#conditioning cw

Who? You press yourself tightly against the wall, heart hammering. She doesn’t stop until she’s directly in front of you. She crouches down with that same curious look.

“How long has she had you for?” she slowly reaches out a hand. You turn your head away but there’s nowhere to go. Her fingers grip your chin and turn you to face her. She’s beautiful. Which is something you need to stop thinking about dangerous women. She’s still wearing that same curious look and you aren’t sure what you’re meant to do with yourself. Mistress never prepared you for this. You wish she was here. 

A brief thought flickers to the front. Unless this is the set up. Is mistress still doing that? Instead of accepting touch or falling asleep it’s not going with this stranger?

It could be. And the thought of the resulting reward for such a big rule is tantalising. But the woman is acting too strange. This is not the behaviour of someone stumbling upon you or a planned rescue. The woman runs a finger down your face, almost fascinated.

Your eyes dart around the room. The best you can try to do is break away from her but if she’s as strong as Mistress you have little hope. Movement in the doorway draws your eye and the fear lessens as Mistress appears. Her face is blank but you haven’t had the chance to do anything so you can’t be in trouble. She’ll tell you what to do and everything will be okay.

“Rio,” Mistress growls. 

That dark edge is back and you cower against the wall.

“Yes, dearest?” Rio asks innocently. She still hasn’t looked away.

“What have I told you about snooping?”

“Don’t get caught?”

“Ha,” Mistress says with zero amusement. “Move away from it.”

The woman, Rio, stands up and holds her hands up innocently.

“I was just admiring what has stolen your attention for so long.”

“Is that all?” Mistress’ gaze darts down to you and you stare back with wide eyes. “Did she touch you, pet?” she asks.

Your eyes dart nervously to the woman who is still standing very close to you. But she hasn’t don’t anything that Mistress didn’t see. You nod and touch your chin and cheek in the same points Rio had. Mistress doesn’t look particularly happy but there’s no rage. There’s barely even any anger.

“Last time I checked admiring does not mean touching.”

“It’s so skittish. I could barely see it with its head against the wall.” Rio shrugs.

Agatha looks Rio up and down.

“Why don’t we continue this conversation upstairs, hm? You’ve interrupted its nap time.”

“Can we take it with us? I saw the huge pet bed. Or are you still training it?”

Mistress grits her teeth and her falls back on you. You stay curled up. You only get to go upstairs on very special occasions. Or when your mistress wants company. Mistress is so much stricter when you are that you prefer it down here. You can already feel her edge sharpening.

“Come,” she says and you rush to obey. 

You give Rio a wide birth as you crawl to your mistress. It feels weird to do it in front of another person. It feels weird to be in front of another person after so long. 

You kneel at Mistress’ feet and stand once she tugs your collar twice. Her fingers stay firmly wrapped around it as she leads you upstairs. You aren’t able to turn your head enough to watch the woman follow but you can feel her.

You keep your eyes on your Mistress despite the want to look at all the colours again. You never really get used to them. She leads you to her favourite armchair. She sits and points to the spot next to her feet. You kneel and rest your head against her thigh. A position you’ve done a thousand times yet it feels so different with the eyes of another on you.

“Have you taught it any tricks yet or are you still on behaviour?” Rio asks.

You keep your forehead on Mistress’ lap. This is your life now and you’ve come to enjoy it but it’s strange to have another be so casual about it too.

“A few,” Mistress says. 

She lightly tugs on your hair. A command to look at her. You do. She points up. You stand. She points down. You sit. She pats her thigh and you lay your head down. She taps her lips and leans down. You brush your own against her, nervous. She doesn’t gesture for more. She twirls her finger. You don’t keep the miserable look off of your face as you roll over. She seems to enjoy it and you want her to know this is your least favourite trick.

You miserably rest your cheek on her thigh again when she gestures.

“It knows a few more of the ordinary commands,” Mistress says as her fingers return to your hair.

“Impressive,” Rio openly admires, “Although you’ve always had a way with swaying people. Anything else? Maybe of the less garden type variety.”

Mistress smirks and you bury your face. Rolling over was bad enough. You still look at her when she tugs your hair. She taps under your chin twice. Once to open your mouth and twice to stick your tongue out. You do. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue. She scrapes a nail down it and you can’t hide your shiver. Her smile is pleased when she taps you under your chin and you close your mouth again. You don’t look at the other woman.

“It’s very well behaved,” Mistress says and you try not to preen too obviously. “Anything I’ve yet to teach a gesture for it’ll do with a word.”

“And how long did it take for you to do that?”

“Oh, it was quite pliant from the start. Weren’t you pet? So easily led,” she says. Embarrassment and pleasure burns through you. “I’ll show you.” She pulls the sleeve of your shirt.

That’s your command to take it off but surely she doesn’t mean it that way? Not with someone else here. She gives you the same calm, steady look she always gives you when waiting for you to obey. 

You pull it off as quickly as you can, glad your back is mostly to the stranger. You aren’t wearing anything underneath. Mistress has never given you anything to. You can feel her eyes on you.

“You aren’t going to take off its pants?” Rio asks, sounding amused. Mistress clicks her tongue.

“Get your own.”

“I just might.”

You frown but Mistress distracts you by tapping her thigh again. You rest your head against it. Her hand lands in your hair and you try to relax.

“It is quite calm,” Rio says, considering. “Don’t tell me Wanda found it before I did. I’ll be terribly jealous.”

“Please,” Mistress says derisively, “If Wanda had seen my little pet project she’d have one of her own going already.”

Rio snorts and doesn’t make a further comment.

“She could use the company,” Mistress adds musingly.

“Don’t give her ideas,” Rio says. “I’m the one that has to clean up after the both of you.”

Mistress gives her a ‘who, me?’ look. You watch the exchange in fascination. Mistress has been much more expressive since joining you in bed but this is something else.

“So,” Rio says, her voice lower than before, “Do you feel like playing?”

“No,” Mistress snaps.

“You never did know how to share.”

“You’ll break it.”

“I know how to be gentle.”

“My kind of gentle is most people’s diamond.” There’s a silence. You can’t see Rio’s expression from this position but Mistress look contemplative. “However, if you can prove you know how to be gentle something might be able to be arranged.”

“Why don’t you send your pet to bed?” You can hear the smile in Rio’s voice but you don’t understand where it’s come from.

Mistress clicks her tongue. “Not now. It’ll take hours to settle it down again.”

“I was the first to find it.” Rio sounds strangely satisfied.

“Yes, yes, well done dear. You’re the best detective ever. Can you leave now?”

“Without even a dinner after I travelled all the way over here?”

Mistress gives her an impassive look.

“Your hosting skills are as abysmal as ever. What if I made dinner?”

“I don’t have anything you’ll like.”

“Doubtful.”

Mistress sighs loudly. “Fine. If you want to slave over a stove I won’t stop you.”

Rio smiles a slow smile.

“But make sure to make something for my pet. I won’t have you upsetting its tummy after ruining its routine.”

“I’ll make something special,” she leans down towards you and flicks your nose. “A dish just for you. Would you like that?”

Your eyes flicker to Mistress for guidance. She’s back to the impenetrable look. You nod hesitantly even though you’ve already eaten for the night. Being around someone new is scary and you don’t understand what’s going on between Mistress and this woman but it’s almost exciting to interact with someone new.

“Good,” Rio says with a sharp smile. She moves to the kitchen without further comment. You turn to Mistress for direction. She guides your head back to her thigh and combs your hair.

You’re too wired to accidentally drift to sleep despite it being past your usual bedtime. You don’t wonder about the brightness outside of the windows. You keep your head against Mistress’ leg but you listen for every sound in the kitchen. Mistress has picked up a thin book to read but she isn’t turning pages at her usual speed. She keeps sighing and they’re slowly getting louder and louder. You peer up at her curiously. 

She catches the movement and turns her attention on you. She tilts her head then puts her book down. She pats her lap. You nervously glance at the kitchen doorway but climb up. She guides you to straddle her lap, facing her. Her hand wraps around your throat. She squeezes. You don’t break eye contact even as it gets harder to breathe. She only releases her grip after she pulls you in for a kiss.  

You have to pull away sooner than you want for air. The chair is too small for you be able to reach her thigh but that doesn’t stop your hips from seeking pressure. Mistress kisses down your neck. She bites down and you whimper at the sharp sting. You make a needy sound when her teeth let you go. You catch the hint of smirk before she pulls you in for another kiss.

“Well, it’s good to know you can still keep yourself busy.”

You try to jerk back but Mistress’ hand in your hair keeps you still. You start kissing her back again but stay tense. Someone is watching you. It feels strange when it isn’t the eyes of your Mistress, through her cameras or otherwise.

When Mistress lets you go you stay close to her face. The squirmy feeling in your gut must be embarrassment. Your nose trails across her cheek as she turns to look at Rio. You can feel her smile brush your cheek.

Mistress pats your thigh. “Down.”

You climb from her lap and kneel beside her again. You rest your forehead against her thigh.

“Our food is still simmering but your bunny’s food is done.” Rio passes Mistress the bowl in her hand and you lift your head. It smells good. Mistress holds a strip near your mouth and you take it easily from her fingers. You’re no longer nervous to brush lips and tongue against her skin when she feeds you but the new eyes burning into you changes that. When the bowl is empty, Mistress’ finger pushes further and you obediently part your lips. The heat of the eyes on you travels to your stomach. Lower. Mistress strokes your tongue. You try to stay present but your eyes slowly droop.

Your bed is moved from the living room to be next to the dining table. Mistress points and you curl up on it. You watch the harsh way Mistress; cuts her food, The way her mouth curls around her fork. How she converses with Rio. Their body language. The hidden meanings under their words you don’t understand. It’s fascinating. It’s enough to keep the neediness at bay. 

Mistress puts her fork and knife down. “Passable.”

Rio smiles like she’s won something. “Maybe I’ll cook for you after our fun tomorrow?”

“Don’t overstay your welcome.”

Rio inclines her head. It then turns to you. She stands and walks over to you. You watch her warily but Mistress is a step behind her. Rio leans down and grabs your ear. You stare at her in bewilderment. She tugs it lightly.

“Stop that,” Mistress slaps her hand away. “It isn’t feral. Its not going to bite.”

Rio drops her hand almost looking disappointed. “I would’ve left some fire in it.”

“There was no fire to start with.”

Rio blows a raspberry and does a thumbs down. “Boring, and you’re so rarely boring. What’s happened?”

“Trust me, the process was not boring,” a dark smile curls around her lips. “There’s nothing quite as satisfying as someone break beneath you.”

Rio’s eyes darken. She looks captivated by Agatha’s expression. “I would have liked to see that.”

“Too bad.”

Rio frowns and gives Mistress a long look. “You’re upset with me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Gosh, you should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve kicked you out already.”

“Agatha,” Rio says. You blink at the unfamiliar word. Mistress cuts her a sharp look. 

“How long did it take you to notice my pet?”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me,” Rio admits quietly.

“I thought we agreed I decide that. When did I tell you to stay away?”

“You didn’t.”

Mistress gives her a hard stare.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Rio says.

“You’ll certainly try.”

“Sweetheart,” Rio says, both annoyed and pained. 

Mistress waves her off. “Fine. Fine. Do something special tomorrow and I’ll think about it.”

Rio gives a tense nod. Then she smiles. “Is there a limit on the toys I can bring?”

“You have something I don’t?”

“I certainly could. You did say to surprise you.”

Mistress rolls her eyes. “Be discreet. I don’t need the nosy neighbours to come snooping.”

“I always am.” 

You watch in confusion as the bad mood dissolves, or maybe gets hidden. Mistress has her hand near her mouth, her fingers gently playing with her lips. She stares before snapping her fingers. You immediately drop into a present. Mistress doesn’t notice.

“Time to go,” she says.

Rio laughs. “Might want to tend to your pet first.”

Mistress’ eyes drop to you. They darken.

“Leave,” she tells Rio.

 “Sure, sweetheart. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little prove yourself challenge. I’ll be back bright and early.”

“Make that midday if you know what’s good for you.”

“But of course.” Rio bows.

Mistress had allowed you to move your head when Rio got up and you watch in mild confusion at the elegant bow. It all feels a little unreal. But the feeling started the moment you saw the new face so you aren’t sure if any part is actually strange. 

Mistress tugs your collar twice and you stand on wobbly legs. Rio gives you a long look up and down. You don’t really understand why. You’re caught on how brown her eyes are. A dark, earthy colour that you can’t pull your attention from.

Mistress hooks her fingers through the d-ring on front of your collar and starts walking back to your room.

“Show yourself out,” she calls over her shoulder. Her grip means you can’t look over your shoulder again but this time you don’t want to. Nothing can distract you from more time in bed with Mistress. You happily trot down the stairs and through the door.

“Bed.” Mistress snaps her fingers. You scramble to obey. You kneel with perfect posture facing her, practically vibrating with excitement.

You watch eagerly as she shoves her pants off. She shoves her underwear off with it and you squirm at the sight of her dark curls. She so rarely allows you to touch her. You truly must have been good with the unexpected visitor.

She shoves you down and climbs onto your face. She’s already soaked. Your tongue is out before she can say anything, eagerly lapping at her wetness. You haven’t been given permission to touch anywhere else and you long for the ability to wrap your hands around her thighs and anchor yourself to her. Mistress hasn’t indicated how she wants you to eat her out so you let your enthusiasm guide you. Taking long, eager licks before going right to the source and teasing her entrance.

She grabs your hands and puts them on her thighs. “Like you mean it, pet,” she growls.

Your fingers dig in and you lift your face to her heat. Mistress curls over you, her hands fisted in the sheets. She’s louder than she normally is and you respond eagerly. You push into her as deeply as you can before swirling your tongue around her entrance. You do it again then focus on making her feel good when her nails dig warningly into your skin. You focus on her cunt but you make sure to lave some attention on her clit every now and then as you work her up. It doesn’t take very long. It seems she was already worked up before you started.

You know by now what she sounds like when she’s getting close and you suckle her clit. She cries out as she comes all over you. It only adds to the mess already on your face. You lap gently at her clit to help her come down. Her tensed body slowly relaxes above you. When the last aftershocks have faded she rolls off of you and onto her back with a sigh. 

She turns to look at you and the satisfied smile on her face has pleasure curling within you. She takes your chin in her hand to hold you still. Her tongue makes a warmth path up your cheek, collecting her own wetness.

“Such a good bunny,” she husks and licks over your swollen lips. She cleans you up one slow lick at a time. A delicious torture you don’t want to end.

Your mouth opens automatically the second time her tongue glides over your lips and she takes advantage. Her hand slips into your underwear and you moan as her fingers find your clit. Getting to taste her is such a rare treat that you’re coming on her fingers within moments. It’d be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so good. You shudder against her. Her lips brush your own as she breathes in the little noises that escape you.

She pulls you into her side. You make a funny pair. Her without her pants and you without a shirt. Your arm sneaks under the hem of her shirt as you wrap it around her to feel her skin on yours. She grabs you under one thigh and hicks it up over her hip so you’re well and truly cuddling her.

She wasn’t chained, and that was the most terrifying thing.

Oh, she was locked up like some animal, as she deserved of course, restricted to the aquarium (what kind of pirate ship needed an aquarium) and removed of any possible items she could use to hurt herself others.  But for whatever reason they hadn’t decided to shackle her, and they certainly hadn’t forced a collar around her throat.  She felt rather empty without it.  It wasn’t right, she didn’t deserve such freedom.  The pirates should have punished her by now for her insolence, for how pathetic she looked, for daring to try to escape and find her way back to her master.  

But that wasn’t the only reason she felt empty.  A plate of food was placed on the seats in the middle of the room, turned cold already.  It was provided by the blond-haired member of the pirates, who’d settled it down and left after some words that she could not recall.  It certainly wasn’t permission.

She stared at the plate for hours, mouth watering.  She couldn’t eat - not yet.  They hadn’t hurt her yet.  They hadn’t - she wasn’t being used.  No one was pinning her down and making her bleed, telling her what a worthless slut she was.

Was this a form of torture for them?  They did hate her, of course.  Why would they do this if they didn’t?  So it must have been her punishment; for leaving them, for being with them, for burdening them so.  She felt herself cowering in a corner of the room and whimpered.  

She wasn’t used to spreading her legs for anyone but her master and her saviour.  But - she was hungry.  Oh, so hungry.  She hadn’t eaten for days, no matter how many meals they’d set in front of her, because she knew if she ate them without permission first she would hurt.  She would be punished.  She didn’t want to be punished.

The door clicked open, and one of the pirates walked into the room.  Without thinking, she half-crawled, half-rushed to them, bowing before their body and shaking violently.  Scum like her belonged here, bowing in front of her master.  Was this her new master?  She didn’t know.

Zee has been giving him more of those looks lately, the more-than-Boxboy ones Cam tried to stamp out like little fires months ago. But since his Dad died, he’s been distracted. He had to deal with the funeral arrangements and expenses, and make sure he got what little money was coming to him before his mother figured out how to finesse it from him instead with her Podunk lawyer. 

The house, that's his now too. Big whoop. It needs to be painted. It needs the old, cigarette burned carpet ripped up. His bedroom door needs to be replaced entirely. Then he could sell it. Maybe he couldn’t sell it for anything great, but getting forty grand out of it would be a small miracle on that lot, on that stretch of old washed out and pockmarked road. He sure as hell had no intentions of living on it ever again. 

He walks into Alex's room as confidently as if Alex is there, which he isn't. Only Zee. He's sitting on the floor with a notebook open. Alex had the bright idea to get him some colored pencils as well as a sketchbook instead of just another ratty old spiral bound. He doesn't hide his little hobby from them anymore, either. 

Cam had poked fun at first. Called it "coloring" in a cruelly childish affect. That really pissed Alex off. Let him do something other than their laundry for ten minutes, why don’t you? It helps him feel relaxed. Not like he can look at a phone all day. (He’d smacked Cam’s phone out of his hand for emphasis)

"How do you feel about manual labor?” Cam asks, leaning his forearm on the wall and crowding over him. “Like, ripping up old linoleum?"

 Zee pauses his art to glance up at him. “Your old house?”

“My current house. It belongs to me now. My Dad had that thing paid off, believe it or not. His truck wasn't anywhere near paid off, but at least he had insurance. House needs a coat of paint before I put it on the market."

And to pass an inspection. For which I’m definitely gonna need an inside guy to go over it first.

Zee goes back to the tiny detail of a pattern he's repeating on the page. “Yeah. I can help you.”

Cam huffs in amusement. Like it’s such an option for him. “Thanks. Hey, I’ll buy you beer and pizza. Like you’re helping me move.”

“Where’s Shadow?”

Cam runs his tongue over his upper gums. “She’s good.” He says brusquely, leaning down and giving Zee’s coppery hair a tight tug for no particular reason. He winces but doesn’t complain. And judging from the long look followed by silence, knows better than to push.

Shadow truly was fine, but it annoyed Cam that the only decent family he knew on this entire planet willing and able to take in a sweet old dog was Alex's.

And Cam was grateful, he really was. He’d been sitting in his driveway half an hour with Shadow in the back seat, his father in the ground less than six hours. She was excited for a ride, not knowing he was taking her to a shelter for lack of options. It was probably a decent place. But this was Shadow. His baby. He remembers when she fit in the palm of his hand, how she slept curled up under his neck, or his armpit. He'd lost his nerve watching her boxy old head in the rearview mirror, called Alex out of desperation.

I can bury my father but I can't do this?

Alex had driven all the way to the sad, empty-eyed house with the overgrown yard and the riding lawn mower half taken apart in the driveway; a project his Dad never finished before running into a jackknifed semi truck at two AM.

 Alex had been all concern, all we-can-figure-this-out, hand on Cam's elbow. An hour later, Alex drove Shadow to his parent’s house, an ideal home with kids still living there, a fenced-in backyard. They’ve been talking about a dog forever, Alex had assured him, scratching behind Shadow’s golden ears. Perfect fit. Cam had declined to go along. He didn't want to meet Alex's folks, his siblings. 

Still, he hoped Alex could tell what it meant to him.

“So,” Cam leans over Zee’s notebook, noting the motif. “Lot of warm colors you got there."

 “Yeah." Zee gives a little shrug, apparently forgiving him for his earlier comments. "Remembering.”

“Remembering?” Cam uses the wall to lower himself down beside him on Alex's floor. “You? What’re you remembering?”

Zee’s orange pencil slows to a stop. He flips to a blank page in the very back, draws a large number symbol. He puts a red colored pencil in Cam's hand and nods at him. You first. 

Slowly, Cam makes an X in the corner spot nearest to him, eyebrow raised skeptically. 

Zee replies with an orange O in the center square. 

Cam wrinkles his nose, laughs. “Yeah? This isn’t too uh… letter-y, for you?” He makes his next move, and Z counters it, an immediate advance and block. 

“I guess not. I guess it’s… something else.”

“Symbols, in a different context maybe.” Cam mumbles, getting chased off from a win by another of Zee’s orange O’s. 

“I had a bad dream last night,” Zee says. “I think I kicked you. Sorry.”

Cam nearly punctures the paper with his pencil at that. “Wait, you remember that?”

If Zee remembers the nightmare he must remember Cam humming him back to sleep, Black Hole Sun, stroking his hair. He feels suddenly self-conscious. 

“I’ve been starting to remember them better.” Zee wins with his next move, draws a line through his three consecutive O’s. Cam snorts at Zee’s sudden victory and Zee flinches—  almost imperceptibly, but not quite. 

“I-is that bad?”

“That you just smoked me at tic-tac-toe?”

“That I remember.”

“I mean... It’s just a nightmare, right?” He draws another board for them, like a big hashtag. Zee goes first, picking a corner like Cam had in the last round.

“You want to tell me about it?” he presses.

Zee is decidedly not looking at him, lashes dusting his cheeks as he focuses on their game. “Yeah. I want to tell someone and… it should be you, right?"

Cam is a little taken back. Did Zee finally acknowledge what he thinks he just did?

"I'm more yours than anyone's. If you tell me it's alright, that is. To tell you. That would help me say things out loud. And… if you promise another thing.”

Cam frowns doubtfully. “Liiiike, what?” This is getting to be uncharted territory. 

Zee looks up, very seriously and a little pale, a little afraid. His last O is shaky, like a child made it. His fingers are white around the pencil. “Don’t tell Alex? Anything I tell you.” 

“O-kaaay,” Cam says, dubious. What could Zee possibly want to hide from Alex? He always snitches to Alex. Unless it was something about Alex?  His curiosity is enough that his heart picks up in his chest. “Done. You got it.”

Zee searches his eyes, as if they’ve just agreed not to use a pile of stolen money.

“Okay,” he says again, voice softer. “I swear. No telling Alex. You can tell me. Whatever it is you want to tell me.”

Zee licks his lips. “It’s a fire.”

Cam has to readjust his foot where it’s falling asleep underneath him. He doesn't know how Zee sits on the floor for hours without going totally numb.

“What is a fire?”

“My nightmare. It’s a fire. I think my brain… mixes it up with… From t-...” He makes a little noise, takes a shallow, unsteady breath. 

“Make your move, Zee. Just keep playing. Take your time.”

Zee focuses back on the game, blinks as if it’s blurry. “From training. When they hurt me.” He continues. “The bad things from...training... mixes up with the fire in my brain. But in the dreams, it’s the fire that's going to hurt me. But I’m not outside looking at it, I’m in the house. And it’s falling down. There’s beams, and… and I can’t find any doors outside. The windows don’t work. They’re stuck.”

“What fire, Zee?” Cam asks, trying to keep his voice casual and patient. He makes an X in the wrong spot, but it doesn’t matter. 

Zee wins, forgets to draw a line through his winning streak. “I set a fire. When I was nineteen. No, eighteen. I don’t know. But I set it, and it burned. A house. And... And I think it may have hurt someone. But I can’t remember. Because I only remember the judge. And that day. And—”

Cam is making another tic tac toe board for them when Zee grabs the the whole book and throws it against the wall. It thuds and falls to the floor, pages fluttering to rest. Cam stares at it a moment before easing the pencil out of Zee’s hand, holding it with his red one for safekeeping. 

Zee puts his hands over his face as if to hide.

“The judge?” Cam repeats softly. "What judge?"

“At my trial,” Zee says, muffled. “I made the wrong choice.”

Footsteps fall on the stairs, voices carrying and coming closer. Cam leans to his left and shuts Alex's door. 

“I’m sorry, Zee. What choice? What...fire? I’m not following, but I’m trying to.”

“Tell me I can say it,” Zee hisses from between his hands. “Tell me again, please?”

Cam sits up straighter, sets down the pencils so they clink softly together on the floor. “You can tell me whatever you want to, Zee. I’m… I’m giving you permission. You’re not going to get in trouble for anything you say right now. You have… well you have my word.”

That's something people say, isn't it? He wonders how good his word is to Z2. Still, he lowers his hands, revealing dry eyes and flushed cheeks. “I set a fire. When I was younger. I think I hurt someone, but I can’t remember. I remember standing off in the yard, in the dark. And I could feel...I could feel the heat of it on my face. All the way from where I was standing. It was like a...a wall. And the sound.” He looks at Cam. “I ran.”

“Did you get caught? Is that what you mean by a judge?”

He nods, jaw trembling, eyes sliding away onto the floor at the memory. “I could go to prison or… or become.” He touches his collar in a strangely tender gesture. “This.” He opens his mouth in a silent sob of grief, closes it halfway.  “I fucked up. I fucked up.”

Cam lays a hand over Zees knee, rubs his thumb back and forth.

“I thought… Ok. Don’t take this the wrong way. It’s fine, ok? That you’re telling me this. But I thought they wiped your memory? Like, twice?”

Zee laughs a little absurdly. “Yeah. Yeah, twice. I think… I think the second time backfired. It un-fucked my head up." He smacks the heel of his hand against his temple. "Knocked a few things loose. Whoops.” He laughs larder, interrupted by a hiccup. “It’s not… they say, uhm, that’s not an ‘exact science’.”

Cam’s smile of sympathy is more of a grimace. It’s hard to watch, but he can’t get up and leave. Not right now, not Zee. He thinks of Zee’s patience with him right after his father died, even with how he’d acted those first days. 

“I’m… I’m still a little lost, but I think I get the gist. You can tell me whatever you want, Zee.”

“You can’t tell Alex,” he moans again. “Ever.”

Cam frowns. “I won’t. But…” God. He’s really gonna say this, isn't he? “Al loves you. He’d never hold anything against you. He definitely wouldn’t hold remembering against you.”

Zee gives him a dull, washed-out stare. “He can’t know… what I did. Before. He won’t like me anymore, even… even if he says he does. It won’t be the same. I… did I hurt someone? Did someone die because of me? Why can't I just remember?” He folds his arms about his waist, as if to hold himself together, as if he can keep himself contained and safe. 

Cam shifts his position on the floor and gathers him up, holds him as tightly and as unselfconsciously as he does when he’s had one of his nightmares. He shushes into Zee’s hair, rocks them a little on the floor. Zee is silent, but willing. He lets Cam hold him.

Why had Zee told him all this? Was this trust? Had he somehow earned that by accident? No. The answer is simpler, and once it makes itself known to him he can’t unsee it, like a trick image of a duck that turns into a rabbit as you stare at it. Zee simply has more respect for Alex than he does for him. He figures Cam is somebody who will shrug if you’ve burned down a house, if you’ve fucked up your life. If you don’t even know if you might have hurt someone. 

That's how she goes, buddy.

Zee has seen both him and Alex at close range, how they were when it counted. Don't tell Alex. But Cam can know. Nothing to be lost there. 

Zee has quieted into rounds of chills, laying against Cam’s chest with his arms wrapped around his back, eyes still dry. 

“I know when you’re asleep, pet,” her voice is rough. She pushes you back against the mattress and forces herself between your legs. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it. Lying there and letting me fuck you night after night.”

You gape up at her. You can only make out vague details in the low light which means you can’t really make out her expression. She’s never spoken to you like this before. Used these kinds of words. You’ve seen hints of this harsher version of her but never so stark and never so suddenly. What have you done?

She pulls you in for another kiss and her teeth sink into your lower lip. You whimper pathetically. How good it feels is completely over shadowed by the anxiety of not knowing why this is happening, what you’ve done wrong. Her hands grope instead of glide and her nails dig in as they explore your chest. They hold you down when you try to push her away.

“Mistress,” you whimper in her hold. No matter how much you twist and turn you can’t escape her grip. She’s so fucking strong and you’re so fucking weak.

“Stop it,” she commands but you don’t. She sounds so angry and you don’t know why. “Stop it.”

You stop struggling, it’s hurting you more than her,. You turn your head sideways when she tries to kiss you again. She huffs, agitated.

“We both know you want this, bunny. There’s no denying what your cunt already gave away.”

You mutely shake your head. She skims her nose along your cheek.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she says, voice tight and low. “You haven’t said the words yet. Tell me you don’t want my fingers in that tight, greedy cunt of yours and I’ll leave.”

It’s less that you don’t want her (oh how you want her. You want so badly you won’t even look at it) and more about how aggressive she’s being. There’s no calm patience or quiet expectation. There’s a heavy, almost feral need to her that scares you. This isn’t the Mis— the person you’ve come to know. She’s gone so far off script and expectation that you tremble below her, unsure what to do and wishing for her other self. 

“Stop,” you say, voice small. She stills. You aren’t sure if it’s in surprise or anger or something else. Where has your gentle Mistress gone?

“Say it again,” she demands. “Nicely.”

“Please stop, Mistress,” and then in an even smaller voice, “You’re scaring me.”

She leaves with the same savagery she held you down with. You don’t move. Your brain struggling to catch up. You’d finally pushed her patience too far. She’s sick of your hesitation. What worries you most is the little voice asking Is this your new normal?

———

The next time the door opens you shrink back. She stops a few steps in front of the shut door, her hand held out to you. You’re hesitant to get close to her again but you’re scared to anger her again. You approach slowly but it doesn’t so much as twitch. Her expression seems flatter somehow.

You slowly press your cheek into her palm. One hand cupping the back of hers gently so you feel the full warmth of her against you. Your heart flutters a frightened beat but you risk it anyway. You don’t want her to be mad. You don’t want that— that aggressiveness and fear to be your new normal. You like how she treats you. How nice and gentle and kind. You don’t want that other person to come back.

Your eyes stay on her face once her skin is against yours again. Partly to see if you need to scramble away but mostly because you don’t want to remember what little you could see of the hard lines on her face last night. Her thumb strokes your cheek. You don’t flinch or look away. You keep blinking up at her. Looking for any sign of upset. That it was you and not something out there. Her eyes slip shut. If you let yourself believe she’d ever be so freely expressive it’d almost look like relief.

She crouches down in front of you and you tense. Her free hand moves to your other cheek and she cradles your face gently. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks like she’s mapping out your features, making sure you’re really there. 

One hand ends up gently cupping the back of your head and she guides you towards her. You’re expecting a kiss but she rests her forehead against yours instead. Her eyes slip shut again and she takes a deep, slow breath in. You watch her for a moment, studying the wrinkles around her eyes and the bags under them. She takes in another breath and you find yourself doing the same, your own eyes falling shut. 

Breathing each other in. Reassuring yourselves that the other is still there. Is still close.

———

Things follow as normal for a while. She’s softer again after the reconciliation, or maybe it just felt like that because of how hard she’d been. Either way it fades back into her normal neutrality with hints of other emotions slipping in.

It’s all back to perfectly nice and normal, except for the absence of the night visits, until she brings you to the mattress and it all goes wrong again. You didn’t think much of it except for the excitement of napping in her arms again. You didn’t think you had any worry in you left until her hand grasps your chin and brings your lips towards her own. 

You hesitate, just slightly. Your head going backwards a bit in unconscious denial. A part of your brain expecting the aggressiveness of last time. Her face darkens, her expression goes hard. You cringe back automatically which only seems to make it worse. She lets go of your chin and you curl in on yourself. You’ve ruined it. Again. All because you can’t control yourself. 

Her hand moves and you don’t even flinch. Acceptance and grief raging within you. It gently cups the back of your head and guides you to her lap. She moves so you lay on the edge of the mattress and gently runs her fingers through your hair. The relief is so strong it makes you go limp almost instantly. You sigh happily and your eyes slip closed. She isn’t mad, at least in this moment.

“Sleep, bunny,” she says. Her voice is rough in a way you haven’t heard before. You want to say there isn’t a single shred inside of you that wants to disobey her but there is. A part that wants to stay awake and savour this gentle version of your Mistress, to soak in the presence of her, but your eyes fall shut at her command and you drift off before you’ve memorised the feel of her hand.

———

She doesn’t visit you at night again, which isn’t unusual anymore. What is much worse is she doesn’t touch you when you drink her water. She doesn’t brush her fingers over your cheek when you’ve finished her food. She never goes over to her couch or your bed. She hands you the fucking bowl. Tears fill your eyes when you take it but you don’t let them fall. She barely looks at you. You thought everything was okay after the close moment you had both shared. That she wasn’t mad or upset with you. It looks like you were wrong.

You reluctantly eat. You don’t want to upset her more. The wooden fork feels awkward in your hand. You eat slowly. Any food looks unappealing and it’s a struggle to chew. By the time you finish the fork still feels weird. You haven’t remembered the proper grip.

After you pass back the bowl her free hand raises towards your head. Elation surges through you and you want to eagerly lean forward but force yourself still. You will allow absolutely no disobedience when she’s like this. She pauses midair before abruptly turning around and leaving. The ache inside of you grows.

You miss her so badly even when she’s in the room with you and for what? Why? Why did you say no? When everything she’s asking of you has already been done. Why deny her and push her away when it doesn’t even matter anymore? You accepted her touch even if you didn’t want to face it. Why can’t you have it now that she’s making you? She never comes in empty handed. Her visits are down to nothing but the basics. It hurts worse that she isn’t denying you food or water. Just her. Just her touch. Have you really managed to hurt her this time?

The next time she comes in with a bowl you don’t take it. She holds it out to you and you can’t make yourself grab it despite your silent vow of obedience. It hurts too much. Holding the bowl shouldn’t even be a thought in your head. You’re meant to be filled with thoughts of her, not this awful emptiness. Tears fill your eyes and you let them fall. The tight feeling in your chest makes it too hard to breathe. The awful feelings you’ve been trying to keep at bay to be able to be good for her finally build to a boiling point and you break.

You fall against her knees and sob uncontrollably. Unintelligible babble between please-s and I’m sorry-s and Mistress-s. You can’t hold it in anymore. You’re so alone and you ache for her. You ache for anything she’ll give you. You’ll do anything she says just for her to show you that you exist. That she still cares.

You press your face hard enough against her thigh that you can’t use your nose to breathe through all your blubbering. Her hand gently rests on the back of your head and you only press harder. What little words you’ve managed are gone and you cling to her as the awful loneliness and pain explodes from your chest.

Her hand goes from gentle to firm but otherwise she doesn’t move as you sob your heart out against her. It feels like it won’t stop but it does eventually lessen to sniffles and quiet whimpering. Your eyes sting from too much crying and your throat aches. Your nose still feels stuffy. Her hand never wavers. Her stance never falters beneath your weight. 

When you quieten to stuttering breaths her hand moves. You’re so focused on the feel of her hand on you again it takes you a while to realise she’s trying to guide you to the bed. You refuse to let her go. You shouldn’t. You should obey with everything in you now that she’s finally acknowledging you again but you can’t get your fingers to unlock. 

She doesn’t scold you or leave. She carefully navigates around the new obstacle. It turns into an awkward shuffle for you and small steps for her. She has to sit down first so that you’ll follow her. She settles you both under the covers and you look at her face searchingly for a hint of what she wants you to do next. 

You feel her arms open and you nearly launch yourself into them. You bury yourself as close as you can get, like you want to get into her skin. Her arms wrap securely around you, grip firm. The pressure makes you want to cry again. She’s here. She’s here and she’s holding you and she’s staying. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

She’s with you so she can’t dim the lights but it doesn’t matter. With a great shuddering sigh you fall asleep. Her hold never loosens. Nothing else happens that night, even though you wish it did.

———

“Good morning, bunny.”

Your eyes slowly blink open. There’s warm skin against your cheek and the scent of your Mistress fills your nose. 

It’s takes you a moment to really believe it. To convince yourself you aren’t dreaming. You’ve never woken up with her before. Warmth fills your chest and you nuzzle her neck with a sleepy hum. Her fingers play lightly with the baby hairs at the base of your neck and you shiver lightly. It feels so good to be surrounded by her after so long without her. You luxuriate in the feel of her for as long as she lets you. 

Eventually her fingers stop playing with your baby hairs to guide your head up. Your eyes meet hers before shyly looking down. Her finger tilts your chin up and towards her lips. You check her face to make sure you’re reading the command properly and her eyes are squarely on your lips. You lean in eagerly. 

Her lips are warm and soft and you don’t come up for air until she makes you. You follow her when she leans back. It makes her huff a laugh. A fuzzy, warm feeling fills your chest at the sound. You resist the urge to do it again and wait for her, your lips inches from her own. She grants you another and then another.

Her hand wraps around your thigh and pulls it further around her. You follow the silent command eagerly, with only a slight break between your lips. She waits until you’re straddling her properly before she cups the back of your head and pulls you back in. 

The feeling of the position being new has you keeping most of your weight on your knees but as she slowly works you up you lean more and more against her. Slowly settling against her so you feel as much as her as you can. The pressure against your clit has you pressing down more intentionally as her teeth nip at your bottom lip. You don’t truly realise what you’re doing as you press down again. Your mind totally consumed by the feel of her lips against your own and her warmth below you. One of her hands drops to your hip and you try to make yourself still. Her nails dig in and you realise that’s not what she wants. 

You’re well and truly grinding on her now. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it. Her other hand finds your hip and rocks you against her. A small, desperate sound escapes you. Even with her hands on you it’s not enough. She pulls back again to watch you. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so starved for her attention. Her eyes drinking in the ease of your movements, the desperation and pleasure on your face. It fills that hole she dug inside of you.

A particularly needy sound escapes you. She rolls you over and slots herself between your thighs. She hovers over you. This feels better. This feels right. She kisses you again and you eagerly recuperate. Your legs wrap around her hips to try and find any sort of relief. Her hand slaps your thigh and you drop them in surprise. It didn’t hurt. It was only a warning to slap. It didn’t even sting. 

Her cold hands slide up your shirt and you shiver. You want to pull it off for her but you don’t want another warning. What if she stops? What if she leaves again? It’s a struggle to keep your hips still so you focus on the cold path her hands take. Up over your ribs and skirting below your breasts. She moves from fingertips to nails and goosebumps rise where she trails them. 

She kisses you again when they circle back down in a frustrating tease. Taking her wrist and putting her hand where you want it is as likely to make her stop as to get what you want. Yet words are so hard. Her hands do the same circuit and you make a frustrated noise.

“Please,” you finally get your voice to work.

“Ask nicely,” she husks.

“Please, Mistress.”

Your Mistress grins. It’s dazzling. Her hands trail lower and her lips move to your neck. You arch eagerly into the new sensation. Her lips skim over your skin before finding a place to latch onto and suck. The feeling sends tingles down your spine. She licks over the spot and you shiver. She nips, licks and sucks her way down your neck. You’re soaked before her fingers even reach your waistband. You try to stop wriggling so much when they do. It’s so hard. The ache is so strong. 

She’s mean enough to trace a few lines along your waist but not cruel enough to linger long. You open your legs wider despite her having plenty of access. You zero in on the fingers trailing down untouched skin. The anticipation has your heartbeat in your clit.

Her fingers hesitate just above your clit and you beg unashamedly. You want to feel her everywhere. You want to be consumed by her. This is the closest you’ll get. The please smile on her face tells you it wasn’t a hesitation but a purposeful pause. You don’t care. You just want to feel her. Words feel so easy now it’s within reach.

“Please touch me Mistress. Please. I want to feel good. I want you to touch me. Please, please, please—“

Her fingers glide down your clit then back up. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. She keeps her touch light until you’re a squirming, whining mess. Then her thumb replaces her fingers and she rubs firms circles. Your hands fly up to fist her shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded. It doesn’t work. Her touch stays steady and firm. The complete lack you’ve experienced makes everything feel so much stronger. You fly higher and higher and just as you’re about to fall back down she pulls her hand away.

“No,” you whimper. One hand rushes down to finish yourself off as your orgasm begins to recede but she catches it. “Why?” you whine. You’ve been good, haven’t you?

She doesn’t say anything but she is smiling. She waits until you stop fighting her hold to let you go. Her eyes trail your form and you squirm from a mix of need and embarrassment. She always focuses on you, studies you. You still aren’t entirely used to it.

Her fingers glide through your soaked folds. You gasp lightly as they brush your clit. They glide back down to your entrance. Her fingers circle your entrance and little desperate sounds escape you every time she dips inside. You had no idea your Mistress was such a tease. Your meaningless begging babble returns. She slips two fingers inside of you and you moan. A quiet string of “yes yes yes yes” escapes you as she thrusts in and out of you in slow, controlled movements. 

Fuck she feels so good. The heat inside of you builds higher and your hips move to meet her movements. She uses her free hand to keep you still. You make a whining noise that only makes her smirk. She scissors her fingers, a feeling you’ve never felt her do ever, and you make a choked noise. It feels strange but so good you need her to do it again. Immediately. Until you break over her fingers. Or for forever. 

“Does that feel good bunny?” she asks as she scissors her fingers again. Breathing in the same air as her, you’re beyond words. When she asks again, “Does it?” in that warning tone of hers you nod hurriedly.

You’re so wet a squelching sound fills the air. After that she’s as talkative fucking you as she is patting your hair. She’s got a little furrow of concentration between her eyebrows as her skilful fingers work you up again. It feels so good not to think. To only feel and be in this moment with her. You can’t pull your eyes away from her face. She’s here she’s here she’s here. Her fingers curl.

You cry out as you come and you swear you feel her shudder above you. Her fingers curl and the pleasure rises higher. Her fingers inside you prolong the moment and it takes a while to come back to her. You’re not sure if you want to. It’s so good and easy in this moment. Everything is right and everything is worth it. Then you really see her. Mistress’ pupils are blown, her breath heavy and her hair is slightly frizzed. She’s gorgeous. You want to affect her this much all the time.

Your hands are fisted in her shirt. You pull her down, needing to feel her and the reassurance that you did well. Her lips meet yours hungrily. You don’t currently have the energy to match her but you let her consume you happily. You don’t think. You only want. Your hand trails lower. They don’t even get to the waistband before she’s grabbing your wrist. Her grip is tight enough to bruise. You look up at her with wide, confused eyes.

“No,” she says, voice low and rough. 

Your hand went limp the moment she grabbed your wrist but you nod anyway. She moves your wrist above you.

“Keep that there,” she commands. You nod again. The rule is clear even if the line isn’t. No touching her like that. Your other hand remains on her hip and she doesn’t move it. Her hand returns to your clit and you make a small, negative sound. You’re sensitive and it isn’t as nice as before. She ignores you and starts rubbing firm circles on your clit again. You shake your head, whining. Her pace doesn’t falter and her gaze stays fixed to your face. The reluctant pleasure is still pleasure despite the slight zings of pain. It’s easy to build you up after so much.

You come quietly. It feels more like an after shock than a true orgasm and your body trembles weakly after so much. She pops her soaked fingers into her mouth and sucks. Your eyes follow the movement. She purposely hollows her cheeks and something stirs in you again. You’re too exhausted for your body to do more than that.

Seeming amused, she pops her fingers out of her mouth. She moves to sit beside you. She guides you to lay on her lap. Your body is compliant in your fucked-out haze.

“Very well done, bunny.” She combs her fingers through your hair. Your body hums at the praise and you snuggle into her warmth happily. You wish you had more skin on skin contact but this will have to do for now. 

You lay there for a while, eyes drooping and slipping into that in-between place. Your mind drowsily following the pattern she’s tracing on your skin. You feel pleasantly worn out and the haze is a welcoming comfort with your Mistress around.

When she notices that you’re still awake, she says, 

“Go back to sleep.”

You resist even if your insides twist at the disobedience. You’re too tired to speak but now that she has what she wants you’re worried she won’t be there when you wake. When you don’t relax like you usually do she looks down at you. Your face must give you away. Instead of the frustration or annoyance you’re expecting her face softens. She cups your cheek and brushes a kiss against the top of your head.

“Sleep,” she murmurs. “I’ll will be here when you wake.”

Your eyes slip shut.