Control

Van Helsing, stretched out on the bed, not tied down - not yet anyway - and not fully disrobed, peers toward the foot of the bed. He's following the instructions he was given: hold onto the headboard and don't say a word. So far, he's doing fine, but the giver of said instructions has stepped out of his line of sight and he's straining a little to find the friar. He can't have gone far - the place isn't that big. Then there's a shadow in the doorway - a Carl-shaped shadow - and he quirks an eyebrow.

"Ah... no talking. I know, you didn't say anything, but you were thinking about it. Now, I have a few things here..."

Van Helsing's eyes widen, but he does as he's told and doesn't say a word. Watching... careful eyes watching as Carl places several items on the bed between his spread legs. Items that he can't even begin to identify. Though, if he had a better vantage point, he might have a chance.

He smells the familiar odor of a recently struck match and hears the hiss as it ignites. Glancing toward the foot of the bed again, he sees Carl holding a taper candle... a lit taper candle... and a sly grin on his face. Van Helsing's eyes go wide again in wonder and anticipation as Carl blows out the match.

Carl smiles. "Oh, you'll like this. Don't let go," the friar instructs as he moves to kneel between Van Helsing's legs.

Anticipation again - he watches the wax melting on the tip of the candle, slowly sliding toward the edge, beading and falling. Then, suddenly, there is hot wax on his skin that burns for a moment, then cools almost immediately and he hisses at the twinge of pain. He tips his head and quirks an eyebrow at Carl, but still says nothing.

Carl grins. "Good boy." And he lets more of the hot wax drip from the candle onto Van Helsing's chest.

Wincing and hissing at the pain; panting as the drips of wax come closer together and he finds it all highly erotic... arousing... even through the pain. He moans when Carl shifts a little and brushes against his hard cock through his jeans. His eyes open just long enough to catch the tiny smirk on the friar's face, but close again as a drop of hot wax lands on a tender nipple.

"Enjoying this, yes?" the friar asks, still happily letting wax drip onto his skin.

Slowly, his head nods in response and his body jerks at a large drop of wax in the middle of his chest. A hand cups him, rubbing slowly, gently, and the question is asked again. He nods again, a little faster and rocks his hips against the hand.

"Oh good. I'd hate to think this was all for nothing." And that quirky little grin is back on the friar's face.

He wants to speak, to let go of the headboard and grab the candle from the friar and toss it aside - after blowing out the flame of course - and kiss him, touch him, taste him... but he won't. It's part of the game. No talking, no touching until told to do so. They've done this before and he knows the rules. He has yet to relent early, though Carl's done his damnedest to try to force him to, and he doesn't intend to start now.

Hot wax on his chest, firm hand on his crotch and cool breath across his skin and all he can do is moan. Then whimper lightly as the hand between his legs moves away. He sees Carl smile moments before placing his hand on his belly, sliding it up to his chest, fingers sifting through the short hair on his chest, loosening the cooled wax, pulling it free. He twitches at that pain too - it's almost worse than the hot wax - but he bears it all, wanting the feel of Carl's hand on his skin.

A small part of his mind thinks that removing the wax seems rather irrelevant when the candle is still burning and further wax is dripping onto his skin, but, per the rules, he's not allowed to mention this fact. Thus the wax is both removed and dripped at the same time and the pleasure-pain of it all is intoxicating.

"I could tease you all night, you know that?" Carl asks, dripping patterns onto his skin.

He nods his head and groans, arching up to the hand on his chest.

Carl smirks that sly little smirk of his and leans forward to blow out the candle on his way to swirl his tongue around a nipple. Van Helsing's eyes close and his head rolls back, muscles in his arms tightening as he grips the headboard. He moans again as the friar moves across his chest and it comes out sounding like 'Carl'. Yes, he realizes he has spoken an actual word, but he's hoping that since it was a moan and not an actual addressing of the man in question, that he'll be all right.

Maybe not. Carl lifts his head and looks right at the monster hunter. "Pardon? Was that my name? Did you speak?"

Dammit. He swallows hard and shakes his head gently. He's holding to it being a moan.

"No? Then what was it?"

To speak to answer the question would surely violate the rules and, as such, he just raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to one side.

Carl quirks an eyebrow right back. "Trying to maintain that you have, as yet, not broken the rules?"

He nods gently. He will insist that it was only a moan that sounded like a name.

"And if I determine that you have broken the rules?"

He blinks and looks imploringly at the friar, trying not to pout. He really is missing the feeling of Carl's hands and mouth on his skin. Breathing steady, even, he waits. The worst that can happen is that Carl will get up and leave him on the bed, unsatisfied. But, if Carl does something else, it could be the best thing in the world. So he waits.

The friar is silent for a long stretch of a pause.

Van Helsing just breathes, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"The moan was quite musical to my ears and I think I should like to hear it again. Feel free to make such sounds again. But only that. No other words."

Raising his eyes, he finds those of the friar peering at him, expectant of an answer. His breath catches and he nods, short little rocks of his head.

"Good boy." And Carl pats his crotch before dipping his head to lick a nipple again.

He groans in, what one might term, frustration, wanting... needing... desiring... more. More of him - more of Carl - more of his touch - more of his anything. He would utterly beg if it didn't 'break the rules'.

Carl tips his head. "I did tell you I could tease you all night."

Yeah, but I didn't think you actually would. This is torture. And he groans again, arching to touch, to feel... more. He's so hard it hurts and all he wants to do is let go of the headboard and grab Carl and push him down to have him suck him off or flip him over and push deep into him, fucking him. Anything. But he doesn't; he maintains his hold on the headboard that he can hear creaking from the force of his hands; the strength in them making his knuckles whiten as he grips the wooden slats.

Relentless in his apparent pursuit to drive Van Helsing mad from frustration, Carl teases his chest and nipples, throat and jaw with kisses - hot, wet kisses - and his inner thighs and cock with a slow but firm hand.

His eyes close tight and his body tenses, arching up to get more and he moans from deep in his chest, almost whimpering with the need to feel him, touch him, taste him, fuck him. He wants to scream 'Dear God, please, take me, have me, let me have you!' but he bites his lip and keeps his voice under control a while longer.

"My, my, my... but you are quite good at this, Gabriel."

At the unexpected use of his first name, he groans, pushing his hips up and there's a SNAP! He's broken the slats of the headboard and has nothing to hold onto now. His eyes are closed and he wants him so badly he's ready to throw out the rules and beg.

Suddenly there's a weight on his hips, hands against his chest and a tongue in his mouth, followed by heavy breathing and panted words: "Touch me, Gabriel, my God, please, touch me."

And he is more than willing to comply. Hands brush together to remove any splinters, then hold mouth against mouth for the longest time before sliding to smooth over the friar's back. He hasn't been told he can speak yet, but he can touch and kiss and he does both with burning passion.

He feels a hand sliding down between his legs and Carl shifting on his chest. And he almost feels the whisper before he hears it, "Will you come for me, Gabriel? Will you come for me now?"

His answer would be 'no' had he not had the immensely pleasurable, yet incredibly torturous foreplay. As it is, his hips rock up into Carl's hand and it's not long before he spills himself, not that Carl ceases his caresses once he does. Instead, the friar purrs against his throat and works at removing his jeans. He's thinking that would've been better done earlier, but he's still not speaking.

Since he's broken the headboard, he's not exactly sure what he's to do with his hands. With a mild grimace, he plucks dried wax from his chest and drops it to the floor - it'll get cleaned up later. Then he gets tapped on the hip - Carl needs him to shift, so he does and his jeans are gone. He looks at the friar and watches him as he gazes appreciatively. He quirks a grin and an eyebrow. Enjoying the view?

Carl, for his part, says nothing as he crawls back onto the bed.

Van Helsing watches the friar settle between his legs and lower his head, curl lips around his cock and begin a smooth, rhythmic sucking-licking. His eyes close and his head rolls back. He had been pulling more dried wax from his chest, but he stops that in favor of finding something better to do with his hands. One, he sifts into Carl's hair, moaning at the fantastic sensations rippling through his body; with the other, he reaches back to grab the top of the headboard.

Carl is doing the most fantastic things to him and he doesn't care anymore that he isn't allowed to talk; he doesn't need to, the moans and pants should be more than enough encouragement. Add those to the fingers tangled in the friar's hair and Carl should have no problem determining how he's doing.

Van Helsing's hips buck toward Carl's mouth, though he's trying to control them. His hand grips tighter on the headboard and he tugs lightly on Carl's hair at a smooth stroke of fingers across his balls. There's a heavy shudder and a whimper slides from his throat when Carl pulls away.

Carl's eyes widen as he speaks, "Oh my, have I teased you enough then, Gabriel?"

Labored breathing is all he can manage. Carl is being absolutely evil about this and Van Helsing would much rather be engaged in finding ways to make Carl whimper and moan.

"Now, one might think that you're getting ideas, Gabriel..."

And every-single-time Carl says his name, it just makes him harder, hornier - he just wants to fuck the friar into next week.

"...and if I allow you to act on these ideas? What might you do to me?"

Just give me the chance, Carl. You'll be glad you did. But still, he says nothing. He's very good at this game. Granted, it would be much easier to pursue these ideas if Carl wasn't fully clothed.

"Should I let you speak now, Gabriel?" Carl's mouth twitches into a wicked grin when Van Helsing's body moves after he says his name. Of course he says it on purpose, he knows what it does.

For his part, Van Helsing says nothing, just waits. If Carl says he can speak, he will; if Carl says he can move, he will. As much as he groans and sounds like he's complaining, he loves this game. He loves waiting for Carl to let him speak or touch or come. The reason - because once he's allowed, it's so much better. Every touch, every kiss, every taste, every word is just - more.

Carl licks the tip of his cock, then wraps his lips around the head to suck hard. Van Helsing moans and spills into Carl's mouth. The feeling of Carl's tongue dancing on his skin is fabulous, especially as the friar crawls up his body, to his neck, then his jaw, then his mouth.

"Freedom," Carl whispers and suddenly he has large, strong hands touching him, pulling his clothes off, rolling him over. And then there's a warm, sexy voice in his ear, telling him that he is beautiful, loved and going to be fucked into next week. He's not objecting, he's been waiting for this.

Slowly, warm, slicked fingers are pressed into him, stretching him easily, preparing him and he wants nothing more than to just be. Be here with this man and feel everything. He moans softly as he feels Van Helsing enter him, smoothly, slowly, carefully. The movements are precise and gentle and the kisses are perfect and as much as he was hoping for a good hard fuck, the love-making feels so damned good.

End