Free Story: The Club on the Cliff

Bleurg. So. Tired.

Acts of god and war, indeed - well, acts of tiny virtually immortal biological agents anyway.

But I'm mostly better now. Today's update will probably not include the fabled story I started writing for my Torquere day - and if I don't get it done soon, it'll probably have to keep til next year, and nobody wants that. Although I suppose early in the new year would still be okay - but although it's not Christmas themed, it is Christmassy. You'll see why when you see it.

Anyway, enough whining. There is plenty of time yet.

So! Today's update will include a repost of my latest prompt story (another Dylan and Xavier story, and for those curious, yes, there might be more to their story at some point, though it's unlikely to be at any point very soon).

I will also update my lj (including with my previous post, which I failed to copy over due to an attack of extreme featherheadedness).

But, onto Dylan and Xavier.


Written to the prompts supplied here.

***

The buffet laid out at the castle - for castle was all it could be described as; 'the club on the cliff', despite Justin's pithy turn of phrase, was not nearly descriptive enough - the buffet was exquisite: crab cakes, caviar and champagne to start, followed by a platter of poultry - goose, and duck, turkey and chicken, and quail - and an oak table laden with desserts that Xavier could not identify - though he was pretty sure that one of them - the one dotted with pretty red berries - was cheesecake - stood next to it.

No simple candy-cane shaped jello molds here. Or jello shots, for that matter. He wasn't entirely sure what Justin liked about this place.

Xavier eyed the champagne wistfully, and wondered if Dylan would allow him some, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to ask. The way some of the subs had, ah, ingested the champagne was a little too rich for his blood, even for his open-to-public-kink self.

This place was glittery and beautiful, but it was eerie and strange too.

Sort of like the caviar, really, Xavier thought.

"You're staring," Dylan said, suddenly beside him, but it was clear from his tone of voice he was amused, not angry - though Dylan wasn't prone to anger, particularly, but still, Xavier watched for it. "Are you that hungry?"

"A little," Xavier said.

"You can eat, you know," Dylan said, turning to look at him, concern clearly writ across his face. Xavier hated having put it there.

He forced himself to try to act like a normal person would. "I thought maybe it would better to wait until after we'd played to eat," he said. "I always get a bit butterfly-effect, you know, in public."

Dylan quirked a brow, and Xavier suppressed a sigh. So much for passing as normal. Dylan knew him too well, now. He went to wipe his hands on his jeans, a nervous habit Dylan was still trying to break him (though very gently) of, before he remembered that he wasn't wearing jeans. He wasn't wearing leather, either, because this was a weird club, with weird rules, having a weird party. They were all dressed up in bizarre and complex costumes, even the subs - though he supposed it made the stripping part of the evening more interesting. He'd find out soon enough for himself.

A New Year's Eve masquerade ball. It sounded romantic, Xavier would grant, and it really was an extraordinary event, but all the same, Xavier wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to be there. Still, he couldn't say anything - Justin had somehow gotten Dylan invited, and Dylan was over the moon - invitations for non-members were impossibly rare for this party -

"Blue moon tonight, did you know?" Dylan said quietly, and Xavier saw that his lover was staring out the window at it - it seemed unusually low and bright to him. "Seems even more special, doesn't it?"

Xavier couldn't say that it seemed even more eerie, so he just nodded.

"Nervous about playing tonight?" Dylan asked, always attentive.

Wordlessly, Xavier shook his head. "Excited about it." In truth, he was both - he was always a bit nervous because it was public, but at the same time, he felt an odd sort of alive under the gaze of an audience. He knew, too, that he performed well under pain.

"Let's go in, then," Dylan said. "And then I we will find someplace lovely to sit and I will hand feed you. Does that sound good?" Always, "does that sound good", not "if you are good". Even when being cruel Dylan was somehow also always kind.

Xavier nodded.

Entering the playroom, they passed a girl tied up in tinsel, though the tiny Tux-the-Penguin tattoo did somewhat mar the Dickensian illusion.

Dylan had claimed them a space, and a cedar chest, like a late Christmas present, sat nearby, mysterious and unopened. Had Dylan brought it? Xavier didn't know. From it, his lover withdrew black satin ropes, and quickly secured him to the heavy iron ring. Xavier strained against the bonds, flexing his lithe muscles, and Dylan smiled widely.

A candle followed from the box, and Xavier knew it would soon be lit, and in use, and he shivered in anticipation of that sweet sensation. The knife was a surprise, and Xavier's breath quickened. That anguish would be exquisite.

He returned Dylan's smile with one of his own.


New Year's Eve 2009 is a blue moon, did you know?