Fic: 'Secretary'
Title: Secretary
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Richard Hammond/Derren Brown
Rating: R
Wordcount: 255
Summary: PWP. Warnings for spanking and other implied kink.
A/N: Yes, I am aware I'm bollocks with titles.
“Now tell me what you are.” Derren’s voice slipped silky soft and low straight through Richard. He shivered and closed his eyes, a chill ghosting over his naked skin.
“A bad boy.” His voice was loud and unfamiliar in his own ears. Too raw, too harsh.
Derren’s footsteps as he paced a circle around him - around Richard and his palms flat against the desk’s cold wood - marking off the seconds, each crisp footfall. Every turn of the circle, Derren would slide into Richard’s strained and fuzzing vision, a neat, self-contained figure painted in charcoals. In between gloved hands, he carried something long, and dark, and woven of oiled leather.
“That’s right.” Derren disappeared from view again, and his footsteps slowed, and - spine-tinglingly to Richard, naked to Derren’s fully-clothed - halted, close by. “You are a very - ” punctuated by Richard’s intake of breath as one coolly gloved finger brushed his lower back, “ - bad - ” followed by another finger and another, until four delicate leathered fingertips were skimming down Richard’s spine and over the curve of his buttocks, “ - boy.” The contact disappeared, and Richard closed his eyes. In the next moment, Derren slapped him full across the arse. The sound was obscenely loud in the silent study. Richard couldn’t stop himself jerking forward, a whimper escaping through his nose.
“Now.” Derren stepped into Richard’s peripheral vision. He had turned the whip so that the butt end was pointed upwards. One hand curled around it, the other stroked the knob at the end. “Spread your legs.”
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Richard Hammond/Derren Brown
Rating: R
Wordcount: 255
Summary: PWP. Warnings for spanking and other implied kink.
A/N: Yes, I am aware I'm bollocks with titles.
“Now tell me what you are.” Derren’s voice slipped silky soft and low straight through Richard. He shivered and closed his eyes, a chill ghosting over his naked skin.
“A bad boy.” His voice was loud and unfamiliar in his own ears. Too raw, too harsh.
Derren’s footsteps as he paced a circle around him - around Richard and his palms flat against the desk’s cold wood - marking off the seconds, each crisp footfall. Every turn of the circle, Derren would slide into Richard’s strained and fuzzing vision, a neat, self-contained figure painted in charcoals. In between gloved hands, he carried something long, and dark, and woven of oiled leather.
“That’s right.” Derren disappeared from view again, and his footsteps slowed, and - spine-tinglingly to Richard, naked to Derren’s fully-clothed - halted, close by. “You are a very - ” punctuated by Richard’s intake of breath as one coolly gloved finger brushed his lower back, “ - bad - ” followed by another finger and another, until four delicate leathered fingertips were skimming down Richard’s spine and over the curve of his buttocks, “ - boy.” The contact disappeared, and Richard closed his eyes. In the next moment, Derren slapped him full across the arse. The sound was obscenely loud in the silent study. Richard couldn’t stop himself jerking forward, a whimper escaping through his nose.
“Now.” Derren stepped into Richard’s peripheral vision. He had turned the whip so that the butt end was pointed upwards. One hand curled around it, the other stroked the knob at the end. “Spread your legs.”