[fic] sugar (mabo/nagase)
Sugar, which, as my friend so aptly put it, is basically "imagine mabo whipping him omg". I wrote all of this on my phone! Again. :( I'm such a sucker for Mabo/Nagase porn. It's very short, though.
Warnings: Consensual BDSM dynamics, whipping, punishment, yadda yadda. Badly written everything, basically.
Tomoya is trembling as he lies there, naked, his stomach to the sheets and his wrists and ankles held down by fine silk. His forehead presses to the blanket, his entire body stiff, and he twitches only when he feels a pair of lips kiss the edge of his shoulder.
"You deserve this, right?"
Masahiro's breath is warm against Tomoya's neck, and he shudders, his length jumping where it's trapped between the bed and his stomach.
"Yeah..."
He's hit on the swell of his ass, and Tomoya bites his lip to keep from making a sound.
"When you answer me, you say 'yes, Matsuoka-sama'."
Tomoya blinks hard, his mouth going dry.
"Y-Yes, Matsuoka-sama."
His voice cracks, and as Masahiro stands to his full height again, Tomoya closes his eyes in preparation. There's the sound of a whip cracking, shivers crawling up Tomoya's entire body and his toes curling.
It's what he deserves. It's what he gets. It's because Masahiro always knows what's best for him and he never listens...
The first lash at his back has his wrists pulling at their binds, the burning sting in his flesh driving him up a wall. But it only escalates, and he's whipped again and again, his ankles and wrists chafing and turning red beneath their confines.
Tomoya doesn't know when he started crying, tears soaking the bedsheets, nor does he know when he started rocking his hips forward, desperate for friction between his throbbing dick and anything. He doesn't know how long it lasts before there are knees dipping into his bed at either side of the sheets and cold fingers gently rubbing and soothing his marked back.
He feels lips trail against his wounds, and Tomoya shakes even harder, nails digging so hard into his palms they might end up bleeding.
"You're a good boy," Masahiro murmurs, kissing the small of his back. "You're my good boy, right, Tomoya?"
And hearing that--knowing that--is what has Tomoya whimpering in relief, his cheeks wet and his head nodding furiously. "Yours," he croaks out, voice dry. "I-I'm always yours."
Masahiro smiles, a hand grasping Tomoya's hip. The other shifts between Tomoya's body and the sheets, and as fingers wrap around his swollen cock, Tomoya jerks and fumbles, gasping.
Masahiro strokes him, firm and steady, and it doesn't take much for Tomoya to come, a whine of Masahiro's name on his lips. As he lays there sweating, exhausted, broken--he feels fingers undoing the silk around his wrists and around his ankles, and hands delicately brushing the raw skin there.
"Are you okay?" Masahiro whispers, fingers cupping Tomoya's face and urging him to look up. Tomoya sniffles, his eyes still wet, and he nods his head.
Masahiro bends and kisses him, soft and gentle, and Tomoya sighs into it. His arms tremble as they reach up to wrap around the older man's neck, but he holds on for dear life.
"I'll take care of the wounds on your back, all right?" Masahiro breathes between kisses, his nose lightly nuzzling his cheek.
Tomoya smiles, pressing their foreheads together. "Mm. I love you."
Masahiro grins. "I love you too, stupid. Now let me go so I can move."
"Don't wanna," Tomoya hums, his fingers walking down Masahiro's spine. "Kiss me more first."
Masahiro sighs in annoyance, but he does as he's told, kissing Tomoya until both their lips are pink and sore.
And Tomoya's never felt more loved in his entire life.
Warnings: Consensual BDSM dynamics, whipping, punishment, yadda yadda. Badly written everything, basically.
Tomoya is trembling as he lies there, naked, his stomach to the sheets and his wrists and ankles held down by fine silk. His forehead presses to the blanket, his entire body stiff, and he twitches only when he feels a pair of lips kiss the edge of his shoulder.
"You deserve this, right?"
Masahiro's breath is warm against Tomoya's neck, and he shudders, his length jumping where it's trapped between the bed and his stomach.
"Yeah..."
He's hit on the swell of his ass, and Tomoya bites his lip to keep from making a sound.
"When you answer me, you say 'yes, Matsuoka-sama'."
Tomoya blinks hard, his mouth going dry.
"Y-Yes, Matsuoka-sama."
His voice cracks, and as Masahiro stands to his full height again, Tomoya closes his eyes in preparation. There's the sound of a whip cracking, shivers crawling up Tomoya's entire body and his toes curling.
It's what he deserves. It's what he gets. It's because Masahiro always knows what's best for him and he never listens...
The first lash at his back has his wrists pulling at their binds, the burning sting in his flesh driving him up a wall. But it only escalates, and he's whipped again and again, his ankles and wrists chafing and turning red beneath their confines.
Tomoya doesn't know when he started crying, tears soaking the bedsheets, nor does he know when he started rocking his hips forward, desperate for friction between his throbbing dick and anything. He doesn't know how long it lasts before there are knees dipping into his bed at either side of the sheets and cold fingers gently rubbing and soothing his marked back.
He feels lips trail against his wounds, and Tomoya shakes even harder, nails digging so hard into his palms they might end up bleeding.
"You're a good boy," Masahiro murmurs, kissing the small of his back. "You're my good boy, right, Tomoya?"
And hearing that--knowing that--is what has Tomoya whimpering in relief, his cheeks wet and his head nodding furiously. "Yours," he croaks out, voice dry. "I-I'm always yours."
Masahiro smiles, a hand grasping Tomoya's hip. The other shifts between Tomoya's body and the sheets, and as fingers wrap around his swollen cock, Tomoya jerks and fumbles, gasping.
Masahiro strokes him, firm and steady, and it doesn't take much for Tomoya to come, a whine of Masahiro's name on his lips. As he lays there sweating, exhausted, broken--he feels fingers undoing the silk around his wrists and around his ankles, and hands delicately brushing the raw skin there.
"Are you okay?" Masahiro whispers, fingers cupping Tomoya's face and urging him to look up. Tomoya sniffles, his eyes still wet, and he nods his head.
Masahiro bends and kisses him, soft and gentle, and Tomoya sighs into it. His arms tremble as they reach up to wrap around the older man's neck, but he holds on for dear life.
"I'll take care of the wounds on your back, all right?" Masahiro breathes between kisses, his nose lightly nuzzling his cheek.
Tomoya smiles, pressing their foreheads together. "Mm. I love you."
Masahiro grins. "I love you too, stupid. Now let me go so I can move."
"Don't wanna," Tomoya hums, his fingers walking down Masahiro's spine. "Kiss me more first."
Masahiro sighs in annoyance, but he does as he's told, kissing Tomoya until both their lips are pink and sore.
And Tomoya's never felt more loved in his entire life.