Prompt Post No. 11
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"That, more than anything, is your fault, isn't it. You knew what would happen even before we went under, didn't you?" A smack that cracks like thunder and leaves him broken open and weeping. "Didn't you?!!"
SMACK!
"Yes!" he cries out, and now the blows fall faster, harder, so continuous there's barely any refractory time between them. "All my fault, God, yes, please, mine, all mine, punish me, please, oh, God--" he arches up hard as the spanking reaches a pitch that's unbearable before stopping altogether. But a bare second later, he's crying out as two dry, ungentle fingers press against his hole, jabbing into him almost hard enough to tear him open . . . but not quite.
"Unh!" he grunts, pushing up into stabbing, merciless thrusts even as the other hand, still warm from spanking, rubs his ass slowly, firmly, creating a slow, wicked burn that's nearly enough to send him over the edge.
Soft, full lips brush his ear for a moment--a mockery of a kiss, that whispers: "Most of all, it's your fault that she's dead."
"God, no!" he wails, his heart the hand warming his ass leaves it to tangle in his hair and yank his head up so he's looking into cold, contemptuous eyes, dark with rage, just like hers had been. "No!"
"Yes."
"F-fuck--" he jerks once, twice, and comes harder than he has in his life . . . except for maybe the last time they did this. As soon as his body stiffens and he starts to clench around those long, unforgiving fingers, he's shoved away, onto the floor to shoot his climax into the empty air like a stray in heat.
It comes out in strings and globs, burning as it does, landing on his face, his shirt, his tie--even in his mouth, and it's as bitter as everything else about him.
Helpless, he lays there, shaking and coming until it dribbles out in fits and starts, and the only thing he wants is for it to fucking stop. For everything--everything--to finally be over.
But it isn't. He lays there, drawing in breath, after searing, pointless breath, until he can open his eyes. When he does, his vision is still blurred from tears, and he wipes his face miserably, impatiently. Just outside his field of vision, someone is moving around. There's the sound of a belt being undone, then the soft, purring un-zip of old, raggedy jeans.
He tries to sit up, and can barely struggle to his elbows. When he does, the room spins a little, and a hand pulls his head back by the hair, neither gentle nor rough, just commanding and matter-of fact.
Dark doe-eyes gone hooded and hot stare into his own.
"Get up and strip. I wanna fuck."
Nodding once, with shaking fingers Dominic Cobb begins to unbutton his shirt.
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let's just say I have discovered a new favourite pairing. SO FUCKING HOT AND PERFECT!
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Okay, LOVE that it's a reversal of the expected roles. Although I do have to say that I kinda saw it coming since you would have likely been using names otherwise. But it's definitely appropriate since Dom totally thinks he needs to be punished. And God, the image of him coming all over himself is going to haunt me. Most importantly, you completely turned fandom's typical Nash portrayal on its head. Excellent job, thank you so much for filling it!
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