Fanfic: Mercury Rising (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: Mercury Rising
Author: Avarice
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tybalt/Mercurius
Spoilers: -
Summary: Tybalt and Mercurius get drunk. Just what is it like to have sex with a god?
Word Count: 2741
Date First Posted: 27-05-2002
Date Revised - 17-05-2011
Beta: Tink
Awards: -
Notes: Tybalt POV. It's such a shame that what I think are some of my best pieces are so obscure nobody reads them. This is probably one of my favourites. I just think it's funny, and a bit hot, and punchy. Also, I kind of love outraging Apollo.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ

It started out innocently enough. If anything I've ever done could be classified as 'innocent'.

Maybe it would be better just to say 'it started'.

You know how it is. Two guys get drinking, they start making out... it begins on the sofa and ends in the bedroom.

Only replace 'two guys' with one Graeco-Roman god of mischief and messengers, and one bisexual, homicidal vampire in a near permanent state of arousal.

What? I'm perfectly aware of what I am.

Did I mention this god happens to exist on a different plane and yet walks on this mortal one?

I've heard the explanation a hundred times from Apollo. Gods are not truly on this plane, he says. It must be a conscious effort on the god's part to allow you to actually touch them properly, he says. Without making this effort, it just feels like rock, he says. It's part and parcel of the whole 'gods are invulnerable' deal.

I should know. Took my fingers a damn long time to relocate themselves after I tried to punch the fucker.

But you know, I listened and paid attention. If they consciously exert the force -- if they let themselves -- they are just as susceptible to the pleasures and pains of this world as everyone else.

Well, let me tell you how this vampire fucked a god.

*****

Mercurius was drunk in the biblical sense. I mean plastered, totaled, smashed, sixteen sheets to the fucking wind drunk. Absolutely deplorable behaviour.

Which was why I was tanked as well.

The drunker I got, though, the drunker he allowed himself to become. He never wanted to let me be drunker than he was. Fine by me, I'm all for the competitive spirit. I kept drinking to give him something to aim for. Like paralysis.

I was mixing the boy a Mexican Hitler. Mikhael taught me this foul concoction way back. It looks like toilet water and tastes worse. You need tequila, schnapps, desensitised tastebuds and a cast iron stomach.

Merc had swallowed four and counting.

I was just going about my business and mixing drinks when I heard it. The sort of phrase a guy like me lives (or unlives, whatever) for. It may not be at the forefront of my mind, but hope springs eternal that I will hear it often.

"Gods, I am so fucking horny," he groans, lying back on the pillowed sofa. My hand pauses mid-pour.

Well, well, this was interesting. And I was more than happy to oblige in relieving some stress on the guy, but eagerness has never been attractive, unless you're short, blond and have the most fuckable ass in the known goddamn universe.

Besides, I can play it cool.

"Really?" I ask facilely, setting the half-mixed drink on the floor and turn to face him.

His eyelids roll over too-bright violet eyes, blinking his affirmation. He struggles with the buttons on a freakishly loud shirt, finally getting exasperated and ripping them off, baring his chest for me to see.

It is smooth and beautifully molded. Each line is etched in perfection around every muscle, dip, and curve. More defined than my own, but nor is mine shabby. Mine is a supernatural beauty, his really springs from some divine well.

I lick my lips at the hairless torso, moving steadily with his somewhat laboured breathing.

Ahh, that would probably have something to do with my hand resting on his upper thigh, stroking him through the fabric of his pants. Though, for all it felt like, his leg could have been made of marble. I want him hard, but that's just a little ridiculous.

His brows knit together for a moment before smoothing. Almost imperceptibly, his leg starts to change. A few seconds later, I touch warm flesh beneath his clothes.

That's more like it.

Drink well and truly forgotten, I shift closer, the sofa creaking with my movement.

My left hand comes into play, moving in tandem with my right over firm stomach muscles. His skin is warm and inviting. Very nice and responsive body for what would normally be like fucking granite.

Merc sits at a 45 degree angle due to the impossibly fluffy throw pillows that make up part of the sofa. His hands come to rest over mine, halting their movements. I can't tell if he's pushing them towards his cloth-covered erection, or off his body.

Either way, I'm being told what to do and I don't like it.

"Do you want me to fuck you or not?" I demand irritably.

He blinks at me dumbly for a second. "Of course," he replies.

"Good answer," I return smoothly, irritation gone. With preternatural strength still working in my favour, his body is hauled to mine by the collar of his open shirt.

The kisses are clumsy at first. I'd wager he's getting used to concentrating about what plane he's on. He seems fascinated by my fangs and allows his tongue to play along the sharp ridges often, which makes kissing him all that much more enjoyable.

Our lips gnash together, my teeth raking across the soft flesh. But whereas that action would cut anyone else, he stays perfectly unmarked. I find it fascinating in equal parts with my annoyance.

His hands move into my shirt, nails scratching at my skin in an attempt to grab onto anything. The marks he makes send delicious tingles down my spine. Actions become stronger, more purposeful, and he begins to lean towards me on the way to getting me on my back on the sofa.

Uh-uh, god boy. This is my dance. My rules.

Mercurius's deliberate advances are halted when I push back on his arms, lodging my knee firmly between his legs, giving much-desired contact. A deep moan escapes his lips, and I am once again on the offensive.

He grinds himself down and into my knee rhythmically. The timbre of his groans are incredibly arousing, like hearing the sweetest music. I lick a trail from his mouth down over the strong chin to suck on the soft skin just underneath his jawline. Merc's hands began to fist in the lapels of my shirt.

I move closer, providing more bodily contact that he seems so desperate for. The heat emanating from his body is incredible. It rolls off in waves, enveloping my senses, smothering me.

My fingers scrape down his stomach, and begin to rip at the fly of his pants. Too impatient to actually unfasten them properly, I end up just cramming them down the front, assaulting his flesh with my bruising grip.

Mercurius hisses, a delectable smile gracing his wide mouth. There's few things a vampire likes to find more than people who get off on a bit of pain, too. Well good. I'm not saving any of my gentle, loving fucks for him. The alcohol made me horny, too.

This is going to be fun.

I tighten my grip around his cock even as he frenetically pulls the shirt from my shoulders, lips hungrily attacking my own.

Of course, this is the perfect moment for someone to enter the room.

"Mercurius, have you seen my-- omnipotent Zeus, what are you doing?!"

Neither of us answer straight away. Our mouths are busy, you understand.

Merc chuckles against my lips, about as worried and embarrassed as I am. Which is to say, not in the least.

He opens his mouth to answer, never taking his eyes away from mine. I reward the attention with a squeeze of my hand. His eyelids flutter rapidly, a pleased moan escaping his lips. "S'pretty obvious, isn't it 'pol?"

Apollo's mouth hangs open, sputtering for a moment, before he is actually able to speak. "Don't give me that, I can see perfectly."

"Then why did you ask?" I muse curiously.

"You stay out of this," Apollo glares at me, before turning his attentions back to his half-brother.

"He has a point, tho-- aauh, right there." Merc seems to have trouble finishing the sentence when I'm squeezing his inner thigh.

"I was giving you a chance to explain yourself!"

"As you can see, blue eyes, his mouth is kind of busy right now,"

Apollo tries one more stern-yet-pleading entreaty. "Mercurius-"

"Apollo, I'm a big god now. Been fastening my own sandals for centuries."

"Yeah, so unless you want to hang around so I can find out whether you're a big god, too..." I let the sentence dangle, knowing that's the final straw.

Apollo goes pale, after which his cheeks flush red. With one final indignant choke, he leaves the room.

"Damn," Merc curses faintly, "and I was sure he was going to turn blue as well."

I grin. "Maybe his face wasn't blue, but I'll bet his balls were."

"The only thing better than seeing his face just then, would be seeing it after we fucked on his bed."

Without a second thought, I disengage myself from inside his pants and get up. I offer him my hand and haul him to his feet.

"His bedroom's down this way, yeah?" I incline my head to the hall. Merc's puzzled expression dissolves slowly as he steadies himself.

The touch of his hand is like an electric shock. The prick smiles maliciously to let me know it wasn't an accident, either. I yank him up with more force than is necessary so his body presses flush against my own.

Mercurius's eyes burn mine. And I don't mean romantically, I mean literally. I can feel parts of my brain pop when he stares at me like that. Half-challenge, half-plea.

The next minute it took to get to the bedroom is somewhat blurry. All I know is that on inspection later, there were two holes in the hall wall, a smashed picture frame, my shirt hung from the overhead dangling light, and a large bruise on my elbow.

I push him down onto the pale blue satin bedcovers, creating large ripples in the fabric. I strip the rest of his shirt off and immediately attack his fly. I'm too drunk for a lot of this foreplay shit.

"You won't be needing these anymore," I remark, tearing his pants away. Mercurius just laughs at me, though it quickly turns to moans as I grind my hips against his naked cock.

I mash my lips to his mouth as he tears at my trousers, leaving scratches on my hips. The smell of my own blood hits my nostrils, and I'll be damned if it just doesn't make me harder.

He peels the last of my clothes away, groaning in appreciation as my bare flesh rubs up against his. I allow him to pull me closer, in between his splayed thighs, in fact.

Merc jumps a bit when I grab his dick. My hands feel rough against the perfect smoothness of his skin.

Some lube wouldn't hurt. I'm tempted to open up a vein, but I can picture quite clearly Apollo's face when he finds us on blood-encrusted and cum-stained sheets. My death follows shortly after. And I'm not that eager to snuff it just yet. Spitting onto my hand will just have to do.

I coat myself in saliva and push forward, making contact. "Do it," he hisses, knowing it's still gonna hurt like a bitch. I don't need to be told twice.

With a grunt, I embed myself deep within him. And the heat...

I thought it was intense before, and that was before the whole penetration deal. Now, he fairly well scorches me, and he knows it, too. I guess it's a slight payback for the semi-dry fuck.

We move at an easy pace, his body adjusting to mine, breath comes in steady gasps. "Harder," he pants, digging fingernails into my flesh in emphasis.

His body writhes underneath mine, muscles rippling beneath taut skin. The friction and the heat from his body is addictive. I hook my arm around one of his knees, pulling them further apart. My body is now bathed in as much sweat as his is. Hands slip on slick skin.

Merc's cock nudges my abdomen with each thrust. He lifts his hips up so that it brushes against me with every movement. The warmth and tightness of his body drives me to distraction, and my hold on reality loosens just a little more.

It's amplified when he grabs his own dick and pumps in time with me.

His Adam's apple bobs, playing underneath moist skin. My vision narrows as I stare at his throat... I see his jugular pound, and hear the thrum of blood in his veins... blood with that unearthly spice...

And there's something about him that makes my head hurt with need. The need to bite...

As if in answer to my queries, Merc's head tilts to the side in a subtle gesture, but it's enough to purposely expose the most sensitive parts of his throat to me. My teeth dig into my lips. It's not that I'm concerned with the morality of biting him, it's that I wonder if I'll be able to penetrate his hide without injuring myself.

I can deal with just about anything that can happen during sex, but biting into concrete could somewhat kill the mood.

Again, in a silent prompt, his eyelids crack open, opening me to the scrutiny of two lines of glowing amaryllis. Parched lips open, he mouths one word.

Yes.

With a fistful of his hair, I pull his head to the side to bare his neck once and for all. My mouth descends and pierces the main vein with deadly accuracy.

Nothing could ever prepare me for the feel, the taste. Not sire's blood, the purest absinthe, the most powerful drug, the most potent aphrodisiac, though it was like all of those things together, and none at all.

Something hotter than fire rips through me, tears every dead cell up and down and everywhichway. Mercurius jerks beneath my fangs, a soundless cry coming from his throat. And I can't hear it; I feel it in the blood I drink. And drink.

And drink.

I can't see anything but red, can't feel anything except my cock and his neck and our blood mingling in my body and hear his cries and jesusfuck it burns.

There's something about death that he loves. Messenger of death, courier of bad news, because he sought me out and now we're here and he loves it so much he splashes all over his hands.

It hurts, but it hurts so good. This is the ichor of the gods. I know that for sure when I scream into the flesh of his throat and come.

My mouth is sore when I finally pull away, but it's only to lick at the blood pooling at his collarbone. I peer down at his neck with hazy eyes as I withdraw to lie next to him. Merc's neck is bloody, but there are no holes or gashes to be seen. Neat trick, if disappointing.

His eyes are still not open, though a satisfied smile curves his lips. Like I'm surprised. I can't help it, one of my fingers grazes the unmarred skin of his neck as I contemplate what just happened, and the tingles still sparking through my entire body like firecrackers.

"Nice fuck," he purrs in a gravelly voice.

"You too," I respond, leaning on my elbow, facing him.

There's a small pause.

"I bet you top dog that Apollo walks through that door and turns white, red, blue and green," Mercurius states.

"You're on." I've always had the soul of a gambler.

"Go again?"

"Sure."

Of course, right about the time he has his hands buried and knotted in my hair while I deep throat him is the perfect time for someone to enter the room.

I roll my tongue over the mushroom head of his dick, raising my eyes to stare into Apollo's wide blue ones. I curse internally. Who knew people could actually turn green? It must be a god thing.

***

So I lost the bet. It's not like I haven't been bottom before. Turnabout is fair play and all that bullshit.

Ended up splintering a chest of drawers, and terminally ruining the sheets, three duck-down pillows and a large patch of carpet. But that's what throw rugs are fucking well for.

So, how did the god fuck this vampire, you wonder?

Well, that's a story for another time.

~finis