maculategiraffe

Think I am caught up on my story reading and commenting (let me know if I missed anything), though not yet on my own lovely commenters. I have tomorrow off for Labor Day, though, so I should be able to finish catching up then. :)

Quick little scene, here, anyway. I saw

hawk_soaring mention "writing on the body" as a kink bingo category, and I suddenly wrote this. Set during Yves' first year as Holden's.

"Okay," said Yves, his fingers brushing carefully over his master's back, "you can turn over."

Holden twisted his head around, amused, trying to get a good look at what had been written on his back. "I'll get ink on the sheets."

"It's dry," Yves assured him, so Holden rolled over onto his back, the skin prickling faintly as Yves' numbers, symbols, and graphs pressed in an ink-thin layer between the mattress and his own naked back. He clasped his hands above his head, watching the bright, intent face above him; Yves' warm groin straddled his, their naked thighs pressed together, the uncapped marker still in Yves' hand.

"You ran out of room on the back?" he asked, smiling.

"No, I'm finished with that," said Yves seriously, and drew a swift, long line from the hollow of Holden's throat to his abdomen, slowing slightly to descend into the little dip of his navel and then emerging to extend the line all the way down to the dark nest of Holden's pubic hair. Then he drew another line, perpendicular to the first and just touching the bottom end of it, from one jutting hipbone to the other.

"You're going to draw and quarter me."

"Something like that," Yves answered, drawing another horizontal line across Holden's solar plexus, halfway between navel and nipples, and then a third one from shoulder to shoulder, capping the vertical line at the top.

"You're going to draw and eighth me," Holden amended, peering down at the black lines that sectioned his body. "And possibly cook and eat the leaner parts."

Yves smiled, but absent-mindedly, capping the marker. "Don't move."

"I'm not," said Holden, as Yves leaned down, pressing his body up against his master's; Holden sucked in his breath, his hands tightening on each other above his head, wanting to put them on Yves, stroke him up and down, knead his silky skin and wrestle him onto his back and pin him down and do all kinds of things that Yves' warm lithe closeness was definitely inviting, but he stayed still while Yves pressed his mouth to Holden's neck, his hips doing something like grinding, but a lot gentler, against Holden's.

"Yves," he whispered, pushing back with his hips just a little. That probably didn't count as moving. "What are you--?"

"I'm experimenting," said Yves, his breath hot on Holden's neck, and reached up with his mouth to suck Holden's earlobe inside, then nibble at the very edge of it with his sharp front teeth. Holden whimpered as Yves' hand slid from his shoulder down to his pectoral muscle, covering and kneading at his nipple.

"See," he said softly in Holden's ear, "your neck is pretty sensitive, but so are your nipples. And your belly--" his hand was sliding further down, a fingertip tracing around the edges of Holden's navel as his body squirmed against Holden's side, his mouth at Holden's collarbone "well, you like it when I--"

"Oh, gods--"

"--and then, of course, there's this whole-- area, below the line, here--"

"Yves, yes, don't stop, don't stop--"

"If it please my master," said Yves, his hand hovering maddeningly just above Holden's skin, close enough to be warm, not close enough to touch, "you said if I won the chess game--"

"I know what I said," Holden answered between gritted teeth.

"Then may I continue?"

"You may," said Holden, "but I'm so getting back at you for this in the morning."

"If you wish it, master," said Yves demurely, one careful fingertip tracing along the length of Holden's straining cock before he drew it back up along the vertical line he'd drawn. "I'm just trying to figure out how best to please my master."

"You're evil," said Holden, and "oh, right there--"

"See," said Yves, "with the sections marked off, I can gauge-- with a little more precision--"

"Yves--"

"--which areas make you sound like that," Yves continued, "and which ones make you--"

"Ah!"

"And, for example," said Yves, "if I do this, here, continuously, while my other hand is working on this over here-- and then-- well, to really experiment with all the possible combinations, I'm going to need to stop talking--"

"I think that would be a good idea," said Holden, a little breathlessly, "or I'm going to show you a better use for your mouth, chess or no chess."

Yves made a soft tsking sound. "Patience is a virtue, master."

"It's not one of mine," Holden pointed out, but he couldn't help grinning at the primness of Yves' words and face and voice as his hands and hips and thighs and now his foot continued to do some extremely non-prim things. "Put your mouth on me, goddammit. Your choice where."

Yves smiled. "Yes, master. Don't move."

"I'm not--"

"Yes you are," said Yves, just before his mouth came down.

*Edited to add author's note in response to numerous reader queries as to what Yves wrote on Holden's back: it would be a bit complex to transcribe here, but if you've got a copy of Gödel, Escher, Bach, there's something somewhat similar on page 225-226.