bruises on your thighs like fingerprints
fandom: prose; light 'em up - stripper au
pairing: diego x ely
wordcount: 356O
ficathon: kinkster's paradise - prompt von tears_into_wine
challenge: kink-bingo - blindfolded
notes: not-quite-explicit smut
a lap dance is so much better when the stripper is crying
“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind,” Diego says at length, accepting his tequila and sliding enough money over the counter to pay for at least seven of them, “telling me who’s in charge here?”
He doesn’t bother with flirting, doesn’t even smile. There’s exactly one straight thing about him, and that’s his priorities.
The bartender raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t bat an eye while the money disappears in his back pocket. “That would be Ms. Way,” he replies and hesitates for a moment, as if the sentence is incomplete. Maybe he thought about adding a Sir at the end, judging by the way his eyes keep flickering across Diego’s suit and tie nervously. Business men might be common customers in strip clubs but unlike Diego, they’re probably trying to be a bit more subtle about their status.
Diego’s lips twitch slightly in silent amusement.
“I want to talk to her for a moment.”
“I-I’ll see what I can do.”
With one last musing look, the bartender turns around and pulls aside a tiny brunette. She gestures wildly with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand, but whatever she’s saying is drowned out by cheering and wolf whistles further down the club. Diego’s head snaps around faster than he’d like to admit.
He knows what he’s going to see - has been watching intently for the last half hour before deciding to push his luck and aim for more than just watching - but the sight still hits him like a punch despite his best efforts to keep his composure.
Up on his platform, above the steadily growing crowd that’s gathered around him, the prettiest boy Diego has ever seen is dancing on a pole like he was born doing so. His naked chest seems to glow under the spotlights directed at him, skin smooth and glistening. Diego hisses out a sharp breath, seeing the crop top the stripper was wearing earlier discarded on the platform floor. He is beautiful. It doesn’t even look like he’s moving to the music, it’s more like the song is purely existing to make those effortless spins and bending limbs audible for the world.
Defined stomach muscles tighten as he holds himself up on the pole with both hands, baring his neck until just the tiniest hint of a cocky smile is visible, and then he spreads his legs for the audience. Skin-tight pants barely hide anything.
He’s obscene, and still looks like a masterpiece that should be way out of league for a club like this.
Diego finds his gaze glued to the boy’s thighs, wiry-muscled and graceful. While the dimly lit room erupts into cheering once again, Diego imagines how perfect they would look wrapped around his hips, covered in bruises, and his stomach curls with want.
In a perfectly controlled movement, the stripper pushes his lower body forwards and then up until his thighs wrap around the pole and he’s upside down, his back arching for everyone to see. Diego forcefully reminds himself it doesn’t matter, all those hungry eyes and suggestive whistles don’t matter. They can throw their pathetic money at him all they want - at the end of the night, he will be Diego’s.
“Excuse me,” a cold voice says just as Diego downs his tequila and slams the empty glass onto the bar counter with a little more force than strictly necessary. He turns to his left and is met with a tall woman dressed in black, matching her perfectly curled dark hair and piercing grey eyes. “Ariana Way,” she introduces herself and makes it sound like a warning. Instead of holding out a hand to shake, she keeps her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Is there a problem?”
Diego tries a smile this time and shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m just interested in some … extended services, if you will.” He leans back against the bar, nodding at the stripper who’s still, or maybe again, hanging upside down and smirking at the crowd as he moves. “I want him.”
Ariana huffs. “Everyone wants him, get in line. He’ll give lap dances later. You might get lucky.”
“I’m not going to get lucky,” Diego replies, refusing to shrink under her razor-sharp gaze. “I’ll get a solo performance.”
Before she can protest, he’s pulling out enough cash to buy a small car. He’s never been more glad to carry some of the bigger bank notes around.
Ariana remains silent for a moment, eyeing the money with a considering frown. Then she turns her head towards the stripper and says, “He’ll be done in a few minutes. I assume you’d prefer some privacy?”
“Yes.” Diego clears his throat, waiting until she’s looking at him again before he continues. “I also want some … arrangements to be made.”
Ariana extracts her arms gracefully and reaches out to snatch the money out of his hand. “Please,” she says as she lets the small fortune disappear in her cleavage, her tone suggesting it’s a word she doesn’t use very often. “Enlighten me.”
Diego complies gladly.
Half an hour later, Diego is standing in a quiet, low-lit hallway, his fingertips tingling with anticipation when they reach for the door handle in front of him. Room 6, third one on the right. The walls are thick enough to keep this part of the building separated from the club’s noise and the persistent smell of alcohol and smoke has faded almost completely.
Diego allows himself another deep breath before finally pushing the door open.
The first thing he sees is an empty king size bed that’s taking up a majority of the room, covered in blindingly white sheets and a generous array of pillows at the headboard.
A soft noise catches his attention and he turns to the side while pulling the door closed with a distant click. Pushed against the right wall, there’s a wooden table and two armchairs, and one of them is gloriously occupied. Diego’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk. The pretty boy looks even prettier up close, shadows moving under his chin and collarbones as he moves his head towards the sound of Diego’s steps, illuminated by a dozen star-like ceiling lights. His lips are bitten and dark, pressed into a tight line just like the rest of his body. Every single muscle looks tense like he can’t quite decide between fight or flight. The way he’s cowering on the edge of the armchair, one knee pulled up to his bare chest and both arms firmly wrapped around it, makes Diego’s blood boil in his veins.
“What’s your name?” he asks and isn’t surprised to feel the words scrape against his throat like sand paper. They come out hoarse and lower than his usual voice. The boy flinches, leg dropping over the edge of his seat until his hands fall limply into his lap, and then he stills his movements entirely.
“Who are you?” he demands to know. Diego doesn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, and god, he sounds so soft and careful. Diego can’t wait to wreck him.
“Tell me your name and I’ll give you mine,” he replies easily, taking a step closer.
A moment of hesitation, then: “Ely. I’m Ely.”
Diego inhales a heavy breath and tastes the name on his tongue, whispers it into the air between them as he leans in and brushes his fingertips over the black fabric of Ely’s blindfold, causing Ely to choke out a gasp. His hands twitch in his lap as if aching to reach up and wrap around Diego’s wrist, trying to make up for his lack of eye sight with searching touches. But he doesn’t. He was told not to.
“Good boy,” Diego mumbles and revels in the shiver that wracks Ely’s body. He slides his fingers down to Ely’s jaw, a hint of stubble grazing his skin, and then to the back of his neck where he squeezes lightly before retreating his hand. Ely whines.
“C’mon,” Diego says - too harshly for his order to be mistaken for a question.
Ely tilts his head in a silent question. Those cocky smiles and lazy movements to rile up his audience earlier suited him well, but Diego likes this blinded, subdued version of him even better. Although Ely tries to hide it with casualness, acting calm and patient like he’s in control of the situation, every inch of him emits nervousness and Diego doesn’t have to ask to know he’s never been in a situation like this before.
Diego pulls off his tie at that thought, his throat suddenly feeling too tight to breathe.
“Get on the bed,” he says lowly, carelessly throwing the offending piece of fabric to the floor, and watches as Ely rises on shaky feet. He doesn’t move further than that. Instead he bites his lip before mumbling, “I still don’t know who you are.”
Diego heaves out a breath and finally lets his instincts take the reigns.
Holding back is not exactly a strength of his and he’s done trying to play nice anyway. It feels like swimming out into the open sea after years of staying in confined areas close to the beach when he grabs a fistful of Ely’s dark hair and pulls until his neck is bared in front of Diego’s face, tendons straining. Waves of heat crash over Diego’s head and feed the fire simmering low in his gut as Ely whimpers in surprise, struggling against his harsh grasp. The blindfold cuts a clear, black line through Ely’s pale face before disappearing into an artful mess of curls, and Diego lets his eyes wander for a few seconds, down to tense shoulders and a flat abdomen heaving with fluttery breaths.
Diego puts his free hand on Ely’s chest and pushes his palm against warm skin until he can feel the rapid pulse beneath.
“I’m Diego,” he says, leaning forward until the words are merely more than a breath against Ely’s ear, which earns him an almost violent shiver. “And I want you to get on the bed for me, now.”
Without waiting for a reply, he loosens his grip and pushes Ely in the right direction, making him stumble and fight to regain his balance. Diego’s eyes trace the waistband of Ely’s briefs just above the curve of his ass - another black line cutting through the expanse of naked skin.
He watches Ely find his way with shuffling steps and outstretched hands, smiling when his knees bump into the mattress and he stills, hesitating.
“I won’t ask again,” Diego warns and moves to hover over Ely’s shoulder, the front of his suit barely touching the smaller boy’s back.
Ely doesn’t turn around and his voice is so soft Diego almost doesn’t catch the quietly spoken, “Let me see you.”
Diego snaps.
At this point he’s so far out in the ocean, he can’t even see the beach anymore. He closes the distance between them and wraps a hand around Ely’s waist until his fingers are splayed possessively over Ely’s stomach, low enough for the tip of Diego’s little finger to graze fabric. His other hand curls around the sharp edge of a hipbone and squeezes, leaving no doubt about his intention to leave bruises while he pushes his own hips against Ely’s lower back.
Ely flinches slightly when they’re pressed flush against each other.
He squirms against the sudden friction of clothes against skin but stays silent, his jaw clenching. It’s impossible to resist the urge to press a kiss there, so Diego does, open-mouthed and impatient. His lips curve into a smirk as he notices Ely turning his head towards him, leaning into the touch, and Diego rewards him with a graze of teeth. “Take a look,” he whispers, his chin hooked over Ely’s shoulder, “and then get the fuck out of here, I dare you. Or -” He slides his hand down and doesn’t stop until he’s lightly cupping Ely through his pants. “- you stay here and do as I say.”
Ely’s knees buckle, an entirely helpless sound pushing out of his throat.
Diego lets him sink back against his chest as every last bit of tension seeps out of Ely’s muscles and he turns boneless in Diego’s grip. His hands raise weakly to clutch at Diego’s sleeves. There’s no movement towards his own face, not even a second where Ely considers pulling his blindfold off.
Diego knows an answer when he sees one and pushes Ely onto the bed, shrugging out of his suit while long limbs struggle to situate themselves on the mattress. Ely lacks the lazy gracefulness that drew Diego’s attention in the club, but it doesn’t matter. Spreading his legs on a pole to tease an audience doesn’t even begin to compare to the sight of him now, flushed all the way down to his chest and struggling to keep his breathing even as he surrenders to Diego. He looks devastatingly pretty and vulnerable like this, waiting in blind anticipation.
Diego kicks off his shoes, socks and trousers without looking away from Ely.
He loves a little fight and pride and arrogance, but what he loves even more is seeing all of it crumble under his hands.
“Don’t move,” he says, now bare except for his pants, and Ely’s fingers immediately still their restless grip-and-release on the soft bed sheets. Diego fills the tense silence with an appreciative hum and finally moves onto the bed.
When he feels Diego breathe a rush of air against his collar bones, Ely seems to shrink away further into the sheets and makes himself impossibly small under Diego’s broad frame. He’s trapped - Diego’s knees on either side of his narrow hips, forearms resting on the pillow next to Ely’s head.
They’re not quite touching, just panting against each other, and it almost hurts to keep those last inches of space between them.
“Please,” Ely mumbles, a mere step away from falling off the edge of coherence. Diego is glad he can’t see his face because he isn’t sure if he would be ready for someone to see the expression Ely’s plea paints onto his features.
“Relax,” Diego replies and presses his lips against Ely’s in a kiss that could be soothing if it wasn’t for Diego’s teeth biting down as soon as Ely opens up under him.
Time blurs after that, heavy arousal weighing down on them while the room fills with breathy gasps and moans. Diego leaves a trail of bruises down Ely’s throat and takes his time with each mark, making sure they all turn a vicious purple before moving on. His senses clouded with Ely’s smell and taste, he knows nothing other than to keep going, no matter how painfully tight his own pants are starting to feel.
It’s almost dizzying to have Ely squirming and gasping for air beneath Diego’s weight and touches with growing desperation. He whimpers something distantly resembling Diego’s name just as Diego reaches down to hook his fingers under the waistband of Ely’s briefs.
“Don’t hold back,” Diego says, pulling the fabric down the tiniest bit before letting go again. “I want to hear you.”
Ely sobs.
His legs fall open until his thighs brush Diego’s elbows and he keeps pushing, throwing his head back into the pillow as he searches for friction Diego won’t allow him yet. It’s addictive because Ely isn’t putting his body on display for a crowd of drunks with greed in their eyes, isn’t teasing to the point of no return just to have some pathetic, crumpled money thrown at him instead of the diamonds he deserves. No, he is spread out for Diego and Diego alone, wordlessly begging for relief.
Diego raises a hand from Ely’s hips to brush his fingers over his jaw, thumb pressing down slightly on his lower lip where Ely’s mouth is already slack and open. Without giving Ely a chance to react, Diego retreats his hand and shuffles down along Ely’s body, ignoring his impatient whines.
“You’re so needy,” he states, smirk audible in his voice, and digs his fingers into Ely’s hips. Nosing his way down to a quivering leg, Diego flicks his tongue against the soft skin on Ely’s inner thigh and waits for the inevitable moan that follows. “Always craving attention, aren’t you?” He bites down gently. “Showing off until you have everyone’s attention.” Another bite, this time close enough for Diego to feel Ely’s pants against his cheek.
A choked gasp of “Diego -”, and suddenly there are hands gripping his hair, tangling in Diego’s short strands with a ferocity you’d associate with someone on the brink of death, clinging to a last lifeline. Diego exhales a low growl against Ely’s groin and Ely pulls his hair so hard it leaves a painful stinging on his head.
“I thought I told you not to move,” he says, dangerously quiet, and Ely sounds like he’s dying when Diego decides to give his thighs the same treatment as his throat earlier. He sucks and bites and wrecks Ely’s skin everywhere except where Ely wants it, dark patches in the shape of Diego's teeth and fingers blooming on smooth skin.
When Diego sees his stomach muscles tighten out of the corner of his eye, he hisses, “Don’t you dare.”
With sluggish movements, Ely drags his head across the pillow from side to side, mumbling out a hoarse mess of please and I can’t and let me until Diego lifts his gaze and decides to take pity on him.
“Hold on,” he whispers, and this time his tone is almost gentle. “Hold on for me, Ely.”
Ely whimpers and he’s shaking so badly Diego has trouble crawling up to his head without startling him.
“Hold still,” Diego says, holding himself up over Ely’s chest with straining thighs, and brushes his fingers over the blindfold. The fabric is warm and damp under his touch and he breathes out a shaky exhale, sliding his fingers around to the back of Ely’s head.
He fumbles with the knot for a few seconds, inhaling Ely’s shuddering exhales, and then he pulls the fabric off and is met with rapidly blinking, reddened eyes. They widen immediately as Ely manages to focus on Diego’s face and tears slide down his cheeks, finally able to escape. He’s a mess and it suits him so well, Diego can’t resist the idea that’s forming in his mind.
“F-Fuck,” Ely breathes, still staring at Diego with something like disbelief and wonder in his eyes.
Diego leans down for a kiss and doesn’t say anything when Ely grabs his hair again, weakly urging him closer until their noses bump and teeth clack against each other. Pulling away requires a lot more effort than Diego would care to admit, but he does and says, as calmly as he can, “I’ll let you come if you give me a lap dance.”
He’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t Ely’s frantic attempt to push Diego off of him, hands releasing his hair to push against his chest instead.
“C’mon, move,” Ely urges and although Diego barely even feels pressure where Ely is pushing him, he relents and sits back on his haunches before climbing over Ely’s legs and sliding out of the bed. It takes a few seconds for Ely to follow him, his limbs uncoordinated and knees still weak when he stands up, but there’s a determined glint in his eyes and he doesn’t hesitate as Diego walks backwards to settle in a comfortable sprawl in one of the armchairs.
Diego regards the bruises on Ely’s body with a pleased grin, the taste of them still heavy on his tongue, before lifting his gaze back to Ely’s face. “Impress me.”
It’s one thing to see Ely writhe and beg and lose control, and an entirely different thing to have him approach with shaky steps and hover over Diego’s lap, teasingly close but not touching, although his thigh muscles tremble with exhaustion and he looks ready to collapse.
He might have surrendered when Diego wanted him to, but he’s not backing down from this particular challenge.
As Ely begins to move his hips in slow circles, pushing his lower body forwards until Diego wraps an arm around his back to feel the bow of Ely’s spine, his lips are curling into a faint semblance of the cocky grin he was wearing back in the club - a hint of arrogance under a steady stream of tears.
Diego doesn’t let him get too confident and lowers his hands to Ely’s ass, squeezing and teasing until the carefully controlled movements falter and a sweaty chest bumps into his own, Ely’s hips dropping onto Diego’s thigh for a fraction of a second.
Ely moans brokenly. “You said -”
“I know what I said,” Diego responds and grabs Ely’s hips to pull him firmly back onto his lap, giving his tired thighs a break.
They bite at each other’s lips and Diego presses his fingers into fresh bruises, unhurried and deliberate despite Ely’s efforts to speed things up.
“I’ve got you,” Diego murmurs against swollen lips. His hands move over shivering flanks and a few frantic breaths later, he’s pulling Ely’s pants down.
His last coherent thought is being glad to have handed all his cash to Ariana earlier, because if he still had any, he might have ended up shoving it at Ely and begging him to come home with him.
pairing: diego x ely
wordcount: 356O
ficathon: kinkster's paradise - prompt von tears_into_wine
challenge: kink-bingo - blindfolded
notes: not-quite-explicit smut
a lap dance is so much better when the stripper is crying
“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind,” Diego says at length, accepting his tequila and sliding enough money over the counter to pay for at least seven of them, “telling me who’s in charge here?”
He doesn’t bother with flirting, doesn’t even smile. There’s exactly one straight thing about him, and that’s his priorities.
The bartender raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t bat an eye while the money disappears in his back pocket. “That would be Ms. Way,” he replies and hesitates for a moment, as if the sentence is incomplete. Maybe he thought about adding a Sir at the end, judging by the way his eyes keep flickering across Diego’s suit and tie nervously. Business men might be common customers in strip clubs but unlike Diego, they’re probably trying to be a bit more subtle about their status.
Diego’s lips twitch slightly in silent amusement.
“I want to talk to her for a moment.”
“I-I’ll see what I can do.”
With one last musing look, the bartender turns around and pulls aside a tiny brunette. She gestures wildly with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand, but whatever she’s saying is drowned out by cheering and wolf whistles further down the club. Diego’s head snaps around faster than he’d like to admit.
He knows what he’s going to see - has been watching intently for the last half hour before deciding to push his luck and aim for more than just watching - but the sight still hits him like a punch despite his best efforts to keep his composure.
Up on his platform, above the steadily growing crowd that’s gathered around him, the prettiest boy Diego has ever seen is dancing on a pole like he was born doing so. His naked chest seems to glow under the spotlights directed at him, skin smooth and glistening. Diego hisses out a sharp breath, seeing the crop top the stripper was wearing earlier discarded on the platform floor. He is beautiful. It doesn’t even look like he’s moving to the music, it’s more like the song is purely existing to make those effortless spins and bending limbs audible for the world.
Defined stomach muscles tighten as he holds himself up on the pole with both hands, baring his neck until just the tiniest hint of a cocky smile is visible, and then he spreads his legs for the audience. Skin-tight pants barely hide anything.
He’s obscene, and still looks like a masterpiece that should be way out of league for a club like this.
Diego finds his gaze glued to the boy’s thighs, wiry-muscled and graceful. While the dimly lit room erupts into cheering once again, Diego imagines how perfect they would look wrapped around his hips, covered in bruises, and his stomach curls with want.
In a perfectly controlled movement, the stripper pushes his lower body forwards and then up until his thighs wrap around the pole and he’s upside down, his back arching for everyone to see. Diego forcefully reminds himself it doesn’t matter, all those hungry eyes and suggestive whistles don’t matter. They can throw their pathetic money at him all they want - at the end of the night, he will be Diego’s.
“Excuse me,” a cold voice says just as Diego downs his tequila and slams the empty glass onto the bar counter with a little more force than strictly necessary. He turns to his left and is met with a tall woman dressed in black, matching her perfectly curled dark hair and piercing grey eyes. “Ariana Way,” she introduces herself and makes it sound like a warning. Instead of holding out a hand to shake, she keeps her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Is there a problem?”
Diego tries a smile this time and shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m just interested in some … extended services, if you will.” He leans back against the bar, nodding at the stripper who’s still, or maybe again, hanging upside down and smirking at the crowd as he moves. “I want him.”
Ariana huffs. “Everyone wants him, get in line. He’ll give lap dances later. You might get lucky.”
“I’m not going to get lucky,” Diego replies, refusing to shrink under her razor-sharp gaze. “I’ll get a solo performance.”
Before she can protest, he’s pulling out enough cash to buy a small car. He’s never been more glad to carry some of the bigger bank notes around.
Ariana remains silent for a moment, eyeing the money with a considering frown. Then she turns her head towards the stripper and says, “He’ll be done in a few minutes. I assume you’d prefer some privacy?”
“Yes.” Diego clears his throat, waiting until she’s looking at him again before he continues. “I also want some … arrangements to be made.”
Ariana extracts her arms gracefully and reaches out to snatch the money out of his hand. “Please,” she says as she lets the small fortune disappear in her cleavage, her tone suggesting it’s a word she doesn’t use very often. “Enlighten me.”
Diego complies gladly.
Half an hour later, Diego is standing in a quiet, low-lit hallway, his fingertips tingling with anticipation when they reach for the door handle in front of him. Room 6, third one on the right. The walls are thick enough to keep this part of the building separated from the club’s noise and the persistent smell of alcohol and smoke has faded almost completely.
Diego allows himself another deep breath before finally pushing the door open.
The first thing he sees is an empty king size bed that’s taking up a majority of the room, covered in blindingly white sheets and a generous array of pillows at the headboard.
A soft noise catches his attention and he turns to the side while pulling the door closed with a distant click. Pushed against the right wall, there’s a wooden table and two armchairs, and one of them is gloriously occupied. Diego’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk. The pretty boy looks even prettier up close, shadows moving under his chin and collarbones as he moves his head towards the sound of Diego’s steps, illuminated by a dozen star-like ceiling lights. His lips are bitten and dark, pressed into a tight line just like the rest of his body. Every single muscle looks tense like he can’t quite decide between fight or flight. The way he’s cowering on the edge of the armchair, one knee pulled up to his bare chest and both arms firmly wrapped around it, makes Diego’s blood boil in his veins.
“What’s your name?” he asks and isn’t surprised to feel the words scrape against his throat like sand paper. They come out hoarse and lower than his usual voice. The boy flinches, leg dropping over the edge of his seat until his hands fall limply into his lap, and then he stills his movements entirely.
“Who are you?” he demands to know. Diego doesn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, and god, he sounds so soft and careful. Diego can’t wait to wreck him.
“Tell me your name and I’ll give you mine,” he replies easily, taking a step closer.
A moment of hesitation, then: “Ely. I’m Ely.”
Diego inhales a heavy breath and tastes the name on his tongue, whispers it into the air between them as he leans in and brushes his fingertips over the black fabric of Ely’s blindfold, causing Ely to choke out a gasp. His hands twitch in his lap as if aching to reach up and wrap around Diego’s wrist, trying to make up for his lack of eye sight with searching touches. But he doesn’t. He was told not to.
“Good boy,” Diego mumbles and revels in the shiver that wracks Ely’s body. He slides his fingers down to Ely’s jaw, a hint of stubble grazing his skin, and then to the back of his neck where he squeezes lightly before retreating his hand. Ely whines.
“C’mon,” Diego says - too harshly for his order to be mistaken for a question.
Ely tilts his head in a silent question. Those cocky smiles and lazy movements to rile up his audience earlier suited him well, but Diego likes this blinded, subdued version of him even better. Although Ely tries to hide it with casualness, acting calm and patient like he’s in control of the situation, every inch of him emits nervousness and Diego doesn’t have to ask to know he’s never been in a situation like this before.
Diego pulls off his tie at that thought, his throat suddenly feeling too tight to breathe.
“Get on the bed,” he says lowly, carelessly throwing the offending piece of fabric to the floor, and watches as Ely rises on shaky feet. He doesn’t move further than that. Instead he bites his lip before mumbling, “I still don’t know who you are.”
Diego heaves out a breath and finally lets his instincts take the reigns.
Holding back is not exactly a strength of his and he’s done trying to play nice anyway. It feels like swimming out into the open sea after years of staying in confined areas close to the beach when he grabs a fistful of Ely’s dark hair and pulls until his neck is bared in front of Diego’s face, tendons straining. Waves of heat crash over Diego’s head and feed the fire simmering low in his gut as Ely whimpers in surprise, struggling against his harsh grasp. The blindfold cuts a clear, black line through Ely’s pale face before disappearing into an artful mess of curls, and Diego lets his eyes wander for a few seconds, down to tense shoulders and a flat abdomen heaving with fluttery breaths.
Diego puts his free hand on Ely’s chest and pushes his palm against warm skin until he can feel the rapid pulse beneath.
“I’m Diego,” he says, leaning forward until the words are merely more than a breath against Ely’s ear, which earns him an almost violent shiver. “And I want you to get on the bed for me, now.”
Without waiting for a reply, he loosens his grip and pushes Ely in the right direction, making him stumble and fight to regain his balance. Diego’s eyes trace the waistband of Ely’s briefs just above the curve of his ass - another black line cutting through the expanse of naked skin.
He watches Ely find his way with shuffling steps and outstretched hands, smiling when his knees bump into the mattress and he stills, hesitating.
“I won’t ask again,” Diego warns and moves to hover over Ely’s shoulder, the front of his suit barely touching the smaller boy’s back.
Ely doesn’t turn around and his voice is so soft Diego almost doesn’t catch the quietly spoken, “Let me see you.”
Diego snaps.
At this point he’s so far out in the ocean, he can’t even see the beach anymore. He closes the distance between them and wraps a hand around Ely’s waist until his fingers are splayed possessively over Ely’s stomach, low enough for the tip of Diego’s little finger to graze fabric. His other hand curls around the sharp edge of a hipbone and squeezes, leaving no doubt about his intention to leave bruises while he pushes his own hips against Ely’s lower back.
Ely flinches slightly when they’re pressed flush against each other.
He squirms against the sudden friction of clothes against skin but stays silent, his jaw clenching. It’s impossible to resist the urge to press a kiss there, so Diego does, open-mouthed and impatient. His lips curve into a smirk as he notices Ely turning his head towards him, leaning into the touch, and Diego rewards him with a graze of teeth. “Take a look,” he whispers, his chin hooked over Ely’s shoulder, “and then get the fuck out of here, I dare you. Or -” He slides his hand down and doesn’t stop until he’s lightly cupping Ely through his pants. “- you stay here and do as I say.”
Ely’s knees buckle, an entirely helpless sound pushing out of his throat.
Diego lets him sink back against his chest as every last bit of tension seeps out of Ely’s muscles and he turns boneless in Diego’s grip. His hands raise weakly to clutch at Diego’s sleeves. There’s no movement towards his own face, not even a second where Ely considers pulling his blindfold off.
Diego knows an answer when he sees one and pushes Ely onto the bed, shrugging out of his suit while long limbs struggle to situate themselves on the mattress. Ely lacks the lazy gracefulness that drew Diego’s attention in the club, but it doesn’t matter. Spreading his legs on a pole to tease an audience doesn’t even begin to compare to the sight of him now, flushed all the way down to his chest and struggling to keep his breathing even as he surrenders to Diego. He looks devastatingly pretty and vulnerable like this, waiting in blind anticipation.
Diego kicks off his shoes, socks and trousers without looking away from Ely.
He loves a little fight and pride and arrogance, but what he loves even more is seeing all of it crumble under his hands.
“Don’t move,” he says, now bare except for his pants, and Ely’s fingers immediately still their restless grip-and-release on the soft bed sheets. Diego fills the tense silence with an appreciative hum and finally moves onto the bed.
When he feels Diego breathe a rush of air against his collar bones, Ely seems to shrink away further into the sheets and makes himself impossibly small under Diego’s broad frame. He’s trapped - Diego’s knees on either side of his narrow hips, forearms resting on the pillow next to Ely’s head.
They’re not quite touching, just panting against each other, and it almost hurts to keep those last inches of space between them.
“Please,” Ely mumbles, a mere step away from falling off the edge of coherence. Diego is glad he can’t see his face because he isn’t sure if he would be ready for someone to see the expression Ely’s plea paints onto his features.
“Relax,” Diego replies and presses his lips against Ely’s in a kiss that could be soothing if it wasn’t for Diego’s teeth biting down as soon as Ely opens up under him.
Time blurs after that, heavy arousal weighing down on them while the room fills with breathy gasps and moans. Diego leaves a trail of bruises down Ely’s throat and takes his time with each mark, making sure they all turn a vicious purple before moving on. His senses clouded with Ely’s smell and taste, he knows nothing other than to keep going, no matter how painfully tight his own pants are starting to feel.
It’s almost dizzying to have Ely squirming and gasping for air beneath Diego’s weight and touches with growing desperation. He whimpers something distantly resembling Diego’s name just as Diego reaches down to hook his fingers under the waistband of Ely’s briefs.
“Don’t hold back,” Diego says, pulling the fabric down the tiniest bit before letting go again. “I want to hear you.”
Ely sobs.
His legs fall open until his thighs brush Diego’s elbows and he keeps pushing, throwing his head back into the pillow as he searches for friction Diego won’t allow him yet. It’s addictive because Ely isn’t putting his body on display for a crowd of drunks with greed in their eyes, isn’t teasing to the point of no return just to have some pathetic, crumpled money thrown at him instead of the diamonds he deserves. No, he is spread out for Diego and Diego alone, wordlessly begging for relief.
Diego raises a hand from Ely’s hips to brush his fingers over his jaw, thumb pressing down slightly on his lower lip where Ely’s mouth is already slack and open. Without giving Ely a chance to react, Diego retreats his hand and shuffles down along Ely’s body, ignoring his impatient whines.
“You’re so needy,” he states, smirk audible in his voice, and digs his fingers into Ely’s hips. Nosing his way down to a quivering leg, Diego flicks his tongue against the soft skin on Ely’s inner thigh and waits for the inevitable moan that follows. “Always craving attention, aren’t you?” He bites down gently. “Showing off until you have everyone’s attention.” Another bite, this time close enough for Diego to feel Ely’s pants against his cheek.
A choked gasp of “Diego -”, and suddenly there are hands gripping his hair, tangling in Diego’s short strands with a ferocity you’d associate with someone on the brink of death, clinging to a last lifeline. Diego exhales a low growl against Ely’s groin and Ely pulls his hair so hard it leaves a painful stinging on his head.
“I thought I told you not to move,” he says, dangerously quiet, and Ely sounds like he’s dying when Diego decides to give his thighs the same treatment as his throat earlier. He sucks and bites and wrecks Ely’s skin everywhere except where Ely wants it, dark patches in the shape of Diego's teeth and fingers blooming on smooth skin.
When Diego sees his stomach muscles tighten out of the corner of his eye, he hisses, “Don’t you dare.”
With sluggish movements, Ely drags his head across the pillow from side to side, mumbling out a hoarse mess of please and I can’t and let me until Diego lifts his gaze and decides to take pity on him.
“Hold on,” he whispers, and this time his tone is almost gentle. “Hold on for me, Ely.”
Ely whimpers and he’s shaking so badly Diego has trouble crawling up to his head without startling him.
“Hold still,” Diego says, holding himself up over Ely’s chest with straining thighs, and brushes his fingers over the blindfold. The fabric is warm and damp under his touch and he breathes out a shaky exhale, sliding his fingers around to the back of Ely’s head.
He fumbles with the knot for a few seconds, inhaling Ely’s shuddering exhales, and then he pulls the fabric off and is met with rapidly blinking, reddened eyes. They widen immediately as Ely manages to focus on Diego’s face and tears slide down his cheeks, finally able to escape. He’s a mess and it suits him so well, Diego can’t resist the idea that’s forming in his mind.
“F-Fuck,” Ely breathes, still staring at Diego with something like disbelief and wonder in his eyes.
Diego leans down for a kiss and doesn’t say anything when Ely grabs his hair again, weakly urging him closer until their noses bump and teeth clack against each other. Pulling away requires a lot more effort than Diego would care to admit, but he does and says, as calmly as he can, “I’ll let you come if you give me a lap dance.”
He’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t Ely’s frantic attempt to push Diego off of him, hands releasing his hair to push against his chest instead.
“C’mon, move,” Ely urges and although Diego barely even feels pressure where Ely is pushing him, he relents and sits back on his haunches before climbing over Ely’s legs and sliding out of the bed. It takes a few seconds for Ely to follow him, his limbs uncoordinated and knees still weak when he stands up, but there’s a determined glint in his eyes and he doesn’t hesitate as Diego walks backwards to settle in a comfortable sprawl in one of the armchairs.
Diego regards the bruises on Ely’s body with a pleased grin, the taste of them still heavy on his tongue, before lifting his gaze back to Ely’s face. “Impress me.”
It’s one thing to see Ely writhe and beg and lose control, and an entirely different thing to have him approach with shaky steps and hover over Diego’s lap, teasingly close but not touching, although his thigh muscles tremble with exhaustion and he looks ready to collapse.
He might have surrendered when Diego wanted him to, but he’s not backing down from this particular challenge.
As Ely begins to move his hips in slow circles, pushing his lower body forwards until Diego wraps an arm around his back to feel the bow of Ely’s spine, his lips are curling into a faint semblance of the cocky grin he was wearing back in the club - a hint of arrogance under a steady stream of tears.
Diego doesn’t let him get too confident and lowers his hands to Ely’s ass, squeezing and teasing until the carefully controlled movements falter and a sweaty chest bumps into his own, Ely’s hips dropping onto Diego’s thigh for a fraction of a second.
Ely moans brokenly. “You said -”
“I know what I said,” Diego responds and grabs Ely’s hips to pull him firmly back onto his lap, giving his tired thighs a break.
They bite at each other’s lips and Diego presses his fingers into fresh bruises, unhurried and deliberate despite Ely’s efforts to speed things up.
“I’ve got you,” Diego murmurs against swollen lips. His hands move over shivering flanks and a few frantic breaths later, he’s pulling Ely’s pants down.
His last coherent thought is being glad to have handed all his cash to Ariana earlier, because if he still had any, he might have ended up shoving it at Ely and begging him to come home with him.