Title: Trine

Author: J.M. Griffin

Fandom: Witchblade

Pairing: Ian/Jake/Sarah

Rating: NC-17

Status: Complete vignette

Archive: WWOMB only please

Feedback: Sure

Series/Sequel: No

Disclaimer: I don't own them and mean no infringement on those who do.

Notes: Many, many thanks to J.L. Blackstone for marvelous beta work.

Summary: Ian reflects.

Warnings: m/f, m/m implied

Trine
by J. M. Griffin

There were times when he had no explanation for the things he felt compelled to do. Ian Nottingham stood in front of the mirror and looked at his nude body. He was erect, inflamed. And ashamed. Why had he beaten Jake so? Why hadn't he been able to stop sooner?

He cast his eyes away from his own image. Could he have done things another way? He did have a modicum of control over his actions. Hadn't he shown this to Irons only days ago? There had been no reason for his extreme actions at the stadium. Except...he was protecting Sara. Jake McCartey might hurt Sara with his duplicity, and Ian could not sanction that.

And yet, he, himself, had hurt Sara Pezzini, bearer of the Blade.

An image breezed through him; Sara stalking toward him, the Witchblade clasped to her arm, her hair billowing around her face, her shoulders back, her pelvis loose and thrust forward. He wanted to press the length of his body against her, to feel the succulence of her flesh taking him in, surrounding him.

Ian shuddered and had to squeeze his rampant sex firmly in an effort not to climax. He looked up from his task, lifting dark eyes to gaze into the mirror again.

At times like these, he thought he might be insane. He couldn't remember a time when his life had been anything but. If there had been one, it would have been long ago, before he'd gone into the
army, before the birth of the Black Dragons. Before Kenneth Irons had cast his gimlet eye upon him.

He knew he had been a beautiful boy. He wondered, did Sara see him as a handsome man? Did Sara *see* him?

Jake had. At the station, in the earliest moments of his encounter with McCartey, Ian had see the erection tenting Jake's chinos. His own sex had leaped in recognition, and he had asked Jake if he would care to join him. Would that he could have Jake and Sara, too. Would that he could have any life that was not twisted with the machinations of Kenneth Irons.

But would he know how to act without such domination? Certainly, there was no sexual fire left between himself and Irons. And yet, as long as Irons refused to release Ian, there was still flame to burn him. For the man wanted Sara for himself, wanted to suck her spirit from her, wanted to be able to control and own the Witchblade, to be the bearer of it. But that he could not be, and so the ancient man was burning away, a candle lit at both ends. The deflagration singed Ian, marking him, making him ache for the cool warmth of Sara and Jake.

Their faces danced like spots before Ian's eyes, blurring his own reflection in the mirror. Jake, blonde and blue-eyed, his gaze as innocent as death. Sara, brown haired and steely-eyed, truth shining fiercely from beneath winged brows. Himself, he was darkness and frost. But his two lovers would never scorch him. No, they would melt him with their succor and sweet strength. This, he knew and cherished.

His climax shattered him, jolting his body so profoundly that he sank to his knees. He collapsed forward, his head touching the floor, resting there in the dimness of his small room; the wetness on his belly and chest mirroring the dampness of the tears on his face.


FIN