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"Way to bring the pressure." He grins against overheated skin and pulls away, a little reluctant, because it would be so easy to just get lost in this much alone. But he's got a job to do. He bends to the bag and pulls out the suspension cuffs, holding them out for Neil to slip his wrists through. An eyebrow arched, practically daring him to disobey.
Not that he thinks Neil needs a lot of daring. He usually doesn't go down easy. Wouldn't be half as fun if he did.
Not that he thinks Neil needs a lot of daring. He usually doesn't go down easy. Wouldn't be half as fun if he did.
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This... the anticipation, is half the fun, and later I might fight him, just because I can, but right now I've got no problem doing what I'm told.
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But even this has an element of theater.
He steps around, lands a slap on Neil's ass so hard that his palm stings. "Think I'm gonna leave your ankles free. Can you behave?"
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"What the fuck kind of question is that?"
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The truth is that Neil has always been more like him.
He presses himself against Neil's back, slides an arm around his middle and twists at a nipple. "Are you ever not gonna make me work for this?"
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My eyes flicker around the room for the first time since we started this. Oh yeah, he could definitely find a few.
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"You're right. I do like it." His other hand grips Neil's waistband and pulls. "Don't really feel like working around this, for one."
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When he pulls away, I breathe easy, still a hint of a smile in my voice when I say, "So get rid of 'em."
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He pops the button on Neil's fly and drops into a crouch long enough to drag the pants the rest of the way down his thighs, slapping the back of Neil's calf as he tugs them out of the way.
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Stepping out of my jeans, I try to look back at him, but I only manage to catch glimpses.
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"Don't look at me. Look at them."
His hands are moving again, still mostly gentle, up Neil's hips and sides, over his chest and belly, tracing muscle. Very even, very slow. And half his attention is focused to a sharp point, but half is wandering, looking for something - and after a few seconds he finds it.
Neil wants creative? Fine. He'll get creative.
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They're faceless, even though I've seen at least a few familiar ones tonight. The idea of them stumbling in on this isn't really as awkward as maybe it should be. But that's just me, I guess.
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He knows the man he's spotted a few yards away, not well but well enough, and after a quick consultation he returns with a medium-sized plastic case in his hand. He sets it down and opens it, pulling out a slender, cylindrical thing with a power cord and a socketed tip.
Both of them know what a violent wand is by now. Both of them have seen it used. And somewhere in the past, he's used one himself. But he's never actually taken the opportunity to make use of one like this.
He plugs the thing into an outlet set into a post by the frame. "So let's try something new, then."
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Letting out a shaky breath, I say, "Alright. Show me what you got," but there's something just slightly off about my usual cockiness.
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Turned on, it hums in his hand and glows purple fire, and he pauses, looking at it, breathing in the sharp smell of ozone. They haven't done much with burns, in everything else they've done that leaves marks, but when the spark leaps from the tip of the tube and into Neil's skin, he's wondering why he hasn't done this before.
He lets out a slow breath as he slides the wand down toward Neil's shoulderblade, one hand on his neck, fingertips tingling gently. "This okay?"