Abel Parrish + Fenrir (devourer) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-04-17 10:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | coyote, fenrir, freyr |
we are like predators in a maze
Who: Rafe & Abel, small appearance by Chris.
What: Abel comes upon Rafe on the first floor and they get to talking.
Where: Pax, first floor.
When: Monday, April 17.
Notes: Gdoc, complete.
Rating: NC-17, trigger warning for rape and torture, drug transaction.
Sunday had held the same surprise for him as it had for everyone else; Abel, however, did not find himself distressed by this turn of events. A floor that turned into grass and sunshine during the day, and then starlight and campfires during the night, was hardly the worst of what could have happened. It was bizarre, without a doubt, but he'd spent some time exploring the rest of the building that weekend, finding new surprises on each level.
Now -- once it was clear there would be no departure from the building for however long -- he found himself on the first floor, examining one of the marble altars. He selected a small slice of what looked like a peach, sniffed it, and then popped it into his mouth to find it was, indeed, the presumed piece of fruit. Nothing on the table looked rotten, though he wondered what it was for. He had never been outside of the country, but the olive trees and ocean sounds gave some hints that he could not piece together.
His attention was not so rapt on the environment around him, however, that he missed the soft footfall of another. Rafael appeared soon after, shuffling out from his apartment in a daze. He had checked the network prior to leaving his apartment, had known the effects from Sunday had apparently lingered overnight, and had thought himself prepared for what waited outside. As he carefully shut his front door behind him, he realized just how wrong he had been.
A small sigh of disbelief fell from his lips. He saw Abel, but did not shirk from him, too fascinated by what surrounded them. He raised his right hand in one small, brief wave, and moved to join Abel at the altar. "I didn't believe it," he said. "This…" He reached out, plucking a handful of grapes from the marble surface. He popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, letting sweet juice roll over his tongue. Shaking his head, he looked up to Abel. "Are all the floors still changed?" he asked. "Yours too?"
Abel regarded Rafe for a moment, before allowing his head to bob in affirmation. "Every floor, if you go by the network's postings. You think they pumped gas in here, and this is all a mass hallucination?" One side of his mouth tugged up in a slightly menacing smirk, but he wasn't going to scare the little bird away too soon. "Because this seems like it's actually happening." He motioned back toward the altar.
"Hungry?"
"Not particularly," Rafael said, raising his grape-laden palm. "These will be fine for now." He bounced the little grapes on his palm. "If this is a mass hallucination, it's a really good one. I mean, these certainly taste real. I just don't know what to make of it all." He shrugged. He finished the grapes in his hand, what few of them were left. Then he looked to Abel, studying the man, unsure what to say after their unorthodox last meeting. "You don't seem very upset by all this. Even the whole… locked in… thing."
"A few enforced days off of work? I'm not going to complain. Curious to see how everyone will explain their absence, once we're let out of...all of this." Abel waved a hand around, meaning the general state of the floor. Turning back to the altar, he plucked up the already open wine bottle. He offered it to Rafe.
"Why? Are you upset?"
Rafael shrugged. He hesitated only a moment, then reached out to take the bottle, taking care not to let his hand brush over Abel's. "I have work to do," he said. "I'm not known for no-shows." He took a sip directly from the bottle. The wine was strong, its taste less subtle than he was accustomed to. But it was good enough, and the tension slowly winding through him seemed to respond well to the alcohol. He handed the bottle back to Abel, casting a brief glance back over one shoulder. "Ordinarily I'm not claustrophobic, but I'm not sure how long I want to be trapped in here."
Abel took a long pull of the wine, settling himself against the stone altar. If his actions were considered rude, he didn't show any acknowledgement that he was aware of his insult.
"At least you're away from...what was his name? Chad?" One hand swirled the bottle in the air, the other arm bending at the elbow to slide back onto the altar's surface. "He can't get in here, and you can't get out. A pretty good situation for staying away from someone you looked supremely uncomfortable with. Who is he, anyway?" He offered the bottle out to Rafe, in case the man needed some liquid encouragement to spill the proverbial beans.
This time, Rafael took the bottle at once. Even as he drank, short hairs rose along his nape, but he paid no mind to the warning. It was Chad he was concerned about, Chad who would notice and comment -- or worse, act -- upon his absenteeism. The very thought of it sent a wave of fresh anxiety coursing through him.
"Chad Anderson," he confirmed, nodding slowly. "I work with him. Not often, but… more, lately." He took another generous sip from the bottle. "He's… persistent."
"He certainly came off that way," Abel echoed in agreement. His hand reached out for the bottle, knuckles brushing Rafe's chest in the effort. "Mind if I ask what you two work on?"
"Oh. Uh…" He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with both the turn of the conversation and the fact that he had nothing with which to busy his hands. A timorous smile quirked his lips. "He's a director. Um. Porn." He held his hand out for the bottle again, unwilling to take it so brusquely as his companion had.
Abel did his best to show some surprise; he took a quick drink, then passed the bottle back to Rafe, making sure his fingers touched the other man in the passing.
"I can see how that might get uncomfortable, quickly. But a job's a job, right? What is it that he's so...persistent about?"
A visible wave of relief passed over Rafael's face. It was hardly the response he had been expecting, but he was more grateful for it than he could have put to words. "Everything," Rafael said, chuckling against the upraised lip of the bottle. After another long sip, he offered a better explanation. "There are certain people I don't want to work with. Certain rules I try to follow. He has... other ideas." Another sip. Another moment to consider the wisdom of this conversation. He fell silent again, nursing the bottle another moment before handing it back.
"Could've surprised me," Abel replied, taking the bottle back. He passed it to his other hand, using the one closest to Rafe to settle a touch on the other man's shoulder, moving along the flesh to the back of his neck. "You broke quite a few rules that other night, in the club. Or did lack of oxygen to your brain make you forget?" Fingers tightened around the back of Rafe's neck as Abel took a deep drink.
Rafael's back straightened at that forceful touch. He cut a sidelong look to Abel, though it lacked the sharpness he likely intended. "No. There's a difference between work and… play." His hands curled around the edge of the altar. No other part of him moved, remaining closer to Abel than perhaps he should have. "I have rules for both." His fingers flexed, tightening and loosening in turn as he thought. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't do anything I didn't want."
"You sure?" Abel's fingers pulsed on Rafe's nape, nails digging lightly into the skin. "I mean, if that's what you wanted, I can always give you more." He tugged Rafe toward him, until the other man's side was pressed flush to his; most of it was give on his side, but he was more than willing to slide toward this star-bright man, this one who always felt so ungodly warm. He wanted to take that light in his mouth and snuff it out with one sharp click of teeth.
His voice was a dry hiss in Rafe's ear, the sound at once both a whisper and unbearably loud. "What wouldn't you do?" His other hand was lingering around Rafe's pantline, seeking an opening beneath his shirt.
Rafe's first thought was of Gabriel, though he knew it should not have been. Only a few floors away, presumably as trapped as they were, and liable to explore the floors and find them at any moment. But Gabriel was taken now, and the intimacy they had shared was in the past. He let slip a small sigh; his attempt at shifting away from Abel only tugged downward at the laces of his board shorts, donned that morning in futile hope of a trip out to surf.
He looked to Abel, though his head moved only slightly; those nails still dug into his skin, and deep down Rafael suspected how easily they might draw blood. He tried to smile but it fell flat. "Are you asking for my safe word?" He shook his head. "This isn't a conversation I usually have in apartment complex hallways."
"We're not in a usual situation, are we?" The hand trailing around his pants moved up, pushing Rafe's shirt up to explore warm, bronzed skin. "We also didn't get very far the other night, what with you nearly passing out and all. But your apartment's down here, right? You want more privacy, just say the word."
Heady wine on an empty stomach never failed to make a bad plan sound good. Rafael could not have said why some part of him longed for that dark pleasure again; in truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He only knew that where Abel's hand passed, heat and desire quickly followed. He sank his teeth into his lower lip, praying for self control he plainly did not have. He drew a deep breath, exhaling on a lengthy sigh.
He pushed off from the altar, letting Abel's hand pass smoothly over his side, and walked to his apartment, refusing himself even the smallest of glances back. Rafael knew Abel would follow, just as he knew he wanted him to.
With some pause (and perhaps genuine surprise), Abel did follow. Once inside Rafe's apartment, the man's sanctuary, his eyes roamed over the space, eventually landing on a small fish tank with a boat nearby.
He crossed the space, feeling invasive and loving it. He'd been invited, like a vampire, and now he would never leave. Fingers reached out to toy with the boat's mast, wiggling it somewhat violently.
"Cute," he said, not looking at Rafe to see how he felt about his things being handled; there were other ways to measure reactions. "You make it?"
There was a slight furrow in Rafael's brow, a little downturn at one corner of his mouth. He did not move closer to the boat, nor to the fish tank sitting beside it. He shook his head. "April Fool's gift," he said. "I'm not really sure what it's for, but it seemed to fit there well enough." Shrugging, he padded barefoot into the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator for a bottle of water. The wine had already gone to his head; he saw no reason to invite more trouble than he already had.
"Can I ask you, Abel… why are you so interested in me? The club… Chad…" He gestured with the bottom of the bottle. "This. Why do you care?"
"Who says I care?" Abel straightened, moving away from the fishbowl and the boat back toward Rafe; he closed the distance between them quickly, uncomfortably. He took the bottle from Rafe's hands, icy condensation wetting his palms. "Does it help if I do?" One hand passed the bottle to the other, and moist fingers moved to touch Rafe's chin, cheek. "I'd think being impersonal helps on set."
"It doesn't." Rafael shied from Abel's hand. "And we're not on set." He took a small step back, just outside Abel's reach. "Maybe 'care' is the wrong word. I don't know what the right one is. But you're here, and you keep sort of… turning up. If it's just the sex, fine. Just say so. I just want to know."
"Sure, it's just the sex." It was an easy, fast response; it certainly wasn't a lie, but neither was it the whole truth. "Why, you tired of cheating on your girlfriend? She sure cheated on you easily enough."
Again Rafael shook his head. "We were never monogamous. Exclusive. Whatever you want to say. It isn't that." He chewed his lip, fully aware of how ludicrous he sounded, how weak he looked. But he owed Abel no explanation, and to most it went without saying that his work and monogamy proved a difficult combination to manage. Finding no adequate way to express his true thoughts, he simply waved them off.
"Nevermind. I just want to be clear about whatever this is. Has been." He shrugged.
Abel shrugged, moving closer, shoving Rafe up against the counter between living room and kitchen. His lean form hovered over Rafe's, hands moving without consent to the man's hips, shoving up his shirt.
"So focused on labels." Nails traced up Rafe's washboard abs. "Someone in your line of work, I'd think they'd be a little looser. Easy. I mean, you get paid to fuck. So why's it matter?" One hand moved to the ties at the front of Rafe's board shorts, pulling them loose, then ducking inside to wrap fingers around his semi-hard member. "I mean, it feels like you're into what we're doing right now. Why make it complicated?"
"It's not…" Rafael drew a slow breath. He tried to center himself, but it was difficult with his body betraying him, flesh stiffening beneath a forceful touch. Stolen wine and unasked-for hands set his head spinning, threw him even more off balance than he had been before. His throat felt dry. "It's not complicated. It's just expectations…" His eyes drifted nearly shut. Where words eluded him, touch sufficed: He filled the brief silence with warm hands wrapped around Abel's upper arms, thumbs tracing taut lines of muscle.
"What do you want from me?"
Abel was done with words. His hands moved from Rafe's pants, one settling deep into the thick mass of hair on the other man's head; he used this grip to guide Rafe away from the counter, and toward where he presumed the bedroom would be. There were few doorways in the place, and his instincts proved to be right when he found a full sized bed, neatly made. With his grip still in Rafe's hair, he moved to a nearby dresser; the top drawer had what he sought, a simple, black leather belt.
Shoving Rafe toward the bed, Abel climbed atop him to hold the other man belly-down while he made quick work of the belt around Rafe's wrists, which he tied tightly. So trapped, he let his hands move slowly down the other man's arms, nails raking at the skin much harder than before. Rafael cried out as long lines of blood erupted from that warm, taut skin, the blood just as beautiful as the man it came from. Abel was soon over the other man's hips, still holding him down; he pulled Rafe's shirt over his shoulders and face, leaving it where it fell since there was no way to properly remove it. His nose was pressed to Rafe's nape, down one shoulder, and he pressed teeth there, tasting flesh pulled between his incisors.
Hands settled nearer to Rafe's hips, promising what was to come. Beneath him Rafael trembled, anticipation and fear warring within him. Every breath through his shirt was a struggle: a relatively familiar one, of course, but made far worse by not knowing his partner's intent. Narrow rivulets of blood slid down his arms, staining the otherwise pristine white comforter. He raised his shoulder to Abel's mouth, seeking a gentler touch he knew would not come. But even that set a dark thrill through him, and he felt his body quickly and clearly respond.
"Abel, please," he tried, his voice slightly muffled through the thin cloth. "Move my shirt..."
As expected, the bite came down harder, enough to cut through flesh, leaving a clear impression of Abel's teeth. He tasted the sharp tang of blood, his tongue laving over the wound to draw out more with a rough touch. He did not deign to give Rafe his one, small request, leaving the shirt over the man's face. Instead, he moved down, crossing in a zig-zag manner to Rafe's other side and biting down just as hard again, making more holes where none should have been.
The first new bite pulled a sharp yelp of pain from its victim. The rest he was almost ready for; he pressed his face into the bed, his open mouth pressing to thin shirt and thicker fabric beneath to silence himself. He could not, however, still the tremors in his shoulders, or the shaking of his legs where his knees met the bed. He swore under his breath, too low for Abel to hear. Again he wished he had slowed down, had forced Abel into accepting some set of established rules and behaviors; but he knew, on some level, that even a clear agreement would have been utterly meaningless to him.
Rafe's hands flexed in their bonds. His fingers stretched out, pressing at Abel's stomach, half-heartedly pushing him away.
It did little good. Abel continued on his path down Rafe's back, tearing the other man's flesh almost as effectively as a cat-o-nine tails. Beneath the blood and bite marks, Rafe's skin was flushed red from commingled pain, lust, and no small amount of shame. Fingers hooked into Rafe's board shorts to reveal the coup de grace, dragging the thin cloth down to Rafe's knees while Abel's mouth lingered over a third bite. It had been too long since he'd allowed himself this kind of release. Hands went to his pants, undoing his fly to free his hard arousal. He tongued the latest bite mark he'd left on Rafe's back, then slowly rose to sitting on his knees. He shoved Rafe into position, his ass ready in the air.
"I've seen the videos you've got online," he said, his voice low, lust-stricken. "You like this kind of thing, which, I'm not going to complain. A little struggle makes it fun." Fingers pressed Rafe's backside wide, a thumb running over his tight entrance. Instead of giving the other man time to prepare or attempting any foreplay at all (aside from what he already considered foreplay), Abel pressed his tip to Rafe's hole and pushed.
Beneath the tangled line of his shirt, now damp with sweat and saliva, Rafael's face drew into a tight, pained grimace. A ragged groan tore from his lips, vibrating against the bed below him. His knees shifted, pressing him forward onto the mattress, as though he might somehow extricate himself and crawl away from the man above him.
He turned his cheek to the bed, for what good it did him. "Condoms," he rasped, certain he would be ignored. He cried out as Abel drove deeper, his hips rolling, body shuddering as he tried to accommodate him.
And he was; Abel pushed in, teeth gritted as he worked against Rafe's body. He jerked back, then in, shoving deeper, feeling pieces of flesh not visible tear. The sounds of Rafe's screams made his eyes roll back in his head, a hand gripping the top of Rafe's ass for stability. As blood cleared a path for him, Abel slammed into him over and over, the details of this encounter making dark pleasure coil deep in his belly. He held back, though; instead, his other hand slapped Rafe's other cheek, nails biting deep, cutting him over and over and over again.
Every thrust brought fresh agony. Rafael's bound hands had gone numb; dimly he wished the the rest of him had as well. Screams dwindled to wet, racking sobs as he collapsed beneath Abel's greater weight. And still he could not but acknowledge his own damning arousal, now pinned between his belly and the damp bed. Abel had not lied: In some bizarre way he did enjoy this, though whether for himself or the evident pleasure it brought his partner, even Rafe did not know.
What portions of his body did not ache stung intensely, with all the bright pain of wounds that would bruise deeply and heal only with a great deal of time. He would lose work for this, he knew; he almost laughed aloud that such a thought even crossed his mind now, in the midst of it all. But the sound came out as another choked cry, muffled through soaking wet cloth.
The true meaning behind those sobs was lost on Abel, who had withdrawn into his own mind as his hands and thrusts continued to bruise the body beneath him. He paused for a moment, shoving Rafe's knees down to lay the man flat on the bed; his erection, any other sign that his body was responding favorably to this treatment hidden, cast aside, unwanted in this moment. He much preferred the pain, the crying, and he began to thrust anew into Rafe's buttocks, feeling his orgasm spiral in his gut. Fingers wound their way up the bloody tapestry he'd made of the man's back, pressing into burgeoning bruises that, for now, were only an angry red but would soon turn a rainbow of colors -- green, purple, yellow. He grinned, leaning his head back, eyes half closed with the view of the ceiling and what little he could see through Rafe's shaded windows.
Fresh blood spilled from each little cut, brought forth by the rough pass of his partner's hands. Rafe had lost all sense of the number and placement of his injuries; there was only pain, great and pure and sharp enough to wash away all else. He thought of nothing but this: the body above him, within him, the all-encompassing warmth of sweat and blood. His hips rolled, his hard, untended cock grinding against the sheets beneath.
Abel let his eyes slip closed, as engulfed by sensation as the man beneath him but in a far more favorable manner; his thrusts continued unabated, but after he lost count, he finally let himself go entirely. Warmth shivered through nerve endings in his form, culminating in hot cum deep inside Rafe's ass. Abel groaned, embedding himself deep inside the other man, hands placed specifically on Rafe's back for both purchase and to leave a last, fleeting reminder of what he'd done. He paused, breathing heavy from his exertions, and then slowly pulled himself back to sit on folded knees.
"Well, fuck," he finally said, surveying his handiwork. He moved enough to flip Rafe over, the man's face still covered, hands still bound, and laughed to see the man's hard erection throbbing in the air. "Wow, you are one sick little puppy, aren't you?" He passed a hand over Rafe's cock, his palm barely brushing him.
Rafael shuddered. His cock twitched, his hips lifting mindlessly to meet that teasing touch. Wet cloth fitted to his face, sucked in with every small, shallow breath. His head spun. He wriggled again, his tightly bound hands and the hard line of his own belt buckle pressing indentations into the small of his back. Even as he spoke the word, he cursed himself for doing so.
"Please."
Another half-choked laugh sprang from Abel's throat. "And all that coy shit about setting rules. What a fucking sham." He pressed his palm harder into Rafe's erection, fingers wrapping around the red, throbbing organ. "Do you like playing hard to get? Is that what does it for you?" He stroked Rafe's cock, slowly, teasingly.
Had Rafe been less flushed and bloody from their exertion, he might have blushed. As it was, he merely pressed himself toward Abel's hand, his shoulders rolling as he sought some remotely comfortable position in spite of his bonds.
"No." His voice was hoarse and raw, burned by harsh breaths and harsher cries. "Why ask? You don't care what I like."
Abel's hand stilled, the smile on his face cat like. His hand pulled back, fingers releasing their hold. "You're right," he responded, rising back from the bed. "I don't."
He made quick work of adjusting his shirt, fixing his pants, and making himself look presentable enough to allow no one to assume that anything had happened. With one last, loving look toward Rafe's tenderized form on the bed (his last thought of how many stains would be left on the comforter, maybe even the sheets), he turned and left the room, making his way slowly through the man's apartment until he left through the front door. He left it slightly open, as if inviting the next onlooker to see what he'd done.
Rafael lay there for a time, listening for the door to close. When it didn't, his blush returned; he knew well enough what his visitor had done. Constricted by his shorts around his ankles, he moved as best he could, rolling over onto his side to allow for at least some motion at his back. Long fingers slid over the belt, seeking the weakest portion of the knots Abel had made. He had left Rafe little room to work, but Rafael was practiced in such things. In short order the knot was loose, the belt removed, and his shirt pushed off his face. He tossed it to the bed and rose on unsteady feet, not looking back once at the mess they had made.