![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shadadukal. It's R-rated, if a light R, and possibly not for the reasons you might have liked -_-;
Title: The Art of Tease
Rating: Light R
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Nigel/Nikola
Summary: Set in the late 1920s, I think. Burlesque, the art of the tease. Strip-tease, to be precise
Wordcount: 1978
Warnings/Notes: Erm. I don't even know? *shrugs helplessly*
Disclaimer: Not mine
shadadukal. It's R-rated, if a light R, and possibly not for the reasons you might have liked -_-; Title: The Art of Tease
Rating: Light R
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Nigel/Nikola
Summary: Set in the late 1920s, I think. Burlesque, the art of the tease. Strip-tease, to be precise
Wordcount: 1978
Warnings/Notes: Erm. I don't even know? *shrugs helplessly*
Disclaimer: Not mine
The Art of Tease
Nikola was becoming increasingly frustrated, Nigel could see. Lounging idly near the back of the lab, he could tell that was going to be one of those experiments. One of the ones that, if it didn't end in tears and/or a new world order, would almost certainly end in explosions. The man's hair hadn't sat down for over three hours now, and only partially because of the narrow, frustrated hands that kept tangling through it.
Well, Nigel could do something about that. The frustration, at least, if not the experiment. What Nikola needed, right this moment, was a distraction. And Nigel was perfectly qualified to provide one.
"Even been to Minsky's, down the Winter Garden?" he asked, into a lull between the bolts of electricity. More comfort than function, those arcs, he thought. Nikola looked up at him, mouth twisting on the verge of a snap, distracted and annoyed, but then he paused, one eyebrow going up in interest despite himself. Nigel smiled.
"The burlesque shows?" Nikola asked, bemused, somewhat incredulous. And more than a little intrigued already. "What does that have to do ...?"
"I've a friend or two that way," Nigel went on, amiable and stolid, only smiling to himself, where Nikola couldn't see. "Couple of girls, do the odd singing gig for us down at the Green Door. Told me a trade secret or two, about the burlesque. Want to hear?"
Nikola blinked at him, now wholly confused. His agitated hair eddying faintly, the crackle of electricity dying in the background as he became properly distracted, his bewildered attention on Nigel. And his curiosity. Oh yes. Worse than a cat, was Nikola, and for all the man was surprisingly virtuous when it came to companionship, there was ever a touch of the salacious in him. A touch of something that delighted in the secrets like the burlesque, delighted in a little something risque.
"Oh, do elabourate," Nikola mused, watching him with startled eyes, waving one distracted hand lazily. "Such company you keep, Nigel."
Nigel smiled comfortably, propping his hip against the table to better eye the man. A little salacious himself, but that was only proper. "Best company to be had," he agreed cheerfully. "But you want to know anyway, don't you." It wasn't a question. "The secret of a proper show, according to the girls. The secret to something a little dirty, and a little secretive, and a little fun. It's not what you see that counts. It's what you might see."
He grinned, into the wary fire that was sparking behind the confusion in Nikola's eyes, leaned forward a little to smile, sharp as tacks, and let his gift rippled through him. Invisibility, not all at once, not a totality, but a wave, a ripple of intangibility passing across him, a fading there and gone again. He let it ripple through him, and smiled.
"What to come over here and see what you might see?" he asked, low and quiet and rough, a rumble of invitation that brought Nikola forward a step before the man even thought. "Want to help me put on a little show?"
Nikola smiled disbelievingly. A little lift of one side of his mouth, the baring of one gleaming tooth, a predator's baffled anticipation. Nigel let himself shudder a little. Let it be visible. Nikola's eyes shuttered, coming forward, a wondering step at a time, coming to a stop in front of Nigel, meeting his eyes with startled amusement, and definite appreciation. Coming to a halt, a foot away, not touching. Not moving. Only watching Nigel, with those gleaming predator's eyes, and that wary, anticipatory smile.
"What would you have me do?" the inventor purred, spreading his hands a little in invitation, rocking vaguely on the balls of his feet. Nigel took a moment, just a second, to admire him. To admire the neat figure pressed behind a waistcoat and the gleam of a watch-chain, the pale hands with their elegant fingers spread in invitation, the smiling tilt of that chin. Nigel took a second to look, a moment for himself. Because in a moment it would be Nikola doing the watching. In a moment, it would be Nikola's show.
"Help me out of this jacket," he said at last, with a slow curl of his lip, a rich demand into the flash of Nikola's grin. "Take it off me," he murmured, watching the man, letting the man see. "Slowly, Nikola."
"Anything you say," the vampire agreed, light on the balls of his feet, smooth and quick to answer. Lifting his hands, high and hovering over Nigel's lapels, not quite touching, not just yet. Playing the game, just like he was challenged. Nikola always was good at games. A flash, that tiny grin, that gleam of a pearly tooth.
Then those slender, frustrated hands were on Nigel's chest, frustrated no longer, calm now, and eager. Questing, smoothing over the front of Nigel's jacket, slipping a thumb slowly and teasingly under the lapel. Lifting it, with deliberate slowness, with deliberate showmanship. Slowly, and oh, so carefully, sliding the material away. Slowly, so slowly, pushing it back, lifting it down Nigel's shoulders, letting hang for a moment in the air behind Nigel's back, pulling on his arms, leaving his chest bared and his arms drawn slightly behind him. Nigel grinned, hard and fierce, and tilted his chin, smiled up into the slow electricity in Nikola's eyes.
"Drop it," he said, low and soft, and as much a command as anything that had ever come between them. A dare, to a vampire. Obey me. Play along. Come on, Nikola.
And Nikola grinned, a fierce, delighted grin, and let the jacket fall, let gravity take it in a rush of wool down Nigel's arms, let it slide to the floor with a soft whuff and a slither of cloth. Nikola, as commanded, smiling.
Nigel dipped his head, an approving nod, and bared his teeth slowly. Brought his arms up and forward, catching Nikola's wrists as they withdrew, his fingers curling around the bones of them, brushing the pulse with his thumbs. Deceptively fragile, those wrists. Unconscionably powerful. Nikola smiled at him, something vibrant and blood-dark in his eyes, something completely unafraid. Nigel felt himself tighten, felt the anticipation shudder through him in a delicious wave. Yes. Oh yes. This was going to be fun.
"Roll up your sleeves," he instructed softly, moving thick fingers over Nikola's wrists, pushing at his shirt cuffs. Tracing over the short hairs of the man's arms, tugging, just shy of pain. "Workman's arms. Like a proper stagehand, yeah? For our show."
There was a flash again of those teeth, a tilt of that chin and a flicker of something molten in those eyes. Something dark and languid and deadly. Nikola laughed, silently, as he pulled his hands from Nigel's. As he tugged them slowly through the cage of Nigel's fingers, brushing fingertip to fingertip briefly, testingly, in passing. Nikola laughed, without sound.
Then he raised his hands between them, let them hover in the scant inches between them, turning them gently from side to side, a flashing curl of bone. He smiled, with teeth, so many teeth, and rested the fingers of one hand over the wrist of the other. Rested them, just for a moment and then, with a rapid, near contemptuous flick of his wrist, shot the cuff, one rapid flash.
With a tiny snap, the button fell to the floor. Nigel didn't hear it land.
Nikola rolled the sleeves back briskly, confidently, with that same grin, that same heat in his eyes. Baring his arms, the startled hairs of them crackling faintly, stirring with electricity. With heat. Nigel felt his own grin widen. Felt his lips stretch, baring his own teeth, a flash of his own heat, his own molten, languid beast.
"Now," he rumbled, when those pale forearms were fully bared, when he had the full flash of white skin. "Undo my waistcoat, Nikola. Button at a time. Let's see ... how slow you can make it."
"How slow," Nikola echoed, almost absently. Idle musing, as his naked hands reached out to feather down Nigel's front, tracing him lightly from collar to waist. Curling, at the last, to touch the lowest button, to thumb it lightly, consideringly. "And what, Nigel, would I get as a reward? If I were to ..." He popped the button casually, a little flick of fingers, and slid his finger into the button-hole. Tugged, just gently. "If I were to make it ... slow."
Nigel smiled. Dragged his eyes up along the length of the man, let them linger, let them caress, let them touch. Heat, slow and curling, and not a touch between them. Eyes only. Hands their tools.
"Then ... you get to see," he husked, rich and rough, inviting. Raising his hands to hover on either side of Nikola's, drifting up and down, the hairs on his own arms lifting to the electricity between them. Miming, very slowly, the lifting of a shirt, the baring of the flesh beneath. "Then you get a look, Nikola, at what you're unwrapping."
"Mmmm," the man mused, the little lift to the corner of his mouth, that dazzling thing in his eyes. "Just a look?"
Nigel laughed, low and throaty, heady with power and languid heat. "If you're lucky," he said, softly, turning his hands palm up. Baring the soft palms in demonstration, in opening, and smiling as he let his gift ripple through them, a slow curl of invisibility, hiding them and baring them anew in slow, rippling succession. A taunt, a tease. "Burlesque, remember? It's what you might see, Nikola. If you're ... good."
Nikola was still, a humming stillness, writhing with heat, with electricity. Watching Nigel's hands, the shadows of them, the pale flesh, there and gone again. Fascination in his eyes, anticipation, dark and hungry. Delight, and a flashing secret, as he raised his eyes to Nigel's, as he let it crackle between them.
"You know," the vampire mused, very softly, petting lightly at Nigel's stomach through the waistcoat, a soft, purposeful drifting of hands. "They think you're the solid one, the others. They think you're the quiet one. Dependable. Safe." His grin was a vampire's grin, all teeth and delight and gleaming power. For Nigel, this time. For Nigel, this once.
"Yes, well," Nigel hummed back, with a little grin all his own. "The others ought to remember I'm the one who goes around with his prick hanging out in public on a daily basis, hmm?" He laughed, warm over the vulgarity, and delighted in the flare of response in Nikola's eyes. Delighted in the flash of heat. "Well then, Nikola?" He smiled, slow and savage, and let it hum through his voice. Let it curl, thick and invisible, an electric ripple. "Are you going to unbutton me? Nice and ... slow. A button at a time, on the promise ... of something you might see." A dark gleam, a show of teeth, smiling between them. "Are you going to be good?"
Nikola only looked at him, only let his darkness shine in rich response, and slid his fingers beneath the seam of Nigel's waistcoat. Pressed it between finger and thumb, rubbed it softly, the back of his fingers pressing faintly through Nigel's shirt into his stomach. Slipped his fingers beneath the seam, and drew them, slowly, purposefully, up the length of it, along the line of it, until they met the next button. Until they caught against the next hole. Then, only then, as clever fingers slipped inside the hole, slid free the little nub of silk, did Nikola smile.
"Oh," he whispered, with a vampire's smile, with naked hands, licking his lips with a wet glistening. "I think I can be good, Nigel. Just for you. I think ... I can be ... good."
Nigel licked his own lips, and smiled his own smile, and whispered, into the humming, crackling silence, with Nikola's fingers on his buttons: "Prove it."
And Nikola, dark and gleaming, did. One button. At a time.
Nikola was becoming increasingly frustrated, Nigel could see. Lounging idly near the back of the lab, he could tell that was going to be one of those experiments. One of the ones that, if it didn't end in tears and/or a new world order, would almost certainly end in explosions. The man's hair hadn't sat down for over three hours now, and only partially because of the narrow, frustrated hands that kept tangling through it.
Well, Nigel could do something about that. The frustration, at least, if not the experiment. What Nikola needed, right this moment, was a distraction. And Nigel was perfectly qualified to provide one.
"Even been to Minsky's, down the Winter Garden?" he asked, into a lull between the bolts of electricity. More comfort than function, those arcs, he thought. Nikola looked up at him, mouth twisting on the verge of a snap, distracted and annoyed, but then he paused, one eyebrow going up in interest despite himself. Nigel smiled.
"The burlesque shows?" Nikola asked, bemused, somewhat incredulous. And more than a little intrigued already. "What does that have to do ...?"
"I've a friend or two that way," Nigel went on, amiable and stolid, only smiling to himself, where Nikola couldn't see. "Couple of girls, do the odd singing gig for us down at the Green Door. Told me a trade secret or two, about the burlesque. Want to hear?"
Nikola blinked at him, now wholly confused. His agitated hair eddying faintly, the crackle of electricity dying in the background as he became properly distracted, his bewildered attention on Nigel. And his curiosity. Oh yes. Worse than a cat, was Nikola, and for all the man was surprisingly virtuous when it came to companionship, there was ever a touch of the salacious in him. A touch of something that delighted in the secrets like the burlesque, delighted in a little something risque.
"Oh, do elabourate," Nikola mused, watching him with startled eyes, waving one distracted hand lazily. "Such company you keep, Nigel."
Nigel smiled comfortably, propping his hip against the table to better eye the man. A little salacious himself, but that was only proper. "Best company to be had," he agreed cheerfully. "But you want to know anyway, don't you." It wasn't a question. "The secret of a proper show, according to the girls. The secret to something a little dirty, and a little secretive, and a little fun. It's not what you see that counts. It's what you might see."
He grinned, into the wary fire that was sparking behind the confusion in Nikola's eyes, leaned forward a little to smile, sharp as tacks, and let his gift rippled through him. Invisibility, not all at once, not a totality, but a wave, a ripple of intangibility passing across him, a fading there and gone again. He let it ripple through him, and smiled.
"What to come over here and see what you might see?" he asked, low and quiet and rough, a rumble of invitation that brought Nikola forward a step before the man even thought. "Want to help me put on a little show?"
Nikola smiled disbelievingly. A little lift of one side of his mouth, the baring of one gleaming tooth, a predator's baffled anticipation. Nigel let himself shudder a little. Let it be visible. Nikola's eyes shuttered, coming forward, a wondering step at a time, coming to a stop in front of Nigel, meeting his eyes with startled amusement, and definite appreciation. Coming to a halt, a foot away, not touching. Not moving. Only watching Nigel, with those gleaming predator's eyes, and that wary, anticipatory smile.
"What would you have me do?" the inventor purred, spreading his hands a little in invitation, rocking vaguely on the balls of his feet. Nigel took a moment, just a second, to admire him. To admire the neat figure pressed behind a waistcoat and the gleam of a watch-chain, the pale hands with their elegant fingers spread in invitation, the smiling tilt of that chin. Nigel took a second to look, a moment for himself. Because in a moment it would be Nikola doing the watching. In a moment, it would be Nikola's show.
"Help me out of this jacket," he said at last, with a slow curl of his lip, a rich demand into the flash of Nikola's grin. "Take it off me," he murmured, watching the man, letting the man see. "Slowly, Nikola."
"Anything you say," the vampire agreed, light on the balls of his feet, smooth and quick to answer. Lifting his hands, high and hovering over Nigel's lapels, not quite touching, not just yet. Playing the game, just like he was challenged. Nikola always was good at games. A flash, that tiny grin, that gleam of a pearly tooth.
Then those slender, frustrated hands were on Nigel's chest, frustrated no longer, calm now, and eager. Questing, smoothing over the front of Nigel's jacket, slipping a thumb slowly and teasingly under the lapel. Lifting it, with deliberate slowness, with deliberate showmanship. Slowly, and oh, so carefully, sliding the material away. Slowly, so slowly, pushing it back, lifting it down Nigel's shoulders, letting hang for a moment in the air behind Nigel's back, pulling on his arms, leaving his chest bared and his arms drawn slightly behind him. Nigel grinned, hard and fierce, and tilted his chin, smiled up into the slow electricity in Nikola's eyes.
"Drop it," he said, low and soft, and as much a command as anything that had ever come between them. A dare, to a vampire. Obey me. Play along. Come on, Nikola.
And Nikola grinned, a fierce, delighted grin, and let the jacket fall, let gravity take it in a rush of wool down Nigel's arms, let it slide to the floor with a soft whuff and a slither of cloth. Nikola, as commanded, smiling.
Nigel dipped his head, an approving nod, and bared his teeth slowly. Brought his arms up and forward, catching Nikola's wrists as they withdrew, his fingers curling around the bones of them, brushing the pulse with his thumbs. Deceptively fragile, those wrists. Unconscionably powerful. Nikola smiled at him, something vibrant and blood-dark in his eyes, something completely unafraid. Nigel felt himself tighten, felt the anticipation shudder through him in a delicious wave. Yes. Oh yes. This was going to be fun.
"Roll up your sleeves," he instructed softly, moving thick fingers over Nikola's wrists, pushing at his shirt cuffs. Tracing over the short hairs of the man's arms, tugging, just shy of pain. "Workman's arms. Like a proper stagehand, yeah? For our show."
There was a flash again of those teeth, a tilt of that chin and a flicker of something molten in those eyes. Something dark and languid and deadly. Nikola laughed, silently, as he pulled his hands from Nigel's. As he tugged them slowly through the cage of Nigel's fingers, brushing fingertip to fingertip briefly, testingly, in passing. Nikola laughed, without sound.
Then he raised his hands between them, let them hover in the scant inches between them, turning them gently from side to side, a flashing curl of bone. He smiled, with teeth, so many teeth, and rested the fingers of one hand over the wrist of the other. Rested them, just for a moment and then, with a rapid, near contemptuous flick of his wrist, shot the cuff, one rapid flash.
With a tiny snap, the button fell to the floor. Nigel didn't hear it land.
Nikola rolled the sleeves back briskly, confidently, with that same grin, that same heat in his eyes. Baring his arms, the startled hairs of them crackling faintly, stirring with electricity. With heat. Nigel felt his own grin widen. Felt his lips stretch, baring his own teeth, a flash of his own heat, his own molten, languid beast.
"Now," he rumbled, when those pale forearms were fully bared, when he had the full flash of white skin. "Undo my waistcoat, Nikola. Button at a time. Let's see ... how slow you can make it."
"How slow," Nikola echoed, almost absently. Idle musing, as his naked hands reached out to feather down Nigel's front, tracing him lightly from collar to waist. Curling, at the last, to touch the lowest button, to thumb it lightly, consideringly. "And what, Nigel, would I get as a reward? If I were to ..." He popped the button casually, a little flick of fingers, and slid his finger into the button-hole. Tugged, just gently. "If I were to make it ... slow."
Nigel smiled. Dragged his eyes up along the length of the man, let them linger, let them caress, let them touch. Heat, slow and curling, and not a touch between them. Eyes only. Hands their tools.
"Then ... you get to see," he husked, rich and rough, inviting. Raising his hands to hover on either side of Nikola's, drifting up and down, the hairs on his own arms lifting to the electricity between them. Miming, very slowly, the lifting of a shirt, the baring of the flesh beneath. "Then you get a look, Nikola, at what you're unwrapping."
"Mmmm," the man mused, the little lift to the corner of his mouth, that dazzling thing in his eyes. "Just a look?"
Nigel laughed, low and throaty, heady with power and languid heat. "If you're lucky," he said, softly, turning his hands palm up. Baring the soft palms in demonstration, in opening, and smiling as he let his gift ripple through them, a slow curl of invisibility, hiding them and baring them anew in slow, rippling succession. A taunt, a tease. "Burlesque, remember? It's what you might see, Nikola. If you're ... good."
Nikola was still, a humming stillness, writhing with heat, with electricity. Watching Nigel's hands, the shadows of them, the pale flesh, there and gone again. Fascination in his eyes, anticipation, dark and hungry. Delight, and a flashing secret, as he raised his eyes to Nigel's, as he let it crackle between them.
"You know," the vampire mused, very softly, petting lightly at Nigel's stomach through the waistcoat, a soft, purposeful drifting of hands. "They think you're the solid one, the others. They think you're the quiet one. Dependable. Safe." His grin was a vampire's grin, all teeth and delight and gleaming power. For Nigel, this time. For Nigel, this once.
"Yes, well," Nigel hummed back, with a little grin all his own. "The others ought to remember I'm the one who goes around with his prick hanging out in public on a daily basis, hmm?" He laughed, warm over the vulgarity, and delighted in the flare of response in Nikola's eyes. Delighted in the flash of heat. "Well then, Nikola?" He smiled, slow and savage, and let it hum through his voice. Let it curl, thick and invisible, an electric ripple. "Are you going to unbutton me? Nice and ... slow. A button at a time, on the promise ... of something you might see." A dark gleam, a show of teeth, smiling between them. "Are you going to be good?"
Nikola only looked at him, only let his darkness shine in rich response, and slid his fingers beneath the seam of Nigel's waistcoat. Pressed it between finger and thumb, rubbed it softly, the back of his fingers pressing faintly through Nigel's shirt into his stomach. Slipped his fingers beneath the seam, and drew them, slowly, purposefully, up the length of it, along the line of it, until they met the next button. Until they caught against the next hole. Then, only then, as clever fingers slipped inside the hole, slid free the little nub of silk, did Nikola smile.
"Oh," he whispered, with a vampire's smile, with naked hands, licking his lips with a wet glistening. "I think I can be good, Nigel. Just for you. I think ... I can be ... good."
Nigel licked his own lips, and smiled his own smile, and whispered, into the humming, crackling silence, with Nikola's fingers on his buttons: "Prove it."
And Nikola, dark and gleaming, did. One button. At a time.
Tags: