Relief even as he burns molten. Even as his hand relinquishes Orev’s throat and rushes along his spine, burying and clutching at feathers. Even as Gideon gasps for breathes he can’t fully draw against the chain’s merciless clamp. Relief is already settling over him with the rush of release, pulsing violence as strong as the first encounter, rendered painful in ecstasy for all the time he went without.
(And for all the time he went without Daddy.)
He doesn’t shout; his cries are hoarse, breathless, blooms of dark spots forming in his vision and mingling with the image of Daddy above him, shadowy, vast, dangerous. (Loving. He feels it, he feels how much love there is, and it must be from Orev, it must be, because Gideon is too small, too incomplete, too broken (not enough) to embody all the love in the space between them.)
He doesn’t shout, and neither does he neglect to tend his Daddy’s ache. (It was what Draža commanded. He’ll never forget that first night he was given this (very welcome) responsibility. He’ll never forget the first time he undid his Daddy.)
The command keeps him bound to Daddy’s release, his own drawn longer and lingering, viciously slow-burning. Gideon arcs his neck, head back against the floor and throat bared to Orev, his voice breaking against thanks, against “Daddy” and “yes” and “please”, disjointed words that don’t cohere into sentence. Words that shatter into weeping laughter when pleasure grows unbearable, when his own release is wrung out and his cock overstimulated (and still, and still, and still -)
(Draža did this to him a time or two. Not always tying their releases together with command: sometimes, he would order Gideon to continue, to keep going, to come again, again, and “Oh no, Puppy. Again”, until Gideon thought his mind would break and his body would disintegrate, would shatter, would split at its seams.
(Draža never did anything to him that he didn’t love.))
When there’s nothing left but blossoming warmth and breathlessness, he falls back panting, weak, and still whispering thanks to his god.
<.>
His Puppy does so well.
Heeding Daddy’s hand and Daddy’s encouragement. Chasing every spark at Orev’s skin and grasping, a catch of feathers that steals (claims, rightly claims) a tremor of Daddy’s being, that leads Orev nearer, nearer to blinding gold and brilliance.
His Puppy follows Orev and takes him, incites and conducts him beautifully. Until Orev’s skin has turned to firestorm and he longs only for bright and brighter fire, until his lungs ache and cloud his vision, leaving one sight only, one brilliance toward which Orev rushes, one brilliance onto which he fixes focus and into which he breathes, breathes, ah Gideon.
A kiss for this man as culmination crashes toward him, inevitable as tides, as death, as finding and returning to this man.
His perfect, perfect (love) Puppy.
Who doesn’t falter.
Who arcs beneath him, around him, and its with the quaking of Puppy’s body with the fruition of shuddered groans, yeses, pleases writ in Gideon’s voice and Gideon’s breath that Orev knows ascension, as in a rush of atmosphere, the night sky gathering and spinning upward to a burst of stars, to a suspension of vision, to the bursting of bright sun.
And in this brilliance, one word echoed in his voice or in his mind, “Puppy, Puppy, Puppy.”
After, in silence, he feels warmth aglow beside him. Feels his own body gone boneless, though his arms wrap something, someone solid, and infinitely dear.
He’s curled close, he realized, and when he opens his eyes, it’s with a shock of wonder, and a smile small but true, infinitely soft.
(There you are, my lover.)
His hand’s found Puppy’s hair again, and slowly, feeling as though time’s slowed, perhaps gone absent around them, he blinks against burning eyes, and speaks—
“Ah, my Puppy.
“Beautiful.
“That was. You are. Beautiful.”
<.>
When Orev sinks against him, Gideon winds his arm around his lover's shoulders and draws him nearer still. The chain vanishes and with its absence, he's able to draw in a full, deep breath. His free hand settles against Orev's throat, cupping, his thumb lightly sweeping the other man's jaw in slow, idle arcs.
Now and again he shivers, aftershocks of pleasure racing along his spine and raising goosebumps along his flesh.
It's been so long. Yes, since they made love, or fucked, or tended one another (or, since Gideon was at Daddy's mercy), but it's been just as long since they lay together like this. (And still, it's as familiar as dancing, as kissing, as speaking 'Daddy'. He could almost pretend Daddy never left him.) When he opens his eyes to study Orev, his expression softens in a way it hasn't before, full of private tenderness.
[ DC 12 INT, Orev may remember this look. He can hazily recall the protectiveness and aftercare from Gideon that was connected to the times he felt desire/need. If he rolls a 15 or higher, he may have a full formed memory. ]
As his breathing slows and his heart finds a steady rhythm, Gideon traces a finger along the line of Orev's jaw, his own eyes rimmed wet and shining. A smile, small and uncertain but full of wonder, curves his lips.
Softly, he asks, "Are you real?"
<.>
[ intelligence: 21 ]
That tenderness; those eyes.
He’s known this look before.
(Accompanied with a brush of fingers, yes, just like now, like warm skin gentle at his jaw.) (Accompanied with ’Daddy’ spoken soft-awed.) (With an arm wrapping around him, quieting, quieting the raucousness that rose in—
Orev.
Whoever he was, before this name. A gnawing wary, volatile feeling, and he thinks (feels this like knowing) that there were times he must have known desire, known aching like he’s done this day.
It’s a thought that feels like hazard. Like something hunted. Something raging, cornered in its fear.
Something Gideon must have seen.
Something Gideon, Orev is certain, soothed.)
And now. Now, hazy, a memory swims to his mind, a distant echo growing clearer, growing close—
There’d been ecstatic reverence, there’d been a pinnacle in tandem with this man, and he knows there’s been brilliance, he knows there’d been ascendence and it ought to have turned to the warmth and ease he knows here in this room.
But something ran amiss.
But there’d been no soft sinking after, or it’d been painfully brief, because something, something shocked through the man Orev was and set his mind aflame, thoughts racing, raging and recoiling, driven into frenzy, into himself scrabbling upward, unable to stand quickly. Teeth clamping with a stumble, jarring onto one knee with the taste of iron in his mouth, tongue-bitten, then sharpness gashed along his chest and the sight of his own talons glistened, dripped with red.
He must have been speaking he must have been wild-eyed, seeking the door, feeling trapped trapped feeling ire with himself, with his desire, and he’d sought flight, sought to tear free from his skin or to shed blood or anything, anything, to quiet the howling in his mind—
But there’d been a hand at the back of his neck.
But there’d been an arm drawing his face against a throat, warm-dark and pulse still racing. A pull not forceful. A pull careful and inviting, like safety, like blessed silence.
And there’d been Gideon’s voice, cutting through the howling of a thousand half-voiced thoughts and warinesses, there’d been Gideon’s voice banishing chaotic worries: “Daddy, I’m here.
“It’s all right.
“Got you, hey, I’ve got you.”
Sensation of a form enwrapping his, of himself and this other body sinking to the floor. Puppy’s chest against his back and Puppy encouraging Orev(-not-Orev-yes-Orev) to breathe, only breathe, hey it’s okay, just breathe with me, all right?
(Then a word, a name Orev can’t fathom, can’t allow into his knowing. (Hazardous to know.) (Too soon, it’s too soon to let himself know.) A name (his name) offered in tones careful and loving. Offered like guardianship.)
In Gideon’s arms, he’d quieted. Clinging and finally, finally unashamed, unafraid. Held like that, he’d drifted off to silence, into sleep, nestling close as Gideon sang to him, a soft, achingly familiar tune.
It’s—
Oh, it draws the burn to his eyes again, and Orev doesn’t mind. Thinks, yes, this man knows him, better even than Gideon may know. Thinks even in his madness, there’d been one voice, one man who could draw him back toward himself.
Thinks, of course, of course, because isn’t that same man bringing Orev back to his own center? Doesn’t he feel like himself, almost whole, with this man.
He hears Gideon’s words now, and his own smile is complicated: wonder-struck and gentle, sorrowing and writ with adoration. And Orev nods, drawing his thumb along Gideon’s lip, then brushing to catch a tear.
“Yes, Dearest.
“I’m real. I’m here with you.”
And pause. A kiss set with care to Gideon’s forehead. Then, “You take very good care of your Daddy.
no subject
Relief even as he burns molten. Even as his hand relinquishes Orev’s throat and rushes along his spine, burying and clutching at feathers. Even as Gideon gasps for breathes he can’t fully draw against the chain’s merciless clamp. Relief is already settling over him with the rush of release, pulsing violence as strong as the first encounter, rendered painful in ecstasy for all the time he went without.
(And for all the time he went without Daddy.)
He doesn’t shout; his cries are hoarse, breathless, blooms of dark spots forming in his vision and mingling with the image of Daddy above him, shadowy, vast, dangerous. (Loving. He feels it, he feels how much love there is, and it must be from Orev, it must be, because Gideon is too small, too incomplete, too broken (not enough) to embody all the love in the space between them.)
He doesn’t shout, and neither does he neglect to tend his Daddy’s ache. (It was what Draža commanded. He’ll never forget that first night he was given this (very welcome) responsibility. He’ll never forget the first time he undid his Daddy.)
The command keeps him bound to Daddy’s release, his own drawn longer and lingering, viciously slow-burning. Gideon arcs his neck, head back against the floor and throat bared to Orev, his voice breaking against thanks, against “Daddy” and “yes” and “please”, disjointed words that don’t cohere into sentence. Words that shatter into weeping laughter when pleasure grows unbearable, when his own release is wrung out and his cock overstimulated (and still, and still, and still -)
(Draža did this to him a time or two. Not always tying their releases together with command: sometimes, he would order Gideon to continue, to keep going, to come again, again, and “Oh no, Puppy. Again”, until Gideon thought his mind would break and his body would disintegrate, would shatter, would split at its seams.
(Draža never did anything to him that he didn’t love.))
When there’s nothing left but blossoming warmth and breathlessness, he falls back panting, weak, and still whispering thanks to his god.
<.>
His Puppy does so well.
Heeding Daddy’s hand and Daddy’s encouragement. Chasing every spark at Orev’s skin and grasping, a catch of feathers that steals (claims, rightly claims) a tremor of Daddy’s being, that leads Orev nearer, nearer to blinding gold and brilliance.
His Puppy follows Orev and takes him, incites and conducts him beautifully. Until Orev’s skin has turned to firestorm and he longs only for bright and brighter fire, until his lungs ache and cloud his vision, leaving one sight only, one brilliance toward which Orev rushes, one brilliance onto which he fixes focus and into which he breathes, breathes, ah Gideon.
A kiss for this man as culmination crashes toward him, inevitable as tides, as death, as finding and returning to this man.
His perfect, perfect (love) Puppy.
Who doesn’t falter.
Who arcs beneath him, around him, and its with the quaking of Puppy’s body with the fruition of shuddered groans, yeses, pleases writ in Gideon’s voice and Gideon’s breath that Orev knows ascension, as in a rush of atmosphere, the night sky gathering and spinning upward to a burst of stars, to a suspension of vision, to the bursting of bright sun.
And in this brilliance, one word echoed in his voice or in his mind, “Puppy, Puppy, Puppy.”
After, in silence, he feels warmth aglow beside him. Feels his own body gone boneless, though his arms wrap something, someone solid, and infinitely dear.
He’s curled close, he realized, and when he opens his eyes, it’s with a shock of wonder, and a smile small but true, infinitely soft.
(There you are, my lover.)
His hand’s found Puppy’s hair again, and slowly, feeling as though time’s slowed, perhaps gone absent around them, he blinks against burning eyes, and speaks—
“Ah, my Puppy.
“Beautiful.
“That was. You are. Beautiful.”
<.>
When Orev sinks against him, Gideon winds his arm around his lover's shoulders and draws him nearer still. The chain vanishes and with its absence, he's able to draw in a full, deep breath. His free hand settles against Orev's throat, cupping, his thumb lightly sweeping the other man's jaw in slow, idle arcs.
Now and again he shivers, aftershocks of pleasure racing along his spine and raising goosebumps along his flesh.
It's been so long. Yes, since they made love, or fucked, or tended one another (or, since Gideon was at Daddy's mercy), but it's been just as long since they lay together like this. (And still, it's as familiar as dancing, as kissing, as speaking 'Daddy'. He could almost pretend Daddy never left him.) When he opens his eyes to study Orev, his expression softens in a way it hasn't before, full of private tenderness.
[ DC 12 INT, Orev may remember this look. He can hazily recall the protectiveness and aftercare from Gideon that was connected to the times he felt desire/need. If he rolls a 15 or higher, he may have a full formed memory. ]
As his breathing slows and his heart finds a steady rhythm, Gideon traces a finger along the line of Orev's jaw, his own eyes rimmed wet and shining. A smile, small and uncertain but full of wonder, curves his lips.
Softly, he asks, "Are you real?"
<.>
[ intelligence: 21 ]
That tenderness; those eyes.
He’s known this look before.
(Accompanied with a brush of fingers, yes, just like now, like warm skin gentle at his jaw.) (Accompanied with ’Daddy’ spoken soft-awed.) (With an arm wrapping around him, quieting, quieting the raucousness that rose in—
Orev.
Whoever he was, before this name. A gnawing wary, volatile feeling, and he thinks (feels this like knowing) that there were times he must have known desire, known aching like he’s done this day.
It’s a thought that feels like hazard. Like something hunted. Something raging, cornered in its fear.
Something Gideon must have seen.
Something Gideon, Orev is certain, soothed.)
And now. Now, hazy, a memory swims to his mind, a distant echo growing clearer, growing close—
There’d been ecstatic reverence, there’d been a pinnacle in tandem with this man, and he knows there’s been brilliance, he knows there’d been ascendence and it ought to have turned to the warmth and ease he knows here in this room.
But something ran amiss.
But there’d been no soft sinking after, or it’d been painfully brief, because something, something shocked through the man Orev was and set his mind aflame, thoughts racing, raging and recoiling, driven into frenzy, into himself scrabbling upward, unable to stand quickly. Teeth clamping with a stumble, jarring onto one knee with the taste of iron in his mouth, tongue-bitten, then sharpness gashed along his chest and the sight of his own talons glistened, dripped with red.
He must have been speaking he must have been wild-eyed, seeking the door, feeling trapped trapped feeling ire with himself, with his desire, and he’d sought flight, sought to tear free from his skin or to shed blood or anything, anything, to quiet the howling in his mind—
But there’d been a hand at the back of his neck.
But there’d been an arm drawing his face against a throat, warm-dark and pulse still racing. A pull not forceful. A pull careful and inviting, like safety, like blessed silence.
And there’d been Gideon’s voice, cutting through the howling of a thousand half-voiced thoughts and warinesses, there’d been Gideon’s voice banishing chaotic worries: “Daddy, I’m here.
“It’s all right.
“Got you, hey, I’ve got you.”
Sensation of a form enwrapping his, of himself and this other body sinking to the floor. Puppy’s chest against his back and Puppy encouraging Orev(-not-Orev-yes-Orev) to breathe, only breathe, hey it’s okay, just breathe with me, all right?
(Then a word, a name Orev can’t fathom, can’t allow into his knowing. (Hazardous to know.) (Too soon, it’s too soon to let himself know.) A name (his name) offered in tones careful and loving. Offered like guardianship.)
In Gideon’s arms, he’d quieted. Clinging and finally, finally unashamed, unafraid. Held like that, he’d drifted off to silence, into sleep, nestling close as Gideon sang to him, a soft, achingly familiar tune.
It’s—
Oh, it draws the burn to his eyes again, and Orev doesn’t mind. Thinks, yes, this man knows him, better even than Gideon may know. Thinks even in his madness, there’d been one voice, one man who could draw him back toward himself.
Thinks, of course, of course, because isn’t that same man bringing Orev back to his own center? Doesn’t he feel like himself, almost whole, with this man.
He hears Gideon’s words now, and his own smile is complicated: wonder-struck and gentle, sorrowing and writ with adoration. And Orev nods, drawing his thumb along Gideon’s lip, then brushing to catch a tear.
“Yes, Dearest.
“I’m real. I’m here with you.”
And pause. A kiss set with care to Gideon’s forehead. Then, “You take very good care of your Daddy.
“How fortunate I am.”