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When Jon's first eye - his third eye - opened, it thrilled Elias in ways he wasn't expecting. Yes, it was a victory. A testament to his work. Jon's Becoming was Elias' success and there were few things he loved better than success.
"You hate me." The statement was flat, without inflection.
Jon looked as if he was about to agree but at the last moment, he faltered. His mouth opened but no sound emerged and eventually he just shrugged.
A roar of triumph rushed through Elias but it wasn't evident from the outside. A small quirk of his mouth was the only indication of the joy that sang through his veins.
Elias stepped out from behind his desk and stood, a bit taller than Jon but not by much, and neither a tall man in the grand scheme of things. Jon's dark, tousled hair that gave him the perpetual appearance of just having woken up framed his face with wisps escaped from his haphazard ponytail. Those dark, silver-shot strands tickled close to his new eye, staring curiously from the center of his forehead.
"Beautiful," Elias murmured. He meant that his accomplishment was beautiful, of course, that the transformation he'd set into motion with some sad, quiet nobody was beautiful. Jon was a butterfly, its wings just visible through its cocoon. Not in flight yet but the beauty and potential were there.
Thanks to Elias.
Jon recoiled at the compliment, his dark cheeks turning darker. He swallowed heavily, Adam's apple bobbing clearly in his slender throat. His normal eyes, a rather bland dark brown, fluttered. The eye on his forehead, emerald green, blinked once, stypticly.
Elias didn't apologize for embarrassing him. Jon's feelings were not his concern. Jon's Becoming was. To watch Jon bloom into what he was meant to be… the ultimate achievement. To turn Nobody into a being of Sight and Knowing…
His cock, distantly, ached. It wasn't something he paid much mind to anymore but there it was, reminding him rather abruptly that he was still in possession of a nominally human body.
***
When Jon's seventh - ninth - eye bulged beneath the surface of his dark skin, right above his suprasternal notch, Elias’ iron-clad grip on his control finally slipped.
Jon had never been enticing before. He'd been...forgettable. Pretentious. Frequently unpleasant. But as the Archivist's body warped onto a testament of Elias' success, Elias found him increasingly impossible to resist.
As Jon's thin, hollow throat breached to reveal another wandering, inquisitive orb, Elias couldn't help but see him as a temple. An altar to Elias' triumph. Michelangelo's David, with a face covered in eyes and, more frequently than not anymore, tears.
“Does it hurt?” he murmured, wiping a tear away from Jon’s face. Jon didn’t cringe back anymore. He was too exhausted to bother.
“Does what hurt?” Jon mumbled. His human eyes were hooded, tired, dark smudges underneath that marked his lack of sleep. The dreams, Elias thought, must be keeping him awake. Not the nightmares, no. Jon had long since become accustomed to those. Jon, his wonder, stared unflinchingly at the horrors that he visited every night. The horrors that he visited upon his victims.
Elias’ dreams - lucid and very much under his own control - had started slipping outside of his own skull and delicately making their way into Jon’s mind, like dewdrops on spiders’ webs, glinting in the dawn with images of Jon’s Becoming, a body reshaped and molded into perfection, the eyes, so very many eyes, and along with it, the echo of Elias’ longing, his reverence, his pride.
It was clearly robbing Jon of his rest in a way that horrors could not.
Elias wiped another tear away and brought it to his mouth, letting the drop saturate his tongue. It tasted of pain, of fear, of need. “Your tears. When they fall into your new eyes. Does it hurt?”
Jon laughed and the sound was harsh, torn from him. “And I let myself think for one moment that perhaps - perhaps - you cared whether this hurt.” He gestured to his face. His human eyes stayed locked on Elias’ while the jewel-toned myriad that adorned his forehead, cheeks, and throat followed his hand.
“Oh, Jon,” Elias said softly, moving his hand to cup Jon’s unshaven jaw. “I know that hurts. Why bother asking a question that I already have the answer to, hm?” He smiled as gently as he was able but it still looked like razor blades, shining and sharp and hungry. “Becoming a higher being, being shaped into beauty and perfection...your humanity will fight for its survival, as humanity does.”
Jon’s hollow, bitter laugh ended with a sob. “I’m doing my best,” he mumbled so quietly that Elias was entirely sure he wasn’t meant to hear it. His heart - or where his heart used to be - gave a warm sort of ache, that Jon longed for his approval so. He’d done well, with this Archivist. Broken him early, raised him on a diet of disdain with just enough glimpses of approval to reinforce good behavior.
Elias’ first kiss was at the corner of the eye at the center of Jon’s forehead. It was the largest of the new eyes, its emerald green stunning. It blinked as his lips touched its corner but it reopened with his lips still there, the overlarge iris turning to focus on him.
“What are you doing?” Jon asked, flinching away. Elias moved his other hand to the other side of Jon’s face, holding his jaw with a softness that could turn to steel in a heartbeat. And they both knew it.
Elias pulled back enough to hold the gaze of Jon’s human eyes as they darted furtively. “You’re doing so well, Jon,” he said softly. He watched as Jon’s nervousness melted with those words, to be replaced with the muted warmth of appreciation. He really had done well with this one.
Jon looked up at him with his eight visible eyes attentive and focused, his dark skin breached by a glittering kaleidoscope of colors. It was beautiful, so triumphantly beautiful. Elias leaned in for another kiss, this one in the space between the corner of Jon’s mouth and an eye that shone like a ruby. A sigh brushed his cheek.
“Jon,” he murmured, brushing his lips across Jon’s skin, bringing them dangerously close to the ruby eye’s surface. “I would like to appreciate my work. And I would consider it a personal favor if you didn’t put up a fight.”
“What?” Jon sounded confused but also tired, so very tired. He barely had enough fight left in him to be indignant. “What do you mean to do?” he asked after another searching look, all of his eyes scanning Elias’ face. Elias didn’t know what he was looking for. In truth, Elias no longer knew exactly what he could see.
Elias brought their lips together, his thumbs moving across Jon’s cheeks to stroke at the edges of the eyes that disrupted their surface. The kiss was soft, slow, almost tender. He hoped that Jon would react invitingly to his desires. Regardless of the cruel means he was both capable of and willing to use in order to get his way, he hesitated to force his will on Jon. They had come so far, he was loath to damage the bond he’d worked so hard to create. Kicked dogs were slow to obey a master again and Jon was too far into his Becoming to retrain.
After several heartbeats, Jon’s hands moved. They came to rest on Elias’ chest and for a moment Elias was convinced that he was about to be pushed away. Disappointment and annoyance tightened his lips. He braced himself to have to do what was necessary, to get what he wanted, what he needed, to show Jon what a work of art he was becoming.
But, instead, Jon’s fingers moved against the lapels of Elias’ blazer, tracing their edges, before tightening. His grip on the fabric didn’t pull Elias closer but it also failed to shove him away. It was the grip of a man holding on to an anchor in a storm, unsure and desperate. Jon’s slender hands trembled every so slightly.
Elias waited. He was a patient man, after all, when he was working toward a goal.
Hesitantly, Jon’s lips parted, the barest invitation. He seemed unsure, perhaps even inexperienced, but a soft sound caught in his throat all the same as Elias’ tongue brushed against his lips. His hands shook, clenching Elias’ lapels more firmly while a background part of Elias’ mind, the cold part that was always turning, scheduled a call to the dry cleaners to get the wrinkles out.
Elias did not, however, make any move to loosen Jon’s hands, despite the fact that his suit likely cost more than everything Jon owned. Instead, he opened his eyes to find that Jon’s human ones were firmly closed, the purplish bruises of sleep deprivation even more evident in such close quarters. The sapphire and amethyst eyes that had blossomed beneath Jon’s human ones, however, were wide open and watching Elias with, respectively, apathy and suspicion.
When he pulled back, breath heaving slightly - it had been so long since his body had ached like this - Jon’s human eyes fluttered open, their pupils wide and unfocused. Elias let his hands trail down Jon’s thin neck, thumbs tracing the edges of his trachea until they came to rest at the corners of the new eye, the eye that hadn’t yet opened.
Jon accommodatingly tilted his chin, exposing his throat. Most creatures knew better, simply on instinct, than to expose their throats to Elias Bouchard. Jon wasn’t trusting, no, he would never be trusting again, but he was well-trained.
Elias swallowed. He felt the same thrill that he assumed an artist felt at their unveiling. “Open it, Jon. I would like to see.” He realized distantly that his cock was aching again, demanding attention like it almost never did. Jon gave the slightest nod and the lump in his throat, between his Adam’s apple and his suprasternal notch, split neatly, a vertical gap appearing in the skin. This eye, larger than those on his cheeks but smaller than the one that graced his forehead like a diadem, opened slowly, as if it knew it was teasing a reveal.
When the shimmering, opal hue of the orb was finally visible, such a wave of awe, of triumph, of pride in his work rushed over Elias that he was momentarily speechless.
“What color is this one?” Jon asked, some of the customary wryness sneaking back into his voice.
“Iridescent,” Elias nearly whispered. “Jon? Please hold very still.”
Jon hummed an affirmative response, his body loose and relaxed in the chair. Elias placed a knee between Jon’s legs, on the edge of the chair, which did garner an arched eyebrow and a blush. He needed it for balance, though, as he leaned in to bring his mouth to Jon’s throat.
Slowly, carefully, with the precision that he was known for, Elias ran the tip of his tongue across the damp surface of Jon’s newest eye. It didn’t blink and Jon didn’t recoil or let out a pained sound. In fact, Jon squirmed slightly, lips parting, a soft sigh escaping him.
Heat coiled in Elias’ stomach, pounded in his head. He knew he had to maintain his control; it was his lifeblood, his vision, his being. The eye in Jon’s throat didn’t taste how he would imagine a human eye to taste, all salt and moisture. Sweetest ambrosia clung to his tongue like honey. As he pulled away, moaning quietly, the eye blinked and looked up at him with what could only be interpreted as affection. Without a second thought, he swooped in again, licking its surface, the tip of his tongue pushing under the eyelid.
“What are you doing?” Jon murmured but he didn’t sound displeased. In fact, from the opportune placement of Elias’ knee between Jon’s legs, Elias knew that Jon was very well pleased indeed. Elias didn’t answer; instead, he ran his tongue over the eye again, slower, tracing the edges of the eyelids before swirling it over the pupil. Jon gasped. “Elias…” The name sat like drops of blood from a split lip.
“Does that feel good, Jon?” Elias asked, his lips hovering over the eye. He wanted to hear it, to hear that his appreciation of his own work was, in turn, appreciated.
Jon shifted, trying to move away from Elias’ knee, pressed so firmly against his groin, but he didn’t have room. He nodded again, small and hesitant. “Yes, I suppose it does. Will you please tell me what you’re doing?”
Something clicked into place in Elias’ mind. Just as it had taken time for Jon to develop his other gifts, he was still learning to see with his new blessings. Jon could likely actively use the eye on his forehead, perhaps the two beneath his human eyes. The others were newer and this one the newest. He couldn’t see out of it yet. It wasn’t wired into his synapses, no feedback loop had been established with the Watcher. Elias gave half an answer, then. “I’m enjoying your beauty, Jon.”
Elias’ fingers moved to the collar of Jon’s worn t-shirt. He remembered how well-dressed Jon had been when he’d been given the job of Archivist. Button-down shirts every day. Blazers and knit vests. The occasional tie. Elias had mentioned it when Jon’s dress had first started slipping then decided that it wasn’t worth the fight. As long as his Archivist was feeding the Eye, it didn’t matter what he wore. As long as his Archivist was growing stronger, taking the shape that Elias had dictated, his clothing was irrelevant.
Those thoughts chased through Elias’ mind even as the soft, oft-washed cotton registered as pleasant against his fingertips. He tugged down the edge of the shirt and swiped his tongue deliberately along Jon’s skin, right beneath his collarbone.
To Elias’ delight and fascination, three small, new bulges appeared beneath the wet trail of his saliva, opening almost immediately to reveal a trio of eyes that were the exact blue-grey of his own.
“Elias!” Jon said, startled and yanked out of his relaxed state. “What are you…! Stop that! I don’t want more!”
Elias met his human eyes, smiling. “I’m afraid that isn’t up for debate.” He ran his thumb across the three new eyes, which blinked in his wake.
Jon wanted to argue, Elias could see it written all over his face. After a moment, though, he huffed an annoyed breath and muttered, “You don’t have to rush it along. It’s not exactly easy.”
“I know, Jon.” Elias leaned in and brushed his cheek against Jon’s like a possessive cat, reveling in the feeling of butterfly kisses given to him by the two eyes sat vertically underneath Jon’s left human eye. “You’re doing so well. You’re so beautiful, now.”
Jon melted into the touch, bumping his head against Elias’. “Am I?” Despite the irritated tone, it was a clear plea for a compliment and Elias was happy to oblige.
Elias pulled back and cupped Jon’s jaw again, looking at him with all of the awe and adoration that he could manage. Jon was his. His work of art. His masterpiece. True, Jon wasn’t finished just yet but when he was, he would be Elias’ magnum opus. A glorious creature, shaped by Elias’ mind and hand, moved by Elias’ will alone, that would bring the world as it was tumbling down.
His avenging angel of Biblical proportions, his ophanim, his many-eyed one.
“Beautiful. I wish I could show you,” Elias said. Then, “May I show you?” It was performative, his question. He didn’t need to ask permission to enter Jon’s mind and had been pushing into Jon’s dreams for weeks. But what Jon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and by the time Jon had moved far enough along his Becoming to see into Elias’ thoughts, his humanity would be so far gone that it wouldn’t matter.
Jon, however, looked...alarmed. His human eyes opened wide, pupils shrinking to a reasonable size. Elias could almost see his dreams playing in Jon’s mind, though he couldn’t understand why they were so very frightening.
Elias brought his lips to Jon’s and murmured, “Please, Jon. Let me show you. Let me show you how beautiful you are to me.” He brushed his lips against Jon’s, the ghost of a kiss, then brought their foreheads together. The eye on Jon’s obligingly closed.
After a moment, Jon whispered, “Alright.”
Having received his perfunctory permission, Elias let his thoughts pour into Jon’s mind. He didn’t force them in roughly, inserting them deep into the brain, as he did when he was forced to punish one of his pets. Instead, he let them flow like a gentle breeze, carrying images that bordered on worshipful. Jon was centered in these visions, like an actor lit by a spotlight on a stage built for him alone. Jon, placed on a pedestal as Elias’ finest accomplishment. Jon, his myriad jewel-toned eyes shining with glorious knowledge and horrible truth.
Jon, who abruptly broke their connection - something Elias hadn’t been aware he was capable of - and dragged him in for a kiss that was deep and hungry.
Jon’s hands tugged at Elias’ suit coat, fumbling and urgent, pushing it off his narrow shoulders. It took a moment for Elias to even respond, so abrupt was Jon’s change of tone coupled with his mild surprise at being rebuked. He shrugged out of his suit coat, thankful that he’d already penciled that dry cleaning appointment into his mental calendar as it hit the floor. Then his fingers were tangling in Jon’s messy hair, tugging the elastic out of it, using his grip to keep him close even though Jon showed no sign of wanting to leave.
Breathing heavily, Elias broke the kiss, his gaze raking over Jon’s face, the brown human eyes intent on Jon’s hands, which were untying Elias’ tie, while the glittering gems of the rest watched Elias with an unblinking intensity that a normal person likely would’ve found eerie.
Their attentiveness only made Elias ache.
Jon’s hasty fingers had managed the top three button’s of Elias’ shirt before Elias’ hands slid down his neck, then to his jaw, bringing Jon’s attention back to him. Jon’s human eyes found Elias’ and they looked feverish, pupils wide.
Without hesitation, Elias swooped in, bringing his mouth to the eye at the center of Jon’s forehead, the one he knew Jon could see out of. Jon’s startled, “What are you--” cut off with a moan as Elias’ tongue danced across the surface of the emerald orb.
“Oh.” Jon said, breathless. “That...that has no right feeling so good.”
“Mm,” Elias fairly purred, pushing the tip of his tongue underneath the lid, caressing that edge with barely tempered urgency. When Jon moaned again, hands moving to Elias’s waist, pushing under his shirt and pulling them closer, Elias obligingly shifted, placing one knee on either side of Jon’s lap, before dragging his tongue across the surface of the emerald eye once again.
Messily. He was becoming messy in his need.
The stuttering gasp that came from Jon, the way Jon’s hips rose to press against him, was worth it.
Elias turned his attention to the eyes on Jon’s cheeks, kissing and licking at each in turn before pushing back the collar of Jon’s shirt so roughly that he heard fabric tear, just to get at the onyx eye that graced his right shoulder.
Panting, lips damp with his own saliva, Elias pulled back enough to look at Jon, to appreciate his work.
Jon’s head was tilted back, human eyes half-lidded with pleasure. His dark, silver-shot hair was a mess. His chest heaved with his soft, moaning breaths. The collar of his ratty t-shirt was torn. And from among this disheveled disaster of a human chrysalis, Jon’s jewel-toned eyes watched Elias intently, following his every movement.
“More,” Jon whispered.
Elias throbbed. His custom-tailored slacks felt several sizes too small. “What was that, Jon?” he asked, just to hear it again.
Jon’s body squirmed deliciously underneath him, thin hands digging into his waist, hardness moving against hardness. “More,” Jon said, a little louder, his human eyes opening enough to peer at Elias from under lowered lashes that looked like strokes of ink against the purplish smudges under Jon’s eyes. When Elias didn’t immediately respond, Jon’s hands squeezed tighter. “Dammit, Elias, please.”
A soft sound of satisfaction hummed in Elias’ throat. Jon’s enticing movements caught him up and he found himself rolling his hips along with Jon’s as he sucked at the skin over Jon’s jugular. His skin tasted faintly of salt and Elias was vaguely surprised to find it pleasant.
Jon’s hands moved to Elias’ belt buckle, the metallic clang harsh in a room filled with the soft sounds of need. Jon smiled, just a little, and Elias kissed the edge of his smile. He liked when Jon smiled, as long as it was for him. It was right for him to be the only reason Jon smiled.
“Elias, I…” Jon started, then shook his head.
Elias pulled back, eyebrows drawn together, what he hoped looked like concern written on his face. “What is it, Jon?”
Jon looked up at him, all of his eyes regarding him with various shades of interest (except the sapphire one, which didn’t seem interested in anything it had been shown as yet). He let out a small, trembling breath, his cheeks turning dark. “This one, again,” he said, his human eyes moving upward to indicate the emerald jewel on his forehead. “I...I would like to watch your mouth work.”
“Yes,” was all Elias managed before Jon’s demanding hands moved up his back, pulling their lips together for a hasty, almost violent kiss. When it broke, Elias turned his attention back to the large, emerald orb that crowned his creation.
His tongue traced the lids, on the outside at first, then pushing underneath. Jon’s fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him to join Jon’s movements. Their bodies flowed together, heat against heat.
Elias opened his mouth wide, like he was about to give a particularly deep kiss, and pressed his parted lips to the emerald eye’s lids. Caught up in the moment, he kissed it deeply indeed, his tongue swiping against the surface. A deep moan tore out of Jon’s throat, his nails biting into Elias’ skin, and the world shattered.
Geometric shapes that couldn’t possibly exist - not in the current reality - filled Elias’ mind. They cascaded and glittered, their colors kaleidoscoping out into a breathtaking array, like a scattering of impossible jewels. Their points and lines and edges seemed to hint at something greater, something beyond, something sacred. And each was the color of one of Jon’s eyes.
They swarmed overhead, their beauty and grace so soul-rending that Elias thought he might weep though his body was still in the throes of pleasure.
The shapes and colors that were the creation of his creation, the potential of Jon’s power, the Known and Knowable, Elias knew to be true, though the Knowing could lead to madness. Elias, never one to shy away from a horrible truth, opened his mind to this glorious shattering.
Jewel-toned terrors, prismatic beauties, joined together for one stunning moment to form an Eye. Elias’ body trembled, a distant thought, and he cried out in pain and pleasure and release.
The Eye closed.
Elias found himself back in his office, his face buried in Jon’s neck, both of them breathing heavily. Jon’s arms were wrapped around him. The front of his slacks was ruined. He could feel Jon’s strong pulse against his cheek.
“What the hell was that,” Jon gasped.
Elias didn’t respond. The gears in his mind were spinning so quickly that it made him light-headed. It was a valid question.
“Elias?” Jon asked, rubbing gently at his back. “What did you do?” The question wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t angry. In fact, it sounded...fascinated.
Slowly, Elias pushed himself up. It seemed that both of their trousers had been opened at some point. There was a mess.
Jon’s human eyes followed Elias’ face, their deep, boring brown warm and affectionate. The gemstones that scattered his face, his throat, his collar and shoulder were also watching Elias. He’d thought they’d been paying attention before but suddenly he felt the weight of them. Of the knowledge they would glean. Of the sights they would see. All of it filtered through Jon, his Jon, until which time the world was rewritten and he and Jon would stand ready to rule it.
Then Jon would finally understand. Understand the importance of it all. Understand the necessity of it. Understand Elias.
Elias realized that Jon was still looking at him, so very gently. A part of his mind, the cold part that always turned, thought that this process would’ve gone much more smoothly if Elias had simply given Jon an orgasm years ago. But, no. It wouldn’t have held this importance. And it certainly wouldn’t have been the same experience, before Jon had reached this point of his transformation.
Jon’s multi-colored eyes regarded him calmly, looking into him.
“I didn’t do that, Jon,” Elias said, weighing how much he could afford to continue lying and coming to the conclusion that truth was probably the safer route to victory. “You did. Or, perhaps, we did together.”
“It was lovely,” Jon murmured. His hands moved to Elias’ shoulders, then his face. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.”
***
They cleaned up seperately; Elias was disinclined to share that particular indignity. By the time he returned to his office, he found that Jon had beaten him there and was soundly asleep on the loveseat in the waiting room, his slender limbs pulled inward to allow him to fit. His eyes, all of them, were closed.
After a small, internal debate, Elias went to one of the storerooms and found a blanket, which he draped over Jon’s sleeping form. Jon smiled slightly in his sleep.
Elias’ expression hardened as he systematically put away the warmth and the ache and the need that had been dragged out of him. Jon was an asset, Jon was his asset. His masterpiece. His vision realized. Molded and sculpted into the form Elias needed to attain his goals.
That was all.
Nothing more.