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Warnings for this specific chapter: almost-choking.
He looks good, thinks Feliciano, stepping back to admire the strip of dark, shiny blue cutting across the skin between his lover's brow and nose in a mockery of his beautiful eyes. Like sex. Like raw sex, hot and dirty and wet and delicious. And yet...and yet there is something perversely innocent and...and pretty about it all, too, he thinks, and runs the tip of the index finger of his left hand along the tie as he contemplates this. There is something soft and sweet in the gentle parting of those tender pink lips, damp and willing, and in the way he leans forwards, the swell in his throat shifting as he swallows, anxiously, Feliciano thinks, and bites down on his lower lip in delight.
"Ve! Ludi! You're so cute!"
Ludwig grimaces a bit. "No, I'm not."
Feliciano seizes the opportunity like a wild, hungry animal. Trying not to squeal with delight, he bends over, grabs the riding crop clumsily from the floor, and taps it – not hard enough to outright sting, but enough to cause his lover to gasp and jerk in shock – against the side of Ludwig's strong, pale thigh.
The sharp, greedy inhalation of breath and the sudden rising colour in his cheeks tell Feliciano all he needs to know.
"Bad Ludwig!" Feliciano says, playfully, and he cannot wipe the wide, delighted smile off his face (though he tells himself it's not right; none of those leather-clad man and women in the videos smiled. But then again, Ludwig is blindfolded, and therefore cannot see him; so maybe it's okay after all.) "You shouldn't disagree with me, not when I'm in charge. And didn't I tell you that you were supposed to call me –"
"Y-yes, Master," Ludwig gasps, his cheeks bright red and his eyebrows lifted and tilted in pleading desperation. "I'm...I'm s-sorry, Master."
It makes Feliciano's toes curl – it really does – and it makes butterflies the size of seagulls start flapping like crazy in the very bottom of his stomach, and it lifts the corners of his lips, and sets his blood pumping faster than ever before – and he cannot help but giggle, just a bit, quietly, and he tucks the crop behind his back, and reaches out for his lover with his free hand, and strokes his hair.
"Good!" he says, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "Good boy..."
Ludwig pushes forwards into the contact, tilting his head sideways a touch, like a big, happy cat. Feliciano reluctantly pulls away, and backs up, and up, and up, until the backs of his legs come into contact with the edge of the sofa; and then he sits down, wriggling a little until he is comfortable, spreading his legs just so.
His lover remains in the middle of the carpet, lips pursed in confusion.
"Ve, I'm over here, Ludi!" he calls, cheerfully.
Ludwig comes unsteadily towards him on his hands and knees, slowly, carefully, stretching his fingers out tentatively in front of him before setting the palm of his hand down on the floor, testing, checking.
"A little further...yes, that's it!"
Ludwig comes to rest between his legs, and kneels up obediently, silently.
"Good!" Feliciano says, and then, because Ludwig is good; he's wonderful; he's perfect, he runs the tips of his fingers behind the other man's ear, smiling as Ludwig breathes out and tips his head back in satisfaction. His mouth opens too – and Feliciano struggles to suppress a shudder at the sight of that soft, wet, pink tongue, twitching up to meet a neat line of straight, white teeth. Slowly, slowly, he brings his other hand up, shaking a bit in anticipation, and allows his other hand to fall down, down Ludwig's jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone (his lover twitches at this, but he doesn't laugh), and finally, down, down the heavy plane of his right pectoral to ghost over his flat, brown nipple. Ludwig twitches again; and breathes in sharply.
"Good?" he asks, and his voice is much quieter – though he isn't sure why. It's getting a little tricky to breath, to be honest.
"Yes, Master," Ludwig says, and his shoulders are tense, and his voice slightly higher than usual.
He moves his hand slowly, slowly, in a circular motion, his eyes fixed upon Ludwig's jaw, which falls open, and trembles a little. That lovely, soft, sensitive flesh beneath the tips of his fingers stirs; hardens into a tight point, and Ludwig lets out a quiet, low-pitched moan, and tilts his head to the side once again.
Feliciano opens his fingers out; traps that straining nub between them, tugs and scratches and pulls, hard, until his lover shifts even closer. Cautiously, keeping his eyes affixed upon the bobbing of the other's Adam's Apple, and the twitch of his pale eyebrows, he slides the hand he had allowed to rest behind Ludwig's ear down, flicking over his soft earlobe, tracing the hollow of one strong, angular cheekbone, before coming to rest at the corner of his mouth.
He feels the other man hesitate; feels the shift of his tongue behind his cheek, as though he is trying to work out what Feliciano wants without asking. It's one of those really sweet things Ludwig does; something very – him – and Feliciano almost melts at how absolutely adorable his lover is. He moves his fingers again, though, before that happens; plays over the jut of his lower lip, revelling in that delicious anticipatory tremble, and the feel of it, with fingers alone is so very arousing that Feliciano cannot resist leaning down, lips straining, and pressing a kiss so fierce it must bruise – he hopes it will – against Ludwig's gorgeous, perfect, wondrous mouth.
Ludwig is a little taken aback, it seems – Feliciano feels him flinch beneath him – but he quickly settles, and kisses his lover back, and when Feliciano pulls away, grinning happily, spinning in that comfortable, almost drowsy state his lover's kisses always seem to induce in him, he almost lets slip a little whine of disappointment...
Before he remembers himself, it appears, and shuts his mouth quickly, and sits still and correct and upright, trying to remain respectful-looking and serious, even when he is blindfolded, naked, bound at the wrists, and half-hard.
Feliciano wants, very suddenly, very intensely, to thoroughly mess that organised propriety up; to drive Ludwig as wild as Ludwig drives him, to make him whine, to make him gasp, to make him scream and swear and pant and beg, sweat, writhe, arch his strong, white back, and come apart as easily as spun sugar in his hands.
And he wants that mouth, those lips, around and against his fingers and toes and tongue and thighs and stomach and cock.
And that neck, against his mouth, and he wants to bite it and suck it until it's black and blue with love.
And those long, powerful legs, wrapped around his own, and his around waist, weakened and twitching with utter pleasure.
And those fingers, and that tongue, in fiendish places, and the soft eyelashes he knows as well his own reflection, and those hot palms, and that chest, and stomach, and – and –
And without even thinking about it – without even the vaguest consideration, honestly! – he finds that his fingers have somehow crept into the warm velvet caress of his lover's mouth, and he is only slightly surprised to hear a desperately aroused hiss of "Suck," slither from between his lips.
He does not neglect to notice the sudden crimson flush on Ludwig's cheeks; the way the thin, pale hairs on the back of his neck and all the way down his arms stand on end; nor does he ignore the quiet, almost relieved moan of "Oh!" and so he strokes the other man's chest more firmly in reward when Ludwig wraps his tongue marvellously around the length of his first two fingers and just drenches them; absolutely drenches them.
Feliciano's other hand begins to fall away from its duties upon his lover's now red and swollen nipple, and instead finds its way, eventually, into his lap, where he flicks the ends of his fingernails gently across the steadily hardening mass in his highly inappropriate underwear, and though Ludwig seems disappointed in the loss of sensation at his chest (he almost whines again – only almost, sadly), it is worth it, Feliciano reasons, because his lover shuffles closer to him, and intensifies the ministrations on his fingers.
He hollows his cheeks beautifully, and sucks, and then parts those sinful, heavenly lips, and lets Feli's fingers slide away, soaked and shining, a long, sparkling thread of saliva hanging between them and the upturned curve of that filthy mouth...before sticking his tongue out, licking them, in quick, sweet cat-kisses, then in slower, sensuous, and finally downright whorish motions.
Feliciano can barely breathe. "S-such a good boy," he manages, at last, and he wonders vaguely afterwards which language he spoke in.
Ludwig's mouth twitches into something that is very nearly a smile; and then he puts it to even better use, and cranes his neck, and sucks Feliciano's fingers back in with a satisfied hum, bobbing his whole head so lewdly Feliciano wonders whether he might come from the sight alone. He glances up towards Feliciano – briefly, through heavy-lidded eyes, which are darkened, and misted-over with pleasure, and something else, something deeper, some kind of peaceful, trusting descent into the dark – and it is so frighteningly beautiful Feliciano has to swallow back the thick ball of tears that starts to rise up in the back of his throat.
A heat, a burning, maddening heat flares up behind his own eyes, blazing so brightly that for an instant he is sightless – and in that instant all he feels is love, a rage for love, and passion, and utter submission, and he just wants to wrap himself around his lover until everything, everything melts into black air, and his head spins and his breath stops and he is shaking so so so hard, and – and –
And Ludwig is making an odd, gasping choking noise, pitiful and ah, so damn perfect he thinks he might burst from sheer red desire –
It is so hot, and he gasps out loud when at last he looks down, at the man knelt between his legs, and sees that he has jabbed his wet, slender fingers just a little further than he had originally intended down Ludwig's throat.
His heart stops again – though this time for an entirely different reason – and he withdraws his hand at once – and as though that choking, breath-stopping hand had been everything holding Ludwig upright, everything keeping him sane, conscious, alive, he folds forwards with a rattling gasp, his lips dripping, and presses his forehead against Feliciano's knee.
"Ludi! Ludi, I'm s-so sorry!" he is frightened, suddenly – how, how can he have let himself go like this? Ludwig is his life, Ludwig is his beginning and end and everything stretching out in between, black and white and hot and cold and grey and lukewarm, and the vast, coloured beyond, and –
And those wet, perfect lips press sweetly, imperfectly against his own and for a moment Feliciano completely loses his train of thought.
Ludwig is shaking and straining a little in the effort to meet him, stretching from his position upon the floor, unbalanced by the way his hands are tied tightly behind his back. Feliciano's own hands, cold and sticky and trembling with nerves rise slowly up to meet that handsome jaw; that dishevelled, slick hair; and at the very second he gains comprehension of their kiss, it is gone, and Ludwig's head is resting unassumingly in the crook of his shoulder.
"L-Ludwig?"
"My Master," says Ludwig, softly, and another layer of thick glaze begins to slide across his blue eyes.
Feliciano presses his nose into that thick blond hair, and he realises that, somehow, Ludwig has clambered onto the sofa to be close to him, and his knees are red from being pressed against the carpet, and oh, his breath is lovely, warm and just slightly tortured against the side of his neck. He wriggles his arms a bit, until they are free (because Ludwig is kind of heavy), and lays one around his waist, resting the palm of his hand on one of his restricted arms; and steadily trails the other down his lover's side and over his hip...and then down some more, down some more –
"Ludwig," he whispers, and his blood is pounding once again.
Ludwig presses close, closer, closer, and mumbles something incoherently into his collarbone.
"I – I'm scared I'll hurt you, Ludi," Feliciano says.
For a long moment, it seems as though the other will not answer him – and then his head tilts up, and his lips are stuck to Feliciano's chin, and he breathes "Please," like it's a prayer, and they are so close, so close that Feliciano does not know which quickened heartbeat belongs to him, and which belongs to Ludwig.
His hands are damp, still, and he moves the right one again, backwards and down – further, this time – and when he slides his middle and index fingers into his lover he is met with only minimal resistance. Ludwig's hips shudder back, pressing against his hand, and he sighs quickly, in a heavy rush, and lets out that soft little whine again, and Feliciano scratches the skin of his twitching arm and kisses his heated temple.
"G-good?" he asks, "It's good, right, Ludi?"
Ludwig just inhales, deeply, loudly, through his nose, and rocks back again. His whole body is shaking with the effort of holding himself up; he is trying so, so hard not to collapse forwards onto his smaller lover, and fall apart, and wail.
"More?"
He pulls his fingers away – Ludwig groans – waits a second; and then pushes them forwards once more, harder this time.
A soft, strained "Yes," escapes the other man's lips.
Feliciano's shoulders sink in pure relief – and Ludwig's legs give out at last, and he topples forwards, burying his face in Feliciano's hair, his tightened stomach pressed against Feliciano's swiftly rising and falling chest, and they move together in slick, fluid shudders and bucks.
"Wh-what do you want?" Feliciano murmurs. "What do you need?"
And he almost cries, and laughs, and screams, and moans, when Ludwig's lips catch against him once more as, voice rough and thick and struggling for purchase against the hard, flat wall of sheer existence, he whispers: "Everything."
He would give him everything – definitely, absolutely, of course he would – if he could. But for now, Feliciano can give him these strained breaths, the burning glide of shining skin on shining skin, the shudder and roll of desperate, hungry hips, twitching, poorly-aimed kisses and a tangle of legs, and smarting red marks and bruises that he will stroke and kiss and lick come sunrise, and words of love, in Italian and German and English and Spanish and French, and in every other tongue they know between them, and he tells him this, and he isn't sure if his lover hears him, because he just continues to grind down on Feli's fingers, and gasp into his ear, and scatter the skin there, right beside his sweaty hairline with little nippy kisses, but it doesn't matter, Ludwig knows it, and Feliciano knows he knows because he can feel it, he feels it in his lover's pulse and in every heave of his lungs, every twitch of his lovely eyelids...
He tells him, too, how he is going to push him back down between his legs; how he will bind his mouth, gag him; how he will fuck him, and ride him, and hit him, and bite him, and leave bruises, yellow and green and purple, and deep red bitemarks too, all over his neck and inner thighs and chest. And he tells him how he has to ask for these things – nicely, and he must say please – and he lifts Ludwig's chin, and runs his thumb over that lower lip, which, he sees now, is almost bitten to shreds; and his licks his tongue over it, gently, and pulls his fingers out, less gently. Ludwig moans again, but he ignores it, with great difficulty, really, and moves to untie the rope around his lover's wrists.
His back is pressed against the armrest, and he stretches his legs out further, and when Ludwig says, with only the slightest flush of scarlet upon his cheeks, "I want to suck you off. Please, Master," he finds his mouth far too dry to respond. So instead he spreads his legs even wider, hooking one over the back of the sofa, and pulls Ludwig down by his hair, and into his lap.
