trouble, small quantities of it, to subvert the expectation entirely, even if they’re both on ginger tiptoes around each other all the time these days. he’d been proud of himself, really, that he had circled back to what he’d considered bringing logan here for in the first place--
although he isn’t fucking him, not really. not personally. stephen is in a comfortable armchair, circling draft ads for magical aid in a newspaper, doing idle typo corrections; he’s made himself a pleasant summer drink, nonalcoholic, a sprig of rosemary in simple syrup, perfect ice cubes clinking to take the edge off all that sweet. he’s wondering if eventually he’ll need reading glasses: his father did, later in life, but his mother had enjoyed perfect vision up till her death.
the sitting area has been cleared, as it often easily is for ritual work, but there’s no ritual today. it’s just logan, recent bane of his existence, trussed up by the bands of cyttorak. it seemed important, for some reason, to put him on his knees; to put those haymaker-ready arms behind his back. important too, to have a band loped around his neck, firm enough to keep his head back, to keep the usually terse lines of the man arched and straining. (if stephen had to express a preference, it’s for the veins in logan’s neck; how they stand out in arousal, outrage, discomfort.) there’s a dildo pistoning in and out of his ass, the slimmest fiery red band wrapped around the tip of his cock to make orgasms just shy of painful.
stephen hadn’t bothered to put a towel down. there’s something nice about all that come on the tile. ]
[ As it stands, Logan is far too used to being yanked out of whatever he's doing by some kind of teleportation, magic or otherwise, to be all that shocked by Strange's chosen method of reconciliation. He puts up a token fight for the sake of it, huffing and growling and cursing -- easier when he's confronted by the layers of scent through the house, Hakkyuu and Laura and Hope and others, twined through each other and Stephen's own scent in a way that riles him up almost to the point of being ready to throw him into another table.
But in the end his interest in getting off overrides his desire to put a bruise on that chiselled jaw, so he lets himself be roped down like a bull calf with sizzling fronds of magic and submits with just enough fight to make it interesting. There's a lot of finesse to admire in the way the other man works, but what really gets Logan going is the dissonance between Strange's actions and his demeanour, which he figures is entirely on purpose. It's infuriating and, in a complex way that Logan rarely likes to examine, far hotter than if he'd been obviously into it.
He's stretched out and straining, knees wide apart, thigh muscles tense and trembling after his second orgasm. The bands of magic press against his skin, tipping his head back, locking his arms. He's done this in rope a few dozen times but has always preferred magic or telekinesis, the lack of sensory input somehow shorting out his expectations and making him feel even less in control of what's being done to him.
His hard dick jerks with every thrust of the dildo into his ass, leaking pre-come that slaps wet against his belly and drips down onto the floor between his legs. Shit like this always makes him run like a tap. He wants to rock his hips back and ride it out, but the position he's in makes it difficult. He's there for display, not his own pleasure. The thought makes him suck in a breath that tastes like rosemary. ]
Fuck.. you, Strange. [ He grates the words out through gritted teeth, breathing heavily through flaring nostrils. He badly wants Stephen to touch him; the gulf between the man watching him and the overload of his senses is almost too much. ]
[ stephen circles another ad, then caps his pen, shaking his hand out. honestly, he considers that gesture alone a rare treat for a visitor, more than being tied up and fucked out: stephen likes his house, is perfectly at ease in the space already, even when he’s pushed the furniture aside to make room for a man seated in the middle.
he folds the newspaper and lets it rest over one thigh. he’s turned on, because he has eyes and ears, but the fact of his hard-on in his jeans doesn’t seem to be of any apparent consequence for now. he rests his chin on his hand, takes his glass in the fingertips of his other hand and finally takes him in, at length: the wet slap of logan’s cock against the clench of muscle in his lower belly, the way his thighs quiver just so in the bands. the air conditioning in the house can’t quite blot out the heavy scent of sex, the odd heat that radiates off logan as if he can’t help but smoulder. ]
I forget. [ butter wouldn’t melt with that tone. ] Was there something you wanted to discuss?
[ It hasn't been hard to figure out the raw edges of Strange's act, not since the night in the bathroom and the edge of pain in the chemical runoff of the other man's sweat as he'd sucked over his fingers. Logan knows what it's like to hurt all the time, to hurt more when it's necessary. To push through that hurt and make it worth it, or to indulge in it, or hide it under artifice for a while. He doesn't know if Strange is aware of how much he gives away to someone with the right set of senses, but the thread of sympathy remains, enough that Logan's higher functions file away the sight of that cramped shake of the wizard's hand in the back of his mind to consider later.
For now, he huffs out his breath and tilts his head as much as he can to fix Stephen with a glare, a curl of his lip showing the points of his teeth. ]
Only that you're a.. fuckin' -- ah, ha -- fuck -- [ He lifts his hips a tiny bit, an automatic, helpless jerk, thighs spreading even wider as he tries to mindlessly fuck into the air, searching for friction to get off against. The noise of the dildo pulsing in and out of him is obscene. His balls ache like they're being squeezed. ] -- you're a real fuckin' pain in the ass.
[ he takes a sip from the little mocktail, long and languid. even with the air on in the house the chill of it is terribly pleasant. he presses the glass against his neck almost in sympathy for the raised veins in the side of logan’s throat, the sheen of sweat there under the soft yellow lights; if it weren’t for how hard he is he’d almost look bored. ]
You think you can go again like this? [ raised eyebrows. a helpful man. ] I think you can.
[ The click of ice cubes against the side of the glass is almost as maddening as being able to smell Stephen's arousal on his exhale. Logan shivers and growls, hands flexing in the crooks of his elbows. ]
I want -- [ He starts and stops, panting hoarsely. Trying to swallow with his head tipped back isn't easy. Exposing his throat like that makes the animal in him feel even more raw, even more vulnerable, which of course makes it even more thrilling to be spread out and edging up to the moment of release for a third time. ]
I wanna come. Let.. let me come. Please. [ That Stephen hasn't stopped him before doesn't mean he's not willing to beg when he feels like it. ]
[ please is a nice word. stephen’s a big fan. easy to see the way a good plea from a proud man sweeps through him, even without the benefit of enhanced senses: with the glass still pressed to his own neck stephen’s shoulders slacken, eyelashes fluttering just the once. he even skims the heel of his free hand over the outline of his dick in his jeans, as if willing himself again to patience.
then his eyes slit back open, blue on blue. ]
Go on, then. [ the smirk in the corner of his mouth deepens, and--it could be imaginary, or it really is magic, the dildo grinding in harder and crueler, like stephen wants his insides raw and ruined-- ] Sweetheart.
Edited (i don't know how to fucking spell) 2022-07-10 21:59 (UTC)
[ He's close even before he asks permission, tension pooling and gathering in the long muscles of his thighs and the pit of his belly, making his hips buck and grind back against the magical press of the dildo into him. He fixes Stephen with a look as much as he can with his head tipped back, a vague glimpse of one of those clever hands sliding across the hard-on swelling out his pants is all he needs before he squints his eyes closed and concentrates on the urgent tide of need.
Whether intentional or not on Stephen's part, Logan definitely notices the movements of the dildo becoming more insistent. His dick is already leaking onto the tile as he leans into it, panting heavily and groaning, not making much effort to conserve his dignity or be particularly quiet. His chest is flushed and pink around the 'DEVIANT' brand that arcs through his body hair. ]
Fuck, ah -- fuck, Doc, you goddamn sonofabitch -- fuck -- [ His hips jerk and he shudders as he comes, splattering the floor in front of him in thick spurts, his whole body rigid for a long moment before he subsides again. If he could hang his head, he would. As it is, he just breathes hoarsely and opens one eye to look over at the other man. ]
Sweetheart, you.. fuckin'.. [ He trails off, beyond words for the moment. ]
[ stephen huffs: a moment of amusement, of complex satisfaction. he sets the newspaper aside and stands up, a long and easy stretch out of the armchair, then steps closer and hunkers down beside logan one knee. he keeps the glass in the magically steadied fingertips of one hand. when he reaches out with his free hand it’s to touch a hand to the side of logan’s throat.
this hand he doesn’t bother to steady at all, so there’s that slight leaf-blown shiver to the fingertips that he sweeps a thumb down the column of his neck, over an outstanding vein, and then finally down to his pulse, throbbing beneath the skin. he lets it rest there in silence, a long and unnecessary touch.
at last the band around logan’s neck disappears, a de-materialization. stephen’s fingertips curl ever so slightly in the sweat-matted hair at the fringe of logan’s neck. he does not, however, apply pressure. he just looks at him, long, near-inscrutable but for the way his pupils are ink-black with hunger, and when he drags his hand away the bands are loosening accordingly, although not quite letting go, as if to let logan trail ribbons of flame behind him when he obeys this next and damning order-- ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Is this a request?
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pretty sure it's a photo
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nothing you ain't seen before
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[ slip-sliding into arcane speech at random times, as always, but-- ]
I’ve seen you harder.
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[ He gets a picture anyway, a more real time update of Logan's hand shoved down the front of his jeans. What a tease. ]
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[ Something something not boyfriend something. ]
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[ no trouble at all, to take logan from wherever he is and put him in stephen’s house. a little trouble, maybe, to have set the stage readily for an argument--and even more trouble, small quantities of it, to subvert the expectation entirely, even if they’re both on ginger tiptoes around each other all the time these days. he’d been proud of himself, really, that he had circled back to what he’d considered bringing logan here for in the first place--
although he isn’t fucking him, not really. not personally. stephen is in a comfortable armchair, circling draft ads for magical aid in a newspaper, doing idle typo corrections; he’s made himself a pleasant summer drink, nonalcoholic, a sprig of rosemary in simple syrup, perfect ice cubes clinking to take the edge off all that sweet. he’s wondering if eventually he’ll need reading glasses: his father did, later in life, but his mother had enjoyed perfect vision up till her death.
the sitting area has been cleared, as it often easily is for ritual work, but there’s no ritual today. it’s just logan, recent bane of his existence, trussed up by the bands of cyttorak. it seemed important, for some reason, to put him on his knees; to put those haymaker-ready arms behind his back. important too, to have a band loped around his neck, firm enough to keep his head back, to keep the usually terse lines of the man arched and straining. (if stephen had to express a preference, it’s for the veins in logan’s neck; how they stand out in arousal, outrage, discomfort.) there’s a dildo pistoning in and out of his ass, the slimmest fiery red band wrapped around the tip of his cock to make orgasms just shy of painful.
stephen hadn’t bothered to put a towel down. there’s something nice about all that come on the tile. ]
Hanging in there, champ?
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But in the end his interest in getting off overrides his desire to put a bruise on that chiselled jaw, so he lets himself be roped down like a bull calf with sizzling fronds of magic and submits with just enough fight to make it interesting. There's a lot of finesse to admire in the way the other man works, but what really gets Logan going is the dissonance between Strange's actions and his demeanour, which he figures is entirely on purpose. It's infuriating and, in a complex way that Logan rarely likes to examine, far hotter than if he'd been obviously into it.
He's stretched out and straining, knees wide apart, thigh muscles tense and trembling after his second orgasm. The bands of magic press against his skin, tipping his head back, locking his arms. He's done this in rope a few dozen times but has always preferred magic or telekinesis, the lack of sensory input somehow shorting out his expectations and making him feel even less in control of what's being done to him.
His hard dick jerks with every thrust of the dildo into his ass, leaking pre-come that slaps wet against his belly and drips down onto the floor between his legs. Shit like this always makes him run like a tap. He wants to rock his hips back and ride it out, but the position he's in makes it difficult. He's there for display, not his own pleasure. The thought makes him suck in a breath that tastes like rosemary. ]
Fuck.. you, Strange. [ He grates the words out through gritted teeth, breathing heavily through flaring nostrils. He badly wants Stephen to touch him; the gulf between the man watching him and the overload of his senses is almost too much. ]
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[ stephen circles another ad, then caps his pen, shaking his hand out. honestly, he considers that gesture alone a rare treat for a visitor, more than being tied up and fucked out: stephen likes his house, is perfectly at ease in the space already, even when he’s pushed the furniture aside to make room for a man seated in the middle.
he folds the newspaper and lets it rest over one thigh. he’s turned on, because he has eyes and ears, but the fact of his hard-on in his jeans doesn’t seem to be of any apparent consequence for now. he rests his chin on his hand, takes his glass in the fingertips of his other hand and finally takes him in, at length: the wet slap of logan’s cock against the clench of muscle in his lower belly, the way his thighs quiver just so in the bands. the air conditioning in the house can’t quite blot out the heavy scent of sex, the odd heat that radiates off logan as if he can’t help but smoulder. ]
I forget. [ butter wouldn’t melt with that tone. ] Was there something you wanted to discuss?
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For now, he huffs out his breath and tilts his head as much as he can to fix Stephen with a glare, a curl of his lip showing the points of his teeth. ]
Only that you're a.. fuckin' -- ah, ha -- fuck -- [ He lifts his hips a tiny bit, an automatic, helpless jerk, thighs spreading even wider as he tries to mindlessly fuck into the air, searching for friction to get off against. The noise of the dildo pulsing in and out of him is obscene. His balls ache like they're being squeezed. ] -- you're a real fuckin' pain in the ass.
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[ he takes a sip from the little mocktail, long and languid. even with the air on in the house the chill of it is terribly pleasant. he presses the glass against his neck almost in sympathy for the raised veins in the side of logan’s throat, the sheen of sweat there under the soft yellow lights; if it weren’t for how hard he is he’d almost look bored. ]
You think you can go again like this? [ raised eyebrows. a helpful man. ] I think you can.
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I want -- [ He starts and stops, panting hoarsely. Trying to swallow with his head tipped back isn't easy. Exposing his throat like that makes the animal in him feel even more raw, even more vulnerable, which of course makes it even more thrilling to be spread out and edging up to the moment of release for a third time. ]
I wanna come. Let.. let me come. Please. [ That Stephen hasn't stopped him before doesn't mean he's not willing to beg when he feels like it. ]
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then his eyes slit back open, blue on blue. ]
Go on, then. [ the smirk in the corner of his mouth deepens, and--it could be imaginary, or it really is magic, the dildo grinding in harder and crueler, like stephen wants his insides raw and ruined-- ] Sweetheart.
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Whether intentional or not on Stephen's part, Logan definitely notices the movements of the dildo becoming more insistent. His dick is already leaking onto the tile as he leans into it, panting heavily and groaning, not making much effort to conserve his dignity or be particularly quiet. His chest is flushed and pink around the 'DEVIANT' brand that arcs through his body hair. ]
Fuck, ah -- fuck, Doc, you goddamn sonofabitch -- fuck -- [ His hips jerk and he shudders as he comes, splattering the floor in front of him in thick spurts, his whole body rigid for a long moment before he subsides again. If he could hang his head, he would. As it is, he just breathes hoarsely and opens one eye to look over at the other man. ]
Sweetheart, you.. fuckin'.. [ He trails off, beyond words for the moment. ]
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this hand he doesn’t bother to steady at all, so there’s that slight leaf-blown shiver to the fingertips that he sweeps a thumb down the column of his neck, over an outstanding vein, and then finally down to his pulse, throbbing beneath the skin. he lets it rest there in silence, a long and unnecessary touch.
at last the band around logan’s neck disappears, a de-materialization. stephen’s fingertips curl ever so slightly in the sweat-matted hair at the fringe of logan’s neck. he does not, however, apply pressure. he just looks at him, long, near-inscrutable but for the way his pupils are ink-black with hunger, and when he drags his hand away the bands are loosening accordingly, although not quite letting go, as if to let logan trail ribbons of flame behind him when he obeys this next and damning order-- ]
Clean it up.
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