The first sign that something was off was the smell.

It wasn’t a bad smell, per se. Just an aggressive one. Warm sugar, toasted marshmallow, cinnamon, and maybe a hint of nutmeg but all in an irresponsible concentration. The assault on your senses was immediate as you groaned and rolled onto your back, slowly blinking awake in your room.

“Gabriel,” you groaned. Because no one else was capable of this sort of thing. There was a soft flutter of wings somewhere near the foot of your bed. You moved to sit up, rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes before opening them. “Oh my God.”

“Not quite,” Gabriel said, beaming. “Archangel. But I’m feeling festive, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

It looked like a Christmas explosion had gone off, and your room was ground zero. Your dresser in the corner was gone, replaced by an 8-foot Christmas tree that was decorated to the nines. Tinsel was draped across every conceivable surface possible, and twinkling lights were strung along the walls, held up by small hooks that were inexplicably screwed into the concrete. There was an inflatable snowman next to your bed, and if you weren’t mistaken, it was snowing. Inside. Standing in the center of it all was none other than Gabriel, proudly holding two mugs of hot cocoa that looked like they had been put together by a sugar-high toddler.

“What did you do to my room?”

“A little bit of holiday cheer, sugar plum!” He lifted the mugs of cocoa as if he were toasting himself. “You’re welcome!” You groaned again, flopping backwards onto your mattress and staring up at the ceiling where snowflakes dropped down from.

“This isn’t holiday cheer, Gabe. This is a gingerbread-scented assault.” Gabriel set the mugs of cocoa on your bedside table before perching himself on the edge of your mattress.

“Look, sweets,” he began earnestly. “This is your first Christmas with an archangel boyfriend. And my Father’s birthday, I might add. It’s only a big deal.”

“You consider Jesus your father?”

“Ehh... It’s better if you don’t look too closely at the celestial family tree,” he said with a shrug. You thought for a moment before,

“Wait a minute.” You tilted your head and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t the Bible say that you were the messenger who foretold the whole ‘birth of Jesus’ thing?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Okay, I have to ask. Was Mary actually a virgin?” Gabriel laughed. A full laugh that rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Pfft, no. That little tidbit was added thousands of years after the fact. Joseph wasn't clueless. Mary wasn't naive. And let's just say no one needed an anatomy lesson from an archangel. The miracle was the timing, not the biology.” You couldn’t help but snort at that.

“So all the paintings of you hovering over Mary to make your ‘big announcement’ are–”

“Creative license,” Gabriel said, waving his hand dismissively. “I did show up, but it was more of a ‘heads up, the kid you’re carrying is going to be a big deal’ kind of thing. No glowing halos, no floating. Just me looking marginally less attractive than I do now delivering some cosmic news.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Leave it to Gabriel to debunk the world’s most widely accepted myth like it was nothing. You pushed it to the back of your mind and sat back up to properly survey the winter wonderland your room had been turned into. The snowflakes dissolved before they actually reached your blankets, but it was accumulating on your dresser – correction, your Christmas tree – in little drifts. If you were being honest, they were pretty, even if completely absurd.

“You know,” you began, reaching for one of the mugs which was topped with a mountain of whipped cream, marshmallows, and what appeared to be crushed candy canes, “normal boyfriends just bring flowers.”

“Normal is boring,” Gabriel grinned at you, his honey-gold eyes twinkling. “And technically, I’m not a normal boyfriend.” You laughed.

“I noticed.” The cocoa beneath all the toppings was actually perfect. Rich and velvety with just the right amount of sweetness. “This… this is actually really good,” you admitted, taking another sip and letting the warmth spread through you, blooming in your chest. Gabriel winked at you.

“A couple thousand years of watching humans perfect hot chocolate recipes. I picked up a thing or two.” You glanced around the room again, eyes darting from the twinkling lights and the way they caught on the falling snowflakes.

“So… what prompted all this?” you asked, gesturing broadly with your free hand. Gabriel’s smile faltered just slightly.

“I’ve watched a lot of human Christmases. Always from a distance, you know? Observer status and all that. But this year…” He trailed off, vulnerability creeping in at the edges of his voice. “This year I get to participate. With you.” You met his gaze, a soft smile pulling your lips upwards. With all of his mischief, it was easy to forget just how old Gabriel was, how many Christmases he had witnessed and spent alone. You set the cocoa down and reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together with his.

“Well in that case, I suppose I can forgive the indoor snow,” you said softly. Gabriel’s expression lit up brighter than the Christmas tree behind him.

“I can make it rain candy canes instead, if you’d prefer that.”

“Don’t you dare,” you laughed, squeezing his hand in warning. Gabriel shifted on the mattress, leaning in closer to you.

“Now. Presents.”

“What? No, we haven’t even had breakfast. And before you say anything, a mug of hot cocoa doesn’t count as breakfast.” You knew that mischievous twinkle in his eye all too well. Gabriel sighed dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart before snapping the fingers on his free hand. A plate of gingerbread pancakes materialized in the space next to you, complete with maple syrup and a dollop of cinnamon butter slowly melting on top.

“Breakfast!” he announced triumphantly. You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind them as you couldn’t suppress your smile.

“You’re worse than a kid on Christmas morning.”

“I’ve been around for every Christmas morning since the first one. Trust me. I’ve earned this enthusiasm.” He practically vibrated on the mattress, making the stack of pancakes wobble precariously. “So, presents?”

“Gabriel… I– I didn’t–” You hadn’t gotten him anything. After all, what would you even get for an archangel who could just conjure up whatever he wanted? Anything you thought of didn’t seem good enough. You opened your mouth, trying to find a way to explain without absolutely crushing him.

“Relax, sweets.” He nudged your shoulder, voice dropping to a low purr. “I wasn’t expecting anything. Giving is more my thing anyway. Especially to you.”

“Even so–”

“C’mon, sugar plum. Let me spoil you.” You tried your best to look stern. You really did. But it lasted for all of three seconds. Four if you counted fast.

“…Fine,” you relented. “One present.”

“Atta girl.” Gabriel grinned, and with a snap, a small box wrapped in candy-cane patterned paper appeared in his hands. He held it out, passing it to you with surprising gentleness. For all of his chaos, Gabriel could get quiet sometimes. Soft around the edges. You peeled the paper back and opened the plain cardboard box to reveal a small, delicate snow globe. Inside of it was a small replica of you and Gabriel seated on a bench with a lamp beside you. His arms were over your shoulders, and the two of you had your foreheads pressed against each other, each of you smiling with eyes closed.

“Wow,” you breathed, shaking the snow globe and sending the flakes of fake snow fluttering. “This is amazing.”

“Hey, I can be sentimental sometimes.” His voice was quiet, a hint of bashfulness weaving its way into his tone. You leaned over and kissed him, soft and slow and warm, and he melted into you, gathering you in his arms until you were seated in his lap. When you pulled away, your cheeks were flushed with heat, and Gabriel’s eyes had that flicker of golden light behind them that he always got whenever he was truly happy.

“I love it,” you whispered, leaning over to set the snow globe down on your nightstand. “It’s perfect.”

“Well,” Gabriel said, his voice lilting with his tell-tale mischief, “that was just present number one.” You balked at him.

“Gabriel, no. We agreed on one.”

“Actually, you agreed. I just smiled and nodded along prettily.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, a smirk playing at his lips. “Besides, what kind of celestial being would I be if I followed all the rules?”

“A better behaved one,” you muttered, but there was no real admonishment in your tone.

“I think you’d get bored of me if I was on my best behavior all the time.” He reached behind you and with a signature Gabriel flourish, he produced a velvet box for you, black with a crimson ribbon. “I think you’ll like this one more than the first. It’s a little more… hands-on.”

Both of you adjusted until you were both seated on your mattress, the pancakes having been whisked off to who-knew-where. Velvet was rarely anything innocent, especially when it came to Gabriel. The image of your velvety negligee tucked away in your dresser flashed in your mind’s eye. You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him even as you took the box, fingers brushing against the soft material.

“Should I be concerned?” you asked, carefully tugging at the ribbon.

“Mmm, always,” Gabriel replied with a wink. “But not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

“What’s in it?” The ribbon pulled free, but you didn’t move to open it further.

“Just open it,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “Be brave, sweets.”

You lifted the lid off the box, half expecting something scandalous. Instead, nestled against the black satin inside was a golden band. It was delicate-looking with intricately woven silver threads that seemed to shimmer with a light of their own. The band itself couldn’t have been thicker than your index finger, and there was a clasp towards the top of it. And coiled in the center of the band, seated comfortably in the soft fabric, was a thin chain attached to a ring at the base of the band. Your throat went dry, and your face went hot as the realization of what you were holding hit you. A collar. Not the kind that you’d put on a pet but an elegant piece of jewelry.

“Gabe…Is this…?” you whispered, completely at a loss for words as you looked at him wide-eyed. Your fingers hovered over the collar. Beautiful was an understatement. The thing was almost ethereal in the way it caught the light from your Christmas tree.

“A collar custom-made to fit around an archangel’s Grace? Hard to believe, I know.” You finally lifted the collar from its velvet nest, feeling a subtle vibration against your fingertips, like holding a tuning fork that had been struck moments ago. “It’s for me. Or for you. Dealer’s choice.” His voice dropped an octave, thick as honey and just as sweet. You looked from Gabriel to the collar and back again, jaw going slack.

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself. You weren’t opposed to the idea of it. Hell, you’d learned very quickly that there were very few things that Gabriel was unwilling to try, both in and out of the bedroom. But this wasn’t just some garden variety kink. This was Gabriel – an archangel, a being of unfathomable power and age – offering himself to you in a way that felt almost too significant to comprehend. And especially after everything he had been through with Asmodeus… it wasn’t something to take lightly.

“I’ve been around a long time, sugar plum,” he said. “I’ve seen empires rise and fall. I’ve watched stars die and be reborn. But you…” He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “You’re the first human who’s ever made me want to surrender.” You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest as you held the delicate collar between your fingers. Gabriel sure knew how to pack a lot of punch into so few words. No wonder he was the designated celestial messenger.

“Are you sure?” You met his gaze. His honey-gold eyes that had witnessed countless millennia were fixed solely on you, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen from him before. He responded by dipping his head forward, exposing the nape of his neck in a gesture of trust that made your breath catch.

Carefully, you placed the band around his throat, the metal warm beneath your touch as you secured the clasp. The moment it closed, you felt a jolt of energy race up your arms, zinging through you and settling in your chest like liquid sunshine. The chain dangled from the band, and as you wrapped your fingers around the end of it, you found that it was heavier than it looked. Substantial in a way that ordinary metal shouldn’t be.

“Still okay?” you asked quietly as he lifted his head to meet your gaze again. You searched his face for any sign of discomfort or regret but found none.

“Perfect.”

You gave the chain an experimental tug, gentle but deliberate. Gabriel’s lips parted in a soft gasp, his eyes dilating as the power dynamic between you shifted. The light behind his eyes seemed to brighten, a flush rising to his cheeks that you’d never seen before. A thrill of something – power, perhaps – raced through you, and another soft pull on the chain had him moving towards you like he was magnetized, his breath coming in a soft, shallow rhythm.

“I can feel you,” he whispered, enthralled. “Your heartbeat. Your… everything.” You reached out with your free hand, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips and feeling the faint rasp of his stubble there.

“And what do I feel like?”

“Like a supernova.”

You leaned back against your pillows as he crawled over you, the golden chain hanging in the space between you. With another careful tug, you drew him closer until your foreheads pressed together, reminiscent of the snow globe versions of yourselves. You studied him, felt the way the chain pressed into your palm, and a surge of possessiveness swept over you. The collar gleamed against his skin, and you tightened your grip on the leash.

“Kiss me,” you commanded, testing the waters.

The effect was immediate. Gabriel surged forward, capturing your mouth with an intensity that stole your breath away. It wasn’t like your usual kisses with him. This one held a desperate edge to it, as if he had been waiting for permission. As if he had been waiting to submit.

His mouth was hot against yours, tasting of cinnamon and sugar as his tongue slid against your own. You looped the chain around your hand a couple times, holding the chain taut. Gabriel moaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through your chest as his hands found your waist, holding onto you with a delicious pressure. You rested your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension in them as he pressed closer, practically trembling with restraint.

You broke away from the kiss, both of you breathing hard. Gabriel’s eyes had darkened with molten desire, and you tugged on the chain again, guiding him to your neck. He followed willingly, eagerly pressing his lips to the column of your throat. He trailed kisses against your skin, each one more reverent than the last as one of his hands slid beneath your shirt, warm palm skimming over your ribs.

You let your head fall back, giving him better access as he sucked lightly at your pulse point. The metal seemed to hum in your hand, pulsing faintly with something that you could only assume was his Grace. You had felt it before. The way it felt when it sunk into you after a hunt. The way it washed through your system when it was sent with a purpose. But it wasn’t being utilized, not right now. This was how it felt just existing.

“Gabriel,” you breathed, gently pushing him away and letting a length of chain unwrap from around your hand. “Sit.”

He rocked back onto his heels, straddling your leg with a knee on each side of your thigh. His eyes were alight with anticipation, lips parted and kiss-swollen. The metal gleamed against his skin, and you could see the collar bounce slightly with each pulse of his heartbeat. You rolled your shoulders and mustered as much authority as you could.

“Strip for me.”

Gabriel’s fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt without hesitation, undoing them one by one deliberately slow. His eyes never left yours as he shrugged both his jacket and his shirt from his shoulders, letting the fabric pool around him. You’d seen him shirtless countless times before, but something about him now – with a halo sitting around his neck rather than above his head – made your mouth go dry.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you let your eyes wander over the expanse of his skin, drinking in every dip and curve. You gave another tug on the chain, drawing him closer until you could press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of him sink into you.

“The rest,” you said, your voice low but firm. Gabriel smirked, dipping his head down just enough to look up at you through hooded eyes before the metallic clink of his belt pulled your attention lower. He made quick work of his jeans, shimmying out of them while somehow managing to maintain his balance above you. When he was down to just his boxers, he paused, a playful smirk gracing his features. You read him like a book – the brat.

“All of it,” you demanded, giving a gentle tug on the chain for emphasis.

“Impatient, aren’t you, sweets?” he teased, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers. You pulled harder on the chain, pulling him slightly off balance until his face was level with yours and he had to brace one hand next to your hip to steady himself. You met his playful defiance with the confident authority he had handed to you.

“I’m not being impatient,” you corrected, hooking a finger under his chin and forcing his eyes to meet yours. “I’m being specific about what I want from you.” You traced your fingertip down until you touched the edge of the collar, watching as he swallowed thickly. His pulse leapt beneath your touch as you dragged your finger along the golden band. “And what I want is for you to finish what you started.” His eyes darkened, the thinnest band of color barely visible.

“Yes ma’am.” He leaned back again, sliding his boxers down his legs. He kicked them away, finally leaving him completely bare before you, vulnerability and desire written across ever inch of his body. “Better?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded, taking your time looking him over and savoring the way he waited for your approval. An archangel who had witnessed the beginning of time sitting in front of you, collared and waiting for your next command. The power of it was dizzying.

“Much,” you agreed, letting the chain slip through your fingers until you held on to just the end of it. “Now touch me.”

His hands moved to your sides, sliding beneath your shirt again with reverent slowness. His touch was feather-light as he traced patterns on your skin, fingers dancing along your ribs and making you shudder. You arched into his touch, wordlessly encouraging him as his palms slid higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts.

“May I?” The question sent a thrill through you. Gabriel, who normally took what he wanted with a wink and a smirk or charmed his way through things, was asking. Waiting. Being such a good boy.

“Yeah,” you breathed, lifting your arms as he pulled your sleep shirt over your head and tossed it somewhere behind him. The chain slipped from your grasp for half a breath before you felt him gently place it back in your hand. He stared at you, his eyes shamelessly roving across your exposed skin with unsuppressed hunger. “Kiss me again.” 

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He captured your lips again, thumbs tracing the curve of your breasts with a reverence that bordered on worship. You wrapped the chain around your fist again, shortening the distance between you and reveling in the way his breath hitched when you pulled. He moaned against you with each tug, his eyes fluttering shut with the relief of giving himself over to you. 

“Tell me what you want, Gabe,” you murmured against his mouth.

“You,” he groaned, voice ragged with need. “Just you. However you’ll have me.” One hand cupped your breast while the other braced against the mattress beneath you. You arched into him as he traced circles around your nipple with his thumb. “This okay?” His breath was hot against your collarbone. You hummed softly, your free hand threading through his hair and guiding his mouth to where his fingers had been.

He followed your lead eagerly, lips closing around your nipple and tongue swirling in a way that sent heat coiling through your system. You gasped, tightening your grip on the chain which, in turn, pulled another low whine from him. The feel of his Grace in your hand – that was the only way you could describe the comfortable hum from metal – tingled like static electricity.

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your stomach as his hands worked to rid you of your remaining clothes. You lifted your hips, helping him slide your shorts and underwear off. He knelt between your legs, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your inner thigh. His breath ghosted across your skin.

“What next?” Gabriel’s voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. As though talking too loudly might break whatever spell the two of you had weaved together.

“I want you,” you said, your tone steady despite the desire coursing through you. “But I want to watch you first.” You gave the chain another pull, drawing him up until he was kneeling fully upright in front of you, arousal evident and unashamed. “Touch yourself,” you said, letting the chain pool slightly in your hand. “Show me what you like.” Gabriel’s lips curved into a sly grin.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, sweets.” His hand moved to his cock, fingers wrapping around himself with practiced ease. His first stroke was slow and deliberate, head tilting back slightly as he exhaled a breathy groan. You watched, transfixed, as his hand moved up and down his length, his thumb occasionally circling the head of his cock. You wet your lips.

“That’s it,” you encouraged, voice husky. “Tell me what gets you off when I’m not around.” Gabriel’s hand moved quicker, his breathing becoming more shallow and ragged.

“Bold of you to assume I think of anything but you these days,” he panted, his eyes finding yours as he spoke.

“Slow down, it’s not a race, Gabe,” you commanded, giving the chain a gentle tug. He complied immediately, his movements becoming more deliberate, more torturously slow for himself. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. He cracked an eye open to peek at you through his lashes. Your lips curled into a playful grin of your own.

“And you’re not?” you challenged. The flush on his cheeks had spread down his neck and across his chest, his skin practically glowing in the soft Christmas lights. You drew him closer until you could place your hand just above his navel. “What do you think about? When you touch yourself like this?”

“You,” came his immediate response. Not even the slightest hint of hesitation. “Your mouth. Your hands. The sounds you make when I’m inside you.” His voice caught on a moan as he twisted his wrist on a upstroke. “The way your eyelashes flutter when you’re getting close.” You let your fingers trail down his torso until they brushed against the base of him, soft brown curls tickling your fingertips. He sucked in a sharp breath, hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Show me,” you whispered. “Show me how you want me to touch you.” Gabriel’s hand covered yours, guiding your fingers to wrap around him. He was hot and hard beneath your touch.

“Like this,” he breathed, showing you the rhythm he liked. You took over, following his unspoken cues, cataloging his reactions. The way his lips parted. The flutter of his eyelids. The slight furrow between his brows when you dragged the pads of your fingers along the underside of him. The way his breath caught when you twisted your wrist just slightly. He actually whimpered when you let go of him.

“Lie back for me,” you instructed, shifting around and guiding him to lean back against your pillows where you had been just a moment ago. Gabriel moved with fluid grace as he stretched out on your bed, his tawny hair fanning across your pillow. The chain remained taut in your hand as you positioned yourself over him, straddling his hips without quite making contact. “Look at you,” you muttered, drinking in the sight of him, face flushed and pupils blown wide. “An almighty archangel, waiting so patiently for me.”

“An almighty archangel who’s desperate for you,” Gabriel corrected with a breathless laugh.

You sank down on him, slow and deliberate, watching as his head tipped back against your pillow. His hands found your hips, his fingertips pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you both. A low moan tore from his throat as you rolled your hips, pelvis pressed flush to his.

“Oh, sweets,” he hissed, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

“Ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue. “Eyes on me.” His eyes snapped open, finding yours just in time for you to see the molten desire flare in them as you established a languid pace. The collar gleamed against his throat with each movement, the metal catching the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree. “Perfect,” you murmured, bracing one hand on his shoulder while the other held the chain taut.

Gabriel’s hands slid from your hips to your thighs, thumbs tracing circles on your skin. He matched your movements, hips rising to meet yours. The heat between you built steadily, his jaw going slack and breathing growing more and more ragged with each passing second. You leaned forward, using the chain to guide him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands moved to your back, one splaying wide between your shoulder blades while the other dipped to the small of your back, pressing you closer.

You moaned against his lips, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his. Your rhythm became more urgent. More insistent. Gabriel slipped a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure. Your thighs trembled, your movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure built low in your abdomen.

“Let go for me, sweets,” Gabriel encouraged, his voice low and wrecked and raw.

“I thought I was giving the orders here,” you panted, giving the chain a sharp tug. His body jerked beneath yours, another moan spilling from his lips.

“Consider it… a suggestion,” he gasped, thumb circling faster. “A very enthusiastic suggestion.”

You laughed, the sound dissolving into a moan as he shifted to press against a particularly soft spot inside you. The coil of tension wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap with each roll of your hips.

“Gabe, I’m–”

“I know, sugar plum. Show me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, pleasure crashing through you as you tipped over the edge. Your back arched, thighs clenching around his hips as you rode out the sensation. The chain pulled taut in your grip, and Gabriel groaned, his own movements becoming erratic beneath you.

“Let go.” You voice was hoarse as you clenched around him. “Come for me, Gabe.”

His reaction was immediate and breathtaking. His eyes flashed as his Grace surged beneath his skin. He came with your name on his lips, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he shuddered beneath you. The snowflakes falling from your ceiling momentarily froze mid-air, suspended in time as the world paused for an archangel’s undoing.

You collapsed against his chest, the snowflakes resuming their gentle descent and melting before they touched your skin. The chain slipped from your fingers, pooling against his skin as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slowed beneath your ear.

“Well,” Gabriel finally began after a moment of comfortable silence. “Merry Christmas to me.” His laugh was soft, still breathless as one of his hands traced lazy patterns on your back. “I should’ve started with the collar.” You hummed contentedly against his skin, pressing a kiss to his neck just above the golden band.

“I’m surprised you’d want to,” you murmured, fingers dancing along the edge of it. “After… everything.” Gabriel tensed slightly beneath you, but his arms remained securely wrapped around you.

“Different context entirely,” he said, his voice gentle. “This is my choice.” He shifted, tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. The warmth you found in them made your heart skip a beat. “There’s no one else I’d trust with this. With me.” The weight of his words settled over you, warm and profound in the same way you imagined it would feel if he had wrapped his wings around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “For trusting me.”

“Always have, sugar plum. Always will.” His voice was soft at the edges, intimate in all the ways that mattered. When Gabriel chose to pass on a message, he always knew how to make sure he was heard. You shifted to lay beside him, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm curled around you.

“So,” you started, trailing your fingers across his chest. “Is this how all archangels celebrate Christmas, or are you just special?” Gabriel laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“Can you even imagine Michael in a collar? Or Raphael decking the halls? Please.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve always been the fun one.”

---

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Michael always does thorough research before engaging in any kind of scene. He wouldn’t touch a rope before a textbook’s worth of reading and a dozen classes, and he’s still working his way up to knifeplay (mostly because all three of his siblings have leapt down that well without looking twice and he will not be as reckless.) No one is getting hurt under his watch. He won’t risk another incident like that time Lucifer had a panic attack and went catatonic for half of a day. This is his responsibility, and he bears it proudly.

But this game is a lot less dangerous than some of the ones they play.

In Michael’s research, he’d come across suggestions for titles. The pet part was obvious and fitting, though in the end, Michael’s always going to prefer feeling the shape of his sibling’s names in his mouth, no matter the situation. On the other hand, what they’d given him for playing the dominant role… Michael had thought owner was a little presumptuous.

No one could own Raphael, no more than anyone could tame Gabriel. Michael is happier not having to. To let them exist, to serve as a safe party to retreat to or ask for affection from, that’s enough for him.

As usually, Raphael comes to him. They tend to start this on their own. It’s the only way they can get into the right headspace, but once they’re settled into their role, they seek Michael out. Not for much. This time, like most times, they catch him on the couch, crawl onto the cushion beside him, and lay over his lap. The demand in it is obvious, and Michael bites back a smile as he lets his hand drift up and down Raphael’s spine. They relax with a heavy, purring sigh. They don’t wear much to show that they’re playing. No decorative gear like Gabriel’s started collecting or even a collar. Raphael had tried to wear one twice, but in the end, they’d spent so much of their scene clawing at it that they’d torn it right off. It felt too restrictive, they’d explained later. Instead, Raphael strips off everything, and Michael takes full advantage, curling his hand into a fist and running his knuckles down their back with a little more pressure. They slump further into the couch in response.

The one exception since Raphael had ditched their collar had been once or twice when Gabriel had playfully placed a matching set of cat ears on their head, made by the same person who had made him his own. Raphael allowed that when it happened. They’re lying around the apartment somewhere, but Michael won’t get up to find them. First of all because removing Raphael from his lap now would be an unforgivable crime, but secondly, because it isn’t his place. It’s Gabriel’s only. Michael brings his other hand up to run down Raphael’s spine. He can feel where the most tension is now, and he starts rubbing his thumbs against the muscles. Raphael groans happily, crossing their arms to pillow their head.

“Are you going to sleep?” Michael asks. It wouldn’t be the first time Raphael laid on top of him and started snoring. Him and Gabriel both, and even Lucifer, on occasion. He thinks they find it comforting to be able to make sure their siblings can’t leave while they’re asleep. Michael won’t complain when he finds it just as nice to have Raphael’s body weighing him down like a warm, heavy blanket. One that purrs whenever he massages a good spot. Raphael finally answers his question with a sleepy meow, telling him that they might and there’s nothing he’ll be able to do about it if they choose to. He chuckles. That’s exactly how he likes it.

Raphael moves every so often. They shift and squirm and stretch, with lazy, yawning meows to accompany each. Michael works out all the knots in their back as they do. He’s pleased to find a few in the muscles he and Raphael have been focusing on during their shared workouts, evidence of their efforts that’s just as satisfying as the low ache he’s felt in his own right afterwards or the strength they both have created in their vessels.

They stay like that for a while. Michael doesn’t keep track of time.

Eventually, they’re interrupted by the apartment door opening and Gabriel and Lucifer stepping inside. That’s followed by Fen dashing out of the bedroom, jumping up on Gabriel’s legs. Michael studies Gabriel’s face. She looks stressed, and when Lucifer puts a hand on her shoulder, she snaps at him. Half a year ago, and Lucifer would have immediately responded to that with his own aggression, but he withdraws, giving Gabriel a little space. She bows down to pick up Fen. The dog wriggles and licks at her face as she hugs him.

Gabriel puts Fen back down before she heads into the bedroom. Lucifer waits a moment, looks over at Michael and Raphael, and follows her. He nudges Fen back from entering with him with his foot before shutting the door. Fen whines. He scratches at it, but when he doesn’t get a response, he pads over to the couch and drops down in front of it with a huff. Raphael reaches down and pats his head. They’re slightly tense again. Their eyes are open and alert, locked onto the bedroom door. Michael helps them relax again with the same steady petting motions as before.

There’s the muffled noise of Gabriel shouting something at Lucifer, and then Lucifer’s response, calmer. Quiet for a moment. Gabriel again, still upset but winding down. Then one thud, and another, and more silence following that.

When they finally emerge, Lucifer opening the door and coming through first, Gabriel is down on the floor. She’s all dressed up for her role as opposed to Gabriel. The harness is the first thing they bought, for other reasons than this, but it fits Gabriel’s torso snuggly and helps her feel safe. She wears her collar for the same reason, a dark green one that Lucifer bought the tags for. One side of the tags says Gabriel, but the other, in a move that surprised Gabriel when she received them and made her nearly suffocate Lucifer with how tightly she hugged him, clearly says Loki.

The other gear came together over time. A pair of mitts that acted as paws. Kneepads for her own comfort and safety as she made her way across the apartment floors. Two tails, one that attaches to a butt plug if that’s the way they feel like taking the scene that day, and another that just fastens around her hips and holds it in place for days like today, when all they want is a little comfort and a way to stop dealing with so much stress. Her ears, of course, which are cute and floppy and match Raphael’s still missing ones. The muzzle only gets put on sometimes, and today is one of them, so Michael knows she must really need to relax.

Lucifer leans down to scratch her hair. Gabriel butts her head against his hand with a playful growl. “Be good,” he tells her.

She makes her way over to the couch. Raphael watches her approach. When Gabriel gets close enough and barks for attention, she gets batted on the muzzle with Raphael’s hand, a quick strike and a hiss. Gabriel barks at them again. Michael slides his hand up to massage the back of Raphael’s neck. “Raphael, no. Bad cat. Apologize to your sister.” Raphael grumbles.

Gabriel lays her head plaintively on the couch cushion, eyes wide and pleading with Raphael. Raphael turns their head to peer up at Michael, and then leans towards Gabriel. They butt heads gently, and then Raphael’s tongue darts out to lick along Gabriel’s muzzle. They move up to where the muzzle meets Gabriel’s skin, lapping kitten kisses up her cheek and the bridge of her nose and along her eyebrow until Raphael is satisfied they’ve shown Gabriel how much they love her. Gabriel nuzzles them back, her own tongue restrained by her muzzle or else Raphael would have ended up getting licked in response. Gabriel’s kisses were not nearly as tiny or neat.

She turns away from Raphael. Fen has been watching her, unfazed by any of this. Gabriel pauses to pet him with her mitt, and he seems satisfied that she’s no longer as upset as she was earlier.

Raphael rolls onto their back, looking up at Michael. Their sleepy expression is long gone. “Lucifer-“ he starts, and before he can even make his request, his brother offers one of Raphael’s toys to him. He must have gone to fetch it while Raphael and Gabriel were greeting each other. “Thank you,” Michael says, and he reaches up to catch Lucifer’s hand in his as he takes the toy, tugging him down close enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Anything for our pets. Especially when they’re being so well-behaved,” Lucifer says. He lets Michael have the toy, and he presents the other one he went to get to Gabriel. It’s a tug-of-war, her favorite to playfight with Lucifer over. Gabriel barks happily, sitting up on her knees with her paws bent at her chest, begging. Lucifer dangles it in front of her until she tries to grab it between her teeth. The muzzle stops her, and she whines, bumping her covered mouth uselessly against the toy. Lucifer doesn't taunt her for long. He bends down to unstrap the muzzle, pausing before he takes it off to make sure that's what she wants, and letting it drop to the floor. Gabriel jumps at the toy the minute she's free. Lucifer doesn't pull it back in time. She gets a good grip on it with her teeth and bows to the floor to drag it (and Lucifer) down with her.

Raphael’s toy is much more dainty. It’s a bendy rod with a few feathers attached to the end, brightly colored and soft when Michael runs them between his fingers. Raphael’s eyes are locked on them. He smiles, tipping the rod down so that the feathers tickle over their face. Raphael wrinkles their nose. When Michael withdraws the feathers, that’s when they strike, trying to catch the toy. (Not that hard, though. They’ve curled their fingers up to resemble cat’s paws much like Gabriel’s mitts shape her hands.) The feathers dance between their darting paws as Michael plays with them.

A few feet away, Lucifer has gotten down on the floor with Gabriel, who is growling around the toy in her mouth. He tugs on it, and she yanks it back. He looks like he’s having as much fun as she is. She and Raphael are not the only ones who needed this break.

Raphael keeps trying to catch the feathers, endlessly entertained by this simple and seemingly unachievable goal. They even bite at the feathers if Michael lets them fall too close to their mouth. With his other hand, he pets their stomach. Occasionally, he tickles out a noise that rolls into a purr.

.oOo.

It hasn’t been as difficult to watch the footage as Gabriel had surmised it might be. He doesn’t identify with the man drugged up to incoherence and made to debase himself for cajoling strangers.

He recognizes himself, vaguely, but most of all he is watching the kid’s reactions.

Lúcio’s leg had bounced restlessly through the first ten minutes, shoulders rigid. Slowly, however, the bounce had stopped in favor of some kind of stupor: the kid sitting more quiet than Gabriel has ever seen him, hands folded in his lap, watching video after video.

.oOo.

Gabriel feels himself walking on eggshells around Lúcio even though he doesn’t need to. He didn’t do anything wrong – there is nothing to apologize anymore, not after he’s got his discipline from his dominant a couple weeks ago.

And yet…

Lúcio has been quiet and withdrawn, youthful face edged into tight, hard lines. He looks angry in a way that makes Gabriel want to lie down on his back and show him his belly – offer up his body for stress relief. The need to be the punching bag is as much trained into him as it is his intrinsic need to be good for his dominant, and it makes him antsy all on its own.

Antsy and angry. Like he should have grown out of that mindless, self-destructive response, especially after watching his pathetic displays captured on video for eternity. Like he learned nothing at all and is doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again without any improvement in sight.

He feels like a lemming that is too… too… too stupid to look after itself, and it makes him want to destroy things.

Himself, first and foremost.

.oOo.

It feels like he is watching himself from the outside, sometimes. Like he is not entirely his own person these days.

He can see himself slipping into his tired, old behavioral patterns that he thought he had shucked off years ago, and it makes him feel… hopeless.

He can’t get out of it; can’t get out of the mindset, the stupid, idiotic need that he make his dominant happy again because he feels like he is the reason Lúcio has stopped laughing every single moment of the day and instead became so quiet it makes Gabriel feel like he has to hurt himself in his anxiety.

He wants the old dynamic back. He wants things to be how they had been before he fucked up. He wants a routine that helps him not being so horribly, horribly stupid.

At work, he’s capable. His colleagues look at him for advice more often than not. They respect him to a T. He is independent.

At home he wants to crawl on his knees towards his dominant and hide his face in his lap. He wants to beg for his hands on him again, but first and foremost he wants to cry – and he can’t do any of this because he’s burned all those bridges in the months he’s lived with Lúcio, hasn’t he?

He’s been an ass every turn of the way, hissing and snapping and growling at his dominant, and he feels like he’s now forfeited every right to seeking solace.

Lúcio is so young, still…

Gabriel is breaking patterns, trying to lift Lúcio’s mood. He sits down close to him, trying to offer himself up, make himself available for touch without Lúcio having to coax him into it. He brings home treats after work. He cleans the apartment.

Most of all, he hovers. He tries to anticipate what his dominant might need. He tries to anticipate when his dominant might decide that what he needs is not him anymore.

He sees himself spiraling out of control, ready to humiliate himself – to do anything just to make things go back the way they were – yet can’t make himself stop.

.o.

“Stop.”

Gabriel jerks to a halt at the door of Lúcio’s studio, staring at him in hopeless confusion, big hands hanging uselessly at his sides. He turns them, showing Lúcio their vulnerable palms for some reason. Like he needs to proof that he has no weapons.

Lúcio is standing at his chair, one hand on the back of it. He’s been ready to sit down when he’s noticed Gabriel traipsing after him again like a lost puppy.

Gabriel feels nauseous, his belly clenched into a tight, hard fist. He’s close to retching, anxiety kicking up a storm; only growing the longer his dominant looks at him with a frown on his face.

“Why are you here?”

Gabriel’s head lowers, shoulders pulling up minimally. He can’t look at Lúcio anymore and instead is staring at his feet. He’s at a loss for words. He feels like crying, but…

but he’s no crybaby.

“Dude, you hate sitting in here while I work. Why are you following me in, then?”

Gabriel’s nose starts running, his eyes are so very wet. He bites his lips and tries to remain quiet because if he makes a sound, he will bawl like a little kid in front of his dominant.

He hears Lúcio’s deep sigh. He moves around – he can see his shadow on the hardwood floor, even if he can’t hear his socked feet.

After a while, there’s the sound of Lúcio sitting down in his chair.

“Come here, babe.”

Gabriel glances up and sees a large, green pillow on the floor, shaped like a frog face. His pillow – the one Lúcio always lets him kneel on when he feels like wrestling his stupidly stubborn ass into compliance.

He presses his mouth into a tight line as he feels his lips tremble and stumbles forward, throwing himself onto the pillow, forehead slamming violently against his dominant’s thigh. He’s breathing quick and loud, wet gasps that make him feel humiliated.

His hair is shorn short enough that he is sure his flush of embarrassment is visible even there.

Lúcio’s soft fingers touch the nape of his neck carefully for a second before he seems to think better of it and clasps a firm hand there, thumb scratching along the line of shorn hair.

Gabriel stares at the hardwood floor, everything swimming in front of his wet eyes.

“Why are you so keyed up?” Lúcio murmurs, his other hand joining to rub firm across the shorn head. Lúcio is maybe half of what Gabriel weighs, but he feels as anchored in this moment as he’s sure he could never achieve on his own.

He groans low and pained as muscles start relaxing that have been cramped for weeks now.

“My poor boy. What are you eating yourself up for? Everything is good.”

Gabriel shakes his head minimally simply to do something; to feel the fabric of Lúcio’s bermuda shorts drag against the skin of his forehead.

Lúcio is silent for a while, the motions of his hands rubbing hypnotically across Gabriel’s head, and slowly incorporating the slope of his shoulders, lulling him to an almost sleep.

At last, he leans down, curling over Gabriel and smothering him in the smell of him. The need to cry like a child has abated somewhat, and his nose is free to take in deep gulps.

Just a month ago he would have tried to squirm his way out of a headlock like this and retreated from the room with an ill-tempered grumble. A month ago, however, he also hadn’t known how precious Lúcio’s disregard for personal boundaries was to him until his dominant wasn’t up in his grill at all times anymore.

“I thought you needed time,” Lúcio murmurs next to Gabriel’s ear, his voice sending shivers down his spine. “I know I needed time. It was a lot to take in, dude. But-” he hesitates and leans up a little; uncurls from the small cocoon he created around Gabriel’s head to grab his head and pull it up, staring into his face with a solemn expression. “It doesn’t change anything between us, all right? I don’t give a shit about what you have done earlier. I… understand better now, though, so maybe it was for the best? I dunno. Damn.”

He groans and lets his head fall back into his neck. his hands are steady around Gabriel’s jaw, keeping him in place with gentle force.

“It was hard seeing you like that,” he says, voice scratchy and a bit forced, and Gabriel realizes with a weird feeling in his belly that he sounds close to tears himself, now. “Knowing something and seeing it are just… dude, it’s hard.”

He falls back into silence for a moment, then looks back down at Gabriel, his face and voice back under control, fingertips slipping up and across Gabriel’s face, forcing him to close his eyes so they can ghost across the lids where they stay and make him sit like that.

“I think it’s as good as any reason for a new beginning,” he murmurs, voice sounding so close and intimate even though he hasn’t moved.

The darkness makes Gabriel squirmy in a good way. A little excited. Aroused. His body relaxes, leaning more heavily into Lúcio’s thigh, and the low chuckle his dominant produces makes him feel like a million dollars. His mouth drops open, and he groans low and wrecked.

“Oh would you look at that?” Lúcio mumbles, “Look how good you’re being for me already… my good boy-o.” Usually he hates it when his dominant calls him that, but this time he is close to drooling, already a bit loopy and into his head, drunk on the affection he felt certain he would never have again.

“You’re already giving me so many ideas to play with you, pretty boy. MMhhh yeah. I got some nice ideas for my submissive. So nice and well-behaved for me.

Stay with me, hm? I want you to kneel for me while I work, Gabriel. Let’s leave that other shit behind us and go forward.”

.oOo.

“You look so pretty in my ropes, babe. Are you comfortable?”

Gabriel grits his teeth, bad temper rising fast as he feels his dominant loosely holding the two ends of the thin green rope together beneath his wrists. He hasn’t even knotted it yet.

“I’ve done this before,” Gabriel spits out, shoulders rigid, staring moodily at the ground. “Get on with it.”

Lúcio hums, his smooth fingertips slowly rubbing along the edges of Gabriel’s hands, and then across his palms. It is sometimes startling for him how soft and unused Lúcio is. The kid is working hard, but not with his hands – not like Gabriel is in the garage.

There are no scars, no callouses on his dominant; just a whole lot of quiet, unyielding strength and endless patience.

Gabriel feels weepy, and that makes him even more antsy. He growls again, choked and a little wet and hunches his shoulders forward, balls his fists…

“No,” Lúcio says, soft but firm, fingers immediately leaving their idle petting of Gabriel’s hands. He grabs his submissive’s shoulder and pulls him back into position. “Spine straight. Stand still, Gabriel.”

And then, when Gabriel doesn’t move a muscle: “Good boy.”

Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut, grinds his teeth, and breathes deeply.

.o.

“Ah man,” Lúcio sighs after a while, taking a step back and observing his work. “You look so pretty like this. Such a good boy, holding still and letting me put you in my ropes. Damn.”

There isn’t much rope, just an intricate criss-cross of bright green holding his forearms together behind his back.

Gabriel keeps quiet, head hanging low as he subtly shifts his hands, rotating his wrists to feel how tight Lúcio had made his rope work. A hand beneath his chin startles him, causing him almost to jerk back as his dominant coaxes his head up and holds it with a firm grip on his jaw.

“There. Like this. Don’t hide, now.”

Gabriel bares his teeth, but there is no real heat in it. When Lúcio thumbs with his free hand at one of his nipples, his jaw falls open on a soft, needy pant, cock lifting a little from between his thighs.

“There you go. Love how responsive you are. Such nice, sensitive tits.”

As Gabriel watches, his dominant turns minimally and fishes for a bandana just as bright green as the ropes binding his arms. He slowly pulls it through his fingers as he watches his submissive with a pensive expression.

Gabriel can’t help but straighten up a bit, chin lifting, chest pushing out. His nipple is still tingling where Lúcio touched it. He is hyper aware of the silver barbell, feeling like it is heavier than usual and putting more pressure onto the sensitive tissue. He is preening, he realises with a weird twist to his stomach, and Lúcio’s face relaxes, warm eyes brightening.

“That’s my boy! Damn, but you’re gorgeous.”

He can feel himself slipping down – not physically but mentally, his attention zeroing in on his dominant, hanging onto his every word; and while he wants this; has always wanted exactly this, a part of him rebels at how quickly he goes under for Lúcio.

Still, when his dominant lifts the bandana with a questioning look, he bends down easily, offering himself up.

Lúcio is murmuring low praise, a constant stream of input as the world around him goes dark, yet still it is… scary. Everything feels that much more significant when he can’t anticipate what is going to come. He jerks and flinches when Lúcio touches his shoulder, and the young man shushes him, grips his bicep with a firm, warm hand.

“Easy, now. Look at you taking everything I give you. I’m going to give you your ball now. You’ll remember to let it drop if something is wrong?”

“Yes, Sir.” He whispers the response, feeling a bit meek, rebelliousness cracking away as he is trapped in darkness, arms immobilized. His head swivels towards Lúcio, tracking every little sound he makes. Moments later he feels a soft ball placed into one of his palms. He curls his fingers around it and holds on for dear life.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.” And then after a second he ads in a pathetic little whine: “A little.”

His dominant steps close, warm breath fanning across his cheek a moment before he feels a kiss pressed against his beard.

“You don’t need to. I’ve got you. And you have your ball if you need me to stop. Do you want your gag now?”

He breathes deeply, head lowering until his forehead is pressed against Lúcio’s shoulder, subtly sniffing at his skin. His scent is so comforting it almost hurts. Lùcio is hugging him loosely, fingers dancing along a few small scars as he waits for Gabriel to get a grip on himself.

Finally, he nods and rightens himself up once more, mouth obediently opening for his gag.

.o.

Gabriel twists as he feels the warm washcloth slip from the dip of his spine that it had travelled along, down into the cleft of his ass. He slowly manipulates his feet wider, lifting up onto their tips to push his ass into the warmth like a cat.

His dominant hums low and pleased, the fingers inside the washcloth pressing insistently against Gabriel’s hole. There is no intent of trying to slip in – just a possessive press that makes electricity zing from the tips of his toes up into the small of his back.

They move, starting little circling motions over the nervous, fluttering clench of the muscle, and Gabriel groans deep and heartfelt into the gag.

“There you go,” Lúcio murmurs, his other hand landing briefly on the back of Gabriel’s neck to squeeze and press him down a bit more firmly for good measure. Gabriel is leaning across a padded bank, feeling utterly contained in himself and his dominant.

There is nothing to distract him; no obligation to try and figure out what his dominant’s facial expression means, or whether what he is doing could be embarrassing. Just him and the warmth of the washcloth, the rough texture wandering down and leaving a mildly cool trail of wetness behind.

It feels good, cupping his heavy sac. Keeping it nice and warm as his dominant moves his fingers, rolling the full testicles in his palm. Next to it, his cock is hard, throbbing dully in need. The metal pierced along the underside pulls vaguely at the silky skin and makes him hyper aware of the foreskin not quite rolled down the fat head yet.

Lúcio hadn’t touched his cock, but he hopes that if he offers himself up enough, he might consider it.

Gabriel can’t even remember the last time he’s been so fixated on his dominant; the last time he wondered how good he had to be to make him touch his body and coax an orgasm out of him instead of wondering how to debase himself in order to make him happy.

“Are you ready, Gabriel?” Lúcio murmurs, voice pitched low; an amused lilt to it that makes Gabriel nod even before he’s parsed the question. Eager and hopeful, hand clenched around the soft little ball to make sure he wouldn’t lose track of it.

The warm washcloth vanishes, then, seconds before a new sensation engulfs his balls just as gentle and loving, with an equally rough texture. His brain has two false starts, body poised, breath stuck in his throat as what he’s had anticipated doesn’t come true: the washcloth is no longer a nice, toe-curling warmth but cold enough to make everything stutter to a halt.

It is not freezing, but it might as well have been after the delicious warmth of before.

Gabriel howls into his gag, back arching, then going round as he hunches his hips down, trying to get away from the cold.

Lúcio chuckles, warm and commiserating as he puts a hand between Gabriel’s shoulder blades, making sure he stays where he is.

“Good boy… Stay still, now. Yeah. You’re gonna love what I’ve planned for you.”

.o.

Gabriel can’t stay still any longer. He is jumping like a rabbit with its hind legs trapped, bucking and winding as his body shivers out false response after false response. His dominant has long since stopped dutifully alternating the warmth from the cold, and instead uses them at whim, never letting his submissive get too caught up in the moment.

His nipples, pressed against the warmed leather he is leaning on, are painfully tight and sending shocks of pleasure down his spine whenever the piercings roll against the surface.

He is drooling into his gag, blindfold wet with tears of overstimulation. He doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks he might have come already, body pulsing out one or two shivery orgasms, tricked into them by his dominant first cuddling him in warmth before gently rubbing him down again.

Gabriel dreads the next touch as much as he needs it, cock fat and heavy, swinging, wet with water and pre-cum, glans exposed to the cool air of the room. He twists awkwardly, half his body turning away as the other half turns into his dominant, little noises escaping him that sound more like squeaks than anything else.

His hand vaguely hurts, fingers so tightly clenched around the ball, panicked that he might lose it without meaning to.

When Lúcio touches him again, hands settling warm and sure on his hips, Gabriel cries out, head thrown back, brain firing and trying to figure out if the touch is warm or cold, stuttering and retrying until he realizes it is neither, not really – Lúcio has put away the washcloths, and instead is rubbing slow circles into his skin with his thumbs.

“Damn, babe.” He sounds choked, voice raspy. Gabriel is hyper aware of him; feels how his cock is pressing into the back of his thigh, and with a little whimper he realizes how he can feel wetness smearing against the trembling muscle: his dominant is naked. “You’re so out of it, Gabriel. Damn… Drooling like a good boy. Are you with me? Can you hear me?”

He nods frantically, rubbing his cheek against the surface of the bench, mindless and needy, dragging it across the mess of sweat and spit there.

One of his dominant’s hands moves, sliding down his ass and his trembling thigh to keep him notified of where it is going before reaching sure and self-assured between his thighs and taking a hold of his swollen cock.

He wants to cry out, but all he can do is whimper pathetically, holding still in his exhaustion.

Lúcio hums and squeezes him gently, then gives him two long, strokes that frizz his mind and make him gurgle. His smooth, firm fingers rolling against the ladder of barbell piercings, moving them gently beneath the thin, tender skin.

“You have such a lovely cock. It’s been so nice and hard for me the entire time. Such an attentive boy, Gabriel. I wonder…”

He trails off, fingers squeezing just beneath the fat, swollen head, thumb rubbing across the crown and blunt fingernail carefully pressing against the slit there.

Gabriel freezes, halts his breath, then goes lax all over like a puppet with its strings cut. His balls feel too full and tender, swollen to double their size. He feels like a prized breeding bull that’s getting inspected, and still he wants to preen for Lúcio.

“You’ve been so well-behaved, babe. You have earned yourself a treat…”

He moves his hips, pressing his weeping cock against Gabriel’s trembling thigh muscle, and his brain jumps to it, making him babble indistinct with the ball gag still in his mouth, frantic and begging, voice broken and whiney as more tears wet the inside of his blindfold.

“Calm,” Lúcio murmurs low even though his own voice is trembling with excitement, hand letting go of Gabriel’s cock to travel back up and touch his hole, warm and loose and so very ready. “You want my dick, babe? Right here? Have you earned my cock, good boy?”

Yes, yes, yes, God yes, please, please, please, please…

He doesn’t know what sounds he’s made, only that he’s crying openly now, sobbing unabashedly as his nose runs and his cheeks get wet. He loses control over his body and couldn’t care less as his dominant presses kisses against the small of his back and shushes him until the first onslaught of need has rolled through him.

“Yeah, you earned it.”

.o.

His dominant is a lot shorter than him and Gabriel would have tripped over himself to get himself to the right height if he hadn’t stood still already.

As is, he hunches down, head lifted and turned, trying to see whether he is being a good boy even though he is wearing a blindfold. Logic has fled him and all vestiges of fear of being made fun of have let go of him. In their stead the overwhelming need to have his dominant’s cock is eating him up and making him eager like a dog.

Lúcio chuckles and rubs his hips, the small of his back, the swell of his bicep. He shifts and moves closer, and then there’s a blunt, delicious pressure against Gabriel’s hole.

Feeling his dominant slide inside him is better than anything he could have thought up in those feverish, needy nights he spent alone at home, fantasizing of being good enough for Lúcio to earn his cock.

It’s slow and perfect, spreading him open until the muscle burns deep and delicious, insides throbbing and clenching down; hugging the intruder and trying desperately to pull him deeper.

His body is in love with Lúcio and there is no way he could have hidden it even if he wanted to.

His dominant laughs softly, voice cracking, sounding elated to the point of hysteria as he rocks his hips, fucking his submissive for the first time.

“Not gonna last long,” he whimpers, leaning forward, pressing his forehead against Gabriel’s bound forearms.

I know he wants to say I know I know I know, but all he does is gurgle, soft and weak, body trembling, cock flexing as he is getting deep dicked gently, intimately, Lúcio barely moving enough to pull even an inch out.

Like he couldn’t bear the thought of not being inside Gabriel’s warm, suckling body to the very hilt. Like he wanted to crawl into his submissive.

Gabriel imagines that he can feel every vein; can feel the ridge of Lúcio’s cock drag against the spongy, wet insides of his gut.

He knows his dominant’s cock intimately; has spent hours lapping at it, keeping it nice and warm, worshipping it; yet feeling it finally spread him open is making his head spin and cock drool, balls fat and swollen.

He wants to come, wants to come, wants to come so bad. He’s sobbing, bawling openly, shaking and sweating as he curls into his dominant and lets him hold him, a little stiff, a little uncoordinated as his hips jerk into him, fucking him uneducated and enthusiastic like the young man he is.

“Feel so good, so good, so good,” Lúcio is mumbling, a little delirious, pressing hot, suckling kisses against whatever patch of skin he can find. “My good boy. My good boy. Not gonna let you go ever again. Gonna keep you nice and safe. Put you in my damn pocket and carry you around.”

There’s white noise filling Gabriel’s head when he comes, thick pulses of come that shake him to the very core of his being, body shaking and uncoordinated but held nice and secure by his dominant’s arms and the ropes he put on him.