Ichor And Steel

Chapter Thirty-Nine; Getting Even

ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ʜᴏɴᴏʀꜱ

Mature/NSFW content ;)

Nothing really happened until the night like all good things did. The daylight dwindled quickly, Ethan supposed an actual winter had fallen upon them, but he had remained in the comforting dark of Heisenberg's bedroom for most of the sun-time, his damaged body demanding rest. Aside from the thoughts of Lady Dimitrescu's storm brewing in the distance, Ethan only woke thrice.

Once to the startling, sharp clang of someone fumbling with a clumsy attempt to stop down a metal ramp. It made him spring too quickly to his feet, but his brief peek through the blinds proved it was only Heisenberg, Rose being nowhere in sight for hours. The second awakening was when the metal man carefully lumbered into bed, his skin etched with a freshly bathed scent of palm oil, but the deeply engrained perfume of his workshop rooted in his hair, nestled into the crook between Ethan's jaw and neck. In the dim, Ethan couldn't see how Heisenberg held him yet their heat bled from body to body, soothing the tension of muscle aches and that dull agony pounding in his heart. He was lulled into slumber, welcomed with a false sense of serenity in the sinister clutches of a hallucination, conjured by the mere edges of an evoked memory—

crouched in a pit of writhing black mold, sinking his feet into small jaws but with large teeth. Within his arms he held life, the only brightness buried in the dank pit. A pink infant clenched to his chest, reaching up tiny hands to bat his face. He felt at such a loss, exerted and the ground coming up to him. He just had to glance skyward, feeling the encroachment of another force, bringing in its wake a pact of harm—Mother Miranda and her decaying mouth unhinged and shrieking, "Evelineeeeeeee!"

No!

He was unsure whether he cried or screamed but this was his third awakening. Erected upright, wrists held to his chest and a shake seizing through him. Heisenberg stirred, groggy and faintly amidst the realm of consciousness but out he stretched, hands ready to caress. After a lantern was lit, the lovers sat, Heisenberg's back against the bedhead and Ethan slumped in his chest. The stroking hair touch grounded the blond, a reminder of where and who he laid with; it exalted a protective shield, keeping them in the backwards embrace. Even the vaguest detail of what he'd witnessed behind closed eyes Ethan couldn't speak of as it grew too thick in his throat despite Heisenberg's gentle prying.

"Kar, where's my real heart?" he asked, raising his voice as much as he dared over Heisenberg's question; not for Rose's sake, who slept four rooms West, but to stop Heisenberg's muttering. "My old one, I mean."

With his fore and middle finger, Heisenberg traced the trail of Ethan's waist and the middle of his chest. He pressed lightly and whispered hoarsely, "your heart is in your head; that's something I will never let Miranda take from you, Ethan." A low threat festered, and his fingers continued up to Ethan's chin, tilting it back, an absent plot forming behind his eyes. There was proclamation present in what he had told Ethan, but another emotion lay dormant, boiling to the skin—

don't think he'll take to what you did lightly, Ethan

—and those blatant eyes made intentions transparent, hardening until they appeared like pearls of ice. The hold on his chin drew their lips close, barely touching but moving firmly, deepening as faces stuck together. Ethan was reminded of Heisenberg's other hand, which poised around his waist, thumb flicking at his clothes before disappearing under, Ethan's body sliding up his chest, away from the touch.

"Kar!" I don't know how to do this. "Kar!"

He paralyzed, neck creating an arch-like shape, and legs unconsciously squeezed together. Heisenberg ceased all movement, gingerly swiping Ethan's flailing hair from his face so he could just see it, angled and gapping. Small sounds shivered out his throat, unbeknown to such a touch until he realized Heisenberg was waiting. Ethan managed a nod and his thighs dithered into relax, casually flinching as the metal man's palming grew rougher.

"I'm mad, Ethan," Heisenberg growled against the back of Ethan's neck, running his piercing from the nape to the beginning of his jaw. He lifted to his ear, "I'm just not sure how to say it without you understanding how I felt."

His hand curled around Ethan's lower—ah, ah, he-ah—a stroke and further teasing. The blond's head flicked back, so starved, so unknown to a feeling like this. Sweat dampened along a sheen of his collarbones and forehead, panting lightly. Those useless hands that originally fell limp were bought to life by another sensation, Heisenberg's grip flicking quicker, up and down, and groped for a hold, finding solace in Heisenberg's hair and the other wrinkling the sheets.

"Do you know how I felt, Ethan?" he chided, the scratch of his beard rubbing along Ethan's shoulder and neck, laying biting kisses. He laughed when Ethan pulled at his hair, the blond letting loose a rugged breath. Heisenberg untangled his fingers, bringing Ethan's wrist to his teeth and talking to it, "come on, have a guess."

Ah, ah, ah. "Mm-mm," Ethan shook his head, confining his breathless sounds loudening too much for his liking. Why was he so loud?

"Do you like it when I touch you there?" Heisenberg asked, fingers briefly slipping further. He evoked a violent flinch, only relaxed when the fierceness of such a touch withdrew back to strokes and brushes. Ethan's head lolled wildly. "Come on, don't make me ask again for you to use your words—"

"I can't!" Ethan confessed, moans quickly trickling out after his words and he could no longer stop them. Faster, faster, faster.

"See? Do you feel that blondie?" Heisenberg rasped without waiting for an answer; his point came to light. "You're helpless, can't speak, can't do anything! It's how I fucking felt!"

He sunk the hidden canines of his front-most teeth shallowly into Ethan's shoulder, to enjoy the speechlessness. The blond's head crumpled to the side until Heisenberg stopped and he breathed, "fuck—I'm sorry!"

Heisenberg slowly smiled and found all the right knots in Ethan's hair, rearing his head back and demanded, "go on blondie."

Faster. Ah-hAH. Faster, quicker—slower—quickerquickerquicker.

"Fuck—"

"No, wrong word," Heisenberg jested, running a finger over Ethan's lips.

"Kar, I'm sorry!" he cried, and despite the pleasure, out came a remorseful sob, hiccupping and wavering his body unlike Heisenberg's hand had done. His head collapsed and rolled into the crook between Heisenberg's neck and collarbone and hands sleepily drooped, tired of gripping and knuckles red. "I feel so fucking awful."

Slower, slower, slower, barely moving.

"Sh, it's OK, Ethan," he soothed, "you're already forgiven, as stupid as what you did was, but I just...heh, figured we should get even."

"Even? You asshole!" Ethan almost yelled, and begun to turn around when—

squeeze

—collapsed. Faster, faster, faster—fuckfuckfuck!

"You might be forgiven, Ethan Winters, but there is still one more thing you could do," Heisenberg said lowly. Ethan winced, no longer bothering to stifle whimpers as the metal man bit at his earlobe. Knowing he'd get no response, he continued with a firm grip on Ethan's neck, "never fucking do that again. You follow my lead now, alright?"

Ah—Kar, Kar, fuck, Kar—

"Use your words, blondie—"

"Yes, I understand!" he wailed, beginning to burn up in his chest.

"Good boy." Heisenberg let go, moments before the satisfaction and the blond groaned, trembling, unable to finish himself since Heisenberg pinched his wrists together and waggled them in front of his face. "See? Even?"

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you."

Ethan rolled his eyes, body calming and his back releasing from its arched hold. "Right."

"Eventually," Heisenberg jested, smiling wide as all became well between them.