When it has to be
Me, decompressing. Lars and Brian.
When he's laid out like that, body twitching toward the slightest hint of contact because he's cuffed spreadeagled, even now I have to catch my breath. This is mine. All of that long body, and even a king size bed barely fits him. I know he wants me to beat him tonight. It's never my favorite thing to do, but I've been back for a week and he had a heck of a time while I was gone.
I had a heck of a time. It was only two weeks under cover, but I was coming in at the end game, and we both knew this was one of the dangerous ones. And it was, and I'm still trying to get it out of my head, and the last thing I want to do, after what I had to do, is beat the man I love. Even if he likes it.
"I know," he says, like he thinks he can read my mind. He can't even see my face, because I blindfolded him. He hates that. "This is different," he says. I'm not sure it is. I look at him, and I want him, and I know he wants me to hurt him and to tell him what to do, but I can only hear my own voice in my head shouting the things the muscle enforcer type is supposed to shout, and the crunch of my knuckles on someone's face. On one of my own, a fellow agent. To keep his cover intact. I didn't tell Lars, but he knew something had happened from the scabs on my hands.
He says, "Please."
I don't ask him what he wants. "Shut up." I get the lube out of the bedside table and lean over the bed. His dick is only half mast, if that, so I suck him in to get him hard. I mean to just do that, get him hard as fast as possible, but he pulls at all the restraints, hips off the bed. I surprised him, and his gasp sounds good in my ears. It doesn't take long to get him hard, but I work him longer than that, just because I want to. Eventually, I back off to suck just the head so I can put lube on my hands. Then I realize I'm still wearing jeans. I drop the tube, fingers of the other hand curled around the mess I've just put on my palm, and with my clean hand work the button and fly. I have to stand up, pull back, and when I do, Lars curls up his hips, looking for friction on his abs.
When I get out of my jeans I straddle his legs and rub the lube onto him with one hand, on me in the other. It's warmed enough that he doesn't react other than to thrust up through the circle of my hand. I don't even slip a finger into myself, just make sure enough lube is there to make this work. I move up to position myself, try to relax, and sit so that he enters me, all the way down in one stroke.
It's been over a month, and this hurts. I barely hear the noise Lars is making because I'm trying very hard to keep still and work through the pain. Lars is frozen beneath me, but I can feel tremors running down his body, and from the tension I think he's pulling hard against the cuffs on his arms. I don't know. My eyes are closed. It burns. It hurts, and hurts more with the spasming I can't seem to stop yet. It'll come. It'll relax. I realize I'm panting, focused only on the sensation of him in me.
When the pain finally subsides enough, when I can finally open my eyes look at him, his head is tilted back, cords on his neck, down his chest, standing out with the strain of tense muscles. He wants to move. He won't. He knows better. I lean down and put my hand under his head, tangling my fingers in that ridiculous shock of black spikey hair, lifting him up, forcing him to relax enough to do it. I lean up enough to kiss him, wincing as it changes the angle and depth, and lean back again, forcing him deeper inside 'way before I'm ready.
I breath through it, eyes closed again, and when I open them he's trying to be still. I know he wants the blindfold off, but that isn't going to happen. I leant up again, but this time reaching for the flogger he left on the nightstand. I bring it down on his left pec, and then again further toward his back, metal tips striking on the sensitive skin under his arm. He cries out, and his hips pull back a bit. I twist the flogger and hit him on the other side, then swing it back to hit him on the thigh. He twitches inside me each time it comes down, and then even more when I stop.
I start to ride him, fucking myself, almost absently swinging the flogger on his arms, his flanks, the parts of his legs I can easily reach. I try not to telegraph where it will be, and I don't have to swing hard with the metal on the end of each strand. He reacts under me, bucking and curling in as much as the cuffs will let him, noises of pain when I hit, and noises of want when I stop.
I'm not hard, and my free hand holds my balls out of the way. Even though the feelings have moved all the way through pain, and are sliding toward feeling good, it's not that kind of good. After a while, I realize Lars is holding back, trying hard not to get off. I put the handle of the flogger long ways between his teeth, like a huge bit, and he bites down. I take his nipples then, twisting the piercing in the one, and rolling the other hard between my fingers. I ride him hard, canting my hips so that I start to get a little more where it counts, but mostly because it will feel good to him, too. "Just go," I say.
He does, thrusting up to meet me, pushing himself in deeper, with low, animal noises coming from around the effective gag of the flogger's handle. I know when he's going to come, and I make it good for him, slowing down and matching the stutter of his hips. When he is done I take the flogger and put it back on the table, and this time he is the one to wince when I move, hypersensitive to any friction. I should pull off him, but I don't want to. I lean down over him, kissing his neck and biting his chest where it won't show. He breathing calms, and even though I can feel his dick getting softer, I try not to move, so he won't come out.
Lars touches me with his breath, the only thing he can do, and after a moment I reach up and let one arm free. He strokes my head and back. Usually he talks, and usually I like it, but tonight I'm glad he's quiet.
Eventually I get up, take off the cuffs but leave the blindfold, and take care of myself in the bathroom. I check him over while cleaning him up. His skin is red in patches, but he seems fine. Just quiet, which is not like him. Then it hits me. "I told you to shut up." Lars nods. "You actually did it." He shrugs. I turn off the light and get into bed before I take off the blindfold. "You can have your voice back in the morning."
He turns over so that he's curled around me, arm across my chest. He kisses me on the back of the neck. "Yeah," I say. "I know." I can feel him nod, but I'm not sure what he means, but I feel his lips on my neck again, and his arm pulls tighter for a long moment, and I can finally sleep.
When he's laid out like that, body twitching toward the slightest hint of contact because he's cuffed spreadeagled, even now I have to catch my breath. This is mine. All of that long body, and even a king size bed barely fits him. I know he wants me to beat him tonight. It's never my favorite thing to do, but I've been back for a week and he had a heck of a time while I was gone.
I had a heck of a time. It was only two weeks under cover, but I was coming in at the end game, and we both knew this was one of the dangerous ones. And it was, and I'm still trying to get it out of my head, and the last thing I want to do, after what I had to do, is beat the man I love. Even if he likes it.
"I know," he says, like he thinks he can read my mind. He can't even see my face, because I blindfolded him. He hates that. "This is different," he says. I'm not sure it is. I look at him, and I want him, and I know he wants me to hurt him and to tell him what to do, but I can only hear my own voice in my head shouting the things the muscle enforcer type is supposed to shout, and the crunch of my knuckles on someone's face. On one of my own, a fellow agent. To keep his cover intact. I didn't tell Lars, but he knew something had happened from the scabs on my hands.
He says, "Please."
I don't ask him what he wants. "Shut up." I get the lube out of the bedside table and lean over the bed. His dick is only half mast, if that, so I suck him in to get him hard. I mean to just do that, get him hard as fast as possible, but he pulls at all the restraints, hips off the bed. I surprised him, and his gasp sounds good in my ears. It doesn't take long to get him hard, but I work him longer than that, just because I want to. Eventually, I back off to suck just the head so I can put lube on my hands. Then I realize I'm still wearing jeans. I drop the tube, fingers of the other hand curled around the mess I've just put on my palm, and with my clean hand work the button and fly. I have to stand up, pull back, and when I do, Lars curls up his hips, looking for friction on his abs.
When I get out of my jeans I straddle his legs and rub the lube onto him with one hand, on me in the other. It's warmed enough that he doesn't react other than to thrust up through the circle of my hand. I don't even slip a finger into myself, just make sure enough lube is there to make this work. I move up to position myself, try to relax, and sit so that he enters me, all the way down in one stroke.
It's been over a month, and this hurts. I barely hear the noise Lars is making because I'm trying very hard to keep still and work through the pain. Lars is frozen beneath me, but I can feel tremors running down his body, and from the tension I think he's pulling hard against the cuffs on his arms. I don't know. My eyes are closed. It burns. It hurts, and hurts more with the spasming I can't seem to stop yet. It'll come. It'll relax. I realize I'm panting, focused only on the sensation of him in me.
When the pain finally subsides enough, when I can finally open my eyes look at him, his head is tilted back, cords on his neck, down his chest, standing out with the strain of tense muscles. He wants to move. He won't. He knows better. I lean down and put my hand under his head, tangling my fingers in that ridiculous shock of black spikey hair, lifting him up, forcing him to relax enough to do it. I lean up enough to kiss him, wincing as it changes the angle and depth, and lean back again, forcing him deeper inside 'way before I'm ready.
I breath through it, eyes closed again, and when I open them he's trying to be still. I know he wants the blindfold off, but that isn't going to happen. I leant up again, but this time reaching for the flogger he left on the nightstand. I bring it down on his left pec, and then again further toward his back, metal tips striking on the sensitive skin under his arm. He cries out, and his hips pull back a bit. I twist the flogger and hit him on the other side, then swing it back to hit him on the thigh. He twitches inside me each time it comes down, and then even more when I stop.
I start to ride him, fucking myself, almost absently swinging the flogger on his arms, his flanks, the parts of his legs I can easily reach. I try not to telegraph where it will be, and I don't have to swing hard with the metal on the end of each strand. He reacts under me, bucking and curling in as much as the cuffs will let him, noises of pain when I hit, and noises of want when I stop.
I'm not hard, and my free hand holds my balls out of the way. Even though the feelings have moved all the way through pain, and are sliding toward feeling good, it's not that kind of good. After a while, I realize Lars is holding back, trying hard not to get off. I put the handle of the flogger long ways between his teeth, like a huge bit, and he bites down. I take his nipples then, twisting the piercing in the one, and rolling the other hard between my fingers. I ride him hard, canting my hips so that I start to get a little more where it counts, but mostly because it will feel good to him, too. "Just go," I say.
He does, thrusting up to meet me, pushing himself in deeper, with low, animal noises coming from around the effective gag of the flogger's handle. I know when he's going to come, and I make it good for him, slowing down and matching the stutter of his hips. When he is done I take the flogger and put it back on the table, and this time he is the one to wince when I move, hypersensitive to any friction. I should pull off him, but I don't want to. I lean down over him, kissing his neck and biting his chest where it won't show. He breathing calms, and even though I can feel his dick getting softer, I try not to move, so he won't come out.
Lars touches me with his breath, the only thing he can do, and after a moment I reach up and let one arm free. He strokes my head and back. Usually he talks, and usually I like it, but tonight I'm glad he's quiet.
Eventually I get up, take off the cuffs but leave the blindfold, and take care of myself in the bathroom. I check him over while cleaning him up. His skin is red in patches, but he seems fine. Just quiet, which is not like him. Then it hits me. "I told you to shut up." Lars nods. "You actually did it." He shrugs. I turn off the light and get into bed before I take off the blindfold. "You can have your voice back in the morning."
He turns over so that he's curled around me, arm across my chest. He kisses me on the back of the neck. "Yeah," I say. "I know." I can feel him nod, but I'm not sure what he means, but I feel his lips on my neck again, and his arm pulls tighter for a long moment, and I can finally sleep.