“Yeah… I like it.”

“What do I have here?” He dragged the words out as he stared intently at the way the blue coils of rope tightened against the deep shades of mahogany skin. It suited you well and made you appear far more timeless and pliant than you previously were.

Catching his lidded gaze as he comes into your view, it burns your cheeks hot. Perhaps it was the embarrassment from being vulnerable under his sadistic inspection or the plain fact that you're caught up in his web. “What are you doing here?” You grit the words out.

His shoes click wordlessly in reply as he pauses at your waist. His eyes lingered on the skin of your wrist as your sleeves slumped down due to your position, dragging upward, swallowing you in his yellow pupilless eyes before he finally answered.

“Here?” He parrots your words sardonically. “I live here, obviously, little bird.” He mocks with candor as he smiles at you, which is less genuine than a ‘fuck you’ from a Raider, which feels more polite than this does.

Bastard.

It bothers you how much he succeeds in always getting under your skin, and it bothers you even more that you like it. Tamsy is a constant pain in your ass, and not only that, you've always been suspicious of his character.

“What were you doing in my room?” His voice cuts through your thoughts, twisting through your ears and pulling tight around your brain.

“Nothing.” You answer, distancing your gaze from him.

“Liar.” He cooed, taking his finger and coiling it around a piece of his blonde hair, rolling it around the pads of his fingers boredly. “Try again.”

“Excuse m—”

“Try. Again.” He interrupts, speaking more slowly as if you hadn't comprehended his request in the first place. 

You glare into his eyes; they're like corrupted pieces of gold, once beautiful, now warped and menacing, and you feel a familiar heat crawl up your spine, coiling malevolently in your core and spreading to your legs.

Barking out a laugh, you scoff. “Fuck. You.” You delay your answer with crude words. You couldn't tell him you were looking for that damn book.

Tamsy’s smile curved as he stroked his thumb against his hairline, brushing against the scar on his face. “You get more adorable every time I see you, little bird.”

Adorable. The words are cemented deep in the crevices of your brain. He couldn't be serious, could he? Your stare slits as you watch him, his hair untied from that godawfully large bun, now cascading blonde and navy blue streaks over his shoulders.

His focus peers back to your concentration, catching your eye. Your fingers itch, and despite knowing it's futile, you try to wrench your body from the rope.

Charmed by your sudden exuberance, Tamsy steps back, making a show of admiring your foolish endeavors. As if wriggling like this is more amusing than anything else he's seen in ages, and it's true. He wasn't lying when he called you adorable; you occupied a good part of his thoughts. He'd even praise you for it if he weren't so certain you'd exploit that truth.

He watches the rope dig into your skin, leaving burns. He tuts; as much as he enjoyed watching you fail, that didn't mean he wanted to see you destroy yourself in the process.

With a flick of his wrist holding the Tokushin, your world spins, and your heart lurches. A navy thread snakes out, coiling sinuously around your forearms and snapping them behind your back. The sudden movement makes your heart lurch, and your knuckles press harshly against the small of your back. You lurch forward, pulled until his face is just inches from yours. Your breath catches in your throat, but before you can speak, more strings shoot out, snatching your shins. Your body is hoisted, your back arching delicately, as your world tips upside down. 

“Ha. Ha. Ha," you say dryly, staring into the smug smile plastered on his lips.

His gaze lingers on you before tracking the spot he’d caught you snooping. The corner of his mouth ticks up, but there's no warmth in his eyes. He wasn't distracted; his so-called "cute nuisance" wasn't getting away with anything. He knew you were up to no good, and Tamsy would figure it out before the night was over. His eyes snap back to yours, pinning you in place. "I'll ask you again, dear." His fingers trace his distaff idly. "What were you doing in my room?"

You meet his gaze from your upside-down position, unflinching. His pleasant smile strains and thins at your audacity, and with a burst of sarcastic exasperation, he tosses his hands up in mock surrender.

“Fine, your loss. I was considering giving you an easy out.” He shrugs languidly as he closes the distance between you both further. “I know ways to make you talk to me, little bird.” His fingertips abruptly glide, cold and promising, over your thigh. You jerk against the ropes, which cut into you—instantly your face is hot with a feeling you won't dare name. “I’ve done it before; you know I can do it again.”

His words pull your brain into a haze, and you hate that he is right about that fact. “Fuck you,” you repeat, gaze snapping to where you feel the ropes dig against your skin the most. Each strand was meticulously pulled to keep you subdued, like a fly caught in a spider's web.

He purred, "Such foul language, little bird." His fingers spread and pressed against your pelvis, making you take a sharp, shuddering breath through your nose, his name leaving your lips as your back bows.

Grinding the heel of his palm against your lower abdomen, he watches you stifle sounds. “What’s this? Nothing else to spit at me? If I recall properly, you enjoyed this—" The words don't leave him fast enough to catch you craning your head up and spitting on him.

His eyes darken as he regards the liquid trailing down his cheek. Deliberately maintaining your gaze, his tongue flicks out, catching the spittle as he wets his lips. His smile hits you low, and your muscles coil tight before you can stop them. You try to shift your legs; a flicker of instinct sends your thighs clenching, but the movement dies. The rough ropes bite, a cruel reminder that your body is immobile.

Sphereites above, you loathed him sometimes. You squint at his appearance. You figured he’d be out longer, given this was a requested day off, but, like most of your theories, that came to him. This one was wrong. “Where’d you go?” You asked, tipping your chin in his direction.

“You aren't even going to apologize for spitting on me?” He asked curiously, his eyebrows raising as he wiped his thumb around the glossy remnants.

“You enjoyed it, I’m sure.” Your voice is louder, eyes glaring; as if on cue, he places his thumb against his lips, the tip of his tongue catching the remains of your saliva. It bristles you instantly as your face twists in disgust. The previous annoyance has melted, but the clipped edges remain. “I could get seriously injured if you keep me like this too long.” You remark, letting your head fall back to place.

“You enjoy it, I’m sure.” Tamsy mimicked your earlier retort, making you huff. You could only stare up at his face—a serene mask. He looks up, thinking about your question now. “However, since you must know. I went out. I bought a cake.” He stated simply.

Your gaze tries to find the cake he mentions, but as your eyes dart around his person and his desk, you find none. “I shared it with a friend.” He mused simply, grinning to himself as if there were some joke you didn't find.

“Ugh, what the shit, Tamsy—” It’s his turn to silence you; chilled palms rubbed soft, soothing circles along the exposed skin of your inner thighs as he felt the plushness beneath his fingers, his nails skimmed the edges of your skin, watching you shiver.

“Now, now. I answered your question, sweetheart. I think you should indulge me now; that’s fair, isn’t it?” He leans in, whispering against the shell of your ear, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. He watches from his periphery the way you bite down on your lip, your eyes squeezing shut as your lips tremble. “Absolutely adorable…” He whispered, his lips skimming against your shoulder blade.

Your face heats up at his touch as you glance toward his bookshelf. Various worn covers peek out from the wooden shelf; most of them seem unimportant, but you’re sure that hiding in plain sight is the volume you want. You glance back at him, and he's already been staring at you—his gaze travels toward his bookshelf, and he hums.

“My, my, my. Was the little bird flying too close to the sun?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you as he looked down at you. Burying his fingers through the strands of your hair, he forces you to stare up at him. “Be good; I quite enjoy your company above anyone else. I’d hate for someone as precious as you to find yourself burned.” His words were cryptic as he sighed.

“You’d burn me?” You ask.

“Never.” He answers almost immediately, before his face wrinkles, annoyed at his own quickness. A flash of something indescribable passes against your eyes as if catching his sudden vulnerability, and he huffs. “Behave.”

“Make me.”

The words fall from your lips like the Holy Grail. It's Tamsy’s turn to shudder, but to the untrained eye, it looks as if he hadn't batted an eye at the bold statement.

“Little brat.” He grits despite himself; there's an enraptured smile forming on his lips. He tilts your chin up, his thumb traces the curve of your lip, dragging the plush flesh of your lower lip down slightly before he leans in. Your breath shortens as you take him in, granted… You were… are here for serious reasons, but he makes your head spin and your thoughts jumble.

You can never focus on your goal with him around, and it seems neither can he. He relishes your gasp as your lips briefly touch their air around you, lost in the polished amber of his gaze. You hadn't noticed his hand gliding beneath your waistband until you felt his fingers sliding against your heat, feeling the wetness there as he dipped his index finger to trail along your slit.

“You’re soaked, little bird.” He announced, pulling his hand away as he stared at his glistening finger, an amused puff leaving his lips, his gaze dropping to the fabric that covers your squirming body. Your arousal bubbles over as he stares at you. Tamsy knew you were right about one thing: you’d certainly get injured if he kept you suspended like this for long.

He makes a decisive tap of the Tokushin staff end to the ground; your body is weightless as gravity shifts, forcing the ropes to contort unyieldingly in your release; your head cocks back as you feel the soft presence of his shoulder cradling the back of your head.

Your gaze flickers up to him, then to your spread thighs. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch transfixed, your thighs itch to open wider—desperate for more than just his temptation. But admitting that means he’d win again. And you aren't in the business to see him pleased with that. So, you let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder, jaw working as you bite down on your tongue to suppress your need.

“You haven't complained yet, so I'm assuming you're trying to see how long you’ll last?” Tamsy teased, "The cold metal of his piercing makes your head spin."

“Will you shut up and put your fingers back in?” You blurt, and you hear him mutter something about it being just one finger—but it doesn't register as you feel his grip hoisting your thighs apart. His cold stare falls to the junction of your thighs while his lower right hand moves to the hem of your attire and takes hold of it. His eyes return to your heavy-lidded ones, and the fabric begins to lift.

Your sense of vulnerability causes your breathing to quicken, drawing in the thick scent of him. A wave of need crashes into you; watching his fingers slither back over you, the ropes against your body pull tighter as your shoulders twitch. You shiver and let out a soft whimper, instinctively trying to shift him closer. However, his grip on your thighs is a vise.

You watch as he slowly continues to pull your pants down, exposing your hips, then legs. His vision follows the movement with unwavering focus, eventually settling on your cunt. His gaze intensifies at the sight with unwavering interest. Pulling your underwear to the side, he watches as the wetness clings to the fabric before hooking his fingers against the damp cloth and pulling them aside.

“Deprived thing, aren’t you?” His voice is smooth as he runs his thumb along your slit. His index and middle fingers graze your wetness before he dips his fingers between your soaking folds.

You exhale with a soft whine.

Angled fingers nestle briefly inside; he drags them with leisure. In and out… the rhythm shocks your body in tandem. The first touch sends your spine jolting as you fight the urge to grind into his fingers; your knuckles curl against the rope digging into the small of your back.

Drenched in your slick, his fingers churn inside of you before withdrawing them—circling your clit in lazy circles. Tamsy watches your mouth fall agape, sadistic pride swirling in his chest. This wasn't a part of his plan, to have such a distraction as you. His nose brushes into the thick ringlets of your hair, breathing your scent in.

Arousal-coated fingers are guided back to you. Stretching you on your back, you lift your head from his shoulder to watch as he presses his fingers against your navel, then slowly drags them down to your folds, leaving a sticky trail behind.

He pauses there, his fingers poised against your entrance. Maintaining unbending eye contact. “Go on, beg me.”

Your mind races trying to pin down exactly what he said.

This wasn't supposed to be happening again; you were here for the Watchman book. You weren't here to—you don't even know what's happening anymore. But, you know it isn't supposed to happen.

His palm presses flat to your sensitive flesh as he slowly starts to press his middle finger in. Making your back arch, “Tamsy—” You quiver, and he coos at your tremble.

He slides his fingers in deep, filling your cunt completely. A cry breaks from your throat, and your forearms dig into your restraints. With bawled hands jerking to the rope for leverage, Tamay groans at the way you clench against his finger. He feels your head fall slack against his shoulder. “Little bird, I haven't even started yet and you’re already squeezing me.” He twists his finger playfully for emphasis. “Don’t tell me you are that desperate for my touch again?”

Asshole.

He still has time to make fun of you with his finger buried inside you? Of course he does. His thumb finds its way to your aching clit, and with one subtle swipe, your body reacts, hips fighting to snap up for more, though a feeble attempt to try his cords has you exactly where he wanted you. His eyes smolder at seeing you like this, unraveling for him. Yearning to be touched. And ironically enough, from the man you claim to hate.

“You’re so…” The words are lost on his tongue as his eyes find yours, half-lidded and salacious. Your eyes had always been a traitorous give. Tamsy leans in, breathing in your need as he feels you stiffen before melting into him. Easing you against him slowly, he feels the coiled spirals of your hair brush his forehead, nuzzling into him. “Tight. So tight for me, little bird.” He finishes his thought, the tease wavering into devotion.

Your gaze wavers to his lips; as if catching the cue, he leans further into you. His lips brush against your soft skin, against your own as you shudder. He's thought about kissing you again for months, and now it's happening, and Tamsy is going to savor it.

Cold metal touches your bottom lip, and tension coils in your body, shaking your shoulders. His lips press against your own, a tense, breathless kiss. Tentatively, you meet his tongue with yours, and for a moment you'd forgotten everything except the kiss, forgotten about his drenched fingertips poised at your entrance…

He snaps them in deep, filling your cunt again without hesitation.

A loud cry breaks from your throat, muffled against his lips, and you dig your restrained hands into the small of your back, the ropes creaking with your jerked movement. Your head wrenches back, your lips trembling, writhing against the stretch. Tamsy bites his cheek, containing his groan at how you feel around him. He lets out a breathless chuckle as he watches you, “Hush, now sweetheart… You're doing so well.”

He barely gives you time to adjust, letting you feel how his fingers fit into you before pulling out and pushing back in, back out, back in, back out.

Faster. Harder.

Your whines do little to curb his interest, if anything entertaining him further. His manic eyes swallow your scrunched face as he curls his fingers again; he continues driving into you, spearing you faster, setting a brutal pace.

The spectacle is so immense you feel like you’re drowning in it. In him. Your thighs tremble with the ropes coiling against the plush flesh, snapping them back in place. You whine from the ache, clamping and squeezing down on his fingers. You can hear the absurd sounds of your wetness squelching beneath his fingertips, making your ears ring and pulse around them.

Your hips buck against his curled fingers, struggling against your moans. Tamsy watches you choke on them. “Really? Fighting me still, little bird?” He grunts as he leans in. “No use in that regard. Let me hear you.” Your faces are so close, his nose almost touches yours as his intense scrutiny ravages your pleasured expression.

In an instant you rebel, shaking your head and jerking your head away. You can hear him audibly click his tongue as his closeness leaves you slightly. “Such a brat.” He forced an annoyed chuckle, punctuating the words as he drove his fingers in and out, making the burn turn into a raging inferno.

“S-Shut up,” you grunt, struggling to keep up and unable to hold his eyes any longer. You quickly turn your head away, your shallow breathing rapid as you try to contain your arousal.

“I’m getting bored with that line.” He scoffs; he looks down between your spread legs. “For a cleaner, you have poor manners.” He mentions enjoying seeing you seated.

Guiding his fingers back, he feels you flutter around them as he drags his knuckles through your folds, coating his fingers with your essence as he nudges your clit. The sensation makes you quiver as you try to arch your body into his touch, desperate for more.

“Fuck—” Catching you off guard as he pulled his hand back again, landing a smack to your slit as you cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Tamsy smiles cruelly. “I should shut that pretty little mouth of yours for good,” he purrs, dragging his thumb over your clit in dangerously slow and tight circles.

You're so close… You open your mouth, preparing for what you believe the relief of an orgasm would wash over you.

Tamsy pulls his fingers from your weeping sex, spreading them apart with his fingers so he can see the clear strings of your fluids connecting the pads of his fingers to you before he crudely slaps his hand down on your quivering pussy.

Immediately his index and middle fingertips find your clit, rubbing the pain away. He doesn’t waste time. He presses down on the pulsing nub, drawing slow, steady circles that have you crying.

“Tell me what you need,” his voice drops, becoming softer. “Use your words for me, angel.” The endearment is biting as you jerk against your restraints; your mind can't seem to function. Words bubble before fading on your tongue quickly, but the way he stares at you with a merciless fixation. He wants an answer.

“Wanna cum.” "Is all you say," breathlessly, a little unsure of yourself, and loathing the need in your tone.

“Oh? That's what you want. For me to make you cum?” He pesters, reveling in your desire as he grins with manic thrill; basking in the sight of you, he leans in closer. His head dipped down to get a better look at your crumbled pride. The way your eyes droop, glossy with tears, and your lips are bitten and bruised. “Could you be more helpless?” he mocks.

You hate him. It's annoying how he had this ability to have you completely at his mercy with the slightest of touches, your body caving completely with barely any contact.

You whined, fresh tears clinging to your lashes as you tried to close your thighs, the rope too tight. His fingers deliberately push your pelvis as he continues his movements, building up the pressure inside you.

Your hips twitch, trying to shift back and forth in tandem with the motion of his fingers. 

He hummed, “That’s it, sweetheart. Show me how much you like that.”

Vexingly enough, his praise motivated you as your hips buck slightly, the pain of the rope exhilarating now. You nod eagerly, unable to form words, earning you a devious smile that makes you clench. His movements start to sway in sync with yours as he adds more pressure, fingers moving faster.

Low in your stomach, a warmth coils and constricts, tightening in anticipation.

With no warning, he gives your overstimulated clit another small swat that almost knocks you out but instead has you convulsing under him.

Your inner walls pulsate around nothing, your clit throbbing. Your head feels as if it were engulfed by the sea; disoriented, your head tips back as your restrained hands dig into your body with such intensity that your nails dig into the small of your back. 

“D-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you babble, eyes rolling back as you grind your hips into his wet fingers.

“Desperate little whore,” he teased, nuzzling his face into your neck; his piercing grazes your clavicle. He licks away sweat that beads there, fingers working faster, strumming back and forth against your sensitive nub. Something wet splatters and drips onto the floor below you.

The sound of your wetness gushing onto him and you and to your inner thighs is so loud. You can hear him laughing at your descent, and your gaze snaps toward him. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. If anything, you should thank me; you've been pent up,” he mumbles as he kisses below your ear. 

“Fuck, I hate you!” You whine.

The pleasure you denied yourself for so long crashes down on you. On a deep guttural moan, your orgasm rips you apart violently as you choke against the sounds.

“Tamsy!” His name coming from your lips is depraved, and he responds with a low hum.

“I’m here, little bird,” he coos, observing how effortlessly you fall apart.

Your head spins, your hand tightens around the bind's nails digging into skin. As everything surges and rises, your cunt clenches.

He withdraws his fingers from your clit slowly, watching slick tendrils cling to him. He bites back a snort as he places his fingers flat on his palm, slightly nestling his knuckles against your quivering pussy. The way you throb and pulse for him makes his fingers clench as he watches you jerk into it, rolling your hips.

“So cute. See, you were just pent up.” His voice is saccharine and crude, which makes you grind harder against him. Mesmerized by your undulating hips, he starts rubbing his palm into the wet release pooling at your entrance.

You can’t stop moaning, can’t stop shaking. Both of your bodies writhe together, milking your release. Your breathing labored as his fan against your skin.

Slowly, your hips relax, his palm stops rubbing, and both of you become still.

Silence envelops his room, broken only by the sound of breathing.

“Shit.” You huff, your voice hoarse as your head falls back. His shoulder no longer buffers you; your back arches as your blood pools to your head. “What are you doing?” you pant, watching as he steps away from you and moves throughout his room.

His footsteps are wordless as he reaches for a familiar worn volume at his bookshelf, flipping through various pages before one he's grown accustomed to using peeks through. He glances at it before looking at you. “Nothing.” He lies, obviously.

Your eyes widen as you catch the upside-down logo, a set of two rings, the inner one branded by 3 circles, and the outer one by three triangles. You haul your head up. “You better not—” You threaten as he steps closer to you.

Maybe he's going to burn you a little bit. It isn't his fault that he has to do this to you; after all, you’re the one who flew too close to the sun. He's only protecting you from sticking your nose too far; besides, if he's planning on letting you get close, then he shouldn't allow it. He might as well keep you obedient. Many people do worse things for love; after all, his acts are… sensible.