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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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.

Asher rises to his knees, bloodied lips brushing Nathaniel's shoulder in a soft kiss. He slides off the bed, circling until he stands in front of Nathaniel, his gaze an almost tangible caress.

He steps close, wiping the tears from Nathaniel's cheeks with his thumbs, the only point of contact. Reaching up, he unties one of Nathaniel's cuffs, pulling rope loose quickly, catching hold of Nathaniel's wrists and grasping them tightly in one hand, carefully looping the rope around both wrists, the cuffs little more than decoration now.

"Hands and knees," he purrs.

His muscles are sore from tension and holding the same position through the beating, but he complies immediately. Nathaniel groans, the bites pulling, the throbbing of his back and ass becoming more pronounced as he shifts position.

He wants to beg Asher to touch him, wants to plea for contact. The lack of contact is almost a torture on its own, and Nathaniel whimpers into the sheets.

"You can talk, mon chat." Asher murmurs, sliding onto the bed behind Nathaniel, his hands skating down Nat's sides, holding his hips gently as Asher kneels between Nathaniel's knees. "I have had enough screams from you tonight."

Nathaniel takes in a shuddering breath, the soft touches an intense contrast to the earlier flogging.

"Please..." is all he manages. He doesn't know what he wants most from Asher, other than the touch he's already receiving. "Please..."

Asher kisses Nathaniel's back, leaning over his leopard to nuzzle his cheek softly. He grows hard, eager, hips rocking against Nathaniel's ass.

"Please what, cher?" Asher teases, knowing asking Nathaniel to speak right now is rather cruel.

The feel of Asher against him is enough to drive him to distraction. He pushes back, rubbing himself against Asher.

In such a state, he loses any sense of verbal restraint and speaks crudely. "Please fuck me," Nathaniel manages with a rough moan. His hands tighten in the sheets, his cheeks hot, and his body aching from the beating and the bites but also with growing need. "Asher..."

And who is Asher to refuse such an impassioned plea, crudely worded though it was?

Asher works a dry finger into Nathaniel, hissing softly at the tightness.

"Would you have me take you like this?" Voice quiet, Asher nips at Nathaniel's ear. "Force myself into you, make you scream for me again? Or is it pleasure you desire now?"

A shudder wracks him, and he moans.

He's conflicted.

Complete the night with a dry fucking that would leave him aching for the better part of a day, or a slick, pleasurable fucking that would bring him plenty of satisfaction.

The pain of the finger inside him, rough and without lube, makes his backside ache already, making him decide with a whimper.

"Pleasure," he breathes, afraid he'll have disappointed Asher by choosing the less painful route.

Asher pulls free, running his hand up Nathaniel's back as he reaches across to his nightstand and opens the drawer, pulling the lube out of the drawer.

He slicks up his fingers, taking his time, watching Nathaniel eagerly.