Characters: Ian Nottingham/Hector Mobius/Kenneth Irons
Rating: NC17
Summary: Irons possess his son, Ian. Episode related: Consectatio.
Desire had driven me here. Curiosity, wonder, fury…or perhaps it was just annoyance at Mobius’ imperial command to attend him tonight? Me, attend Hector Mobius. How droll. Waiting for the door to open, I wondered what Mobius could possibly say to Ian Nottingham after he had agreed to assassinate Sara Pezinni.
“So you came,” Mobius said as he opened the door. He looked relaxed, and as I brushed by him, I noticed his state of undress.
“Would you have kept to our agreement, if I had not come?” I challenged.
Mobius’ eyes compressed into two small beams as if they could cut straight through me. My choice of wording had affected him. His stance shifted into the defensive mode of a well-trained warrior who sensed a threat.
I smiled. Mobius saw and a strange look passed over his face, replaced with a feral sneer. Oddly enough, I relaxed. I knew this Mobius.
It gave me great pleasure to see what my money and my power had created. Mobius was highly intelligent. He was inherently aggressive, a natural killing machine. We manipulated and cultivated those qualities in him-especially the aggressiveness– to the highest level of his consciousness. He was perfection–the greatest of the Black Dragons. Yet, when I walked through his door, I perceived something different about him. Another layer of Mobius that was not present before. An awareness of familiarity that I would not, should not have known about.
I turned and walked further into his domain. Chaos greeted me. A huge painting of a fiery dragon comprised of various hues of bright red, green, orange, and yellow covered one entire side of the wall. Vivid and intense, and animated colorings struck out at me with large wings flapping in the air. A body descended, its breath a white, hot fire. Huge, glowing eyes probed and locked on its target, consumed by the dragon’s everlasting and scorching flames.
A head thrown back, a face contorted in pain.
I stood back and gazed on the painting. Its true depiction was of crudity, of people devoured by the dragon. Other people’s nightmares, not mine. For I am the fabric of nightmares, I am the thread of pain; I am the eye of disillusionment.
Dark transformed into light, and I am back inside of Mobius’ place. I lived many lifelines, and experienced situations beyond the realm of mortal understanding. The Witchblade had empowered me with this uniqueness; to grasp man’s fate and destiny by the hand and shaped them into events of my will.
“Interesting artwork, Mobius. Perhaps you could offer your interior decorator’s business card,” I said.
“So the cub has a sense of humor,” Mobius said from behind me. He caressed my shoulders.
I jerked as if stung, so unexpected was his touch. I was not accustomed to this close of contact with him. Mobius was dangerous, unpredictable and didn’t handle well on a leash.
“What is the point to this meeting?” I asked facing him.
Mobius drew closer and whispered, “Have you forgotten, my brother? It’s been a long time. The hunter wants to share pleasure.”
Was he foolish or mad? I gaped at Mobius to see if he was joking. His eyes had softened to a warm glow. Lips parted; his breath, slightly elevated, was blowing misty steam across my skin. The look of lust I saw in his eyes was enough to put me on edge. I have never seen this side of Mobius, and I knew then the seriousness of his demand.
“Do you not remember the ritual? How we, as brothers, would commune and share the night before the kill? Mobius asked, as he ran his hands down my arms.
I looked around. “Where are the others?”
“Green and McGill are not here.”
“I have noticed, Mobius. But where?” I asked again. Mobius began to stroke my hair, which was coming loose from its ponytail. I pulled away.
“They have left us, tonight. My boys understand my desire to have you alone. You’ve always been my favorite,” Mobius said, fondly. “It has been awhile, my brother.”
Now I knew the reason for the weird familiarity. This thing, this ritual had transpired between Ian and Mobius, and it had gone on undetected by me. A secret kept by Ian, from whom I had always demanded loyalty and honesty. Was I angry? Yes, but I was also curious about what Ian saw in Mobius.
The Black Dragons had spent hours, days and months together. Men handpicked from the military’s special forces. They were superior. The government and I had isolated them from society to perfect their skills in the warrior’s art, and imposed on them intense psychological training to increase mental aggressiveness. But I had never conceived the depth of their commitment to each other, bonded by a common goal, isolated from the world.
As a warrior, Mobius was formidable. Standing there bare-chested and barefoot; I noticed for the first time that he was magnificent. A handsome symmetry of form: broad, muscular chest tapering into a tight stomach and strong, slim hips. And he thought he would be the dragon king, I thought deviously.
I reached out and touched his chest. I let my fingernails scrape a line from the top of his shoulders down through the tips of his nipples. The touch was not painful, not to someone like Mobius. But it gave me pleasure and a sense of control.
Drifting behind Mobius, I pressed hard at the wide expanse of his back, wrapped arms around him to twist the nipples on his breast. Moving down the sides and around his body, so close the musky male scent invaded the air I breathed. I licked and then sank my teeth into his shoulders. Mobius hissed at my touch. His neck so appealing, I gripped it forcing his head back. “Mobius, my pet. So it has been awhile since we last played,” I whispered, licking the thin skin behind the ear as I tightened my hold on his neck. It was delicious having this man under my control. And I wondered at his complacence, wondered at the intensity of sex games he and Ian had engaged in. Surely, Mobius would not have tolerated dominance by anyone.
Ian had other ideas. No, Father, leave. Be gone with you. You cannot do this to him. Not if you want him to carry out your orders. For I cannot…I cannot kill Sara.
“Ah…you unrepentant child. If you had done as told, we would not need Mobius. A child must revenge his father’s death.”
I heard Ian’s internal cry, sensed the pain he felt at my accusation. I had trained him well to protect the Witchblade wielder and to do nothing but my bidding. I had not realized the strain of confliction my desires had imposed onto my son. Too late, I now understood that his love for the wielder would outweigh his desire to avenge me. Even now, I had to fight to remain in control of this body. Ian was strong. I made him that way. I could not help but be proud of his perversity even if his persistence made me angry. And no doubt, it was his persistence that caused my weakening. My vision faded into nothingness. I howled into silence – not yet, I am not ready to go.
It felt as if I had awakened from a dream when Hector’s voice intruded, “You’re tense, my brother,” he said. He held me within the embrace of his arms. And I relaxed knowing that at least someone was there to catch me. Comfort from Hector came at a price. One I did not mind paying if he could relieve the emptiness I felt at the lost of my father. He was a hard man, rarely given to gentle demonstration, which was something I did not need from Hector.
“The cub has changed.”
“How so?” Everything that had gone on before was a dream sequence performed by another. I knew who that person was. It had taken every strength and power I had to fight his possession and overcome him.
He touched my shirt, caressing the tie I wore. Then he stepped back and pulled my arms from around his body. He unbuttoned my coat and suddenly wrenched it away, murmuring in a harsh tone, “You talk like Irons, you dress like Irons.”
“I’m not…” I started to respond when I realized Moby was scowling at me. Softness fled from his face. Lips tightened into thin lines, arms bulged in tension, and I knew he was going to hit me.
My body instantly went into fighting mode. My arm went up and out to the side to block his move. He grabbed it in flight, shook his head, and gave me a fierce look. Such a compelling look that it stopped me in my tracks. I crashed the impulse to defend. If Moby wanted to demolish me, he would have never stopped his offensive momentum. Instead, he gripped, pulled, and unloosed the tie I wore. He let go of my arm, and suddenly I heard the sounds of buttons popping as my shirt was ripped from my body.
Growling, he sniffed at me, drawing in my scent like an animal on the prowl. Who did Hector think I was, Irons? Did he think I had changed so much that the core of Ian Nottingham no longer existed? Did I know who I was?
“Hector,” I said, grasping him around his waist and pulling him to me. “I am Ian Nottingham.”
I now remembered why Hector had called for me. He wanted me here, I knew, to taste me, to feel my strength against his, to give some meaning to his way of life. It was the one pleasure Hector would allow himself to have: to feel the threads of humanity flowing through him during the act of sexual intimacy. An act consummated with a Black Dragon and never with an outsider, and I was his willing and chosen partner.
I gripped Hector tighter and buried my face between his neck and shoulders, to hide away from the lingering voices in my head.
Releasing the rest of my hair from its ponytail, Hector grabbed a handful. Tugging on it, he forced my head backward and I looked into his gleaming eyes. He was no longer angry with me but he was firm.
“Look at me, my brother. I want you here.”
“Yes,” I agreed. For I felt the heat of his words, a resonance striking deep within me.
Hector grasped me by my pants, his strong hands encircling my waist just above the belt. He pushed my body backwards. Not a word passed between us. His fingers pressed hard against my skin, and the predatory look on his face ignited a rush of desire that quickly spread through me. This is what I wanted from Hector Mobius, to take shelter in his sensual flame, and to hide away from insanity. I starved for saneness. I craved relief from the ghost of Irons invading my senses and confusing my thoughts.
The back of my knees hit the mattress, which was sitting high off the floor. Hector pushed and my back hit the bed with Hector coming down over me. His kiss was fierce, cutting into my sensitive skin. His tongue roamed over my lips and he bit down again. Pain mingled in with rising pleasure, and through these heady sensations, my body came alive.
My tongue tasted the warm acidity of blood. Licking it from my lips, I said, “Hector, did you miss a meal or something?”
He growled, “I’m tasting you, Ian.”
“Oh,” I said. It felt more as if he was marking me. My skin prickled as he nipped the skin over my chest, leaving stinging pain-pleasure. Hector slithered over me, pressing me into the mattress with weight of his body. He licked the blood from my lips and dipped his tongue to taste my mouth. He then looked down at me and smiled, as if he was now satisfied that I was Ian. His whole face changed with that smile. Not handsome, but made him approachable and appealing.
I placed my hands on his bald head, wanting to rub the indentations and feel the knobbiness hidden there. Shiny and tight, the skin resisted any kind of manipulation. Much like Hector. He was the same, never a changeling.
Hector bathed my chest as his hot breath warmed my skin. Strong hands grasped me at my waist as Hector moved downward, tasting me. My cock hardened, held at bay within the tightness of my pants. “Please, Hector,” I groaned, pumping upward into his hard chest. He rubbed his chin against my cock. It hardened, painfully. It had been a long time since I last indulged. I wanted gratification.
“Slow down, cub,” he said, looking at me. “You have too long been under the influence of Irons. One should never deny oneself pleasure.” Hector sniffed at me. ” You taste like Ian, and you smell like him, cub.”
“How would you know?” I could not resist asking.
“I remember everything about you, cub. I remember your first time, remember the fear you had, remember the feel of your body in my hands. I remember pressing just so and how your body would bear the fruit of my touch. I remember the taste of that fruit, and I recalled when fear floated away at the rising tide of orgasmic pleasure. You loved giving yourself to me.”
“I never knew.” I shivered at the feel of Hector’s fingers on my cock, sheathed inside the covering of my pants.
“That Ian Nottingham belongs to me the way the moon belongs to the sky,” Hector whispered.
Memories surfaced of my days with the Black Dragons. McGill, Green, Hector and I sat in a circle, meditating, preparing for battle. We knew what was to come after, submitting to the power of Hector who had insisted that we began this way.
I remembered how frighten I was of my first time. Irons’ teachings instilled in me from the beginning to never release the lust I may feel for another. To never get close for capitulation would weaken me.
I remembered how Hector watched me from afar, his eyes devouring me as he waited while McGill and Green drew kisses on my body with mouths of different tastes and textures. Hands soothed me to relaxation as they rubbed oil, sweet and spicy, into my skin. Green held me against his chest, caressing sensitive skin, and McGill, tongued the head of my hard cock as he gripped my hips, holding me still. Any feelings of distrust withered away as the need to sink deeply in McGill’s hot, wet mouth became urgent. I trembled from the assault on my body, I panted from the powerful desire taking over. I have never felt anything like it before. Until Hector, whom I saw through eyes glazed with lust. He walked towards me in his magnificent body. Dark, muscular, and frightening of the strength it foretold. Hector leaned down and kissed me. His tongue chased away the flavors left behind by the others. I reached for him because it was he that I wanted and not the others. I wanted my skin next to his, my tongue to taste him, to breathe in the smell of him, to wrap myself around the newness of it all.
A shift took place: an image inserted itself, replacing memories. I heard Irons’ voice taunting me.
The less emotional attached you are, the less vulnerable you will be.
Oh, Father. Did you not know? I have not learned those lessons well.
I pushed Irons from my head and replaced it with the pleasant memory of Hector Mobius. The real thing was lying between my legs. I rolled up on an elbow and grasped his shoulders. He looked up at me with eyes softened and slanted. “Fuck me, Hector,” I said.
We discarded our remaining clothing. My hair entangled in his massive hands as he massaged my scalp. Hector sucked the skin at my neck and shoulder blades as he rocked steadily into me. My arms swept around him, holding him close. Hands stroking his back, roamed downward to grip his tight round buttocks. My fingers kneaded the granite muscles, rubbed and pulled, helping the force of his rhythm. Hector does not like weak handling. And I, who have never coupled with a woman, knew no other kind of touch.
Sweat pooled between us and moistened our heated bodies. Nipples hard, I groaned, touching myself. I was on the edge, fighting the pull of surrender. Not yet, not yet, I tried to convince my body. I looked into Hector’s face and saw a strained countenance as I urged him on to keep moving. To penetrate deeper, to fill me thoroughly, to stroke that hidden place that envelopes me with hot desire.
“Please…” the word slipped from my lips, unbidden. An arm traveled downward, a hand seized my hardened cock. I pumped fast into stroking fingers. My world exploded, and my essence flooded through his fingers, bringing much needed release from mental stress. The need to be still and bathe in the climatic explosion was strong. I felt hot breath grazed on my cheeks as Hector gather me closer. His thrusts became frenzy and faster. He groaned with every movement. I drew his head closer to mine and kissed the sweaty, salty skin underneath his chin. My arms embraced him, encouraged him to attain that special place between lovers. “Come, Hector,” I whispered. He moaned, twisted and thrust once more. Achieving orgasm, Hector released semen deeply within me.
Cocooned safely in the arms of Hector, I wanted more. I wanted to be inside him, to impale him with my hardening cock. I knew I would have my chance. He always played fair with me. But now this is what I wanted and needed: not be alone, to feel alive, to be whole in the mind.
Then I heard my father’s voice: Go home, Ian. You do not need Mobius. Revenge me, my son. Kill Sara. Take the Witchblade.
Respite fled screaming. How could I have done this awful thing, offer Hector money for taking Sara’s life?
I cannot allow Sara to die.
–end–
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