In which Ashenivir’s tongue gets carried away.
Rizeth liked to take his time. He was patient, and he was careful, for anticipation was as heady a rush as arousal. Each deliberate movement built moment atop moment, until Ashenivir was a perfectly strung nerve, ready and eager to be plucked. The slow fastening of chain to manacle, soft clinks loud in the heavy bedroom silence. The careful fitting of manacle to wrist, Ashenivir’s skin soft and warm beneath his fingers, his body stretched out perfect and pliant on the—
Ashenivir licked his arm. Rizeth paused with the buckle half-fastened, and turned a cool eye to his Ra’soltha, who wore an expression of innocence that would not have fooled any living thing, and especially did not fool his Master. He waited for some tease to slip from Ashenivir’s lips, but he stayed silent. Rizeth eyed him a moment longer, knowing that despite his stillness, he was squirming internally under such scrutiny.
“Behave,” he murmured, and returned his attention to the manacles. One fastened to the frame now, with a quick tug to confirm it was secure before moving on to the next. He straddled Ashenivir to get to it, because that way he could hold him down with his own bodyweight—Ashenivir liked to struggle in such situations, a very fine pretense at wanting to get away made more delicious by the certain knowledge that there was nowhere else he would rather—
Ashenivir licked his chest. He’d had to strain forwards awkwardly to reach it, and all he got for his troubles was a taste of shirt, yet he was apparently compelled by some uncommon spirit of mischief, for he did it twice in a row. Rizeth remained where he was, perfectly still and silent, and waited.
A third time Ashenivir leaned forwards, and this time bit one of his shirt buttons—it was so quiet in the bedroom that Rizeth heard very clearly the click of his teeth against it. He released it when Rizeth sat back, still that look of false innocence on his face. Rizeth slid a hand into his hair, slow, a warning; Ashenivir twisted his head and licked his wrist, trailing his tongue up Rizeth’s forearm, and managed to get all the way to the inside of his elbow before Rizeth decided he’d had enough.
“What is this mood today?” He yanked Ashenivir’s head to the side, hard enough to make him gasp. “Well?”
“Nothing, Master,” Ashenivir said, clearly fighting a grin.
“That,” Rizeth said, leaning close enough to taste Ashenivir’s quickening breath, “is a blatant lie, Ra’soltha. Are you trying to incite punishment?”
“No, Master,” Ashenivir squirmed under him. “I want to be good.”
“Evidently you do not.”
Rizeth quickly released him from the manacles, his movements now curt and efficient, then dragged him upright by the hair until he was half off the bed and whimpering in pain. There was a beautiful softness to his eyes, Rizeth’s silhouette overwhelming in the darkness of his blown pupils, though still they held the glimmer of resistance that made Rizeth’s blood sing.
This was no longer the time for anticipation, however. Action had its consequence, as Ashenivir well knew. Rizeth hauled him from the bed and shoved him to his knees so that he went sprawling across the floor. The splay of his limbs was unutterably lovely, as was the look of hunger half-hidden beneath the tangle of his hair.
Rizeth gave him half a moment to catch his breath, then caught his hair again and dragged him, protesting, over to the couch. He took a seat, and pulled Ashenivir between his legs—then had to give his hair yet another yank to remind him to put his hands behind his back in their proper position, since it appeared he had forgotten to do so.
“Now, Ra’soltha,” he said, as he unfastened his breeches. “Let us make better use of that wilful tongue of yours.”