Petshop of Horrors (D/Leon)
Title: Dominion
Author:
puella_nerdii
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 589
Warnings: language, explicit m/m
Prompt: Claiming - "You belong to me."
Notes: The original version of this got -- er, mangled. So here's the revision. I FAIL AT DEADLINES.
Leon's not sure what to call the--arrangement he has with D. They don't date or anything. It's not like they walk around holding hands in the park or go out to see movies at that rundown Chinese place near D's store that only plays Hong Kong martial-arts flicks with the wires and the bad dubs. They've been out to restaurants before, but that's about the food, not the conversation. D spends half an hour talking about the composition of whatever pastry he ordered off the dessert cart (Leon tries to get him to eat at places where they give you oversized greasy cookies wrapped in plastic, but D won't hear of it), and Leon stares at his empty plate and tries not to fall asleep.
So yeah. It's hard for him to think of D as his--well, his anything.The idea makes the hairs on the back of his neck itch. His. He tries not to spend too much time worrying about words, but that one is different. When he imagines D saying it, it's almost--it's feral. It's something that speaks to a place deep inside him and does funny things to his stomach that don't feel nearly as bad as they should.
Maybe it doesn't matter. It's not like he has a real hold on the Count, anyway. And if D has one on him, he doesn't know if he wants to think about what that means.
He always talks about his pets like they're people, Leon remembers as D's nails splay across his chest. He doesn't know how the Count does it, but he grabs the center of Leon's shirt collar and rips it in half the way Superman used to do on those old TV shows. But there's no union suit under his shirt, just bare chest, and D really likes biting there, leaving purpling bruises around his nipples that ache in a way that goes straight to his cock when he presses his fingers against the fading marks days later. And D's mouth is so fucking pretty stretched around his cock, hot as a muggy day in July and just as stifling, just as slick. Just when Leon's almost there and shaking and trying really hard not to say yes, yes, fuck yes, D pulls back and looks down at him, smiling like one of his cats.
"Don't be an asshole," Leon chokes out. The leg he's got wrapped around the back of the velvet couch twitches and seizes; the one dangling so that his toes are almost touching the floor just hangs there limply.
"That wasn't my intent." The oil--D can't just use lube, it has to be all exotic with him--feels cool and slippery around the heat building up in his thighs. He groans, and it's only after the sound breaks free of him that he realizes what he just sounded like. One of Count D's pets.
And that seems to make D get really into it, because he lines himself up and pushes in. It's too slow at first, almost painful, but it's still making Leon's cock twitch like hell. It's worth it when D finds the spot that sends electric sparks shooting behind Leon's eyes, though. (Fuck is it ever worth it.) He lets himself whine high in his throat whenever D brushes against it, because that gets the guy hotter than anything else.
Just before it feels like every part of his body's about to burst into flame, he thinks he hears D say something. It's soft, and it's almost drowned out by Leon's panting, but it's there.
"Mine."
Author:
puella_nerdii
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 589
Warnings: language, explicit m/m
Prompt: Claiming - "You belong to me."
Notes: The original version of this got -- er, mangled. So here's the revision. I FAIL AT DEADLINES.
Leon's not sure what to call the--arrangement he has with D. They don't date or anything. It's not like they walk around holding hands in the park or go out to see movies at that rundown Chinese place near D's store that only plays Hong Kong martial-arts flicks with the wires and the bad dubs. They've been out to restaurants before, but that's about the food, not the conversation. D spends half an hour talking about the composition of whatever pastry he ordered off the dessert cart (Leon tries to get him to eat at places where they give you oversized greasy cookies wrapped in plastic, but D won't hear of it), and Leon stares at his empty plate and tries not to fall asleep.
So yeah. It's hard for him to think of D as his--well, his anything.The idea makes the hairs on the back of his neck itch. His. He tries not to spend too much time worrying about words, but that one is different. When he imagines D saying it, it's almost--it's feral. It's something that speaks to a place deep inside him and does funny things to his stomach that don't feel nearly as bad as they should.
Maybe it doesn't matter. It's not like he has a real hold on the Count, anyway. And if D has one on him, he doesn't know if he wants to think about what that means.
He always talks about his pets like they're people, Leon remembers as D's nails splay across his chest. He doesn't know how the Count does it, but he grabs the center of Leon's shirt collar and rips it in half the way Superman used to do on those old TV shows. But there's no union suit under his shirt, just bare chest, and D really likes biting there, leaving purpling bruises around his nipples that ache in a way that goes straight to his cock when he presses his fingers against the fading marks days later. And D's mouth is so fucking pretty stretched around his cock, hot as a muggy day in July and just as stifling, just as slick. Just when Leon's almost there and shaking and trying really hard not to say yes, yes, fuck yes, D pulls back and looks down at him, smiling like one of his cats.
"Don't be an asshole," Leon chokes out. The leg he's got wrapped around the back of the velvet couch twitches and seizes; the one dangling so that his toes are almost touching the floor just hangs there limply.
"That wasn't my intent." The oil--D can't just use lube, it has to be all exotic with him--feels cool and slippery around the heat building up in his thighs. He groans, and it's only after the sound breaks free of him that he realizes what he just sounded like. One of Count D's pets.
And that seems to make D get really into it, because he lines himself up and pushes in. It's too slow at first, almost painful, but it's still making Leon's cock twitch like hell. It's worth it when D finds the spot that sends electric sparks shooting behind Leon's eyes, though. (Fuck is it ever worth it.) He lets himself whine high in his throat whenever D brushes against it, because that gets the guy hotter than anything else.
Just before it feels like every part of his body's about to burst into flame, he thinks he hears D say something. It's soft, and it's almost drowned out by Leon's panting, but it's there.
"Mine."