Positive reinforcement
Positive reinforcement
Kitayama/Senga (Kis-My-Ft2)
pwp, 1300 words, R. Pet play
Written for the anon kink meme, for the prompt: Pet play. Senga is Kitayama's obedient pet and wears a collar. He's only allowed to masturbate while Mitsu watches.
The new collar had been light around Senga's neck; simple, black leather, no large buckle, discreet enough that he could wear it outside the bedroom, but not enough that it didn't stand out when paired with his usual everyday clothes.
“Didn't know you were into kinky stuff,” had been Fujigaya's comment when he pointed it out, and Senga had blushed a light pink. He didn't say anything, though, felt Kitayama's eyes on him, and a glance at his face had told him he didn't have the permission to talk about it.
The same evening, after taking a shower, after drying his hair and pulling on underwear and a loose t-shirt, Senga sits down on the floor next to the bed, ready to get the usual heavier collar around his neck.
“You didn't touch yourself, did you?” Kitayama's voice is soft but stern, and Senga shakes his head, hands fisting where they rest against his bare thighs. “Good boy.” A hand in his hair and he leans into the touch, eyes closing as he lets the gentle action turn him on in a way that might be just what Fujigaya had been talking about. Kinky.
Then the hand is gone, instead reappears on his clothed shoulder, and Senga opens his eyes again to find Kitayama making direct eye contact with him. He pulls on the fabric, and Senga obediently lets him pull the t-shirt off his body. Again he's petted, first on top of his head and then in a slow stroke along his cheek; he turns a little to lick at the two fingers tracing his face.
“No.” He wants to rile Kitayama up, but as usual, it doesn't work. “Impatient, aren't you?” Senga doesn't answer, not even with a shake of his head. Or a nod, because honestly, he is impatient.
Who wouldn't be, if they had walked around with proof of their master's ownership on them all day? That no one understands that that is what it is doesn't matter. He knows, and Kitayama knows. And the feeling of leather against his throat, the light smell of it, especially when it gets just a little wet as he dances and sweats, it's all so connected to the bedroom that he doesn't need more to start feeling aroused. But he had kept dancing, teaching the others the choreography while trying to ignore the way his skin heats at every little touch. Tries to ignore the way Kitayama's eyes follow his every movement through the mirror.
Kitayama is a friend, a group member, a leader-like figure, and a master. Not in the kinky way Fujigaya might be thinking; he doesn't order him around more than necessary, doesn't try to make him do impossible things just to punish him when he fails, doesn't tease him to no end. It's more a question of control when he wants to have it, the authority that comes with it, and Senga loves the submissiveness, loves to obey. Nothing is better than being told he has done well, that's he's a good boy, to be petted and cuddled with. Perhaps what's kinky about it is that it's exactly the simpleness of that, that gets him so ridiculously turned on.
During a break he had tried to sneak away, in an attempt to get into a bathroom and jerk off just to keep his mind out of his pants for the rest of the dance practice. But Kitayama had spotted him leaving, caught up with him in the corridor, and it wouldn't have been that much of a problem, if only he hadn't hooked his fingers in the back of the collar to make him stop and turn around.
“Where are you going?”
“... Bathroom?” he had tried, even though fully aware that it wouldn't fool Kitayama.
“No, I don't think so. Go back and help Miyacchi, he can't seem to get the last half of the chorus right.” He had spoken casually, like it was a normal conversation, and it had been, until he tugged on the collar again. Senga hadn't been able to stop the gasp that flees his throat, and Kitayama had looked oh so smug when he heard it, lowering his voice as he continued. “You know the rules. If you wanna get off, you do it in front of me.”
And now he's finally there, on the floor, with Kitayama putting the much more obvious collar in place around his neck. He hears the metal clasp clink, the leash being fastened, and before he allows himself to, he's whining quietly. From the bed Kitayama tugs on the leash, first as if to tell him to stay quiet, then to pull him in a little closer, to make him sit right on front of him, legs folded under himself. Then he moves his foot, rubs it against Senga's crotch to feel how hard he is; he withdraws almost immediately, as soon as Senga moans and rolls his hips towards the touch.
“Come,” he commands, pats the bed to indicate where he wants him, and Senga is there within seconds. “You want me to take care of that?”
There's a hand in his hair again, scratching at the back of his neck, and he entirely forgets to answer the question. His cock is twitching, pressing against the fabric of his black underwear, and Kitayama laughs at him, low and mocking.
“No?” Silence. Senga just looks at him with large, begging eyes. “You do it.” At that, his face changes, looking surprised rather than hopeful. “Yes, here. Now. On your back.” The last words are spoken as a command, stern, like he won't allow any protests.
So Senga simply pulls his underwear down and off, gets down on the bed, gasps when he wraps his own hand around his cock. He's been aroused on and off all day, but since the shower he's been fully hard, waiting, and he can't say he's the least surprised to find the head of his cock wet with pre-cum already.
“You really are an impatient pet.” Kitayama has noticed it as well, now speaks to him like he would to a puppy. It makes him squeeze a little tighter, gets his hand moving, and his eyes fall shut and he moans out loud when Kitayama's hand strokes hair from his forehead. He still has a grip on the leash, makes sure Senga knows it by tugging on it, but just a little, just to tease. The snap on the leash clinks against the metal ring, and though he's not looking he just knows that Kitayama is smirking. And even if he wasn't when he pulled on the leash, he definitely is when Senga speeds up the movement of his hand.
“Was it that good today?”
It's a question he doesn't really need to ask. He knows, but he wants Senga to recall the day. The collar, the looks from the members, Kitayama's controlling eyes, being denied even his own touch. His chest is already heaving, breath quick and hand quicker, when Kitayama trails fingertips down his neck, to his chest, stops to play with a nipple. There's a whine, or maybe it's a moan, but his body is tensing considerably from the added touch, and they both know he's going to come, soon. A last playful tug on the collar and he does, staining his own stomach, continues stroking up and down, hand tight around his cock throughout his orgasm.
“Good boy,” Kitayama praises, sends a last wave of pleasure through Senga's body, one that has him groaning.
His eyes finally open again, only to find Kitayama's face surprisingly close to his own, and before he knows it he has a couple of plump lips pushed against his own. He can taste the arousal on Kitayama's tongue, expects to find an erection as soon as he gets a hand inside his pants, and when he has pulled back he knows by the look of his eyes what he wants him to do.
“Go on,” is all he says when he catches Senga licking his lips, puts a hand in his hair again, but this time he does so to push him down between his legs instead of to pet.
Kitayama/Senga (Kis-My-Ft2)
pwp, 1300 words, R. Pet play
Written for the anon kink meme, for the prompt: Pet play. Senga is Kitayama's obedient pet and wears a collar. He's only allowed to masturbate while Mitsu watches.
The new collar had been light around Senga's neck; simple, black leather, no large buckle, discreet enough that he could wear it outside the bedroom, but not enough that it didn't stand out when paired with his usual everyday clothes.
“Didn't know you were into kinky stuff,” had been Fujigaya's comment when he pointed it out, and Senga had blushed a light pink. He didn't say anything, though, felt Kitayama's eyes on him, and a glance at his face had told him he didn't have the permission to talk about it.
The same evening, after taking a shower, after drying his hair and pulling on underwear and a loose t-shirt, Senga sits down on the floor next to the bed, ready to get the usual heavier collar around his neck.
“You didn't touch yourself, did you?” Kitayama's voice is soft but stern, and Senga shakes his head, hands fisting where they rest against his bare thighs. “Good boy.” A hand in his hair and he leans into the touch, eyes closing as he lets the gentle action turn him on in a way that might be just what Fujigaya had been talking about. Kinky.
Then the hand is gone, instead reappears on his clothed shoulder, and Senga opens his eyes again to find Kitayama making direct eye contact with him. He pulls on the fabric, and Senga obediently lets him pull the t-shirt off his body. Again he's petted, first on top of his head and then in a slow stroke along his cheek; he turns a little to lick at the two fingers tracing his face.
“No.” He wants to rile Kitayama up, but as usual, it doesn't work. “Impatient, aren't you?” Senga doesn't answer, not even with a shake of his head. Or a nod, because honestly, he is impatient.
Who wouldn't be, if they had walked around with proof of their master's ownership on them all day? That no one understands that that is what it is doesn't matter. He knows, and Kitayama knows. And the feeling of leather against his throat, the light smell of it, especially when it gets just a little wet as he dances and sweats, it's all so connected to the bedroom that he doesn't need more to start feeling aroused. But he had kept dancing, teaching the others the choreography while trying to ignore the way his skin heats at every little touch. Tries to ignore the way Kitayama's eyes follow his every movement through the mirror.
Kitayama is a friend, a group member, a leader-like figure, and a master. Not in the kinky way Fujigaya might be thinking; he doesn't order him around more than necessary, doesn't try to make him do impossible things just to punish him when he fails, doesn't tease him to no end. It's more a question of control when he wants to have it, the authority that comes with it, and Senga loves the submissiveness, loves to obey. Nothing is better than being told he has done well, that's he's a good boy, to be petted and cuddled with. Perhaps what's kinky about it is that it's exactly the simpleness of that, that gets him so ridiculously turned on.
During a break he had tried to sneak away, in an attempt to get into a bathroom and jerk off just to keep his mind out of his pants for the rest of the dance practice. But Kitayama had spotted him leaving, caught up with him in the corridor, and it wouldn't have been that much of a problem, if only he hadn't hooked his fingers in the back of the collar to make him stop and turn around.
“Where are you going?”
“... Bathroom?” he had tried, even though fully aware that it wouldn't fool Kitayama.
“No, I don't think so. Go back and help Miyacchi, he can't seem to get the last half of the chorus right.” He had spoken casually, like it was a normal conversation, and it had been, until he tugged on the collar again. Senga hadn't been able to stop the gasp that flees his throat, and Kitayama had looked oh so smug when he heard it, lowering his voice as he continued. “You know the rules. If you wanna get off, you do it in front of me.”
And now he's finally there, on the floor, with Kitayama putting the much more obvious collar in place around his neck. He hears the metal clasp clink, the leash being fastened, and before he allows himself to, he's whining quietly. From the bed Kitayama tugs on the leash, first as if to tell him to stay quiet, then to pull him in a little closer, to make him sit right on front of him, legs folded under himself. Then he moves his foot, rubs it against Senga's crotch to feel how hard he is; he withdraws almost immediately, as soon as Senga moans and rolls his hips towards the touch.
“Come,” he commands, pats the bed to indicate where he wants him, and Senga is there within seconds. “You want me to take care of that?”
There's a hand in his hair again, scratching at the back of his neck, and he entirely forgets to answer the question. His cock is twitching, pressing against the fabric of his black underwear, and Kitayama laughs at him, low and mocking.
“No?” Silence. Senga just looks at him with large, begging eyes. “You do it.” At that, his face changes, looking surprised rather than hopeful. “Yes, here. Now. On your back.” The last words are spoken as a command, stern, like he won't allow any protests.
So Senga simply pulls his underwear down and off, gets down on the bed, gasps when he wraps his own hand around his cock. He's been aroused on and off all day, but since the shower he's been fully hard, waiting, and he can't say he's the least surprised to find the head of his cock wet with pre-cum already.
“You really are an impatient pet.” Kitayama has noticed it as well, now speaks to him like he would to a puppy. It makes him squeeze a little tighter, gets his hand moving, and his eyes fall shut and he moans out loud when Kitayama's hand strokes hair from his forehead. He still has a grip on the leash, makes sure Senga knows it by tugging on it, but just a little, just to tease. The snap on the leash clinks against the metal ring, and though he's not looking he just knows that Kitayama is smirking. And even if he wasn't when he pulled on the leash, he definitely is when Senga speeds up the movement of his hand.
“Was it that good today?”
It's a question he doesn't really need to ask. He knows, but he wants Senga to recall the day. The collar, the looks from the members, Kitayama's controlling eyes, being denied even his own touch. His chest is already heaving, breath quick and hand quicker, when Kitayama trails fingertips down his neck, to his chest, stops to play with a nipple. There's a whine, or maybe it's a moan, but his body is tensing considerably from the added touch, and they both know he's going to come, soon. A last playful tug on the collar and he does, staining his own stomach, continues stroking up and down, hand tight around his cock throughout his orgasm.
“Good boy,” Kitayama praises, sends a last wave of pleasure through Senga's body, one that has him groaning.
His eyes finally open again, only to find Kitayama's face surprisingly close to his own, and before he knows it he has a couple of plump lips pushed against his own. He can taste the arousal on Kitayama's tongue, expects to find an erection as soon as he gets a hand inside his pants, and when he has pulled back he knows by the look of his eyes what he wants him to do.
“Go on,” is all he says when he catches Senga licking his lips, puts a hand in his hair again, but this time he does so to push him down between his legs instead of to pet.