Title: Controlling the Master

Author: Struck

Fandom: Witchblade

Pairing: Kenneth Irons/Ian Nottingham

Rating: R (Slash theme)

Archive: WWOMB yes

Disclaimer: characters Kenneth Irons and Ian Nottingham do not belong to me, nor does the series Witchblade

Notes: This story is set pre Sara Pezzini as Wielder. Ian Nottingham is in his mid-twenties. (inspired by another Peja challenge)

Summary: Irons finds out controlling Ian is not just about controlling Ian.

Controlling the Master

by Struck

"Submit." I command firmly, but calmly. My Ian has become rebellious of late. I have let him. I need to see just how far he will go in testing the waters. He remains standing, chin up, exhibiting a delightful childlike defiance. I want to laugh, but it is my responsibility to sustain my role as Master. So, I must rein him back in. I raise my hand to hit him. He easily blocks my strike.

I must concede that given his martial training, if I am not vigilant he could overtake me, someday. But, I am vigilant and careful. I hold the trump card. His destiny is the Wielder, and he is dependent on me to bring them together. Therefore, I control his destiny. He may not accept this on a conscious level, but nonetheless, Ian knows.

I change my strategy. I placate Ian. I caress his cheek where my strike was initially intended. It works. I have given him nothing to fight against. He leans slightly into my touch. "Ian." My tone is expectant. He sighs and kneels down. He craves this tenderness. It is not so much that it comes from me, as that it comes from somewhere. This is also childlike, but now I do not feel like laughing. I am enchanted and I realize something else. I may have regained control of Ian, but…

I reach down and lay my first two fingers on his throat, resting them on the black velvet collar he wears. I feel his pulse, underneath. It is strong and becoming quicker. I also feel him swallow…perhaps from fear…perhaps from desire. I move my hand away. Ian remains still, waiting. I touch the top of his head. I am tempted to kiss his hair, but do not give in to this temptation. His scent teases my senses. It is mostly of him with a hint of soap, clean and musky at the same time. I do not allow him to wear cologne. I step back to look at him. He does not make eye contact. That is to be expected. But if I wish it, then he must. "Ian, look at me."

He looks up reluctantly. What do I see in his eyes? Some fear, some curiosity. Some desire? What does he see in my eyes? Self-satisfaction? Yes. Mastery? Yes. Desire stronger than his? If my eyes convey what I feel, then I fear the answer is ‘Yes.’

I break eye contact and raise my gaze to the top of his head. I do this on purpose. This gives Ian time to…. I look down quickly. Ah. I am right. He has taken the liberty to see what is more or less at his eye level…further evidence of my desire. This time, I cannot resist a short laugh. He blushes furiously. For some reason, I feel the need to confirm what he sees. "Yah, Ian." His eyes widen. "Yah," I tell him once more.

He shudders. I bid him to stand again. He does, readily assuming a submissive stance. "No," I reach around to separate his hands that are clasped behind his back. Then I lift his chin. He makes eye contact again, unbidden, but I have already given him permission, so I do not stop him. I reach around him to unfasten the band that holds his hair. Ian draws in a sharp breath. Did I pull his hair too hard? No, he must be anticipating what he thinks is coming. ‘Yes, Ian, I do desire that.’

However, Ian has guessed incorrectly. Just as it is my responsibility to make sure he submits to me, it is also my responsibility to ensure he remains a virgin. ‘I am sorry, Ian.’ It is actually part of the control I must have over him. I cannot deflower him. If I do so, it will ruin him. He will not be as impassioned to protect the Wielder. I have told him that virginity is invulnerability. But, I could not tell him the real reason…that I want him to be on the edge of desire. A desire that will drive him crazy, yes, but also keep him pursuing that which drives him crazy, until She is subdued by him for my purposes.

Ian is showing a slight uneasiness, as I have made no further advances in the last minutes. He gives me a questioning look. I smile at him fondly. I am torn, but I must end this. "Goodnight, Ian." He pulls his eyebrows together, slightly, and waits just a bit longer than usual, as if he thinks I am teasing him. I raise my eyebrows to show him I am not teasing, and he nods.

"Goodnight, Sir." Ian turns to leave. He fingers his collar where I touched it earlier. Is it unconscious? He glances at me over his shoulder. He appears somewhat stung by the rejection, yet there is a slight hint of a smile, like a young woman coming of age, a latent adolescent discovery of the power of flirtation and seduction. ‘Yes, Ian, you have seduced me.’ I watch him walk away, dark hair loosened around his shoulders. I want to walk after him.

I wonder if he realizes that I worked harder to control myself, than I did him. Tonight, perhaps Ian is the Master…I, the Slave.

end