#ducon

He catches the signs, how you slowly find less time for yourself, your sleeping and eating habits change. He notices when your nervous ticks start up, how there never seems to be enough time in the day, how your emotions seem like a pot about to boil over. There’s a clear line where ambition becomes self-destructive, and that’s where he steps in.

And to be fair, he gave you a chance to talk about it. Rubbed your shoulders and pressed little kisses into your cheek and to your jaw. Tried to distract you and pull you away from what was stressing you out. Asked all sweet what was wrong, what you needed. And then you bared your teeth and snapped. And when plan A didn’t work, he opted to go with plan B.

He decided that you clearly didn’t know what you needed. That’s fine. He’ll help you figure it out. So he hauls you up, ignoring your thrashing and huffing. Ignores your threats, because you aren’t going to deliver on them, he’ll tire you out well before you can enact them.

He prefers to have taken you to bed, laid you out nice and comfy, let the duvet and pillows surround you. But when you’re like this, balled up and thrumming with an unnamed energy, any surface will do. He entertains the fight you put up when he finally lets you down. Kyle is more than capable of stopping you, but this little tussle helps tire you out, works out some of the excess before he even gets his mouth on you. Eventually, he’ll simply manhandle you into place, flipped onto your stomach with him pressed to your spine. His arm curled around your neck, not choking or restricting your breathing, but keeping you in place with the bulk of him, arm branded across your collarbone. All your spitting and hissing being ignored as he uses his free hand to force your bottoms out of the way.

Kyle will always argue that he’s doing this for you, that he’s taking care of you. But that little gasp you release when he first touches you, when the tension in your muscles releases just a bit, when your body realizes it’s finally getting what it needs? Yeah, that’s all for him.

He loves watching the fight begin to evaporate, as if you could never fathom why you tried to resist in the first place. The way your thighs part and your back arches, giving yourself up to him as arousal drips down his palm. When you go from fighting to trying to remember your manners, asking so sweetly for more. But you’re pinned beneath him with no where to go, no way to demand anything unless he willingly gives it to you.

“Thought you told me to fuck off, sweetheart?” He loves throwing your words back in your face, watching you whimper and shake your head, trying to deny them while you cling to him. And this is where he likes you, struggling to get any footing in edgewise and having to take what he gives you. When he can see all the reason dripping out of your ears and the only thing you can focus on is the feeling he’s giving you.