He puts all his power in this simple, almost casual question. Elias could be annoyed at this act of defiance, but he loves the game too much. The need to answer him sparkles in his whole body, concentrates on his eager tongue. He has to suppress a moan. Jon has an idea of what it does to him, doesn’t he, channeling the power of their god to invade his mind? Can he be that oblivious, when Elias was so clear about it?
Lots of things, he thinks, but right now I want to fuck you against my desk. He refrains from saying it. He’d like to see Jon’s reaction, but his Archivist is so strong now. Elias is not sure he could stop there if he actually started talking.
He waits. Doesn’t answer. Smiles. Shows him who is in control here. Waits for the urge to speak to lessen enough. Looks at Jon’s lips, concentrates on how much he’d like to silence them with a kiss. The want is almost as strong, and the balance between the two actually helps.
“Didn’t you send for me? Why?” Jon asks, frustrated and awkward, flinching under the weight of his gaze. Elias can breathe again. This question is easy.
“I did,” he confirms. “I wanted to talk to you. About religious matters.”
“Did your god ask you for something from me? Usually it’s more direct about it. Making me feel ill if I don’t read enough statements, and treating me like an errand boy in general, if I want to live.”
“Jon, this attitude is exactly the problem. You’re serving well, no one is doubting that. But you lack respect. You don’t offer worship. It’s not the same.”
“And why would it care? I thought we were like ants to these Powers.”
“Ordinary humans certainly are, maybe even your little assistants. It’s different for you and me.”
Jon winces, clearly not taking that as a compliment.
“You should apologize, you know.”
“Oh. Of course. And how do I do this? Do I need to say by the way, I’m sorry I wasn’t more polite to you, if you had informed me of your existence I would have made more effort at the end of every statement?”
Elias would say this is only making things worse, but where Jon stands, he doubts it makes a difference. It’s probably him getting offended, only half at the Beholding’s behalf.
“You will do it. If you want knowledge, and with it power - power to protect people, because it’s unfortunately what you wish for right now - you need to worship our God,” he says. “I will show you.”
It’s not a request, never an order, it’s a calm certitude. Jon looks at him, wants to contradict him. He can’t. Elias doesn’t even need to put in his head the knowledge that he’s not lying. Jon can feel it.
“Just don’t make me waste my time,” he says, rolling his eyes, but it’s a mark of defeat, of acceptance. He follows Elias through a door he never saw open.
The walls are covered in eyes, engraved, painted, irises of every colour. It sings in Elias’ mind, being watched with such intensity, being pried open, every inch of his body, mind and soul opened to his God.
He looks at Jon. His Archivist looks, if not exactly humbled, impressed and wary. He feels the power here, without a question. Curious too, wanting to know more, to see what happens next. And even as he feels, he questions and analyzes his own feelings, puts them in words, for a future statement maybe.
He’s perfect.
Elias leads him to a polished stone altar, marked with eyes too, asks him to lay down on it, to remove his vest and shirt.
“Can I at least ask why?” Jon asks.
“Of course you can.” Elias touches Jon’s chest gently. His heart is beating very fast. And his skin is incredibly soft. Nikola’s mark, but it will fade easier than Jane Prentiss’ marks or Jude Perry’s burn, and Elias is the one enjoying it now. “It’s even very appropriate. But don’t wait for any easy answers.”
“What will you do to me?” Jon asks, using the full strength of the compulsion again. Elias shudders.
“I will mark you,” he answers. “You’re wearing too many physical marks of other Gods. You need to show who you belong to.” It would be delightful to say, these words of domination and ownership, even if the compulsion wasn’t making his whole body shiver in pleasure. And Jon’s look of fear adds even more to it.
“Does your Master…”
Elias slaps him. Jon stops midsentence, out of surprise more than pain.
“You’re in a place of worship. You will tell the truth as you know it. Not as you want it to be.”
Jon sighs deeply as he touches his burning cheek. “Does our Master want pain? It doesn’t seem the type. By the way, that applies to you slapping me too.” His voice is very defiant and angry again, with a hint of contempt, but still pressing for an answer.
“It wants sacrifice,” Elias answers eagerly. He’s stronger in this place, but Jon is too. “You already gave It your safety, so many of your thoughts, so many hours of sleep. It always wants more.” It’s been many years since Elias slept, but he no longer needs to. “And I slapped you because you have so much potential, and it’s time to stop pretending to be an ordinary human, with me at least. Or even pretending that you want to. Also, because you’re so tempting…”
Elias didn’t intend to say this last part. He manages to stop himself. He half-hopes, though, that Jon will ask more about his burning lust, will feel curious about it. Every defiant glare and angry question only makes Elias want him more, and part of him wants to confess.
He’s allowed that. It’s a human urge, but Jon is his Archivist, and directed at him it becomes all mixed up with the worship, both the urges kindling each other. He never wanted any person or any piece of knowledge more.
Jon doesn’t ask, even when Elias takes hold of the knife.
Elias makes it short, carving a simple eye picture in Jon’s torso, his hand skilled, used to this. It’s not about the time it takes or even the pain. It’s about the willingness, and the scar. Jon doesn’t scream or protest. He doesn’t close his eyes either, following Elias’ hands.
The cuts are not deep, but it still bleeds noticeably. Elias covers the wound with the palm of his hand, and the eye shape inscribes itself there, in Jon’s blood. It won’t be smudged or erased, not while he’s in this room.
“Is there… is there more?” Jon asks in a strained voice.
“First I will put some salve on your wound. It will heal fast, but you can’t be too careful. You’ve been brave, Jon.”
He does as he says, puts a bandage on it. Instantly the blood gets through it, draws the eye again. Jon is uncharacteristically pliant, and Elias knows the ritual has been taking him in, digging inside his mind. He pleased his God, and he felt it. And he probably still doesn’t admit that he loved it. That it felt right. But it will come, with time.
“Is there more?” Jon insists. And Elias kisses him. Jon asked. It’s brief, and before Jon wants to protest, to stop him, it has already ended.
“What about you show It how grateful you are to me?” he asks. “How well we work together ?”
“You’re just a pervert, actually.”
Elias strokes Jon’s cheek. “Ask your question. I know you want to.”
“Is it really for y… for our God’s eye?” Jon asks. “Or do you just want to fuck me?” His voice is now assured, commanding, and he looks at Elias with an intensity that pierces his soul. For the first time, Elias really sees the dangers of giving Jon more power. He wants to tell him the truth, the whole truth, even more than before, and he wants Jon to surrender to it, to accept it…
Not yet.
“I do want you for myself, more than you can imagine,” he confesses, still caressing Jon’s cheek, descending on his neck. “You’re everything I wish for and more. But yes, it would please our Master, to see us... bonding. Creating new dark secrets out of weakness and need.”
Jon recoils at the thought. It’s a bit hurtful actually.
Elias can easily search for each of his employees’ most secret fantasies, and he would take advantage of this without hesitation, taunt and seduce and offer Jon anything he loved or shamefully wished for, if only Jon had any kind of sexual desires.
Here he will have to resort to other, more advanced methods. He prepared for this moment.
“I will show you,” he says again, in a soft, seductive voice.
Those are dozens of ritual sex accounts for the Eye, memories and images, accounts and feelings, desires and fears, some of them from before the Institute, and he puts them all at once in Jon’s unprepared and unexperienced mind.
It does what the cuts didn’t. Jon screams and writhes on the altar stone, in shock and pleasure.
It’s so easy for Elias to take him by the shoulders, to get their faces close. When he kisses Jon again, his delightful Archivist kisses back, frenzied with a lust that is not his.
“What did you do?” he asks weakly. He doesn’t resist when Elias has him sitting on the altar, moans when he puts a firm hand on his thigh.
“You did ask a question. You doubted my answer. I offered proof.” He opens Jon’s trousers, finds him fully hard. He strokes his cock very softly - he wants this to last.
“Please, Elias…”
He doesn’t know how to beg very well. Elias intends to teach him. Not with an easy shortcut this time - the slow, long way.
“Remove your trousers first.” And Jon does, wanting this more than he wants to rebel.
Elias puts some more of the salve on his fingers, spreads Jon’s legs, circles his entrance. “It will be good,” he promises.
He opens him slowly, and Jon clings to his neck, trembling, moaning sometimes.
“You know what’s going to happen,” Elias murmurs with satisfaction.
“I would know even if you hadn’t put these things in my mind! How stupid do you think I am?” But even as he tries to defy Elias, his trembling body seeks his touch.
“Ask me to do it.”
“Stop this and fuck me anyway. You want it, you made me want it, and I admit you were right. Our Master wants it too. Oh fuck, you planned all of this.”
Maybe it’s a question, but it’s too weak to have any effect.
It’s hard for Elias to make him wait. But he wants more from this time. It’s the first, maybe the last if it backfires on him. He just opens his own trousers, lets Jon see his hard cock.
“Once more, nicely this time.” He gently kisses Jon’s neck.
Jon gives a frustrated moan. “Please?”
And Elias enters him. It’s hot and tight and Jon is moaning in pleasure, exactly like Elias imagined it, wanted it. He starts thrusting slowly, taking one of Jon’s legs over his shoulder, forcing him to lie down. He’s got control, he will make Jon his, and the Beholding is looking at them, giving this moment of triumph an additional exaltation.
And then Jon asks, between gritted teeth. “How many times have you wanted me before… without being able to have me… tell me about them.”
Elias tries to resist, he really tries this time. But he’s lost in his pleasure, and he’s weak, so weak, to something that will give him so much more of it.
He realizes he lost only when he hears his own voice remind Jon of their first job interview, of how he read into his soul almost on a whim, how he saw the depth of his thirst for knowledge and was drawn in, already wanting to undress him slowly, to kiss him hard, to be known for what he is.
And it only makes him more aroused, more frantic, as he tells Jon of every day he had dirty and shameless fantasies about him. He should hate it, confess how desperate he was, as the power balance shifts under the countless eyes of his God's, but the delight of answering the compulsion, the way he reminds himself how much and how long he has wanted this, only adds to his ecstasy. Soon he’s no longer sure whether he can’t stop himself, or just doesn’t want to.
His movements become faster, erratic, as he gets close to his orgasm. He grips Jon’s cock, gives it some wide strokes, and manages to make him come on his own stomach, in long, white streaks of semen. He wishes they could leave a mark too. Then he lets himself come at last, and he hasn’t finished talking.
He tucks himself back in his trousers. He helps Jon to get up - the hard polished stone was not tender on his back. He kisses him on the mouth, softly, shortly too, because he’s still confessing his most depraved desires and it never stops being too good to resist. Even when Jon has put back his clothes, even when he just listens to him without a word, looks at him with a severe face.
Only when he stops does he realize how fully he lost this battle for power, how deep was his humiliation in front of their God - and with it his awe of Jon only grows. He doesn’t regret a thing when they get back to his office. Not really.
“Did you like listening to all this?” Elias asks. Jon only mumbles, doesn’t even give him an answer. He seems confused and scared, not even appreciating his temporary victory.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” Elias says again. “I will hear it in your official statement.” He relishes the way Jon looks at him with horror. “Of course you know. You felt your Master’s presence, you worshipped It. This can’t go undocumented. You can keep it secret from your assistants, you can even pretend you’re hiding it from me. If it makes it easier for you. But you will record it.”
He exults, when Jon doesn’t even try to pretend he won’t.
Fill: Elias/Jon/Beholding, Ritual Sex
He puts all his power in this simple, almost casual question. Elias could be annoyed at this act of defiance, but he loves the game too much. The need to answer him sparkles in his whole body, concentrates on his eager tongue. He has to suppress a moan. Jon has an idea of what it does to him, doesn’t he, channeling the power of their god to invade his mind? Can he be that oblivious, when Elias was so clear about it?
Lots of things, he thinks, but right now I want to fuck you against my desk. He refrains from saying it. He’d like to see Jon’s reaction, but his Archivist is so strong now. Elias is not sure he could stop there if he actually started talking.
He waits. Doesn’t answer. Smiles. Shows him who is in control here. Waits for the urge to speak to lessen enough. Looks at Jon’s lips, concentrates on how much he’d like to silence them with a kiss. The want is almost as strong, and the balance between the two actually helps.
“Didn’t you send for me? Why?” Jon asks, frustrated and awkward, flinching under the weight of his gaze. Elias can breathe again. This question is easy.
“I did,” he confirms. “I wanted to talk to you. About religious matters.”
“Did your god ask you for something from me? Usually it’s more direct about it. Making me feel ill if I don’t read enough statements, and treating me like an errand boy in general, if I want to live.”
“Jon, this attitude is exactly the problem. You’re serving well, no one is doubting that. But you lack respect. You don’t offer worship. It’s not the same.”
“And why would it care? I thought we were like ants to these Powers.”
“Ordinary humans certainly are, maybe even your little assistants. It’s different for you and me.”
Jon winces, clearly not taking that as a compliment.
“You should apologize, you know.”
“Oh. Of course. And how do I do this? Do I need to say by the way, I’m sorry I wasn’t more polite to you, if you had informed me of your existence I would have made more effort at the end of every statement?”
Elias would say this is only making things worse, but where Jon stands, he doubts it makes a difference. It’s probably him getting offended, only half at the Beholding’s behalf.
“You will do it. If you want knowledge, and with it power - power to protect people, because it’s unfortunately what you wish for right now - you need to worship our God,” he says. “I will show you.”
It’s not a request, never an order, it’s a calm certitude. Jon looks at him, wants to contradict him. He can’t. Elias doesn’t even need to put in his head the knowledge that he’s not lying. Jon can feel it.
“Just don’t make me waste my time,” he says, rolling his eyes, but it’s a mark of defeat, of acceptance. He follows Elias through a door he never saw open.
The walls are covered in eyes, engraved, painted, irises of every colour. It sings in Elias’ mind, being watched with such intensity, being pried open, every inch of his body, mind and soul opened to his God.
He looks at Jon. His Archivist looks, if not exactly humbled, impressed and wary. He feels the power here, without a question. Curious too, wanting to know more, to see what happens next. And even as he feels, he questions and analyzes his own feelings, puts them in words, for a future statement maybe.
He’s perfect.
Elias leads him to a polished stone altar, marked with eyes too, asks him to lay down on it, to remove his vest and shirt.
“Can I at least ask why?” Jon asks.
“Of course you can.” Elias touches Jon’s chest gently. His heart is beating very fast. And his skin is incredibly soft. Nikola’s mark, but it will fade easier than Jane Prentiss’ marks or Jude Perry’s burn, and Elias is the one enjoying it now. “It’s even very appropriate. But don’t wait for any easy answers.”
“What will you do to me?” Jon asks, using the full strength of the compulsion again. Elias shudders.
“I will mark you,” he answers. “You’re wearing too many physical marks of other Gods. You need to show who you belong to.” It would be delightful to say, these words of domination and ownership, even if the compulsion wasn’t making his whole body shiver in pleasure. And Jon’s look of fear adds even more to it.
“Does your Master…”
Elias slaps him. Jon stops midsentence, out of surprise more than pain.
“You’re in a place of worship. You will tell the truth as you know it. Not as you want it to be.”
Jon sighs deeply as he touches his burning cheek. “Does our Master want pain? It doesn’t seem the type. By the way, that applies to you slapping me too.” His voice is very defiant and angry again, with a hint of contempt, but still pressing for an answer.
“It wants sacrifice,” Elias answers eagerly. He’s stronger in this place, but Jon is too. “You already gave It your safety, so many of your thoughts, so many hours of sleep. It always wants more.” It’s been many years since Elias slept, but he no longer needs to. “And I slapped you because you have so much potential, and it’s time to stop pretending to be an ordinary human, with me at least. Or even pretending that you want to. Also, because you’re so tempting…”
Elias didn’t intend to say this last part. He manages to stop himself. He half-hopes, though, that Jon will ask more about his burning lust, will feel curious about it. Every defiant glare and angry question only makes Elias want him more, and part of him wants to confess.
He’s allowed that. It’s a human urge, but Jon is his Archivist, and directed at him it becomes all mixed up with the worship, both the urges kindling each other. He never wanted any person or any piece of knowledge more.
Jon doesn’t ask, even when Elias takes hold of the knife.
Elias makes it short, carving a simple eye picture in Jon’s torso, his hand skilled, used to this. It’s not about the time it takes or even the pain. It’s about the willingness, and the scar. Jon doesn’t scream or protest. He doesn’t close his eyes either, following Elias’ hands.
The cuts are not deep, but it still bleeds noticeably. Elias covers the wound with the palm of his hand, and the eye shape inscribes itself there, in Jon’s blood. It won’t be smudged or erased, not while he’s in this room.
“Is there… is there more?” Jon asks in a strained voice.
“First I will put some salve on your wound. It will heal fast, but you can’t be too careful. You’ve been brave, Jon.”
He does as he says, puts a bandage on it. Instantly the blood gets through it, draws the eye again. Jon is uncharacteristically pliant, and Elias knows the ritual has been taking him in, digging inside his mind. He pleased his God, and he felt it. And he probably still doesn’t admit that he loved it. That it felt right. But it will come, with time.
“Is there more?” Jon insists. And Elias kisses him. Jon asked. It’s brief, and before Jon wants to protest, to stop him, it has already ended.
“What about you show It how grateful you are to me?” he asks. “How well we work together ?”
“You’re just a pervert, actually.”
Elias strokes Jon’s cheek. “Ask your question. I know you want to.”
“Is it really for y… for our God’s eye?” Jon asks. “Or do you just want to fuck me?” His voice is now assured, commanding, and he looks at Elias with an intensity that pierces his soul. For the first time, Elias really sees the dangers of giving Jon more power. He wants to tell him the truth, the whole truth, even more than before, and he wants Jon to surrender to it, to accept it…
Not yet.
“I do want you for myself, more than you can imagine,” he confesses, still caressing Jon’s cheek, descending on his neck. “You’re everything I wish for and more. But yes, it would please our Master, to see us... bonding. Creating new dark secrets out of weakness and need.”
Jon recoils at the thought. It’s a bit hurtful actually.
Elias can easily search for each of his employees’ most secret fantasies, and he would take advantage of this without hesitation, taunt and seduce and offer Jon anything he loved or shamefully wished for, if only Jon had any kind of sexual desires.
Here he will have to resort to other, more advanced methods. He prepared for this moment.
“I will show you,” he says again, in a soft, seductive voice.
Those are dozens of ritual sex accounts for the Eye, memories and images, accounts and feelings, desires and fears, some of them from before the Institute, and he puts them all at once in Jon’s unprepared and unexperienced mind.
It does what the cuts didn’t. Jon screams and writhes on the altar stone, in shock and pleasure.
It’s so easy for Elias to take him by the shoulders, to get their faces close. When he kisses Jon again, his delightful Archivist kisses back, frenzied with a lust that is not his.
“What did you do?” he asks weakly. He doesn’t resist when Elias has him sitting on the altar, moans when he puts a firm hand on his thigh.
“You did ask a question. You doubted my answer. I offered proof.” He opens Jon’s trousers, finds him fully hard. He strokes his cock very softly - he wants this to last.
“Please, Elias…”
He doesn’t know how to beg very well. Elias intends to teach him. Not with an easy shortcut this time - the slow, long way.
“Remove your trousers first.” And Jon does, wanting this more than he wants to rebel.
Elias puts some more of the salve on his fingers, spreads Jon’s legs, circles his entrance. “It will be good,” he promises.
He opens him slowly, and Jon clings to his neck, trembling, moaning sometimes.
“You know what’s going to happen,” Elias murmurs with satisfaction.
“I would know even if you hadn’t put these things in my mind! How stupid do you think I am?” But even as he tries to defy Elias, his trembling body seeks his touch.
“Ask me to do it.”
“Stop this and fuck me anyway. You want it, you made me want it, and I admit you were right. Our Master wants it too. Oh fuck, you planned all of this.”
Maybe it’s a question, but it’s too weak to have any effect.
It’s hard for Elias to make him wait. But he wants more from this time. It’s the first, maybe the last if it backfires on him. He just opens his own trousers, lets Jon see his hard cock.
“Once more, nicely this time.” He gently kisses Jon’s neck.
Jon gives a frustrated moan. “Please?”
And Elias enters him. It’s hot and tight and Jon is moaning in pleasure, exactly like Elias imagined it, wanted it. He starts thrusting slowly, taking one of Jon’s legs over his shoulder, forcing him to lie down. He’s got control, he will make Jon his, and the Beholding is looking at them, giving this moment of triumph an additional exaltation.
And then Jon asks, between gritted teeth. “How many times have you wanted me before… without being able to have me… tell me about them.”
Elias tries to resist, he really tries this time. But he’s lost in his pleasure, and he’s weak, so weak, to something that will give him so much more of it.
He realizes he lost only when he hears his own voice remind Jon of their first job interview, of how he read into his soul almost on a whim, how he saw the depth of his thirst for knowledge and was drawn in, already wanting to undress him slowly, to kiss him hard, to be known for what he is.
And it only makes him more aroused, more frantic, as he tells Jon of every day he had dirty and shameless fantasies about him. He should hate it, confess how desperate he was, as the power balance shifts under the countless eyes of his God's, but the delight of answering the compulsion, the way he reminds himself how much and how long he has wanted this, only adds to his ecstasy. Soon he’s no longer sure whether he can’t stop himself, or just doesn’t want to.
His movements become faster, erratic, as he gets close to his orgasm. He grips Jon’s cock, gives it some wide strokes, and manages to make him come on his own stomach, in long, white streaks of semen. He wishes they could leave a mark too. Then he lets himself come at last, and he hasn’t finished talking.
He tucks himself back in his trousers. He helps Jon to get up - the hard polished stone was not tender on his back. He kisses him on the mouth, softly, shortly too, because he’s still confessing his most depraved desires and it never stops being too good to resist. Even when Jon has put back his clothes, even when he just listens to him without a word, looks at him with a severe face.
Only when he stops does he realize how fully he lost this battle for power, how deep was his humiliation in front of their God - and with it his awe of Jon only grows. He doesn’t regret a thing when they get back to his office. Not really.
“Did you like listening to all this?” Elias asks. Jon only mumbles, doesn’t even give him an answer. He seems confused and scared, not even appreciating his temporary victory.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” Elias says again. “I will hear it in your official statement.” He relishes the way Jon looks at him with horror. “Of course you know. You felt your Master’s presence, you worshipped It. This can’t go undocumented. You can keep it secret from your assistants, you can even pretend you’re hiding it from me. If it makes it easier for you. But you will record it.”
He exults, when Jon doesn’t even try to pretend he won’t.