longitudinal | inbox;

Ah, feeling bossy today? The mouth on you.

[ quentin laughs easily, like they're simply sitting over breakfast chattering about the weather. it's so flippant and amused, like a preycat playing with its food. it's a new dynamic, something he doesn't get to slip into the skin of very often and yet here they are.

the gasp, the flush. he can't deny the way it makes heat rise up beneath his skin, makes a thrill race up his spine. he keeps his fingers twisted in tim's hair, looks down at him amused, laze. water continues to drip where tim had cleared it off before. ]

Sweet, patient, generous. Maybe you should learn a thing or two from me, Tim. [ not sweets, not any warm endearment. ]

Get out of your clothes.

[ A familiar demand, in an unfamiliar voice. It's not that he can't name the source, or that it feels like it's coming from someone else, but it's usually so much warmer, sweets or sweet man or the 'm' at the end of his name trailing off into a cozy, gentle hum. Now, Quentin's colder, harder, despite the laughter. It's strange, but it's good. Tim's own needs in this moment aside, it's a side of him he hasn't gotten to see. He wonders how much of it is really in him, and how much is simply put on for Tim's sake, a generous performance to sate his neuroses and confusing desires.

Well, he doesn't wonder too much. He's distracted from the sting in his scalp, the acceleration in his pulse at the way he's denied the usual words of praise he's come to associate with Quentin. Tim's practiced enough in this to recognize it as a tactic, a screwdriver loosening something in his brain so that he'll scramble to put it back, to earn those fond words again, but that doesn't make it any less effective. ]

You don't think I can be patient?

[ Obedient, but still mouthy, talking back as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it, undershirt foregone because he knew this would happen, belt and pants to follow, pushed down and stepped out of, as long as he hands on him will allow. ]

[ of course tim begins to undress like a dutiful, careful thing - desire and want hanging suddenly on the air between them, hot and thick. it's easy enough to put on the show of this personality, something he draws from rarely, but is a good stretch, a good muscle to flex. controlled dominance, careful punishment, the pain for the sake of pleasure. ]

No, I don't think you can.

[ he smiles amiably, but too much like something dangerous laying wait, ready to leap upon its prey. he doesn't loosen his fingers in his hair, only allows tim the movement of his arm with the dip of his head. he's handsome, of course - masculine in all ways and gentle in others. it makes his mouth water, makes heat surge under his skin and low into his belly. ]

It's why I need to teach you a lesson. You understand, of course? [ he huffs, releasing tim's hair and backing away, circling him and sliding a hand down his bare back, soft at first, until he finds the waist band of his underwear and twists it in his fingers, letting the elastic dig into tim's skin just above his ass, his knuckles pressing against the muscle of one cheek. ]

I want these off. Now. Then your hands on the bed. No lip, either.

[ he releases the fabric, letting it snap, and he laughs lowly, slapping his hand hard against the same asscheek from before over the fabric, gripping hard once before he releasing. ]

Or you'll have bigger problems.

[ The desire's always been there, laying low ever since they met in the baths, even when Tim tried to downplay it or turn down the temperature, for all sorts of reasons that both seemed really good at the time and are far away from his mind right now. He was drawn to him because being with him was easy without being meaningless, a refuge from the ache and confusion of this place. Quentin (and Koby, too) has only become more important to him over the last few weeks, a safe harbor to hide in while he works himself out.

Penance is part of his process. Tim knows that he'll be safe, with Quentin administering it, but his heart races, pumping blood down to his cock at the threat. ]

Yes, I understand.

[ He gasps, softly, and jumps in Quentin's hand, after the long, teasing stroke down his back ends in a smack. The sting is sharp enough to get his attention, it spurs him into compliance, thumbs dipping beneath the elastic of his briefs and pulling them down, letting them drop to his feet. He steps out of them and toward the bed, planting his hands on the mattress, bending over it with his palms spread, and turns his head to find Quentin's eyes, seek his approval. Tim wonders what he'll find there. Fondness, or coldness, or something else? He's done this before, but he wants to know what Quentin's punishment looks like. So, he invites it. ]

And what if I want bigger problems?

[ Exposed and vulnerable, physically and emotionally, and still prodding, pushing at Quentin's limits before testing his own. ]

Edited 2024-08-27 05:35 (UTC)

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. ]

[ 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. ]

Oh, you're learning, but I think you can do better.

[ he watches tim climb up onto the bed, sprawled and naked before him, all smooth freckled skin and a flop of downy brown hair. it's the look over his shoulder - the wide, brown eyes - that softens him for a moment, gives tim a second to feel the stretch and relief. but it's short-lived, quentin reaching a hand to drag along the back of tim's calf, his thigh, nails pressing and biting the skin - leaving little red marks behind. he drags his nails over the bloom of read where he spanked him before. ]

Count.

[ it's not a request, more a demand. he climbs up onto the bed, the towel slipping low around his hips. he presses a hand between tim's shoulder blades, keeping him firmly planted to the mattress and a fraction of a second later, he begins to slap each of tim's presented cheeks, alternating - the sound of skin on slapping skin echoing in the quiet of the room. as he spanks him, the strikes grow more intense, increasing in impact and strength. ]

To twenty.

[ he pauses between some - making tim anticipate them, wait in the silence for when the next hand will land on red, tortured skin. ]

[ the demanding tone does a lot to ease Tim’s nerves. He knows, of course, that it was him who asked for this, that there’s a twisted desire in him to punish himself for any perceived slight or minor sin. He can't see himself objectively enough to apply the proper punishment, that’s what a priest is meant to do, but in the absence of one, Quentin will do fine, despite Tim’s bratty poking at the boundaries. It sounds like he knows what to do, and it feels like it too, the hand pressing down between his shoulder blades keeping him steady, grounded in his body as he nods. Counting, a simple rule, a task he can succeed at. ]

One.

[ He grits his teeth through the gasp that might have otherwise left his mouth, determined to be on time with his count, but he’s not so controlled on the next one. It comes quicker and sharper than he’s expecting it, without enough time to breathe, so he flinches away from it as he counts out two with a voice far more steady than he feels. Hurriedly, he corrects himself, jutting his ass back out, curving his body to make it as appealing a target as possible.

So it continues, the smack of Quentin’s hands against his blotchy red cheeks stinging harder each time, whether he means them to or not, as Tim’s skin grows more sensitive. To push past the pain, he pulls his focus to other parts of his body. His hands, twisted in the blankets, balling them around his fists. His eyes, the lesser sting of tears forming, as of yet unshed, but he’s only at eight now, rubbing his face against the bed so he can diligently keep up with his count. His toes curling with a sort of arousal he can’t explain, that he ought to be ashamed of, but he can’t bring himself to feel that right now. Tim’s not feeling anything now except for his body, his vessel for all things good and bad, perfect in God’s image. He feels in tune with it because of the pain, it pulls him back into his body when he would otherwise retreat into his mind and all the confusing mess housed within it.

The next slap, even harder than the last, doesn't make Tim gasp or yelp, but moan, deep and gutteral. His face, already flushed almost as red as his ass, goes darker, reacting to being perceived as getting off on this all on his own despite his blissful mindlessness. ]

Ten.

[ Breathless. His cock, hard and bobbing beneath him, is dripping a sticky line of pre onto the bed that he hasn't noticed or tried to relieve. ]

[ while this kind of play isn't new to him, it's been a while, and the first handful of strikes always leave him wondering if the person is enjoying it. or at least finding the pleasure they wish in it. but he sees the way tim's cock begins to grow, the way he leaks and smears the sheets, and so he continues.

it's only five more strikes before he stops short - he'd said twenty, but he's itching to change the pace for a moment, work tim up a little differently while his ass cheeks bloom scarlet, so flushed and pretty. he smooths his callused palm against the skin, pressing a little firmly on the spots smacked red, the skin warm to the touch, inflamed. a cool bath later, perhaps.

for now, he squares up on him, dips to kiss the bend of tim's lower back, then mouth over one furious cheek, the muscle flexing deliciously against his tongue. ]

You realize I can punish you any way I see fit?

[ the same tone, the same firmness. his mouth moves to the other cheek, laving his tongue over the heated skin once, twice, before pulling away. the air of the bedroom may sooth the spots made spit-slick for a few seconds before he smacks one cheek alone, grabbing it, then the other, squeezing the furious handfuls of him.

he bends to press one long stripe of his tongue from his sac to his puckered hole, repeats the motion twice more before letting go of him altogether - the utter lack of sensation. ]

[ By twelve, he can no longer stifle the leaking from his eyes either, his face flushing blotchy and red to match the angry, red color of his ass. Furiously, Tim rubs his face against the sheets, trying to swipe away any evidence that he might not be able to handle it. He can. He wants to, he needs to, if he can't pay his penance, if he can't finish this out, or have faith that Quentin's decided on an appropriate punishment, then he'll never get back to his own room free of the baggage of the last few weeks. The last few months. ]

Fif-teen.

[ On a shuddering inhale, his body tensing from the sharp pain of another strike against slapped-raw cheeks. Tim takes the moment to savor it, to feel it as he ought to, even as it gets close to being too much. To be so aware of his body is its own kind of pleasure, he keeps drifting to these other parts of him, spreading the sharpness throughout. His thighs, flexing to keep his ass up in the air and exposed. This throat, gone dry from all his open-mouthed gasping. His cock, hanging heavy but ignored, until Quentin says otherwise.

Tim tenses with the hand on him, expecting another hard smack on angry flesh, but it's gentler, if only just. He soothes the sharp pain into a throbbing ache, like pressing into a bruise. The needy mewling that squeaks out of his mouth as Quentin's mustache tickles against those sore spots would be humiliating if it were anyone else. ]

Y-yes, you can.

[ As Tim asked, as he stressed the need for. He reaches for the pillow after all, something to muffle the low, whorish noise into, only to pull away from it again, devoted to the rules they've set. Sixteen, seventeen. But the tongue makes him tremble, and cry out, forget all decorum and chase the wet heat on his hole as soon as it's gone, jutting his ass out and in the air even higher, the arch of his back more dramatic as he babbles simple phrases in the absence of any touch. Yes, thank you, please, oh God, Quentin, and variations thereof. ]

You are so very pretty like this, you know?

[ tim looks so perfect like this, arched back and ass up, pretty tuft of warm, downy hair at his nape. he can see the way tim's cock hangs untouched and angry between his legs. it matches the pretty flush of his cheeks, the little moles and freckles sparsely spread along side tim's back.

he's a pretty man, that much he can't deny, and hearing him beg the way he is only fuels him. he doesn't want to spank him - seventeen is more than enough, and instead he leans over tim's back, lining kisses along his spine, all the way down to the cleft of his ass again, beard undoubtedly tickling along his skin. ]

You're being so good, Tim. [ he murmurs, reaching again to smooth his hands over his red cheeks before he spread them again, pressing his mouth over taht waiting hole and circling it with his tongue, lapping at it slowly, thumbs caressing the sore skin of his ass cheeks.

he hums, and with a level of mischief, sucks hard at the little pucker of muscle once, twice, before gently nudging with his tongue. ]

Th-thank you.

[ He stutters out as he shivers under Quentin's attention, body still tense in anticipation of the last three slaps. Maybe seventeen is more than enough, but he was promised twenty, made to prepare for twenty, to want for twenty. When he proves himself strong enough to get there, he can be absolved, set off to do better, to be better - unless Quentin decides he needs more. But less? It feels incomplete, makes him squirm and whine with impatience to just get it over with so that he can give in to the pleasure of his hands, the hair prickling against him, the breath against his hole coaxing him to open up-- ]

Oh--! God...

[ Maybe that's part of the punishment. The hope of relief without actually getting it, a lesson in patience. A test that he's failing despite Quentin's praise, pushing his ass back into his hands and the ache of their firm press, into his tongue that's hot and wet enough to make him tremble in his want for more, but not thick enough to fill him properly. ]

I'll be good. I'll be good. I'll be good.

[ quentin doesn't stop him from from moving, allowing tim to fuck back on his tongue, his face. it's endearing but it's also wildly attractive - the needy little sounds he makes going right to his own dick. he's achingly hard, driven by tim's obedience and the heady feeling of power like this.

he moves his head in time with tim's little pushes so that his tongue goes as deep as it can, letting it curl and lap at the soft, hot velvet walls of his ass. he hums low in his throat, adding vibrations to every little press and push of his tongue, and at the same time? lands another smack against tim's ass, more toward his flank this time. he'll get his remaining three, but tim has to learn to wait.

another groan against tim's needy hole, the fingers of his other hand digging into the meat of his ass, nails leaving little half moons in the tender skin before he comes up for air. ]

You're being so good. I'm proud of you - handling this so well. You look so good like this - spread out for me, ass as sweet as an apple on a summer day. You want more? Tell me what you want.

[ The noise is careless and wanton, Tim's head blissfully empty except for endorphins, sensation, the dull, blunt pain of fingers pressing into smacked-raw flesh. For all the teasing about wailing, Tim's moaning is low and guttural, as if it's being pulled from deep within him, some wild, animal place that he doesn't have access to on his own. ]

Quentin-- I want--

[ He hesitates as he forces his brain back online, and his ass back against Quentin. Wasn't he supposed to be calling the shots? Maybe he is, even listening to Tim's requests, pulling him back from the edge of oblivion until he's deserving of it. His face is just as red as his ass as he squirms, leg spreading and body lowering to rut against the sheets. ]

You know I. [ Swallowing, whimpering with the tingling heat of just his breath against his hole. It clenches, in want of something to squeeze around. Tongue, fingers, anything. ] I want, fuck me, please.

[ in all their fumblings he's never seen tim so worked up, so desperate and quentin aches in a new way, too. his own cock throbs between his thighs as his mouth meets every needy jut of tim's hips until he reaches to press a single finger against tim's hole, breaching that fluttering ring of muscle and sliding his tongue against it as well.

at least until he hears it. ]

Ah, is that what you want? [ a hum against the wet skin of his ass, his index finger pressing slowly, stretching him on the slick of his spit and nothing more until he's in up to the knuckle. he laughs a low rumbling sound as tim ruts against the sheets, his ass pushing back. he clicks his tongue, disapproving. ] And here I was going to reward you for your behavior, then you had to go and break the rules.

[ and that's all he gets before his hand pulls away, before quentin's rising up onto his feet and gliding the hard line of him against the cleft of tim's sore ass. ] You want me to fuck you so terribly? Well, I'm feeling lazy.

[ he lines his dick up with tim's entrance, just enough to let the head of him press against him, but not further. he drags the nails of his free hand along the red, sore skin of tim's ass. ] You'll have to take what you want, since you like moving so very much. Go ahead, sweets.

[ Tim muffles another shocked gasp against the sheets, as if he's been smacked on the ass again, not because he’s been struck, but because he’s been chastised. Rules? He’s forgotten the rules, he hasn’t been thinking, only feeling, begging for Quentin and chasing pleasure.

Ah. That. It’s for Quentin to give out, to decide when and how much, isn’t it? Tim wipes his eyes against the sheet, flushed and tearful with the embarrassment of having forgotten such a simple instruction. Punishment and penance can’t be rushed, so there’s a practical lesson, fucking himself on only spit. He can do that, he has to do that, needs to earn the sweetness back, take back the praise that tickles his brain, his spine, his cock. With a shuddering breath, Tim picks himself up so that he’s on all fours again instead of shamelessly pressing himself to the bed and scoots back, angling into position with the hot head against his hole. ]

I’m sorry. [ A soft, needy sob, cock hanging heavy and red from lack of attention. He gasps further at the track of his nails across his ass, searing hot and painful. Necessary. ] I’m sorry. I didn’t–I’ll do better.

[ He moves his hips back slowly, accepting Quentin inside him with a wince at the sharp stretch. It stings, but not nearly as badly as losing his praise. ]

[ something about tim apologizing gnaws at him in spite of their little game. he allows tim to move back and take him in and he groans, unable to process anything but the tight, velvety heat that consumes him at first. he reaches an arm down to tim's hips, stopping him from moving any further. a kindness, letting himself sit pressed deep into him to stretch, to settle.

his mouth slides along tim's shoulder in the meantime, pressing soft kisses against his skin, worshipful in a way. ]

Apology accepted.

[ he moans again just from the way he feels like he's being consumed by the other man's body. ] You've done so well. So very well.

[ his free hand slides round tim's front as well, softly palming the aching, hard line of tim's dick as he draws out of the man slowly, hand following the motion as he pushes back in just as slowly. ]

Let me take care of you now, hm? You've done well. You listened, you took everything you deserved. So good.

inbox;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject