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The Rose	By : RotSeele Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Alice in Wonderland Views: 5726 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Alice in Wonderland book series.

Chapter List
- 1-The Rose
- 1
Scents and sounds filtered through the foresty surroundings to the sensitive ears of the one who sat close to a table laden with tea saucers and a slightly steaming teapot. Black tea, gently scented with exotic spices teased a sensitive, twitchy nose. A gentle hand massaged the back of his neck, the owner of that hand watching him with a gaze that hinted at fun and mystery and sepulchral sensuality. It was the last part that March Hare wasn’t interested in. Not now, anyway. Hare reached for the teapot and froze, lips curling down in a frown as the thought he’d held in his brain to control his arm flitted away like a jaybird startled from her branch. He lowered his arm – the hand that settled on it didn’t help him any – and tried to catch the tail end of his thought, his senses teased by the spicy lemon smell of the tea as that annoying hand tickled its way up his bicep to his shoulder and down again, those fingers moving in a staccato rhythm on his skin.

“Stop that,” March Hare ordered the Mad Hatter, frowning deeply into the other man’s eyes.

“Stop what?” Hatter asked innocently, fingertips stroking March Hare’s forearm.

“That.” Hare shifted just out of reach. “The touching.”

“Stop touching? You like being touched.”

“Yes. Being touched is nice.” March Hare replied. “But I don’t want to be touched.”

Hatter shifted closer to Hare, arm reaching out to stroke his fingers down the other’s face. But he went past Hare’s face, to the teapot just behind him, fingers curling sensuously around the porcelain handle as he lifted the teapot up to pour his partner a cup of the hot liquid. Wild eyes watched each movement – precise and calculated – warily, knowing without knowing what could happen. But that teapot was set down with a gentle click after Hatter poured a cup for himself and sat back, sprawling out on the ground littered with pillows, chin propped on a fist as he sipped his tea. March Hare watched Hatter for a moment longer before he took up his own teacup and sipped the wonderful, spicy liquid.

It was something that was familiar, this silence. Ever since Alice came by, that silence had been shattered. Hatter had been more insane than usual, March Hare noted wryly, and his own absentmindedness had just gotten worse as the silly girl had stayed longer in the garden with them. With Alice off playing somewhere else, the silence had returned.

But there was something within that silence.

A silence within silence.

Brittle silence.

But within that silence there was something moving, something writhing and growing and fighting to get out. It was alive, hot and steamy, two notes singing a cadence that intertwined and separated in their own simple rhythms.

Hare blinked.

When had his teacup been refilled?

And was it just his imagination, or was Hatter smirking?

“Is it true that hares, once started, don’t stop until the liquid pearls create little hares?” Hatter asked, sipping on his tea. March Hare frowned.

“Is it true that your riddles, or lack of them, suck?”

It was Hatter’s turn to frown now. He swirled the tea in his cup, gulping the scalding liquid down to cover his irritation. Hare could only sigh and blew on his own tea, sipping the brown liquid and pointedly avoiding the other man’s gaze.

Then there were hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing into muscles and slowly massaging. Hare couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter closed and leaned into the pushing, rotating digits in his back, digging into his spine and slowly moving out in circles.

“Why is the rabbit so tense?” the Mad Hatter asked softly.

Hare kept his silence for a long while. “Why is the sun yellow? Why does the darkest hour happen right before the dawn?”

“Are you asking or are you trying to be clever?”

“Clever? Why, my dear Hatter, would you ever ask such a thing?”

There was a snort into the March Hare’s soft brown hair. “Humour’s left me, I’m afraid, my dear. Answer me true now. Why do you resist?”

“I resist because what I want at this moment is not what you want.”

“And what is it I want?”

March Hare twisted to look at the Mad Hatter, and found his mouth captured by soft lips that smelled slightly spicy like the tea. The March Hare twisted and pushed the Hatter back, the Hare falling back onto the pillows with the other atop him.

“You know better than that.” Hatter said softly, stroking Hare’s cheek.

“Know better? I say no, you say yes. I say go away, you say come here. Forever at an impasse, going back and forth.”

Mad Hatter’s fingers stroked down Hare’s neck, nails lightly scratching in some sort of attempt to please, to coerce. “You always say yes.”

“No. Not this time.” Hare shifted, forcing his hands between them, pushing at Hatter’s chest, pushing to get him away. “Not this time.”

Hatter sighed, as if defeated and shifted to pull back, and Hare relaxed, stretching his arms out as far as he could to make sure the Mad Hatter wouldn’t get any bright ideas. It was a horrible, delicate, sensual dance the two played almost every day. Resist, give in, fight back. Started from the very first sip of tea to the very last thrust of some pleasure-creating object. Sometimes, it began with such a thrust, whether from Hare’s insatiable need for some sort of contact or Hatter’s want for release. This time, Hare was sure he had broken the cycle.

And then something cold encircled his wrists, the metal biting into his dark flesh as his arms were forced up and over his head, pinned down and lashed to the rung of a stool that had been bolted to the ground.

Hare gave a shriek of indignity.

Hatter cackled and stroked the chain of the handcuffs lovingly.

The March Hare kicked out and his ankle was caught in a strong grip, Hatter lifting that leg to its full extension and then forcing it up so close to Hare’s ear, nearly bending the other in half.

“Fight it though you may, you give yourself away.” Hatter giggled madly.

Hare tried to bite his nose.

The poor creature got a throat-swabbing kiss in return.

Even as teeth bit down into the flesh of his throat, Hare struggled against the restraints around his wrists. He tried to fight – he didn’t want what was to come however much his body was beginning to tell his mind he did want it. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it, it was that he wasn’t in the mood for it.

Teeth bit down on his chest – when had Hatter removed their clothes? – and pleasure washed through his brain.

“You like it well enough now, don’t you?” the Mad Hatter asked the March Hare.

“When you’re given no choice,” Hare let out a whine as a nipple was tweaked a bit too roughly, “the best choice is to give in. You might enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it, hm? Well, I’ll be sure to allow enjoyment to come to you.”

Hatter sank his teeth into one sensitive nub on Hare’s chest, tongue flicking the orb back and forth and around in a circle in a maddening, teasing sort of way. It was designed to make the March Hare beg, to make him raise his hips into the waiting hand that was settled at the small of his back. Once he did, that hand would slide down between his buttocks to toy with the hidden entrance there. Hare fought that urge, fought the pleasure swirling down from his brain to his groin. He fought that urge even as Hatter’s tongue left his nipples and made a wet trail down his chest, down his stomach, to the coarse thatch of hair that made a little blanket between his flesh and his cock, up over his cock and down the other side. Hatter did it twice, thrice, four times before Hare gave a choked whine and pulled against the handcuffs.

“Just raise them up a little and we can begin our game.” Hatter said in a mumbling whisper, each syllable allowing him to flick his tongue out against hot flesh. Hare whined. “Up, up they go, like a rainbow.”

Hare shivered and couldn’t help but raise his hips now, feeling his legs forced apart as Hatter settled between them, tongue and fingers all playing a horrible, wonderful rhythm on his skin. Tongue on the head of his cock, fingers toying with the tightening muscles of his ass – it was all Hare could do not to scream.

Then Hatter did that thing with his tongue and Hare let out a low rumble that shortly became a crying, wordless plea.

Hatter snickered.

Slid his tongue down from the tiny slit in the head of the cock before his face, over the edge of the cap, down the underside vein to the pucker his fingers were playing with, two digits pushing inside in short order, followed by his tongue.

March Hare howled and arched. The Mad Hatter laughed and pulled back, pushing his fingers in deeper, in and out in and out in and out, a rhythm that made the March Hare’s body sing in both pain and pleasure, though the latter was the stronger of the two feelings.

Hatter kissed Hare’s stomach, nipping here and there just to see tanned skin darken further with bruises. He kissed up to his chest, to his neck, and captured the Hare’s mouth, forcing his tongue into that unwilling mouth. Metal clinked as Hare fought against his restraints and worked tirelessly to attempt to free himself.

Pleasure sang up his spine and into his brain and Hare let out a long cry of Hatter’s name, muscles spasming around the Mad Hatter’s fingers. His cock jumped fully to life almost immediately and strained for attention, attention it received in the form of Hatter’s free hand. The pleasure was mind numbing and Hare could only make out a few of the words and riddles Hatter was speaking in. It didn’t matter, not now, for the March Hare was slowly becoming more receptive, more wanting.

Hatter moved a bit slower then, gently driving his lover closer and closer to the edge. And then, when Hare had closed his eyes, all the touches both within and without stopped. The March Hare opened his eyes and looked to the Mad Hatter, staring into the blue-white eyes confusedly. There was something within those orbs, Hare knew, something that asked a question he wasn’t sure he could answer. Hare took a breath.

“Love is a tiny rose, one that blooms in the darkest of nights, in the coldest of seasons. But it blooms over and over, for only one.” Hare whispered. “Rabbits aren’t known for their monogamy but this Hare has only one rose to share.”

Hatter laughed and bent at the waist, knees curled beneath him and pressed to his chest, lips pressing to the head of the March Hare’s cock. “I accept this rose and offer mine in return.”

Hare mewled and raised his hips closer to the velvety tongue that lapped at the beading liquid adorning his flesh. Hatter took a moment to twitch his fingers, nails lightly scraping the soft muscled tunnel that made the March Hare’s entrance, earning soft cry after cry. His lips parted to take Hare into his mouth again, running his tongue – and only his tongue – up and down the vein on the underside of the Hare’s cock.

Hare was losing control, he knew, barely registering one movement his lover made before pleasure shot up his spine to his brain and down from his brain to his groin, the pressure in his balls steadily increasing until the wave reached its zenith and came crashing down. Hare let out a keen of utter pleasure as his seed spurted into the hot cavern of the Mad Hatter’s mouth, the muscles of Hatter’s throat working to swallow all he could. He pulled back, but he left the Hare with a nice parting gift, one strong lick that got the poor rabbit hot and hard again.

The fingers within his body pulled out, and their hands were placed on the backs of the Hare’s thighs. Those were lifted, pressed up and back until Hare was bent near in half and Hatter had exposed his prize.

“Such a pretty thing, holes are,” Hatter said absently, stroking his own erection as though buttering a piece of toast, “small and large and loose and tight, where a number of things like to hide.”

Hare squirmed. “Just put it in!”

“Put what in? In where?”

Hare snarled.

Hatter laughed.

The March Hare moaned as hard pressure was applied to the pucker between his legs, muscles protesting the object that was trying so hard to get in where it so obviously wasn’t meant to go. Despite the care the Mad Hatter had taken, the March Hare felt something down there tear and felt all resistance end as Hatter slid into his channel.

“Hot and tight, so hot and tight.” Hatter mewled as he shifted his knees and hooked Hare’s legs over his shoulders.

Hare hissed, “Move.”

Hatter, not one to disappoint, pulled out until only the head of his erection was within his lover’s body, and thrust back in, going deep, right to the hilt. He repeated this motion several more times until Hare was open enough for him to move easily, and pain for Hare quickly – very quickly – became pleasure. Thrust after thrust drove Hare deeper down into the spiral of pleasure, his body tightening around Hatter until the Mad Hatter pulled out, flipped the March Hare onto his stomach, and thrust in again. Hare balanced on his crossed elbows and on his knees, eyes closed tight as he screamed his pleasure to the forest, feeling Hatter deep inside of him, striking the sweet spot so deep inside. Withdraw, thrust, withdraw, thrust thrust thrust over and over again. His body was tightening, his muscles shrinking with each thrust into his protesting channel, with each spike of pleasure up his spine and into his brain.

Hatter leaned over his back, giving messy kisses to the back of his neck, down his spine, and panting in his ear. Words were lost to both of them, the lovers lost in the swirl of emotions and ecstasy of the simple movements of sex. Lovemaking at its finest. One final thrust and it ended abruptly, Hare screaming out some intelligible word or words as his muscles clamped down on Hatter, Hatter gritting his teeth as he gave one, two, three final thrusts into the body beneath him, feeling his own muscles pulse as he spilled his life force into his lover’s hot channel and felt his lover’s own seed splatter all over the ground beneath them. Hare was shivering, panting, whimpering when Hatter pulled from his body, utterly satisfied.

Gingerly, he helped Hare roll onto his back and uncrossed his arms, reaching for the cuffs he so lovingly caressed before he hid them, pulling Hare onto the pillows with him. March Hare shivered as the sweat on his skin finally began to cool, curling up between Hatter’s legs and stroking his chest in slow circles.

“Go into sleep,” the Mad Hatter whispered softly to his March Hare, “and dream the simple dreams, the kindest dreams. And know forever that I love you.”

Hare shifted, closing his eyes with a gentle smile. “The rose,”

“The rose,” Hatter replied to the sleeping Hare. “The rose.”
- 1
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The Rose