Teaching Elijah 4
Pairing: Ian/Elijah
Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.
Elijah was silent on the drive back, curled up on the seat and apparently gazing at the passing scenery, although it was obvious to Ian that he wasn't actually taking anything in, and he felt a small knot of worry somewhere inside. Although he had obviously revelled in the game they had just played, Ian wasn't sure how Elijah was feeling now; normally a very good reader of body language, Ian was beginning to realise that this complex young man kept a lot hidden.
Pulling up in front of Ian’s house, Elijah seemed to shake himself out of whatever trance he was in, and glanced over at Ian, his eyes curious, but he didn’t speak.
"Come along, dear boy, help me with the basket," Ian said. He reached out and touched the tip of Elijah’s nose. "I’ve a terrible feeling that you may have caught the sun today. We’ll have to put something on that."
"It’s all right." Elijah spoke for the first time since they had left the beautiful, secluded dell. "It’s more blue screen tomorrow, and I go pretty red anyway when I’m hung upside down for all that time."
"I’ll remember that," came the grave reply, and Elijah laughed, and whatever he had been thinking about seemed to be banished as he turned into the affectionate creature Ian was used to seeing.
Elijah dumped the basket on the kitchen counter and went in search of Ian, who seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. He was eventually run to ground in the bathroom, rummaging through his medicine cabinet.
"Dear boy," he said triumphantly. "Look what I’ve found."
Frankly, Elijah was expecting cherry flavoured condoms, or something equally bizarre. What he hadn’t been expecting was … after sun.
"What?" he squeaked. "How exactly are we going to - frolic - if I’m covered in that stuff? I’ll keep sliding away. Plus, it’ll make me feel as if my mom’s about to walk in. Ian, you are my mentor and generally a cool guy, but I am not wearing after sun!"
"Have a shower first," Ian said, ignoring him completely. "And then I’ll slather this on you."
"Slather? Is that as much fun as frolicking?"
"In the right hands," Ian answered, his face serious, and Elijah felt a twist in his muscles that was quite out of keeping with such an innocent remark. "Now, off you go - you're covered in all kinds of sticky substances."
Grumbling to himself, Elijah did as he was told.
*
The shower was a good place to do some thinking. Elijah, although he didn't want to admit it, was nervous. He had thoroughly enjoyed their 'frolic' - he could feel his lips twitch at the ridiculous word - but now they were back on Ian's turf and things were about to turn slightly more serious. Oh, he wanted it, no doubt about that - it was a fear of the unknown that was giving him pause.
"Out you come." Ian's voice made him jump so much that he left the ground. He gazed through the frosted glass of the shower cubicle and saw a vague, Ian-sized shape which could only be - well, Ian. Obediently, he turned off the water and opened the door, laughing out loud at the sight of Ian, changed into a fresh pair of his favourite linen pants and a new, crisp shirt, holding out a huge bath sheet, which he proceeded to wrap around Elijah, rubbing him briskly.
"You are so turning into my mom," Elijah said, still laughing, as Ian started towelling his hair. "I can do this, you know."
Satisfied with his handiwork, Ian stepped back and surveyed Elijah, nodding. He held the silence for just long enough for Elijah to start fidgeting, then reached out and hooked a hand around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him. Elijah found himself practically on his tiptoes as he returned the kiss enthusiastically, his hands once again twining themselves in the soft material of Ian's shirt. He felt Ian's hands start to move, one rubbing slowly across his naked back, the other cupping his jaw, thumb gently resting on his pulse point, and he sighed, any reservations he may have been feeling ebbing away under the gentle touch. He sighed again as Ian pulled the towel away, dropping it to the floor, his hands roaming lower as the kiss deepened.
"Ready?" Ian whispered, as he pulled away just enough to breathe. "Ready to move on?"
"God, yes," Elijah answered. "Whatever you've got in mind ... I want to do it." He felt absurdly vulnerable as he pressed himself against Ian, his sensitised body feeling ready to burst into flames as it encountered the softness of the linen. He tried to suppress a whimper as he felt Ian’s hand move slowly across his back and hip before wrapping again around his waist. And all the time there was kissing; soft and deep as Ian used his experience to keep Elijah on the edge for as long as he could.
With difficulty, Ian pulled himself away from Elijah’s tempting, swollen lips, and attempted to regain a little self control, cupping Elijah’s face, studying and memorising every soft line and gentle curve, his fingers stroking over the high cheekbones and the firm jaw, watching what was happening below the surface as the burgeoning man in Elijah struggled with the boy who still held sway, at least for a little while longer.
"Heartbreaker," he said softly, his fingers still stroking. "That was one of the first things I thought when I met you, when you threw yourself at my feet with such splendid innocence. I suspect there is already a long list of people who remember you, and there will be many more to come."
"Not so many," Elijah said again, shaking his head slightly, his eyes closing as Ian’s fingers slipped to his chest, still stroking softly. "I told you already."
"Not so many that you know about, maybe," Ian answered, his lips grazing the lobe of Elijah’s ear. "When you actually learn what it is that you have, and how to use it, you’ll be unstoppable."
"Then show me," Elijah demanded, pulling away from Ian’s lips and gazing at the older man. Ian could see the thin chest heaving, the almost controlled tremors running through him, and the beading of sweat on his upper lip. More than ready for the next lesson.
"Come along." Ian put his arm around Elijah’s shoulders and led him towards the bedroom.
*
This, Elijah decided, was one of the best things ever. Lying naked on Ian’s bed whilst Ian, now half undressed himself thanks to Elijah’s determined help, sat by his side, his hands stroking and stroking and …. oh. Elijah arched into the touch as Ian’s hand moved lower and lower, finally brushing against the very top of his pubic hair. He felt as if he had been hard for days now, aching for release, but now that the moment had almost arrived, he tried to send his mind away somewhere in order to delay as much as he could.
"I thought we were going to be doing some slathering?" he asked finally getting his voice to work. "I was hoping for a slather, because much as I enjoy a frolic, I enjoy a good slather, too. That’s just the type of person I am, you kn …. oh, Christ on a bike!" His whole body went rigid as Ian pressed down on his pubic bone, sensation rocketing outwards to every part of his body.
"Do shut up. There’s nothing wrong in admitting you’re nervous, you know." Ian leaned down and kissed Elijah’s chest, maintaining the pressure with his other hand, making Elijah squirm and grab handfuls of sheet in an attempt to stop his mind short-circuiting.
Ian trailed his tongue over Elijah’s cheek and then latched onto a firm lobe, nipping slightly before continuing its journey down Elijah’s neck, teeth grazing the long tendon, rigid with tension, then across his shoulder. And all the time his hand pressed Elijah’s belly, making Elijah moan and push upwards, desperate for more.
"You’ve been a good boy, Elijah," Ian whispered, his lips once more brushing Elijah’s. "Very patient. Now it’s time for your reward. But I want you to think of it as a lesson too."
"Will you be asking questions later?" Elijah gasped, barely able to focus his thoughts.
"Oh yes. And there’ll be a written test as well."
Ian’s hand wandered from its place on Elijah’s lower belly and he let the tips of his fingers stroke the hot hardness of the young man’s erection. Elijah bucked and whimpered, and then, with an effort which Ian could feel through his fingers, he stilled and lay as quietly as he could, hands still clutching the sheets as the muscles in his legs and belly trembled, out of his control.
"A good blow job," began Ian, in quite ridiculously casual tones, "is all about technique. Don’t gobble, don’t bite, and whatever you do, for god’s sake, don’t blow."
"Why is it called a blow job, then?" Elijah ground out, almost weeping as he realised that he could actually feel Ian’s breath against the tip of his cock. It was that close and nothing he could do would make anything happen any faster.
"Because a suck job is a ridiculous phrase." Daintily, Ian ran his tongue through the liquid collecting at the tip of Elijah’s cock and savoured it as if it were a fine wine. A faint trace of salt, no doubt from Elijah’s copious sweating, but as usual, not much actual taste. He dipped his head a little lower and licked around the head, causing Elijah to make a strange keening noise deep in his throat.
Ian shifted to his knees to give himself better access, and then smiled.
"The last queen I knelt in front of was our own dear Elizabeth," he said. "And on that occasion she was the one with the bigger blade." He wrapped a hand around Elijah’s cock, revelling in the tightening of the firm young thighs as he did so. He felt Elijah’s hand rest hesitantly on his head and reached up with his free hand to move it, shaking his head.
"Not many people like that," he said. "It’s not always nice to feel as if you’re being controlled. The young ladies of your acquaintance may let you do it, but not me. You’ll be able to set the pace with your own body. If you feel I’m going too fast for you, simply stop moving."
"I’m not moving now," Elijah lied valiantly.
"Oh, you will be." And with that, Ian dipped his head and took Elijah’s cock into his mouth.
It wasn’t anything like Elijah had been expecting, if he had really been expecting anything. Whilst part of his mind was amusing itself with the thought that Ian still sounded like a Knight Of The Theatre, even when he was about to blow somebody, most of his conscious thought was taken up with trying not to come.
He let go of the sheet with one hand, and deliberately bit down on a finger, trying not to think about the way the hot mouth had enveloped him and was now ruthlessly playing; nor the way that Ian’s tongue was teasing him, sliding along his whole length before dipping playfully around the tip, making his hips jerk forward and his whole body sing.
As Elijah felt Ian’s hand slide underneath him, cupping and squeezing his balls, he opened his eyes and began to count slowly and steadily under his breath. It really wasn’t anything like being blown by a girl. And when Ian’s knuckle pressed on the delicate skin just behind his balls, he really had no chance, and wasn’t even able to utter a warning before he came, and even as he rode the waves of intense pleasure, part of his mind was screaming at him: you’ve just come in Gandalf’s mouth! In about 15 seconds he’ll turn you into a toad!
But he didn’t. He sat back and looked at Elijah, taking in the glazed eyes and the heaving chest, then leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead, trying to hide his own unexpected reaction. Not a reaction of the body; a reaction of the soul; a reaching out to this intense and beautiful young man, and although he tried to clamp down on it as rigorously as he could, he knew that some of it had taken root, and he had a terrible feeling that somebody had just handed him a brush and told him to start painting himself into the nearest corner.
He brushed the dark hair away from Elijah’s forehead and took a moment to just look, to study this fascinating little plaything. Still so young, his skin so pale and smooth that he could have stepped from a dream; all his colour concentrated in his hair and his lips and of course, those absurd eyes.
Ian shook his head. No, he wasn’t going down that road; he wasn’t going to fall for this little beauty and end up making a fool of himself. He would play along, teach Elijah all that he wanted to learn, and then let him go.
He had convinced himself that he could do this; that Elijah could be a ‘project’, when a childlike hand reached up and touched his cheek.
"Come to bed," Elijah whispered. "I want to lie here with you, just for a little while. Keep the real world at bay."
And Ian made the mistake of looking down, looking into those unfathomable eyes, and he fell.