#rough handling

A year passes between the faeries discovering their mate’s hidden features and the time of his next heat. Through it, Bucky still seems shy about his features. Although he appreciates how sweet they are, how reassuring, he still doesn’t like to display himself. He thinks of himself as terrifying, particularly around such delicate and precious cargo. 

But he opens up a little. Allows them to come to the hot spring with him where he bathes, wings and horns and tail on display. Allows Natasha to pet and rub the joints of his wings on days they feel sore. Reveals his tail to playfully poke Sam when he isn’t expecting it.

Rare treats, but no longer completely hidden.

It gets progressively more frequent on the days leading up to Bucky’s heat. It’s like a dam has burst, like Bucky finds relief in not spending energy on the glamor. 

They prepare this time better than they did the previous year. Now that they know what they’re in for, they spend months getting into shape for it. They focus their magic, they rest and eat and save their strength in preparation for the onslaught.

But they still aren’t quite ready for how things go. 

It’s not the middle of the night this time. It’s broad daylight, mid afternoon, with Bucky in the kitchen cooking alongside Natasha and Sam. He’s holding a glass bowl in his hands when he freezes rather abruptly, a far-away look in his eyes. Sam notices first, strolling up to the edge of the counter -- about waist height on Bucky. 

“Hey man, you okay?” 

He gets his answer not through words, but through a sudden and very intense look. Bucky’s eyes fixate on him, pupils blown out so wide they overtake almost all of his iris, making them look black. More strikingly than that, Bucky’s wings burst suddenly from the glamor with a sudden dramatic flair, arching wide and high, stretched out to either attract or intimidate -- or both.

From where Sam stands with his neck craned back, it is truly an awe-inspiring sight. This enormous man towering over him, suddenly framed by wings, horns twisting out from above either ear, a sway in his lean body as he stares down. Oppressive in size and gravitas simultaneously.

Sam is rendered speechless.

Natasha’s attention is flagged by the wings as well, the sudden burst of inky black in her peripheral vision dragging her attention away from the kitchen island. 

Bucky drops the bowl, and it shatters into shards on the floor.

“Sam, I think it’s time,” she calls out, a single quiver of trepidation in her voice. Bucky zeroes in on the sound without looking -- from nowhere, a sudden shape darts into her vision. The thick appendage of Bucky’s tail wraps a look around her waist in a split second, yanking her up into the air. 

“Mine,” he declares of the two of them, voice firm and unfaltering and loud. “Mine to use.”

Talons as sharp as razors descend toward Sam so fast he momentarily forgets he doesn’t have to be afraid of the person wielding them. A massive palm presses him flat onto his back on the counter, sharp nails landing on either side of his head, and he stares up through the gap between Bucky’s index and middle fingers for a long series of seconds.

And then they slowly drag him toward the edge of the counter, wrapping around his body and lifting him into the air. 

Those sharp nails slip dangerously through his limbs, spreading his arms wide open with a ring finger and his thumb so that Sam’s wide open and exposed. Stuck in an implacable grip as Bucky brings him down a little lower.

The appendage around Natasha slackens a little, but she quickly realizes it’s only so it can smash her up against Bucky’s cock and then wrap around them both simultaneously. It grips her tight like chord, like a boa constrictor, binding her against his cock as he strokes himself off with her body and his tail.

Sam can see her hair hanging down, her face pressed into skin, he can see her squirm against that column of flesh and he can see Bucky’s cock pulse every time she does.

“You okay?” he calls out hoarsely, just before the tip of a penis is pressed against his mouth and dragged over his face. 

“Y-yeah-- doing great--” she calls back dryly, breathless and strained.

“Mine,” Bucky informs them, jerking harder, breathless and urgent and consumed with a need to mark the little man in his hand.

“Yeah, big guy, we got that,” he answers, and is met again with the head of Bucky’s dick circling his face. 

“....Bucky?” Steve’s voice causes a falter in Bucky’s rhythm, a new and unexpected element that he focuses on immediately.

“Steve! Plan C! Plan C!” Sam calls, and Steve curses, quickly darting across the room. After what happened last time, after where he spent his days, they came up with a pretty important solution. A toy made mostly of glass, transparent enough for Bucky to see and feel satisfied by who he has in his grip. Something for Steve to slip into before Bucky could grab him and shove him exactly where he wants him.

He barely gets into it in time before that massive hand slams down and snatches him, the thick glass protecting him from the strength of his grip as the world soars past him. He isn’t surprised by the location, by that tail lifting and those two massive legs parting, nor by the fact that Bucky shoes him unceremoniously into his hole. Muscle clamps down around him, light disappears, and Steve’s greeted with his night-vision view of Bucky’s insides desperately clenching around him, drawing pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth. 

He’ll be spending the next two days trapped in here, only occasionally glimpsing light when Bucky shifts his legs open and uses his tail to drag the toy in and out, in and out.

Sam learns why Bucky considers himself terrifying. He spends his days at waist height staring up at dark eyes and dark wings and dark horns as Bucky breathes heavy and domineers the area above him, stroking himself roughly off, dragging his cock over Sam’s body, and grinding out a forceful, “Mine,” whenever he thinks Sam needs the reminder.

By the time it’s over, that thought doesn’t leave his mind. It lingers every time he looks at Bucky, this sense of possession. This feeling that he does, in fact, belong to Bucky.

His.

As for Natasha, well, Natasha’s the smartest of the three of them. She’s learned to pleasure rather than let herself be used for pleasure; Steve isn’t the only one to have had the idea for a toy. Natasha’s brilliant invention was a little bit like a cut-off fleshlight, round and open ended, that she pulled out the first time Bucky paused long enough for it. 

As it turns out, as long as she spent every bit of her energy dragging it back and forth along Bucky’s cock, he was content to let her jack him off of her own volition.

The only caveat? She couldn’t stop. Not even for a minute. The second she faltered he’d reach for her, and she’d have to frantically resume exhausting herself between his legs underneath his dick.

It could be worse. 

“Sorry, Sam,” she calls for the fifteenth time as she feels the flesh above her twitch, about to finish on him again.

“I hate you,” he answers back in deadpan.

It wasn’t fair, Tobirama thought to himself as he watches the sleek black hair trail behind the immaculately dressed man stalking across the front of the room, no man should be allowed to be so visually captivating. The older man could have been explaining the meaning of life or the nuances of how paint dried; Tobirama wouldn’t have any idea, all he could think about was how perfect the other’s lips would look wrapped around his cock. Professor Madara Uchiha, head of the Chemistry department at Konoha University was not only very passionate about his subject but also drop-dead gorgeous to boot. If Tobirama was a man of lesser intellect he would be failing the class due to the constant distraction strutting across the front of the room everyday. Professor Uchiha had an air of confidence that was absolutely intoxicating to the Senju, he just wanted to bend the man over his desk and fuck him until he begged for mercy. Unfortunately the professor didn’t even know he existed; in fact he didn’t seem to realize the effect he had on his students.

After a particularly trying day, Professor Uchiha had worn his hair up in a high ponytail that Tobirama just wanted to wrap around his fist, he decides he needs to blow off some steam. Normally Tobirama would avoid the bars, drunk college kids were the absolute worse, but the one his brother ran was a bit classier and tended to cater to the dom/sub culture. With any luck he could find a sub looking for a rough fuck.

“Tobi! Thank god!” Of course the universe had other plans for him.

“What is it Anija?” Tobirama sighs, writing off his previous plans as he walks over to the bar where Hashirama is waving frantically at him.

“I need you to do me a huge favor!” Hashirama pleads, pressing his hands together and doing his best to look like Tobirama had kicked his favorite puppy again.

“Fine,” the younger Senju grumbles, knowing it’s pointless to argue with his brother.

“Thank you!” Hashirama grabs his brother and drags him back to the office before he can change his mind.

Figuring Hashirama messed up the bar’s books again, he really needed to stop trying to help Mito while she was away, Tobirama’s not prepared for the sight of his chemistry professor passed out on the couch Hashirama insisted on having in the office. “What happened?”

“Madara came here to have a celebratory drink with me,” Hashirama explains, making Tobirama’s brows furrow in confusion, “we are old friends and he just got a huge grant for the department. Anyway we got a bit wrapped up in reminiscing and someone spiked his drink.”

“What?”

“I dealt with it.” The serious expression coupled with the dark tone makes Tobirama pause. That was usually a telltale sign that he shouldn’t ask questions so he just nods.

“So what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to take him home with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Tobirama states with a frown, “I can’t take him anywhere he’s my teacher.”

“Oh…” Hashirama deflates for a second before he suddenly breaks into a grin. “Take him to my house then! It’s off campus and no one will know!”

“He probably shouldn’t be alone right now,” Tobirama points out as he glances at the unconscious man, “doesn’t he have a girlfriend or something?”

“Mads is single and his brother is out of town,” Hashirama says and Tobirama can’t stop the snort at the stupid nickname. “Can you just stay with him until I get home? I close tonight, but you can always spend the night and I’ll take you back to your dorm tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” Tobirama sighs, knowing it would be quicker to just agree with his brother and get it over with.

“Thanks! Here are his keys, just go out the back door,” Hashirama shoves the keys into Tobirama’s hands and darts out the door. “I have to get back to work!”

“Idiot,” Tobirama mutters under his breath as he crosses the short distance to the couch. “Professor, are you awake?” Shaking the older man gets zero response so Tobirama carefully picks his professor up and takes him out to the car that flashes when he hits the unlock button on the key fob. Cars might not be his thing, Kawarama was the car nut of the family, but Tobirama has to admit Professor Uchiha’s ride is very nice.

When Tobirama gets to Hashirama’s house, he parks in the garage and carefully moves his professor to the couch.

“Professor?” Tobirama tries again as he places a waste basket next to the unconscious man. Getting no response the Senju sighs and flops into the loveseat across from the couch. This was not how he’d planned on going home with someone. He didn’t even have any classwork with him for something to do, but his brother did have a decent movie collection, so he resorts to that to avoid just staring at Professor Uchiha.

Tobirama manages to make it through two movies, more like one and a half as he wasn’t sure when his eyes had strayed back to his professor, before he can’t take it anymore. “Fuck it,” Tobirama grumbles as he crosses the room and shakes the older man again. “Professor!” Barely getting more than a groan, the Senju huffs in irritation as his eyes stray back to the ponytail that had taunted him throughout class today. Surely it would be more comfortable to rest with his hair down, Tobirama reasons, he only cared about his favorite professor’s comfort; it had nothing to do with how he was dying to know what those luscious black locks felt like. He wars with himself for another moment before he finally gives into the temptation and carefully removes the tie from the Uchiha’s hair.

As it turns out the older man’s hair is not only as soft as Tobirama had thought it would be, it is remarkably tangle free and felt like the finest silk between his fingers. Gods how he wished he could run his fingers through these locks again. Lightly digging his fingers into the professor’s scalp, Tobirama is surprised to hear the older man let out a content hum. Who would have guessed Professor Uchiha liked having his hair played with? Perhaps Tobirama could use that in the future to get what he wanted.

“Where...?” The groggy voice snaps Tobirama out of his pleasant daydream and he quickly, albeit carefully, pulls his hand back.

“Professor, are you awake now?” Tobirama asks, brushing the older man’s bangs out of his face so he can check how dilated the other’s pupils are.

“Senju?” Madara mutters, confusion clear in his tone as he struggles to remember what happened. “You...drugged me?”

“No!” Tobirama yelps, not wanting the gorgeous man to get the wrong impression, “I did a favor for my brother!”

“Hashirama drugged me?” Madara questions, carefully sitting up with his student’s help.

“No,” Tobirama sighs, running a hand through his hair, “someone else drugged you when you went to have a drink with my brother. Hashirama dealt with the person, but he was worried about you, so he asked me to bring you to his house and keep an eye on you until he got home. How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” Madara admits, running a hand through his hair, “didn’t I have my hair up?”

“The tie came loose when I got you here,” Tobirama lies, handing the strip of leather over to him, “I tried to tie it back but it has a mind of its own.”

“So you’ve been watching over me then?”

“Yes, is that okay?”

“Sure,” Madara shrugs, looking at his student thoughtfully, “you’re one of my more responsible students.”

“I didn’t realize you knew I existed,” Tobirama admits and the Uchiha chuckles, a grin lighting up his face.

“You’re Hashirama’s little brother, I recognized you the second you walked into my classroom,” Madara says, grin still fond, if not amused, “thankfully you’re nowhere near the disaster your brother was when we were in class together.”

“I’m insulted you thought I was,” Tobirama huffs, “Hashirama is an absolute buffoon. Though at least he knows when people are flirting with him, unlike a certain professor I have.”

“Oh I know when my students are flirting with me,” Madara snorts, rolling his eyes, “none of them are worth getting fired over.”

“Well there goes my shot of fucking you over your desk,” Tobirama jokes, flushing when he realizes what he’s just said. He’s about to quickly retract the statement, until he sees the blush dusting his professor’s cheeks and the considering look in his eyes.

“Does it have to be my desk?” Madara blurts and the Senju’s eyes widen, this night just kept getting better and better.

“You were drugged and unconscious for who knows how long,” Tobirama points out, “that would be taking advantage of you.”

“How noble of you, stupid, but noble,” Madara sighs, slumping back against the couch, “how about you come see me at the end of my office hours tomorrow? It’s Friday so no one will try and bug me and you can’t say I’m still being influenced.”

“You’re serious,” Tobirama mutters, and Professor Uchiha nods, making the Senju smirk, “as long as you wear your hair up.”

“Deal.”

Tobirama contemplates not showing up to Professor Uchiha’s office the next day, still not entirely convinced the professor had meant what he said, but decides it would be silly to pass up such a chance. Worst case scenario he’d pretend he was checking on his grade for the semester. As the Senju makes his way to his professor’s office he notes that the rest of the science department have either left for the weekend or are packing up. That wasn’t too surprising, Madara was one of the few that made his office hours Friday afternoon; most professors wanted to start the weekend as soon as they could.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show up,” Madara comments as Tobirama shuts the door behind him, the Uchiha’s hair once more tied up in a high ponytail.

“I wasn’t sure if you were serious or not,” Tobirama admits with a shrug as he drops his backpack into the seat across from the older man, “for all I know this is a set up.”

“I hardly need you to come here to set you up, all I would need to do is tell Hashirama you took advantage of me inside his home.”

“I did no such thing!” Tobirama growls, slamming his hands down on the desk as he glares at the Uchiha, who just smirks.

“Who do you think Hashirama would believe?” Madara challenges with a raised eyebrow, “me, his best friend who was unconscious and drugged, or you, his brother with known morality issues?”

“The corpse thing was one time!” Tobirama snaps, grinding his teeth together to prevent anymore stupid confessions.

“My point stands,” Madara chuckles, “I have the advantage in this situation.”

“If you were just going to blackmail me why wait until today?” Tobirama forces out, the words bitter across his tongue.

“One, I didn’t want to jump you at Hashirama’s house, and two, you’re no longer one of my students now.”

“Wha-?” Tobirama’s eyes widen before he even finishes the question. Of course, this was a shortened course and the final project was due earlier in the week. Tobirama was willing to bet his final grade was already submitted to the university so, in the unlikely event they were caught, Madara wouldn’t lose his job. Suddenly all of Madara’s taunting made sense, he was waiting for his office hours to officially end. “So how are we going to do this Professor?”

“Fantasy for a fantasy?”

“The noble Professor Uchiha has a dirty fantasy about fucking one of his students?” Tobirama teases with a smirk, “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“You want to fuck me over my desk, I want you to blow me under it,” Madara mutters, pink dusting his cheeks.

Tobirama pretends to give the offer some thought, he would pretty much do anything to bend the Uchiha over his desk, so while blowjobs weren’t his favorite thing, it was definitely worth it. Not to the mention the thought of opening Madara up and fucking into a second orgasm was too good a treat to pass up. “I suppose that’s doable.”

“If only Hashirama could see his baby brother now.”

“First, I’m not his baby brother that’s Itama,” Tobirama states as he crawls under the large wooden desk, “and second if you bring Hashirama up again I’m going to bite you.”

“If you bite my dick you’re not going to fuck me,” Madara warns as he slides his chair back into place, trapping Tobirama between the back of the desk and his legs.

Tobirama rolls his eyes, Madara was leaving this room limping one way or another, only to frown when he realizes he doesn’t have the leverage to unzip Madara’s pants. “Are you going to whip your dick out or do I have to do everything?”

“So needy,” Madara chuckles even as he frees his already hard cock, revealing just how much he wants the Senju under his desk.

Instead of responding verbally Tobirama leans forward and takes Madara’s cock to the base, dragging a startled moan from the Uchiha. Just because this wasn’t Tobirama’s favorite technique, didn’t mean he wasn’t good at it thanks to his lack of a gag reflex.

“Oh fuck!” Madara snarls, thrusting forward as he grabs a fistful of white hair, “of course you’re good at this too.”

Tobirama chuckles at the comment, loving the whine he gets from Madara, before he slowly starts to bob his head. Just when Madara has a chance to adjust to the pace, Tobirama hums, curling his tongue around the underside as he pulls off with a wet pop. “So glad you approve of my skill,” Tobirama purrs, lightly nibbling on the older man’s length, “Professor.”

“Fucking tease,” Madara whimpers, trying to tug Tobirama back to where he wants him, but the former student just smirks as he continues his slow pace.

“I really need that A Professor,” Tobirama mutters, his lips brushing against Madara’s shaft as he speaks, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Goddamn,” Madara curses, tightening his grip on Tobirama’s hair; he hadn’t expected the Senju to play his part so well. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Pretty please Professor?” Tobirama pushes his lips out in an exaggerated pout, “I’ll lose my scholarship without it.” He slowly takes the Uchiha back into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks obscenely as his lips meet Madara’s pelvis.

“Fuck!” Madara snarls, bucking his hips up without meaning to, Tobirama looked like he belonged on the set of one of those cheap pornos.

Tobirama hums in encouragement, picking up speed as he does. Madara barely lasts another minute before he yanks Tobirama down harshly and his release crashes over him. The Senju jerks slightly, but he quickly recovers and swallows the cum, wiping his chin on Madara’s pant leg once he can move.

“Goddamn Tobirama,” Madara pants, leaning back in his chair, “that mouth of yours shouldn’t be legal.”

“You better not make me wait for my turn old man,” Tobirama teases, nudging the chair back until he can crawl out from under the desk. His knees and back ache a little from holding that position so long, but the arousal coursing through his veins makes it easy to ignore.

“Fuck you,” Madara grumbles, waving a hand thoughtlessly in a ‘get on with it’ motion.

Tobirama smirks as he lets his eyes trail over them man he’s desired for half a semester. When Madara’s eyes slip closed for a moment, Tobirama strikes, one hand grabbing that damn ponytail. Before Madara can react, Tobirama yanks him out of his chair and pushes him down on his desk in one swift movement.

“Damn!” Madara hisses, tired body protesting the sudden movement, “what the hell Senju?!”

“You’ve been very naughty Professor,” Tobirama mutters, draping himself over the older man’s back so he can whisper directly into his ear. “Always looking so fuckable in class...I should punish you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Tobirama-!” Madara’s words are cut off by a moan when his hair is yanked, hard.

“Hush now Professor, this isn’t one of your lectures,” Tobirama continues as he straightens up to look at the enticing sight before him. Madara looked even better spread across his own desk than Tobirama had thought he would. “You have no idea how distracting you are, do you? I think it’s about time someone fucked some sense into you.”

“This isn’t funny Senju” Madara states, getting his arms under him so he can push back against his former student. “You need to leave.”

“None of that now,” Tobirama tuts, yanking the Uchiha’s arms behind his back. Realizing Madara wants to play that kind of game, Tobirama smirks as he uses the man’s own hair to tie his wrists in place.

“Bastard,” Madara grumbles, tugging experimentally at his arms, only to moan at the burn in his scalp; his hair would hate him for this later, but at the moment Madara didn’t care.

“That’s better,” Tobirama purrs, leaning forward to suck a hickey on the back of Madara’s neck; it would be easily hidden by the man’s hair, but that wasn’t the point. “Now let’s get to the real reason you’re everyone’s favorite teacher,” Tobirama mutters, removing the older man’s belt and shoving his pants to the ground. “No underwear, how risque.”

“Fuck you,” Madara mutters, whimpering when his student’s hands roughly grope his ass, “I’ll fail you for this you brat.”

“Unlikely,” Tobirama chuckles, leaning over the professor to grab his backpack and drop it behind the desk. He lets Madara wonder what he’s doing for a moment before he slips a now lubed finger into the Uchiha. “I’m going to fuck you so hard Professor that you’ll be addicted to my cock.”

“You’ll be expelled for this,” Madara spits, even as he moans and thrusts back, impaling himself further on the invading finger. “You’ve just ruined your life, hope it’s worth it.”

“It’s so cute you think the university will take your side,” Tobirama chuckles, quickly working a second finger into Madara, “when the Senju family are their biggest donors. The only one that will get in trouble is you, Professor.”

“I’m not the one fucking his teacher over his desk,” Madara groans, biting back a whimper when a third finger slips in almost too soon, “the department head no less.”

“Titles mean nothing to the university as long as they get paid,” Tobirama chuckles, curling his fingers until the older man cries out, “you’re mine and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Bastard,” Madara whines as the pale fingers slip free.

“I’ll make it good for you,” Tobirama promises, freeing and coating his cock in lube before he roughly thrusts into the bound man under him. Madara practically howls, but the Senju knows it's more from pleasure than pain.

“Fuck!” Madara snarls, body jerking as Tobirama immediately sets a brutal pace. Instead of getting him away from the cock sawing him in two, all Madara manages to do is tighten the knot of hair around his wrists, forcing his head back at an awkward angle.

“You feel so good Professor,” Tobirama moans, digging his nails into Madara’s ass, wanting to leave behind as many marks as he can. “I think you missed your true calling in life.”

“I swear-ah!” A particularly hard jab to his prostate has Madara choking back a sob of pleasure, “I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“Are you threatening me Professor?” Tobirama chuckles, grabbing at the base of Madara’s ponytail and yanking until he’s sure the older man can’t breath, “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“Senju…!” Madara gasps, stars dancing behind his eyes as Tobirama pulls him back to meet his next thrust.

“Say my name Professor,” Tobirama growls, picking up the speed of his thrusts.

Madara tries to fight it, but between the abuse to his prostate and the lack of air, his brightest student’s name tumbles out. “T-Tobirama…”

“Such a good boy,” Tobirama purrs, returning both hands to Madara’s hips so he can yank the older man back to meet each increasingly brutal thrust.

Madara greedily sucks in air as his head lolls forward as far as it can. The chemistry professor knew he wouldn’t last much longer, no one had managed to play his body as well as Tobirama was in a long time. “Tobirama...please...I-I...need…”

“Is this what you need Professor?” Tobirama mutters, shifting one hand to grab Madara’s leaking cock in a firm grip. “Do you need to come again?”

“Please!” Madara begs, too far gone to care how pathetic he must look.

“Anything for my favorite professor,” Tobirama chuckles, stroking the hard flesh in time with his thrusts. Madara makes it half a dozen thrusts before he comes with a wordless cry, his release splattering the top of the desk. Tobirama moans as the muscles around his cock grip him like a vice, pressing in as deep as he can before his orgasm hits.

“Shit,” Madara pants, whining as he is pressed down harder into the desk, his own cum staining his shirt.

“Your ass is even better than I thought it would be,” Tobirama chuckles, using one hand to keep Madara pressed down while his other hand rummages through his backpack again. Finding what he’s looking for Tobirama smirks and carefully pulls out of Madara. “I brought you a present Professor.”

“Wha-?!” Madara has to bite back a sob of pained pleasure as he feels something hard stretch his entrance open farther.

“I would hate for you to make a mess in your office,” Tobirama continues like Madara hasn’t spoken, firmly pressing the glass plug the rest of the way in. The Senju hums as he admires his handing work, one finger lightly tracing the edge of the toy.

“Enough,” Madara whimpers as the sinful finger pushes inside, his over sensitized nerves burning at the new stretch, “please.”

Tobirama just hums in agreement as he retracts his hand and fixes Madara’s pants for him. Carefully freeing the older man’s wrists, Tobirama runs a soothing hand the tangled locks of hair. “Hush now Professor,” the Senju mutters, enjoying the whimper when he gently sets Madara into his office chair, “I’ll take care of you.”

Madara can only grumble in response, too tired to offer much of a complaint. He’s vaguely aware of Tobirama cleaning off his desk as he drifts in and out of consciousness. A sudden weight in his lab draws him back to his office with a pained grunt as the plug is forced deeper. “What are you doing?” Madara demands, glaring at the younger man straddling his lap, “our deal is done.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you were mine now,” Tobirama says, bringing a collar into view, “now the question is, will you accept it?”

Madara stares at the collar for a long moment, realizing that Tobirama wanted him for more than a one time fling. That thought shouldn’t warm his heart nearly as much as it did, but it had been so long since he’d had a good dom. Instead of responding verbally, Madara just tilts his chin up, offering Tobirama free access to his neck.

Tobirama grins as he carefully fastens his collar around Madara’s beautifully pale neck; he’d never given out his collar before. “Thank you,” he mutters, using the collar to pull Madara down into their first kiss.

----

Two of Captain Mara ‘Marauder’ Bellamy’s crew members drag the limp body ashore by the arms, while three others pull their lifeboat up out of the water and anchor it. Their captain strides ahead of them into a large cavern.

“There,” she orders, pointing to the center of the flat, rocky space. As instructed, the men throw the young woman to the ground. She skids a little, further tearing her shredded dress. With a gargling groan, she rolls onto her back and begins to convulse and heave up water.

The small group circles her, watching in awe and terror as the body that they had most certainly found dead, clinging to a piece of driftwood floating amongst the shipwreck they were scavenging. Thirst, exhaustion, and the unbearable heat of the sun beating down on her bare back took her quickly, and soon after a school of nearby fish had taken bites of her legs and feet and the skirt of her dress hanging heavy beneath the water.

And then as if her spirit had re-entered her body all at once, the corpse gasped to life and nearly scared them all to death.

Mara doesn’t leave survivors. That’s her reasoning as she instructs her crew to haul the body aboard. It’s hot, and perhaps she only imagined a scrape on the woman’s cheek begin to fade away…

But now as they all stand around, they exchange glances until Mara is frustrated enough to speak.

“You’re all seeing this too, right?”

They all nod in simultaneous confirmation. Because they all saw the bites and cuts littering the body heal away like they were never there. And then, when writhing against the grit of sand atop stone grates at her sunburned back, she turns onto her stomach and heaves some more. They watch the charred and bloody skin of her back mend, too, leaving the woman soaked and gasping but whole.

The Captain sees the rarest of treasures. The light at the end of a long journey to find something she wasn’t even sure existed. But…

“We have to be sure.” She motions to their captive. “Hurt her.”

Within seconds, grunts and whines echo from the high, curved cavern walls. The two crew members choose a place along Emmeline’s hip and thigh, where the dress has torn enough to reveal freshly healed skin. They take turns kicking the spot in quick and brutal rhythms, beating a livid purple bruise onto the flesh. When Mara whistles sharply, they stop and draw back.

The woman keens, body twisting to protect her injured side from the hard ground. She reaches a hand down as though to shield it, only to let out another agonized sound at the slightest press of her own fingers to the abused skin. Now, her sobs echo.

Gradually but unmistakably, the bruising reverses before their eyes, lightening and easing as its victim cries and hovers a hand over hot skin.

Before they know it, it’s gone entirely.

The crew begins to chatter excitedly; they’re immediately silenced by Captain Mara raising her hand. They take the cue to step back and keep their voices to a whisper.

Mara steps forward and kneels before the woman. She digs her fingers tight around the roots of her stringy, damp hair and yanks her head up to get a proper look at her.

The face that stares back at her is impossibly youthful - silken skin, full lips and flushed cheeks where not long ago they were parched, sunken and colorless. A face and a body unmarred by wounds or even death itself. Her deep, shining eyes hold the weight of sadness of a lifetime lived, yet someone still just naive enough to plead.

“I need to see it up close,” she murmurs. Her grip tightening, she lifts the woman higher and slams her fist into her face so hard a snap! rings out at her cheekbone breaking. It’s a thrill to see that perfect face scrunch in agony. When Mara pulls her hand away the spot is crumpled and blood blooms beneath the skin.

The woman’s trembling lips rasp a word she can hardly make out in a language she doesn’t know.

It is unmistakably a plea for mercy. It goes unnoticed.

Mara’s fist is already drawing back and she knocks any further words from her, pummeling one side of her face with enthusiastic brutality. Her crew looks on without flinching.

When the blows cease and the ageless woman is half-conscious and dangling limp in the Captain’s grasp, Mara yanks her head to one side and leans in to get a closer look. From this angle the crew can’t see, but they don’t need to. Her decision is the only one that matters.

Heavy tears spill from a swollen-shut eye down a path across the bruised and mangled cheek and jaw, mingling with blood that in turn trickles from her split lip down her chin and neck. She’s trying to breathe but choking on her own blood, shuddering so hard in her grip that Mara’s arm shakes.

Just as before, the damage mends from the inside out, the worst of the swelling easing down, followed by the deepest bruises, the cut on her lip…

Before the bruises can disappear entirely, Mara grips the woman’s face tightly with her other hand, pressing in until they darken once more. She whines and tries to speak again, but Mara squeezes tighter until she’s silent.

“We all believed the stories meant a hidden waterfall or spring, some natural fountain.” She says just loud enough for her crew to hear. “But the line never mentions water. The story goes, “find the source overflowing with health and youth; take from it and you will gain its gift.”

She can feel herself grinning. She releases the woman’s face and watches the remaining damage dissipate. Then she stands and shoves her back to the ground.

“‘Take from it’,” she repeats with delight. Standing over the crumpled form, Mara can see the teary glimmer of eyes through disheveled hair before they flutter shut.

“Nothing we do better than take.”

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