Date Night

For Kloure, who requested Leon/Piers shibari (rope bondage).  This grew slightly out of control.

cw: bondage, dom/sub dynamics, moderate pain play, spanking, use of a riding crop.

The starched collar and folded cuffs were stiff and almost chafing around Piers’ throat and wrists, and he mentally commented to himself for the millionth time that this was probably why businessmen were so damn messed up and idiotic. If he had to wear this getup all day every day, he’d probably start taking it out on other people too. Fuck, even stiletto heels felt more comfortable than a button-up shirt.

Yet the gleam that sparkled for just a moment in Leon’s eye when he saw him was entirely worth it. In some ways, even the dazzling smile that immediately followed it wasn’t as brilliant, nor as personal.

Everyone got the smile. The gleam was for Piers alone.

So he’d allowed Leon to make them reservations at one of the most upscale and yet private restaurants in town. Not because I have to, but because I want to. I’m allowed to want to give you something fancy sometimes, right?

Piers hadn’t been able to argue with the sentiment. When they’d first started dating, Leon had always been falling all over himself to do things the ‘proper’ way, including lavish dinners, bouquets of red roses—Piers’ wrinkled nose at the gesture had nearly caused Leon to throw the whole thing out the window—and expensive gifts. It had taken several conversations to reinforce that Piers wasn’t going to dump him just because Leon didn’t drop several hundred dollars on a single evening, and he was more than content, even comfortable, with keeping their public dates to the local Kalosian restaurant or walks in the park.

This time, though, Leon had practically begged for the opportunity to go all-out, and had sworn up and down that this wasn’t some sense of duty or chivalry, but the simple desire to spoil his lover with the best of the best.

Piers still swallowed as he stepped into the lift, adjusting the black silk tie he’d spent twenty minutes trying to arrange just right before this. All around him, his image was reflected back by mirrors set into gilded golden walls, a thousand copies of him trailing off into infinity as he reached forward and pressed the button for the top-floor restaurant.

Trust Leon to want to eat his dinner at the top of a skyscraper. It was an odd quirk that Piers had picked up on, one that he wasn’t even sure that Leon himself was aware of. The man just liked to be on top of the world, both figuratively and literally. Every high place was a challenge to him, and he wasn’t satisfied until he’d climbed his way to the peak. Piers himself didn’t happen to be afraid of heights, but now he felt his heart thudding against his ribcage as the elevator sinuously slid upwards, only the faintest whisper of violin music in his ears to distract him.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose, and left the world down below far behind him. He could do this. It was a romantic date with his boyfriend, not staring down a charging Hydreigon. Why was the latter so much easier to stomach than the former, at least in this context?

The doors chimed open onto a round dining room, lit by candles on the empty white-linened tables and the glow of the city that poured in through the glass walls. Everywhere he turned, the city sprawled beneath the skyscraper like the scattered contents of a dollhouse, and Piers was caught for a moment by the stunning view. At home, in Spikemuth, things tended to be a little lower and a lot darker. Scenes like this just weren’t available, and Piers’ eyes greedily scanned the minuscule buildings as they turned purple and blue with distance, backlit by the setting sun.

Yet it was only when his eyes found Leon, seated by himself at a table in the center of the room, that his breath left him entirely.

There was the gleam, followed by the smile. A burst of heat and chill ran through Piers’ veins as it dawned on him that Leon had truly rented the entire restaurant just for them, and they’d be alone save for the waitstaff as they dined tonight. His feet carried him over without Piers remembering to take a single step, and Leon actually rose out of his chair and circled the table to pull Piers’ seat out for him.

“Piers, I’m glad you came,” Leon murmured, voice genuinely pleased and welcoming. As though it had ever been any question that Piers would show up, even with his hesitations. “You look lovely tonight.”

Piers almost gasped with relief at the opening, but instead just arched one brow and gave Leon one of his patented unimpressed looks.

“As opposed to…?”

“As opposed to nothing. It’s different from normal, but still lovely.” Leon took his seat back and unfolded the napkin that had been left on his plate, and Piers copied him, grateful for the swift change back to their normal banter. Being allowed to be difficult felt like a weight off his chest, and if that didn’t say something about him, he didn’t know what would.

The waiter appeared seemingly from thin air the second Piers had his own napkin in place, and Leon ordered them a bottle of wine with practised ease, spoken to countless such orders placed in restaurants just like this one throughout his life. You’d never guess that he actually preferred the third-cheapest lager at the corner pub in Spikemuth.

Piers chose the first appetizer his eyes landed on when he looked at the menu—an actual piece of high-quality cardstock with not a trace of laminate in sight—and felt his fingers tighten on the hem of the napkin when the waiter addressed him as sir.

“Leon, this place is...well, it’s nice, but—“ he fumbled.

Leon cut him off by reaching across the table and taking one of his hands, covering the slender scarred knuckles with his own broader palm. “I know, it’s a lot. But you’re always talking about all the things that I deserve, how I should be able to let loose and take my hair down and relax. You deserve nice things too, though. Maybe the other way around; you deserve to let me spoil you for an evening and take you out to a fancy dinner, and then we can go back to my place. If you don’t like it, we never have to do it again, but...will you let me treat you, just this once?”

A calloused thumb rubbed across the back of his hand, and Piers knew he was sunk. He’d always had a chronic inability to deny Leon anything. Even when he thought he hated him, he’d never been able to say no to the man.

The first course turned out to be, of all things, a very posh version of chips. They were thick-cut as big as his thumb, and came with neat little ceramic pots of herbed mayonnaise and ketchup on the side, and he boggled at them for a moment, wondering quietly if the waitstaff were trying to play some sort of cruel prank on him. But no, another glance at the menu told him that was exactly what he had ordered, and he tried not to let his cheeks burn at the thought that he’d probably cemented their idea of him as a low-class tart with no taste at all...dammit, if it was on the menu, they couldn’t judge him for ordering it!

He picked one up (with his fork, thank you very much) and took a nibble while across the table, Leon dug into an endive salad with surprising gusto.

One odd swallow later, he leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially. “Leon—does this taste weird to you?”

Leon beckoned, and Piers firmly refrained from blushing as he put a fresh chip on the end of his fork and fed it to him. Stupid date. Stupid romance. Leon brightened, and greedily stole another off his plate before Piers could do a thing to stop him.

“Not weird,” he said the second he’d swallowed his bite, “They just have truffle oil on them.” The words were punctuated by him shoving the other chip into his mouth too, while Piers could only frown at his plate.

“Like…chocolate?” They’d tasted earthy and rich, but certainly not sweet. What the hell?

“No, no, truffles are a kind of mushroom. From Kalos, I think? Lots of restaurants put that sort of thing in the food, because it’s expensive. It’s actually good on chips, though. Who would’ve thought.” Leon relates all of this so casually, and all Piers can think is that damn, rich people have an entire world he truly knows nothing about. To just have a random detail like that memorized, as though it’s perfectly everyday.

Still. Piers isn’t about to be sent scurrying back to his gutter by a damn plate of chips. Jaw set, he stabbed another one with his fork, and determinedly dipped it into the ketchup. It was...good, on the second pass. Great, even. Dammit, the richness of the ‘truffle’ flavor actually added a layer of subtlety to the homely potato, and the outside was crisped to golden perfection while the inside was soft and buttery. Piers had to admit, however grudgingly, that the fancy restaurant was on to something with this.

The next course was a seasonal vegetable soup with fresh-baked bread, followed by seared ribeye steaks with asparagus on the side. Each bite seemed more delicious than the last, and the conversation began to flow between them as it normally did. It felt luxurious, of course, but it was far from the uncomfortable, strenuous experience Piers had been bracing himself for. Could do without the waiter bowing and scraping around him, but by the time they had two raspberry sorbets in front of them and the sun had gone down, leaving the skyline twinkling with a million lights like a reflection of the stars on earth, Piers had to admit it was all a bit romantic.

After dinner, Leon hailed them a cab the old fashioned way, and it was almost amusing to see the former Champion of Galar waving his hand in the air to attract a cabbie’s attention. Almost, but for the fact that two of them nearly collided trying to pull up in front of him first, and a brief swearing match resulted before he simply walked over and opened the door of the nearest one, offering Piers to slide in first. A true gentleman.

The lights of the city whizzed past on their way back to the apartment, and Leon’s fingers curled around Piers’ in a reassuring hold. He’d used to think so many things about Leon, all of them harsh; if you’d told him two years ago that he would be on his way back to a penthouse that they were coming to share hand-in-hand with Leon, Piers would have laughed coldly in your face.

Now, he could only pity his past self.

In the lift, Leon made a casual but pithy remark about dinner, and Piers responded in kind, enjoying the inconsequential banter. They reached their floor, walked down the hall. Unlocked the door, and stepped inside the darkened flat.

The next thing Piers felt were two massive hands sliding around his waist, Leon’s forefinger easily reaching his bottom ribs while his pinky pressed into Piers’ hipbone. He’d never considered himself a small man before, but now he felt like a doll, clutched and caught with minimal effort by one far larger than he.

A shaky breath staggered out into the darkened room, and Leon’s lips ghosted over the shell of his ear.

“I meant it when I said you look lovely tonight,” he praises, and Piers has to sink his teeth into his lower lip from the way those mere words hook into his gut. Deft fingers unbuttoned the front of his blazer, and he rolled his shoulders to allow it to slide down and off, whisked away to a hanger somewhere.

Then those fingers were back, circling over his chest, his belly, his hips, touching wherever they pleased as though he were under inspection.

“Leon—“

“Sir.”

Another shaky exhale, this one more of a whine than the first. “Sir,” he agreed, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

“I know this get-up isn’t the sort of thing you normally like, and trust me, I think you look fantastic normally. But I’m glad you indulged me tonight. After all, this shirt has all the things I like to see you in.” Leon’s smile was a warm curve against the side of his neck, and all at once, the hands appraising his body had direction.

“Cuffs—” two fingers tugged at either sleeve, pinching the excess material closed until it truly felt like Leon could restrain him with just that, “—a collar—“ now Leon’s fingertips were fitting under the starched material, and Piers felt it close almost reassuringly over his airway, “—and a tie.” Leon tugged the latter like it was a leash, and Piers’ chin raised on instinct, offering his throat up.

There was only silence for a long minute, as Piers stared at nothing and felt only the steady constriction of silk around his throat, drawn tight by Leon’s arm. In the dark, he felt the muscles of Leon’s bicep twist and flex against his side, an unintended but utterly effortless display of strength. A breath in, a breath out.

Then Leon released him. “Turn around and let me kiss you.”

Piers had spent a lifetime rebelling against authority. He made it more than clear that he didn’t take orders, didn’t follow rules, and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about that. Mostly because the people who made up the rules did so for their own benefit, and he didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them.

Leon, by contrast, was someone he trusted implicitly now. They were too similar, in too many ways. Night and day on the surface, but underneath? He’d spent over a year now discovering all the ways in which they were alike. The fears they shared, the things they wanted and needed from one another. The strengths they both had, and the way those things fit together to form a whole. How sometimes, both of them needed a break from the responsibilities that threatened to overwhelm them, and the expectations that others shoved onto them regardless of whether they wanted them or not.

Everyone expected Piers to fight and scream and take the weight of the world on his shoulders and keep pushing. No softness or vulnerability allowed. They expected Leon to be kind and friendly and eternally giving, a cardboard cutout onto which they could project all of their desires, until he had trouble sorting out which emotions even belonged to him at all.

Now, as their lips met, both of those roles evaporated into thin air.

People often forgot that under the smiling exterior, Leon was still an athlete, a competitor. More than that—he was a champion. A conqueror. His tongue slid through Piers’ lips with little resistance, and his broad chest pinned him against the wall, until Piers could feel the heat of his body everywhere. In this darkness, everything became Leon. His touch, his scent, the sting of his teeth against Piers’ lower lip, leaving a budding bruise he’d have to explain away later.

Domination came naturally to him, and Piers craved it. In another life, Leon’s crown might have been made of real gold and jewels, and he could have been a true king. The nobility for it squared his shoulders, pumped in his veins. Would Piers have knelt before him and sworn fealty? Perhaps, perhaps not. But in this room, it hardly mattered. Not when there was no space between their lips, not a breath they didn’t share.

Before Leon, Piers would have wanted it all as rough and fast as possible, before he could have doubts or second thoughts. He’d have wanted to be thrown to the floor, his clothes ripped apart before they fucked like a pair of rutting animals. That still had an appeal, for certain—just yesterday he’d plucked up a button in this hallway he’d thought missing since the week before—but Leon was more than that. Better. Talented at driving his troubling thoughts out of his skull more effectively than drink or drugs or any of the other dozens of methods he’d tried in his youth.

All it required was trust. So simple, and yet so much.

Lips sealed over his pulse, and Piers’ body arched instinctively against the weight pressing against it. The feeling of teeth shot a shiver through his body; how close Leon was to something dangerous. How trusted he was to do no harm.

“Shoes off, then into the bedroom.” The command was simple, but his tone brooked no rebellion. Piers obeyed, almost tripping over his own feet as he made his way into the bedroom. Behind him, Leon closed the door with a quiet click, and then circled to turn on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a warm light.

When Leon stripped him, it was a methodical exercise. Tonight was not the night for aggression and speed, but rather the evenness of his hands as he unknotted Piers’ tie and spooled the silk around his fist, soft wrapped around hard before he tossed it aside. Each button was a purposeful torment, meant to make Piers wait and yearn and ache. He didn’t move, though. Not a single muscle, but to allow Leon to tug away the fabric of his shirt and cast it away, then lifting his hips slightly to make the removal of his belt easier. The leather hissed clean of the loops on his trousers, and for a second Piers swallowed as he imagined all the wonderful, agonizing things Leon could do with that.

But it wasn’t his choice. Not tonight. Leon let the belt fall to the floor with a clatter of the buckle, and then palmed Piers’ stiff cock through the fabric of his trousers without comment before steadily drawing the zipper down.

Only this, and already Piers was panting. Leon’s barest touches had his nipples and dick standing at attention, begging for fingers or a mouth to soothe them. Leon dragged his underwear down wordlessly, and Piers stepped out of them, leaving himself bare but for his little black ankle socks.

After a moment of appraisal, Leon raised both hands and pinched his nipples hard, a burst of pleasure-pain so sudden that Piers couldn’t hold back a faint cry of shock. There was no back-and-forth, just calloused fingers toying with both sides of his chest, circling the aching buds and tormenting them until Piers felt a dull heat building in his gut in response. His cock twitched, and gave up a sticky bead of pre-cum that he swore he could feel as it dripped over the head and began to trail down his untouched length.

“Sir—please,” he choked, and Leon stopped.

“Mm? What is it?”

Piers felt half-drunk, and searched his fuzzy thoughts for the words. What was he asking for? He needed to think of it quickly.

“Please tie me up, sir.” The request came off his tongue before his mind could consider it too much, but as soon as he said the words, anticipation rushed through his body. Yes, it had been too long since he’d had rope on his skin, if only sir would—

Leon offered him a warm, friendly smile, like Piers had offered him a cup of coffee, or saved him a seat on the train. “Good idea, baby. I like the sound of that.”

How Leon could saunter across the room so casually while sporting an erection that was starting to strain the front of his slacks was beyond Piers, but he decided to question less and appreciate more.

“If I do this for you, I expect you to behave well for me. You’ve been so good all evening, don’t give it up now,” Leon intoned from where he stood inside the walk-in closet, reaching up to a top shelf to pull down the coils of rope that lay waiting.

Piers had plenty of other nights to be a brat on. “Yes, sir,” was all he commented as Leon re-emerged, undoing the clasps that kept the rope wound and letting it unfurl, nearly dragging the ground as he walked back over to Piers.

Circling him, Leon allowed the end of the rope to dangle across Piers’ chest, teasing him with the sensation of the roughness against his skin. The ropes they used were purpose-made and never damaging, but like this he was still sensitive enough to tremble. Something twisted in his stomach, and the squirming turned from impatience to discomfort, which brought a halt to Leon’s actions.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” A chance to back out, offered over his shoulder. Piers paused, to give it real thought, but quickly decided that wasn’t it. He needed it. A final release, to end the night on a clear, clean note. What was churning in his gut wasn’t about the scene, it was about—

“Yes, L—sir, I want this. I want you to tie me up, suspend me. I don’t want to think about anything, I was—“ The words stuttered out uncomfortably, but Leon understood the fragmented sentences with ease. Instead of backing away, he wrapped himself around Piers in a comforting embrace, and slid one palm up to cover his lover’s eyes.

“Tell me.”

It’s an odd caveat, Piers was well aware. That sometimes he could only express himself when he was bound and blind, or screaming his heart out onstage. Asking him to express his feelings in normal conversation was like asking him to move mountains, but when all other sensations dropped away and he knew he was supported by Leon’s grip, the words would come.

“I loved tonight, I really did, but...at the restaurant, I was scared. I didn’t wanna be. I just wanted to enjoy it with you because it was wonderful an’ romantic and you set it up just for us. But I kept feelin’ like...I was going to make some kind of mistake and out myself, you know? As just some piece of gutter trash you picked up. ‘Cause I don’t know what forks to use and I ordered chips for an appetizer and that’s the first wine I’ve ever had that didn’t taste like window cleaner. I didn’t know what I was doin’, and I was lost, and...even though you made it amazing, and I had a good time, I just kept feeling like I could be better for you. I even wish I wasn’t scared at all, and I could just be as devil-may-care as usual, but those places always put me on edge. When I wish they didn’t, ‘cause I want you to spoil me, too.”

The long-winded rant wound down, and Piers panted softly as he rested in Leon’s arms. Getting it off his chest was the important part, and Leon allowed him the moment he needed before pressing a kiss to his cheek and releasing the hand over his eyes.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” was what he said at first, and Piers did his best to internalize the praise as it was intended. “I want you to know that you don’t have to feel guilty for that—for any of it. Feeling bad because you weren’t sure you fit in, or guilty for not pretending it doesn’t bother you. If these things get to you, I want to know.” Fingers wandered over his body, purposeless but for the means of touch itself, and the reassurance it could bring.

“You weren’t ‘outing yourself’, though. You ordered something you liked, and as far as I could tell, you were the picture of elegance and charm. More importantly, it wouldn’t matter if you were just ‘some piece of gutter trash I picked up’, because you’re mine. That’s enough. You belong at my side, and wherever we go, we go together. I’d rather eat at a thousand cheap takeaways than any fancy restaurant that judges you because of who you are and where you’re from. But I’m glad that you understood I was only trying to give you a romantic experience tonight. I hope that if you decide to agree to this again, next time I can help you feel less insecure.”

The reassurance washed over Piers like a wave, and he shivered faintly, not from cold or fear, but a deep, unnameable emotion that lived inside his gut whenever he was around Leon.

The rope slid across his chest once more, and Leon held it on either side, the very start of his first loop. “But...one more thing. You did mess up just a bit, baby. You insulted yourself—and nobody insults the things I like. For that, I’m gonna have to punish you. Do you want the flogger, or the crop?”

On other nights, Piers would buck and rebel for the unfairness of getting punished when he was only being honest. But tonight...he knows what Leon means by giving him pain, and how it intends to lead to pleasure. That, and he had been unfair...they’d discussed things like ‘negative self-talk’ before, and while old habits were hard to break, Piers had promised to be better.

“The crop, please,” he breathed, and Leon began his work with a little hum of assent.

Those fingers were deft and ever-purposeful as he wound the ropes around Piers’ body, looping and twisting and pulling together to make knots. Over and around his chest in a weblike pattern meant for support, but also handily digging into the skin around his pectorals, just enough to put pressure on the muscles when he’d be hung up. Around his shoulders, with Leon pulling his hands into place and tying them off securely, checking each knot for the correct tightness. By the time his chest harness and arm restraints are complete, Piers’ heart rate had settled and his breathing felt smooth, easy.

Leon took another kiss from him, claiming it as an easy prize, and leaving his lips wet with saliva when they parted. Piers had no thoughts but for him as the hip harness was crafted with a pleasurable slide of the ropes, cupping his body and fitting around the sharp jut of the bones. As always, they felt less like an imprisonment and more like an embrace. With the rope, he didn’t need to hold himself together anymore, because he was tied too tightly to fall apart.

All the while, Piers watched Leon as he moved with practised grace around him, adding layers of curving rope that Piers soon lost track of as his thighs were parted by a broad hand. The concentrated furrow in his handsome brow, the working of muscle in his stern jaw and the sweet adoration that lingered at the back of those golden eyes, even when he was in a fully dominant mindset. Yet there was something hard there, a hunger that never quite went away.

Leon needed to exercise his strength over others, and if the pitch wasn’t giving him what he needed, then Piers’ body was a perfect alternative.

Leon circled behind him again, setting to work constructing the back piece that would bear the majority of Piers’ weight and distribute it evenly while he dangled. Each section fit together beautifully, interlocking like a series of puzzle pieces, and it made Piers feel beautiful himself. Not something he admitted easily; he’d long ago stopped giving a shit about whether or not people found him pretty, and was complimented all the more for it. Yet here, in these ropes, at the mercy of Leon’s hands, he was crafted into what could almost be called a work of art.

The present almost intruded again when Leon reached above him for the ring that the ropes would wind through, connected to a winch in the ceiling that would hoist him to the appropriate height.

“You feeling good? The ropes aren’t too tight anywhere?” His voice was calm and self-assured, though Piers knew the question to be perfectly genuine. Piers shook his head, and saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of Leon’s lips as he went back to his work.

Instinctively, Piers’ arms flexed a little in the rope that already bound them behind his back, testing the strength of the knots. Each one had just a little give to it, but not enough to qualify as looseness or infirmity. He could relax into them, and did, slowly but surely. Beside him, Leon knelt patiently to the floor, criss-crossing the rope down the length of his shins and around his calves on either side, before standing and drawing the ropes upwards.

“Ready to go up?” Piers already felt his thoughts melting, so he settled for nodding again, then murmuring a quiet assent when Leon paused. The rope tightened, drawing his ankle up towards his buttocks, and when it reached close enough for Leon to tie to his thigh, he allowed himself to let go. Not dropping his weight all at once into the ropes, but steadily giving his body to Leon’s control.

It was impossibly freeing.

People were always so scared of losing control; he had been scared too, once upon a time. Vulnerability of any kind was terrifying because it essentially gave the other person the opportunity to take whatever they wanted from you, and in Piers’ experience, they wanted everything. But here, in Leon’s hands, suspended by his ropes, he’s utterly safe and serene. Muscles he was hardly aware were tensed to begin with started to relax, and he hung his weight forward until his standing leg bore hardly any of it at all.

By the time Leon braced his hip against Piers’ for extra leverage, it was easy to allow the remaining leg to float up into place. Leon made a few more quick movements and tied off knots, and then...Piers was floating.

Normally, Piers was the impatient type. The rushing, hurrying, don’t-waste-my-time type, who fidgeted every time he was made to hold still for any reason. But now he hung, allowing Leon to slowly tilt him forward until his chest was parallel with the floor, moving out of sight and pulling ropes until Piers was up as high as Leon’s waist.

He breathed. In, and out. A soothing, rhythmic motion like the tides themselves,  just enough to make him swing back and forth gently. The rope bit into his flesh, but the concept of pain had since passed him, and now there was only pleasure. Even the red marks he knew would be left behind after, that he’d need to cover with sleeves and makeup for the next few days—even those felt heavenly as he received them.

Most blissful of all was watching his thoughts stream away in his head, like leaves on a river’s current. Each trouble, each worry and insecurity, all of them drained out of him as he stared at a spot on the floor and waited for his dom’s touch. Everything fades together into a haze of pleasure and security, a blissful safety he’s never found anywhere else. Nothing but this is significant, and nothing outside this room exists.

When Leon’s hands passed over his body, Piers closed his eyes in a pure, unadulterated joy. It went beyond sex; he was rock-hard still, but even that seemed unimportant in the moment. Leon would attend to it, when Piers had earned that privilege. More significant now was emptying his mind of thought, and the way Leon’s fingers quested along the ropes, pinching here and soothing there, until Piers felt lighter than he had on his feet.

Minutes ticked by, though Piers couldn’t have guessed how many, before Leon circled in front of him and curled strong fingers beneath his chin. “I believe it’s time for your punishment now. Are you ready?”

Piers licked his lips, gathering himself slightly. “Yes sir, I’m ready.”

For a moment more, Leon massaged his jaw in a tender lover’s caress.

Then he stepped to the side, out of Piers’ immediate view, and let the crop he’d chosen from the closet snake out through the air. Piers cried out, but was only rewarded with another strike, and he found himself beginning to slowly spin from the instinctive struggle of his body against his bonds.

One, two, three, a staccato rhythm he couldn’t keep up with, and could ultimately only cave to. Pain here, nipping along the sides of his thighs, wiping all the thoughts out of his skull. Yet as soon as the crop bit into his skin, it left behind a honeyed trace of enjoyment. Every time it smacked his belly, his thighs, his arse, in and around the ropes, he felt it both as a nip and a kiss.

A feeling swelled inside his chest, one he had no name for, and yet adored wholeheartedly. Piers eased the pressure in cries, in moans and whimpers as Leon punished him for speaking out against what his dom loved most. The crop stung his thighs, and he remembered his lust, pulsing and burning in his belly like a hunger he was increasingly desperate to sate. So hard—he’d forgotten how hard his cock was, but now gravity was drawing the blood into it and he felt it twitching underneath himself, aching for release.

“Sir, please—!” He was getting close, close to the ridge he wanted to fall over so badly he was willing to beg. Plead. Prostrate himself, if he weren’t already tied open and vulnerable to any of Leon’s whims.

Helpless at the hands of someone who was dominating him, inside and out. His cock dripped clear beads of pre-cum onto the wooden floor beneath him, and sweat rolled down his sides to join it as Leon continued to whip hot lines of ecstasy into his skin. Each strike was calculated, ideal, and yet Piers couldn’t keep track of them, so to him they felt random. He keened, arching, and felt one of Leon’s hands press him back into his posture, staring at his shadow on the floor and watching his own drool puddle beneath him.

“Please, sir…” he whined, voice gone as fuzzy as the inside of his head. Leon tapped the flat leather loop at the end of the crop against his shaft, and Piers jerked frantically away from half-imagined pain.

“What are you asking me for, sweetheart? It sounds like you’re begging for something, but I expect you to use your words if you want me to understand.” The dark chuckle in Leon’s voice said he was enjoying this, and that, too, had Piers’ body trembling with need. His lust roared in him like a wildfire, and he wanted to be touched more than he wanted to draw his next breath.

“Please sir, please touch me, I want to cum,” he panted, and Leon rewarded him with a smack to the outside of his thigh that would leave a mark. He’d never desired anything more.

“I know you can beg better than that, my needy little slut. Open that pretty mouth and sing.”

Piers obeyed. “Please, sir, please. I’m begging you, touch me. Fuck me, use me, I’m your slut—I’ll do anything. I fuckin’ will, anything, just—do it, please. I’m sorry I insulted myself, I’ll be so good for you.” His voice was rougher than a chain-smoker’s as he pleaded, spinning and shaking from the strikes that rained down on him, until Leon finally grabbed the ropes he was hanging by and brought him to a halt.

“Anything?” There was far too much amusement in that voice, but Piers was past caring. He nodded, and Leon glided the smooth end of the crop along his belly, making him squirm in place. “Alright, then. Take five more strikes, and count them out for me. Then I’ll make you cum, and feed you my cock. I know you love using your mouth, baby. So tonight, I’ll use it instead.”

With that, he drew back, and laid the first hit across Piers’ arse, the sound of it loud enough to drown out his keen of the number. Another, and then another. He’d have trouble sitting the next day. He’d remember it all week.

“Four—fuck, five!” Then, just like that, he was on the other side of it. Every part of him belonged to Leon, all the things that hurt and all the things that sang. There was nothing else inside him, and he felt utterly at peace. Pain radiated off his skin, but his mind was a blissful, empty streak of white that would only be heightened by the orgasm he was about to have.

And he knew he was going to have one. Leon would make him, play his body like an instrument and force it out even when Piers didn’t think he could. A hand wrapped around his cock, slick with oil Piers hadn’t heard him produce, and pumped him with methodical sureness. Hot, rough, Leon’s hand worked him inexorably towards his edge, but it was something else entirely that sent him over.

“Cum for me. You’ve been so good for me tonight, love, so good,” Leon encouraged, and that did it.

Piers sobbed as he came, spattering on the floor in thick, heavy spurts. Euphoria lit in his veins like gunpowder, and he allowed himself to be consumed by the conflagration. Gasping, shuddering, senselessly pleading with Leon as that merciless hand milked it all out of him, every fucking drop until he was empty and swinging in place, gasping faintly in the aftershocks.

Dizzy, Piers opened his eyes and saw the white lines of his cum painted on the floorboards. Everything around him buzzed, or maybe that was inside him, comforting and warm like a sheet of static. All of his muscles felt like gelatin, melted and sagging against the ropes, yet when Leon circled in front of him his tongue flicked out to wet his lips in anticipation.

One last part of this, he remembered distantly. Everything felt so far away, yet the desire to please his dom was as steady as an anchor in his chest. Leon’s needs were tied to his own, and if his master needed satiating, Piers would gladly be his succour.

He watched with hungry eyes as Leon drew down the zipper of his slacks, just far enough that he could take his cock out. It was another symbol of their roles, that he often remained dressed while Piers was nude. One vulnerable and exposed, the other merely making himself comfortable. Leon’s hand passed over the head of his cock, stroking himself luxuriantly to the sight of Piers’ exhausted, spent body, jerking off with all the patience in the world.

Piers was drifting, but his tongue still curled out of his mouth, imploring. Leon took the invitation for what it was, and stepped forward with a smile. The head of his cock breached Piers’ lips, thick and covered in an irresistible masculine scent that drove Piers’ still-twitching body wild. Every time he inhaled, it felt like Leon was permeating every inch of his mind, heady and deep, until he strained to swallow around that thick cock and had Leon thrusting inside again.

There was no time to adjust, nor rub his tongue coaxingly at the vein along the bottom of Leon’s dick. It pressed inside without a care for his gag reflex, and Piers realized instantly what his position was. Bound and trapped, he was just Leon’s sleeve to use as he wished. A helpless fuckboy; he loosened his jaw and accepted it. It shouldn’t have been so hot, but he’d be hard if he hadn’t just cum all over the floor. Drool poured from the corners of his mouth, and he heard Leon’s thrusting begin to take on a sloppy, slick quality, the same as when he fucked Piers in the ass.

“That’s it, that’s my good boy,” Leon grunted, voice tight with his own desire, but still smooth as silk. “Take it all, baby, take all my cum—“

His hips flexed as he drove himself into Piers’ throat over and over again, one hand in his hair keeping his head straight while Leon used his throat as his own personal cocksleeve. The thrusts bulged in his throat and he felt his lungs burn for air before sucking in a breath through his nose, but it wasn’t important. What mattered was the throb of that cock across the back of his tongue, the bitter taste of cum already starting to leak down his throat. How badly he craved it! Swallowing, Piers gave a weak moan around the length shoved in his face, and Leon’s rutting sped up as he began to approach his own end.

“Piers—fuck, drink it all—“ Leon groaned as he stiffened, one hand wrapping around the back of Piers’ skull to bury himself deep. Inside, Piers felt Leon breeding the back of his throat, each pulse of his load shooting directly down before he even had the chance to swallow. Hot, too thick for words, and going on and on the way Leon’s orgasms always did. It would have choked him if he weren’t used to doing this, but Piers relaxed his throat and let Leon’s seed slide where it needed to be.

When Leon was empty and Piers was much fuller, he pulled back and cupped the side of his sub’s face. “That was perfect,” Leon murmured, reassuring Piers even as the rockstar gasped for breath. “You were amazing, baby. Well done.”

For Piers, it was the highest praise he’d ever received, and he finally felt himself slip down into the warm darkness of his own relaxation. Bred, marked. Owned inside and out, as it should be. He hardly minded Leon’s hands as they slowly lowered him all the way to the floor, and untied him with the same steadiness they’d used to bind.

Everything floated down the river, and Piers let it all go. He’d had a beautiful date with the man he loved, and came back to a world of pleasure in their shared penthouse apartment. All those self-doubts and insecurities seemed distant as stars, and Piers no longer had to pay them any mind as Leon scooped him up and carried him to the bed, murmuring further compliments on his performance.

The last thing he heard consciously before he drifted into dozing under Leon’s massaging fingers was. “I’ve got you, Piers. I love you. Just rest.”

Piers did.