(no subject)

[rockabillyboy]

Now that he's sure Jillie's going to be okay (Dee has been a freaking God-send), Jack feels like he's climbing out of his skin. He and Poison have basically been reduced to fucking in the shower or in the backseat of one of their cars and he finds himself in desperate need of a real work out. So he texts Kavinsky, asking for exactly what he needs, asking for something nasty and knowing that Kavinsky will understand.

A text with instructions arrives and Jack feels a little shiver of relief.

He lets himself into Kavinsky's apartment and, as instructed, strips off everything he's wearing at the door. He pads naked around the bedroom and then climbs up onto the big bed. He gets into the specified position, head down, ass up, and he starts to fuck himself slowly open with slick fingers. He's intensely, achingly aware that he didn't lock the door behind him.

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[mitsubishievo]

The benefit of a studio apartment was that it was a fairly guaranteed open floor plan. Kavinsky knew what was waiting for him when he walked in the door, because he trusted Jack to follow orders. Still, when he walked in--door unlocked, like he'd said--and first found the pile of clothes just inside the door, and then saw Jack on the bed just a few steps later, he was glad there was no wall to hide him.

He leaned against the entryway wall, watching Jack silently as he fingered himself.

[rockabillyboy]

Hearing the door open, Jack rolls his hips and presses another finger into his ass, stretching himself slightly, knowing that he's got an audience. His cock throbs between spread thighs.

"Am I allowed to ask how long you're going to leave the door standing open?"

[mitsubishievo]

"Maybe I'll just leave it open," Kavinsky said, calm and contemplative. His voice dripped with anticipation, and the view of Jack like that was too good not to turn him on almost instantly. "Give my neighbors a show if they walk past."

In reality, Kavinsky kicked the door shut with a jarring slam. He shivered a little bit, and walked toward the bed.

"Should probably put that cockring on you now."

[rockabillyboy]

After his birthday, after that night, there's not a lot about being put on public display that worries Jack, honestly. He huffs a laugh out through his nose and presses a third finger into his ass. He bites his lip.

"Yes, please," he says. "What am I calling you? Daddy? Sir?"

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky went to the dresser where he kept his toys in the apartment. He pulled out a few things, but the most important one right now was the cockring. He slid onto the bed behind Jack and slipped it on smoothly, without hesitation.

"Sir," he said gently. "I like how your mouth sounds around that one."

[rockabillyboy]

"Sir," groans Jack, as the ring slides down over his cock, as he feels it slip into place. He keeps fucking himself with his own fingers.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky hummed and leaned back, admiring Jack's body even as he opened his own jeans slowly. He didn't pull them down, just wanted the slight alleviation of pressure against his cock. Instead, he reached over and grabbed a small flogger form the things he'd pulled out of the drawer. The leather bands were supple and soft. He smacked them against his palm, letting Jack hear the noise.

"Remember to tell me where you're at," he said. "I want to know how you like it. Slutty boy."

[rockabillyboy]

The sound of the flogger hitting Kavinsky's palm sends a heavy shiver through Jack's whole body, his fingers buried deep in his ass, his cheek against the mattress. His eyelashes flutter a little at the insult, more a pet-name than anything.

"Green light," he says. "Sir."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky purred softly, watching the way that Jack moved against the bed. He shifted on the mattress, getting himself comfortable and at a good angle. "Take your fingers out of your ass. That's enough for right now."

[rockabillyboy]

Slowly, pushing his luck a little, Jack drags his fingers out of his ass. He widens his stance slightly, shuffling his knees wider, putting himself more on display before he threads his fingers behind his neck and waits.

[rockabillyboy]

Slowly, pushing his luck a little, Jack drags his fingers out of his ass. He widens his stance slightly, shuffling his knees wider, putting himself more on display before he threads his fingers behind his neck and waits.

[mitsubishievo]

The display of it was really lovely. Kavinsky took a moment more to admire it, waiting to see if Jack would fidget if he didn't do anything for a moment or two, if he would ask for the flogger before Kavinsky gave it to him.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack is well trained, though, and he holds the position that he's been put in, his fingers folded together, his cheek pressed against the sheet. He knows what he looks like, what a pretty picture he makes. He's seen the photographic evidence. He can feel himself slipping into that slightly spaced out, quiet place he gets.

He wants it so badly.

[mitsubishievo]

Finally, Kavinsky supposed that Jack had waited enough.

The flail made a soft woosh through the air as Kavinsky swung it. The leather slapped Jack's skin with a muted whack. Kavinsky didn't let the leather stay on Jack's skin; he followed through and pulled the flail away from his skin immediately, so all he had was the dull sting of it for a moment.

"What do you say?"

[rockabillyboy]

The impact of the flogger isn't so bad, a heat more than anything else, and Jack lets his breath out in a long, low sigh.

"Thank you, Sir."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky settled in from there. The slap of the flogger was unpredictable, intermittent, but always with a follow through that meant the leather didn't linger on Jack's skin, that he got only the increasing strength of the strikes and the lingering heat afterward.

Kavinsky watched himself, watch Jack, for signs of pain or discomfort, for the flail becoming too much. A couple times he reversed direction, slapping the flail up between Jack's thighs more gently than he brought it down against his ass.

[rockabillyboy]

The strikes between his thighs are good, get him hot, but he finds himself wishing that everything hurt a little bit more. He needs that edge.

He thanks Kavinsky for every blow in a soft, breathy voice.

[mitsubishievo]

Jack's ass was red, pleasantly glowing, and Kavinsky could read the shifting need under his skin, the craving for more. Kavinsky softened the next couple blows across Jack's ass. But the next one he brought up between his thighs, over his cock and balls, was deliberately hard, the leather of the flail whistling before it struck him with a snap.

[rockabillyboy]

That was exactly what he needs right now, what he craves, and he's not sure that this kind of treatment, this kind of pain, is something he can go to Poison for. There's something at the heart of him that curls up guiltily at the thought of it.

His breath leaves in a soft sigh, almost a whimper.

"Thank you, Sir," he mumbles, cock twitching in thin air.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky gave it a moment, a breath of anticipation, judging himself and that curl in Jack's shoulders that bowed him toward his middle for just a moment.

He swung the flail again, snapping the leather against Jack's crotch. Again. Again. They were close enough together now that there was no time for Jack to breathe out his thanks.

[rockabillyboy]

He can't even catch his breath, pain and pleasure breaking over him like waves, his hips squirming into the slap of the flail, everything stinging and aching and throbbing and its exactly what he needs just then.

"Fuck," he manages to get out, more moan than word. "Fuck. Amber, Kav. P-please."

It's not a stop, not a hard stop. He just needs a moment.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky stopped as soon as Jack said it. He dropped the flogger onto the bed and ran his fingers gently, teasingly, over Jack's hot skin. He was pink and red, welted in places, and his cock looked good how it hung between his thighs.

He spread Jack's ass slowly and spat on his hole, but he didn't do more than that until Jack said he could.

[rockabillyboy]

It takes Jack a moment to settle, squirming and hurting and breathlessly, achingly turned on. He groans softly and manages to keep his hips up through sheer force of will.

"Green," he says, his voice quiet. He waits.

[mitsubishievo]

"That's right, baby," Kavinsky purred. His hands moved instantly, thumbs smoothing until they could tease at Jack's already stretching hole. He tugged and pressed gently until Jack was lewdly open, and then he spat again.

"Did good for such a slut," he murmured. "I think you have had earned sucking my cock. Put your fingers back in your ass. You haven't earned a plug yet."

[rockabillyboy]

Jack squirms at the press of Kavinky's thumbs into his asshole, putting him lewdly on display for a moment. He reaches back blindly with one hand, pressing three fingers into his ass, fucking himself with them. He's only barely slick enough. It feels so good.