nathaniel_kitten | (no subject)

(no subject)

Nathaniel closes the door to Jean-Claude's room, leaning against it for a moment. Life had changed drastically for him since he'd first helped Jason months ago, and Jean-Claude's reaction to Jason's return made him think that maybe... no... life hadn't changed that much.

He walks down the hallway, his thoughts scattered, until he reaches the room he shares with Asher. Well, it was Asher's room, but he spends so much time in it, Nathaniel has begun to think of it as 'theirs'. His room, though, was up the hall a little ways, next to Jason's. Asher had made certain there had been a room he could call his own, even if it was only used when Asher spent time with Jean-Claude.

He pauses outside Asher's door, trying to decide if he should talk to his master or just go to his own room, and the need to speak with Asher outweighs any desire to be alone.

Pulling out his key, Nathaniel slips it into the lock and turns the handle, opening the door and stepping inside. He pauses there, eyes scanning the room for a moment. Asher wasn't there, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be. Nathaniel kicks off his shoes and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing the material to a chair before picking up a book and laying down on the bed.

And he waits, lost in the world of Narnia.

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A shiver takes Nathaniel's body, and he opens his eyes to look up at Asher.

"I keep wondering if your touch will always make my heart speed up and my cock stand to attention," he says with a half-smile.

While he'd managed to pull away from some of his vulgarity, he hasn't been able to leave it all behind.

"Mmmm, I hope to always have such an effect," Asher murmurs, lazily circling one nipple with his finger, teasing still. He smiles faintly, leaning his head on his hand as he continues to gently touch Nathaniel, distracting him utterly.

Nathaniel moans softly, lashes fluttering.

"You're making it very hard for me to be angry and depressed," he points out as his nipple draws up tight under that finger.

Asher dips his head, gently drawing his fangs across Nathaniel's pebbled nipple, a soft scrape that nonetheless draws a few scarlet beads of blood to pearl on his skin.

Moaning softly, Asher flattens his tongue against Nat's chest, licking a stripe across, lapping up every tiny drop of blood.

A strangled cry, and Nathaniel's hands delve into Asher's hair.

"That... I... oh, fuck it," he purrs. It still amazes him how swiftly his mind can be completely engulfed by Asher. He arches up against Asher's mouth, allowing the touch and scent and sound of Asher to wash away the negativity that had clung to him like a stale odor.

Asher smirks, closing his eyes as he bites down, fangs slicing easily into Nathaniel's skin, Asher letting out a thready moan as his throat works, just a few greedy swallows before he pulls back, presses his fingers to the wound.

Nathaniel gasps, eyes wide as pain lances through him, thrills him, and he stares at Asher. He swallows convulsively, so very still there on the bed as he stares into Asher's eyes.

The marks had taken the magical pleasure from Asher's bite, but it was still deliciously enjoyable to Nathaniel without such things. The pain was its own pleasure, and Asher never apologized for causing it.

Asher raises bloody fingers to his lips, delicately licking them clean, taking his time as Nathaniel trembles delicately on the bed.

"What shall it be tonight, mon chat?" He asks, wondering if this is a night to coax answers from Nathaniel, or whether his self-confident approach to Jean-Claude will spill over. Of course, Nathaniel can answer without words - reaching for the toy chest that lies at the end of Asher's bed would be answer enough.

"Blood and welts and bonds," he whispers, his eye never leaving Asher's mouth. "I need..."

He needs to forget what had been and remember what was.

What beautifully was.

Asher merely nods, moving down the bed and opening the chest. He draws out leather cuffs, lined thinly with silver to bite and nip at lycanthrope skin. Dropping them onto the bed, he adds soft rope, a long coil that whispers through his fingers to fall onto the bedsheets.

Looking at Nathaniel a long moment, Asher asks softly, "And how would you have me bleed you, mon chat? With teeth, or blades, or beatings?"

Nathaniel's eyes remain on the items Asher had laid out, a shiver of anticipation rushing through him.

"With teeth and beatings," he breathes, being as forward as he's ever been. Whatever had happened in Jean-Claude's room lingers still, and his eyes lift to Asher's in expectation.

Asher hides a smile, though his fingers slide down Nathaniel's side in a swift caress, a subtle reward.

He removes a flogger out of the chest, silver-tipped as most of their toys are; the ones designed for pain, at least. It joins the pile on the bed, the last object to be added a slender cane, black leather wrapped around one end as a handle.

"Give me your wrists, mon chat," he instructs.

His heart begins to beat faster, his skin flushing already. Obediently, Nathaniel holds out his wrists for Asher, barely able to keep from moaning at in expectation. He's already hard in his jeans, so easily brought to arousal by the thought of playing with Asher, of Asher mastering him.

He carefully buckles the cuffs around Nathaniel's wrists, softly caressing the inside of his arm with the slightest brush of fingertips, leaning in to kiss Nathaniel. He wants to collar Nathaniel, wants to own him completely. But he doesn't want to be just another in long list of men who have controlled Nathaniel, who have kept him and toyed with him. He wants to earn that trust.

Standing on the bed, Asher loops the rope through the small rings embedded into the canopy of his bed, both ends hanging down. He attaches each end of the rope to Nathaniel's cuffs, moving behind him to tug gently on the slack rope in the middle, pulling Nathaniel's arms taut, forcing him to move up onto his knees.

The slight burn of the cuffs is a delicious prelude, and Nathaniel gracefully rises onto his knees. He can still taste Asher on his lips, and already he allows himself to begin sinking into that place where pain was pleasure and the mind floated on the delightful waves of sensation.

He has come to crave these moments, so very different from all the times before, all the others who had dominated him. Asher brought him pain, but never cruelly, never out of a desire to see him hurt.

And what happened after... Well, that was as wonderful as the pain, when he felt loved and cared for, not used and discarded.

Asher sighs softly, tilting his head, enjoying Nathaniel's body spread out for him, taut and almost trembling.

He moves to kneel behind Nathaniel, picking up the flogger. Pulling tighter on the rope, he stretches Nathaniel out a little wider, shifting to the side. He pulls back his arm, swinging easily, the silver tails catching Nathaniel just above the swell of his ass.

The slight bite of the silver makes his breath catch as his eyes slide shut. His wrists ached dully, his body drawn tight by bonds, but he relaxes his muscles, refusing to tense with the blows. Tensing made it unnecessarily more painful, and he didn't want that sort of pain.

He wants release, an ability to purge what those brief moments in Jean-Claude's presence had reawakened.

Nathaniel's head falls forward, a shiver running down his spine.

Asher swings again, still not as hard as he is capable of, reddened marks littering one shoulder, then the other. It's easy to settle into a rhythm, each blow a little harder, yet still just as controlled.

He drops the flogger only when Nathaniel's skin is glowing nicely, moving close to press his hand against that hot, hot skin. He releases the slack in the rope for long enough to strip off his shirt, reaching around to Nathaniel's front to unfasten his jeans, pushing them slowly down his thighs. His cool chest is pressed to Nathaniel's back, and Asher is loathe to move away, to continue the flogging.

The contrast between his skin and Asher's causes Nathaniel to cry out, his breath huffing in and out rapidly. The relief of pressure from his erection rips a long moan from him, and he shivers in Asher's arms. His mind is a low, humming haze of pained arousal.

His back is a stinging, hot pattern of pain that lingers, cooled by Asher's skin, and the edge is taken off of the discomfort the longer Asher remains pressed to him.

Asher kisses Nathaniel's throat, his hand wrapping around Nat's cock, stroking him slowly, half reward and half torture.

"You're doing very well," he murmurs, the soft reassurance as much for him as it is for Nathaniel. Pressing one last kiss to Nathaniel's throat, he draws back and picks up the flogger again.

He doesn't hold back, barely giving Nathaniel time to breathe between blows, littering his back with marks, moving down over the swell of Nathaniel's arse, the tops of his thighs.

Nathaniel grips tightly at the bonds that hold him, crying and moaning without shame as the pain slowly, steadily, perfectly mounts. Deep in that place where pain and pleasure are easily merged into one bright, glorious feeling, he trusts Asher to know his body, know him. They'd worked hard together, establishing boundaries Nathaniel hadn't known he'd wanted, limits he'd thought he'd long lost.

But Asher had carefully retrained him, taught him, showed him what it was like to have a true master.

He pants, cheeks wet with tears and sweat, the shouts and mewls falling from his lips in cadence with the blows to his body. The pain is bright and beautiful, making his heart race, his blood pound, and his cock throb.

Asher slows his strokes, tossing the flogger aside when Nathaniel's cries become hoarse, not wishing to push him too hard, not tonight.

He kneels behind Nathaniel, pressing his lips to Nathaniel's shoulderblade, then just below, sucking hard enough to pull a little flesh between his teeth, fangs scraping gently. Pulling back, he kisses the reddened skin, eyes closed.

"Please, mon cher. Let me feed."

Even after officially claiming him as pomme de sang, Asher still asked him. It was a courtesy that Nathaniel cherished, his consent so important.

He swallows, wetting his lips and nodding almost drunkenly. Nathaniel allows his head to loll to the side, exposing his throat willingly to Asher. "Yes," he whispers.

"Not from your throat, mon chat," Asher murmurs, smiling wickedly as he traces the bumps of Nathaniel's spine with his tongue, shifting to the side to suck at soft skin, reddened and hot against his tongue. He bites Nat's back, just to the right of his spine, the line of muscles flowing into Nathaniel's bicep flexing under his mouth.

He sucks greedily, one mouthful, two, three, before pulling away, sliding further down. Bite after bite, placed at random down Nathaniel's back, Asher's fangs sinking at last into the swell of one buttcheek, Asher kneading the muscle greedily, moaning as the blood flows through him, pulsing in time with Nathaniel's heartbeat.

With each bite, Nathaniel shouts, his hands straining at the bonds, his wrists burning steadily from the silver. He can't help but writhe, the pain sharp, intense, the sucking adding to it. At the final bite, into more aching flesh, a sob is ripped from his throat, a full-body shudder taking him as he gasps for air around his quieting cries.

He can feel the blood trickling down his back, warm and wet over beaten, burning flesh. "Asher," he moans, head falling back as he stares at his bound wrists and the ceiling through tears. Arousal was heavy and insistent between his legs, which just added to every other sensation Asher gifted him with.