15 minutes of fame

[lolitics_meme]

There will be no freeze until after the conferences are over, should you want a freeze at all.

The usual things:

1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post
the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts
and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first

Comments

Fill - D/s, Caning and Force-Feeding 2a/4

[anonymous]

Alastair winced as he felt hands on his knees, hands that woke him as he was pushed onto his back. His sore arse rubbed the sheets through his trousers but he didn't protest as Peter rearranged him on the bed, breathing reassurances. The room was even darker than before, and at a guess the time could have gone midnight. Familiar leather shapes closed around his ankles and were fastened with a rustle and a snap to the foot of the bed.

"Fuck," Alastair's voice was close to a whisper, "that's too tight, you little sadist."

His movements still as patient as before, Peter shuffled back and loosened both cuffs a little, to a sigh of relief. When Peter returned to haul his prisoner's unresisting arms above his head, his face was little more than a vague shadow in the darkness; the shadow molded itself into a smirk as quick fingers cuffed Alastair's wrists to the headboard, leaving him remarkably at ease for a defenceless man: bound completely, head and shoulders resting on stacked pillows and legs forcibly spread just a little more than was comfortable or decent. They regarded each other, comfortable in their roles, while Peter continued to toy with the short chain between the handcuffs. The moment lasted perhaps a beat too long before Peter dropped his hand to cup Alastair's face and stroke him, murmuring: "Good boy for not putting up a fuss. I may have to reward you for your cooperation."

As Peter crawled atop his clothed expanse of captive, Alastair watched him with growing interest, unsure whether he was about to receive a genuine reward or something altogether more perverse. Fingers stroked the skin beneath his shirt, moved upwards to caress his collared throat, then toyed with his cropped hair as Peter's lips secured themselves to his own and milked his every breath. Alastair let Peter's tongue enter his mouth and felt himself begin to flush, bucking helpessly upwards towards the spider-like body crouched over him - Peter merely chuckled and pulled away into the darkness, his soft, pink tongue withdrawing from Alastair's throat almost as soon as it had arrived. "Please," groaned Alastair, wishing as that perfect cotton-clad shape abandoned him that his arms were free to grab it and hold it close. "Please don't, Peter. I'm sorry... come on, don't be a twat..."

"Hush. I said I had a reward for you, didn't I? Don't fret." Peter trailed a finger down the side of Alastair's face before jumping from the bed. He strode across the bedroom without looking back, pausing only when he reached the door to find the lightswitch and throw the room into blinding artificial brightness. Then his footsteps faded away down the landing. There followed a troubling silence, then returning footsteps, slower than before, as if Peter were taking care with a precious burden.

Alastair figured even before the door opened that it was not a tray of tea.

The door swung open at a nudge from Peter's toe and he shuffled sideways into the bedroom, chin clamped down protectively on the top of a stack of card boxes. He was carrying four or five of the same boxes from before, in fact: those doughnut assortments which had led Alastair astray and earned him that evening's caning. They tumbled down onto the bed between Alastair's spread legs and he raised a questioning eyebrow, but before he could open his mouth to ask, Peter had climbed up beside him with a close approximation of a reassuring smile. "I'd hoped to surprise you," Peter purred, unfastening the tabs on the nearest box, his dark eyes glinting. "But perhaps it's better this way. After all, now I know you've got a taste for them, yes?" So saying, he slid out the first tray, which was whole and untouched. Each of the twelve sat neatly in its plastic nest. Their smooth icing caught the light, marred only by Peter's smudgy fingerprints as his hands danced across the selection.