Sara (life_of_amesu) wrote in pr0nath0n,


Mercer/Beckett slash

x-posted all over the place

Title: Vanilla
Author: Judas
Pairing: Mercer/Beckett
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Little tid-bits about Mercer and Beckett
Warnings/Notes: But of torture of some chap Beckett didn't like - erotic asphyxiation

    The man was dead, throat slit, blood soiling the ground. Mercer turned to Beckett, his face impassive as he cleaned his knife. The sun shown from behind the clouds creating dappled lighting on the field. Seconds past before Beckett crooked his finger, beckoning Mercer to walk over.
    The paper work piled up, a milestone of how he had risen through the ranks. Mercer was hidden in the shadows, surveying everything before him.
    Mercer hidden from view, behind him, hands pressing down in his back rubbing his hips against him, soft moans breaking the silence.
    He had ordered that the man be killed, preferably slowly so he would learn a lesson. Mercer slid his knife under one finger nail and pried it off, then another and another. Soon all fingers were nail-less and bleeding.
    He was wearing black breeches, burgundy waistcoat, and a stained shirt. Typical clothes for such an order. His knife slid along the cheek, not cutting in, light enough to send shivers through the body, his eyes glittered.
    Lips pressed against the man’s, parting them, slowly drawing the tongue out. A piercing pain went through the man’s body as Mercer’s knife twisted in his palm, the scream was muffled.
    A rope wrapped around the man’s neck, tightening as he was hoisted, bloody mess, off the chair to slowly strangle to death. His body twitching, feet kicking and what’s left of his hands trying to pry the rope from his neck. Mercer held a mirror to his face.
    “Like what you see?” Missing nose, one ear missing the other mutilated, cuts lining his face, bottom lip all but gone. He let out a whimper.
    Beckett found him in the hall, blood still on his clothes. Eyes raked his body, taking everything in.
    “How did he go?”
    No answer, a brief wave of a hand and he was gone. Mercer stared at the spot where he had been, gone like a shade running from sunlight.
    The rope tightened around Beckett’s neck ever so slightly, not enough to kill. He gasped and closed his eyes. Mercer was behind him, straddling his hips. Both naked, clothes lining the path from the door to the bed, hair undone and over shoulders. He leaned down and placed a kiss on his Master’s shoulder.
    “More?” More of a sound than a word. A whimper and a small nod, the noose tightened more.
    Their bodies entangled, Mercer’s hips jerking up against Beckett who pushed down with the same force. Lips bruising as they were crushed against each other, arms grappling around each other’s back and waist. Thrusting forward, then back, forward then back, their bodies pounding out the rhythm.
    The field was empty, not a sign of life apart from the birds and occasional insect. Beckett lay asleep, curled under a spreading tree, Mercer next to him, wide awake, arm around his Master, holding him tight, a whiff of vanilla in the air.
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