“Right you are! Further, fuuuuurther – there, that’s perfect. Comfortable, Archivist?” Nikola asks.
“Fuck off,” Jon says, tight and strained.
“Wonderful! Do try and keep in mind that it’s not your bones we need for the Dance, hmm?”
Elias wonders how he’s arranged. He pictures broad hands on Jon’s thighs, a thick body between his spread legs, pinning them back and wide, putting his Archivist on display.
“You see, Elias – oh, you don’t, you don’t See, not at all – it’s right- here-” she says, and Jon makes a soft whining noise which she soothes away. “Yes, I think you’re getting the picture, aren’t you?”
What part of him is she touching? It’s pure speculation, but Elias thinks of the tendon at the basin of his hips, at his inner thighs, Jon spread to the point of strain and Nikola’s fingers rubbing into tight, trembling connective tissue.
“Do you think his cock is hard, Elias? Should I tell you?” Jon stutters out something and then sighs. “Would that spoil the surprise?”
“Stop that, just- just stop,” Jon moans, and there’s a breath, and he says, quietly, “please.”
“Oh! Did you hear that Elias? Do you know what I’m doing to him? Do you like your Archivist’s little cock? I think I’ll tell you – it’s hard, but I don’t think he likes this. Do you like this?”
“F-fuck-”
Another slap.
“Tell me you like it, Archivist.”
“No, I-”
Another slap. Or perhaps a punch, one of the heavy fists of her servants cracking into something tender.
“Tell me you like it – it’s easy, you can repeat after me. Nikola, I like the way you’re touching me.”
Silence.
“Well, it looks like he doesn’t want to play along anymore! But you do, don’t you Elias? You want me to keep going? There are so many other ways to touch your Archivist, aren’t there?”
“Don’t,” Jon says, again, redundant, and useless. “You- you don’t have to-”
“I don’t have to? Oh, but I want to!”
Jon cries out sharply.
“Have you been inside your Archivist, Elias?”
Elias lets his head flop back against his headboard. His cock is hard and straining beneath the sheets, tenting them slightly, but he keeps his hands twisting in the comforter.
“This part of him’s even softer than his throat. Tighter, too, if you could believe it! I can barely-” she grunts with exertion and Jon gives a bitten off shout- “-shove two fingers in there! I think we’ll work up to three – or four, who knows! – today!”
One hand on Jon’s cock, the other with fingers buried up to the hilt inside him. Elias imagines how he would crook his fingers inside him, those hitching breaths and muffled sobs dragged out of his Archivist through pleasure, through want, of course he would want it, of course-
“Do you like this, Archivist?”
“I-” Jon starts off acidic, cut off by his own noises, and there’s a new cast to his voice when it returns. “I-I like it.”
Quiet. Resigned.
“What was that, dear?”
“I- Nikola,” Jon recites, grunting as the breath is fucked out of his lungs. “I-I like the way you’re touching me.”
“Of course you do,” she says. The slick sounds of her hands moving continues, Jon’s increasingly distressed cries in time to the thrust of her fingers inside him. “You’re nothing more than a tool, begging for a Master to use you. Elias has taught you as much, hasn’t he? Tell me he has.”
“Yes,” Jon gasps.
Already at the point of agreeing to what she says. Not because he believes the filth she’s spewing from her mouth.
“Yes, what? What are you?”
“A-a tool,” Jon says. “E-Elias, he taught-”
“Do you want me to stop, Archivist?”
“Yes! Please stop, stop-”
Another, louder cry, sharper, higher. Elias presses his hand to himself through his bedding, hissing at the relief the action brings.
“Oops! My hand must have slipped again. Three fingers now, dear.”
“Stop, Christ, damn it, fuck you-”
“And we had been doing so well, Archivist! Elias, I’m not even touching his cock now. Do you think he could come like this? Just on my hand? My fingers are almost all the way out – he’s twitchy inside and out! – and now I’m pushing them back in, slowly, very, very slowly.”
“St-stop,” Jon demands brokenly.
Elias is thinking about burying himself deep within his Archivist, slowly, very slowly, transforms the words into half-formed pleas.
Don’t st-stop.
And his mind replays the briefest snippet of Jon’s voice, plaintive, desperate: E-Elias.
“That’s not going to work with me, Archivist – you should know better! I’m not a nice person! I’m not even a person!”
He can hear her pick up the pace, suddenly, the squelch of her hand, the little noises forced out of Jon in time to them.
“Elias on the other hand, well, he might be more inclined to listen to you. Why don’t you ask him?”
“A-ask him-” Jon’s question is ended in something like a sigh, a disbelieving sort of sound.
“Oh, excuse me, Elias, I didn’t mean to interrupt your Archivist. I was just so curious how far I could spread my fingers in here! Now, as I was saying, I think you should really ask your Master to stop.”
“I- ah, I don’t understand,” Jon says.
“Ask Elias to stop. He could put a stop to this, couldn’t he? That’s what you think, isn’t it Archivist?” Another grunt from Jon. “Ask. Him.”
“E-Elias,” Jon breathes; the hot surge of arousal is soured just as quickly as it swells. “Please, stop.”
“Oh, you know your boss; you’ll have to better than that!”
“Please, Elias- oh, god.” Jon’s breathing has picked up again, and there are more noises, the rhythmic slap of flesh of flesh (though one of those, Elias knows, is not really flesh, not anymore), the slick squeals of lubricant.
“Come on, Archivist,” Nikola urges.
“Don’t- god, don’t- stop, please, Elias.”
His voice is higher, wretched, and Elias can picture his body tying up tight with corded tension, hips canting into Nikola’s hands.
“Keep going, Archivist, you’re so nearly there!”
“Ah- fuck, Elias, d-don’t let them- make it stop, please,” Jon begs.
Begs.
And comes with a trembling sort of silence, evident only by the erratic pattern of his breathing, of Nikola’s excited cooing. The way his voice snaps and breaks and falls silent.
“Oh, sorry dear – I guess he wasn’t listening after all!”
There’s silence, Jon panting to catch his breath.
“Maybe next time!”
A sob, a laugh, and the tape recorder shuts itself off.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Prompt: Nikola/Jon, Elias/Jon (3/3)
Date: 2018-09-02 07:07 pm (UTC)“Right you are! Further, fuuuuurther – there, that’s perfect. Comfortable, Archivist?” Nikola asks.
“Fuck off,” Jon says, tight and strained.
“Wonderful! Do try and keep in mind that it’s not your bones we need for the Dance, hmm?”
Elias wonders how he’s arranged. He pictures broad hands on Jon’s thighs, a thick body between his spread legs, pinning them back and wide, putting his Archivist on display.
“You see, Elias – oh, you don’t, you don’t See, not at all – it’s right- here-” she says, and Jon makes a soft whining noise which she soothes away. “Yes, I think you’re getting the picture, aren’t you?”
What part of him is she touching? It’s pure speculation, but Elias thinks of the tendon at the basin of his hips, at his inner thighs, Jon spread to the point of strain and Nikola’s fingers rubbing into tight, trembling connective tissue.
“Do you think his cock is hard, Elias? Should I tell you?” Jon stutters out something and then sighs. “Would that spoil the surprise?”
“Stop that, just- just stop,” Jon moans, and there’s a breath, and he says, quietly, “please.”
“Oh! Did you hear that Elias? Do you know what I’m doing to him? Do you like your Archivist’s little cock? I think I’ll tell you – it’s hard, but I don’t think he likes this. Do you like this?”
“F-fuck-”
Another slap.
“Tell me you like it, Archivist.”
“No, I-”
Another slap. Or perhaps a punch, one of the heavy fists of her servants cracking into something tender.
“Tell me you like it – it’s easy, you can repeat after me. Nikola, I like the way you’re touching me.”
Silence.
“Well, it looks like he doesn’t want to play along anymore! But you do, don’t you Elias? You want me to keep going? There are so many other ways to touch your Archivist, aren’t there?”
“Don’t,” Jon says, again, redundant, and useless. “You- you don’t have to-”
“I don’t have to? Oh, but I want to!”
Jon cries out sharply.
“Have you been inside your Archivist, Elias?”
Elias lets his head flop back against his headboard. His cock is hard and straining beneath the sheets, tenting them slightly, but he keeps his hands twisting in the comforter.
“This part of him’s even softer than his throat. Tighter, too, if you could believe it! I can barely-” she grunts with exertion and Jon gives a bitten off shout- “-shove two fingers in there! I think we’ll work up to three – or four, who knows! – today!”
One hand on Jon’s cock, the other with fingers buried up to the hilt inside him. Elias imagines how he would crook his fingers inside him, those hitching breaths and muffled sobs dragged out of his Archivist through pleasure, through want, of course he would want it, of course-
“Do you like this, Archivist?”
“I-” Jon starts off acidic, cut off by his own noises, and there’s a new cast to his voice when it returns. “I-I like it.”
Quiet. Resigned.
“What was that, dear?”
“I- Nikola,” Jon recites, grunting as the breath is fucked out of his lungs. “I-I like the way you’re touching me.”
“Of course you do,” she says. The slick sounds of her hands moving continues, Jon’s increasingly distressed cries in time to the thrust of her fingers inside him. “You’re nothing more than a tool, begging for a Master to use you. Elias has taught you as much, hasn’t he? Tell me he has.”
“Yes,” Jon gasps.
Already at the point of agreeing to what she says. Not because he believes the filth she’s spewing from her mouth.
“Yes, what? What are you?”
“A-a tool,” Jon says. “E-Elias, he taught-”
“Do you want me to stop, Archivist?”
“Yes! Please stop, stop-”
Another, louder cry, sharper, higher. Elias presses his hand to himself through his bedding, hissing at the relief the action brings.
“Oops! My hand must have slipped again. Three fingers now, dear.”
“Stop, Christ, damn it, fuck you-”
“And we had been doing so well, Archivist! Elias, I’m not even touching his cock now. Do you think he could come like this? Just on my hand? My fingers are almost all the way out – he’s twitchy inside and out! – and now I’m pushing them back in, slowly, very, very slowly.”
“St-stop,” Jon demands brokenly.
Elias is thinking about burying himself deep within his Archivist, slowly, very slowly, transforms the words into half-formed pleas.
Don’t st-stop.
And his mind replays the briefest snippet of Jon’s voice, plaintive, desperate: E-Elias.
“That’s not going to work with me, Archivist – you should know better! I’m not a nice person! I’m not even a person!”
He can hear her pick up the pace, suddenly, the squelch of her hand, the little noises forced out of Jon in time to them.
“Elias on the other hand, well, he might be more inclined to listen to you. Why don’t you ask him?”
“A-ask him-” Jon’s question is ended in something like a sigh, a disbelieving sort of sound.
“Oh, excuse me, Elias, I didn’t mean to interrupt your Archivist. I was just so curious how far I could spread my fingers in here! Now, as I was saying, I think you should really ask your Master to stop.”
“I- ah, I don’t understand,” Jon says.
“Ask Elias to stop. He could put a stop to this, couldn’t he? That’s what you think, isn’t it Archivist?” Another grunt from Jon. “Ask. Him.”
“E-Elias,” Jon breathes; the hot surge of arousal is soured just as quickly as it swells. “Please, stop.”
“Oh, you know your boss; you’ll have to better than that!”
“Please, Elias- oh, god.” Jon’s breathing has picked up again, and there are more noises, the rhythmic slap of flesh of flesh (though one of those, Elias knows, is not really flesh, not anymore), the slick squeals of lubricant.
“Come on, Archivist,” Nikola urges.
“Don’t- god, don’t- stop, please, Elias.”
His voice is higher, wretched, and Elias can picture his body tying up tight with corded tension, hips canting into Nikola’s hands.
“Keep going, Archivist, you’re so nearly there!”
“Ah- fuck, Elias, d-don’t let them- make it stop, please,” Jon begs.
Begs.
And comes with a trembling sort of silence, evident only by the erratic pattern of his breathing, of Nikola’s excited cooing. The way his voice snaps and breaks and falls silent.
“Oh, sorry dear – I guess he wasn’t listening after all!”
There’s silence, Jon panting to catch his breath.
“Maybe next time!”
A sob, a laugh, and the tape recorder shuts itself off.