rockabillyboy | (no subject)

"Good boy," he purrs. He sets the sketchbook aside somewhere close. "If you're not gonna take care of yourself, Jack, I'm gonna step in," he says as he moves closer.

"Yeah, okay," says Jack, and there's still something slightly flat about his tone, a vaguely defiant tilt to his chin. "Because I can't manage myself?"

"I'm starting to think not." Poison gets closer, standing over Jack. He brushes his fingers through his hair. "But if you can behave yourself, and you're good, I'll take care of you, honey."

Even though he's pissed off, he still leans into the touch to his hair. His eyes drift close. He drags in a breath and lets it out again, shaky.

"Okay," he says. "I'll be good."

"You need to relax. Go to your room, Jack, and get on the bed. Hands and knees. I'll be there in a minute."

Poison plans to take his time, just to let Jack sweat it for a moment.

He opens his mouth to say something but decides it's probably not the best idea so he just gets up and pads into the bedroom. He arranges himself on all fours in the middle of the bed, jeans and a tshirt.

And he waits.

Poison gives it a few minutes (and puts the sketchbook back on the little table in front of the couch) before going back to the bedroom. He nudges the door shut, then moves around the room. He doesn't talk to Jack doesn't even really look at him.

Eventually, though, he comes closer and leans over Jack to get his jeans loose and work them and whatever underwear he's got on down, exposing his ass.

"You were pretty nasty back there, Jack. Kinda messed up, actually. Poison eases back and smacks his ass. Hard. He needs to walk this line carefully but he's-- he's seen how Jack reacts to certain things. Time to test them out.

Stripped from the waist down, Jack blushes, letting his head drop a little. When Poison spanks him, his hips squirm a little. He bites his lip so he doesn't make a sound.

"Oh so now you don't wanna talk at all? I don't even get an apology?"

He hits Jack a few more times, firm and quick, peppering red marks across his upturned ass. He gets a weird thrill, feeling the skin get hot under his hand.

"Thought you didn't want to hear me talk," says Jack, sullen, ass stinging. "Thought I didn't know what to do to look after myself so what's the point?"

Poison rolls his eyes and smacks Jack again, lower, on his thigh. Then he slides his hand up and over Jack's hip, around his front until he finds his cock. He squeezes lightly, strokes. "Fine," he growls. "Then you can just keep thinking about how you got yourself here."

Poison's stroking his cock, teasing him harder and Jack can only imagine what's going to happen. He swallows, tries not to squirm.

"I'll be good," he says. "But I don't have to be happy about it."

"I think you will be by the time we're done." He gives Jack once last squeeze before he pulls back. "But you still need to relax." Poison works Jack's belt loose and folds it in half. He has to be careful. He could hurt Jack worse with this and not be as aware. But they've done it before, and he wants to try it again.

Poison's blows are calculated, careful. But he wants to see Jack give in. Wants to see that defiant tension disappear.

Poison takes his belt off and Jack knows what's coming next. Arousal spikes through him. He drags in a breath and ducks his head lower, tshirt pooling around his ribs. He shuffles his knees a little further apart. He waits.

The first blow lands with a sharp snap against Jack's skin. Poison wants it to hurt, but he doesn't want to break skin - that's too much to dive into without talking first. He holds back with the next several smacks with the belt, watching the skin get red, watching a few welts rise. He counts them in his head. Six, seven, eight.

He stops at ten and waits, listening to Jack's breathing.

It hurts. By ten, Jack's breathing is ragged, his head pressed against his forearm. His ass feels like it must be glowing. He lets out a breath that turns into a whimper.

He tosses the belt down and eases onto the bed behind Jack. His hand smooths over the hot, angry skin. "That was good, honey. That was really good." He strokes his fingers up Jack's back. "You ready to listen, now? Do as your told?"

As always, as ever, a little shiver goes down Jack's spine when Poison calls him good like that. He swallows, pushing back into Poison's hand, even though it stings. "Yes," he says, nodding. "I'll be good."

And he means it this time, too.

"Good boy," he coos. "I'm just trying to help you out. There's nothing here you need to fight." He kisses Jack's back. Poison gives him another light swat, then eases back.

"I want you to suck my cock, baby. You've been getting really good, gotta keep that practice up, right? If keep behaving, I'll give you something nice."

Jack nods, his hips shifting when Poison slaps him again.

"Can I get naked for you first?" he asks.

Poison tips his head, then he grins. "Sure you can, baby. Then you can get me undressed, too."

Jack's smile echoes his. The belting bled a lot of the defiance, a lot of the bitchiness, out of him. He straightens up onto his knees and peels his t-shirt out of is head, kicking out of his jeans. He turns towards Poison, still on his knees, wrapping his fingers in the hem of his t-shirt, starting to pull it up.

Poison stays still, helping Jack just a little by lifting his arms so his shirt will slide off. "There's my sweet boy," he coos sweetly. He strokes Jack's cheek, then gives him a light, barely there kiss.

Jack leans into the kiss, looking for more, just a little more, and then he slips down off the bed, waiting for Poison to put his feet down so that he can deal with his boots.