Obed Brandt | Hades (obedear) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-02-01 08:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | hades, persephone |
a painting of a panic attack
Who: Obed & Isobel
What: Obed's night terrors return with a vengeance. Isobel has a solution.
Where: D3
When: very, very early morning
In the darkness there was a pedestal, and on that pedestal was a book. Inside it, a list of names, written in thick ink the color of rust. Each letter was tall and sharp, slanted subtly backward, as though reluctant to move into the blank space before it. A hand moved, thin fingers wrapped loosely around a black quill. Another name appeared, and this time it was one he knew.
At the foot of the bed, Hanni stirred, and sounded a single, sharp yip. The sound had Isobel rolling over, her eyes fluttering open in the darkness of the bedroom she shared with Obed. She glanced down to Hanni, confusion clouding her mind.
Ink welled beneath the razor-sharp nib, a bloody gash in a paper wound. Obed moved to cross out the name, but though the quill obeyed, the ink did not. The name remained, bright and painful as a fresh brand. He swore, and tried again, but his efforts met the same useless end. In the shadows of their room he turned, a sound he did not hear breaking on his lips. His jaw clenched; the scraping of his teeth against one another was loud enough to be heard by those who shared his bed.
Hanni whined, and padded up the bed, his little feet sinking into the thick mattress. Isobel sat up sharply, woken fully by the sounds and movements Obed made. She hesitantly put out a hand to his shoulder, and then pulled it back as he moved again; her eyes were wide in the darkness, picking out only the faint outlines of Obed's form beneath the comforter.
"Obed?" Her voice was as soft and hesitant as her attempts to touch him; this was a side of him she hadn't seen before, and was completely unsure how to treat. She wasn't sure if she should wake him, if that would make things worse.
The name wrote itself again, then again, then again, defying every attempt to eradicate it. The paper would not tear. The pedestal would not fall. His hand trailed through the ink, but though it was clot-thick on the page, it did not smear the slightest. White fingertips stained red, then black with gouts of ink, but the name remained. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked his short hair.
His spine curved into a tight arc, then snapped viciously straight, as though in the throes of a seizure. He ground out her name through clenched teeth, each syllable as sharp and ragged as broken glass.
"Jesus." Isobel put her hands to Obed's shoulders, this time more firmly, intent on stopping whatever was happening. Briefly, she wondered if she should call for paramedics, an ambulance, someone who could help. "Obed. Obed! I need you to wake up!" Moving to her knees, she tried to press down on his much larger form, attempting to calm him even as the source of the problem remained elusive. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes, but she stayed focused on the one goal of at least bringing him out of the spell he seemed trapped in.
Obed's hands wrapped tight around her wrists; Isobel pulled back for only a moment, afraid and unsure of what this development meant. Another spasm tore through him, buckling his body beneath hers. And then he was gasping, gulping down great breaths as though he was drowning. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat; it slicked his bare chest and the sheets at his back. Too late, his hands went lax, falling away from her and to his sides as his pulse thundered in his ears. She straightened uneasily above him, one hand touching the comforter to hold herself up. His fingers clutched at the sheets, anchoring him to the present and away from his dream.
Even in the dark, the whites of his eyes shone bright as he looked around him. Hanni whined again, his small tongue flicking curiously at Isobel's elbow.
She reached back to stroke a reassuring hand over the small dog, though her gaze did not break away from Obed's. "Obed? Are you...are you awake?" With her other hand, she reached out to gently press fingertips to his chest, falling over to his shoulder as strands of her hair slashed her vision. She tucked them back, swallowing as she continued to bite back tears of fright.
At first he did not trust himself to speak. Each heaving breath sounded loud in the room, but after a time, even that sound began to recede. He drew a slow, deep breath in through his nose. His voice was unsteady when at last he spoke: thick with sleep, and underlaid by a faint tremor. "Yes. I… think so." His fingertips pressed to her knee. With his free hand, he wiped sweat from his brow. "I'm sorry," he said. A shadow crossed his face; he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she answered quickly, rushing to reassure him that he'd done nothing wrong. "I'm fine, just... Are you alright? I was worried, you just...you started thrashing and...yelling. You said my name. Were you...were you having a nightmare?" She moved closer to him, not wanting to overwhelm him, but needing to be close to him all the same in the wake of what had just occurred. Her hands smoothed over his chest, his shoulders, proving to herself that, at least outwardly, he was whole. She swallowed again, one hand rising from him to wipe away tears at the edges of her eyes. Then, just as quickly, it moved back to him.
He took her hand and squeezed it tight. A thick knot had settled at the base of his throat. He swallowed hard, but it would not dislodge. "Yes." He cleared his throat, feeling no better afterward. Slowly he moved to sit, still clutching her hand like a lifeline as he did. "I'm sorry," he said again. "It's been a while. I thought these were over." His laugh was a quiet, trembling thing. The pad of his thumb traced meaningless shapes on her skin. "Congratulations, you have a forty year old fiancé with night terrors."
Isobel gave a half-laugh, half-hiccup in response to his would-be joke. "Well, it matches me with my anxiety. Don't we make a pair," she replied, one hand grasping his while the other cupped his face, sliding a thumb over a cheekbone, nails lightly raking his hair. As much as her touches were meant to calm him, they were just as much for her own sake. "I just want you to be OK. How did...when did you last have them? Did you see a doctor?"
Catching her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm, then returned it to where she had touched him. Every place her skin touched his felt cooler, less flushed with the fear his dream had instilled in him. He inched closer to her, setting Hanni scurrying back to the foot of the bed.
"It's been a year or two," he said. "When I was younger my parents had me sent for MRI scans, CT tests, psych evals… no-one ever found anything wrong. I went back during college, and that helped, so I thought it was dealt with. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. It'll pass. It always does." He exhaled a long, slow breath. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"You're stealing my line," she teased back, whittling away the last of her own nervous energy with the attempting joking. "And you don't have anything to apologize for." Isobel stretched herself out beside him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. A shuddering sigh wracked her thin form, one arm laid across his chest. "Do you think it's the move? Does this... Does this happen in new places, ones that you're not familiar with?" Her anxiety crept up again, lining her words with the worry that the flight provoked by her circumstances was bringing to life his put-to-bed malady.
But he shook his head almost at once. "I don't think so. It might be stress, but I can't be sure. I travel well, and spent a semester out of the country, and never…" He stopped himself, as never did not truly fit. "I didn't have many episodes there, and even then, they came only toward the end. It's almost completely random, which makes it all the more frustrating." He drew her arm still tighter over his chest, soothed by her nearness. "It's stupid, I suppose, but they don't feel like dreams. Sometimes it feels like I'm remembering something." He cleared his throat, and pushed down the faint blush he felt trying to rise. "Forget I said that."
"It's not stupid," she returned, keeping her voice soft even with the admonishment. "Maybe your mind is trying to remember something it repressed, or, I don't know, just trying to tell you something. I don't know enough about psychology to say for sure. What were you dreaming about, just now?" He'd seemed so terrified, but she couldn't imagine what would scare him to that degree. She could barely think of what might just scare him. He was always so collected, the calm voice to the creeping doubts in her own head that attempted to pull her in every direction. She wanted to be that for him as much as he was for her.
He shook his head. He had no desire to share details, no urge to look back in that terrible book again. He knew what it had said. There was no reason to burden her with the same knowledge. "Death," he said, and hoped that would be enough. He rolled his shoulders, settling deeper into the mattress beneath them. The sheets below were still damp, but he could make do. He pressed on, giving hints, withholding the worst of it all. "It's always death. My parents are getting older. Isn't that always what dreams like that are about?"
Isobel made a sound, neither affirming or dissenting. She couldn't tell if he was being truthful or not, but he'd at least supplied an answer rather than refusing to give anything at all. Rather than pick at the wound further, she changed the subject.
"Do you want to change? I can change the sheets. It'll only take a second." The moment the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them, as though she were treating him like a child. "Not that I mind," she added, though she could feel the sweat through his clothes. "I just want you to be comfortable." Hanni yipped from the foot of the bed, as though in agreement, though moreso simply to be a part of whatever was happening.
"I'll take care of it in the morning," he said. "Thank you. I just… I'd like to just lie here for a bit." He laughed, humorless. His arm withdrew from her enough to reach his pants; he shed them quickly, tossing them aside before turning down the sheets. Naked and exposed to the ceiling fan above, he at last began to cool off. He stayed pressed close to her all the while, seeking her out though calling as little attention to his doing so as possible. "I can sleep on the couch, though, if I'm keeping you awake."
She moved aside enough for him to finish disrobing, but as soon as he laid back down in the bed, she was reasserting her control over the territory of his body with her arms and her hands. "I want you here, with me. I sleep better when you're here." Her face pressed into the column of his throat, one hand curled around his shoulder. "If there's anything I can do, tell me," she added, her voice touching more on order rather than request. She felt soothed by the familiar feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath the crook of her elbow as it settled gently over his belly.
He nodded; his stubbled cheek rubbed against her hair. "Of course," he said. "I…" He drew a deep breath, lifting her slightly against him with the motion. "Please try to wake me if it happens again. Gently, I mean, if you can, but… I'd rather you tried." He kissed the top of her head, trying for a smile. "If it makes you feel better, it did fade more quickly with you here. That's an interesting development."
"Really?" She couldn't help the hope that was infused in the simple word, her head turning up to look at his face despite their close proximity. The smile he'd hoped for was carved clearly on her face. "Even if you're just saying that to reassure me, I'm glad. I'd hate to be making it worse for you." The hand on his shoulder drew gentle lines with her nails, moving closer and further away from his neck. "I think it might be good for you to see a doctor. If it helps, I'll see one too, about my anxiety. We both have to take better care of ourselves."
He started to say no. He opened his mouth, and the word nearly came. But he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and considered, instead, the benefits of seeking help once more. It had been years since last he had tried, and perhaps in his age and changed circumstances, something was different now. His teeth worried at his lower lip. He arched his neck to the scratching of her nails, and nodded, after a time. "I'll think about it," he allowed. "I do want you to feel more at ease. But honestly, Isobel, please don't think you've made anything worse. That is absolutely untrue." He kissed her forehead.
Her hand came to a rest at the juncture of his neck and shoulder; her jaw was askew, teeth biting into her lip as she fought back the voice that claimed all of this would not have happened, had she not dragged him into her problems.
"I don't," she finally offered, feeling less with each moment that it was a lie. "I just want you to be healthy, because I want you with me for a very long time. I plan on keeping you, marrying you and fucking you for as long as I can. And you need a good night's sleep if you're going to manage all of that." She felt bolder with each statement, more assured of her place in their relationship and in the moment. "I'm glad you're at least going to think about it. Maybe this was a one off, but I'm pretty sure you're going to traumatize Hanni if you keep waking up screaming," she added, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled, and even managed a small laugh thanks to her. He leaned forward, taking her bitten lip between his teeth and sucking at its fullness. His hand fitted to her jawline, his fingers trailing light figures at the soft place beneath her ear. "I'm sorry, Hanni," he called, though his eyes remained on Isobel all the while. "I don't mean to traumatize anyone. I will absolutely do better in the future."
Isobel grinned widely in response, a small groan pulled free from his teasing. Her hands reached up to cup his face in turn, pressing her mouth in full to his. Between the fright he'd given her earlier and their brief discussion about how to deal with it, she was more than willing for reassurance of a more physical nature; one leg was already thrown gently over his hips, and she pushed her body up to sitting over his lower belly. She reached up and pulled the men's large, white shirt over her head, revealing nothing underneath, but didn't immediately throw the shirt away. She held it in her hands, stretched between the grip of each.
"I...wanna try something." She chewed the side of her mouth, mustering up the courage to ask. "I wanna blindfold you. Just for fun, and I promise I'm not going to do anything weird. You trust me, right?"
He had gone still beneath her; now he watched her hands, and her face, as though waiting for her to let him in on this joke. Slowly something in her posture or her expression, perhaps, clued him in, and he realized she was not having a laugh at his expense. "Yeah," he said. 'Yeah, I trust you." His hands fitted to her thighs, circling them with uncharacteristic hesitation. He drew a deep breath; her body rose subtly on his with the motion. He raised his head from the pillow, just enough to let her hands move as she wanted. "Go on."
She hadn't been certain that he'd be willing; her suggestion seemed to go against his personality, but then she thought back to their first night together when she'd had him on his knees before her and how it had stoked a white hot flame within her that she'd never felt before. Keeping her hands steady, she wrapped the shirt around his face, covering his eyes. Making a loose knot behind his head, she made sure it wasn't uncomfortable, and then took his hands from around her waist and pressed them back to the headboard.
"No touching," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Not unless I say so." She paused for a beat, tracing her fingertips down his wrists, his arms, his shoulders and down to his chest. "Is that understood?"
There was a brief pause as he searched for the proper answer; it was clear he was in unfamiliar territory, his body taut beneath hers, his voice uncertain when he spoke. Then: "Yes." His hands pressed to the headboard, tucking neatly underneath it, as though to remind himself of her missive. His head tipped back, but he could see nothing beneath the thick line of her borrowed shirt. He waited, tense and hungry in a way he had not anticipated. All thought of the nightmare was gone, and only she and the darkness remained.
Isobel waited a moment, scooting further down his form until the gentle warmth of her groin hovered just over his pelvis. She brought her mouth to his neck, kisses distributed between nips of her teeth along his flesh outlined a clear path to his clavicle and beyond. She moved down his chest, moving slowly and carefully, as though there was not an inch of him that she would leave untouched by her tongue. Her nails traced the outline of his ribcage, plucking over each bone beneath his skin as it was presented to her due to his overstretched arms. She paused over one nipple, pulling it into her mouth and teasing the areola with her tongue.
He sucked in a sharp breath. His nipple pebbled beneath her mouth; a chill crawled down his spine. His fingers curled against the bottom of the headboard, forcing him to stillness in spite of her touch. His adam's apple twitched as he swallowed hard, but still he said nothing. Then his hips raised, though only slightly, seeking her out.
She applied a light slap to his hip, her mouth raising just slightly from his chest. Her hot breath played over his still-wet nipple. "Down, boy," she teased, then pressed herself down harder over his hardening member to drive the point home. "I said no touching, unless I said so, didn't I?"
He wasn't sure what to say, and so he said nothing. His teeth sank into his lower lip, ensuring his silence, at least for a time. He went still beneath her once more. He felt the heat of her on his stirring length, and fought back a low groan of want. His nails dug into the headboard, but he dared no other motion.
Isobel raked another hand across his chest, nails gently scouring his flesh as a different idea presented itself. Lifting her body from his, she moved away from him completely as though abandoning him when her presence was more than felt at his side.
"I could give you a taste, if that's what you want. Is that what you want?"
He answered without hesitation. "Yes." His hips shifted on the bed, his arousal now plain, and painfully untended. It surprised him how much he wanted this, how deeply it spoke to him. Still, it took a great act of will to keep from reaching out to her. Again his teeth pressed shallow marks into his lip; he hesitated now, though not for long. "Please."
A pleased smile curved her lips, small but burgeoning, and she felt in no mood to deny. She slipped back over him, scooting up by slow inches until her mound was hovering just above his mouth. One hand traced the outline of his face, fingers sliding under his jaw to tilt the lips and tongue she could remember touching her there, eliciting a deeper pleasure than she'd ever known, up, inviting him again.
"Just your mouth," she cautioned, half expecting him to reach out with grasping hands for her hips and legs and thighs. As much as she wanted that, for him to touch her, her desire to explore this tenuous control she had over him was more demanding.
His nails dug into the headboard above him, but he obeyed. He breathed her in, exhaling on a shaky sigh, and pressed his mouth to her. He traced every line of flesh, outlining her body with gentle kisses and soft flicks of his tongue. He made no effort to hold back his soft moan when he delved his tongue into her, when her body parted softly around him. His cock twitched, a motion of his hips soon following, but still he did not touch her. He turned his head, and his teeth skimmed over her clit, a gentle, teasing scratch too light to cause any real pain. Isobel gasped, drawing away from him for a moment like a plant touched too brusquely by a curious finger. Then she sat down gently on him again, her legs spread a little wider this time. She moved one hand to alight carefully on his chest, holding herself up as she looked down to watch him, the sounds and moans from her throat just as much of an encouragement to his touches as her close form.
The flat of his tongue dragged over her slit, lapping at wet flesh, coaxing more slickness from her. He moaned happily, then caught himself, sucking in a cold breath over her skin as he listened for her next blissful sounds. His tongue thrust into her and stayed there, his mouth working over her, kissing her deeply, and with unmistakable hunger. His hands loosened; with every movement of his mouth between her legs, he found still more pleasure in this servitude. He ached to touch her, but strangely, denial -- for now -- felt nearly as good.
Isobel tipped forward, the warm sensations rippling from her pelvis making her hips move of their own accord, grinding down onto Obed's face. She tried to hold herself back to keep from suffocating him, afraid that she might go too far, but her hands moved to support her from the headboard as she towered over Obed's prone form. "Fuck, yes," she moaned, her voice repeating the words over and over along with his name, eventually her body's desire overriding her other worries as she pressed down on top of him.
His moan was a low, soft vibration that rumbled through her skin. He tried to quiet himself, to hear every syllable that fell from her lips, but his own pleasure overtook him. He gasped as she pressed down on him, gave a plaintive little cry as her hips rolled against him. He opened his mouth on her, his tongue thrusting again and again, drinking deeply of every fresh pulse of slick heat. She felt heat pooling in the pit of her stomach, the intense feeling that wiped out any other thought in her mind.
"Don't...don't be quiet," she mumbled, wanting everything from him that she could have. His body, his voice, his mind, all at her command. "Oh god, and don't stop." She forced herself to push her hips up a faint inch, even less, giving him space and air in which to work. Nails drew down across the headboard, her body so close to orgasm that she could taste blood on her tongue from overeager teeth.
He would have given much to watch her, then, to study her face as she trembled above him. But he squeezed his eyes shut behind the mask she had made, and groaned anew as he thrust his tongue up into her. He leaned up from the pillow, closing the distance between them, his head turning again as he kissed her splayed form. Warmth spilled over from her pelvis throughout her thighs and the rest of her form, pulling a long, low moan from Isobel's throat as Obed's work came to fruition. She pressed down harder on his face for a moment, lost in her own ecstasy, before she remembered who she was sitting on. An apology rose to her lips, but she bit it back to instead slide her southern regions away from his face. Her hips centered over his, hands pushing the blindfold up and away from his eyes.
"Are...are you alright? God, that was amazing," she panted, trying to focus on his wellbeing instead of her pleasure. She could feel his hard member against her leg, his whole form beneath her warm and firm and familiar.
He blinked into the dim light, his gaze moving at once to hers. He drew a shuddering breath. "Yes," he said. He lowered his arms from the headboard; every motion was halting and unsure, but he touched her all the same. His hips did not shift in the slightest, though he was painfully aware of his arousal pressed between them. The pads of his thumbs trailed over her thighs. "I…" He chuckled, abashed. "I enjoyed that."
"I can tell," she replied, her voice think as she snuggled down closer to him, laying her body flat along his. His hard member moved from pushing against the side of her leg to her inner thigh. "I did, too. I don't know where that idea came from; I've never done anything like it before. You're not...embarrassed, are you? We don't have to do it again." Her words turned on the edge of but I'd like to, though she kept that sentiment from the open air. Instead, she pressed kisses alongside his jaw, a familiar ache between her legs wanting more than just what his tongue could stir in her. "I guess I...I just wanted to distract you. I love you, I want you to feel safe here. In our home, with me."
"No, I do. I do. It…" He drew a deep breath. His hips rolled beneath her, shifting his insistent erection against her leg. It was not a plea, only an unconscious seeking of her body, of the comfort she continued to provide. "It helped. I've read before that it could, but… I've never done that. Never considered it."
His tongue traced his lips, still slick with her. "It's an adjustment, I think. But I like it."
Isobel pushed herself up with one arm to look at him full in the face, her curiosity piqued; she had to nearly bite her lip to keep from laughing.
"You read about it? Was this a prescribed, I dunno, form of therapy from your doctor?"
He laughed, shaking his head. Color dusted his cheeks, though thankfully, it faded quickly. "Not exactly," he said. "But I've had it recommended in passing, heard others talk about it… you know how I am. I got curious. Never enough to act on it, but..."
"Well, I am always happy to help you try out things that'll help you." She adjusted herself, bringing her still-warm slit closer to his hard member; she was nearly lying entirely on top of him now. "What do you think your doctor would say about a more traditional form of medicine?" One hand stroked through his hair, her nails raking his scalp gently.
"No idea." His hands moved up her body, fitted to her sides to trace every curve. He cupped her breasts, the pads of his thumbs passing over her peaked nipples. "But I'm fairly sure it would be very effective." He pulled her down even as he leaned up to her, teeth and tongue finding the hollow at the base of her throat. She moaned, her neck stretching out to give him every inch of access that he sought. She didn't want to move away from him, but her mind refused to let go of the niggling thought that their stock of condoms was in the nightstand next to the bed. After a minute of inner turmoil, she finally pulled away from him long enough to grab one of the silicone rubbers in the drawer and then came right back to where she'd been sitting.
"I'd say take two and call me in the morning, but I think one will be enough to put you back to sleep. What'd'you think?" Her hands pulled the opened condom over his cock, anticipation lighting up her face. Without waiting for his response, she shifted just over his hard member and slid herself down over him, sheathing him to the hilt with a small, pleased moan.
His back arched as he echoed her soft cry. His hips lifted beneath her, moving him deep within the tight circle of her body. His arms slid low around her back; his mouth stayed firmly at her throat. With lips and tongue he tracked every sound she made, feeling each little vibration against his open mouth. He moved again, pushing himself to sit, his sweat-damp back leaning against the headboard. He rolled his hips against her, his mouth moving to the line of her jaw as she rode him.
Her hands gripped his waist, her neck still held taut for his perusal. Isobel let her eyes close as her hips gyrated over him, one hand coming loose from its moorings to slide up his side and around to his back. She turned her head enough to bring her mouth to his, catching his lips with her own in a rough, quick motion. Her tongue tested the seam of his lips. Pressing down harder with each thrust, she brought both hands from his torso to his face, cupping him as her thumbs traced over his cheekbones.
Obed opened his mouth to her, sighing softly as he did. His fingers splayed, his palms fitted to her as they slid down her back to cup her backside. He dug his fingertips into her, clutching her tight enough to raise subtle bruises on soft skin. His tongue pushed over hers as his body pushed into her, both possessive and hungry. The orgasm long denied him was rapidly rising to the fore. His hips bucked harder against her; his grip tightened and pulled her down on him. Her own was quick on the heels of his, dark warmth swirling through her groin and abdomen as she clutched his face tightly. Her cries eked into his mouth, nails digging crescents into his skin. Once the quiet storm passed between them, her arms encircled his neck as she pressed her face to the side of his for a count of five long breaths.
Then she pulled back, unseating herself but remaining close. He shifted only so far from her as his dealing with the used condom required; unwilling to move any farther, he simply tossed it into the nearby wastebasket.
"I hope that helps you sleep better," she said, delirious and tired all at once as she folded into his form, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. He mumbled an answer, pulling her down with him as he settled back into the soft sheets below. He was asleep almost at once, his quiet breathing evening out, steadying as he sank into the pillow.