Sharing Sunday – Slipping into Place

Firstly, Happy Father’s Day to all of the Aussies father’s out there. You deserve a day to be pampered, because you all do such great jobs. Today my koumbaro gets to celebrate his first Father’s Day with little Eli, who is just heavenly! Now onto the real reason we’re here. It’s Sharing Sunday and today I’ve got a racy piece for you. Ru is brilliant with words and I really do love reading everything of hers. She’s lent me this beautiful piece about a character that lives in her head. A dainty and hardassed sphinx. I should just warn you all it’s a little bit racy, so if you’re not into that sort of thing, look away, but if you are, please read on. I promise it’s worth it. She also didn’t name it so I did for her. Sorry Ru!

Slipping Into Place

Just how had he gotten himself into this situation? Warm air and plush pillows, down upon which his long, lean body had been pressed. Faintly cool hands held him in place by his ribcage, while so-deadly pointed teeth played at the dusky nub currently standing at attention on his left pectoral. Although he couldn’t see it through the length of black silk that had been tied over his eyes, the sensation was unmistakable. It raised the hairs over his arms, minute shivers thrilling just under the mask of assumed flesh. No, this human body was not his natural form, but apparently, it had its merits.

Long, silken hair brushed over his chest, his torso. He could feel it cascading down around his body like a living curtain. His breathing was well controlled now, but there was no way to hide the elevated heart rate; the hammering pulse through his veins. Playing it cool worked a little better when your human disguise wasn’t doing its damnedest to betray you. Weak flesh. Was going to have to make a trinket to combat this. The ancient being of legend and lore was not accustomed to having his control compromised, even in the faintest respect.

Sharp points worried over the hard peak of skin, not quite piercing, but coming close enough to tense his muscles all over. Laughter, as the sensitive bud was released. “You fight so hard, yet this flesh is so responsive.”

Mocking tone. Semerkhet did not approve. “Responsive to what, Imhotep? At this rate, I will fall asleep.”

Light scoffing from the vampire, who’d been looming over him the whole time, sitting over his hips, as though the sphinx were some bit of fleshy furniture. Cool skin. Not cold, as would have been the case if his companion hadn’t eaten at all tonight, but clearly he’d not drank enough. Saving room for desert, then? He was awfully full of himself, if he thought he had any chance of that. But then, it had been his experience that vampires of a certain power bracket often were. His kind hunted powerful undead, as that was their nature. One did not often hear of those among his kin that would get this close to such a powerful being without plans to kill them. Just had to be different, he supposed.

“You are a cruel one,” the deadling breathed, insomuch as any undead could really ‘breathe’. “I am trying so very hard to please you. Can you not show me the barest amount of appreciation?” What line this man’s powers came from, he did not know, but of those he’d researched, the Vampire King of Cairo was one of the more ‘alive’ seeming blood drinkers. Much like himself, Imhotep could manipulate the sands and the winds. Though unlike him, he could call scarabs to his aid. What else could he do? That was the main reason behind his being here in the first place. He needed to know what kind of enemy this man could turn into one day. It was only a matter of time, you see. There were few in the known world with the long-term planning skills of sphinx-kind.

A rumble of amusement was his initial response. “The rules are the rules. You insisted I not touch you, therefor I am incapable of properly expressing my gratitude.” See how logical? He’d rather thought so. The wet slide of a tongue lapping over the formerly trapped bit of flesh made him want to jump out of his skin, but he was careful not to show it. The only indication that anything was going on at all inside of him, was in the way his heart hammered against his ribs; so very much the caged thing.

“Your heart beats. Your blood races. Your skin prickles with anticipation. You are simply being stubborn.”

“And you are simply attempting to get a response out of me.”
“Yes! Of course! What other reason could there be!”

Even his exasperation was forced. Fake. This was a stage of some fashion. But what was the plot? Where would the final Act lead? Lips slammed into his abruptly, while his mind rifled through what he knew of this not-friend, mostly-enemy of his. Insistent tongue pressed into the seam of his lips, demanding entry. For kicks, he denied the movement and waited to see what the vampire would do. It resulted in a hand wrapping itself into the long, thick waves of hair he’d worn loose and glittering with gold dust, forcing his neck into an odd angle, the sharp pull and nails grazing his scalp earning a sharp intake of breath, which was quickly taken advantage of. Entitled and demanding; appropriate, but annoying just the same. Slick muscle rolled over slick muscle, dueling for ultimate dominance, his heat devouring the chill of the grave, warming it straight through. He might have been on the receiving end of this embrace, but he gave as good as he got, pushing that heat into the smaller man, until the telltale clinging and rocking of hips set his own hands to twitching with the instinct to finish this game of theirs.

When finally he backed off, fangs lingering over the plush slide of a bottom lip, subtle trembling accompanied the motion. “I want more.”

“You always want more.”
“That is not what I mean and you know it.”
“Sex is not a good enough motivator for sharing the blood of ancients.”

Soft grunt then, as the blindfold was ripped off and tossed to the wayside. There were many things in his eyes, one flashing right after and into another. Anger. Desperation. Malice. Contempt. And buried somewhere underneath, a nameless emotion that couldn’t quite rise up through the rest of the mire, yet somehow fueled them all behind the scenes. Something cold and dark and alone. Something raw and needy that moved through the depths of all those other emotions, like a great sea beast casting shadows through the shifting waves.

“Why? Why… am I not enough?”

Blinking, he stared up at the pale beauty of a man, true black hair, straight and sleek framing a lithe body. Elegant. Graceful. Nude, save for a glimmering belt that clung to his hips, the faint jingling of gold and jewels accompanying his every movement. It hadn’t been what he’d said, so much as how he’d said it. Why am I not enough? Not a fair question, all told. His being enough or not being enough had little to do with anything, when you took into account the fact that he was trying to manipulate the sphinx into doing something that likely wouldn’t end well for Semerkhet one day. Blood like his could boost a vampire’s powers. He knew that. Naturally, it wasn’t something he was keen to give away freely or irresponsibly.

“If I believed for a moment that any of this was genuine, you would not need to ask the question.”

“Cruel.”
“No. Honest.”

“Why bother?” he huffed spectacularly, swinging his leg over his body and rolling himself off to the side. “You lie to everyone. Why grace me with your candor.” Slim lines, gently worked their way down to curve over the hip, so unusual for a male. Plush backside. Generally, he liked digging his fingers into that flesh, feeling the muscle underneath fight against the pain, then writhe as a direct result. What they did here was always a purely physical act, melded with mental exercise. The collision of flesh and the battle of wills. Emotions didn’t enter into the equation. Beings like him did not fall for Beings like Imhotep. It was safer, all around. Still, he couldn’t deny a kind of physical attraction. Hence, his presence in this one’s bed chamber.

“You would not believe me.”

“Do not make excuses, Semerkhet. It is unbecoming. You lie when it suits you and speak truths only when they may cause the most damage. Your tongue is the sharpest sword, my friend.” He glared at the sphinx over his pale shoulder, the contrast between the raven hair and the ivory skin pleasing to his sense of aesthetics. If he didn’t do something, the vampire was going to go into full sulk and honestly, he had no intentions of staying in the country for much longer. This wasn’t the kind of tension he’d been anticipating and could rather do without. “Friend or foe; you cut without discrimination.”

He shrugged lightly, carnelian eyes ringed in true, metallic gold sliding from the vampire to some random spot on the wall. “To prey upon one’s sympathies, you must target an individual with the capacity to feel guilt, Imhotep.”

“Now you are back to lying,” the smoky-eyed vampire scoffed, just this side of indignant. He couldn’t argue it and so, did not try.

Silence reigned for a few long moments. What was he meant to be saying right then? Doing? Perhaps it was better to simply cut his losses and hope the other man was in a better mood when he returned to the desert sands in a couple centuries. Deciding that the preferable alternative to fighting, he sat up. Delicate jewels made musical little sounds as he moved, the heavy amount of jewelry he wore making silent movement all but impossible. As though sensing his intentions, the vampire made a decidedly less-than-human sound, grabbing the sphinx roughly by the shoulder, throwing him down into the plush piles lying around them faster than any human eye would have been able to follow.

“No! You do not leave like this! I will not permit it!” So much anger. So much ferocity. It was this kind of reaction that the sphinx found so attractive. This liveliness. This river of emotion, running rampant up and over the banks, destroying everything in its path, yet also leaving behind a fertile stretch of land, from which new life might grow. Not stagnant or still. Not like him.

The problem was, he rather suspected that Imhotep was exactly like him. That he felt nothing. That even these parts he enjoyed so much, were little more than tools, aimed at maneuvering the vampire closer to his ultimate goal.

“You would hold me hostage?” The sphinx had been going for humor, yet even to his own ears, it sounded more like an issued challenge than anything else.

The vampire thought about that, for the span of a heartbeat. “Yes.” Nodding, finally. “Hold you. Touch you. Keep you. All to myself. No more foolish wives vying for your eye. No more ill-planned engagements plotted by your family. I would have you. All of you. My prize. My treasure.” Smooth slide of skin, as the deadling slid to perch himself atop his body again, the lull in physical contact having killed off his former eagerness. Cool fingertips traced over the flats and planes of his body, sliding along the defined musculature – not bulky at all, but put together quite well all the same.

It was the tenderness in the touches, that had his insides mixed up, while those talented lips pressed themselves into his collarbone, punctuated by the occasional drag of teeth. Close. He was coming close to breaking skin, backing off only just enough to leave his senses trying to fill in the blanks on how it would feel to have that sweet sting of sensation chase through his nerve-endings. If he’d thought the vampire had been trying to seduce him before, then he earnestly needed to reevaluate his thresholds for such things, were the rush of blood headed southbound any indication. Still, refused to let it show. Though he knew full well that his pulse gave him away instantly.

“I am a living being. Not an item to be bought, sold or won.” Speaking kept his wits about him. Kept his mind clear.

The nibbling this one kept visiting upon his flesh, however, was doing a spectacular job of annihilating any desire he had to be logical. Touches moved down over his chest, rolled around his sides, down, then back up. Hips rocked into his own, attempting to pass along the rhythm. Slow slide of wet mouth, plush lips and sharp fangs moved up to his shoulder, where they began the same slow, steady torture demonstrated just inches below. It had his breath coming in harsh pants, hands clamping down hard on the other man’s hips, trying to force him to stop moving long enough for his internal walls to build back up.

“You speak the proper words, but your body responds rather well to being dominated, does it not? In any case, I should think after all these years of strife and hardship, I quite deserve such a rare pleasure as you. A gift from the Gods.” Soft laughter crawled up over the curve of shoulder, when the other man felt him tense.

“Your kind do not hail Gods. You fashion yourselves as one of them.”
“Entertaining words, coming from an old God.”
“I never claimed to be.”

Harsh scoff from the smokey-eyed man. “But you never stopped the lion shifters from worshiping you, either. There are ones under my own protection who would kiss the footprints you leave in the sand.” Bitter, those words, possessing the edge of one whose pride has been trampled one too many times. Not unsurprising. He knew well there were those among Imhotep’s lions who regarded him as a deity. He just… liked to keep that card up his sleeve. Just in case. That was all. True, that would wear on one’s ego. Especially when that ‘one’ happened to be the one who’d stolen away such a city from the wit of an old god.

His mind was mulling over what point he wished to argue, when that mouth sucked at the flesh of his throat, teasing over that pulsing artery under the thin veil of skin. It caught his breath, set his fingertips to biting into the cool flesh he held even more sharply. At first, it was just the lips, but all too soon the attentive lap of tongue was chasing the precise drag of teeth over that blood point, over and over again. He could feel his muscles begin to melt under the relentless ministrations and could feel the way the blood wanted to come blossoming to the surface with each expert drag of the mouth. Lovers, but not friends. Not quite enemies, either, but the latter was a more accurate description than the former any day. Dangerous, this was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the feel of this, because obviously he had a bit of a thing for the sensation. But rather, he didn’t wish to give the other man a weapon to use against him or his kind. Difficult to think though, with that mouth suckling over his skin, teasing over his pulse, flesh grinding into his and hard.

This time, it was the vampire’s turn to pant, breaking away from his own assault to stare down at the sphinx with a look so lust-drunk that it prompted a soft growl from the old god. One hand flew from hip to hair, where it bundled into that so-dark mane roughly, pulling that artful mouth into his own with enough force to bruise, forcing his tongue past those deadly little fangs without much desire to be careful. It was the other man’s trembling, that tipped him off that he’d managed to bloody himself in his haste. Trembling. Clinging. All at once, those thin, soft limbs had themselves wrapped around him, strong as iron, crushing him with sheer need. His tongue meanwhile became a captive prisoner of the smaller man’s, the hot muscle being sucked mercilessly, painfully, until his own naturally heightened healing abilities kicked in and the wounds closed.

The sound the vampire made was a feral one, when he found there was nothing more to be gained from that venue. Needy kisses. Hungry. Predatory. Fitting, wasn’t it? Every predator was someone’s prey. There was no such thing as sitting at the top of the food chain. Eventually, evolution had to find a way of throwing something bigger, something badder into the mix, just to keep things interesting. Pretty notion, until you were on the receiving end of another predator’s desire to render you helpless.

Suckling at his bottom lip. Pulling. Tugging. Dragging those fangs over the flesh. Teasing. Taunting. Feel that? Feel how good it is? You want to let me do this. Just feel how hard you are. Not real words, mind. But the body language said it all.

Again, the kiss was broken, drawing a soft grunt from him that he really didn’t want to own up to. “Let me.” Words whispered into the curve of his ear, his teeth catching around the earring he wore, tugging at it with steady pressure that earned a surprised gasp.

“And what do I get if I do?” The moment he said it, he regretted it. Because once you stopped saying ‘no’, it meant you were open to negotiation. And that, in its way, was a kind of victory so far as the other man was concerned. He could almost feel the triumph radiating from that pale, perfect flesh. That agitated him. The emotion was short lived, given the swift slide of lips, lingering over his pulse point.

“What do you get for the man who has everything?”
“I am serious, Imhotep.”
“So am I~”

He wanted to grumble that the other man didn’t sound serious in the least, but the thought was cut short by the strategic rock of those damned hips. A rumble of a moan tickled along his neck, while the cool slide of tongue lapped over the long, smooth line of flesh, as though he were drinking in the heat rising up off the sphinx’s body. Someone was getting off on winning, just a little too much. Had to regain some footing somehow.

“There is a chance my blood might boost your abilities. If you do it, you are automatically agreeing you will not use what you gain to harm me or mine.”

“Oh, Semerkhet. You and your conditions.”

“Requirements,” he corrected firmly. No, on this point, he had to be clear. “Or I hunt you down myself.”

About the Dreamer

Ru Tripodi is a varied writer, whose attention span likes to wander far more than what is likely conducive to finishing any given project.  She lives in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, Pennsylvania, with her daughter, her cats and a collection of assorted ‘other’ strays she’s managed to pick up along the way.  Sometimes she likes to draw things, most times she likes to drink coffee and when they’re in season, she has an unhealthy obsession with persimmons.  They are the perfect muse food.  Seriously.