Underfoot (Gotham, Fish/Oswald, #545)
Title: Underfoot
Fandom: Gotham
Challenge: #545 Minion
Pairings: Fish/Oswald
Rating: NC-17
Words: 442
Timeline: Set before Pilot
Warnings: Contains adult material, BDSM, pegging, foot fetishism, crossdressing
Fish stares down at him with a look that’s considering, even fond. Oswald smiles up at her, seemingly reverential, but she sees the layers underneath, the hunger.
She’s got plenty of subservient minions to do her bidding, but he’s gasping for it, desperate to claw his way up the ladder. Sweetly vicious, ambition with an edge. It’s why she’s kept him so close.
His fingers dig into the underside of her foot, massaging her just as firm as she likes, cradling her ankle across his lap. Fish watches him work, and he shifts under her gaze, his pride making him want to preen, but it’s drowned out by insecurity. He’s always been a mess like that - so full of himself right up until things get nasty, until someone bigger and meaner turns their gaze to him, and then he’s trembling, looking for a way out.
She pushes her heel down between his legs, feels the swell of his crotch, hears his soft little gasp.
Fish tells the people that question the scrawny little creature that devotedly follows her that she’s like a mother to him. Maybe they take that at face value. Maybe they see what she really means.
She’s the kind of mother that loves her boy with whips and kisses. She loves him with slaps to the face and the sugar that comes after. She loves him with leather and stilettos, and he bends so pretty for her. Calls her “mama”. Cries in gratitude when she gives him release.
There’s nothing maternal about the type of mother she is to her Oswald.
He’s a snivelling thing, his nose perpetually red through the winter, his eyes watery and pale. She presses down a little harder with her foot, and his eyelashes flutter over the permanently dark circles beneath his eyes.
She’s put him in make-up before, glitter and lipstick. He’d stared at himself in the mirror like a bird, fascinated by his reflection. She’d taken him from behind with a strap-on, so he could watch himself the whole time. He’s never come so fast, before or since.
She’s only done that the once. His pleasure should come from her, not from looking into his own eyes.
She raises her leg, stretched out before her as she reclines in her seat. Presses her toes to his lips, and he opens so readily for her. Sucking greedily, warm and wet, and she smiles, watches the colour rise in pallid cheeks.
There’s potential in him. Maybe even danger. But he’s her boy, and he doesn’t have the strength to stand against her. Not yet.
She’ll keep him underfoot for now. Metaphorically. Literally. Completely.
Fandom: Gotham
Challenge: #545 Minion
Pairings: Fish/Oswald
Rating: NC-17
Words: 442
Timeline: Set before Pilot
Warnings: Contains adult material, BDSM, pegging, foot fetishism, crossdressing
Fish stares down at him with a look that’s considering, even fond. Oswald smiles up at her, seemingly reverential, but she sees the layers underneath, the hunger.
She’s got plenty of subservient minions to do her bidding, but he’s gasping for it, desperate to claw his way up the ladder. Sweetly vicious, ambition with an edge. It’s why she’s kept him so close.
His fingers dig into the underside of her foot, massaging her just as firm as she likes, cradling her ankle across his lap. Fish watches him work, and he shifts under her gaze, his pride making him want to preen, but it’s drowned out by insecurity. He’s always been a mess like that - so full of himself right up until things get nasty, until someone bigger and meaner turns their gaze to him, and then he’s trembling, looking for a way out.
She pushes her heel down between his legs, feels the swell of his crotch, hears his soft little gasp.
Fish tells the people that question the scrawny little creature that devotedly follows her that she’s like a mother to him. Maybe they take that at face value. Maybe they see what she really means.
She’s the kind of mother that loves her boy with whips and kisses. She loves him with slaps to the face and the sugar that comes after. She loves him with leather and stilettos, and he bends so pretty for her. Calls her “mama”. Cries in gratitude when she gives him release.
There’s nothing maternal about the type of mother she is to her Oswald.
He’s a snivelling thing, his nose perpetually red through the winter, his eyes watery and pale. She presses down a little harder with her foot, and his eyelashes flutter over the permanently dark circles beneath his eyes.
She’s put him in make-up before, glitter and lipstick. He’d stared at himself in the mirror like a bird, fascinated by his reflection. She’d taken him from behind with a strap-on, so he could watch himself the whole time. He’s never come so fast, before or since.
She’s only done that the once. His pleasure should come from her, not from looking into his own eyes.
She raises her leg, stretched out before her as she reclines in her seat. Presses her toes to his lips, and he opens so readily for her. Sucking greedily, warm and wet, and she smiles, watches the colour rise in pallid cheeks.
There’s potential in him. Maybe even danger. But he’s her boy, and he doesn’t have the strength to stand against her. Not yet.
She’ll keep him underfoot for now. Metaphorically. Literally. Completely.