Lord of the Sun Clothed in Flame and Fury (sunlord) wrote in faeparties, @ 2014-06-17 23:58:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log, *ballrooms, aelius, arthur vaughn |
Who: Aelius and Arthur
What: A dance goes sideways
Where: The ballroom
When: After wisps from Maverick and Umbra
Warnings: Aelius drops his glamour oops
Notes: Anyone in the ballroom is welcome to see this and then comment on it.
Aelius prowled the edges of the ballroom as much as someone who glowed constantly could prowl. He was in a bit of a snit, care of a few wisps conversations – though that might be an understatement – and needed a way to work the edge off before he went hunting for Winter. Across from him, he noticed a mortal man. One who’d been with them for a few feasts. He didn’t bother counting them anymore; counting them felt too much like measuring time, and though he might wear human affectations like a cloak, time was something he found useless. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, and smiled. A dance with a man wouldn’t shock the court, but it might shock the mortal. That brilliant, sun-bright smile in place, Aelius wove his way through the dancers, some of whom had been there all night, twirling in gowns like twilight and sunrise, and approached the mortal. “Arthur, isn’t it?” he asked, extending a hand. “Dance with me.” Arthur had noticed the fae before, it would have been difficult not to, but that didn't mean that Arthur himself ever expected to be noticed in turn. His 'career' at the ball had thus far consisted of not being noticed. Being continually passed over in favor of younger, prettier, more amusing and more whole attendees gave him time to observe. By now he was so used to the role that when he actually was approached he didn't immediately know how to respond. There was a bit of somewhat awestruck staring for a moment or two, then another period of uncomprehending silence. It was only by some miracle of self-control that he managed to not embarrass himself completely. He wasn't a schoolboy. He'd grown out of the need to practically fall over himself seeking approval whenever someone attractive noticed him. Hadn't he? "I-- Sorry. I can't." There were some rather interesting variations on the activity taking place throughout the ballroom, but the dancing that Arthur was thinking of was the dancing he had once done. The waltz, the foxtrot, the tango, all things that required a full complement of functioning limbs. He shrugged, letting one arm raise normally and the other hang uselessly. "Sorry." Aelius regarded the useless limb with an odd look of puzzlement, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what Arthur was trying to communicate. That sort of brokenness, deadened limbs and useless body parts, happened so rarely in fairy, with access to so much magic and immortality, that Aelius could count on one hand the number of people he’d seen with injuries that severe and not use all his fingers. Then that blinding smile appeared on his face once more. “Nonsense,” he said, stepping into Arthur’s space. “I’ll lead, and then it won’t be a problem.” He draped Arthur’s arm over his shoulder and around his neck, forcing them to stand as close as lovers might, and he captured Arthur’s other hand in his. “You see?” He leaned down, his face inches from Arthur’s own. “Not a problem at all. Now, dance with me, Arthur.” A dozen possible protests died on his lips as he was pulled in close, as his own body was manhandled and positioned without a thought for what his opinion on the matter might be. A part of him was certain that he should have been protesting. After all, he was a fully grown adult. He'd had his fair share of worldly experience and was fully capable of deciding whether or not he wanted to dance with another man. (It wouldn't be the first time, even with his bad arm. A well-spent winter in Berlin had already claimed that honor.) But, instead of attempting to back away or talk through things like a rational human being or in any way gain back some semblance of control, he could feel himself beginning to blush. His heart was beating wildly, to the point where he was sure even Aelius could feel it. It was embarrassing, it was irrational, it was adolescent. Arthur nodded, swallowing uncertainly. "Yes." As if there had been any doubt the mortal would say no. With a benign smile, Aelius swept Arthur onto the dance floor, easily slipping them into the whirl of dancers. If he felt the increase in Arthur’s heartbeat at all, he didn’t remark on it; truthfully, he was too used to such reactions to find them worth noticing any more. Twelve billion years had jaded him somewhat. More than somewhat. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice pitched low and intimate, a gentle rumble in Arthur’s ear. Easily, he moved their bodies into the first of many circling patterns of a fae dance. The dance was older than Arthur, older than his entire race and planet, dating back to a time when the universe had been more light and plasma than actual matter, and the dance reflected that. It was hot, intense, a close meeting of bodies, partners pressing close, then drawing back. Except that Aelius didn’t draw back, whether because of Arthur’s arm around his neck or the simple magnetism of a mortal’s vitality. "Yes." At first all that Arthur registered was that there had been a question. After that his brain took some time to catch up to the exact nature of the question and he stumbled in the dance, trying to regain his balance both mentally and physically. "I mean, fine. I am enjoying myself fine. Everything's fine" If he had been thinking clearly he might have winced. But he wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't have to. There was the dance and another body pressing close and warm against him and no need to truly think beyond that. It was all rather freeing really. Berlin couldn't hold a candle to something like this. Laughter as bright and warm as the sun spilled from Aelius’s lips, sweet and cheerful and very, very pleased. If there was ever an answer a fae wanted to hear, it was yes to a question that asked for so much more. “Just fine?” he asked as they turned, his leg sliding between Arthur’s. No matter how the mortal stumbled, Aelius kept them upright and moving elegantly. He was as fond of the fluid grace inherent in court dances as he was the flickering sensuality of the bonfire dances, and was more than happy to participate in either. Especially when he could edge the former closer to the latter. His every movement was full of banked sexual fire, a burn he couldn’t suppress and didn’t particularly care to. “We’ll have to try harder if this Midsummer is just fine.” He was blushing again, but it hardly mattered, did it? Everything that he said or did was likely to end up either ignored or a source of amusement and he was surprisingly all right with that. At the moment all that he wanted to do was hold off the eventual end of the dance for as long as possible. "Fine isn't bad." He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. Words were usually something that he was so proud of, but now they all seemed intent on escaping him. "Fine is marvellous." There. That was better. Marvellous. Full of marvels. For good and for bad. One couldn't argue with that. Aelius’s hand shifted on Arthur’s back, slipping just a bit lower than was proper, his thumb looping into the waist as he continued to guide them across the floor. Little tongues of flame spun away from their feet, and Aelius’s skin shimmered, glistening like a gemstone in sunlight. “Fine isn’t sublime.” He spun Arthur about, sliding his hand up the other man’s back, urging him closer. “Fine is a poor substitute for ecstatic and exquisite. Wouldn’t you like your time here to be those things?” There was an edge in Aelius’s voice, a blade sheathed in velvet. Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He didn't need much in the way of urging to come closer, his body pliant and unresisting, a marked change from how tense he could usually appear. Aelius was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was as if Apollo had stepped whole and shining out of some Greek text, and even if Arthur knew he was only a poor man’s Hyacinth, he also knew he would do anything within his power to keep that godlike attention focused on him alone for just a little longer. "Yes." It was more a whimper than a word. Every carefully constructed barrier was down. He did want his stay to be everything that Aelius said. Couldn't he see that? “Then let us make this experience for you transcendent,” Aelius murmured, and he brushed his lips against Arthur’s, a gentle touch of heated skin. He was soft, careful. Flames ate him alive inside, twisting through his veins in a torrent that threatened to snap his carefully maintained control. He could lose that control with a fae. Not with a mortal. Never with a mortal. This was more than he’d done with another person in seven hundred years. But the need was too great to keep the passion buried inside; he needed an outlet, and Arthur was the perfect choice. Even the sun was cruel, and the sharp edge that ran through Aelius’s words was the darker side of his nature, the side that wanted to press the mortal to a pillar and ruin him thoroughly for any other lover. That burning desire changed the kiss, shifting it from light and teasing to hot and burning, his mouth hard on Arthur’s, his tongue running over Arthur’s lips to demand entrance. There was no asking. Not with him. Arthur couldn't match a kiss like that and didn't even try to. Instead he merely did his best to hang on, giving as much as he could to Aelius in return. Offering up everything. Before Faerie, and even in it up until then, he had liked to think he was far from inexperienced, but what was a decade and a half or so of human kissing compared to that? Once upon a time, he had walked as a boy, of his own free will, into shell and machine-gun fire because his king and country wished it. It had been terrifying, yet thrilling at the same time. Never in his life had he felt so alive as in those moments going over the top at the front. Kissing Aelius was the closest that he had come to that feeling in over ten years. He was small and insignificant, his life wasn't in his own hands, but he was magnificently, wonderfully alive in the meanwhile. The arm around Aelius's neck shifted, hand clenching and clinging, trying to hold him even closer. It occurred to Aelius that a dead limb couldn’t move. But given that he cared little about Arthur’s arm and significantly more about Arthur’s mouth, he ignored the hand grasping at his hair in favor of urging Arthur’s head to one side so he could deepen the kiss and take even more. He was ravenous, like a forest fire gone far out of control, consuming everything in his path. What Arthur gave, he took without reservation or question, his kiss a thing of greed and unadulterated power. Flames licked through his hair, brushing over the back of Arthur’s hand, painless and silken caresses. And still they danced. Even caught up wholly in the experience tasting a mortal’s very soul on his tongue, Aelius moved them gracefully across the ballroom floor, their steps even and light, their bodies brushing at every turn. A soft snarl came from the back of his throat, a sound of delight and possession, and he drew back wearing a feral smile of satisfaction. “You kiss like a man dying.” Arthur had to struggle to regain his breath. The kiss was almost punishing, but not once had he wished for it to end. Now that it had paused he found himself arching towards Aelius still, even as he fought to recover. He felt as though the whole thing might consume him completely, burning him from within and without, but he still wanted more. Was the comment mean to be good or bad? His expression showed his confusion through the desire. "I can... I can try harder." So much harder. Anything that Aelius wanted. He would do it. “It wasn’t a condemnation. On the contrary, a decent gallows kiss is to be commended.” Aelius brushed his lips over Arthur’s, brushing their noses together in a startling intimacy. An electric jolt of heat lanced through him, making his skin shimmer. “It’s full of fire.” His teeth caught lightly on Arthur’s lip, tugging gently. “Of life.” He laved the bite to soothe it, his chest rumbling with laughter. He turned them once more and caught Arthur between his body and one of the massive marble pillars that rimmed the ballroom, trapping the mortal. Without giving him a chance to protest, Aelius set the hand he’d been holding on his shoulder with the other, dropped his lips to Arthur’s, and kissed the mortal again, and flame and light and scalding heat. The fact that they were in a fully public space, that there were people surrounding them, that anyone might see and judge had stopped being of any particular consequence to Arthur a long time ago. The particulars of his surroundings didn't matter. Only Aelius did, the heat and the light and the overwhelming presence of him. He kissed back, raw and eager, moaning in the back of his throat as he ignored any earlier hint of exhaustion. The praise still rang in his ears, fueling the need that threatened to engulf him. There was a fire within him that wanted release so badly. He didn't know how much more he could give, but Arthur knew that if Aelius asked he would receive it without a moment’s thought or hesitation. He’d missed this. A mortal’s passion was so much more than the fae’s, and every time Aelius was with one, he changed into a brilliant conflagration, resplendent in flame. The mortals changed him. His mouth was hungry on Arthur’s, the kiss consuming. He licked and tasted as if Arthur’s mouth was something he already owned, as if he’d waged war against the mortal and come away the victor. His hands settled on Arthur’s hips for only a second before he realized they were too hot, that he was too hot, and he yanked them away, pressing them to the marble pillar instead. But he didn’t pull away from Arthur’s lips. Didn’t consider who might be watching. Who might spread tales of this. Didn’t rightly care. This was what it was to be fae: to take what one wanted, consequences be damned. Aelius's hands had only rested on him for the briefest of seconds, but Arthur would have sworn he could still feel them there on his hips. He wouldn't be surprised if the imprint of them was burned onto his skin. He wouldn't have cared if it was. He had been burned once before. But this, this was nothing but pleasure even when it became too much. The heat of him was close to overwhelming and Arthur had never before been quite so frustrated by his familiar layers of clothing. But even with the discomfort he tried to press himself closer, squirming between the fae and the pillar, always looking for more. There was nothing in him but flames arcing from one part of his body to another, the flares of light that gave him his title. He could smell fire, exhaled it and breathed it in, and he— Abruptly, he yanked back. His glamour had eroded to the point that it barely existed, and while the fae in the room would be unharmed, the mortals would not be. “Close your eyes, Arthur.” His voice was more a crackling hiss than anything that formed actual words. Behind him, someone tittered about control, and the only thing that saved his face from being slag was the thought of icy fingers drifting down Aelius’s own spine. He exhaled, pulling himself together – quite literally – and glanced at his hands to ensure he did, in fact, have skin and that he was glowing his usual amount. “Forgive me,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. “I’ve done you a great disservice.” When Aelius pulled away without warning, Arthur's eyes flew open in sudden confusion only to shut just as quickly when told to close them. It wasn’t quite fast enough though. If he lived a thousand years he would never be able to put into words exactly what he had glimpsed in that quick moment No matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, the afterimage of something brighter and bigger than he could possibly comprehend remained burned against the darkness. The want remained as well, refusing to die even as Arthur slumped back against the pillar for support. He was gasping for air, body trembling lightly with effort and desire and something that might very well have been a tinge of fear. They were all so mixed together that he couldn't tell the difference any more. Wrapped in human skin, one more sun-kissed and golden but not a golden sun, Aelius touched the line of Arthur’s jaw. It was a gentle caress, imploring. Asking silently for forgiveness because he’d never ask for such a thing with words. Not to a fae, and certainly not a second time to a mortal. “The dance was lovely. Thank you for it.” He hesitated a second longer, wondering if he should make an offer for another dance. In the future. Then he thought better of it. Mortals who saw through a glamour - his glamour in particular - rarely wanted much to do with him after. He was a bright shining sun, brilliant and deadly when so close, a complete aversion to his actual nature. He pulled back. “Thank you,” he said again, and then he fled. As much as any fae could flee. |