Hello! Taking a break from prompts today, because I realized that what I was going to post wouldn't make much sense without the previous bits of the storyline. Basically, this is an established, BDSM relationship between Tim/Jason, which then adds in Dick as a secondary Dom later on. We'll get there. Jason is the sub, for reference. This is just a bit of fluff though, really. XD See you Monday!
"So what are the stakes?" Jason asks, spinning the wooden staff in his hands and watching it, not me.
My furniture is pushed back against the walls, giving us a good section of open space to work with. The staff in Jason's hands matches the one I'm holding loosely at my right side, the forward tip nearly touching the ground. We're both dressed in easy workout clothes, simple sweatpants and tank tops. Mine are black, while Jason's pants are black, but his tank top is white. Our feet are bare, and apart from the staves in our hands we're unarmed. This isn't about a fight, this is about practice.
That, and seeing Jason in his element. That's always worth a few bruises.
"What were you thinking of?" I counter, shifting my stance on my feet and testing the weight of the staff by giving it a few spins. Jason is still spinning his in easy circles, moving as he does a few small stretches at the same time.
"What's a fight without a little incentive to win?" he says, with a flash of a grin and heat in his gaze that has nothing to do with the idea of sparring with me. He stops spinning the staff, bringing it to an easy rest at his side, halfway turned away so he's only showing me a slice of his torso. Giving me only a little bit of himself to aim at.
"Those kind of stakes, hm?" I say, with a small smirk. "Sure you want to do that, Jay? You remember the last deal you made with me, don't you?"
I remember it. I remember that I won the wager we made, and Jason ended up serving me for a day, with a plug stretching him wide and a leash hooked to his collar, the handle around my wrist. Open for whenever I wanted to use him, and oh I did. When he was good, when he pleased me and did exactly what I wanted him to, I let him have his own release as well. It was a good day, even if I didn't actually get much done. A day spent playing with Jason is really productivity enough.
Jason's grin flickers for a second, his eyes squeezing shut, but then he swallows and grins a little wider. "Brought it up, didn't I?"
"Alright," I agree, and consider for a moment. Not that I really have to think about it. I step closer and raise my staff. He stays still as I shift it to the end of my hand, slipping the far end beneath his chin and tilting it up. He swallows again, as the wood slides along the front of his throat. "If I win, I get to do whatever I want to you for a night."
What I don't include is that of course Jason could call his safeword at any time, and I would stop instantly, but I don't need to say that for him to know it. Jason might be mine when he chooses to be, when my collar locks around his throat, but that doesn't mean my power over him is absolute. It's mutual respect, and trust, and I would never hurt Jason in any way he didn't like. Not while my collar is on him.
Our bet only means that the night would be for my pleasure, not his. I would do whatever I want, and if that happens to mean that I get him off so many times that he can't do more than shake and plead, that's my choice. If it means that I tie him up and use him for my own pleasure, and he never gets a release at all, that could be my choice too. The point is that Jason won't know until the night what it is that I'll be doing with him. Or to him. Usually, our nights are a little more relaxed than that, and a little more open to negotiation. I might order him to do things, but I also usually word it in a way that would let him back out, if he wanted to.
It's not about obedience, it's about trust.
Jason's gaze flicks to the floor for a moment, though my staff won't let him lower his chin. "Sounds like a plan," he agrees, and then looks up again. I pull my staff back, giving him his space again so he can focus on me. I watch him breathe out, slow and steady, and then smirk again. "If I win," he counters, "you bring Kon-El in for a night with us."
My eyes widen for a second.
Jason and I aren't monogamous, true. I have a semi-steady relationship with Kon-El, a night or two with Bart when I feel like it, and so long as Jason asks permission from me first, he can sleep with anyone he wants. Sometimes I ask him to describe what he's done with other people, while I play with him. He's not allowed to play with anyone else without my direct supervision, which hasn't happened yet — the door is open there though, just in case — but sex is simpler. In the same way, I don't play with anyone but him, though I don't have to get his permission just to have sex with someone. It works for us, especially since both of us are so often off in other places, and a phone call doesn't always cut it when one of us is in the mood to fuck, but the other is out of town.
But we've never brought a third into our nights. Of course Kon knows that I play with Jason, but knowing I play with him and being involved are two different things. Jason's never seemed to be that interested in the idea of anyone else being witness to his submission but me. Not against it, but not interested either.
"With me as your owner, or your partner?" I ask, in the simplest way I can phrase things. If it's just the three of us for a normal threesome, with hot sex, that's an obvious yes. But if it's adding Kon in next to me with Jason beneath us both… I'm not entirely sure I want to share what Jason looks like in my collar with anyone else, not even Kon. Not that Kon would even be interested; he's a lot closer to a sub than a dom. That doesn't mean I want to share the sight of Jason kneeling, or his lips wrapped around my fingers, or the way he begs when I've pushed him not quite far enough.
That's mine.
"Just sex," Jason answers easily. "Could be fun to fuck a Kryptonian, or just not have to hold back at all."
My throat dries a little bit. Interesting how I didn't even consider the idea of Jason fucking Kon-El, and just assumed it would be the other way around. Now that would be a hot night. I play the bottom every once in a while, but I don't mix the roles I play with my kink partners. I dom Jason, therefore I've always been the one to fuck him, and I've never been around to watch him fuck someone else. He's described it to me a few times, on my order, but hearing about it and seeing it are two very different things. Jason doesn't have switch tendencies, and he's got no desire to be a dom, but he does enjoy being in the top role sometimes.
From what he's told me — he knows I would punish him for being dishonest — he's good at it, too. Kon is the same way, though since we're not anything but casual sex, that I have experienced from both sides. I can definitely picture Kon on his knees, with Jason pressed down over his back and both hands on his hips to hold him steady. I think the sight of Jason not holding back his considerable strength, of seeing him unleashed, would be the sight of a lifetime.
"Like that mental image?" Jason asks with a smirk. "Thought you might."
I shake my head and give a quiet laugh. "How did that idea even get in your head?"
He echoes my laugh, spinning the staff in a quick circle across the back of his hand. "Come on, Red. The jump from knowing you've slept with someone, to imagining you with them, to imagining me in there is pretty tiny. I've got an active imagination."
"Yeah, apparently." I mimic the spin of the staff, and bring it to a sharp halt just a moment after he does. "Alright, deal. Terms clear?"
My answer is the whistle of Jason's staff through the air as he uncurls all that muscle, sending it spinning for my head. I duck under, already half expecting that he'd do something like that — Jason likes to strike when people don't expect it, when they aren't ready for him — and the wood sails harmlessly over my head. I retaliate by closing the distance as he's spinning with the momentum of his strike, open for just a moment since he chose to start with such a wide move. I give a safe, easily defensible thrust of my staff at his exposed side.
He does something between a duck and a lunge, and my staff grazes harmlessly against his back as he gets out of the way. A twist and a second later and his back is pressed to mine, his head twisted over his left shoulder to watch me and my hands.
"To the first hit?" I ask, meeting the pressure of his weight with a stable base, considering my options to get him a little farther away from me without opening myself to anything. Jason's stronger than me, and just a little faster, so he's got the advantage when we're this close. A little further away and I gain the advantage instead; I'm better with a staff than he is.
"You know that's not going to be enough," he says, and I can just see the edge of his grin from this angle. As if to prove his point, his weight shifts, leans on me for a second, and before I can figure out exactly what it means his foot is slamming into the back of my right knee. It buckles, slamming me to the floor and off balance, and I twist my head to keep track of what he's about to do.
I end up yanking to the side to avoid the thrust of his staff at the back of my neck, and it bounces off the floor in front of me instead. "First ending strike?" I counter, with a bit of exertion to my voice, as I twist on my knee and drive my staff up at his low back. He twists away again, circling and bringing his staff in at the side of my skull. I block it, the impact reverberating up my arms but mostly absorbed by my elbows and the slight give of the staff itself.
"Sounds good," Jason agrees.
I let go of the staff with my left hand, lashing out and grabbing a handful of Jason's shirt to haul him in closer. At the same time I let my weight fall backwards as I kick out with my right foot, neatly knocking Jason's left leg out from under him. He falls forward, surprised for that crucial second that lets me gain the upper hand, and my other foot plants in his stomach as I roll back, pushing with that leg and pulling on his shirt to toss him over my head.
I hear him hit the carpet with a heavy whump, hear his forced exhale and bitten off curse, and roll over to my knees. I bring my staff down — there's not that much force, it's speed over strength — at his skull, but he notices before it makes contact. He yanks into a sideways roll, blocking the staff with a snap of the one he's still holding in his own hand in a move that's more suited to blocking a sword than a staff. He really didn't need to block the strike as long as he got out of the way, which is his slight inexperience showing through. He gets to his knees, giving a rolling thrust of his staff in retaliation that forces me to flick my staff and knock his off target.
He's to his knees by the time I'm ready to take my turn at striking, and instead of doing that I take the moment to get to my feet instead. He follows me, just a fraction of a second behind and with a part to his mouth that's the only indication that he just had the breath knocked out of him.
He flashes me a grin as I take a step to the side and he matches it, starting a slow, circling dance. "Not bad," he says, sounding a lot more breathless than he looks. "Got any more where that came from, Red?"
"There's always more," I answer, with a smirk. "Want a taste?"
There's a flash of heat in his gaze, and his chin tilts down, the look in his eyes almost predatory as he rumbles out, "Always."
I make the first move, swinging the staff around my back to gain momentum and power before flinging the end in an arc towards his head. He ducks under, and I turn with the strike and bring my second hand in for control as he moves forward to take advantage of what definitely looks like an opening. Until my staff comes whistling around in the second circle, at his side. My staff hits his with a resounding crack of wood on wood, and I see him grit his teeth against the impact. He pushes forward through it, twisting the staff in his hands as he turns away from me, forcing the end of mine towards the ground and trapping it there as he turns his back for just a moment. My staff isn't trapped for more than a second, but it's long enough for him to lash out with his now back foot, driving his heel towards my ribs.
I abandon the grip on the staff with my right hand, bringing my arm up to connect with his ankle and divert it far enough sideways that it doesn't connect. I twist my other hand as he draws back to resettle his weight, getting enough of an angle on my staff that I can drive the end into the back of his knee. It automatically buckles, destabilizing him pretty effectively since his other leg isn't on the ground yet, and I can see the curve of muscle as he tries to compensate for the shift. Part of that is that he brings the staff around to brace it against the floor, giving him something to lean on.
I move in, getting at his back just fast enough that I can swing my staff around his shoulder in a one handed, open strike at the front of his throat. He manages to get his staff up in time to block, and I catch the other end of my staff and yank back. He gives a strained grunt, the only thing keeping my staff from hooking under his chin the questionable guard of his own staff between them. I pull a little harder, dragging him back against my body and trapping him between that and the danger of my staff. He's pushing back, but I have the better angle for leverage and he can't let go for any real chance at forcing me off of him without losing the strength keeping me at bay.
"Son of a bitch," he snarls, jerking against me as his head tosses.
I shift my weight just enough that I can dig one of my knees into the middle of his back, forcing him into a little bit of an arch to get away from it. "You use too much strength," I tell him, content to hold my advantage until either his strength fails, or he finds some way out of this. "It's the details, not the force." His back starts to bend forward, in what I recognize as an attempt to throw me over him, and I jam my knee harder into his spine to stop it. "I don't think so."
His arms tremble a little, and I can feel the coil of muscle as he prepares for something. He shoves with his staff, pushing mine a few inches out, and then lets go of the wood. My staff rushes in at his throat, and my eyes widen in surprise as he gets his hands up and grabs hold of my staff, halting the backwards pull with a little bit of difficulty. His staff hits the ground in front of us, and I can see the edge of a vicious grin on his face.
"Too much strength, huh?" he asks, with a definite breathless note to his voice. He holds my staff forwards, and before I can figure out how to stop him he's ducked his head and gotten underneath the threat of the wood. He lets go, grabbing his staff from the ground as I stagger a little bit under the sudden lack of resistance. Instead of a swing, like I expect, he twists his hands and drives the end of his staff up at my stomach. I don't have the time to do more than partially deflect it, and it smacks into my right hip and forces me back another staggered step.
That stings, and I wince and don't stop him getting to his feet and facing me again.
He moves first this time, taking another thrust at the center of my chest. I bring my staff up in a standard block, the back end held above my head and the rest angled downward, and the second his staff grates to the side of mine I twist the wood and flick his downwards. It bounces off the carpet as I move in, mimicking his thrust with my own. To my slight surprise Jason just follows the bounce of momentum I gave him, shoving the back of his staff down to flip it. It cracks into mine, forcing mine too high into the air to do any damage as he catches the reversed staff.
He's not as good as me with this particular weapon, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't know how to use it.
He drives up at my throat, and I bring my staff back down along with my center of gravity, slamming his staff to the ground and this time holding it there instead of letting it bounce. There's nothing to catch on, nothing to actually notch, so it's a pretty imperfect hold, but it does well enough for the second I need it to. I rush him, sliding my staff up his to keep it as contained as possible as I barrel into him. Jason is heavier, stronger, but momentum will do wonders for an advantage.
My weight, and the fact that I'm hitting low, closer to his waist than his shoulders, is enough to knock him backwards. My shoulder hits his chest, my staff drives horizontally into his stomach, and we go down together. His back is curved this time, he's a lot more prepared to be taken down, and he all but mimics my earlier move. His knees draw up as we fall, and by the time his weight hits the ground he's kicking out and sending me flying over his head. I go with it, turning the fall into a roll instead of an impact, and turn as I'm rising to go back after him. He's rising too, but for that single crucial second his back is still to me, and I fling my staff out without anything but instinct to guide it.
It cracks across his shoulder blades, and he yelps as the impact knocks him flat against the floor on his stomach. He doesn't stay still for more than a fraction of a second, but I take full advantage of that fraction. He's rolling as I move forward, onto his back and his shoulders starting to curve up to get himself in a position a lot less vulnerable. Not fast enough though, and I'm too close.
I step close in at his unguarded side — his staff is in his other hand, starting to rise but still too slow to stop me — and thrust my staff down at the curved target of his throat. He draws in a sharp breath, and I register that he's not getting out of the way in time to slow my strike and then stop it a fraction of an inch away from his skin.
He stares up at me, holding completely still, as I carefully but firmly press the end of my staff to his throat. He eases back onto the floor as I push, and lets me nestle the end of the staff underneath his chin, forcing him to lift it and bare his throat to me. His shoulders lie flat against the floor again, and he releases his staff and lets it fall to the floor.
"I win," I say, quiet enough to be just for us even if we did have some kind of an audience. "You're mine, Jason."
His eyes flick closed, and he relaxes into surrender, not even needing the pressure of my staff to keep his head tilted back. "Yes, sir," is the rumble of sound that comes out of his mouth. It tightens my gut in hunger, like that voice always does.
I pull my staff away and then sink down to my knees next to his side. His eyes flick open, watching me as I reach forward and run my fingers down the front of his throat. "When's the next day you don't have anything planned?"
He swallows. "It's been quiet. Tomorrow."
I snort, tilting my head towards the window to reinforce my words as I point out, "It's already night, and I'm not cutting myself short. Day after that?"
He gives a small shift of his head that's just enough to be called a nod. "I can cancel what I've got planned."
"Good." I reach a little further, curling my fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him up to sit next to me. I lean in, avoiding his mouth for the moment so I can set my teeth low on his shoulder. He gives a small groan as I bite just hard enough to leave a mark, and then pull back. "Come before sunset tomorrow. I want you clean, inside and out, but no preparation. I'll handle that." He shudders, just a bit. "The day in between will give me enough time to come up with exactly what I'm going to do to you."
The second shudder is a lot harder. "You're fucking evil sometimes, you know that?" He groans, his right hand rising to clutch at the back of my shirt. "I'm going to be imagining things all night."
I smirk, and then tighten my grip on the back of his neck. "Well, the faster you get up, out of your clothes, and on your knees on my bed, the faster I can fuck some of that extra energy out of you."
His next breath comes out shaky, and then he gives a breathless laugh and says, "Alright, evil with a nice streak. Just sex tonight?"
I kiss him, briefly. "Well, I want a fresh canvas tomorrow, so I'll hold off on what I want to do to you for now." I squeeze his neck one more time, and then let go. "Up," I command. "I'll make sure you're too exhausted to think of anything."
He groans, head dipping just a fraction. "Promises, promises."