Fic: Involvement 1/1
Jun. 15th, 2011 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amediaStory title: Involvement
Author: Amedia
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Ship: Cain/Ambrose, Cain/Glitch
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Imagiquest. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Cain recalls another encounter with Ambrose; so does Glitch. Sequel to Another Lifetime.
Word Count: 2043
Warnings: Explicit slash. Consensual BDSM.
Author's Note: Many thanks are due to Olivia (a.k.a. the REVELcon BDSM Goddess), whose comments on "Another Lifetime" gave me the idea for this sequel, and who was kind enough to read over a draft of this story, offering helpful details and valuable insights. Any remaining errors are my own.
The gardens at Finaqua were lovely at any time of year and any time of day, but on this particular spring evening they seemed extraordinarily beautiful. As he strolled through the melange of color and fragrance, Cain stole a look at his silent companion, Glitch, who had invited him out for this walk. Cain had the impression that Glitch had something on his mind and needed some quiet time to work up to the point of talking about it.
Glitch led him to a small gazebo and as the two sat down on a wrought-iron bench within, Glitch spoke for the first time since their walk had begun. Taking a single deep breath and spilling out the words hastily, he asked, "Cain, after that night we met at the brothel, did we ever see each other again?" Noticing Cain's startled expression, he added more calmly, "Anything that can help fill in the gaps can help me recover more of myself."
"I was afraid it made you feel bad, being reminded of events that were lost to you."
"It did at first," said Glitch. "But Raw says the more input I get from different sources, the more chance I have of kickstarting what's left of my own memory. Besides," he continued with a wink, "that first meeting sounded pretty hot, once I got you to stop blushing and tell me about it."
Cain grinned. "I'll be happy to share whatever I can remember," he said, and tried to cast his mind back. "We saw each other just a few more times. There was so much going on. It was, let me think, about twenty years ago..."
******
It had been a long week and Cain was looking forward to his day off. He was finishing a leisurely breakfast at eleven o'clock in the morning when there was a sharp rapping at his door. Puzzled, he stretched, rubbing the back of his neck, got up from the table, and went to open the door.
Ambrose was standing on his doorstep; his hand was still raised, holding the walking stick with which he had rapped on the door. His other hand held an embroidered silken satchel. Cain gaped at him for a moment before he remembered his manners. "Uh... won't you come in?" he said, opening the door wider and gesturing politely. His visitor swept imperiously past him.
Cain's studio apartment was sparsely furnished. Cain gestured to the nicest chair and seated himself on a worn sofa nearby. "Can I offer you anything?" he asked.
"Not at the moment, no," said Ambrose.
Cain was at a loss. "What can I do for you?" he asked. He would rather have asked how Ambrose had tracked him down; Tin Men's addresses were supposed to be private. He guessed, however, that very little information was kept private from the Queen's chief advisor.
Ambrose gave the faintest of quick smiles. "I was intrigued by your impudence the other day," he said. "I might be interested in pursuing further ... interactions."
Cain kept his expression carefully neutral, resisting the temptation to smirk. "Is that so," he said.
Ambrose nodded. "However, I would like our next encounter to be more formalized." He took out a small book with a jeweled cover and a matching pen. "I'd like to know more about what you like and dislike. I'm guessing that you took the mention of flogging as an offer rather than a threat."
"You guess right," said Cain.
"Thought so," said Ambrose. "Is there any particular instrument that you favor? Whip, flail, cat-o-nine-tails, riding crop?"
Cain shifted in his seat. This was an unexpected twist in the conversation, and scarcely a subject that he expected to be discussing in cold blood with a virtual stranger in his living room. He looked directly into Ambrose's face, half-expecting to see mockery, but no derision lurked in the eyes that met his. Cain took a deep breath and answered honestly. "The flail and the riding crop have the most appeal. There's something about the narrowness of the striking surfaces that feels, I don't know, distinctive."
Ambrose made a note in his little book. "How do you feel about paddles? Spanking?"
"Paddles don't really grab me one way or the other," Cain said with a shrug. "They don't excite me, they don't bother me. Spanking..." he paused, choosing his words with care. "I've tried it and I'm not sure why, but I really, really don't like it. It might be the physical contact; maybe if you wanted to try it with gloves on I could manage."
Ambrose nodded and made another note. "Here's what I'd like to propose for today. You remember what we did at the house of pleasure. We hadn't established any ground rules, which is why you were not punished for slipping your bonds."
"So you want me to stay put this time."
Ambrose leaned forward and spoke intently. "I don't want to restrain you. I want to see that you can restrain yourself."
Cain was intrigued. "Go on," he said.
"You keep your hands where I put them, voluntarily, until I'm done, and I'll flog you to your heart's content. Riding crop, flail, your choice." He leaned back in his chair again. "Disobey, and you'll be spanked. No gloves."
Cain drew in his breath sharply. The coolly-spoken words were appalling, but something about the challenge excited him. "I agree to your terms," he said. "Do you have a flail with you today?"
Ambrose nodded. "Yes. And if you are ever genuinely uncomfortable, the word is 'moritanium.'"
******
A few moments later Cain was lying flat on his back, naked, on his own bed. Ambrose took him by the wrists and carefully placed his hands at the top corners of the bed, with his arms outstretched and slightly bent at the elbows. Then Ambrose unzipped his fly and climbed on top of Cain, just as he had before.
Cain found it surprisingly difficult to control his hands, bound only by agreement. There were so many things he could be doing with them, like gripping Ambrose's buttocks as he had before, or grasping Ambrose's thighs, feeling the muscles flexing with every thrust, or reaching up to the headboard to put his hands over Ambrose's. He concentrated hard on controlling the muscles in his forearms, his upper arms, even his shoulders. After a few moments he realized that his mind was so wrapped up in keeping his hands still that he was missing out on the best part. He deliberately relaxed the muscles in his arms and allowed himself instead to focus on Ambrose's penis sliding between his lips, filling his mouth. His self-imposed helplessness intensified the sensation of being fully possessed. He opened his mouth wider, relaxed the muscles in his jaw, and tried to suck Ambrose in even deeper, reveling in the penetration, delighting in Ambrose's gasp of pleasure, drinking him in as he came.
"Time for your reward," Ambrose said after a moment, climbing off and guiding Cain into a position on hands and knees. Cain heard him unzip the satchel and realized, with a shudder of strange excitement, that he had never actually seen the flail that Ambrose was going to use on him. He felt Ambrose stroking his lower back, buttocks, and upper thighs with its thin strips, allow Cain's skin to learn the taste of the leather. Cain felt his arousal increasing. Gradually the stroking turned to swatting, just hard enough to sensitize the skin. Ambrose worked his way systematically from Cain's back to his thighs, including the sides of his hips and legs, and began moving back up again; it occurred to Cain that Ambrose was making sure the skin was taking on a uniform reddish tone. At the thought a low guttural moan of pleasure escaped his throat, and he could feel himself becoming fully erect.
Ambrose completed the pattern he had started, then allowed the flail to rest unmoving on Cain's lower back for a few seconds. Cain heard Ambrose take a deep breath, and then he felt the flail strike his buttocks with an exquisite sting; his sensitized flesh felt each of the thin straps distinctly. The next strike landed on the opposite hip and Cain groaned. He could no longer predict the pattern; Ambrose paused ever so slightly between strikes, forcing Cain to recognize his vulnerability. His cock throbbed at the thought.
After a few more strikes, there was an unexpected, longer pause. Ambrose stroked Cain's stinging buttocks tenderly with the flail, then struck fiercely, harder than before, tearing cries from Cain's throat as he accepted the gift of carefully-crafted pain. Cain found himself coming helplessly, violently, gratefully, and as he wound to a conclusion he felt Ambrose slacken his pace accordingly.
When Cain had finished completely, he felt Ambrose's leather-clad hand resting lightly on his middle back. "Stay like this for a moment," said Ambrose's voice. Cain heard him rummaging, then felt cooling water and a soft cloth as his buttocks, back, and thighs were cleaned with unexpected gentleness. When Ambrose finished, he rested a hand on Cain's back again; recognizing the signal this time, Cain stayed still. He heard the sound of a lid being removed from a jar, releasing a pungent, earthy fragrance. Then he felt Ambrose massaging a soothing salve into his raw skin with a tenderness that gave the lie to his cool, detached manner.
******
"I only saw you a couple of more times after that," said Cain. "I think the last time was when you came to see me in the hospital."
"Hospital?" repeated Glitch, furrowing his brow.
Cain nodded. "Yeah. I had just helped to crack a huge drug/prostitution ring in Central City. Thought we mopped up all the accomplices, but a couple of goons jumped me in an alley, gave me a good working-over." He grimaced. "Not the kind I like. They might have killed me, if another Tin Man hadn't happened along and gotten the drop on them. Shot them both and went off to get an ambulance. Guy saved my life and I never got a chance to find out who he was, or thank him." Cain stopped. Glitch was getting that look, as if he were about to remember something.
"Go on," said Glitch.
"Next thing I knew," Cain continued, "I got transferred to the Mystic Man's guard unit just before he up and decided to go on a grand tour of the provinces."
"Yes," said Glitch, his voice suddenly cool and self-assured. "He owed me a favor. Not the promotion--you earned that fair and square. The tour. I needed to get you out of Central City for your own safety. The men who jumped you in the alley weren't connected to the crime syndicate, and the man who saved your life wasn't a Tin Man." Glitch raised an eyebrow, Ambrose-style. "They were assassins paid by one of my political enemies, and he was one of my guards whom I had assigned to follow you."
Cain's heart nearly skipped a beat. Hoping Glitch would hold onto this train of thought for just a moment longer, he asked, "Why would one of your enemies try to kill me?"
"They had determined that you were my weakness." Glitch looked away and his voice became much quieter, although it was still Ambrose's tone. "They had figured out that I was in love with you."
He met Cain's eyes with a visible effort. After a moment his face softened and lost its haughty demeanor. "One of the advantages to being Glitch is that I don't mind telling you that now."
Cain took Glitch's hand. "That explains something I wondered about for a long time. You were so detached that time, almost clinical. I wasn't really capable of rational thought during the event--" he winked and had the pleasure of seeing Glitch blush, "--but afterwards I realized that you were trying very hard not to become involved. No one would try that hard unless he felt that he was already ..." he paused, searching for just the right word, "in danger."
Glitch squeezed Cain's hand. "You're a dangerous man, Wyatt."
"That makes two of us, Glitch," Cain said softly, and leaned forward to kiss him.
Author: Amedia
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Ship: Cain/Ambrose, Cain/Glitch
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Imagiquest. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Cain recalls another encounter with Ambrose; so does Glitch. Sequel to Another Lifetime.
Word Count: 2043
Warnings: Explicit slash. Consensual BDSM.
Author's Note: Many thanks are due to Olivia (a.k.a. the REVELcon BDSM Goddess), whose comments on "Another Lifetime" gave me the idea for this sequel, and who was kind enough to read over a draft of this story, offering helpful details and valuable insights. Any remaining errors are my own.
The gardens at Finaqua were lovely at any time of year and any time of day, but on this particular spring evening they seemed extraordinarily beautiful. As he strolled through the melange of color and fragrance, Cain stole a look at his silent companion, Glitch, who had invited him out for this walk. Cain had the impression that Glitch had something on his mind and needed some quiet time to work up to the point of talking about it.
Glitch led him to a small gazebo and as the two sat down on a wrought-iron bench within, Glitch spoke for the first time since their walk had begun. Taking a single deep breath and spilling out the words hastily, he asked, "Cain, after that night we met at the brothel, did we ever see each other again?" Noticing Cain's startled expression, he added more calmly, "Anything that can help fill in the gaps can help me recover more of myself."
"I was afraid it made you feel bad, being reminded of events that were lost to you."
"It did at first," said Glitch. "But Raw says the more input I get from different sources, the more chance I have of kickstarting what's left of my own memory. Besides," he continued with a wink, "that first meeting sounded pretty hot, once I got you to stop blushing and tell me about it."
Cain grinned. "I'll be happy to share whatever I can remember," he said, and tried to cast his mind back. "We saw each other just a few more times. There was so much going on. It was, let me think, about twenty years ago..."
******
It had been a long week and Cain was looking forward to his day off. He was finishing a leisurely breakfast at eleven o'clock in the morning when there was a sharp rapping at his door. Puzzled, he stretched, rubbing the back of his neck, got up from the table, and went to open the door.
Ambrose was standing on his doorstep; his hand was still raised, holding the walking stick with which he had rapped on the door. His other hand held an embroidered silken satchel. Cain gaped at him for a moment before he remembered his manners. "Uh... won't you come in?" he said, opening the door wider and gesturing politely. His visitor swept imperiously past him.
Cain's studio apartment was sparsely furnished. Cain gestured to the nicest chair and seated himself on a worn sofa nearby. "Can I offer you anything?" he asked.
"Not at the moment, no," said Ambrose.
Cain was at a loss. "What can I do for you?" he asked. He would rather have asked how Ambrose had tracked him down; Tin Men's addresses were supposed to be private. He guessed, however, that very little information was kept private from the Queen's chief advisor.
Ambrose gave the faintest of quick smiles. "I was intrigued by your impudence the other day," he said. "I might be interested in pursuing further ... interactions."
Cain kept his expression carefully neutral, resisting the temptation to smirk. "Is that so," he said.
Ambrose nodded. "However, I would like our next encounter to be more formalized." He took out a small book with a jeweled cover and a matching pen. "I'd like to know more about what you like and dislike. I'm guessing that you took the mention of flogging as an offer rather than a threat."
"You guess right," said Cain.
"Thought so," said Ambrose. "Is there any particular instrument that you favor? Whip, flail, cat-o-nine-tails, riding crop?"
Cain shifted in his seat. This was an unexpected twist in the conversation, and scarcely a subject that he expected to be discussing in cold blood with a virtual stranger in his living room. He looked directly into Ambrose's face, half-expecting to see mockery, but no derision lurked in the eyes that met his. Cain took a deep breath and answered honestly. "The flail and the riding crop have the most appeal. There's something about the narrowness of the striking surfaces that feels, I don't know, distinctive."
Ambrose made a note in his little book. "How do you feel about paddles? Spanking?"
"Paddles don't really grab me one way or the other," Cain said with a shrug. "They don't excite me, they don't bother me. Spanking..." he paused, choosing his words with care. "I've tried it and I'm not sure why, but I really, really don't like it. It might be the physical contact; maybe if you wanted to try it with gloves on I could manage."
Ambrose nodded and made another note. "Here's what I'd like to propose for today. You remember what we did at the house of pleasure. We hadn't established any ground rules, which is why you were not punished for slipping your bonds."
"So you want me to stay put this time."
Ambrose leaned forward and spoke intently. "I don't want to restrain you. I want to see that you can restrain yourself."
Cain was intrigued. "Go on," he said.
"You keep your hands where I put them, voluntarily, until I'm done, and I'll flog you to your heart's content. Riding crop, flail, your choice." He leaned back in his chair again. "Disobey, and you'll be spanked. No gloves."
Cain drew in his breath sharply. The coolly-spoken words were appalling, but something about the challenge excited him. "I agree to your terms," he said. "Do you have a flail with you today?"
Ambrose nodded. "Yes. And if you are ever genuinely uncomfortable, the word is 'moritanium.'"
******
A few moments later Cain was lying flat on his back, naked, on his own bed. Ambrose took him by the wrists and carefully placed his hands at the top corners of the bed, with his arms outstretched and slightly bent at the elbows. Then Ambrose unzipped his fly and climbed on top of Cain, just as he had before.
Cain found it surprisingly difficult to control his hands, bound only by agreement. There were so many things he could be doing with them, like gripping Ambrose's buttocks as he had before, or grasping Ambrose's thighs, feeling the muscles flexing with every thrust, or reaching up to the headboard to put his hands over Ambrose's. He concentrated hard on controlling the muscles in his forearms, his upper arms, even his shoulders. After a few moments he realized that his mind was so wrapped up in keeping his hands still that he was missing out on the best part. He deliberately relaxed the muscles in his arms and allowed himself instead to focus on Ambrose's penis sliding between his lips, filling his mouth. His self-imposed helplessness intensified the sensation of being fully possessed. He opened his mouth wider, relaxed the muscles in his jaw, and tried to suck Ambrose in even deeper, reveling in the penetration, delighting in Ambrose's gasp of pleasure, drinking him in as he came.
"Time for your reward," Ambrose said after a moment, climbing off and guiding Cain into a position on hands and knees. Cain heard him unzip the satchel and realized, with a shudder of strange excitement, that he had never actually seen the flail that Ambrose was going to use on him. He felt Ambrose stroking his lower back, buttocks, and upper thighs with its thin strips, allow Cain's skin to learn the taste of the leather. Cain felt his arousal increasing. Gradually the stroking turned to swatting, just hard enough to sensitize the skin. Ambrose worked his way systematically from Cain's back to his thighs, including the sides of his hips and legs, and began moving back up again; it occurred to Cain that Ambrose was making sure the skin was taking on a uniform reddish tone. At the thought a low guttural moan of pleasure escaped his throat, and he could feel himself becoming fully erect.
Ambrose completed the pattern he had started, then allowed the flail to rest unmoving on Cain's lower back for a few seconds. Cain heard Ambrose take a deep breath, and then he felt the flail strike his buttocks with an exquisite sting; his sensitized flesh felt each of the thin straps distinctly. The next strike landed on the opposite hip and Cain groaned. He could no longer predict the pattern; Ambrose paused ever so slightly between strikes, forcing Cain to recognize his vulnerability. His cock throbbed at the thought.
After a few more strikes, there was an unexpected, longer pause. Ambrose stroked Cain's stinging buttocks tenderly with the flail, then struck fiercely, harder than before, tearing cries from Cain's throat as he accepted the gift of carefully-crafted pain. Cain found himself coming helplessly, violently, gratefully, and as he wound to a conclusion he felt Ambrose slacken his pace accordingly.
When Cain had finished completely, he felt Ambrose's leather-clad hand resting lightly on his middle back. "Stay like this for a moment," said Ambrose's voice. Cain heard him rummaging, then felt cooling water and a soft cloth as his buttocks, back, and thighs were cleaned with unexpected gentleness. When Ambrose finished, he rested a hand on Cain's back again; recognizing the signal this time, Cain stayed still. He heard the sound of a lid being removed from a jar, releasing a pungent, earthy fragrance. Then he felt Ambrose massaging a soothing salve into his raw skin with a tenderness that gave the lie to his cool, detached manner.
******
"I only saw you a couple of more times after that," said Cain. "I think the last time was when you came to see me in the hospital."
"Hospital?" repeated Glitch, furrowing his brow.
Cain nodded. "Yeah. I had just helped to crack a huge drug/prostitution ring in Central City. Thought we mopped up all the accomplices, but a couple of goons jumped me in an alley, gave me a good working-over." He grimaced. "Not the kind I like. They might have killed me, if another Tin Man hadn't happened along and gotten the drop on them. Shot them both and went off to get an ambulance. Guy saved my life and I never got a chance to find out who he was, or thank him." Cain stopped. Glitch was getting that look, as if he were about to remember something.
"Go on," said Glitch.
"Next thing I knew," Cain continued, "I got transferred to the Mystic Man's guard unit just before he up and decided to go on a grand tour of the provinces."
"Yes," said Glitch, his voice suddenly cool and self-assured. "He owed me a favor. Not the promotion--you earned that fair and square. The tour. I needed to get you out of Central City for your own safety. The men who jumped you in the alley weren't connected to the crime syndicate, and the man who saved your life wasn't a Tin Man." Glitch raised an eyebrow, Ambrose-style. "They were assassins paid by one of my political enemies, and he was one of my guards whom I had assigned to follow you."
Cain's heart nearly skipped a beat. Hoping Glitch would hold onto this train of thought for just a moment longer, he asked, "Why would one of your enemies try to kill me?"
"They had determined that you were my weakness." Glitch looked away and his voice became much quieter, although it was still Ambrose's tone. "They had figured out that I was in love with you."
He met Cain's eyes with a visible effort. After a moment his face softened and lost its haughty demeanor. "One of the advantages to being Glitch is that I don't mind telling you that now."
Cain took Glitch's hand. "That explains something I wondered about for a long time. You were so detached that time, almost clinical. I wasn't really capable of rational thought during the event--" he winked and had the pleasure of seeing Glitch blush, "--but afterwards I realized that you were trying very hard not to become involved. No one would try that hard unless he felt that he was already ..." he paused, searching for just the right word, "in danger."
Glitch squeezed Cain's hand. "You're a dangerous man, Wyatt."
"That makes two of us, Glitch," Cain said softly, and leaned forward to kiss him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-16 04:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-17 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 01:04 am (UTC)I do love the flashes of memory, yet Glitch and Ambrose are almost two distinct personalities in the same body.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 02:45 am (UTC)Thank you kindly! :-)
I do love the flashes of memory, yet Glitch and Ambrose are almost two distinct personalities in the same body.
Mmm, I like that way of looking at it. I've seen stories where they really are two separate consciousnesses battling for control, and I didn't want to go that far ... I kinda wanted to move toward the idea of the two personalities gradually coalescing, but definitely still in an adjustment phase during the "present" time of the story.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-23 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-23 06:36 pm (UTC)