Anon Pr0n Response: Or how I suck at shortness and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
draegonhawke
Apr. 15th, 2008 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
x_losficdraegonhawke: ?
Koschei tells him he needs to practice harder. It sounds lewd, the way he says it. But then half the things Koschei says sound explicitly sexual to Theta, who is tuned to the other boy’s frequency like an exceptionally sensitive radio. Koschei’s never so much as touched him, never so much as hinted he might want to, and so Theta nurses his infatuation in silence. At least with this exercise he can’t see a chance of Koschei catching on to anything—Theta would never agree to this, otherwise.
They sit with their legs crossed on Theta’s bed, fully clothed, a foot away from each other, conspicuously not touching. The two engage in a peculiar starring contest. Theta imagines his will growing like a vine—one strand, two, and more and more. When he has a good amount of them he lets them roll into and through and under Koschei’s barriers, which seem like fine netting.
Still, so still, refusing to close his eyes until Theta’s won properly, Koschei smirks and arches an eyebrow just to show he still can. He’s not terribly impressed jut yet, and Theta’s going to have to do something about that, isn’t he?
Theta’s lines sink deeper, squirming their way in past Koschei’s natural defenses, which are rather formidable because Koschei is, according to their professors, absolutely built for this sort of thing. Koschei, rewarding Theta’s advance, gives him a room in his mindscape to /be/ in.
The room begins as a sketchy, crude assemblage of walls, but the walls evolve from vague forms to ultra-real detailed structures, down to the flocked fleurs-de-lis pattern of the wallpaper. It’s like watching super-rapid time-lapse holography of plants growing in a nature program. The transition is so fast that Theta is seethingly jealous. When he tries for ‘room’ he ends up with a shifting Escher nightmare.
Koschei lets Theta coalesce a mental image of himself into a form, until pop! Theta’s standing, on a marble floor no less, and rolling his projection’s eyes at the persistency of Koschei’s need to have the best of everything. Outside the presentation of a form Theta’s vines continue to drip down, further, closer to the core of the other boy. Koschei will stop him when he’s in too deep, won’t he? The mental-Theta frowns.
A good psychic, Theta has been told until his ears ache with it, has to understand himself. Has to know how his own mind works, understand what he wants, must be fully honest with himself about his own desires, should be comfortable with using his power to make his will manifest. A successful psychic mustn’t cringe from broadcasting his identity.
Theta struggles with all of that. If Koschei is a natural psychic, Theta is an innate dissembler. He has a wealth of potential, but even the Professors can’t fully gage it. It’s as if Theta hides his abilities by instinct. Theta doesn’t want to be known.
But Koschei is unwilling to let it rest at that. He wants to know Theta with an intensity that Theta’s plumbing thoughts are beginning to feel the shape of. He’s been saying Theta needs to practice harder because their examination is soon, but that’s not the reason he’s insisted. His motives are decidedly less scholastic. Koschei doesn’t mind that Theta knows this now, that’s how fucking sure of himself he is. His smile, unseen by Theta, stretches, Cheshire cat like.
Got you, beats through Koschei’s mind in pulses, the thought tracing like a colored line of light in the dark room, and Theta suddenly gets how vulnerable his own position is. Being inside someone, like being trapped in a living building, is infinitely precarious.
The texture of Koschei’s mind turns thick and smooth and Theta suddenly understands this as a seduction. His mental projection’s eyes fly wide open. Outside the room he can feel Koschei catch his thought lines, snag and run back up them, like stroking the fur of a cat backwards. It’s uncomfortable enough that Theta can distantly feel his physical body, which he can’t quite reach now, squirming.
Stop! Theta says, embarrassed, the word flowing out into Koschei’s deceptively open, receptive mind, soft as an echo, lame and quiet, because it’s stopped feeing uncomfortable and started to feel good. Theta can tell his abandoned body is trembling differently now, and that he’s unbearably hard in the confines of his clothes and can’t free himself, can’t touch himself, can’t hide it.
Koschei is in his brain, sorting through his thoughts with arrogant impunity, dropping thoughts in instead of bothering to talk. You want me, oh yes you do, you’ll let me, you’ll have me, you’re gagging for me, comes spilling out in an excited rush, and there is delight and relish and drawn-out bubbling amusement (and a quick-smothered trace of relief) in Koschei, Theta can feel it. The walls hum with pleasure, saturate with a rush of color, going flushed-skin red.
The room Koschei gave him contracts like a coffin in the space of a thought, and Theta, taken by surprise, is gasping for air that doesn’t really exist with a body that doesn’t really need it. The flocked wallpaper rubs up against his skin and the room squeezes him, the raised velvet of the wall pressing, rubbing against the exposed skin of his cheek, pressing insistently against his avatar’s stomach and thighs and cock, the room curving to fit him with a bit of a clench at his ass, his calves. The electric lines of individual thoughts insinuate themselves between Theta’s legs and fingers and lips.
Theta’s projection narrows its eyes. What was Koschei thinking? Even in his mind Theta couldn’t tell, but he had a good guess. ‘Let the rube in, make sure of him, because you know you’re better at this, and then half snicker at how much he wants you. Fuck him if you really need to get laid, because clearly the sad little thing’s just going to let you.’ Theta wasn’t comfortable being known, but failing that, he won’t be toyed with, won’t be had.
Theta strokes the walls. He uses both hands, fingernails scratching at the velvet, fingertips playing with the raised pile, and while he’s distracting his captor he sneaks up through the path Koschei used to get back into his own mind, and from there his own body. Spurred by need, he manages it quick enough to see Koschei’s physical eyes slam closed and his head drop back and his mouth gape open to rasp out “Do that again.”
Slowly, Theta gathers up the threads of his probe, which Koschei had ensnared, by the roots. With a quick, violent snap he jerks them out, and winces because that hurts. Koschei mentally flails in bemusement. That distraction is all Theta needs, and he rams in, shoving his way down the path he used to come up, but deeper, going further than he would have dared if he weren’t angry.
It’s Koschei’s turn to feel violated, as Theta makes a door for his avatar to leave the closet of a room with. Theta opens a way for himself to run through, following the vines, slamming open doors. Koschei manages an avatar of his own that shimmers into being in front of Theta’s and throws its arms in front of a door that Theta suddenly realizes is important, must be, because Koschei is trying so hard to keep its contents from being seen. Theta draws the vine’s strength into the avatar, because he’ll need to be as coherent as possible if he’s going to outflank Koschei’s projection.
“Got Blackbeard’s wives in there, Kosh?” Theta sneers, “Not nice being broken and entered, is it?” Theta grabs at the handle, evading the darting mental-Koschei and hisses, draws his hand back. He stares at the bright red-purple welt on his skin where the metal burned him and feels betrayed. His head jerks up and he stares at Koschei, whose face has gone bone-pale, and who says nothing.
“Koschei?” Someone calls from the other side of the door, and there’s the sound of scraping against the wood, of someone casually, sensually drawing their fingernails down the length of the panel. The light glinting between the door and the lintel is the throbbing-purple of want, and the air smells like sex.
“Koschei,” the voice drawls, and whoever’s behind the door laughs, the sound throaty and quite grown up. There is something familiar in it, something Theta can almost make out, and when his expression flickers with puzzled recognition and Koschei trembles as if terrified. Suddenly Theta recognizes his own laugh, his own voice, only re-imagined through the perspective of someone who thinks about him in a quite grownup way.
“Oh,” Theta murmurs, voice devastatingly soft, realizing that he was emphatically not being toyed with. “I thought—I thought you were just laughing at how much I—” He doesn’t know how to finish.
Koschei’s avatar swallows. “I needed proof, but I thought—and I had to know. I wouldn’t ever laugh at—I’m sorry,” and Koschei has never looked more eviscerated, “Oh god, Theta, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”
Theta holds out his burned hand, makes sure Koschei is looking him in the eye. “I forgive you.” When Koschei doesn’t move, Theta steps closer and presses into his body and whispers it into his ear, unable to resist giving it a quick lick and adding, “Do you and I have a bed in there, then?” Koschei swallows hard and flushes red, which Theta, rather perceptively, reads as a yes.
This time, when he tries the handle, it’s cool and slick to the touch, and when he raises his hand as the door swings open it’s wet, and the thing coating it is clear and viscous.
“Handy, that,” he grins sunnily at Koschei, who smiles back uncertainly in turn. Perched in the bed with a curious expression is himself as Koschei sees him, with slatted come-hither eyes and sex-mussed hair and a school uniform that looks slightly tighter than it should, certainly it clings in a way that Theta has never noticed it doing. Smiling, delighted by Koschei’s entrance and seeming not to notice anything but him, the Construct Theta scoots back on the bed, his movements effortless and seductive.
“I missed you,” the Construct purrs, and Koschei winces. Coughs.
“Uh uh,” Theta jerks his head towards the door. “Scram. We need the room.”
The Construct cocks it head in a signature Theta way and looks terribly confused. Worries its lip between its teeth like Theta does with working out a tough equation. “But Koschei loves me. He’s always telling me so.” The Construct seems to come to a decision and goes back to worrying his tie with a leer, expression supremely self-assured, like Theta’s at his most exasperating. “He’s not going to kick me out.”
“That’s enough!” Koschei snaps, and the construct blinks out rather than dissolving, which means he’s simply put away rather than unmade. Theta hides a smirk at that.
“I, um, couldn’t make him anywhere near as intelligent as you and simultaneously retain enough energy myself to get any use out of him,” Koschei mutters, staring intently at a corner of the bedspread, “Constructs are really advanced. Just so you know. I don’t actually think you’re mentally negligible.”
“Mm. Apparently while I’ve been stewing and wanking myself raw, you’ve been fucking a sex doll of me into the mattress of this lovely king-size?”
“Look, again, I’m s—”
“Oh no, no, I said I forgave you, and that’s inclusive. But you do owe me a fair bit, don’t you?” Theta lightly pushes back on Koschei’s shoulders, and since this is a mindscape and he’s really getting the hang of it now he can manipulate the environment. Theta’s push topples Koschei back onto the suddenly much closer bed.
He runs greedy hands over the other boy’s clothes, and where he touches the fabric melts away and his hand slips from cloth to skin. Theta uses the gelly wetness from the door handle to slick his own suddenly unencumbered cock, giggling at how his hands were dry a second ago, how he doesn’t even really need to do this here. Koschei keeps lubs around because he likes steps and forms, gets off on ritual. Theta decides to see if he can’t play with that a little.
“Kiss me,” Koschei demands, eyes narrowing, and Theta smirks and taunts, “I’m not your doll, don’t tell me what to—” and is cut off as Koschei shoves his fingers to Theta’s temples. It feels like acid rain is licking down Theta’s spine, but good, god is it good. Theta’s mouth falls wide open and Koschei slams up into him, tongue fully possessing him.
When I say kiss me, I’m not asking. Koschei’s thoughts pass into Theta without preamble. Theta recovers and Koschei realizes his wrists are now bound with ties.
“I said don’t tell me what to do,” Theta reminds him. Koschei squirms at the ties, opens his mouth to question, and then stops as he realizes the room’s changed. The space is ringed with tall candles on metal candelabras, and he’s not on a mattress, it’s silk draping over something hard and cold. Theta straddles him with a hard bounce that makes Koschei wince and bite his lip pleasure.
“Virgin sacrifice,” Theta supplies, grinning hard, “You get off on ceremony, don’t you? Bet you just love the days when we have to dress in full robes. Bet you’d like to fuck in them.” Koschei doesn’t say anything, stays stock still like a surprised deer.
“What makes you think I’ve never done this, then, in my own mind?” Koschei scoffs, clearly awkward about being called virginal.
“You’d let me initiate you,” Theta says, confidently, walking his fingers up Koschei’s torso, “But your own Construct, topping? Not a chance. You’re too proud by spades.” Theta bends down, licks and nips the other boy’s neck, letting him tremble in his silk bonds.
“And when you get back in your body proper? I get to do this again. I’m lucky. You’re so fucking pretty, Kosh.” Theta draws his hand down the Koschei’s cock, admires the blood-flushed color and looks back up at the other boy’s dark, lust-bright eyes, delighted. He clenches a hand around Koschei’s cock and strokes it as hard as he strokes himself in his physical body when he imagines his hands are Koschei’s authoritative, demanding ones.
Theta bends down to touch their foreheads together, brings their faces close. “I’m going to take you,” he informs the other boy, as he lifts Koschei’s suddenly unbound legs and positions them, splayed on either side of his shoulders. He ruts against Koschei’s entrance, voice low and tempting, “Trussed up in your own mind, like an offering to your god. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? You’ve wanted me to want you this much?”
Koschei swallows and says nothing.
“Well?” Theta asks, patient but firm, “This can end if you don’t want it. And if you don’t tell me you want it, it will.”
“No!” Koschei panics, bucking up, trying to rub up against Theta without breaking the ties, though it’s his mind and he easily could, “I want this! Please, don’t go.”
“There’s a proper answer,” Theta grins, wickedly, “You just worship me, don’t you? You tell your little fuck doll how much you love me when you’re in it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Koschei whimpers, “Theta, Theta do it, just—”
“Anything for you,” Theta says as he slides in, and in this room Koschei needs no more preparation than that. Theta pushes into his mind as he drives balls-deep into his body The room shakes, the candles topple unmarked, and Koschei screams, but the sound is triumphant, joyous and rings against the walls of the make-shift temple clear as the peal of a bell. With every thrust of his mind Theta is giving the other boy a burst of the agony that burned in his stomach when he’d thought of how much he loved Koschei and how Koschei wouldn’t ever notice, ever care, but flipped inside out, the pain made exquisite. Theta presses kisses into Koschei’s sweat soaked temples in erratic bursts.
“Aloud!” Koschei moans around the sensation, “And I’m still not asking!”
“I love you,” Theta’s so very thrilled to be exactly where he is, even if it’s not a proper place so much as a little gift to Koschei, “And you love me,” he gasps, would laugh if he had more breath.
“Fucking right I do! Harder.”
“I’m going to snap your wrists!”
“Not in a mindscape, you’re not! Your concern is touching, and I love you, as you seem to have gathered, but again, not asking here. And I have first crack at your physical body.” Koschei shakes, he’s so close, and he pushes back, arching off the stone, desperate to topple over the edge.
Theta draws all the way out and slams himself all the way in, does it once, twice more. The clench of Koschei’s body when he comes is duplicated by the shudder of the scene around them. The mental world compresses to a point. Theta comes, feeling wrung dry, and has to adjust his definition of ecstasy to accommodate joy like this. They both crash into their physical bodies, gasping and sticky with ejaculate and that same proper, conspicuous foot apart, before falling over on the bed, tumbling into each other half exhausted.
“You’re still going to,” Koschei breaks for a yawn, “Fail the upcoming term test,” he remarks, sleepily, and Theta snorts.
“You’re still going to fuck me when we wake up. Guess which I care more about.”
“I do mean the stuff with the feelings, though,” Koschei insists, already half under.
“I do too,” Theta assures him, and they sleep, deep, dreamless and content.
