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Gentle impulsion
It's been a long time since he's done this. In some sense he's never done this.
He's had Eostre bound, blindfolded. He's been bound by her in his turn. And there had been the afternoon in her hut, with the belt, with Tom on his knees. And long before that there had been other times, times with a lot less warmth and a lot more disconnect. They hadn't been bad, not really, but they hadn't been close to this.
Or to what he imagines this could be.
It's close to half an hour since he'd left Tom in the compound. He's sitting on his bed, facing the door and waiting. Next to him is a coil of rope, his belt, his hunting knife. He's not sure what he'll use. Maybe he'll use none of it, this time. But he wants Tom to see them, as best he can in the flickering light of the two candles burning in saucers on the makeshift table beside the bed. If he doesn't use them, he wants Tom to be aware that he can. Anytime.
He realizes that it's a lot, that they haven't done much in this vein since the first baby steps that one afternoon weeks ago, that Tom might simply turn and leave if it's too much.
It's a risk he's willing to take, now. He curls his hands into loose fists and waits.
He's had Eostre bound, blindfolded. He's been bound by her in his turn. And there had been the afternoon in her hut, with the belt, with Tom on his knees. And long before that there had been other times, times with a lot less warmth and a lot more disconnect. They hadn't been bad, not really, but they hadn't been close to this.
Or to what he imagines this could be.
It's close to half an hour since he'd left Tom in the compound. He's sitting on his bed, facing the door and waiting. Next to him is a coil of rope, his belt, his hunting knife. He's not sure what he'll use. Maybe he'll use none of it, this time. But he wants Tom to see them, as best he can in the flickering light of the two candles burning in saucers on the makeshift table beside the bed. If he doesn't use them, he wants Tom to be aware that he can. Anytime.
He realizes that it's a lot, that they haven't done much in this vein since the first baby steps that one afternoon weeks ago, that Tom might simply turn and leave if it's too much.
It's a risk he's willing to take, now. He curls his hands into loose fists and waits.
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He glances down at Tom's hand, at the slick head of his dick poking out of the end of his fist. He licks his lips. It's a slip, but he does.
"Don't let me stop you. Seriously."
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"Like I was gonna let you..." he says, looking at him from beneath his lashes. "You coming or going, PInocchio?"
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He smiles, and when he does his teeth show. "You're coming, I think," he says, musingly.
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It's all for him. All of it. It always has been.
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He glances down at his shirt, at the wet spot on his stomach, and the corner of his mouth curls. "Now look what you did."
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"What do you want me to do about it?"
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