cultiist:
The sound that’s ripped right out of Firkle at the loss of contact begins as a sob and then dwindles into a whimper. His fingers clutch the sheets more tightly, turning the knuckles of his hands stark white against already pale, flushed pink skin. It’s pathetic, needy, and oh so showing of just how much Kenny affected him. It was barely anything. Yet here was, deprived and starving for more. It’s a humiliating act, he knows Kenny is well aware of his desires, but he will speak them. A good boy obeys his commands, and Firkle swears he’s good. “I want to be marked in your ownership, Master. Please. Cover me in anyway, bruise me, bite me, and-” He inhales, looking up at Kenny with his bottom lip tugged between pearly white teeth and eyes glossy. “Fuck me, please. I want to feel you. Please let me have such a treat. I- I’ve missed the way you feel-”
Firkle is rewarded for this. There is nothing more pleasant than the sound of Firkle begging, telling him what he wants. Whining, begging, needy for his attention. The reward is soft, full of affection. A gentle smile as Kenny nuzzles into his shoulder. Drowning in the scent of his precious pet. Letting it fill him up, intoxicate him in only the way his little priest could. Clearing out his mind, settling it. He moans into his skin, whispering it like a prayer.
“ How could I deny such a cute request. ” Slowly Kenny rises up, sitting back on his heels. Hooking his fingers into the hem of his sweater. Pulling it over his head, gaze predatory and locked on Firkle. A dangerous grin playing on his lips.
Released of the fabric once shrouding his scarred body, he rolls his shoulders. Muscles flexing and rippling. The sweater is forgotten somewhere near the end of the bed as he moves to slowly remove Firkle’s top. Fingers sliding teasingly against his skin.
