There was something primitive in what he wore, savage in an ancient way, and it reminded him vaguely of a time when he'd been a warrior for a crowd's entertainment but he'd had armor to put on back then, nothing as little as this. The loincloth, the sandals, the leather stitched around his waist where a sword was buckled, some crude thing from ages gone, made of bronze. Where his skin was bare it was painted in blue, war markings in a language of symbols he didn't speak
( ... )
He went still when Leon pulled him over his shoulder and it was so fucking ridiculous. Everything this man did made him feel like he was going to die with Leon's touch scraping through him. The light of the hallway was almost blinding after the dark of his room and he stiffened, any protest already smothered away, and he was glad he didn't know anyone enough to be recognized like this. His hips shifted forward against Leon's shoulder and falling didn't seem like a better option than being carried like he weighed nothing down the hall. The fact that he didn't want to need Leon didn't seem to matter
( ... )
Matt shifting on his shoulder and the discomfort he could feel like a current through his body reminded him of why he was doing this, how much he wanted to feel the other man's helplessness because it seemed like only by stripping him down to bare need could he make him acknowledge what they meant to each other. He knew this was humiliating for him but that wouldn't make him stop. It wasn't the point to humiliate him, anyway, it was only the means to make him feel something that wouldn't be denied or pushed away. His arm circled Matt's hips and held him secure as he carried him to the room in the hotel that he thought of as his. He never bothered to try to lock it; no one was ever there when he went anyway, as though the sparsity of it drove away anyone seeking a place to sleep or fuck
( ... )
He didn't notice any of the changes but the one of sheets beneath him. It even smelled different, everything decadent about the bed having changed into something savage instead. But he was distracted by Leon's hand going to his balls as if he didn't know the meaning of letting go, resentment striking at the way his body found it so goddamn easy to respond. He wanted him, even when he told himself he wouldn't, even when it felt like he'd wanted him too much already to keep wanting more. The fact that he wasn't on Leon's shoulder now didn't make anything better, he still felt as displaced as he had in his own room earlier. This holiday was a joke, just like the rest of the hotel
( ... )
The wardrobe drew him irresistibly and he wanted to see what changes had been wrought inside it, if the collection of toys had gone because they didn't fit the atmosphere or if they were still there. There were things inside, but not what he was used to: whips, chains and manacles, weapons, clothes. Everything with a primitive and brutish air. He found another belt and took it, folding it over like a strap in his hand. There was a clay pot of what seemed to be the same blue war paint that was written all over his skin, and another of some scentless oil, thick and amber-colored. He took those too, turning to meet Matt's eyes as he struggled to sit up on the bed
( ... )
It was impossible to see what the other man was looking at but he took in the sight of what he carried as soon as he turned back, attempting to keep his curiosity from leaking into the space between them. The primal feel of the room was working its way through him, and he didn't know how to play roles enough to understand what the other man saw when he looked at him. He wanted to understand, it was just too fucking hard, and then Leon was closing in anyway and it didn't matter what he was thinking because the man was pulling his hair up to lick him, bringing his irritation back to the surface with it. He wondered briefly if Leon would ever believe him if he attempted to tell him he didn't want him. It didn't feel possible to ever dislike the way this man touched him, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway because he couldn't voice the words
( ... )
These moments connected them. He didn't think they would be anything without the ability to torment one another, and he didn't know why he wanted so badly to make Matt vulnerable and helpless every chance he could, this game that kept cycling back to the same points between them. It was the only way to feel close enough. They weren't so different from one another in essentials. He touched Matt's hip, watching the way the man writhed against the pillow for a moment before he leaned down to press his mouth where his hand had been, his tongue lathing the place for a moment. Then he drew back and cracked the belt across the backs of his thighs again
( ... )
Any sound he tried to make was just lost inside his mouth and he was seething on the pillow, each of the blows feeling like a taunt with the teasing uncertainty behind them. He was tense and the idea of holding still was a joke when he couldn't stop jerking when the belt landed, even if he wanted to be able to take this. Each muffled sound he made was pathetic and he might have thought he could take this at first but the resolve shattered with the next blow and the next. The thought of rolling away was prominent on his mind but Leon could easily drag him back and he didn't want to look ridiculous. As if he didn't already look ridiculous while the belt seemed to catch him from every direction and infuriate with pauses that followed with strokes of Leon's hand
( ... )
His hands caught around Matt's arms as the man pushed himself up against him and he pulled him in to caress his face with his mouth, kisses brushed aimlessly over his brow, his eyes, his cheeks, even the band over his mouth. His fingers slid into his hair and he pulled him forward until their foreheads pressed together. "I'm not finished with you yet," he murmured, but he didn't feel any hurry to shove him down to his lap again; hands ran over his back, caressing, as he resisted Matt's efforts to push him over. It wasn't difficult. The man had no power to leverage against him, not even words, and there was some part of him that wanted to keep him this way forever, always bound, always waiting for Leon's cock. His voice smothered against the gag while he was being fucked
( ... )
His eyes shut tightly and getting a hold of himself felt like something completely out of his control. It didn't stop him from making the attempt, even if it was rife with lies and useless protestations. "I don't need you. I've never needed you. It's you who's always needed me." Writhing on Leon's lap might have made it impossible to believe anything he said but then his words and actions never really seemed to match. Even when he told Leon he loved him he was always hurting him as if to balance the desperation in the act of speaking. If he were to tell Leon he needed him now, it would be too fucking baring. He was already a mess, held tense while the paint dripped over his back in the seconds before Leon's hands drew the line down his spine and left his hips pressing hard to the man's thigh. His panting turned into a gasped, choked sound while Leon's hand slid down his ass crack to his balls. His feet dug hard into the mattress, his hips rocking against Leon in silent, resenting need. He wanted to be repulsed but the way his stomach
( ... )
Every time Matt tried to escape he could feel him gathering himself for it and that made it easy to stop him, to catch him around the waist to keep him from heaving himself out of his lap, and this time he moved him himself, not to let him escape but to lay him across the bed on his stomach so that he could climb over him. One paint-wet hand held him by the hip and it was another handprint left on his skin, another mark of ownership. His body pounded with desire and he hoped that the paint wouldn't be easily washed away; he hoped it would stain the man's skin for days and be a reminder every time he looked at his naked body of how it belonged to Leon
( ... )
The words were on the tip of his tongue and it would be so easy to ask Leon to fuck him but he didn't want to lose. He didn't know when it'd become important to keep from giving Leon what he wanted but it was. He wanted to keep anything the man wanted away from him. Leon seemed to drag him around as easily as if he were a toy and the words were the only thing he could keep the man from taking so he bit them back. It wasn't as easy to keep quiet while Leon rubbed his cock against his ass and made him want him more. His breaths were ragged and exaggerated, the sound thankfully smothered against the sheets, even if he couldn't quite hide the way his ass pushed back against Leon, rocking off the bed in unsubtle motion, desire leading the way just as easily as Leon's hands were capable of
( ... )
His fingers were tight around Matt's cock and he let the man thrust into them how he would, wanting to possess every way his body moved and reacted, wanted to drive it all with his touch, his hands and his mouth on him, his cock inside him. He ate at him with the kiss, his tongue in his mouth, sucking at the taste of him and he thought briefly of putting the man's cock in his mouth, paint and all, but instead he broke the kiss to brush lips against his throat. "Tell me why the fuck it matters why you want me. Why either of us want any of this. It just is
( ... )
He wanted to be able to come from just this. The suction of Leon's mouth on his balls loosened sound into a wretched moan and he was smacking his head back against the mattress because he couldn't deal with all this need. It was stronger than he was, more determined, and he twisted on the bed in an attempt to free himself from Leon's mouth and touch, except Leon was right. The explanation just wasn't important. He succeeded in making himself breathless but need was still there
( ... )
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