Really, really and for true not for kids! (just in case you missed the other warnings.)
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Isaak lifted a hand to open his door, hesitated. The wards had been touched. Who dared–he brushed back long black hair and tested the magic. And smiled. Dietrich. The Puppetmaster had invaded his rooms.
Oh, he did hope Dietrich was still there.
With a wave, Isaak opened the door, stormed in as he had originally intended. Research was not going well, Cain was becoming impatient, and that annoying Vatican pawn had managed to avoid the trap. Sacrificing himself and four Terrans in the process, but still. The fool was dead instead of under control.
Not in the sitting room. Oh, this was getting better. Isaak stripped off his coat and flung it aside, careless of all the decorations which were a pain to keep straight on the best days. Careful and meticulous in research and planning, in his own rooms he could throw off all of that.
It was why Dietrich came to him there. Though the pretty pretty little Puppetmaster would deny it, and probably kill anyone who suggested it.
Anyone less powerful than he was who suggested it. Dietrich was no fool. He did not try his power on those beyond him.
He did, however, continually check that those he considered beyond him remained beyond him. Isaak never let himself forget that. Showing weakness to the Puppetmaster was the act of a fool.
Not in the library, or the gallery. Either Dietrich was in the bathing room, or he was in the bedroom. Isaak was surprised at a wave of disappointment, but he realized the reason immediately. He liked a challenge, and finding Dietrich in his rooms was no guarantee of landing the lovely man in his bed. More than once a rendezvous had ended in bloodshed instead of…
Mmm, yes, Dietrich did pick his moments. Isaak was exactly in the mood for whatever the unpredictable and dangerous Puppetmaster had in store for him. He rather doubted it was a capitulation after all. The man might be in his bed naked with that so-perfect ass in the air, and Isaak still would not be fool enough to believe the Puppetmaster had surrendered.
One day, though–one day he would claim the lovely little brunette. Take Dietrich and brand him his and proclaim it to the skies that this powerful, poisonous, beautiful fallen angel was his and his alone. He would own Dietrich, more surely than the Puppetmaster claimed his own toys. But not yet.
Now, he still got to enjoy the chase. Isaak stripped off his tie, then his shirt. Flung both after the coat, and threw wide the doors to his bedroom.
The Puppetmaster sat at the head of his bed, fully clothed. His legs were drawn up beside him, and one long finger rested across his lips as he coolly observed his superior from that superior’s pillow. The curtains of the bed flowed around him, still and beautiful in the midst of the dance.
“Your wards are weak,” Dietrich said, sliding the finger across his chin. “You should be more careful.”
“If an enemy operative gets this far,” Isaak said, tossing his hair to watch Dietrich watch it, then pacing to the liquor cabinet, “I am probably capable of dealing with him.” He turned a smile on the figure on his bed. “No matter what it is he comes to attain in my bedroom.”
Dietrich frowned. Could he be…jealous? Oh, that would be an unexpected development. Isaak poured two whiskeys as he pondered that. A graceful hand stroked back brown hair, then that lithe body uncoiled, coming for the glass Isaak offered.
“It is not only the Vatican idiots who might threaten you. Many of your own people might take a chance on catching you unawares, Panzer Magier.”
“Such as yourself?” Isaak asked, and cursed silently. Challenging Dietrich would not lead in the direction he wanted. The young man was proud as well as unpredictable, and a fight was not what Isaak wanted this evening.
No, as enjoyable as that might be, Isaak had better things than bruises in mind for that pretty white skin.
Cain did not approve of these trysts, Isaak knew. But Cain was neither human nor Methusaleh, and had other things on his mind anyway. Not to mention his…body difficulties. Perhaps he did not understand the attraction. Or maybe he did, all too well. Perhaps Cain was envious. Dietrich was as lovely in his own way as Cain in Crusnik mode. And knowing he could do nothing about his attraction might make Master Cain slightly…irritable…about Isaak’s opportunities, yes…
“The day I choose to kill you,” the Puppetmaster said, “I will not bother to sneak into your rooms like a fearful child.”
As lovely and as deadly. In his own way. Isaak held onto the glass as Dietrich tried to take it.
“I know,” he said when those dangerous eyes lifted to his. He struggled to keep his face distant while he fought down the need to just grab that lithe body, tear off the clothes and–
One slender eyebrow rose, but the Puppetmaster didn’t comment further. Isaak pondered his next step because he had to. Without Cain’s orders, any interaction with Dietrich was a chess match, a series of moves that could as easily lead to ruin as to satisfaction. That might be another reason Cain disapproved. Dietrich was no one to dally with. Courting him would look weak, and then the viper would attack. Be too aggressive, and the Puppetmaster would defend. Turning the Marionettenspieler against the Panzer Magier might lead to a pleasurable fight that would destroy only half the complex. Or it would lead to a struggle that could end only in the death of one of the combatants.
The so-pretty young man was, indeed, dangerous prey. Winning him even for a night was a delicate dance through a minefield, a brisk waltz on the razor’s edge, and Isaak could resist the challenge no more than he could walk away from the power that was Cain, Crusnik 01.
Perhaps…Isaak pondered Dietrich’s earlier frown and decided to push a pawn. He walked away from the bed, towards the sitting room, ringing for a servant as he did.
“How is your work on the virus proceeding?” he asked, sitting in the largest of the wingback chairs. It was covered in red, and he knew that even without his coat he looked stunning in it. His hair, softer than the vibrant velvet of the chair, was a dark cloak setting off his bare chest and shoulders.
Dietrich had followed; he scowled from the doorway. Leaning against the arch rather than sitting. “It proceeds. I did warn you it would take time. You are the one who insisted it be as complicated as possible.”
“Because I know Wordsworth’s work. The simple path is a clear route to failure. The man is brilliant.”
“Is he brighter than you?” Dietrich asked, testing. In a heartbeat Isaak was out of the chair to loom over the brunette.
“No,” he said simply. The door opened; a girl squeaked fright at walking into an apparent confrontation. Isaak leaned an arm to the wall over Dietrich, but turned towards the new arrival. “Well,” he told the servant with a slight smile, “aren’t you pretty. You may pick up. Then go into the bedroom, take your clothes off and wait.” Through the wall he felt his prey tense. Isaak forced down a more sincere smile and went back to his drink, kicking off his boots as he did. The girl bobbed and moved about, picking up what he had flung down. Isaak pointed at a chair. “Sit, Dietrich. Sit, and tell me how the plan progresses. Have you acquired all the raw materials you need?”
“Have I created enough puppets, do you mean?” Dietrich sat, crossed his legs, sipped his drink. Isaak tensed. His opponent had a plan, and that could mean anything. “I have not reached the numbers Master Cain requested, but I will.”
“Of course you will,” Isaak agreed. The girl walked behind Dietrich. Somehow she stumbled, jolting his chair. The Puppetmaster swirled his fingers, his hand jerked upwards. The girl did too, eyes wide with panic as she clawed at her throat. She did not, however, drop Isaak’s coat.
“And your extra project?” Dietrich asked, ignoring the scrabble of the girl’s shoes on the floor as she struggled. “Have you found a way to heal Master Cain at last?”
Isaak didn’t have to pretend disgust. “No, as I told him when first he ordered me to research it. His brother’s body will serve. None other will.” The girl was growing weaker. Isaak tossed his hair. “Pathetic worm,” he growled. “Hang my coat and go. I would not have you in my bed.”
The Puppetmaster raised his drink; the girl fell to her knees. She kept Isaak’s coat off the floor, though, as she gasped for breath, so Isaak didn’t see a need to punish her frailty. Instead he smiled at Dietrich over the rim of his glass and moved his knight across their chessboard.
“Your pretty Esther has been spotted,” he said. Only because Dietrich hadn’t bedded her, the screaming redheaded twit still held a fascination for the Puppetmaster. If he ever did bed her, Isaak knew, the boy would be sorely disappointed. “Still with Father Abel, I’m sorry to say.”
Dietrich made a moue of denial. He did not like Isaak knowing his fixations. “She is not mine, nor would I want her. The only wonder is that I did not permanently silence her when I had the chance.”
“Your obedience to our master under such…trying conditions…is well noted.” There, a compliment with the flavor of sarcasm. Even flattering this one held its dangers. “I believe, though, she has outlived her usefulness. The next time you encounter her, you may do with her as you will.”
The Puppetmaster smiled. So beautiful, this venomous innocent, this vicious angel of dark. Desire shot through Isaak, coiled fire in his stomach and stroked heat between his legs. The door had closed behind the girl; Isaak set his glass aside.
“One day,” Dietrich declared, “I will do with you as I will.”
“Perhaps.” Isaak flowed to his feet, dragged Dietrich to his. One hand held the boy’s slender wrists, the other wrapped in that lovely hair, tilting Dietrich’s head. “But not this day.” He slanted his mouth across the full lips turned up to him, forced his way inside to taste, to ravage–
Now. If he were going to attack, Dietrich would do it now. Isaak waited, his powers humming, straining for a hint, for the first indrawing of strength that would mean–
The brunette’s lips contorted; he nipped at Isaak’s tongue. Isaak groaned as his desire redoubled. A physical struggle, then, one both knew Isaak would win–he pushed with his hips, pressing Dietrich against the arm of his chair and bending him backwards. Just enough he was off-balance, held up only by Isaak’s arm snaking around as he released those supple wrists. Dietrich planted his hands on Isaak’s chest and pushed. Isaak devoured his snarl and tightened his own hand, giving that brown hair a sharp yank. This was why the boy had never taken Esther. Why with his incredible power to bend anyone to his will, he came to the man he could not control.
But his pride would not let him give in to his need. A long leg snaked between Isaak’s. He ground his erection against the slender hip, but was ready when Dietrich kicked his feet from under him. He controlled the tumble, took Dietrich to the floor with him. The brunette cursed and rolled; Isaak threw his body across his prey’s. Caught a wrist and dragged it above his head, caught the other hand before the vicious little beast could claw his eyes. Held that wrist too, and paused a moment to admire the spitfire writhing under him.
“So beautiful,” he told his lover, and watched the flames flare higher in burning brown eyes. The brush of pink on pale cheeks, too–Dietrich panting and flushed was the most erotic thing Isaak had ever seen. The most erotic vision he could imagine. Even the power of Cain faded beside that sight.
But it was not all he wanted to see. Isaak smiled as Dietrich bucked, trying to fling him off. His erection slid over the hard lump in Dietrich’s pants; both gasped at the contact.
“You want this,” he couldn’t resist taunting. He slid to the side, opened Dietrich’s belt and pants with a flick of power. Dietrich shivered. Isaak plunged his hand inside. “I’m stronger than you are, Dietrich.”
“Bastard…”
“Yes.” Isaak wrapped his hand around the throbbing erection his fingers found. “I am a bastard. A strong, evil bastard, and I can take what I want from you. And I will. Everything I want.”
“I can…kill you,” the Puppetmaster gasped. Isaak chuckled.
“Oh, I know.” He pulled that beautiful cock free, smiled down at it as he pumped. Under him Dietrich shuddered. “I know you can kill me,” he breathed, lifting his eyes back to that angelic face, “but you won’t. Not tonight. Because if you do,” he squeezed; Dietrich groaned, “there won’t be anyone,” he pumped with a little twist, “who can fuck you,” the cock in his hand twitched, “the way you want it.”
“One day–” Dietrich snarled. Isaak took his hand from Dietrich’s pants to lay a wet finger across those lovely lips.
“One day,” he agreed. Another flick of power untied the brunette’s tie, Isaak quickly bound slender wrists to the leg of the chair. A thought set the laces whipping from his captive’s boots; the footwear shot across the room, followed by his pants. The jacket and shirt ripped open, revealing a pale panting chest. Isaak sat back to admire the naked form on his sitting room floor. “But this day,” he said, taking that pretty cock in his hand again, “you are mine.”
Dietrich bit his lip, but some of his moan escaped. Isaak bent to taste the moisture beaded on the silky-sweet flesh in his hand. He wanted to hold back, to tease, but Dietrich was just too tempting. He tasted, he licked, and then he opened his mouth and sucked all of it in. Dietrich shouted. Isaak hummed. Bobbed his head a few times, then pulled away just enough to taste the so-soft skin where Dietrich’s leg met his body. The brunette groaned, cursing Isaak in six languages. Isaak spared a hand to free his own erection before his damned pants did him an injury.
Then he settled himself between those long pale legs to take his pleasure and make absolutely certain that Dietrich came to him again.
No woman could do to a man what another man could. And no slave, no puppet, could do any job so well as one who truly took pleasure in his task. Isaak devoured Dietrich like candy, licking and sucking until the moans became too fervent, then moving away to suck on something else while a careful hand kept the brunette writhing on the edge of ecstasy.
The Panzer Magier could be a patient man. Even when his blood raged in his veins, when all the Furies of hell screamed at him to take–he carefully gave. He drove Dietrich to the edge again, then pulled back. Folded those long legs and nibbled that sweet, sweet ass. Sucked his initials into the soft ivory of a perfect thigh. Swirled his tongue in the sensitive skin on the back of a knee. Trailed long black hair across that pale stomach, smiled as the taut muscles jumped and Dietrich moaned and twisted, fighting his bonds.
Writhing on his floor. The angel-faced fiend, the beautiful and deadly Puppetmaster, writhing and all but begging for Isaak on his sitting room floor.
He’d have to take him here. It was just too much. Isaak would never be able to get Dietrich to his bed; he’d have to take him on the floor.
The hells he would. Isaak fought down his passion. He was in charge here. In control. He sat up, stroking Dietrich too gently as he watched the brunette’s flushed face.
“Damn…you…let me…”
“Tonight,” Isaac said, “you are my puppet.” He bent back to his candy, and the fallen angel screamed as he came.
Quickly, before his lover could regain his senses, Isaak sliced the tie and freed Dietrich. He lurched to his feet and scooped up the brunette. Staggered–it was hard to walk, he was so aroused–to his bed and dropped the slender body in. Snatched his wrists before he could struggle effectively and had him bound again.
“That,” he told Dietrich as the brunette snarled, “was quite lovely. I think I’d like to see it again.” Except he’d explode any moment, if he didn’t let his cock taste– “Later.” He shoved his pants off his hips, finally nude. He pretended not to notice Dietrich’s breath catching. Instead he bent to his nightstand. Even men such as they had need of mundane things at times. “But first,” he came up with a tube, “I’m going to fuck you, Dietrich.”
Between those flushed, lovely thighs, Isaak’s candy came instantly to attention. Isaak bent and gave it a lick.
“You want me,” he told Dietrich. “You want me inside you.”
The brunette bit his lip. A smart man, Dietrich von Lohengrin. He did not try his power on those beyond him, and he did not deny the obvious truth. As much as he might want to, he did not waste his breath.
Isaak had a far better use for that breath. He wanted to hear it gasping his name. He laid the tube beside the pillow and crawled onto the bed. Lay there a long moment, staring at the feast before him.
“Well?” Dietrich demanded raggedly. “Or can’t you–” he bit off his sentence when Isaak’s hand closed around his cock.
“That’s a good puppet,” Isaak whispered. He gave Dietrich a slow pump. “Was that the best orgasm you ever had?”
Dietrich bit his lip, thrashed his head side to side as Isaak slid his hand slowly up, then slowly down. Threw a leg across those perfect thighs to keep Dietrich from thrusting. “No?” Isaak asked. “Perhaps we should try harder. Shall I tease you for a few hours? I could leave you tied here while I take a bath. Perhaps then you would be ready–“
Oh, he was just going to have to do that sometime. After he claimed his venomous angel, he would have to try tying him up, leaving him to await his master’s pleasure while the air and the curtains caressed his nude, eager body…
Now, though, Dietrich shook his head again. “You don’t want to try for a better one?” Isaak asked. “Was it the best you’ve ever had?” He’d certainly screamed louder than ever before. Perhaps it was the added excitement of the sitting room floor. It had definitely enhanced Isaak’s enjoyment.
The dark head on the pillow tossed, and gave one quick nod. Isaak fought down his arousal again. He wouldn’t last a minute if he didn’t calm down a little. “Say it,” he ordered with a light–too light–pump of his candy. Dietrich tossed his head, but then he said it.
“It was…” he gasped, “the best…”
“You want me inside you.” Isaak took up the tube, let Dietrich watch him wet his fingers.
“I want…” the Puppetmaster panted. “I want you…”
“Inside you?” Isaak prompted, lifting a pale leg onto his shoulder.
“Inside me, I want you inside me, will you fucking–aaaah!”
Isaak smiled down at Dietrich writhing on his hand. All his fingers, he had no patience left. Dietrich clenched his legs and tried to ride Isaak’s fingers. This was why the man came to him. The Puppetmaster wanted to be owned. Handled, played with, teased and pleasured. Tied up, tied down, and fucked.
Isaak scissored his fingers a few times, but that was all he could manage. He yanked his fingers out, thrust his cock in.
Dietrich rose to meet him, then froze. Isaak held himself still. Watched the pain on that flushed sweaty face as his hair swirled around them. Watched the pain, watched it, watched it, watched it ebb, gave it a moment longer–then swung his hips back, and forward.
Brown eyes flew open. “Yesss…” the Puppetmaster hissed.
“Say it,” Isaak ordered again. Pulled back, thrust deeper.
“Want you, yes,” as Isaak took him again. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” he snarled as Isaak did.
“Fuck who?” Isaak asked, pulling almost free and holding there though he thought it might well kill him.
“Me!” Dietrich shouted. “Fuck me, damn you! May all the demons take you if you don’t–“
The brunette threw his head back with a keening cry as Isaak slammed into him.
“Who do you want?” Isaak prompted, stopping again.
“You! Fuck me, Isaak, do it now! Isaak, Isaak, do it–“
Oh yes. To hear Dietrich call his name–Isaak put his hands on the pillow, stared down into that beautiful flushed face. Pulled out, dove back in. Again. Watched the passion flow and ebb, higher each time as he thrust deep into that slender body.
“Yes, Isaak!” Hells, he was going to–
“Harder!” –hold back–
“Isaak, ye–” –hold back–
“More, Isaak!” –not yet–
“Take me!” Dietrich screamed, and wet heat spread over Isaak’s stomach and chest. Isaak slammed into that sweet ass and bent his head and came with a low tearing groan.
With the last of his wits, he fell to the side and lay panting across Dietrich’s leg, his head on the brunette’s tied arm.
By all the gods and demons…
“Isaak Fernand von Kämpfer, if you leave me tied I will–“
“Hush, my puppet.” Isaak pushed himself up on one arm to gloat over the tousled and sweaty fallen angel bound to his bed. “Dawn is far away. Save your strength.”
Between white-flecked thighs, Isaak’s candy twitched in agreement.