[Pokémon X&Y] Constrict
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teamflareTitle: Constrict
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: T
Summary: "Doesn't it bother you?" Augustine asks, casually, on one of those warm summer evenings, after they're done sharing dinner at the café. "Wearing that around your neck all the time."
Notes: Written for the prompt "hands on throat." The heat has been getting me down, trying to get back into the groove slowly...
AO3 Link: Here.
"Doesn't it bother you?" Augustine asks, casually, on one of those warm summer evenings, after they're done sharing dinner at the café. "Wearing that around your neck all the time."
Lysandre tilts his head, a gesture that, he knows, only serves to further highlight the piece of clothing he's being asked about. He scratches his beard, leans forward a little bit, and thinks about it. "Not any more than wearing pants does, I reckon."
The feel of his cravat has become too familiar, over the years, to bring any kind of discomfort. It fits around his neck the same way a sock fits around a foot. He barely even thinks about it. Knowing that Augustine does is perplexing, though he doesn't show anything more than polite interest in response.
Augustine laughs. His cheeks have warmed up throughout their meal, hot food and good wine flushing his handsome face. He shakes his head and his arms with it, moving his entire body as he speaks.
"It has to be– I mean, I've worn ties before." He pauses, to give Lysandre room to appear tactfully surprised by that information. "If you can believe it. They're suffocating, you know? Made me feel like I was getting continuously strangled or something."
"Well," Lysandre says after clearing his throat, "I can't pretend to know how tight your ties were, but I can assure you I can breathe as well as I would were I not wearing the cravat."
Somehow, as he speaks and Augustine's gaze lingers, his throat does begin to feel a little tighter. He breathes in through his nose, holds it, and releases it slowly. Augustine keeps staring.
"I'm curious about how it feels," he says, after a few seconds of silence during which Lysandre was pretending to be captivated by what he can see of the lumiosian streets through the café's front windows.
He's forced to relent and return his attention toward Augustine, who's all but slouching over his chair, his head thrown back, his eyes narrowed. He's unbuttoned more of his shirt as they ate, blaming the weather, and his neckline is even more plunging than usual, revealing more of his chest than Lysandre has ever seen.
Yet, it's his neck that Lysandre has to wrestle with himself not to ogle. It's the same as it always is: whereas Lysandre's cravat never leaves him, keeping this part of his anatomy hidden from prying eyes, Augustine's is bare, uncovered, defenseless. One slight bend of the head and every muscle twitches and tenses, the skin growing taut and then relaxing. Maddening, is what it is.
"If you're suggesting I should let you wear it, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint," Lysandre says once he's able to drag himself away from the object of his fascination.
Augustine laughs, again, at the same tempo. "No, no, that would be weird. Maybe–"
He holds up his hands to his own neck, and it's at that moment that Lysandre realizes he's drunk too much. He doesn't squeeze, barely brushes his fingertips against the skin, his blunt nails scraping the surface, but it's enough to make his intentions clear.
Lysandre tries and fails to hold back from indulging. He pictures it so clearly he can nearly see it, as if it really was happening: reaching out to wrap his hands around Augustine's throat and grip it, not too tight, just enough to make him feel it, to see the satisfaction on his face at being obeyed, like Lysandre is his pokémon he's taught to do tricks–
The incongruity of that thought snaps him out of it. He blinks, and the spell unravels, leaving him unsettled, emerging from the daze of his self-inflicted Confusion.
Augustine's knowing smile only worsens the sensation. His pale eyes dig through him until they pierce the skin and reach the bones.
"Professor," Lysandre says, his voice steady against all odds, "it's getting late."
He looks down at his empty wine glass while Augustine stretches his back out, his arms thrown over his head, and yawns.
"So it is," Augustine replies, half of it lost in another yawn. "I guess we'll have to discuss this in more detail tomorrow."
In his haste to get this over with, Lysandre nods, realizing too late what he's agreeing to.
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: T
Summary: "Doesn't it bother you?" Augustine asks, casually, on one of those warm summer evenings, after they're done sharing dinner at the café. "Wearing that around your neck all the time."
Notes: Written for the prompt "hands on throat." The heat has been getting me down, trying to get back into the groove slowly...
AO3 Link: Here.
"Doesn't it bother you?" Augustine asks, casually, on one of those warm summer evenings, after they're done sharing dinner at the café. "Wearing that around your neck all the time."
Lysandre tilts his head, a gesture that, he knows, only serves to further highlight the piece of clothing he's being asked about. He scratches his beard, leans forward a little bit, and thinks about it. "Not any more than wearing pants does, I reckon."
The feel of his cravat has become too familiar, over the years, to bring any kind of discomfort. It fits around his neck the same way a sock fits around a foot. He barely even thinks about it. Knowing that Augustine does is perplexing, though he doesn't show anything more than polite interest in response.
Augustine laughs. His cheeks have warmed up throughout their meal, hot food and good wine flushing his handsome face. He shakes his head and his arms with it, moving his entire body as he speaks.
"It has to be– I mean, I've worn ties before." He pauses, to give Lysandre room to appear tactfully surprised by that information. "If you can believe it. They're suffocating, you know? Made me feel like I was getting continuously strangled or something."
"Well," Lysandre says after clearing his throat, "I can't pretend to know how tight your ties were, but I can assure you I can breathe as well as I would were I not wearing the cravat."
Somehow, as he speaks and Augustine's gaze lingers, his throat does begin to feel a little tighter. He breathes in through his nose, holds it, and releases it slowly. Augustine keeps staring.
"I'm curious about how it feels," he says, after a few seconds of silence during which Lysandre was pretending to be captivated by what he can see of the lumiosian streets through the café's front windows.
He's forced to relent and return his attention toward Augustine, who's all but slouching over his chair, his head thrown back, his eyes narrowed. He's unbuttoned more of his shirt as they ate, blaming the weather, and his neckline is even more plunging than usual, revealing more of his chest than Lysandre has ever seen.
Yet, it's his neck that Lysandre has to wrestle with himself not to ogle. It's the same as it always is: whereas Lysandre's cravat never leaves him, keeping this part of his anatomy hidden from prying eyes, Augustine's is bare, uncovered, defenseless. One slight bend of the head and every muscle twitches and tenses, the skin growing taut and then relaxing. Maddening, is what it is.
"If you're suggesting I should let you wear it, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint," Lysandre says once he's able to drag himself away from the object of his fascination.
Augustine laughs, again, at the same tempo. "No, no, that would be weird. Maybe–"
He holds up his hands to his own neck, and it's at that moment that Lysandre realizes he's drunk too much. He doesn't squeeze, barely brushes his fingertips against the skin, his blunt nails scraping the surface, but it's enough to make his intentions clear.
Lysandre tries and fails to hold back from indulging. He pictures it so clearly he can nearly see it, as if it really was happening: reaching out to wrap his hands around Augustine's throat and grip it, not too tight, just enough to make him feel it, to see the satisfaction on his face at being obeyed, like Lysandre is his pokémon he's taught to do tricks–
The incongruity of that thought snaps him out of it. He blinks, and the spell unravels, leaving him unsettled, emerging from the daze of his self-inflicted Confusion.
Augustine's knowing smile only worsens the sensation. His pale eyes dig through him until they pierce the skin and reach the bones.
"Professor," Lysandre says, his voice steady against all odds, "it's getting late."
He looks down at his empty wine glass while Augustine stretches his back out, his arms thrown over his head, and yawns.
"So it is," Augustine replies, half of it lost in another yawn. "I guess we'll have to discuss this in more detail tomorrow."
In his haste to get this over with, Lysandre nods, realizing too late what he's agreeing to.