ATF Universe
Disclaimer: They're not mine. ::sigh:: I make no claim to ownership of any of the Mag 7 characters that appear in this fic and they are all used without permission. No money is being made from this story.
The ATF universe was created by Mog, for which she has my undying gratitude. The title of this story is taken, without permission, from the lyrics of a song by October Project. The story, however, is mine.
Ezra felt a frisson of awareness slide down his spine. He was being watched again. A lifetime of facing dangerous and unstable situations, alone, had given him the ability to know without visual confirmation when others watched him, whether it be for good or for ill. This time the stare was calculating, weighing and evaluating him, searching for signs of what, Ezra knew not.
It had been happening for a week now. He would arrive at work in the morning, engage in his usual routine of trading insults with Buck and wishing the rest of his teammates good morning, before slipping into his office to enjoy his coffee and review his email. Except now, from the moment he entered his "home away from home", he could feel the heavy weight of that gaze resting upon him.
At first he wondered what he had done, and had spent many long frustrating moments trying to remember any recent indiscretion. He was surprised when he couldn't think of any. His behavior had been irreproachable for the last few months. Maybe that was why he was being observed; his watcher was waiting for the team's maverick agent to screw-up. The thought brought with it an unexpected pang of hurt. However, as the days passed it became apparent that his supposition was incorrect. There was no malevolence in the stare, and the sense of waiting that tinged the gaze was of a different caliber than the suspicion with which he had been looked upon in the past.
The feel of those eyes started to haunt him, following him from waking into dreaming. The dreams were hazy at first, lacking form and focus. He would awaken to a tumult of emotions surging through him, an unwanted legacy from his nighttime visit with Morpheus. Only one element, one image, from his dreams was clear...the eyes. The ones that watched him all day at work. They inhabited his dreams at night and were inextricably intertwined with the emotions engendered while he slept. The emotions surprised him. Instead of the usual feelings of loneliness and fear, emptiness and betrayal, these dreams left him a confused welter of need and longing. A sense that there was something he needed to be complete. It was an unwelcome sentiment. He had long ago abandoned the idea that anyone else could be counted on to provide him with what he needed. Both life and his mother had taught him to rely only upon himself and he had learned the lesson well.
As the days and nights passed, the dreams gained clarity. He would greet the morning sun with the lingering memory of a smooth chest under his hands, of soft hair sliding through his fingers, of eyes continually watching him. The dreams increased in intensity, becoming more vivid and real, reaching deeper into his psyche. He moved from hazy morning-after recollections to an eager anticipation for the coming of darkness. He could feel himself becoming entangled in the web being woven about him, in the silken threads being spun from that steady, ever-present gaze.
At first the scrutiny had made him ill at ease, even within safety of his own dreams, but the eyes had soon become familiar, welcome even, as they contained a warmth he had rarely, if ever, felt before. They seemed to be inviting him to partake in some wild and wonderful scheme. He found himself accepting the invitation and was drawn further in, ensnared ever more tightly. The eroticism of the dreams deepened. No longer were the dream shapes amorphous and the touches fleeting. The vague impressions of skin and hair had ripened into a sensory feast of sight and sound, taste and touch.
Ezra glutted himself, licking and sucking every inch, every hidden place of his dream lover's body, delighting in the shivers, in the soft moans and pants his touch wrought. The eyes were upon him always, flaring with heat, crackling with a desire so rich and deep that he could feel its flames brush across his skin. He now gloried in being watched, exulted in the feel of those eyes upon his flesh, in the bright approval shining forth, encouraging him to greater abandon as he worshipped the hard, sleek body that twisted beneath him in pleasure.
It became difficult to awaken, to leave behind the heat and approval that burned within the dream eyes for the colder reality of the ones that watched him during daylight hours. Those eyes still cataloged his every move, perhaps searching for some sin that he was of yet unaware. They weren't malicious; in truth there was a warm friendliness that lurked behind the measuring and calculating gaze. But they lacked the fire of the eyes that caressed him at night. He started to feel cold at work, his body missing the warmth and heat it experienced in his dreams. It began to worry him. He wondered if perhaps he was losing his grasp on reality, if all those years of pretending and living on the edge had finally become due and payable.
He contemplated talking to one of the others, had even gone so far as to casually mention, in a round about way, the increased scrutiny to see if anyone else had noticed it. No one had. Maybe it was all in his mind. No. He knew better. There was something happening, although he knew not what. The nights became his refuge, a sanctuary from the puzzling thoughts that plagued him during the day. At night all he had to do was feel.
The images gradually shifted, no longer was he the aggressor. Instead the eyes watched approvingly as he moaned and writhed beneath a determined assault of lips, tongue and fingertips. His body would arch in pleasure, demanding, begging for more while his gaze would remain locked on those eyes, watching in turn as the desire flared to life within them. He would awaken, sheets tangled and sweat soaked, body replete and satiated, and long only for the return of night.
The daylight hours became an endless, torturous procession of recycled conversations and habitual actions. He operated on auto-pilot, performing his duties by rote, beyond grateful for his undercover expertise and the work assignments that kept him desk bound. However, he knew he would not be able to maintain the status quo for much longer. The ceaseless watching, the continual weight of that stare upon him was taking its toll. His senses were hyperaware, constantly on alert, maintaining a wary vigilance too ingrained to shut off. The only relief came with the fall of darkness. Then the battle-ready tension that filled his body drained away. Replaced with an erotic tension so painful in its purity that he could do naught but welcome it. It filled him with an exquisite sweetness, a rush of eager anticipation.
Something had changed today. There had been a sense of barely leashed restraint and a soft welling of satisfaction in the gaze that monitored him this past afternoon. It had carried with it a heavy stillness, like that of the air presaging the passage of a storm. The eyes that watched him this night were lit with an unholy gleam, their fire tempered only by an emotion for which he had no name. He felt the hands of the other move upon him, the warm callused fingers stroking down his sides, running smoothly over his ribcage and gentling the trembling of his body.
He was frightened tonight. The eyes that watched him and the other held no reprieve, and he was too entangled in their web to affect his own escape. They were inside him now, encroaching ever closer to his most fiercely protected territory. He had learned well to guard his heart from all comers, allowing another entrance brought only betrayal and pain. He felt a soft susurration stir his hair, a gently murmured shushing noise that brought with it a measure of calmness. The weight of a lean and muscled body settled over his, the solidity and strength of it further reassuring him.
He tried to reach out, to touch, only to find his hands restrained. He was turned onto his stomach, the journey to face downwards slowed by the mouth that refused to cease its passionate explorations. Lips and teeth continued to nip and lick across his throat, along the nape of his neck, down to the hollow above his collarbone. He hissed in pleasure, hands fisting into the crumpled sheets below him. He felt the hands of the other, those warm, welcome and familiar hands, reach for his hips, tilting up and backwards till he was resting on knees and elbows. A warm, moist breath caressed his body, as the mouth that softly exhaled it blazed a path of fire down his spine. He could only gasp for his own breath now, flayed open by the unrelenting desire that had been building within him for weeks. He wanted nothing more than to be possessed; taken and cherished.
A slick finger probed him, sliding easily into his channel as his body opened for the welcome invader. It was soon joined by a second, stretching and readying his body. He thrust back, hard, onto the fingers inside him, his body obeying a command he had no desire to countermand. Too soon the fingers were withdrawn, leaving him empty and aching. He could no more stop his breathless protest, his murmur of loss, than he could stop the desire coursing through him.
He waited for the weight to return, to settle once more along his back. For his body to be filled. But there was no movement from behind him. He moaned his protest, his body writhing and twisting in a futile search for what he needed. He was empty, alone. His body aching to be filled, to be touched, to be made whole. His soul trembling with his need to be made complete. All his barriers, his protections, stripped away. Leaving him utterly open, vulnerable to the depths of his soul.
He felt the heat of the eyes upon him once more, the eyes that had watched him, weighed him and not found him wanting. This time the gaze was accompanied by strong, warm hands that tenderly cupped his jaw and lifted his face upward. His cheeks were stroked with gentle sideways brushes of callused fingertips. Ezra slowly lifted his own eyes, meeting the deep blue gaze of Vin Tanner. Everything he was, everything he had ever been, or would ever be, was on display. Laid bare for Vin to either accept or reject.
The warm blue eyes that had watched him for so long reached into him, touching his soul and chaining it forever. He felt the hard body of Chris Larabee move behind him, holding him open and thrusting forward as he staked his own claim. No longer empty, no longer alone, he was filled body and soul by the two men surrounding him.
He heard soft murmurs coming from beloved lips, telling him he belonged to them, that he was theirs and theirs alone. Whispers of love and ownership flowed over him. Phrases of desire and need were half heard between the sounds of flesh melting into flesh. Vin remained kneeling before him, his hands still cupping Ezra's face, his eyes still spinning his web, as Chris pounded into Ezra's body, erasing any doubts that dared to try and linger. He was theirs. They owned him.
The fire in Vin's eyes licked across his skin, merging with the inferno raging within him as Chris's rough thrusts fueled the blaze branding him. His body shook with the power of their joining. A closed circuit of energy ran from the cock buried deep within his body, to the man kneeling in front of him, his blue eyes flaring with white heat, burning a path of desire and possession that engulfed his soul. He felt his trembling body supported by two sets of hands as he sought and found his release. The warm pulses of seed within him and the soft lips upon his mouth anchored his soul and sealed the strands woven around him.
The night passed. With the coming of daylight, he found himself filled with longing and trepidation. Hoping and praying that his dreams would be made flesh, that the web which bound him hadn't been only of his own making.
He moved slowly into their offices. His hesitant entrance was met by a pair of eloquent blue eyes, full of love and welcome, and the presence of a warm body quickly sidling up behind him and gently resting its weight upon his back.
Letting his eyes and body speak for him in turn, he nestled deeper into Chris's embrace and allowed his gaze, full of love and acceptance, to light upon Vin's face.
THE END
~~~
Sometimes freedom is found only in chains.
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