Permanent
Permanent
Senga/Nikaido; Fujigaya/Nikaido, Kitayama/Nikaido
pwp, 1500 words, NC-17. Open relationship, handcuffs, biting, bondage, whipping, knife/blood play
Undressing Nikaido sometimes reveals marks made by someone other than Senga; luckily, Senga doesn't mind.
When Nikaido gets his pants and underwear slid off, when Senga drops them on the floor he expects what's going to follow, but there are no sudden questions. Senga only rids himself of his clothes too, leaves both of them entirely naked but not in a rush.
“Nika,” he mumbles as he leans down, presses his lips against Nikado's throat before he continues. Nikaido knows what he's going to say before he does. “Who did this?”
He runs his hand along the inside of Nikaido's thigh, presses firmer with his fingertips on the purplish blue bruises; Nikaido doesn't hold back his reactions to the light pain and the reminder of how they were caused.
“Gaya,” he admits, feels Senga trace the marks that have been made by teeth (and obviously so).
Fujigaya had cuffed his wrists together, attached the chain between them to his bed (with the long straps he normally hides underneath it), and then he had started teasing. Nikaido is good at keeping quiet when he wants to, but after Fujigaya had been done with his nipples, it had already been difficult to not whine a little about the lack of stimulation to certain other body parts. But Fujigaya never listens unless it's what he also wants, and Nikaido enjoys the teasing more than he would ever admit, just not when he's hot and desperate for it. So when he had finally complained about wanting more Fujigaya had sent a look up at his face, expression telling that he's not going to do exactly what Nikaido wants him to. When lips had met the tip of his cock he had leaned his head back against the bed with a soft sigh; thighs tensing as Fujigaya had slid his lips all the way down his length. But then he had pulled away.
“Don't look so disappointed,” Fujigaya had mumbled, mouth against his inner thigh, had given him a light nip with his teeth, then a kiss even higher up, close to where his cock had been twitching, the saliva left on it making him feel everything stronger. “You knew it wouldn't be that easy.”
So Fujigaya had covered his fingers with lubrication instead, spread Nikaido's thighs wider and carefully, slowly, pushed one finger inside. Fujigaya knows exactly how to make Nikaido beg for it, except Nikaido is too stubborn to beg (but his body is easy to read). And it has never been a secret that Nikaido likes pain mixed into pleasure, so that Fujigaya had bit him after adding another finger, bit him for real, hard, didn't surprise him either. The bite had stung while the fingers inside him had been so close to that one spot inside that the following thrust with them had hit him perfectly. He had felt the dripping from his cock onto his stomach before Fujigaya had pointed it out after another bite, fingers moving faster inside.
Nikaido isn't sure how many bites he ended up receiving, just that when he finally came it was from Fujigaya's cock inside him and a bite to his shoulder, not a single touch to his cock and that the burning relief of his orgasm itself had nearly had a tang of pain in it.
“These too?” Senga brushes his fingers over Nikaido's wrists, traces the lighter but more reddish purple that both of them know to have been left by ropes just by looking. Nikaido knows for certain because it's his wrists, and he also knows that his back might still have the faint hints of stripes left by the whip that had hit him barely a day ago.
“Mitsu,” he says then, and while he knows Senga finds it a little humiliating to find his steadiest sex partner marked by others, it's also visible just how much it's turning him on.
Kitayama had been much more straightforward. He always is. And he had told Nikaido to get on his knees in front of the bed, had thrown the ropes on the bed before he collected the flogger. Straightforward, but also thorough, had started with soft strokes, then soft hits, had pushed Nikaido's head into the mattress when he had attempted to look around. A hand on his back, a smooth stroke to check if he had been warmed up enough, and then the real thing had begun.
Nikaido himself doesn't know if the sounds he makes when Kitayama whips him are caused by pain or pleasure, but it's probably not just one of it anyway. It gets him hard, and that it turns Kitayama on too gets him even harder.
“So pretty,” Kitayama had mumbled before his last, now rather hard hit, and then he had urged Nikaido up on his bed to kneel on it. Warm fingertips following what must be lines left by the flogger's tails, then a touch to his cheek and Kitayama had kissed him so gently he hadn't been sure he was even allowed to express his arousal through it. It ends before he figures it out, and next he gets the rope against his skin. It's soft and smooth, he knows it won't burn, but when Kitayama bends his arms to put his hands behind his back, he knows there will be marks anyway.
While Nikaido can keep quiet, he isn't good at keeping his hands still, and even with arms immobilized by tightly tied ropes he tries to move them. Only Kitayama ties him up like that, gives him no leeway until he's done with him, and if his wrists end up a little raw then that's the way it is.
And very well, when the rope had been tied in place around his torso, Kitayama had pushed him back down on the bed, tugged him backwards by his legs until his only his upper body had been on the bed. Working him open hadn't taken long, because Kitayama doesn't bother with teasing when he wants it, and Nikaido had only been able to lie there taking it, hips flexing towards the bed, then pushing back for more of Kitayama's fingers.
“One would think you would be helpless like that,” Kitayama had mocked him as he pulled back, admired his work for a few seconds before he had stepped even closer to push inside; he had echoed Nikaido's moan with the first thrust, and Nikaido had already been pulling on the ropes.
Kitayama hadn't untied him until he was done, and Kitayama can go for a long while, which is why there's no wonder his wrists ended up looking the way they do. Senga knows too, and judging by the way he's hardening without having done more than kissing Nikaido, he's painting himself quite a nice picture of it inside his head.
“But you don't mind, do you?” Nikaido asks him, puts one of his hands on a shoulder, slides it down Senga's muscular arm to his hand. When he reaches it he brings his leg up, strokes it against Senga's; feels his erection against his bare skin and hears the reaction in Senga's breath. He knows his focus is on that until he takes a proper hold on Senga's hand, pulls it up to his own chest, then down to his ribs. “All of that will fade.”
The scars he has there is easy to feel under fingertips, and it makes Senga put his attention back on Nikaido's face. It's not just any scars, but ones that Senga put on him. Proof of ultimate trust, something Nikaido would only let him do.
Senga had hinted it at first, that trust is what he values most both emotionally and physically, but it was Nikaido who asked him to bring the sharpened blade to his skin. And Nikaido can't remembered ever anticipating anything as much; that whole day had seemed to last an eternity until he was finally in bed, Senga's lips against his own and the knife on the bedside table.
“Ready?” he had whispered as he pulled back, and Nikaido hadn't been sure if the rush inside him was arousal or some kind of twisted excitement.
The first cut had made him hiss a little, despite being so shallow that he barely even bled. Then a second cut, and a third, and while the stinging had still been there, Nikaido hadn't wanted it to stop, had just nodded when asked if he was okay.
“Again,” he had said instead, his voice only a breath but Senga had continued with what would turn into the scars he now bears. Those wounds had bled, but not enough to worry either of them, and the sex that followed wasn't affected by it. It was never the blood but the control and the trust that brought them to it, that and the inflicted pain for both of their arousal. Although Nikaido would admit that the few blood stains on his bed sheet wasn't entirely unattractive, but maybe his mind told him so because it reminded him of what they had done.
“They won't fade,” Senga says, and Nikaido doesn't know if he means the scars or their feelings for each other, but it doesn't matter which because it's true for both cases.
Senga/Nikaido; Fujigaya/Nikaido, Kitayama/Nikaido
pwp, 1500 words, NC-17. Open relationship, handcuffs, biting, bondage, whipping, knife/blood play
Undressing Nikaido sometimes reveals marks made by someone other than Senga; luckily, Senga doesn't mind.
When Nikaido gets his pants and underwear slid off, when Senga drops them on the floor he expects what's going to follow, but there are no sudden questions. Senga only rids himself of his clothes too, leaves both of them entirely naked but not in a rush.
“Nika,” he mumbles as he leans down, presses his lips against Nikado's throat before he continues. Nikaido knows what he's going to say before he does. “Who did this?”
He runs his hand along the inside of Nikaido's thigh, presses firmer with his fingertips on the purplish blue bruises; Nikaido doesn't hold back his reactions to the light pain and the reminder of how they were caused.
“Gaya,” he admits, feels Senga trace the marks that have been made by teeth (and obviously so).
Fujigaya had cuffed his wrists together, attached the chain between them to his bed (with the long straps he normally hides underneath it), and then he had started teasing. Nikaido is good at keeping quiet when he wants to, but after Fujigaya had been done with his nipples, it had already been difficult to not whine a little about the lack of stimulation to certain other body parts. But Fujigaya never listens unless it's what he also wants, and Nikaido enjoys the teasing more than he would ever admit, just not when he's hot and desperate for it. So when he had finally complained about wanting more Fujigaya had sent a look up at his face, expression telling that he's not going to do exactly what Nikaido wants him to. When lips had met the tip of his cock he had leaned his head back against the bed with a soft sigh; thighs tensing as Fujigaya had slid his lips all the way down his length. But then he had pulled away.
“Don't look so disappointed,” Fujigaya had mumbled, mouth against his inner thigh, had given him a light nip with his teeth, then a kiss even higher up, close to where his cock had been twitching, the saliva left on it making him feel everything stronger. “You knew it wouldn't be that easy.”
So Fujigaya had covered his fingers with lubrication instead, spread Nikaido's thighs wider and carefully, slowly, pushed one finger inside. Fujigaya knows exactly how to make Nikaido beg for it, except Nikaido is too stubborn to beg (but his body is easy to read). And it has never been a secret that Nikaido likes pain mixed into pleasure, so that Fujigaya had bit him after adding another finger, bit him for real, hard, didn't surprise him either. The bite had stung while the fingers inside him had been so close to that one spot inside that the following thrust with them had hit him perfectly. He had felt the dripping from his cock onto his stomach before Fujigaya had pointed it out after another bite, fingers moving faster inside.
Nikaido isn't sure how many bites he ended up receiving, just that when he finally came it was from Fujigaya's cock inside him and a bite to his shoulder, not a single touch to his cock and that the burning relief of his orgasm itself had nearly had a tang of pain in it.
“These too?” Senga brushes his fingers over Nikaido's wrists, traces the lighter but more reddish purple that both of them know to have been left by ropes just by looking. Nikaido knows for certain because it's his wrists, and he also knows that his back might still have the faint hints of stripes left by the whip that had hit him barely a day ago.
“Mitsu,” he says then, and while he knows Senga finds it a little humiliating to find his steadiest sex partner marked by others, it's also visible just how much it's turning him on.
Kitayama had been much more straightforward. He always is. And he had told Nikaido to get on his knees in front of the bed, had thrown the ropes on the bed before he collected the flogger. Straightforward, but also thorough, had started with soft strokes, then soft hits, had pushed Nikaido's head into the mattress when he had attempted to look around. A hand on his back, a smooth stroke to check if he had been warmed up enough, and then the real thing had begun.
Nikaido himself doesn't know if the sounds he makes when Kitayama whips him are caused by pain or pleasure, but it's probably not just one of it anyway. It gets him hard, and that it turns Kitayama on too gets him even harder.
“So pretty,” Kitayama had mumbled before his last, now rather hard hit, and then he had urged Nikaido up on his bed to kneel on it. Warm fingertips following what must be lines left by the flogger's tails, then a touch to his cheek and Kitayama had kissed him so gently he hadn't been sure he was even allowed to express his arousal through it. It ends before he figures it out, and next he gets the rope against his skin. It's soft and smooth, he knows it won't burn, but when Kitayama bends his arms to put his hands behind his back, he knows there will be marks anyway.
While Nikaido can keep quiet, he isn't good at keeping his hands still, and even with arms immobilized by tightly tied ropes he tries to move them. Only Kitayama ties him up like that, gives him no leeway until he's done with him, and if his wrists end up a little raw then that's the way it is.
And very well, when the rope had been tied in place around his torso, Kitayama had pushed him back down on the bed, tugged him backwards by his legs until his only his upper body had been on the bed. Working him open hadn't taken long, because Kitayama doesn't bother with teasing when he wants it, and Nikaido had only been able to lie there taking it, hips flexing towards the bed, then pushing back for more of Kitayama's fingers.
“One would think you would be helpless like that,” Kitayama had mocked him as he pulled back, admired his work for a few seconds before he had stepped even closer to push inside; he had echoed Nikaido's moan with the first thrust, and Nikaido had already been pulling on the ropes.
Kitayama hadn't untied him until he was done, and Kitayama can go for a long while, which is why there's no wonder his wrists ended up looking the way they do. Senga knows too, and judging by the way he's hardening without having done more than kissing Nikaido, he's painting himself quite a nice picture of it inside his head.
“But you don't mind, do you?” Nikaido asks him, puts one of his hands on a shoulder, slides it down Senga's muscular arm to his hand. When he reaches it he brings his leg up, strokes it against Senga's; feels his erection against his bare skin and hears the reaction in Senga's breath. He knows his focus is on that until he takes a proper hold on Senga's hand, pulls it up to his own chest, then down to his ribs. “All of that will fade.”
The scars he has there is easy to feel under fingertips, and it makes Senga put his attention back on Nikaido's face. It's not just any scars, but ones that Senga put on him. Proof of ultimate trust, something Nikaido would only let him do.
Senga had hinted it at first, that trust is what he values most both emotionally and physically, but it was Nikaido who asked him to bring the sharpened blade to his skin. And Nikaido can't remembered ever anticipating anything as much; that whole day had seemed to last an eternity until he was finally in bed, Senga's lips against his own and the knife on the bedside table.
“Ready?” he had whispered as he pulled back, and Nikaido hadn't been sure if the rush inside him was arousal or some kind of twisted excitement.
The first cut had made him hiss a little, despite being so shallow that he barely even bled. Then a second cut, and a third, and while the stinging had still been there, Nikaido hadn't wanted it to stop, had just nodded when asked if he was okay.
“Again,” he had said instead, his voice only a breath but Senga had continued with what would turn into the scars he now bears. Those wounds had bled, but not enough to worry either of them, and the sex that followed wasn't affected by it. It was never the blood but the control and the trust that brought them to it, that and the inflicted pain for both of their arousal. Although Nikaido would admit that the few blood stains on his bed sheet wasn't entirely unattractive, but maybe his mind told him so because it reminded him of what they had done.
“They won't fade,” Senga says, and Nikaido doesn't know if he means the scars or their feelings for each other, but it doesn't matter which because it's true for both cases.