Uldren was beyond impatient by this point. As much as he wanted to be kind to the elf, now that he'd started and made a decision on just how far he was going to allow things to go, he wasn't in the mood to wait. While Mac and the kid continued to talk things to death, he busied himself with getting the Guardian's clothes off. It would be rather evil of him to strip Mac completely, but he still had all that banked frustration from their previous disagreement that was still eating at him.
The man needed to be punished.
His hands moved with practiced ease over Mac from behind, undoing clasps and buckles and zippers while the man wasted time and breath on trying to convince the elf he was safe. No one was ever really safe, especially with him. As much as he was willing to tone himself down when dealing directly with the elf, all this talking was driving him crazy. At least Mac wasn't fighting him over the clothes, because that would have triggered a very decisive and violent reaction that might well drive the elf off for good. It also bothered him to hear Mac say he didn't like causing his lover pain. Just because he knew the Guardian had issues didn't mean he liked to be reminded of it so blatantly. Of course, when the Guardian told the elf to speak to him directly, Uldren paused, turning his attention back to the cute but hesitant elf, hands caught in Mac's open shirt.
Ilormael just didn't understand. How could Mac be so nice and seem so trustworthy, but say that he welcomed being hurt by the Prince? How was that any kind of love? It wasn't as though most of his people's pairings ever included love, since it was duty that dictated who ended up with whom, but there was usually at least tolerance. If one was lucky, there was at least friendship, or even faint affection, but almost never love. And certainly not of the kind that Mac seemed to be talking about.
He shivered and inched just a tiny bit closer to their side of the fire, equally balanced between fear and need, and tried to ignore the fact that the Prince was trying to strip his lover to the skin rather roughly. Again, Mac made no real effort to protest his treatment; in fact, it was painfully obvious the man enjoyed being used rather like a life-sized doll. Before meeting these two, Ilormael had never even remotely thought of such a forbidden thing, but now that he was confronted with it, he couldn't help wondering if it would feel as good to him to be used that way. Maybe not so hurtfully, but a little roughness . . . Was it just the power the two men had? The fact that they were both so much stronger than he and could literally do whatever they wanted with him was the main reason he still hesitated. Words were not actions, and what was to say that they'd treat him kindly once they had hands on him?
Still, his body at least had made a decision, and it wouldn't be long before it was obvious to his fireside companions. Ilormael chewed his lip as he tried to work up the courage to speak, then his eyes went wide at Mac's suggestion he speak directly to the Prince. His jaw fell open a little as his eyes flew to the face of that intimidating fellow, meeting eyes that actually glowed back at him. He gulped and stared into those golden eyes, an unexpected wave of lust crashing through him and making him tremble. If he didn't know better, he'd think the man had the power to induce that reaction in people!
"D-Don't hurt me!" The words were startled out of him by the intolerable situation and Ilormael flushed painfully, but he continued to meet the Prince's eyes, "I would . . . I would like . . ." He swallowed audibly and closed his eyes, speaking quickly, "I would like to come closer! If . . . If I may?" Ilormael opened his eyes, giving Mac a pleading look, "Perhaps not your threatening master, but maybe we two . . ."
no subject
The man needed to be punished.
His hands moved with practiced ease over Mac from behind, undoing clasps and buckles and zippers while the man wasted time and breath on trying to convince the elf he was safe. No one was ever really safe, especially with him. As much as he was willing to tone himself down when dealing directly with the elf, all this talking was driving him crazy. At least Mac wasn't fighting him over the clothes, because that would have triggered a very decisive and violent reaction that might well drive the elf off for good. It also bothered him to hear Mac say he didn't like causing his lover pain. Just because he knew the Guardian had issues didn't mean he liked to be reminded of it so blatantly. Of course, when the Guardian told the elf to speak to him directly, Uldren paused, turning his attention back to the cute but hesitant elf, hands caught in Mac's open shirt.
Ilormael just didn't understand. How could Mac be so nice and seem so trustworthy, but say that he welcomed being hurt by the Prince? How was that any kind of love? It wasn't as though most of his people's pairings ever included love, since it was duty that dictated who ended up with whom, but there was usually at least tolerance. If one was lucky, there was at least friendship, or even faint affection, but almost never love. And certainly not of the kind that Mac seemed to be talking about.
He shivered and inched just a tiny bit closer to their side of the fire, equally balanced between fear and need, and tried to ignore the fact that the Prince was trying to strip his lover to the skin rather roughly. Again, Mac made no real effort to protest his treatment; in fact, it was painfully obvious the man enjoyed being used rather like a life-sized doll. Before meeting these two, Ilormael had never even remotely thought of such a forbidden thing, but now that he was confronted with it, he couldn't help wondering if it would feel as good to him to be used that way. Maybe not so hurtfully, but a little roughness . . . Was it just the power the two men had? The fact that they were both so much stronger than he and could literally do whatever they wanted with him was the main reason he still hesitated. Words were not actions, and what was to say that they'd treat him kindly once they had hands on him?
Still, his body at least had made a decision, and it wouldn't be long before it was obvious to his fireside companions. Ilormael chewed his lip as he tried to work up the courage to speak, then his eyes went wide at Mac's suggestion he speak directly to the Prince. His jaw fell open a little as his eyes flew to the face of that intimidating fellow, meeting eyes that actually glowed back at him. He gulped and stared into those golden eyes, an unexpected wave of lust crashing through him and making him tremble. If he didn't know better, he'd think the man had the power to induce that reaction in people!
"D-Don't hurt me!" The words were startled out of him by the intolerable situation and Ilormael flushed painfully, but he continued to meet the Prince's eyes, "I would . . . I would like . . ." He swallowed audibly and closed his eyes, speaking quickly, "I would like to come closer! If . . . If I may?" Ilormael opened his eyes, giving Mac a pleading look, "Perhaps not your threatening master, but maybe we two . . ."