Do you really understand?

[ he laughs a little, watching tim wriggle out of his underwear, seeing the beginnings of pink blooming where he'd laid his hand before. he reaches for the stinging mark, gently smooths his callused palm over it, up and down, fingers trailing to his low back, resting there .]

Because you want bigger problems, and you've told me? Well. I can't reward you before you're properly punished for that filthy mouth of yours.

[ tim looks back at him and though quentin's face is stern, brow set, there's a fiery hunger in his eyes, masking some of the fondness that would be there otherwise.

he goes back to rubbing that aching red mark, letting the slide of his fingers press briefly along the cleft of his ass, pressing between and back out, teasing but not giving. he follows it up with a sharp smack, right where the other had been before, and again. ]

Head and chest down - ass up. You don't get to make demands. What do you say, Tim?

[ he drags his nails over the mark, then pulls away, as though rearing up for another smack. ]