Fractals

Fractals Chapter Thirteen (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch, and Uberbeta… *blush* Did I tell you about yesterday’s fuck up? InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. :) ProPhile: HERE’S your smut! Morgan: *plot plot plot* Readers/Reviewers: The Killer Kitties ™ are a little too quiet lately… check under your beds…

“You,” Amara said tensely, “are going to be very, very hurt very, very soon.” She slammed her closet door shut, wishing it was a bit heavier for effect. “Get. Out.”
“No.” Lance planted himself on her bed and looked mulishly up at her. “Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on with you!”
Amara growled under her breath, wishing that she could actually smite people in a way that did not mean the destruction of her own personal property. “Lance, go away. Or I swear to the gods I will have a hideous migraine for the next sixty nights. If you catch my meaning.”
He reconsidered for a split second but forced himself to remain casual, as if her threat went right over his head. Leaning back on his elbows, he swung one of his legs idly, a show of boredom he did not feel. “Amara, look… if you’re upset about this whole being found out thing…”
Her sharp glare silenced him. “Lance, there are more things in this world than that which concerns you… I need to go to the library in the city today.”
“Which city?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “Albany? That’s not too far…”
She counted to twenty in Latin before responding. “I am trying very hard not to burn the flesh off of your bones right now, Lance. You seem to be trying my patience.” She crossed to him, laying the shirt she had pulled out of her closet down on the nightstand. “I do not like being questioned.”
He raised a brow. “Princess, I’m worried about you. If you’re acting so weird just because of this whole d tel tell me now and I won’t think the worst.”
“What is the worst?” she asked softly, reaching out and slowly wrapping her fingers in the fabric of his shirt until she had a good handful just below the neckline. She was pleased that Lance did not try to stop her. “Is the worst hearing the demons in my head demanding things I cannot give? Is the t het hearing the cries of the dead, begging me for help?” She pulled him up forcibly then. Even though he had the height advantage, she had caught him off guard and he knew better than to push her away. “The only thing I can think of worse than this,” she waved her free hand in the general vicinity of her head, “is the silence.” With a shove, she sent him sprawling back onto the bed. Lance barely had time to catch his breath before she was on top of him, straddling him. “You don’t know when to quit. Usually, I find that admirable and worthy of reward but in this, Lance, you need to remember to listen to me. This is not going to go so far as being made an Order. Yet.” She leaned towards her nightstand, her shirt riding up to expose an expanse of warm olive flesh. Automatically, Lance’s hands went to her waist.
“OW!” He jerked his hands back when she smacked him hard on the knuckles. “Damn, baby…”
“Did I say you could touch me? You have been slipping, Lance.” She came up from rummaging in her night stand and moved of him him. “Don’t move.”
Lance was tempted to sulk. He had come in here because he was more than worried about her mental state, though he would never quite put it like that to her. In retrospect, he supposed calling her behavior “weird” was not the best path to take. At first, he thought it was simply stress. The past year had not been easy on any of them and the entire incident with the Sentinels was enough to make even the unflappable Jean Grey go a little stress-mad. But if he were to be entirely honest with himself, and Lance decided that he was, Amara’s behavior had never been the best example of completely sane by societal standards. The Nova Roman thing, he knew, was not the problem. He rather liked that about her. And it was not the dominance… he did not even question that anymore, now that he was comfortable with it himself and found that he could not really imagine being with her in any other way. It was something harder to pin d som something mepheephemeral. He was jerked from his reverie by the sudden burning sensation on his outstretched arm. “Hey!” he yelped, trying to pull away on instinct even as she held his wrist down. The burning candle in her right hand showed what she had been rummaging for.
She raised a brow. “Is that what you usually say when we do this?”
“No,” he replied, a slight smirk rising unbidden to his lips. “Do we have the time for this?”
“You need to be reminded of your lessons,” she said smoothly. She pushed his shirt up with her free hand and ran her nails lightly down his chest and stomach, making goosebumps rise in her wake. “You’ve been very…crowding.” She tipped the candle forward and let a few drops of wax splatter onto his chest along his sternum1. She smiled in the flickering light when he hissed under his breath. “You love me, which is why you are concerned,” she went on conversationally, holding the candle higher but not spilling the wax yet. “You worry about me. Unzip your pants,” she added almost as an after thought. Lance blinked at her owlishly for a moment but did as he was told, reaching behind her and freeing his now burgeoning erection from the confines of his jeans. He was already dressed but Amara was clad only in her brief night shirt and a pair of cotton underwear. He had interrupted her as she dressed for the day. She smiled slowly as his hands came back to rest on her knees. She tipped the candle and made a tsking noise as he gasped anew when the pool of wax spread across his chest, splashing on his nipples. “You remember your safeword?” she asked, holding the candle away from him for a moment until he nodded, his eyes closing. “What?”
“I mean, yes.” He swallowed hard and bit down on his lip as he felt her shift and move, resettling against his length. He could feel her through the thin fabric of her underwear, feel that she was wet already and probably mohan han wanting to make love, but she did not make an attempt at anyg mog more than pressing against him like that. She trailed her nails through the drying wax and leaned forward, tipping the candle again and moving it higher as the wax spilled. He shivered and she smiled, grinding gently against him.
“Very good,” she praised in a croon, “you didn’t make any noise. You remembered that lesson.” The candle was already burning low, having been used for this several times before. She sat up and leaned back a little, pourthe the last pool of wax across his lower abdomen. Lance made a strangled noise in his throat and she sighed, snuffing the candle with a pinch of her fingers before leaning forward again. “You need to be cleaned up,” she murmured, tracing the oldest splatter of wax with her finger tips.
Lance tensed as her feather-light touch ghosted over his heat-sensitized skin. He was fairly certain that her almost absent minded grinding against his near-painful arousal was intentional as she began to gently scrape the wax off his skin. He shuddered as her nails barely scraped against him and her heated center rubbed on his arousal, her nails grazing his nipple, first on one side, then the other. He arched his hips against her in near desperation and she frowned, then pinched his left nipple hard, making him groan. She did not say anything, simply fixed him with a look, before returning to her task. She moved a little more forcefully against him this time, smiling as he began to sigh and moan softly, unable to help himself. She did not order him to be quiet but he knew better than to really let go now. She moved her nails lower, having finished with the wax on his chest, and began trailing long, slow, soft scrapes across his belly. “God, Amara,” he gasped. “I’m going to…”
“You didn’t ask,” she chided. “You know the rules…”
Lance ground his teeth and wanted to glare but could not. Instead, he heard himself asking, “May I please?”
She seemed to think it over, trailing erotically charged patterns through the drying wax on his stomach. “You’re permitted,” she said, grinding against him one more time before suddenly moving off of him and kneeling beside him. Lance groaned aloud this time as her mouth closed over his length. It was too much to bear and he climaxed then, filling her mouth with his release. She sucked harder, swallowing the salty spill of fluid, pinching his side when he tried to press his palm against the back of her head. She finally pulled away as his gasping faded to deep breathing and his arousal began to soften. As if nothing had happened, she hopped off the bed, grabbed her shirt from the nightstand and headed into the bathroom. “I need to go into the city today. Go get my backpack and wait for me in the car.”
Lance hesitated a moment, still reeling from a shuddering orgasm. He knew, logically, that he needed to talk to the Professor about Amara’s seemingly odd behavior—the crying jags, the disjointed conversations, the references to demons—but for the life of him, he could not bring himself to do it just then, to defy her and make her upset. It was not because of their relationship dynamic but because he could not stand to disappoint her.
“Go!” she shouted from the bathroom over the sound of running water.
“Okay, Okay!” he called back, zipping up his pants and getting to his feet. He paused by her bedroom door and frowned. Her copper knife, the one she had put away months ago, lay on her dresser, shining and clean, looking brand new. “Fuck it,” he muttered. “She’s just going to have to be disappointed.”
1 Rather than try to give a lengthy explanation of wax play since I’ve mentioned it before and yada yada yada, here’s a link on some basic wax play info and safety stuff, just in case you’re so inspired, lol. http://www.vanilla-not.com/fetishlinks/wax.html