#pibber

The silence was broken by a click of a door opening, followed by a series of footsteps across the carpeted floor that sent all blood rushing down. Oscar tried to lift his head despite the ache in his neck, muscles straining with the effort to track any movement that happened near him.

It was futile; the cloth that covered his eyes was thick enough to block his vision and all Oscar could do was depend on his hearing for any sign, any, to ease his erratic heartbeat. His wrists had started to ache; the rope burnt against his skin, partly from the many times Oscar tugged on them to test their strength. The knot was simple enough, Mark had said, that it could be undone in several minutes. Now, Oscar knew Mark could be a God damned liar.

“Enjoying your time, pup?” A velvety voice spoke right next to his ear, causing Oscar to twitch in surprise. His movement was suspended by the rope tying his arms and legs to the bedposts.

“I wish,” Oscar bit back, forcing himself to sound haughty even when his voice shook. “Is this your idea of fun? I’d rather sleep.”

Mark laughed at that. A firm hand closed around his straining cock, drawing out a squeak from Oscar. “I haven’t started yet, pup.” Cold liquid dripped onto his prick and Oscar hissed at the sensation, wriggling under Mark’s touch. Despite the firmness in Mark’s voice, Oscar felt bristles grazing his hairline and a soft brush of lips against his forehead, and he couldn’t help but melt a little into the gesture, leaning into Mark.

“What can I do for ya,” Mark says, like he doesn’t know. Oscar’s eyes narrow. He licks his bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth. Mark can’t be expected to think about anything but doing that himself. About Oscar’s soft lips, how they might give under Mark’s teeth.

“S’almost break,” Oscar says, casual. “Won’t be seeing you as much.” He looks a bit strained about it, behind his brittle little shield of confidence.

“For, what, two weeks?” Mark won’t say it but he’s been thinking about it too. He doesn’t like Oscar gone too far from him for too long. Two weeks on two separate continents shouldn’t be as much of a problem as he’s making it.

“Two weeks is a while,” Oscar says. A car outside on the track gets closer, zips by. The doppler effect of it feels somehow physical. Mark sways back as it hits. Oscar sways forward. And at first Mark thinks he’s overbalanced, stepping into Mark’s space and catching himself on Mark’s chest with both hands.

But—no. Oscar never does anything without intention, does he?

Oscar’s got one hand spread wide over Mark’s side and with the other he’s caught him by his lanyard. Not pulling him down just yet but holding him in place, blinking up at him so slow and doe-eyed it’s near hypnotic. Mark’s eyes slide out of focus with Oscar up so close. The blur of his eyes, the smudge of his pink mouth. Mark gets a hand around Oscar’s wrist.

Push back, Mark thinks. Say no.

Oscar tugs at the lanyard. He’s stopped smiling. His eyes have slipped shut and his lips are soft and puckered and he looks fucking cherubic, so innocent and wanting in the wash of the sunset. Something perfect, something ripe, something ready to spoil.