Matt's hand tightened around him, too hard to be anything but painful; his jaw shifted but he still moved his hips and pushed deliberately into the grasp as though to slide through it, fuck his fingers. He straightened above him, leaning his weight a little into his outstretched arm, pinning the man to the mattress by his throat, his fingers tightening. Only a little, though, nothing like Matt's grip on him. He grunted and grasped after his hand to pry it off him, finger by finger. "If you tore my dick off I'd still find something to shove into you." The words were thick, desire stroking through him as his eyes moved caressingly over the man beneath him. "Maybe I'd fuck you with the sword hilt
( ... )
His teeth dug in again when Matt came like he wanted to drink in the pleasure, his hand working Matt's hand hard over his cock. It was another mess to leave on the bed where they'd already smeared all the traces of themselves, grappling and fucking, and for a while he lay still just to feel it and to feel what Matt was like after coming. He was swelled again, his cock shoved against the man's thigh. He gripped him in secure arms, implacable hands, keeping them together while he sucked patiently at the bruise he'd bitten into the skin of his neck to darken it
( ... )
He went too easily but then he always did. There was always something viciously dark about being tied up, the helplessness that came with it, and he could never get enough of the filth involved with this man. Or maybe it was the filth of the world in general. The hotel seemed so disconnected from the world he remembered but it was the same filth, perhaps drawn out, as if the thoughts he had here were only the echoes of the ones he'd had before. He'd never acted on them there but he'd grown up with consequence written on the walls. If he didn't do anything here he'd go insane, the stretches of days losing themselves in the inactivity and the hopelessness of lust
( ... )
Maybe he had wanted it, maybe it wasn't enough to have lust pulled out of him in such agonizing ways until it felt like there would be nothing left of him. Maybe torture was something he needed too, pain to rip up his insides and leave a mess of him where a man had once been. But maybe it was Matt's certainty playing with his mind, inventing need, bringing things swelled and bloated and ugly out of the darkness and forcing them into Leon with implications of how good it was, how much he wanted it. He didn't know. He didn't know how much of his mind was his anymore or how much of it was this man's to fuck with and use. His hand caressed his hair and he caught Matt as he twisted away from him, patiently, to pull him back
( ... )
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
( ... )
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