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It starts easy enough, with Chilchuck and a mug of freshly brewed coffee, still piping hot. A gift from Marcille, both the mug and the coffee itself, fancier beans than any he would ever buy for himself, but Laios didn‘t like the coffee—too bitter, no matter how many packets of sugar he shook into it—and so it fell to Chilchuck to drink all of it, lest Marcille, the next time her and Falin visit, be offended they didn‘t like her frankly very generous housewarming gift. It‘s less of a house than it is a few rooms, small and cramped which is all they can afford together for now, but also what they‘re used to, though Chilchuck still struggles a bit with sharing his space with someone else again.
The coffee is, admittedly, very tasty, and Chilchuck isn‘t exactly mad about the fact that he‘s the one drinking all of it. He‘s halfway through his cup when a familiar sound makes his ear twitch; Laios‘ footsteps, trekking up the stairs, a familiar rhythm. He‘s more nimble than one might assume just looking at him, though still far from light-footed. Chilchuck knows he‘s there the very second the first plank of wood bends under the weight of his body.
The way Laios opens doors, too, is peculiar: something close to tentative, like he‘s worried about disturbing somebody even in their own home; though when he‘s excited, he slams doors until they bend and splinter.
His expressions have always been easy to read, though his thoughts are a different matter altogether. For example, right now Chilchuck knows Laios is excited and bashful—both by the way he opens the door, cautious, and the expression on his face, hesitant yet brimming with barely concealed anticipation—though the cause of that could pretty much be anything. It could be something bad, or it could be something good, or it could be something both great (for Laios) and awful (for Chilchuck); something that fundamentally ruptures everything, or something that does not really change much at all. Anybody's guess, really, though Chilchuck has never been particularly fond of guessing games. So, he places his mug down, and cuts straight to the chase.
"What happened, Laios?" he asks, and Laios does a bashful sort of half-grimace that tells Chilchuck that whatever happened, it‘s not good for them both.
"I bought something," he says, "as a gift," and Chilchuck feels a pang of guilt lance through his chest, because this always makes Laios embarrassed, too, giving gifts, always worried that he picked something wrong, and Chilchuck really is an asshole for immediately assuming it‘s something bad. But then again, there‘s something about this shame that feels a little different than the usual gift giving shame. He can‘t pinpoint what exactly it is, but there‘s something in Laios‘ expression that makes him second guess things.
"What is it," he asks, slowly, and with a wince, almost as if he‘s bracing for impact, Laios pulls something out of the threadbare bag he always uses to go to the market—something wrapped in fancy looking wrapping paper, too fancy almost. Suspiciously fancy. Chilchuck couldn‘t explain the dread that rises in his chest with a knife held to his throat.
There are a million possible configurations his brain rushes through in the few seconds it takes Laios to rip open the wrapping paper, but none of them matches up even remotely with the item he ultimately produces, an item that does, in this context, make even less than zero sense, a negative amount of sense.
In Laios‘ hand is a collar, a nice one. Chilchuck stretches his hand out to reach for it without thinking, feeling the weight of it, running his thumb along its edges, leather smooth under his fingertips. It‘s well crafted, for what it‘s worth. Though a bit small.
"Where did you get this? Is it for a dog?"
Laios blushes, pink creeping up to the tips of his ears. Chilchuck still doesn‘t understand, though his instincts tell him he ought to. Suspicion prickles in his gut.
"Is this your way of telling me you want a dog? Please don‘t tell me you already got one."
Laios' blush deepens, but not in a way that suggests Chilchuck was right. No dog then. But if there‘s no dog, why is there a collar?
Chilchuck glances down at the object in his hands, then at Laios‘ empty ones, helplessly wrung in front of his body. If it was a dog, he wouldn‘t be this ashamed. So, worse than a dog. A pet monster?
"Laios," Chilchuck says, very slowly. "Are you planning on keeping a monster as a pet?"
Laios looks pained.
"No monster pets," he says, finally breaking his silence. "Those aren‘t allowed. Too dangerous. Plus I wouldn't even know what to feed…"
"So what is this? I‘m not going to play a guessing game over what animal you want to adopt."
Laios face pulls inwards. Finally, he cracks.
"It‘s not…for an animal."
Chilchuck raises an eyebrow. If not for an animal, then for what—and then, he understands, all at once. The reason why Laios is so embarrassed and the reason he can‘t bring himself to say it out loud.
It makes sense now, the expensive leather, the luxury of it. Too nice for a dog, unless you‘re someone with cash to spare. Laios certainly isn‘t. He must have saved up for this.
Really, as far as kinks go, it‘s relatively tame. Expected, even, for someone like Laios, or at least Chilchuck should have expected it. Of course Laios wants to crawl around on his hands and knees and have Chilchuck call him good boy. It‘s exactly the kind of thing that someone like him would go crazy for.
And yes, Chilchuck can kind of see it now, holding the thing up to the light…smooth, dark leather against Laios‘ pale neck, a ring to hook his finger into to pull him closer. There‘s even a small inscription on the inside, now that Chilchuck looks at it properly, the name Laios stamped into leather. There‘s something charming about it. Chilchuck can work with this for sure.
There‘s only one problem, one that entirely undoes the entire idea: the collar is way too small for Laios. There‘s no way it’d ever fit around his neck.
"Isn‘t it a bit too…small for you?" Chilchuck ventures carefully; he doesn‘t want to upset Laios, but if there‘s a way to return this thing it would have to be now, that it‘s still fresh and not covered in fluids, leather still unbroken.
Laios‘ blush only deepens. He folds his hands, then unfolds them, twiddling them in a way that makes Chilchuck‘s eyes narrow; it‘s a telltale sign there‘s a twist here he‘s missed. Unless…
The thought flashes through his mind, but Chilchuck quickly smothers it. No way. Not Laios, the guy who loves monsters so much he wants to become one. The guy who‘s confessed to Chilchuck, buzzed on cheap ale, that he sometimes wishes he‘d been born a dog.
The guy who‘s now grimacing at Chilchuck like he‘s been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.
"Well, uh. It‘s not for me. I thought, maybe you…"
Chilchuck thinks Gods. Thinks Fuck this. Thinks It is sort of pretty. Thinks What‘s wrong with me?
What he says is, "Me? Are you joking?"
Laios throws his hands up, wincing.
"It was just a thought I had."
"I‘m not going to wear a collar, Laios. I‘m not a dog."
"It doesn‘t have to be in a dog kind of way. I just thought….I don‘t know." Laios shrugs helplessly and Chilchuck tries very hard not to be endeared by his guilty expression. He‘s less mad than he is incredulous. "Maybe it‘d be fun?"
"You should have asked me before you bought this. Can you still return it?"
Laios shrinks. "I’m..not sure. It’s, uh, custom."
"Custom?" Chilchuck‘s voice peaks in a way that would fluster him in any other situation. Already he‘s mentally running through all the custom leather workers he knows and their respective commission fees. There‘s no way this is something they can afford. Not with it looking this nice and sleek. Did Laios forget about rent? About utilities? About the hole in their wall that the landlord refuses to repair even thought it was there long before they moved in?
"Gods Laios, you can‘t just…do stuff like that."
"I‘ll return it. I‘m sorry."
The way the tall-man's shoulders hunch is making it hard for Chilchuck to stay mad for long. He’s still not entirely sure if Laios knows what he’s doing, though; if maybe, just maybe, it’s all on purpose.
"It‘s fine. It‘s just…we should talk about things like this beforehand."
The very fact that this wasn‘t an impulse purchase is what annoys Chilchuck the most. It must have taken months of waiting, a time where Laios just conveniently never found the time to tell him about it. It‘s less a gift than it is an ambush. Maybe Laios thought that once Chilchuck saw the price tag he wouldn‘t make him return it. He thought wrong. Chilchuck will not be guilt tripped in such a blatant manner. Laios needs to be more sneaky about it, at least.
"You should return it. Or try to, at least. Hell, maybe you can resell this thing or something. But we won‘t have any use for it."
Laios‘ shoulders slump back, chastised. He looks like a kicked puppy. Really, in what world is Chilchuck the one who should be playing the dog here?
"I understand. I‘ll head to the shop tomorrow as soon as it opens."
"Good," Chilchuck says, but the use of tomorrow annoys him. It’s late and the shops are already closed, sure, there’s no other option, but still, something about spending the night with this thing in his general vicinity unnerves Chilchuck. The collar has an evil energy. He doesn‘t like the collar and whatever it stands for. But he can‘t just toss something this expensive, no matter how much he despises it.
Instead, he settles on staring daggers at it, imagining the leather shriveling up under his gaze. Just to make sure that Laios gets the hint that Chilchuck really, really, doesn’t like it.
Laios has headed out again, with the promise he’d buy some liquor to make things up to Chilchuck. It’s not exactly necessary, but he won’t say no to free booze, and if it makes Laios feel better, then it‘s a win-win situation all around. Chilchuck, for one, can‘t wait to get drunk later, forgetting this whole embarrassing escapade. He is, after all, his father’s son. When it comes to the drink, and when it comes to dealing with emotionally challenging situations.
The collar sits, once again carefully wrapped in its packaging, courtesy of Laios, on the table, taunting him. Just try me on, it whispers, just for a second. It would make Laios so happy. Are you really such a selfish piece of shit that you can‘t even do your partner this one small favor?
"Shut up," Chilchuck hisses, and he picks up the package and shakes it (gently), imagines ripping it open once more just to set the ugly, needlessly expensive thing on fire.
Remember how your wife left you, the collar croons, muffled through wrapping paper. Remember everything Laios does for you and how all you ever do is take and take?
"I hate you," Chilchuck says, but he does remember. "Laios wouldn‘t leave me just because I‘m not doing some kink stuff for him."
Well, it‘s more about you not trying, the collar says, If you tried me on once and didn‘t like it, then you could tell him you felt uncomfortable and he‘d be grateful you gave it a shot, rather than disappointed you didn‘t care enough to even try me on.
Chilchuck grinds his teeth. The collar does have a point.
Plus, the collar says, maybe you‘ll like it. Are you scared that maybe you‘ll like how it feels to belong to someone again?
"Shut up," Chilchuck says. "You‘re ugly."
Don‘t get personal, the collar says. Then, Besides, you know that’s not true. I know that you know that's not true. You can still return me if you just try me on once. Just once.
Chilchuck narrows his eyes. He imagines chewing through the leather like the rats always milling about the streets that he sometimes feeds crumbs of his lunch.
"Just once," he agrees.
He‘s held the collar before, but something about this time feels different. Weightier. His fingertips tingle where they touch the fine leather, and Gods, is it fine. Luxurious and expensive; Chilchuck can’t remember the last time he’s held something this new and precious. Was it meant as a gift? If Chilchuck was the one supposed to be wearing it, then Laios did give it to him, technically, even though it was his own perverted desires he was satisfying. Nobody has ever gifted Chilchuck something this expensive. He doesn’t want to blush, and when his reflection looks at him all dreamy, cheeks dusted pink, a part of him wants to drive his fist through the mirror.
There‘s a small padlock too, nice and shiny and unused. He could pick it in a heartbeat, if it was in front of him like this; clicked shut around the buckle at the back of his neck it‘d take some time. He can‘t do this himself, anyways. He‘s not going to use the lock. He doesn‘t need to use the lock. He will just do this real quick, and it won’t mean anything, and it’s just so Chilchuck can tell Laios that he tried, that he respects him enough to give it a shot, that he’s someone who’s fun and can try new things too, sometimes.
Tentatively, Chilchuck lifts the collar up to his neck, wrapping the leather straps around his neck. His heartbeat quickens, even if he doesn’t want it to, if he tells himself there’s nothing at all that makes his pulse jump about it, and excitement is a fist closing around his heart. The collar fits snugly, almost too well—did Laios take measurements? When did Chilchuck change from a person careful not to give too much of himself away to a person whose neck can be secretly measured? And why does that thought not bother him nearly as much as it should?
The buckle at the back is easy enough, familiar movements thanks to the straps of his jerkin, but a shudder runs down Chilchuck‘s neck as he thinks about Laios buckling it for him. The padlock clicked shut. A key turned in a lock. Laios‘ voice, breathy: All mine.
It fits like a dream, skin-tight yet not uncomfortable. But if Laios leaned in real close, pulled at the ring in front, cutting Chilchuck‘s breath short…
"I hate you," Chilchuck whispers into the mirror, meaning the collar. "I hate this."
The problem is just that he doesn‘t.
Chilchuck‘s justifications for putting the collar on were rather flimsy. More confusing yet is the fact that by the time Laios rolls back around, he‘s still wearing the damned thing. Even more baffling, it‘s not like Chilchuck didn‘t hear Laios arrive, like he could ever possibly miss that noise. No, Chilchuck heard Laios, and he waited, stupidly, collar still around his neck, as each window of opportunity to escape this situation without giving Laios false hope slammed shut behind him.
And then, Laios is standing in the doorway, that same worn out bag dangling from his arm again, and what Chilchuck notices, poking out at the top, is what looks to be his very favorite, very expensive whiskey, the kind that’s imported from his hometown, and suddenly, Chilchuck feels a lot less bad about the collar situation, and a lot more indulgent—which coincidentally also helps assuage all his own doubts about the situation. Thank you, alcohol. Universal fixer of all problems.
Laios’ eyes have gone wide as saucers.
"You‘re wearing it," he says weakly, and Chilchuck can‘t keep a blush from creeping on his cheeks, because it‘s still embarrassing, and no amount of gifted liquor can help wash away that shame. Unless he drinks it, that is. That‘s what it was made for, after all. His two beautiful, beautiful vices, still hovering in the doorway. Laios and the bottle.
"It taunted me," Chilchuck says. "The collar."
"It did? I mean, it‘s not magical or anything so I don‘t think…"
Chilchuck cuts him off. "It taunted me. And…I thought I should at least try, you know. Since you try all sorts of stuff for me too, in bed."
He takes a step forward, then another one. Slowly, drawing it out, and of course it works, it always does, and Chilchuck can pinpoint the exact moment Laios switches from disbelief to awe, the very second his composure shatters to dust.
"It looks…wonderful on you," he stutters. "I mean I don‘t even know what to say. It‘s just….you're so beautiful." He hesitates. "But you didn‘t have to. I don‘t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don‘t want to."
Chilchuck is right next to him now, can hear his heart tripping over itself.
"Give me that," he says and pulls the bottle from the bag, holding it up to the light approvingly. Expensive and nostalgic and delicious to boot, Laios really must have wanted to please him. It makes Chilchuck want to please him in turn.
No corkscrewer, but that doesn‘t matter; Chilchuck sinks his teeth into the cork and pulls it free, spitting it to the floor once it‘s out. Then, he takes a long swig, savoring Laios‘ apology and the thing that will give Chilchuck the bravery to do what he has to.
The alcohol is perfectly bitter, pure warmth as it runs down his throat and spreads throughout his body, a dull, pleasant glow. He won‘t get drunk from just a few sips, and it won‘t hit him this quickly, but fuck it, it‘s enough for bravery and plausible deniability, a nice buzz so he won‘t have to worry that much.
"Tell me again."
"You’re so beautiful. So gorgeous."
Chilchuck grins.
"A little bit meaner. Prove it. That you need me so bad you can‘t keep pretending."
Laios finally closes the door behind him, takes a step closer. His breath is a wet rasp in his throat. Something simmering, just under the surface, straining to break free.
"I….want to devour you. Right here. I don‘t want anyone else to ever get to look at you again."
Finally, he‘s being honest.
"Good. What else?"
Laios licks his lips, almost nervous. Chilchuck is so close he can almost taste them, feel the brush of them against his cheek, just a little bit perfectly chapped.
"I want to fuck you until you can‘t walk."
Chilchuck grins, all teeth. There it is, the Laios he loves so much. The one he fell for, so long ago. Bloodied mouth and a fire roaring inside him. "Yes. That‘s it."
The alcohol still burns in his throat. Chilchuck takes one last languid swing, watching Laios watching him out of the corner of his eyes, then hooks a finger into Laios‘ belt, pulling him deeper inside the room. Rather, it would be pulling if it wasn‘t for the strength disparity between them; like this, Laios is coming entirely on his own accord, but Chilchuck doesn‘t mind. The push and pull of it makes things more exciting. Not knowing if Laios will obey, though he always, inevitably does.
The bottle is too precious to risk knocking to the floor accidentally, no matter how much Chilchuck would love to keep it on hand, but it‘s served its purpose, anyhow. It watches, safely stashed on the kitchen table, as Chilchuck leads Laios through their small, cozy home.
The size difference sometimes makes things difficult between them. Laios can always crouch, sure, but while Chilchuck will never grow tired of seeing this giant of a man fold himself small for his sake, he also relishes in seeing Laios‘ size unfurling in front of him, in being pushed down and towered over. It‘s times like these that the table in the center of the room they use for meals is perfect for; sturdy oak, it holds when Laios lifts Chilchuck on top, leaning down to hover above him. (Fortunately, Laios studiously wipes it down after every meal to prepare for occasions like these, ever since Chilchuck told him he doesn‘t like fucking over the remnants of yesterdays dinner.)
Laios, thank the Gods, doesn‘t wait until he‘s asked, not now, not today; he‘s kissing over Chilchuck‘s jaw almost frantically, like his only way to breathe is with his lips pressed to Chilchuck‘s skin. Hand slipped under Chilchuck's loose shirt, hungry for touch, inching up his waist. Laios' weight pressing down, perfectly suffocating.
Then, of course, he breaks away, that godforsaken uncertainty that Chilchuck spends all his days trying to exorcize creeping in again.
"Like this?" Laios asks, his voice dripping with the need for approval; but Chilchuck won‘t give him that, not now. Laios is all wrong, too eager to please, not what Chilchuck is looking for. Not what Laios is really thinking, either; Chilchuck has, by now, developed a sensitivity towards Laios‘ desires, specifically the ones he‘s still ashamed of. He knows the wide-eyed, fawning adoration that the tall-man tends to default towards, something that‘s nice and sweet but has a high possibility of ending in tender missionary, and that‘s well and good if it‘s what they‘re both truly after—and sometimes, it is. Not now, though. Not when Laios bought Chilchuck a collar, wants to make him a pet. He‘ll have to earn that with something more dominating. Chilchuck will make him earn it.
"If you want me to wear this thing again," he whispers, "you need to prove that you‘re willing to do your part, too." Chilchuck lets his voice dip down even lower, savors the way Laios leans in again to catch every word. "Why do you want me to wear this? Tell me."
Laios‘ heart stutters in his chest, his breathing gone heavy. He‘s fighting with himself, Chilchuck knows, unsure of how far he can go. Some part in Laios‘ mind still can‘t quite believe that Chilchuck wants him at his worst.
So, Chilchuck needs to prove it to him, again and again, until it sticks; slowly coax him out of himself no matter how long it takes. What he gets for his efforts though, will be worth it; always is. It‘s why Chilchuck does his part all over again, tilts his head to the side to bare his neck and parts his lips and bats his lashes, does his best to make his eyes go big and round and innocent, no matter how calculated it is.
Every single thing about it signals submissions, a well coordinated dance that they‘re doing. Chilchuck knows his steps, and when he parts his legs, spreads them wider, the way Laios‘ jaw flexes tells him that he‘s close to the tipping point. Chilchuck has always been good at this sort of thing, slowly and carefully unwinding things, testing out mechanisms until he finds out what fits. There‘s a cage inside Laios that he keeps his rage in, his desire, his hunger, and Chilchuck knows how to pick the lock by now.
The thrill of it, the knowledge that any second he could push too far and make Laios retreat into himself again, only makes it more exciting. Chilchuck is good at picking locks and he‘s good at pulling Laios out of his shell and he loves doing it, the reward of getting to see a side that no one else could even imagine, a Laios that‘s just for him, his own Laios, snapping teeth and bruises that trail all the way down Chilchuck‘s hips that he gets to admire in the mirror the next morning.
Laios groans. "So that…so that everybody knows who you belong to. That you‘re mine."
Chilchuck‘s voice is breathy, more of a gasp.
"I‘m yours. Yes."
Laios’ hand on Chilchuck’s neck, cupped over leather. Fingers so close to that ring. A leash could be slipped through it, Chilchuck realizes. Laios could drag him on his hands and knees through town.
"NWhat if I‘ve been… bad," he whispers, and Laios’ eyes gleam.
"Ah?"
His hand travels upwards, to Chilchuck’s jaw; thumb sliding past his lips to press down on his tongue.
"How bad?"
Laios thumb lifts, just a bit, enough for Chilchuck to answer.
"Very bad. You need to—ah—put me in my place."
Something in Laios‘ eyes glimmers, that familiar, hidden thing. Only Chilchuck knows it‘s even there, because Laios has spent a lifetime learning how to properly lock it behind bars and hide it from sight, and he loves that, the intimacy of getting to see a part of Laios only he can see, teasing the beast until it chews through the bars of its cage. Loves that moment when he sees the first few licks of the flame, and then, reaching inside to make it scorch up sky-high.
"You want that?" Laios asks, and there’s still hesitation to his voice, but less of it. This is it, the final crossroads, the moment when Chilchuck gets to double down and help Laios truly embrace himself. "You want me to punish you? You want me to be… rough? "
Too much and he‘s scared off, still terrified of his own capacity for violence. It‘s a delicate balance, but Chilchuck knows how to walk it by now, how to pull Laios, piece by little piece, free of his shell. He tilts his head downwards in a way he knows shoots straight to Laios‘ core, a gesture of submission, willingness to please, and Laios‘ grip loosens enough for Chilchuck to give a small, careful nod. Slowly, to show Laios he‘s thought this through, he‘s completely certain. He won‘t be scared of whatever Laios lets loose.
Laios hesitates, just for a bit, but his restraint is already slipping; Chilchuck knows when to push his advantage, how to pick his moment and finally sever the last of Laios‘ restraint, at least for the time being. He curls his lips around Laios‘ thumb, no longer pressing down but hovering there, almost like Laios isn’t quite sure what to do with it, and he sucks, and watches something behind Laios‘ eyes split open.
His free hand is at Chilchuck‘s throat, then, large enough to wrap around it with even a single hand, down under the collar, pushing it upwards to ride high on Chilchuck‘s neck. Chilchuck can feel Laios‘ fingers curled around his throat, knuckle by knuckle, the grip on his jaw that‘s bruising without even meaning to be.
All it‘d take would be a flick of the wrist, a quick jerk like with the rabbits he‘s seen Laios kill. It squeezes all air out of Chilchuck‘s lungs. Laios doesn‘t even need to do anything, doesn‘t need to press down; already he‘s got Chilchuck breathless.
"I need you to..." he rasps, muffled by Laios’ thumb but no longer able to hide the desperation in his voice. "Please. "
Laios does a thing he usually never does, a thing that seems so unfamiliar on his face yet suits him so wonderfully: he scoffs, a quick, derisive noise that makes Chilchuck almost moan. This, exactly, is what he needs, and if he has to wear a collar to help him drag it out of Laios, then he‘ll put the stupid thing on the second he wakes up.
Laios‘ voice is low, almost a growl.
"You acted like you didn‘t like it, and look at you now. I got all worried over nothing…I actually went out to buy you a bottle just to make up for it, meanwhile you were just waiting for me to walk out of the door, right?"
Around Laios‘ thumb, so big in his mouth, Chilchuck‘s lips stretch into a grin that tries for shit-eating but ends up mostly blissful.
"Yeah."
He wasn‘t, but that doesn‘t matter now; he submerges himself in a fantasy where he did wait for Laios to leave, where he just wanted to tease him, a bratty, insolent version of himself that needs to be put in its place.
And Laios, once he‘s pushed and prodded out of his comfortably tempered hiding spot, is all too willing to mete out punishment where it‘s desired.
"You probably wish this thing was tighter, don‘t you? Choking you out."
Laios is right, and he knows it, but Chilchuck moans an affirmation anyways, feels Laios‘ grip tighten, just a bit; tempting him with all that strength, just waiting to be unleashed. Like Chilchuck knows Laios, Laios also knows him. Knows not to give in too easily, that there‘s still a long way to go to get Chilchuck truly desperate, that every bit of patience he has now will be rewarded tenfold.
Laios‘ thumb slips free from Chilchuck‘s mouth, and he cries at the loss of it, at being expected to speak now, when he wants to let his mind trickle away, every semblance of thought slowly vanishing down the drain. He wants—no, needs—to be utterly hollowed out, made peaceful in mindlessness, and the only road towards that he‘s found so far is being filled up completely. Pushed past the brink.
"You‘re such a slut," Laios whispers, the slut almost tentative, a new word he‘s testing out, and Chilchuck moans at the sound of it, hips lifting off the table and arching up towards Laios. Slut has bite. He wants to be a slut—Laios‘ slut, wants him to spit the word like an insult.
Laios gets it, of course he does. He‘s ripping at Chilchuck‘s clothes now, still careful until Chilchuck hisses, "Tear them," through his teeth; then, Laios starts shredding the fabric, huge strips torn loose and fluttering down to the floor. In a matter of seconds Chilchuck‘s chest is bared, and he couldn’t give less of a shit about this shirt, because this, this, is what he‘d been angling for, this is what makes it all worth it. It‘s what Laios wants to do every single time until he stops himself and glances away to undo the buttons instead, what Chilchuck could never ask of him using words without risking a Laios that feels exposed rather than seen, that draws back all the way into his shell. Chilchuck wants to slam their heads together until he can taste blood, wants Laios‘ blunt nails digging into his windpipe, but Laios refuses to let himself want it, too, until Chilchuck has whittled away at his doubts long enough.
Chilchuck wants to spit in their faces, every single needling voice that led Laios to thinking he couldn‘t be himself anymore. Everyone who made him believe that being intimidating is always a bad thing. So often already, Chilchuck has wished he had what Laios had, that huge, imposing body, the strength to make nobody hassle him on the street, no snide comments or people thinking they can take advantage of him without any risk. Laios is too kind, always has been, but Chilchuck will show him, bit by painstaking bit, that he has a voice, that he shouldn‘t let people treat him like he‘s lesser just because he won‘t punch their faces in at the slightest provocation. Laios is too beautiful to be afraid of his body. Afraid of what he wants.
Chilchuck throws his head back as Laios mouths over his chest, his collarbone, teeth skipping over skin, and it takes every ounce of restraint in his body not to beg Laios to bite down already. He wants those teeth digging down into muscle, Laios' pupils blown out with bloodlust. Their living room table turned into a slaughterhouse.
Laios catches Chilchuck's wrists in one hand, both of them above his head, and Chilchuck squirms just to revel in the knowledge he can’t get away; flexes his arms to feel Laios’ grip tighten. It‘s not real fear, never with Laios, but it‘s a thrill, a pleasant sense of excitement that always flares up when the tall-man gets this way, finally stepping out of himself and baring those fangs.
Finally: Laios’ teeth, dragging over Chilchuck’s skin, face buried in the crook of his neck; he’s so close that Chilchuck can hear the blood in his veins, pumping. He wants him so bad his entire body hurts.
"I could tie you up but I don‘t even need to," Laios murmurs, breath so warm on Chilchuck’s ears, lips so close to the tender shell of them.
Chilchuck only whimpers; there‘s nothing else he can do.
"Please."
"Maybe I‘ll do it anyway. Just because it‘d look pretty. Make you even more helpless."
Chilchuck wants to beg, but he can‘t find the words to do it. His tongue won‘t obey him. If Laios doesn‘t tie him up, he thinks, Chilchuck might die.
Laios’ voice, like it’s coming from inside him. Laios’ lips, brushing the shell of his ear. "I could just do that and leave you like that. Keep you in my bed for when I‘m bored."
Then, the free hand traveling downwards, finally, and Chilchuck is so relieved he might cry; thick callused fingers snake past the waistband of his underwear, brushing over the downy soft of his pubes, the edge of his cunt.
"You’re so wet already," Laios whispers, voice dipped in reverence. He’s forgotten, just for this moment, that he’s supposed to be mean. Or maybe, to admire and to hurt have always been two sides of the same dangerous coin for him; Chilchuck has seen Laios cut down creatures that made his breath stop with awe. If one day Laios kills him, too, then Chilchuck will know he's truly been loved.
Laios’ thumb, so big, rubbing over Chilchuck’s slit, teasing the very first fold of it, and it’s almost torturous, to have him so close but not inside, to be stretched thin like this. Chilchuck knows he shouldn’t, but he moans anyways, arches his hips upwards to spur Laios on, but of course it only makes him pull his thumb away, of course of course of course.
"Laios," strangled; Chilchuck’s nails digging into the soft of his palm where his hands are pinned to the table. "Please. "
Laios’ grip tightens. He hesitates, just for a little bit, and Chilchuck can see it, the internal turmoil, the war being fought deep in his chest, the coin flipping back and forth again. Laios wants to give him what he wants, but he also doesn’t; it’s the same for Chilchuck, too. He wants this, but he wants Laios to tease him, too, for how much better things will get if he does, and he hopes, deep down, that he’s done enough to drag it out of Laios, that meanness, that part of him that likes to watch Chilchuck squirm.
Laios hesitates, and then something inside him shifts, a light in his eyes being dimmed just a bit, and thrill wrestles with breathless anticipation in Chilchuck’s chest, because he knows this Laios, too, knows this expression, and he might just be the only one to do so. Laios will be mean today. And Gods, Chilchuck needs him to be, so much his entire body shakes with it, lips parting to let a breathy moan slip out that makes Laios’ grip on his wrists tighten even more. It’ll leave bruises. It’ll leave wonderful, beautiful bruises, and Laios will apologize again and again when he sees them later on, and Chilchuck will smile and tell him it’s okay, that he wanted this, and he’ll spend the next few days watching Laios’ gaze drift to them when he thinks Chilchuck isn’t paying attention, that flame simmering somewhere behind his eyes.
"You haven’t earned this yet," Laios whispers, and his voice is not cruel but not kind either, just matter of fact, and it stings just right. Chilchuck hasn’t earned this yet. Laios will make him earn it.
He moans, bucking his hips, but there’s nothing to buck against, no friction, and Laios’ won’t help him, won’t let him help himself.
Chilchuck revels in it, the helplessness. There's nothing he can do, and Laios knows it, too, has known it all along, has known that this is what he wanted, what he craved, what he needed, has needed, always. He’s so lucky. That Laios is just the perfect amount of cruel. That there’s this side of him that wants to own, wants to possess and consume and make Chilchuck his. It’s just perfect. Laios always hungry; Chilchuck always needing someone's teeth at his throat.
"We could get matching restraints," Laios whispers, voice breathy at Chilchuck’s ears, making him squirm. "Would you like that? Cute little cuffs for you to wear with your collar. Maybe a gag so you don't need to worry about talking anymore. Pets don‘t talk."
Chilchuck wants that so bad his body aches with it.
"Please," he gasps, "please", and Laios lets out a chuckle that sounds so foreign coming from those lips.
"God, you love that. I really can't believe you were throwing such a tantrum over the collar at the beginning. Unless maybe you wanted me to push you down and put it on you while you squirm. Is that what you wanted?"
Chilchuck moans, eyes rolling back, because it is, and it was, and Laios knows it somehow, when even Chilchuck didn’t realize it before this. Laios could have tackled him and wrapped the collar around his neck and swallowed the key and Chilchuck would have loved him for it.
"Belt, please," he gasps out, and Laios stops short.
Chilchuck‘s hands, where Laios pinned them, flex, and another choked off "Belt", claws its way out of his throat, and Laios gets it, then, what he‘s supposed to be doing, what Chilchuck is begging him for.
"Oh", Laios says, "Alright," and he‘s grabbing for it, still wrapped around his waist, he didn‘t even undress, and it‘s inelegant, trying to unbuckle it with only one hand, but Chilchuck could kiss Laios for the fact he doesn‘t let go of his wrists.
Finally, Laios got it, and the leather strap—just a normal belt on Laios, so big compared to Chilchuck‘s arms—wraps around Chilchuck‘s wrists, still pinned above him, down the length of his forearm, and he gasps in delight when Laios pulls the belt taut and buckles it. It‘s just a little bit too tight, in the perfect way, and while Chilchuck knows this kind of stuff can get dangerous, he doesn‘t, at that moment, care in the slightest. They can play with fire, just a little bit, and if it turns out a nerve actually got pinched or something, that‘s what healers are for, and Laios does know a little bit of magic, so maybe he could even do it himself. His mana, weaving into Chilchuck‘s body, melting into him, and the thought of it is so wonderful that Chilchuck wants Laios to tear a bite of his flesh out just so he can then heal the wound.
He sighs in contentment, testing the bonds, where thick leather presses against him and constricts his movements. His brain has long shut off by now; it‘s all just feeling, desire, a flame curled up in the pit of his stomach, licking at his bones.
It‘s good to be like this, Chilchuck thinks. Simple and relieved of responsibility, just Laios‘ problem, now. The almost instinctive revulsion he had at the thought of being a pet, a dog, something to be owned, has melted away, turned into something softer and more malleable. A dog, Chilchuck thinks, is not such a bad thing to be.
Laios, finally, is touching him again, both hands now free, roaming over his body, groping and squeezing, dipping up under his shirt to cup over his chest and tweak a nipple. Chilchuck whimpers, writhes, but he knows it's hopeless, knows he can‘t shake off Laios‘ touch, and he loves that knowledge, the utter certainty of his own helplessness that curls up in his stomach and makes the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Makes his clit throb, too, where he‘s soaking through his underwear, and then, as if summoned, Laios‘ hands are sliding down Chilchuck‘s body, staccato step over his ribs, and he‘s hooked his thumbs in the band of Chilchuck‘s underpants, pulling them slowly, painfully down his thighs.
The way the air hits his pussy is torture. Chilchuck whines, a desperate, frantic noise, but then a large hand presses over his mouth, muffling his moans, and Chilchuck shivers at how easy it is for Laios to do this, how there‘s nothing at all he can do to stop him.
"You‘re so loud," Laios whispers, and the edge of annoyance in his voice makes Chilchuck‘s eyes roll back in his skull.
That calloused thumb, again, skips over Chilchuck‘s slit, the slightest amount of pressure exerted that leaves him aching for more.
"Do you want to wear this outside? Your collar? Show off to everyone who you belong to?"
Chilchuck can‘t answer, but he lets out a muffled noise, something desperate and affirmative from behind Laios‘ warm palm.
"You want everybody to see that you‘re owned? What a good little pet you are? So hungry for tallman-dick."
They shoot through Chilchuck like lightning, Laios‘ words do. He‘s glad he can‘t talk, that it‘s not expected of him, Laios taking the responsibility of speech off his shoulders. He's forgotten how to even work his tongue.
"You want to go to your union meeting and show your new collar off to everyone? Let them know how much you love being a tall-man's little toy?"
Where Laios learned to talk dirty like this, Chilchuck has no idea, but the words ripple their way down his spine, make his eyes roll back in their sockets.
The knowledge that he could, still, at any point stop Laios, could call this whole thing off or swerve them towards some very loving missionary instead, sits curled up comfortably somewhere in the very back of Chilchuck‘s brain. He could, but he doesn‘t want to. He wants this Laios, this true, honest version of himself that he always keeps buried, to blossom out instead, to tend to this fire until it spreads out to burn him to ashes.
Chilchuck wants Laios to get meaner. Wants him to slap and bite and curse at him.
Then, with no warning and no way for Chilchuck to brace himself, two fingers slide in, to the third knuckle—just how wet is he?—and Chilchuck throws his head back with a moan that shakes his entire body, claws its way out of his throat almost violently only to be garbled by Laios‘ palm.
Laios‘ hand is over his mouth, and then it‘s at his throat, pulling at the ring in front, and the air is squeezed out of Chilchuck‘s lungs so deliciously, leaving him light-headed and dizzy. Not quite choking yet, but close to it, a few skipped beats in his heart when he thinks that maybe, just maybe, the next breath won‘t make it out of his throat.
"D—Daddy!"
The second the word leaves Chilchuck‘s lips he already regrets it, wishes he could reel it all the way back inside. But if Laios gets his thing, the collar, then Chilchuck should get to have something too, right? It‘s only fair.
Laios halts for just one second, then he‘s going again, hot growl at the crook of Chilchuck‘s neck, "Yes, puppy", and Chilchuck loves him with such feverish intensity he almost chokes on it.
There are no more thoughts, no more worries, just Laios pistoning into him, in and out at a pace that‘s dizzying, that has left Chilchuck‘s brain somewhere besides the wayside. Chilchuck lets his mouth do the talking without even thinking, because he can‘t, not anymore. He‘s just his body, a cluster of nerves that seizes up every time Laios drives up into him.
"Laios…daddy… "
Laios groans like he‘s not just using fingers, like he‘s fucking up into Chilchuck properly, full body exertion.
"You’re my little doll to play with. I can just…" his hand gone from the collar, pulling Chilchuck‘s shirt up to his collarbones to flick a nipple, making him whine, "do whatever i want to."
Laios is red-faced too, face damp with sweat, tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips. "You…you can't even stop me."
"I can‘t," Chilchuck gasps, voice straining at the edges like he‘s about to cry, though he can‘t tell whether from joy or overstimulation. He can‘t, and he couldn‘t, and he‘s at Laios‘ mercy, really, has been all along. Always is, every second they‘re together; living with Laios is a constant dance with a force of nature that could topple him over in a heartbeat, and by the Gods Chilchuck just wants to be swept off his feet.
Maybe because he knows, maybe because he just feels the same way, maybe a mixture of both, but Laios drives the dagger deeper in, leaning down now, lips brushing Chilchuck‘s ear, still keeping a merciless pace as he fucks him.
"You’re so cute and helpless," whispered, voice raspy, dripping with something Chilchuck can’t quite identify. Hunger, yes, but also something else. Condescension. The thing Chilchuck has loathed all his life, but now, from Laios’ lips, it makes his heart lurch, but not in a bad way.
"Fuck, daddy," Chilchuck whimpers, and he barely recognizes his voice. He‘s almost in hysterics. This pathetic, sputtering, begging mess—that’s what Laios has reduced him to. Just two fingers, a belt, and his words and Chilchuck has been torn to pieces. And he wouldn‘t want it any other way.
"You’re so needy," Laios mumbles, "so desperate," and it‘s like he doesn‘t even care if Chilchuck hears it, he just wants to say it out loud. Chilchuck‘s nails dig into his palm, arms straining against the belt keeping them tethered together; he doesn‘t know what he‘d even do if he got free, it‘s just instinctual, like the way his thighs keep trying to close around Laios‘ arm even though Chilchuck couldn't bear it if he stopped pistoning in. Any second now, he‘s going to lose it, and it‘s a wonder that he hasn‘t already, Laios is just going way too fast, giving no break, no chance for Chilchuck to keep up with him, and the wave inside him keeps building and building higher, a crescendo that just won‘t stop, pushing past every limit.
Laios‘ voice, wet at Chilchuck‘s ears again, whispering, "You‘re like a bitch in heat," with a trace of utter derision in his voice, and that‘s what does it, the words or the way Laios says them or both, that‘s what finally pushes Chilchuck past the breaking point, and with a strangled, garbled wail that he can‘t even believe came out of his lips, he cums, and he keeps cumming, for longer than what feels possible, wave after wave of pleasure crashing down over his head, so much that it borders on painful.
Chilchuck isn‘t quite himself anymore, that‘s how good it feels. Like he‘s left his body behind and is soaring, up over the clouds, pushed to a place where all sensations melts together into one deep thrumming in his bones.
He can‘t stop shaking. His muscles won‘t work right. Chilchuck feels wrung out, utterly exhausted, but absolutely satisfied. That might just have been the best orgasm of his life.
Above him, Laios slumps down, and Chilchuck can feel it happening, the way he switches back, how that hunger leaves his eyes and his spine goes from rigid to bent again.
Laios‘ breathing is heavy, like he‘s the one who just got fingered into oblivion.
"That was……"
"Yeah." Chilchuck swallows. "Yeah."
Slowly, blink by blink, he‘s getting dragged into his body again. Still, everything is so raw. The light seems too bright, his clothes too rough where they rub against him. The muscles in his arms tingle, and the belt bites into his skin, though not unpleasantly.
It‘s not quite pain yet, but a prelude to it. Once his body is his own again, Chilchuck knows he‘ll be incredibly sore. Knows, too, that it‘ll still be worth it.
Laios has pulled his fingers out again, when he did Chilchuck isn‘t even sure, and he‘s just holding his hand in between them now, awkwardly, like he isn‘t quite certain what to do anymore. Already, it‘s strange to believe this is the person who just did that to him. If Chilchuck hadn‘t seen it, he might not have believed it himself.
It’s not how they’re supposed to do it, not right now, but Laios has done so well already asserting himself, that Chilchuck doesn’t mind easing him out of it, giving him a little push.
"Go ahead," he whispers, still dazed. "Taste it."
Laios does. He raises his fingers to his mouth, slowly, then slips them between his lips, eyelids fluttering shut in delight. Chilchuck knows that look. Has seen it countless times, down in the dungeon, hunched over the latest oddity Senshi has cooked up for them. Once upon a time, Chilchuck would have been insulted at this, at being savored by someone with a palate as fucked up as Laios’ is. Now, though, he takes it as a compliment. Love goes through the stomach, after all.
"So good," Laios murmurs, muffled through his fingers, sucking on the length of them. It‘s almost obscene. If Chilchuck wasn‘t this exhausted, it would get his head spinning all over again.
Then, Laios‘ eyes flutter open. A moment of hesitation, before he slowly pulls the fingers from his mouth, soaked in saliva, and lowers them towards Chilchuck, who knows what‘s expected of him and obediently parts his lips.
"Want you to know," Laios whispers, voice dreamy, like he‘s somewhere far away, "how good you taste."
All Chilchuck can taste is Laios‘ saliva, but that‘s fine; his thoughts are still muddled, his brain still stuck in that mode where he‘s just eager to please. So, he sucks, curling his tongue along the knuckles of Laios‘ broad fingers, hollowing his cheeks just for the way the tall-man‘s eyes gleam at the effort.
Laios‘ voice is soft, tender. "So good. Doing so well."
On instinct, Chilchuck preens, basking in the praise. He can never get enough of this; really, they‘re both always starving for approval. Chilchuck likes to think he‘s more subtle about it than Laios is, less desperate, but as much as he hates that fact, the way praise makes his heart flutter is proof of how badly he needs it.
"I want to….taste it again," Laios murmurs, and Chilchuck‘s tongue, on Laios‘ fingers, stills. He knows that look, that gleam in Laios‘ eyes. The way he holds his body, how his lips are slightly parted, showing a sliver of teeth. He‘s hungry again.
There’s a certain thrill shooting through Chilchuck’s body at how insatiable Laios is, how badly he wants him, but there’s fear, too; he’s still overstimulated and aching, unsure how much he can take without falling apart.
He bites his lip, arms flexing against the belt still keeping them tethered.
"Laios if you…"
"I thought it was up to me," Laios interrupts. There’s something flickering behind his eyes, something new. Not what Chilchuck was searching for, but something he might have unleashed on accident. That‘s the thing about opening cages. You never know what else slinks out.
"I thought I was supposed to be the one deciding."
"You are," Chilchuck whispers, though the tremor in his voice betrays him. "You decide."
Laios seems satisfied with that answer. Handing the reins over to him is terrifying, but exciting too, and Chilchuck wants it, all the way down to his bones, the core of his being. He wants Laios to take the lead and to push him so far past his limits that he may never find his footing again.
Laios‘ breath is warm against Chilchuck‘s slick pussy, still raw nerves seizing up just from this, not even a touch yet. Chilchuck‘s nails dig into his palms again, teeth clenched together as he prepares for Laios to start, though of course, nothing could really be enough for that.
Laios glances up, a tentative look that‘s almost ironic considering the fact that it‘s him who‘s doing this, him who‘s choosing this.
"Ready?" he asks, and Chilchuck grits his teeth and swallows the curses stuck in his throat, all the ways he wants to explain to Laios that he could never possibly be ready for this, and nods.
One tentative lick, and Chilchuck falls apart all over again. Whatever sort of restraint he‘d managed to scrape together, it‘s all gone now, all at once, as he sobs, loud and pitiable, thighs squeezing around Laios‘ head where he’s instinctually trying to close them.
Undeterred, Laios keeps going, sucking and licking, working his tongue like Chilchuck isn‘t squirming with every little shift, every second of Laios‘ mouth on him. He knows, or he has to know, has to notice, but he either doesn‘t mind, focusing on his own pleasure instead, or he‘s enjoying it, and Chilchuck can‘t decide which option drives him more crazy.
It‘s the mutual, unspoken understanding between them that‘s the worst of it: the fact that with every lick, every sob, Chilchuck could stop it, would only have to say the word, and it‘d be over, but he won‘t; because he‘s Chilchuck, and it can never get bad enough for him to admit defeat; because he wants worse from Laios than even this; because he wants to cry without feeling the shame of crying, tears rolling down his face he isn‘t aware of enough to be embarrassed. And, because afterwards, Laios will hold him close and mutter apologies for all of this, even if they aren‘t necessary, will tell him how well he did and how good he was and how happy Laios is that they‘re together. And it‘ll all be worth it, then. All it took for them to get this far.
Hands on his thighs, a tongue pushed up inside him, that godforsaken collar still around his throat, Chilchuck bites down on his bottom lip until he tastes blood so he doesn‘t say something that will ruin this moment between them, ruin how beautifully cruel Laios is being. Something like: I love you. That‘s for later, way later, when they‘re under the sheets with their legs twisted up until it seems like the edges of their skin might melt together.
"Laios I can’t…Please…."
Chilchuck isn‘t even entirely sure what he‘s begging for. Not for Laios to stop, or he would say it, that damned word permanently teetering on the edge of his tongue. A reminder that as much as Laios is doing this to Chilchuck, Chilchuck is also doing this to himself.
When he cums, his entire body hurts. It‘s less pleasure than it is something far beyond it, a tidal wave that threatens to sweep his entire consciousness away. Every muscle, every nerve, aches.
It‘s good though. It hurts, and Chilchuck hates it a little bit, in the moment, the taste of blood in his mouth, the way his body, beyond any control, won‘t stop spasming, how there are tears rolling down his face and sobs that keep escaping from his lips, but it‘s good. It feels so, so good.
Lips parted and face sticky with tears, Chilchuck breaths his way through it, chest heaving with every shuddering intake of oxygen that feels like it isn’t enough to sustain him.
"Holy shit," he whispers. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in days, and the very process of forming words seems to take what little strength he has left. Chilchuck thought he was exhausted before. Now, he‘s pushed somewhere far, far beyond that, his body not really his own anymore. It‘s Laios‘.
Something in Chilchuck bristles at that, but just for a moment, as if on instinct; the longer he holds the thought in his mind, the more right it feels. Paradoxically freeing. Chilchuck is tired of having to think for himself, having to take responsibility for his own body. He‘s willing to hand it over to someone who he knows will take good care of it. Has always taken good care of it, of him, even when the power dynamics were much less explicit and the promise of a paycheck the only thing keeping them bound. Laios has always taken very good care of Chilchuck.
"You taste so good," Laios whispers, and Chilchuck isn‘t sure when he moved, but he‘s hovering above him again, lips glossy and slick, hair plastered to his forehead like he‘s run a marathon.
A dopey grin has crept on Chilchuck’s face. He still feels utterly beside himself. "You know, for a second there I actually thought I might die."
Laios licks his lips. "I would never…"
"No, not on purpose, I know. But… Gods. My body can only handle so much, you know?"
"Was it too much?" Laios asks, worried. "You could have stopped me if…."
Chilchuck cuts him off again. "No, no it was great. I loved it. Please do it again."
Laios perks up. "Right now?"
The thought alone makes Chilchuck nauseous. That might actually kill him.
"Gods no. But some other time." He grins, weakly. "I’ll wear the collar again if that's what it takes."
The flicker in Laios’ eyes is all the answer he needs. They’ll get plenty of use out of this thing, Chilchuck already knows it. By now, he doesn’t mind. He’d do more humiliating things for sex this good—and the not so small part of him that likes the collar, likes the thought of being owned if Laios is the one owning him, makes his decision easier yet.
Finally, Laios remembers about the restraints, and even Chilchuck had somehow mostly forgotten about them; it just felt right somehow, natural, and something inside him already misses the feeling of leather pulled taut against his skin, the helplessness that comes with being unable to escape from Laios. Not that Chilchuck could ever really get away from him if he tried; the fact that any second the tall-man could simply hold him down and take what he wants is always simmering somewhere in the back of his mind. Maybe they’ll be able to do something with that, too. There are a lot of possibilities this collar can unlock.
The belt loosens, then drops away, and from the way Laios‘ expression twists, Chilchuck knows there are marks already forming, deep red ridges wrapping down his forearm.
"Does it hurt?" Laios asks, and Chilchuck knows better than to lie, so he cracks a grin instead, softening the blow. "Not too much. Besides, I did beg you for it."
"Maybe I should have made sure it wasn‘t as…"
Chilchuck shushes him. Rude maybe, but effective at shutting down spirals like this before Laios’ self-flagellation really gets going.
"I feel like at this point you should understand that if you wanted to really hurt me, you‘d have to try very, very hard."
"You‘re saying that like it‘s a challenge."
Chilchuck grins, grabs hold of Laios’ shirt to pull him down further towards him.
"It is."
It’s only then, that he realizes Laios‘ shirt is wet where he gripped it. Chilchuck blinks, then blinks again, and he sees it, the fabric soaked through in an arc, and bit by bit, it dawns on him. Just how far Laios pushed him, and what his body did without him even conscious of it.
"Fuck, did I…."
Laios only blushes, which is all the answer he needs. "I didn‘t know you could do that."
"Neither did I."
"So you‘re telling me you never…"
Chilchuck chuckles, dryly. He feels dizzy. He needs to sleep for a long, long time.
"Nope. Good work, Laios. And here I thought I‘d run out of firsts."
The gleam in Laios’ eyes is pure, unabashed pride. Then, he glances down at Chilchuck's arm, and seems to catch himself again. (Chilchuck wishes he got to see him revel in it a little bit longer. Later, maybe. When Laios isn’t quite as worried about the damage he might‘ve done.)
"Can you walk?" Laios asks, that worry back in his eyes again, the one Chilchuck doesn’t want. Still, he makes no attempt at trying to get up, letting go of Laios’ shirt to slump back down again.
"I’m….not sure. Probably."
Laios bites his lip. "Do you want to?"
"Not really."
"What is it that you want?"
It‘s a nice, simple question. Earnest. Chilchuck looks within himself to find the answer. What does he want right now? It‘s so easy, on paper. In theory. But he feels all hollowed out, scooped empty. Drained.
What Chilchuck wants: To no longer think anymore. To be dumb and brainless. For Laios to decide for him, for just a little while longer. Chilchuck doesn‘t have to become human again quite yet.
"You tell me," he whispers. "Aren‘t I your dog?" and above him, Laios goes rigid.
When he speaks again, his voice is shaky. "So, uh…is this a thing we‘re doing now?"
"It could be. You decide."
"That…..that feels wrong. I don‘t know. Like I shouldn‘t have that much power. I shouldn‘t just be deciding everything."
"Well, I‘m tired of decisions. And you bought the collar, didn‘t you? There‘s a responsibility that comes with owning a pet."
Laios blushes, hot pink all over his cheeks. But he nods.
Chilchuck’s hands, again, skip over Laios’ clothes, down his body, finding wetness at his fingertips. He knew it already, knew he didn’t feel anything spurting over him. Still, it‘s surprising.
"You came in your pants," he whispers, not quite a question, not quite a statement.
"I…I didn‘t want to stop and unbuckle my belt. It felt like….I couldn‘t. I wanted to keep going. And then when I saw you cum, I…couldn‘t help myself anymore."
Chilchuck reaches up at him, fingers trailing the features of that familiar face. Nose. Jaws. The bones of his brow.
Laios came untouched. And still he kept going.
"That‘s cute," Chilchuck whispers, and he means it, too. "But you could have cum on me at least. It makes me feel a little bad that you had to do it in your underwear like that."
"It‘s what I wanted. If I'd wanted to pull out and cum on you I would‘ve but…I didn‘t want to stop for so long. I did what I wanted to do."
Chilchuck‘s lips curl into a smile again.
"You‘re a fast learner. How much did you pay for this thing anyhow?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Chilchuck winces. "Right. You know…it‘s kind of surprising. I‘d have thought you would want to be the pet."
Laios blushes. "I mean, kind of, but not like that. I like…I like taking care of you. Making you feel good. I like it even more than when I feel good myself."
"That's…."
Chilchuck sighs. There‘s no collar wrapped around Laios‘ neck, nothing to pull him down towards him, but a hand on the back of his neck works fine.
„Sweet,“ he finishes in a whisper.
"So we…keep this going?" Laios asks, lips inches from Chilchuck’s. "Keep doing it?"
"If you want to."
"So are you going to…wear it again?"
"If that‘s what you want."
Laios bites his lip, blushing. The moment has passed where he was truly unleashed, now it‘s just regular Laios again, awkward at the thought of bossing Chilchuck around. But he can do it. He does it in the dungeon and he did it just now and he‘s good at it, and he likes it, too. And Chilchuck also likes it.
Let Laios be a little bit embarrassed as he learns how to take control all over again. It‘ll be worth it. And let Chilchuck get more comfortable with the sweetness that comes after, the vulnerability of it, Laios kissing the bruises he left on his skin. Maybe one day Laios will be able to voice his desires without being pushed to the brink. Maybe one day Chilchuck will be able to cry without needing a justification for it.
"I do want it," Laios whispers, his voice raspy. "I want it."
His index finger hooks into the ring on Chilchuck‘s collar, and he pulls him all the way into the kiss.