ǫ | quentin toma (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
longitudinal) wrote2024-07-06 09:29 pm
longitudinal) wrote2024-07-06 09:29 pm
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quentin toma NOTES: sailor, navigator, loverboy, war-bringer. |
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
longitudinal
text ❖ audio ❖ video
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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. ]
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[ 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. ]
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[ 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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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.