Rolled an 18 on his save. Jack takes 5 force damage and is hauled off his feet and dragged by a spectral chain across the room towards Orev. He hits the ground on his stomach at Orev's feet with a whumpf, the air knocked out of him.
He scrambles, wriggling against the chain to put the journal between his stomach and the floor even as he struggles to draw in a breath.
<.>
Shit.
He hisses a sharp sound as the chain connects. (He hadn't considered the damage it might do. Would necessarily do.) (Fuck, fuck, fuck, he hadn't meant to hurt the boy.) (He also couldn't let Jack abscond with his godsforsaken journal.)
There's an impulse to loosen his grip, to let the chain slack, but he sees the way the boy's shielding the journal, trying even now to keep it from Orev, so no, no, he won't be letting go just yet.
He does move one foot to Jack's side, attempting - with the nudge of his foot and a careful pull at the chain - to turn the man onto his back.
<.>
Jack's weaker than Orev; he's always been weaker than Daddy. He can't fight both the chain and for air and the foot rolling him onto his back, just like he can't fight the awareness of the chains and of.
(Being here.
At Daddy's feet.) (The stirring arousal, the moan settling in his throat. The wide eyes and reddening cheeks.)
He grips the journal with both hands and stares up (worshipfully) (in terror) (in longing) at Orev.
<.>
His foot moves with Jack (easily) (this, again— is this familiar?), shifting to settle at his shoulder even as he seeks sight of the journal (knows relief, relief that it’s here), then to meet Jack’s eyes and—
(…O h.)
(Hello, Puppy.)
Maybe. Maybe Orev needn’t have worried about the chains damage, after all.
Jack certainly doesn’t look… Pained. Particularly. And Orev feels at once overwarm (his skin heated) (a not-unpleasant ache of his own stirring), and cool-headed. As if another rightful place has been found. As if the world has cleared away, as if even his panic at the journal’s theft has vanished. For a moment, everything seems terribly simple. All the world is composed of himself and this man, a moan, pleading eyes like amber.
(Beautiful. This man is (perfection) (staggering) beautiful.)
He’s stopped breathing. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped the chain. There’s another moment before he can draw breath again - calmly; steady - and his eyes haven’t left Jack’s.
When he speaks, his voice has softened, though the hiss at its edge lingers, though there might, might nearly be a growl at the back of his throat. And he bends slightly, slightly, the better to watch Jack’s eyes— “I told you, Puppy.
“That was a mistake.”
[ insight: 21
(2) Orev has a strong memory wash over him of a similar situation: Puppy lying on the ground with Orev's foot not at his shoulder, but at his throat. Both of Jack's hands scrabble and grip Orev's ankle/foot and try to pry himself free as the boy shifts and arcs to escape. He isn't choking; he moans and rasps out please, looking up at Orev with the same longing and fear. Orev hears himself laugh darkly and comment - dialogue you can write because your character - on Puppy's arousal.
There's a cascading awareness that he has done this more than once, both with and without the chain. ]
<.>
As for Jack, he falls very still, the breath he just caught jarred from him again in a whimper by a single word: Puppy.
<.>
At the corner of his lip, the slightest tick of a sharp smile.
(He has done this before.
They have done this before.
And he remembers now, that refrain from Jack’s thoughts, one of many strands he’d been unable to make sense of. That notion Jack kept gnawing over: That he couldn’t believe Orev used the chain on someone else.
Doesn’t it make sense now.)
Watching close. Thinking of that— Sound, that whimper. Knowing a sound at the back of his throat, a pleased hum or a growl. He wraps the chain a little tighter around his hand and tugs.
Just once. Just to see.
And, speaking, “This chain is yours, isn’t it?”
It isn’t really a question.
<.>
The tightening chain lifts Jack's back in a small arc off the floor. He moans softly, wishing he could close his eyes and not daring to take them off Orev.
He'd hated seeing the chain used on anyone else - at least, while it wasn't being used on him. Orev's right, of course: it's his.
The chain, the vines, the ropes, the tendrils of smoke, the silks. Whatever Draža had on hand to restrain him, tease him, remind him where he belonged (and oh, he's missed belonging.)
It wasn't a question, so he doesn't speak an answer. His tension, his alert focus, his lack of effort to scramble away from the chains or the foot on his shoulder are answer enough. The gray fog seeping over his thoughts, that's answer enough. (The satisfaction mingling with his terror, the thrill and triumph at having Daddy's full attention: that's answer enough.)
(The growls and hums from Orev; those are familiar noises. The sharp smile's familiar, too. Does he remember this, somewhere deep down?) (He called -)
He called Jack "Puppy"?
His eyes fix on Orev's face, frantically curious: do you remember me? Anything? Anything at all?
"You remember?" It is a question, helpless and beseeching. Wary.
Almost, almost hopeful.
<.>
Does Orev remember?
Yes— And no.
There’s so much more he can’t recall. He doesn’t remember enough. And the vibrance of this memory (the chain and Jack’s shuddered breath, the smirk laced through Orev’s own voice; the pleasure of it, the pleasure in them both, radiating through memory to spark within his nerves), the life he’s felt in every glimpse of the life he had with Jack, throws into stark contrast the void of all else. The places where he ought to remember and where surely, surely, more of these bright recollections lie hidden.
(He ought to remember more. He wants to remember more.)
(He thinks about the way Jack’s watching him. About something that looks almost akin to hope. (And, a wrenching thought, wrenching feeling: What if it’s not enough? What he’s remembered. What if he can only crush the light grown in Jack’s eyes?))
What if it isn’t enough. What if he can’t recall. What if, what if—
…But.
But he—
Moments ago. When Jack gazed upward, eyes wide. Orev had said it. The word that’s begun to surface in his thoughts. The word he’d heard first in Jack’s thoughts.
‘Puppy.’
((My Puppy.))
He hadn’t marked it in the moment, it’d felt so natural. He’d felt only its place in speaking. Only knew its necessity on his tongue.
There’s so much he doesn’t know. But.
He’s beginning to remember.
So it’s with certainty - with something like triumph, and a note of confiding warmth - that he responds: “Yes.”
Though he maintains hold on the chain, he’s let it slack, only slightly. His eyes haven’t drifted from Jack’s, nor lost their intensity of inspection. He adds (offers), “I’m beginning to recall.)
And if he thinks about this, it’s happening more and more, isn’t it? The glimpses of a life he must have known, did live, settling back into his knowledge. The impulses that feel like habit. The words that seem so distantly familiar, then return again and again, regaining their place. In Jack’s presence, details have begun to return, as if by necessity. As if they belong, and Orev can’t help but know them.
He blinks. Exhales softly, and bends, setting one talon beneath Jack’s chin and sweeping his thumb along the boy’s cheek, steady, tidal. Reverent. “It’s you, Jack.”
And, smile at once sharp and strangely fond: “Puppy.”
<.>
Not everything. He doesn't remember everything. But.
But he remembers pieces, and those pieces are the ones Jack wants him to remember. Not the parts when Draža said he wasn't enough, something in him was missing. Not the parts where another lover came between them. Just this. Just them, together, and how good it was.
(For now. (Until he can break his contract, it's enough for now.) (He doesn't want to think about that right now.))
The talon dimples his skin, counterpoint to a brush of thumb, and Jack fizzles from the inside out. He forgets about the journal. He forgets everything except the smile Orev gives him and the chains binding him, the foot pressing down on him. The gray fog feels heavy and narcotic, a barrier between him and having to think about anything. Softly, he breathes Oh, eyes fluttering closed.
His hands slacken on the journal. He arcs his neck, baring his throat. Tries shifting against the chains in search of relief from growing tension; he finds them looser but still unrelenting.
<.>
Again, again, he tests the warmth of Jack’s (Puppy’s) skin beneath his thumb. (How many times, how often did he caress the boy just so?) (How thoroughly did his body know this man’s?)
He’s begun to drift his foot, its talons tracing the line of Jack’s shoulder. As he admires the boy. As he smiles still, that fond-sharp expression. When his foot reaches the base of Jack’s neck, it settles. Partly curled against the boy’s neck and behind his shoulder, one talon resting at his sternum.
Grin sharpening - ah, slightly, just slightly - he pauses in caress and softly, half a growl and half a purr, speaks—
“I do remember.”
And closes the talons of his foot with care, just enough to give (his Puppy) Jack a sense of pressure. Just enough to draw focus to just where Orev’s foot has wandered.
His thumb resumes its brushing. He returns a bit of tension to the chain. And speaks ahead of calculation, feeling only that these are words he wants to give—
“There are worlds within you, Puppy.”
(And he thinks: How could he ever have said this man was not, is not enough?) (He doesn’t believe it; there’s something in that memory that ticks at him, sings with a message he can’t clasp.) (Whatever he may have intended. Whatever his reasons. He did badly by this man.
He wants to mend it. He will mend it.)
He knows: This isn’t novelty, his interest. This is conviction; this is rooted belief, running infinite, deep.
Now he gives the chain a firmer grasp: “Good boy.”
<.>
Tears would sting his eyes, but nothing can hurt here - not in any way he doesn't want to be hurt. There's only Daddy's foot at his throat offering perfect pressure, the feeling of bruises forming where the chains wrap him that will ache dully later. The warmth and perfection and danger of being here, right here, with Daddy.
Worlds within him, Daddy said.
Not something missing. He's full of whole existences.
He's pinned under Daddy's focus and hold, wrapped in (love) chains and affection. Possessed and perfect and Puppy. It's all he was ever meant to be. All he ever wanted to be. (And. Orev-Daddy-Draža remembers. Remembers him.)
His pulse is racing out of control, thrumming under his flushed, faintly glistening skin. He presses up to meet the hold of Daddy's foot and moans shamelessly. When his eyes find Orev's again, they're glazed and inviting. (This is how it always went, isn't it? This is when Draža would tease him for being wanton - because it's irresistible. It's terrifying and delicious and maybe something is broken in Jack-Gideon-Puppy, but the jagged edges of that break meet Daddy's in wonderful ways.)
"Don't -" he starts, then forgets whatever it was he meant to say, instead inclining his head to the touch at his cheek. "*Please.*"
<.>
“‘Don’t’?” A blinking of his eyes, rapid, and briefly he withdraws his hand—
Then returns it. (Of course he returns it.) Cups his Puppy’s cheek, inclining his own head to catch another angle of the picture laid beneath him.
A gentle teasing in his tone: “Oh, Puppy, don’t you want this?” A soft laugh, dark, as he draws the tip of his talon along Jack’s jaw. Not pricking, not bleeding the boy, but chasing along the edge of incision.
“‘Please,’ you said.
“Ah, but that’s incomplete.
“‘Please,’ what, Puppy?”
How easy this is to slip into. This being, this role, this self; it wreathes itself around him, as if it (never left) (was never gone, not far) was only waiting.
(Waiting for what?) (His return.) (The return of this (beautiful) (perfect) man.) (His Puppy.)
There are no questions; no hesitations. Only a perfect offering of pressure, perfect response of Puppy’s being. Only the pair of them moving with one will, one desire.
(He’s missed this man, and— And he’s missed this, hasn’t he? The wild-blooming warmth, the possession (the being possessed, fixed here at the world’s center with this man, because of this man), the aching want, the softness and the razor’s edge.) ((It defies sense, that he would have left this. Forfeited this man, and left him to—) (Not now, not now, he won’t think about that now.)) ((He can’t lose this again.))
“Speak it. Tell me. What does my Puppy need.”
<.>
This is all he wants. It was all he's been wanting from the moment Draža first tied him up, because here, everything is simple. Nothing matters except Daddy's will, Daddy's desires, and isn't it lucky those are exactly Puppy's desires?
For the first time in almost a year, he feels as though he's found his footing again. He feels like gears the ground out the movements of the world slipped themselves into alignment. Everything is right, and he's in Daddy's care, under his direction, once more.
(A deep, unquiet niggling about what the future holds flickers into his awareness and then drifts away again.)
His eyes fix on Orev again and a shiver rolls through him. He saw the way Orev gazed down his body, how he's staring now as though Jack can't hide anything from him (he never could hide anything from him.) (How easily Orev found Daddy's voice after days of hesitancy. Like Daddy was just under the surface all along.)
((Why did he go? Who was better at being his Puppy than Jack? How could he not feel the rightness of this?))
What does he need? He doesn't have to be commanded, but the command settles on him, anyhow, forcing more bare, desperate honesty from him than he would have given otherwise.
"You," he gasps, barely audible. Weak and ashamed, but clearly nearing some ecstatic peak. "I need you. I need what we were. I need your hands on me and I need your voice telling me how to be. I need you to stay with me until the end -"
He swallows hard, eyes closing against a fresh burst of tears. He can't stop the words from finding voice, however. "I need you to want me more than anyone else. Keep me and torture me and don't let me be alone anymore, even when I walk away. Make the chains tighter, make me beg, make me ache for you over and over."
He's nuzzling Orev's hand, passive under his foot (for now). He finds Daddy's gaze again, agonized. "Don't stop?"
no subject
He scrambles, wriggling against the chain to put the journal between his stomach and the floor even as he struggles to draw in a breath.
<.>
Shit.
He hisses a sharp sound as the chain connects. (He hadn't considered the damage it might do. Would necessarily do.) (Fuck, fuck, fuck, he hadn't meant to hurt the boy.) (He also couldn't let Jack abscond with his godsforsaken journal.)
There's an impulse to loosen his grip, to let the chain slack, but he sees the way the boy's shielding the journal, trying even now to keep it from Orev, so no, no, he won't be letting go just yet.
He does move one foot to Jack's side, attempting - with the nudge of his foot and a careful pull at the chain - to turn the man onto his back.
<.>
Jack's weaker than Orev; he's always been weaker than Daddy. He can't fight both the chain and for air and the foot rolling him onto his back, just like he can't fight the awareness of the chains and of.
(Being here.
At Daddy's feet.) (The stirring arousal, the moan settling in his throat. The wide eyes and reddening cheeks.)
He grips the journal with both hands and stares up (worshipfully) (in terror) (in longing) at Orev.
<.>
His foot moves with Jack (easily) (this, again— is this familiar?), shifting to settle at his shoulder even as he seeks sight of the journal (knows relief, relief that it’s here), then to meet Jack’s eyes and—
(…O h.)
(Hello, Puppy.)
Maybe. Maybe Orev needn’t have worried about the chains damage, after all.
Jack certainly doesn’t look… Pained. Particularly. And Orev feels at once overwarm (his skin heated) (a not-unpleasant ache of his own stirring), and cool-headed. As if another rightful place has been found. As if the world has cleared away, as if even his panic at the journal’s theft has vanished. For a moment, everything seems terribly simple. All the world is composed of himself and this man, a moan, pleading eyes like amber.
(Beautiful. This man is (perfection) (staggering) beautiful.)
He’s stopped breathing. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped the chain. There’s another moment before he can draw breath again - calmly; steady - and his eyes haven’t left Jack’s.
When he speaks, his voice has softened, though the hiss at its edge lingers, though there might, might nearly be a growl at the back of his throat. And he bends slightly, slightly, the better to watch Jack’s eyes— “I told you, Puppy.
“That was a mistake.”
[ insight: 21
(2) Orev has a strong memory wash over him of a similar situation: Puppy lying on the ground with Orev's foot not at his shoulder, but at his throat. Both of Jack's hands scrabble and grip Orev's ankle/foot and try to pry himself free as the boy shifts and arcs to escape. He isn't choking; he moans and rasps out please, looking up at Orev with the same longing and fear. Orev hears himself laugh darkly and comment - dialogue you can write because your character - on Puppy's arousal.
There's a cascading awareness that he has done this more than once, both with and without the chain. ]
<.>
As for Jack, he falls very still, the breath he just caught jarred from him again in a whimper by a single word: Puppy.
<.>
At the corner of his lip, the slightest tick of a sharp smile.
(He has done this before.
They have done this before.
And he remembers now, that refrain from Jack’s thoughts, one of many strands he’d been unable to make sense of. That notion Jack kept gnawing over: That he couldn’t believe Orev used the chain on someone else.
Doesn’t it make sense now.)
Watching close. Thinking of that— Sound, that whimper. Knowing a sound at the back of his throat, a pleased hum or a growl. He wraps the chain a little tighter around his hand and tugs.
Just once. Just to see.
And, speaking, “This chain is yours, isn’t it?”
It isn’t really a question.
<.>
The tightening chain lifts Jack's back in a small arc off the floor. He moans softly, wishing he could close his eyes and not daring to take them off Orev.
He'd hated seeing the chain used on anyone else - at least, while it wasn't being used on him. Orev's right, of course: it's his.
The chain, the vines, the ropes, the tendrils of smoke, the silks. Whatever Draža had on hand to restrain him, tease him, remind him where he belonged (and oh, he's missed belonging.)
It wasn't a question, so he doesn't speak an answer. His tension, his alert focus, his lack of effort to scramble away from the chains or the foot on his shoulder are answer enough. The gray fog seeping over his thoughts, that's answer enough. (The satisfaction mingling with his terror, the thrill and triumph at having Daddy's full attention: that's answer enough.)
(The growls and hums from Orev; those are familiar noises. The sharp smile's familiar, too. Does he remember this, somewhere deep down?) (He called -)
He called Jack "Puppy"?
His eyes fix on Orev's face, frantically curious: do you remember me? Anything? Anything at all?
"You remember?" It is a question, helpless and beseeching. Wary.
Almost, almost hopeful.
<.>
Does Orev remember?
Yes— And no.
There’s so much more he can’t recall. He doesn’t remember enough. And the vibrance of this memory (the chain and Jack’s shuddered breath, the smirk laced through Orev’s own voice; the pleasure of it, the pleasure in them both, radiating through memory to spark within his nerves), the life he’s felt in every glimpse of the life he had with Jack, throws into stark contrast the void of all else. The places where he ought to remember and where surely, surely, more of these bright recollections lie hidden.
(He ought to remember more. He wants to remember more.)
(He thinks about the way Jack’s watching him. About something that looks almost akin to hope. (And, a wrenching thought, wrenching feeling: What if it’s not enough? What he’s remembered. What if he can only crush the light grown in Jack’s eyes?))
What if it isn’t enough. What if he can’t recall. What if, what if—
…But.
But he—
Moments ago. When Jack gazed upward, eyes wide. Orev had said it. The word that’s begun to surface in his thoughts. The word he’d heard first in Jack’s thoughts.
‘Puppy.’
((My Puppy.))
He hadn’t marked it in the moment, it’d felt so natural. He’d felt only its place in speaking. Only knew its necessity on his tongue.
There’s so much he doesn’t know. But.
He’s beginning to remember.
So it’s with certainty - with something like triumph, and a note of confiding warmth - that he responds: “Yes.”
Though he maintains hold on the chain, he’s let it slack, only slightly. His eyes haven’t drifted from Jack’s, nor lost their intensity of inspection. He adds (offers), “I’m beginning to recall.)
And if he thinks about this, it’s happening more and more, isn’t it? The glimpses of a life he must have known, did live, settling back into his knowledge. The impulses that feel like habit. The words that seem so distantly familiar, then return again and again, regaining their place. In Jack’s presence, details have begun to return, as if by necessity. As if they belong, and Orev can’t help but know them.
He blinks. Exhales softly, and bends, setting one talon beneath Jack’s chin and sweeping his thumb along the boy’s cheek, steady, tidal. Reverent. “It’s you, Jack.”
And, smile at once sharp and strangely fond: “Puppy.”
<.>
Not everything. He doesn't remember everything. But.
But he remembers pieces, and those pieces are the ones Jack wants him to remember. Not the parts when Draža said he wasn't enough, something in him was missing. Not the parts where another lover came between them. Just this. Just them, together, and how good it was.
(For now. (Until he can break his contract, it's enough for now.) (He doesn't want to think about that right now.))
The talon dimples his skin, counterpoint to a brush of thumb, and Jack fizzles from the inside out. He forgets about the journal. He forgets everything except the smile Orev gives him and the chains binding him, the foot pressing down on him. The gray fog feels heavy and narcotic, a barrier between him and having to think about anything. Softly, he breathes Oh, eyes fluttering closed.
His hands slacken on the journal. He arcs his neck, baring his throat. Tries shifting against the chains in search of relief from growing tension; he finds them looser but still unrelenting.
<.>
Again, again, he tests the warmth of Jack’s (Puppy’s) skin beneath his thumb. (How many times, how often did he caress the boy just so?) (How thoroughly did his body know this man’s?)
He’s begun to drift his foot, its talons tracing the line of Jack’s shoulder. As he admires the boy. As he smiles still, that fond-sharp expression. When his foot reaches the base of Jack’s neck, it settles. Partly curled against the boy’s neck and behind his shoulder, one talon resting at his sternum.
Grin sharpening - ah, slightly, just slightly - he pauses in caress and softly, half a growl and half a purr, speaks—
“I do remember.”
And closes the talons of his foot with care, just enough to give (his Puppy) Jack a sense of pressure. Just enough to draw focus to just where Orev’s foot has wandered.
His thumb resumes its brushing. He returns a bit of tension to the chain. And speaks ahead of calculation, feeling only that these are words he wants to give—
“There are worlds within you, Puppy.”
(And he thinks: How could he ever have said this man was not, is not enough?) (He doesn’t believe it; there’s something in that memory that ticks at him, sings with a message he can’t clasp.) (Whatever he may have intended. Whatever his reasons. He did badly by this man.
He wants to mend it. He will mend it.)
He knows: This isn’t novelty, his interest. This is conviction; this is rooted belief, running infinite, deep.
Now he gives the chain a firmer grasp: “Good boy.”
<.>
Tears would sting his eyes, but nothing can hurt here - not in any way he doesn't want to be hurt. There's only Daddy's foot at his throat offering perfect pressure, the feeling of bruises forming where the chains wrap him that will ache dully later. The warmth and perfection and danger of being here, right here, with Daddy.
Worlds within him, Daddy said.
Not something missing. He's full of whole existences.
He's pinned under Daddy's focus and hold, wrapped in (love) chains and affection. Possessed and perfect and Puppy. It's all he was ever meant to be. All he ever wanted to be. (And. Orev-Daddy-Draža remembers. Remembers him.)
His pulse is racing out of control, thrumming under his flushed, faintly glistening skin. He presses up to meet the hold of Daddy's foot and moans shamelessly. When his eyes find Orev's again, they're glazed and inviting. (This is how it always went, isn't it? This is when Draža would tease him for being wanton - because it's irresistible. It's terrifying and delicious and maybe something is broken in Jack-Gideon-Puppy, but the jagged edges of that break meet Daddy's in wonderful ways.)
"Don't -" he starts, then forgets whatever it was he meant to say, instead inclining his head to the touch at his cheek. "*Please.*"
<.>
“‘Don’t’?” A blinking of his eyes, rapid, and briefly he withdraws his hand—
Then returns it. (Of course he returns it.) Cups his Puppy’s cheek, inclining his own head to catch another angle of the picture laid beneath him.
A gentle teasing in his tone: “Oh, Puppy, don’t you want this?” A soft laugh, dark, as he draws the tip of his talon along Jack’s jaw. Not pricking, not bleeding the boy, but chasing along the edge of incision.
“‘Please,’ you said.
“Ah, but that’s incomplete.
“‘Please,’ what, Puppy?”
How easy this is to slip into. This being, this role, this self; it wreathes itself around him, as if it (never left) (was never gone, not far) was only waiting.
(Waiting for what?) (His return.) (The return of this (beautiful) (perfect) man.) (His Puppy.)
There are no questions; no hesitations. Only a perfect offering of pressure, perfect response of Puppy’s being. Only the pair of them moving with one will, one desire.
(He’s missed this man, and— And he’s missed this, hasn’t he? The wild-blooming warmth, the possession (the being possessed, fixed here at the world’s center with this man, because of this man), the aching want, the softness and the razor’s edge.) ((It defies sense, that he would have left this. Forfeited this man, and left him to—) (Not now, not now, he won’t think about that now.)) ((He can’t lose this again.))
“Speak it. Tell me. What does my Puppy need.”
<.>
This is all he wants. It was all he's been wanting from the moment Draža first tied him up, because here, everything is simple. Nothing matters except Daddy's will, Daddy's desires, and isn't it lucky those are exactly Puppy's desires?
For the first time in almost a year, he feels as though he's found his footing again. He feels like gears the ground out the movements of the world slipped themselves into alignment. Everything is right, and he's in Daddy's care, under his direction, once more.
(A deep, unquiet niggling about what the future holds flickers into his awareness and then drifts away again.)
His eyes fix on Orev again and a shiver rolls through him. He saw the way Orev gazed down his body, how he's staring now as though Jack can't hide anything from him (he never could hide anything from him.) (How easily Orev found Daddy's voice after days of hesitancy. Like Daddy was just under the surface all along.)
((Why did he go? Who was better at being his Puppy than Jack? How could he not feel the rightness of this?))
What does he need? He doesn't have to be commanded, but the command settles on him, anyhow, forcing more bare, desperate honesty from him than he would have given otherwise.
"You," he gasps, barely audible. Weak and ashamed, but clearly nearing some ecstatic peak. "I need you. I need what we were. I need your hands on me and I need your voice telling me how to be. I need you to stay with me until the end -"
He swallows hard, eyes closing against a fresh burst of tears. He can't stop the words from finding voice, however. "I need you to want me more than anyone else. Keep me and torture me and don't let me be alone anymore, even when I walk away. Make the chains tighter, make me beg, make me ache for you over and over."
He's nuzzling Orev's hand, passive under his foot (for now). He finds Daddy's gaze again, agonized. "Don't stop?"