A Modicum of Restraint

Title: A Modicum of Restraint
Author: SilverFawkes
Fandom: The Invisible Man
Pairing: Darien/OFC (Alyx Silver)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters and basic story ideas of The Invisible Man are the property of others including, but not limited to Matt Greenberg, Studios USA, Stu Segall Productions and NBC Universal. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine. I make no money from this intellectual exercise.
Timeline: Prior to Blind Man's Bluff
Comments: A PWP, the basis for which is hinted at in Blind Man's Bluff.
Created: 1/16/2003

A Modicum of Restraint


"The greatest potential for control ends, ceases to exist at the point where action takes place."
Louis A. Allen

"Do you trust me?"

What a question. On any other day, at any other moment I would have given him an instant and unequivocal "yes," but right now, right at this moment I am too damn pissed off to do anything but fume and glare at him. I mean, I had trusted him to watch my back, to keep those slime balls I was playing bait for from doing any serious harm to me, but, as usual, it hadn't quite worked out as planned.

So I don't answer. I turn away from him and walk across the floor, but the room is small and there is no escaping him. By the time I've reached the space behind his black sofa he's there, his hands on my shoulders and turning me about, tipping my chin up so that I'm forced to look him in the eye and he asks me again.

"Do you trust me?"

This time he doesn't wait for an answer, his talented fingers working their way along the dirty and torn shirt I'm wearing, to the buttons where he slowly, teasingly undoes them and being so very careful to not touch the flesh that is revealed inch by slow inch.

I want to tell him to stop, that the last thing I am in the mood for is sex, but I remain stubbornly silent, not wanting to give in and acknowledge the fact that I can never stay angry with him for very long.

He slips my shirt off my shoulders, but instead of pushing it to the floor like I expect, he pulls it tight about my upper arms, making it difficult for me to move them, were I willing to.

"Hmmm, yes, I think silence is best right now."

I open my mouth to snap something at him, but he covers my lips with his hand, trapping the words inside, causing me to glare at him in defiance. His other hand finally tugs the shirt off me and tosses it away to flutter down on the floor near the bathroom door. With a quick motion the lace bra follows, though he gets better distance this time and I watch as it lands on dark green felt of the pool table.

He has this hungry, heated look in his eyes and I can feel he has been planning this little interlude for quite a while, and by 'a while' I mean weeks as opposed to a couple of hours. But I've taught him well and he's giving nothing away as to his intentions. Releasing my mouth from his rough embrace he whispers.

"Nice and quiet, understand?"

I can only nod mutely; he has to know how I'll react to those words; that combination of hate, fear and undiluted lust that surges through me. I've been trained to respond to those words, taught to dread that tone and after a time to, however unwillingly enjoy what often followed. I have no idea if he has noticed my reaction or if he really cares, he simply continues with his plans, stripping me of the ruined slacks that I'm wearing; they'd survived today's adventure about as well as the shirt so I have no complaints about their removal. I'm not going to wear them ever again. He tosses my shoes aside, with the pants following to drape themselves haphazardly over the back of the sofa, leaving me standing in only the deep red thong that had been my perverse choice of an undergarment this morning.

On his knees before me, he tips his head up and my breath catches in my chest. Unthinkingly I reach out to touch him and his hand darts out almost faster than I can see to grasp my wrist, swiftly followed by cold metal and that distinctive ratcheting of the teeth of a handcuff sliding into place.

"Darien..." I take a hasty step back,deridering if maybe he's slipping into the madness.

He stands and keeps a tight grip on the other cuff, the short chain between them now acting as a leash for me. He allows me to continue backing away until both our arms are fully extended, putting about six feet of distance between us. Turning his right hand over he lets me see that there is most assuredly more green than red showing and therefore that he's under no more undue influence than that of his own personal lusts and desires. He tugs gently upon my leash and I find myself closing the distance until I'm forced to tip my head up to look at him.

"Hold still," he tells me, and I do. My heart is pounding due to combined fear and desire, and he has peaked my interest… among other things. My nipples hard and aching to be touched, damp heat between my thighs and that delicious tingling sensation low in my belly. At this point I'm damn sure I'll do just about anything to get him to touch me. When the cloth covers my eyes my first reaction is to reach up and yank it away, my hands actually making it to just in front of my face when a stinging slap on my left butt cheek stops me cold.

"Shit. What was that for?" I snap out as he finishes tying the blindfold in place. Unable to see anything more than a thin swath of floor revealed by the lower edge of the bandana not being flush with my cheeks, I yelp in surprise when icyd tad takes the place of the burning heat of the slap. Cold that quickly becomes uncomfortable, a different, deeper burning sensation that suddenly cuts off, his bare, warm hand now caressing the spot he'd been torturing seconds before.

Unwillingly a moan is drawn from me and I feel him push my hair to the side and bite me on the back of the neck, which very nearly causes my knees to buckle. "Ah, hell," I mutter softly as I lean back into him and reach up to run my hands through his hair, but the moment he notices his mouth stops and he spins me about. Leaning in close enough for me to feel his lips against mine he admonishes me.

"Thought I said to hold still." His tongue darts out, a quick flick against my lips, and before I can react he's scooped me up in his arms, walked a few long strides. I then find myself dropping through the air to land unceremoniously on his bed. With precise movements he has my hands above my head and, with the clink of metal on metal secures my other wrist in its own cuff. Then he straddles me, his body a heavy weight upon my abdomen, his hands securely wrapped about my wrists.

My fear surges higher, dampening the passion. This… position, this sudden feeling of helplessness hits far too close to home, dredging up memories better left buried. I'm frightened enough that it takes a force of will to not throw him off of me, to do nothing more that twist my arms and squirm to get out from under him.

Then he speaks, his voice soft, but so very serious. "Calm down."

He must have sensed my building fright, or I've begun broadcasting it to him even with the damn inhibitor running through my system to dampen my abilities, either way his words do little to help, today he's pushed the envelope, perhaps too far. One hand releases its hold on my wrist and begins to stroke me lightly. He starts with my face, running his fingers slowly over my lips and cheeks, soft movements that do little to relax me. Then he moves lower, over my throat, across my shoulders and then down along the swell of my breasts. Teasing me and making me arch in reaction. I don't want to react, but I can't seem to help myself.

"Darien, please," I beg, though for what I'm not entirely sure. I know it’s not him I'm afraid of, that the fear is nothing but unerasable reminders of my past, and if it weren't for the events of earlier today I probably wouldn't be responding with fright, but with lust-filled enthusiasm.

Then, for the third time he asks, "Do you trust me?"

It's not that we haven't played games like this before. I know he's got this wild streak. Hell, so do I. We've both had a ton of fun doing stuff like this and it rarely matters who's being the dominant one, but today there's just something different about it, about him. I somehow know his question involves far more than this little game of power play, that he needs the answer for himself that maybe something has happened of which I am unaware and he needs to know I still have faith in him.

So I tell him, making sure my tone is serious and completely honest. "Yes. Always and in everything."

He shifts, no longer holding my wrist and lays atop of me, his still clothed body pressing along mine like a warm comforting blanket, sli slight coarseness of his cotton t-shirt and denim clad legs an erotic caress along my overly sensitive skin. Moving lower still, my legs parting about his body and curving about his thighs, his lips brush along mine and I try to remain still, to not respond to the moist heat of his mouth and tongue.

"No trying to get loose, no cheating to see, no using your powers. Promise me." He whispers this in my ear, his breath hot, his tongue doing things to my earlobe and the sensitive spot below that should be outlawed. I groan and shift; trying to touch him, needing to touch him, but all he does is chuckle softly. "Promise me," he repeats, he teeth biting down hard enough for me to gasp at the sharp sudden pain.

"Yes, I promise," I cry out harshly, my voice tight with need. Once again he's managed to play me so very well, as if I was nothing more than a complicated safe to be cracked, revealing the jewels and treasures hidden within. And I have to once again wonder why I bothered fighting him at all.

He growls softly knowing I've just given him license to do whatever he will with me, so I'm left shocked and cold as he rolls off me, leaving me aching and shaking for him to return. "Dare?"

"Uh, uh. No talking and no telepathy." He's nearby, beside the bed based on his voice, and I hear the rustle of cloth as he moves about. I just lie there and feel, knowing it's his shirt when I hear the soft thud of cloth meeting floor. ‘This isn't cheating, ‘ I tell myself. ‘I can't stop myself from hearing, can't stop feeling him even if I wanted to.’ He sits on the edge of the bed; the mattress dipping as his full weight settles upon it, and I suck in a breath as icy fingtractrace long my stomach. The muscles contracting reflexively to get away, to be replaced almost instantly with his tongue, the trail of heat following the cold until he has me squirming beneath him, small moans and squeals escaping past my lips.

I arch upwards as his mouth settles over the nipple he'd been frosting mere seconds before; the sensation is almost too much to bear. I tug futilely on the cuffs holding my hands in place, my arms stretched out their full length, and leaving me little in the way of leverage.

One of his hands makes its presence known on one thigh, stilling the erratic motion of my hands. I give in then, completely, stop trying to think, to anticipate and just let it happen. I swear he knows it, the subtle signs of surrender perhaps obvious to him, as they have been to me when our roles have been occasionally reversed.

I am rewarded with the hand sliding upward and over the damp cloth that is keeping him frouchiuching me. Not that it matters, I still arch my hips upward and moan aloud, trying to plead without speaking, trying to get him to understand that I need him to touch me, need him to allow me the release that only he can bring with such force. His lips find mine then and I react eagerly, hungrily, my mouth opening beneath his and welcoming his tongue into my warmth. I just about come when he moans, his fingers tracing lightly around my clit and making me want to shift to stop the teasing, but I lay there as relaxed as I can be given the tension building throughout my body.

He has complete control and I am reveling in it. With a firm touch, that is exactly what my body is crying out for, he works my clit and within seconds I am groaning and crying out my release to him. Him tenderly kissing me lies on the edge of my awareness, muttering soft words of encouragement that I feel more than hear, his fingers, his talented fingers urging me on to peak after peak without letting me slip back down in between. When I am sure I can take no more, when I feel like I'm about to break apart, to shatter into a million orgasm induced pieces he lets me go, but not abruptly. No, he eases me down, carrying me gently back to reality, to the warmth of his body, the scent of his distinctive Quicksilver laden musk in my nostrils along with my own. The release has been successful in easing one need, one hunger, but dong nothing more than adding fuel to the other, the ache deeper, the fire hotter and not as easily quenched.

I break his rules then, not caring that I might be punished for it, and utter one word, "Please."

He moves and for an instant fear shoots through me, additional adrenaline making my heart pound even harder in my chest, my breathing nothing more than harsh panting gasps. My eyes open under the blindfold, I still see nothing, it has shifted just enough to block out the slight view I'd been able to garner previously, but I don't care. The sounds tell me all I need to know. The distinctive ripping sound of a zipper being undone followed by the rustle of heavy cloth sliding over flesh as he removes his jeans. Seconds later those tight boxer briefs I know he's wearing have gone the way of the jeans, I can smell the difference in the air. I bite back a mas Ias I see in my mind's eye how hard he is, how badly he wants to finish this game, how much pleasure he's derived from breaking me ever so gently to his will.

His cold hands are on me then, almost, but not quite the iciness of Quicksilver, which tells me he's barely hanging onto his control. I force myself to not react, to do nothing more than lift my hips to assist in the removal of the little I still wear and, once its been swept away, I am as well. Suddenly I'm engulfed in his heat, his body pressing mine into the softness of the mattress, the hard length of his cock resting along my thigh, leaving a damp trail to show that he's more than ready for this.

He goes completely still for a long silent moment and the scent of Quicksilver suddenly becomes far more prevalent, and I know he is fighting it, not wanting to lose control, but this entire exercise is about losing control. Some people think it's about dominating the other, about controlling every action and reaction of the other person, but it’s not, not really. Anyone can dominate another through force and fear, as I well knew, but to get them to willingly relinquish control, to have them pliant and responsive to your every whim requires a level of trust that is so very rare.

I shift slightly, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough and I feel the chill wave of Quicksilver break and flow across us as he gives in, gives up his control for the moment. With a growl he thrusts his hips, burying himself inside of me. His hands slide up my arms, his fingers twining with mine as my legs wrap about his waist, driving him even deeper into me. He laughs then, an irrepressible joy being released with the action, and I find myself joining in. The last barrier falling away as our thoughts and emotions mingle, our hearts, minds and bodies becoming one for the short, yet seemingly infinite, time it takes us to reach the top of that immensely high peak together.

Wrapped in our cocoon of ice we cry out together and I feel the white hot heat of his orgasm deep within me, surrounded by me, and savored by me as I enjoy my own release, sharing it with him, which trebles our pleasure. I fight the restraints, my hands opening and closing convulsively about his, so lost, so without control that I don’t even bother to try and curb my reactions. We come back down as one, our hearts pounding a matching rhythm, our breathing nothing more than gasps that fail to draw in nearly enough air to oxygen starved lungs, the Quicksilver dropping away, giving a full return to ambient sound for which I have little use. We are both exhausted and he collapses upon me, his arms curling about my back and I find myself unable to stop the inevitable and drift off into a sudden slumber.


When I awaken everything is dark, and my arms hurt, my wrists most of all. I hear soft cursing from nearby and realize the only thing keeping me warm is the down comforter that lies atop me. I try to move my arms and whimper at the pain that shoots through them, my sleep-fogged mind not yet processing how I've been injured.

"Hold still for a sec," I hear Darien say and I do exactly as he requests, the pain easing as soon as I stop fighting whatever is holding me in place.

"Darien?" I query in a thick voice. My brain slowly begins to kick in, systems coming online one by one. I can't see for some reason and so I focus on the other senses. My entire body, with the exception my arms, is a pleasantly euphoric ache that is all too familiar; I combine that with obvious scent of sex filling the room and it becomes plain what we've been up to. I giggle aloud at that and wonder if he is still up or if we satiated ourselves to the point he actually needs time to recover.

"Finally," he announces, and a moment later he is sitting beside me, the bare flesh of his thigh within easy reach of my mouth as I turn my head and nip him with my incisors.

"Shit," he complains. "Gimme a chance to get you free first." I kiss the spot in hopes of forgiveness, my tongue roving as far as I can reach. "Damn it, if you don't stop I'm never gonna get you out of these cuffs."

That pulls me up short. "Cuffs?" I ask,er aer a second the memories flood back and I find myself blushing in an uncontrolled reaction. "Oh, jeeze," I mutter, and Darien chuckles softly. I hear the click and feel the pressure on my arms release instantly, but I don't move them, giving him time to remove the cuff from the r wrr wrist.

He groans in complete dismay. "Ah, crap. I'm sorry." With his help I move my arms from over my head to rest on my stomach, the wrists are throbbing with pain and feel rubbed raw.

"How about turning on the lights, bub?" I've remembered that I'm blindfolded, but am unwilling to remove it myself, as the blood returning to my hands is causing a fair amount of pain.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds like a plan." He slips it up and off, tossing it away into the dimly lit room and I get and eyeful of his concerned countenance. "Sweets…"

I shake my head as I sense his discomfiture and, heedless of the searing pain that shoots up my forearms, lever myself up slightly onto one elbow. I wrap a hand about the back of his neck and draw him down into a kiss that helps to ease his tension and guilt. When I release him, he sighs deeply and takes a moment to nuzzle my throat, making me groan in response.

I shift to sit up and notice the remaining pillows by my feet; the rest lie scattered upon the floor due to our activities. I'd been tied to the bed backwards; my hands entrapped in the barred foot-board, and I find that it amuses me.

He picks one of my hands up to examine the damage he's caused close up. The red circles of raised flesh are sure to become bruises within a day or two, the skin rubbed raw and nearly bleeding in some places, but I can care less.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats, but I only laugh, a sly chuckle as I plot my revenge. His head snaps about to stare at me and I grin dangerously, his look of worry fading as some inkling of what is going on in my mind shows on my face.

"Now, just where did you leave those cuffs?" Before he can answer I do a quick mental hunt and they appear in the air before us. I snatch at them, and have one fitted about his wrist before he can react. With a gentle shove I have him laying down on the pillows and the cuff secured to one of the bars of the headboard. "Your turn."