[ That makes sense. He came here to take his punishment, not to make requests. As Tim slips into his role and sees, hears, feels Quentin slip into his, he feels himself nodding. It's almost subconscious, the way the harsher tone brings it out of him. He's struck by the accusation - filthy mouth - as much as he is by the hand that's literally struck him on the ass. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? He could be on his knees faster than Quentin could get out the request, prove to him that it's good, earn his praise.
He doesn't move, except for the flex as Quentin fondles his ass, inviting his fingers to stay there between his cheeks, and as if that desperation is hooked to a shock collar, he's put in line immediately, the impact of the hand against bare skin making a smacking sound that fills the room. Tim's toes dig into the carpet to keep him grounded, distract him from the urge to chase the touch as it pulls away, look for the comfort after the sting. All that comes is another slap.
A sharp intake of air, and he looks back behind him, nodding again, eager. ]
If that's what you think I need. You get to make demands. Not me.
[ There's no edge of sass to it this time, just repetition, call and response, proving that he understands. As instructed, he moves onto the bed, briefly on all fours, and then slinking slowly down so that his chest and forehead are pressed against the mattress, ass held high. The stretch feels good, does some work to soothe the sting, but not enough. He wonders if he ought to grab a pillow to stabilize himself, but doesn't. It's a luxury. Fisting in the blanket will have to do. ]
no subject
He doesn't move, except for the flex as Quentin fondles his ass, inviting his fingers to stay there between his cheeks, and as if that desperation is hooked to a shock collar, he's put in line immediately, the impact of the hand against bare skin making a smacking sound that fills the room. Tim's toes dig into the carpet to keep him grounded, distract him from the urge to chase the touch as it pulls away, look for the comfort after the sting. All that comes is another slap.
A sharp intake of air, and he looks back behind him, nodding again, eager. ]
If that's what you think I need. You get to make demands. Not me.
[ There's no edge of sass to it this time, just repetition, call and response, proving that he understands. As instructed, he moves onto the bed, briefly on all fours, and then slinking slowly down so that his chest and forehead are pressed against the mattress, ass held high. The stretch feels good, does some work to soothe the sting, but not enough. He wonders if he ought to grab a pillow to stabilize himself, but doesn't. It's a luxury. Fisting in the blanket will have to do. ]