What Are You Looking For?

Title: Blind Trust
Author: machka
Dramatis personae: Cohnstro
Rating: NC-17
Warning: BDSM (with an emphasis on the D/s portion) in the context of an established relationship.
Disclaimer: Real people exist with these names; but these folks here are fictionalized characters, and not intended to represent the actual persons mentioned. Any similarity between the fictional version of the persons portrayed herein and the actual persons is intentional, but as far as I know, none of this ever happened, except in my mind. Dammit.
Summary: "There is no delight in owning anything unshared." ~ Seneca (Roman philosopher, 1st century A.D.)
Word Count: 5019
Prompts: The word "blindfold" and the phrase "be a good boy, and do what you're told."
Author's Notes: Um, hi. *waves* First time writing in this fandom, and I just gotta go and subject all y'all to an unbetaed 2nd-person-POV BDSM fic. My bad.

But hey! it's pr0n! What more do you want? :D

For the cohnstro LiveJournal community's fic-writing contest. Linked here.

ETA, 7-6-08: Thanks to everyone who voted for this fic! I've never won anything like this before! :D *blushes*

Cross-posted to The_Flyboys and Idolslash LiveJournal communities.



It's not fair.

You chafe at the thought even as you chafe at your bonds, working your wrists against the cuffs holding them secure -- holding you secure, binding your arms behind your back, cuffed around the leg of the sturdy dresser in the room you share with Him.

You chafe, too, at the blindfold covering your eyes, blocking from sight that which cannot be blocked from hearing -- the whispers of hands across bare flesh; the heavy, wet sounds of lips meeting and parting; the pants and groans of raw desire being stoked nearby, and altogether too far away...

Shit.

A particularly well-known growl carries across the room to your ears.

...Sir...

"C'mon, Castro... Tell me why you're really here..."

"Same reason as always." Uneasy laughter peppers the response. "I just love to watch."

Sir chuckles quietly. "All right, Jason. So, tell me..." A pause as more kisses are exchanged. "What do you like the best?"

The sheets rustle slightly as positions shift on the bed.

"Well," Jason answers slowly, "I really like it when you've got him laid out on the bed, flat on his back, spread-eagle..."

"Mm-hmm..."

"And you stretch his arms and legs way the fuck apart, and you tie them down, tight -- just that side of 'too-tight'..."

Another pause; then a sharp inhalation, whistling through tightly-clenched teeth, before Jason continues, his voice rough. "And you just tease him so slowly, like, forever...really make him, y'know, beg you for it..."

Brief silence, punctuated by muffled moans and more kisses, before Sir's low prompt: "Do go on, Jason..." Sir's tone is wickedly silken, screaming to you of danger -- you wonder absently if Jason hears it too. "Tell me more."

"...And when you've got him so incredibly open and vulnerable and pleading for it...you shove his knees to his chest and give it to him, hard, up the ass? Oh my God, yeah, just like that, man... I love that..."

If you weren't the subject of their conversation, you might have assumed that you'd been forgotten altogether. As it was, the particular discussion at hand is causing you absolutely no end of grief.

You bite your lip to stifle a whimper as your neglected cock hardens against your thigh. You bring your other leg up to trap it there, rolling your hips subtly to gain some friction, desperate for stimulation, for relief...

You can almost picture Him cupping Jason's face, staring into the depths of those stunning blue eyes...can imagine, all too easily, Sir's lips moving against Jason's, and Jason's fingers running through His hair as their kiss deepens...

Dropping your chin to your chest, struggling to control your breathing, you redouble your efforts at self-stimulation.

"Anything else?" Sir rumbles.

"I love it when you punish him -- that riding crop..." Jason swallows audibly. "Just... Anything to get him to make those sounds -- those sounds you beat out of him and fuck out of him -- God, they're amazing..." Castro hesitates briefly, as though considering a confession. "And I love it when you make him cry, because I know he hates that."

Sir's laughter has never been more deadly. "Me too."

The encouragement emboldens the younger man. "But I love it best when you break him." Jason erupts into nervous laughter, as though he fears he has said or revealed too much. "Watching him fall apart, shattering to pieces right there in front of me, losing control -- that's... Yeah."

Oh, God...

"Is there anything you don't like, Jason?"

"Yeah," he responds quickly. "That damn blindfold - I like seeing that fear - that panic - in his eyes, just before he surrenders..."

"You're quite the little sadist yourself, Castro." Sir's laughter is rich and warm. "But you're not going to get your wish tonight -- that blindfold is staying on."

"Aw, man..."

Sir consoles him with a kiss. "So, all of that -- and you never once wanted something more?"

Jason laughs weakly. "Like what? I told you, I just want to watch. Why else would I be here?"

"Because." More wet kissing and soft moans. "Secretly...you want in on the action."

And a breathless reply: "Um...Okay, I won't lie...I wouldn't turn it down..."

Your teeth sink deeply into your lower lip, fighting desperately to bite back the noises threatening to escape your throat. The faintest whimper flees your lips, its flight barely registering in your ears. You learned long ago you cannot keep quiet where Sir is concerned - you can only hope that He has not heard, or that He chooses to ignore it...

No such luck. The man hears everything.

Their lips part again with a loud smacking sound, which is followed by throaty laughter. "Oh, isn't that just precious."

The blood drains from your face in an instant. Too late, you freeze in place -- Sir has seen you.

The bedsprings creak under His weight, and a purposeful tread announces His approach.

Your mind allows you only one thought before shutting down in self-defense: Fuck.

"Did I tell you you could touch yourself?" His voice is pitched low, roughened with comingled anger and arousal.

He wrenches your legs apart, and you can almost feel His gaze raking your bare flesh, taking in your blatant state of arousal.

The shiver running down your spine has nothing -- and everything -- to do with your exposure.

"Answer me. Did I tell you you could?"

"N-no, Sir," you stammer, shrinking in on yourself.

"What did I tell you?" He asks, tightening His grip on your knees, forcing your legs further apart.

You stifle another whimper at the painful stretch, and His fingers press deeper into your flesh.

"Sir told this one to lie still, a-and wait until it was needed..." you reply haltingly, struggling to form coherent thought and nearly failing.

"That is correct," He affirms. "So tell me then why I've found you masturbating without my permission?"

He shoves your knees down hard, slamming them to the floor, emphasizing His disapproval, and you bite back a groan as He leans His full weight against them. And oh, His breath is so hot against your face...

Jason makes an eager noise from the bed, and you choke down the irritated growl rising in your throat.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

His tone is sharp and impatient -- He is expecting a prompt answer.

You hate when He does this -- asking these open-ended questions, the kinds with attendant traps and deceptive pitfalls.... No way to know what answer He sought, nor which He would accept; and no way to escape punishment if you got it wrong.

"C'mon now -- cat got your tongue?"

You wince, knowing by His soft, silky tone that you have waited too long to respond. Sir has lost His patience with you, and next would come the blow...

...The blow which slings you sideways, your momentum stopped only by your body smashing against the solid oak of the dresser. You slump against it momentarily, shaking off the ringing in your ears, trying to ignore the stab of pain from the shoulder wrenched uncomfortably behind you.

"Whoa..." Jason breathes appreciatively from across the room, and your teeth bare in a snarl before Sir slaps it off your face.

"All I've ever asked of you was to be a good boy, and do what you're told," Sir continues, His voice dark and dripping with displeasure. "You disappoint me."

To you, even the mere idea is horrifying. If He is dissatisfied with your service, He may cast you aside, cast you away...the thought is more than you can bear. And you find yourself pleading, shamelessly, for His forgiveness.

"Enough!" Sir interrupts. "There are better uses for your mouth than those empty apologies you're spouting so effortlessly."

Unhooking your cuffs, He hauls you to your feet and shoves you forward, giving only minimal guidance and assistance until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Here, He slings you sideways, and you fall heavily onto your wrenched shoulder.

The small cry that leaves your lips is greeted by a sinister chuckle from His, and you cringe in spite of yourself.

"On all fours, now!" Sir barks, and laughs aloud at your fevered scrambling to assume the requested position. Arching your back, you present yourself to Him.

"Ah yes, eager as ever to to be used, I see..."

The mattress shifts as He climbs up, seating Himself in front of you instead of moving behind. Puzzled, your body goes rigid, every available sense anxiously straining for clues to His intent.

"Jason."

Somewhere nearby, the younger man jerks at the sound of his name.

"Yes...sir?" he replies, almost meekly.

You duck your head to hide a thin smile. His uncertainty puts you at ease for the first time tonight, and you suddenly feel sorry for Jason, or at the very least, experience something akin to pity.

Poor Jason would never -- will never -- be able to surrender enough of himself to properly inflect the capitalization of that honorific.

Sir exhales a soft noise, almost like a whispering chuckle -- He has seen your smile, divined its meaning quickly, as always...and you believe He agrees.

Trailing His fingers along your jaw, He draws your focus back to the matter at hand.

"Fuck him for me."

Your spine stiffens with a near-audible snap as your breath catches in your throat. That...was unexpected.

Beside you, Jason twitches violently in surprise, mirroring your thoughts. "What? Really?" he gasps.

"I don't make idle offers, Castro." You can hear Sir's smile broaden as He speaks. "Consider it your reward, for being so honest and truthful with your answers. As you know, the truth is very important to me."

Jason replies with gibberish, and Sir snorts with amusement. "Oh, c'mere, Jason," He murmurs to your companion. "Show your gratitude properly..."

The mattress shifts and pitches as Jason clambers over. His erection brushes your shoulder as he moves by, and he lays a casually possessive hand on your back. Soon, the familiar sound of their lips moving together reaches your ears.

And you hate Jason for it.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that to him..." Jason breathes, breaking off their kiss.

Sir's laughter rumbles in your ears as He cups your face in His hands, running His thumbs along your cheekbones.

"Oh, I think I have some small idea," He replies, with a hint of that same laughter in His voice. "I've been watching you too, Jason, these past few weeks...I've seen how you watch him, how you stare at him, how you desire him.. Hell, I see it right now..."

Sir shoves you aside and presumably, if Jason's sudden squeak is an indication, wraps a hand around the younger man's cock.

And judging from His answering groan, Sir's attentions are being actively reciprocated.

You ride the wave of anger as it sweeps over you. You are not a whore to be offered as a hospitality gift to whomever drops by! This interloper, this intruder on your most intimate moments...he had no right to be kissing Sir like that, as if his very life depended on it... And Sir -- Sir! -- touching this, this...stranger in that way...

"Well, yeah, uh...But..." Jason pants. "--Shit! What about him?"

"What about him?" Sir parrots back.

You abstractly wonder how He can manage to express so much indifference in so few words.

Jason clears his throat awkwardly, his voice suddenly tinged with doubt. "Um. What if...what if he doesn't want me?" He pauses, clearly expecting some sort of answer. After a long moment, you can hear the frown in his voice as he continues speaking. "Shouldn't you, y'know, ask him first?"

Your anger drains away immediately.

No, not an intruder, nor an interloper, and certainly no stranger -- Jason. Your roommate. Your friend.

You are not worthy of Jason' friendship...

Castro falls back with a mewl of protest, apparently pushed away.

With an elaborate sigh, Sir snarls His fingers in your hair, dragging you forward into your previous position. His grip tightens roughly as He asks in a carefully neutral tone, "Do you consent to being fucked by one Jason Castro?"

It wasn't often that your opinion was asked instead of given to you. You realize it for what it is -- a concession to Jason's conscience, rather than an honest attempt to call forth your feelings on the subject.

Jason wants it. Sir wants it.

To Sir, you'll never be anything anyway but a possession, a toy, a thing He uses for His pleasure, and sets aside when He is sated. He is well within His rights to do with you whatever He wishes -- even whoring you out to His friends, if He so desires -- and you should be grateful to receive even that much.

You know you should be pleased that He would consider sharing you with His friend and roommate.

You should want Sir to be proud of you.

Besides, you've always been a "try anything once" kind of guy -- that's what got you here in the first place -- and you've got fantasies of your own, right?

There really is no acceptable answer other than "yes"...but that doesn't explain the sudden sting of tears behind your blindfold.

"Yes Sir; this one will gladly accept Mr. Castro, if that is Sir's desire," you reply quietly. As if there were any doubt.

Sir snorts aloud. "Well, now that that's settled..."

Jason sighs in exaggerated relief. "Thank God," he snickers. "I'd hate to have this boner go to waste..."

"The condoms are over there," Sir instructs, gesturing with an elbow, jerking your head sharply in the process, ignoring your hiss of pain.

"Aw, man...Condoms?" Jason's pout is evident in his voice. "You never..."

"He is mine, Jason," Sir interrupts, His tone darkening ominously. "For you, they are not optional. Now, go!" Sir commands, His tone a stern warning for the younger man to act quickly, lest Sir retract His most generous offer.

The mattress shifts again as Jason dismounts. The sound of foil tearing is followed by that of latex unrolling, and a tremor passes through you. Sir's hands slip from your hair to pet you, to calm you, gently stroking your face, lowering to your neck, sliding to lightly caress your shoulders.

"Easy..." Sir murmurs, His words intended for your ears alone. "Remember to relax... Don't forget to breathe... It'll be all right..."

Soon enough, Jason is settling into place behind you. "Oh man," he whispers. "God, I can't wait to fuck him."

"That's what he's here for," Sir answers in a louder voice. "Go on -- do it. He can take it." His smile is evident in His voice as He strokes your face. "...Can't you."

Trembling with excitement, Jason's hands cup your cheeks, spreading them apart. He brushes you lightly, watching your entrance pucker and flex before inserting a finger and withdrawing it. You groan in spite of yourself.

"Relax," Sir repeats in an undertone.

And you try -- you really, really do.

After all, Jason's been watching you and Sir now for several weeks, though never participating; and he knows the basics of gay sex -- but that connection of mind, body and soul which allows you to surrender so eagerly and completely to Sir...just doesn't exist between the two of you. You are unable to put yourself into the properly receptive state quickly enough, and regrettably he is as careless and cursory with you as he is eager -- as he'd said, Jason just couldn't wait to fuck you.

Lining himself up, he plunges forward, and everything shatters.

Apparently condoms are not optional, but sufficient lubrication and foreplay are.

You do not recognize the scream that fills the air as your own.

"Holy fuck!" Castro gasps, dragging your hips back to meet his pelvis grinding against your ass.

Your arms give way under the force of his onslaught, and you collapse, crying out into the mattress. Your body clenches up immediately, fighting him, attempting to force him out.

"Stop!" Sir roars, freezing you both. His fingers tighten in your hair, yanking you back up onto all fours, tilting your head back at an impossible angle. "Screaming like a girl? Really?" He asks, shaking you by the hair. "I thought you were better than that..."

A strangled groan is the only response you are capable of delivering.

"You need to shut the fuck up!" He rages. "You don't want anyone to come snooping around, do you?"

"N-no, Si-ir!" you cough, the stress on your throat and vocal chords evident.

"Indeed, we do not," He replies sternly. "First and final warning: I will gag you if required. Don't make it necessary."

He releases His grip on your hair. Your head drops immediately, hanging low between your arms as you struggle for air, for control...

Jason clears his throat behind you. "Uh, guys?" he whines, "Seriously, now...I gotta do this..."

"Wait," Sir answers him flatly.

He rests His palms against your cheeks, His thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. "Relax..." He murmurs again, needlessly, and you nod once in acknowledgment.

Gripping your face lightly, He raises your head to His groin. His scent is overwhelming, making you achingly desperate to taste Him.

"Here, boy," He murmurs to you, brushing your lips across the head of His penis. "Suck me off -- that should keep you somewhat quiet..."

God, you thought He'd never ask.

It gave you something else to think about, to concentrate on...strange as it may seem, it was almost comforting, in a way, this familiarity you had with His prick -- the taste of it, the shape and size of it, your ability to pleasure it...

When His dick is buried in your throat, Sir mutters, "Jason, you may continue."

Jason makes a taut, eager noise, and begins to move inside you.

Despite your best efforts to relax, each and every thrust is literally gut-wrenching. But you dare not protest -- not with Sir's cock in your mouth. You swallow carefully around Him, and are rewarded with an answering curse as His hips cant toward you.

Opening your mouth wider, slackening your jaw and your throat, you lose yourself in worshipping Him, because that is what you were put on Earth to do...

For a brief, shining moment, you are able to relax enough for Jason to move more easily inside of you, and he responds with a loud moan.

"God, he's..so...tight!" Jason grunts, shifting his position to penetrate deeper on each stroke, hitting that one spot inside you.

With a little more foreplay - with a little more preparation and care - it would feel electrifying, amazing...but right now, every thrust across it is agonizing, sending jolts of pain jarring through you. God, the pain... You swear you can feel yourself being torn apart beneath him.

How much longer could Jason keep this up before he came?

How much more could you take before losing your sanity altogether?

Your tears are soaking through the blindfold...your nose is getting stuffy and your mouth is going dry and your throat is closing and oh God, you can't breathe, it hurts so bad...

You are not aware of having grabbed Sir's thigh, but there it is, under your hand; and He is barking at Jason to stop once again. Ignoring the younger man's cry of protest, He pulls His cock from your mouth and sits back on His heels, watching your head droop as you fight the pain pounding through you, gasping for air.

He cradles your face tenderly, His thumbs wiping away the tears that have escaped beneath the blindfold.

"Do you remember your safeword?" He asks gently.

You can only nod wearily in response.

"Do you need to say it?"

Slowly, stubbornly, you shake your head.

You can do this. Sir wants this. You can do this.

He sighs with exasperation, and you can picture Him rolling His eyes. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the image, and His fingers grip your face that much tighter in response.

"Jason." He directs His attention to the panting, quivering man still planted inside you. "How close are you?"

You feel Jason twitch inside of you, and whimper softly.

"So--goddamn--close..." he replies, his voice strangled with restraint. "Honest to God, you've gotta let me come, I can't take any more of this, I swear..."

"You can come, but you'd better make it quick!" Sir commands.

Jason obeys, snapping his hips against your ass in increasingly erratic movements.

Sir murmurs soft, soothing words of encouragement meant only for you. He is massaging your neck and shoulders with one hand; you know His other hand is wrapped around His neglected member, for you can hear Him working it up and down, but all attempts made to wrap your lips around it are gently and easily rebuffed.

"No, baby..." He whispers, nudging you aside yet again. "You just relax, keep breathing..." He pauses, swallowing down a groan at your full-lipped pout. "No," He repeats, "...I'm gonna come all over your face, and then I'm gonna lick every inch of you clean..."

Jason's hips jerk out of rhythm at His words, and he cries out softly. "God! That's--hot...!"

"Hurry up, little Jason..." Sir groans, the strain of self-control and self-denial evident in His voice. "The sooner you come, the sooner you can help..."

And that's just about all the encouragement Jason requires. He slams against you one final time and slumps forward, collapsing onto your back with a loud groan. Limbs shaking, you push to remain up as he grinds his hips against your ass, every pulse of his release evident inside you.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he props his chin between your shoulder blades, focusing all of his attention on Sir jerking off.

"Are you watching, little Jason?" Sir gasps.

"Oh, yeah..." he breathes in reply.

Sir growls deep in His chest, and His warm semen covers your face and neck.

Jason makes another appreciative noise, and Sir coughs out a laugh. "Yeah, you like that, don't you..." He murmurs. "So, Jason, are you finished with him yet?"

"Whoops." Jason giggles in embarrassment. He slips out of you, forcing a moan from your throat, and he tosses the used condom aside.

"You ready?" Sir asks him. Receiving the go-ahead, Sir grabs you under the arms and jerks you upright, tipping you backwards precariously. You panic briefly, just before Jason's arms wrap around you. Your head falls back against his shoulder and you are trapped between their bodies; their tongues bathing you, lapping hungrily at your skin, meeting and tangling across your neck, devouring each other greedily.

Sir backs away first, pulling you along with Him. "Time for you to rest," He mutters, and leads you stumbling back across the room to your lonely corner. Re-cuffing you to the dresser, He promptly turns His back, crawling back onto the bed beside Jason to critique your performances.

Wincing, you turn toward the wall, shifting your weight onto one hip, pressing your head against the cool wood beneath your skin. The pain subsides gradually from a burning ache to a dull throb. You embrace it, use it to slip away from outer awareness to focus inward; accepting it, riding it, inhabiting it, breathing it in and out, letting it fill you with its dark heat...

Your mind never registers Jason's departure, nor Sir's absence from the room to ready Himself for bed -- nothing matters but the pain, reminding you of who and what you are...

...Gentle pressure on your shoulder brings you back.

"Hey," a soft voice calls in your ear. "Time for bed."

He unclasps the cuffs and helps you to your feet, catching you promptly when you sway in place. "Okay, easy now..." He murmurs, sliding an arm around your waist to keep you upright and close to Him. "One step at a time..."

He makes no move to undo the blindfold. You do not even think of asking.

Call it blind trust.

You know He is studying you as you clean up; your movements, your poses, your actions...

You cannot hide your pain. You wouldn't even know how to begin, if you even wanted to.

He presses a loaded toothbrush into your hand, combing His fingers through your hair. "Does it hurt that much?" He asks softly.

You tilt your head, trying to parse out the emotion in His voice. "Yeah," you reply quietly, shrugging it off. "It's...It'll heal."

"There was blood on the condom."

"...Probably, yeah."

That is the only admission He will get from you. You jam the toothbrush in your mouth, effectively ending your side of the conversation.

"I'll tell him to be more considerate next time," He murmurs in an undertone. "More foreplay, more preparation, and much much more lube."

That would be much appreciated -- if there even is a 'next time'...

You sigh to yourself and spit toothpaste into the sink.

He guides you back into the bedroom. "I am considering allowing you to sleep on the floor beside my bed," He informs you gravely.

"It would indeed be an honor," you reply with no trace of irony whatsoever.

You can feel His eyes on you again. "Maybe, though, you've earned a place beside me in the bed, hmm?" He muses, sifting His fingers through the hair at the back of your head.

You shrug. At this point, you're too weary to argue and too sore to care.

His mind is already made up -- He is just waiting for an excuse not to go through with it, and you'll be damned if you'll give Him one.

He pulls you onto the bed with Him. Pushing you down among the pillows, He raises your arms and cuffs you to the bedpost.

He allows His hands to linger at your wrists, stroking down your forearms, past your elbows, to palm your biceps. The mattress shifts as He looms over you.

"Much better, don't you think?"

His hands lift and reposition themselves on your cheeks, tracing the bones of your face before drifting downward to lightly stroke your throat, following the bob of your Adam's apple as you swallow hard.

"Yes I do believe it is," He answers Himself, stretching out at your side, propping His head up on one hand. He allows the other to wander the planes of muscle on your chest, circling a nipple lazily before brushing it with His fingertips, flicking it into a tight bud which He can cover with His mouth.

He worries your nipple lightly with His teeth before soothing the pain with His tongue, smirking against your chest as you twitch, tracing patterns down your stomach and abdomen with that wandering hand...

Despite your exhaustion, there is one part of you that will always be ready for Him, and tonight is no exception.

He studiously avoids it, however, wrapping His hand around your hipbone instead.

"Except for the little fuck-up at the start, you have been a very good boy tonight," He praises you. "Perhaps a little reward is in order?"

"That is for Sir alone to decide," you mumble.

He brushes His fingertips along your length in reply, laughing softly as it bobs and strains toward His hand. "Luckily for you, I believe in happy endings."

He shifts suddenly, pinning you to the bed with His chest, and claps a hand over your mouth as the other squeezes your dick firmly.

"No sounds. I want you absolutely silent for this, understand?"

You nod slowly, and He pulls His hand away from your mouth.

"I won't make you beg for it..." He murmurs into your ear, "But you don't come until I say...and I will make you sleep in the wet spot."

The hand wrapped around you begins to move, and He grins against your neck when you shudder.

"Not. One. Peep," He reminds you, and kisses His way down your body.

A blindfold has certain advantages to counter-balance its major disadvantage -- while losing the ability to see, every other sense is heightened in compensation. This has never been more apparent to you than in this moment, when your sense of touch is flooded and overwhelmed by sensations: tightness and grip, sliding and pulling, caressing and massaging, cool slickness and pain and heat and wet...

As if that wasn't enough, His murmured promises and threats laced with obscenities are pushing you closer to the edge.

Your teeth snap shut on your lower lip, and the trickle of coppery-hot blood into your mouth only adds to the sensory overload.

You buck your hips up desperately into His mouth, and you feel Him smile just before He replaces His mouth with His hand, wrapping your cock in His fist.

"Oh, poor boy," He coos, stroking you quickly, adding that little twist and a squeeze near the tip that He knows you like; and He laughs as the breath catches in your throat.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," He continues, pitching His voice lower. "You are absolutely beautiful..."

Another twist. Your hands clench into fists above your head, and you are fighting so hard not to make a sound...

"You need to come, don't you," He observes.

Twist-squeeze. Your body arches off the bed, and He laughs.

"Oh, enough torture for tonight, right?" His lips brush your ear, and He whispers the words you're dying for: "Come for me."

He slams a hand over your mouth again as you let yourself go. A shrill keening noise rises from your throat -- not good for your singing voice, but at this moment, singing is the very last thing on your mind.

"Good boy," He praises quietly, pressing His body against you as the tension drains away. Slipping the blindfold off, He kisses the marks it has left on your face and eyelids with unaccustomed tenderness.

Your eyes flutter open, finding His in the dark. He is smiling.

"You have done well," He murmurs, drawing His fingertips down your forehead to brush your eyes closed. "Sleep now. It's over."

With a sigh, you release yourself into the darkness. His approval is all you'll ever need.