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veronicasleepsTitle: Heat
Author: veronicasleeps
Rating: NC-17 | FRAO
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
Word count: 1600
Contains: D/s, sensation play (hot and cold), polyarmory, orgasm denial, gun-kink, dirty talk, pain play
Summary: Neal tries hard to be good on a hot day.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rounds_of_kink's New Year's Mini Round for the prompts shadows, stripe(s) and glass.
+
List of used Kinks: gun-play, heat, submission
+
The room is cast in shadows.
Neal is on his knees, the coolness of the dark tiled floor is startling in contrast to the hot air, almost freezing against his over-heated skin, emphasizing the ache where his kneecaps, already bruised as they are from the hours spent kneeling and crawling that week, are unrelentingly pressed down hard by his own body mass.
He doesn’t shift, though, doesn’t stir. He stays still and tries his hardest to not even think about moving, especially when –once in a while- he hears the faint rasping that Elizabeth’s tights make when she crosses and uncrosses her legs.
The movement brings her feet closer to him. Close enough to touch, close enough to press his face to the shiny patent leather of the high heels she’s wearing, and he wants that, wants to break position, wants to kiss her feet and lick her shoes and revel in that feeling of slow hot burning need that debasing himself like that sends through his body.
He doesn’t.
He swallows down needy moans that want to escape from his throat and has to close his eyes for a moment to focus. They open in shock when the hard thwack of wood on bare flesh, of the unyielding cane laying a stripe of fire on his skin, reminds him that closing his eyes is not allowed.
“You know better than that.” Peter doesn’t sound angry, thank god, and Neal takes a few deep breaths until the startlingly intense pain dulls to a throbbing ache. It almost fades into the background, together with the other aches in his body. They don’t matter as much as the feeling of being there, of obeying, of staying for them does.
The touch of Peter’s foot against his spine sends an uncontrollable shiver through Neal’s body. The slow languid slide of dry foot over sweat slicked back is almost too much for Neal. He groans when the force gets harder, when a toe digs deep into the muscle just below a shoulder blade and he folds his body under the pressure of Peter’s food until his torso is flush against his knees and his head rests on the floor.
It’s hard to breathe, kneeling like that, even harder because it feels as though the temperature is rising in the room and as if the air is getting thicker. He concentrates on dragging air into his lungs, and spares only a small part of his conscious thoughts for the weight and the feel of the foot that is now flat on the small of his back. Resting there, heavy and constant, so very much like Peter’s presence in his life.
“Small breaths, Neal,” It says lot about him that he can get so lost in this that he hasn’t even heard the loud clack-clack-clacking staccato that he knows Elizabeth’s heels make on the stone, but there she is, squatting down to the right of Neal’s body and burrowing a hand in his hair. “Easy.”
She pulls Neal’s head up by his hair so she can look at his face. He feels the burn in his neck where it’s not used to the movement, but keeps his eyes to the floor, resists the temptation to beg. For what, Neal isn’t sure. ‘Pull harder’, maybe, or ‘Touch me’, or ‘let me kiss you, any part of you, please’.
“That’s better,” she praises his softer, faster breathing, and pats his flushed cheek. “Are you hot, Neal?” She swipes two of her fingers over the spot where sweat from Neal’s brow has transferred to the stone below and –after looking at the sweat covering the finger tips with a small frown on her face- glides them along Neal’s lower lip, salty from his sweat and from her skin and so close to his tongue that all it would take is a small flick and he could taste Elizabeth, but he doesn’t because he’s not supposed to do that.
Neal can’t help but let out a moan when she pulls her hand back and turns to Peter.
“Darling, I think Neal needs to cool down a bit,” she says and lets go of his hair so his head is down on the floor again, the muscles of his shoulder relaxing from their tense position and his breathing getting a bit shallower so he can keep following Elizabeth’s orders.
The clinking sound of what can only be ice in a glass almost makes Neal stop breathing completely for a second, but Peter’s food sliding along his side, up to his chest and hooking itself between his arm pulls him up and then there’s the unmistakable ‘click’ of a gun’s safety being released and Neal sucks in a startled breath of air.
Neal shivers when ice-cold metal is dragged along his neck and shoulders, and he keeps completely still when the hand that leads the gun stops it just below his ear. He can feel Peter shifting closer behind him; can feel him kneel down with his legs spread on either side of Neal’s, and the hot skin of his chest pressing, sliding, rubbing against Neal’s back.
“Are you feeling cooler yet, darlin’?” Peter whispers softly in Neal’s ear as he slides the gun that small bit higher so the muzzle is flush against Neal’s temple. “Elizabeth seems to think you’re too hot.” He chuckles, low and dark, so very obviously enjoying the way Neal has to swallow down his natural response to a gun pressed to his head, and pleased with the trust that he shows. Neal knows Peter is all about trust. He revels in it.
“I think I agree,” Peter murmurs, sliding the slowly warming barrel sideways down Neal’s throat, and lower, much lower, over nipples and heaving chest until it’s following the line of Neal’s thighs.
“The way you strut around, flirting and charming everyone that crosses your path, you’d think you were burning, wouldn’t you? Burning with need like an animal, like a cat in heat, really.”
Neal’s eyes are wide open when the gun is guided over his aching cock, he can’t quite follow, it feels like his brain is sluggish and the only thing on Neal’s mind is the sheer madness that is a gun stroking him there, gliding over parts of him that should have no business ever being touched by a weapon.
That doesn’t keep him from reacting to the stimulation, to the want that Peter’s shaming words send coursing through his body. Neal bucks into the movement of Peter’s hand, gun and all, and a helpless moan escapes his slack mouth until Elizabeth, who has just been following the gun with her eyes steps closer and claims his lips, biting them hard and licking over them, never allowing him a real kiss.
Her tongue is cool as well, cooler than the gun by now.
When she stops with her nibbling and sucking and licking, Neal’s lips ache as much as the rest of his body. They feel hot and swollen, but he still moves as if to follow her, asking silently for another kiss, another shared breath. Elizabeth just smiles, gets up and plucks the gun from her husband’s fingers.
“I don’t think that will help,” she murmurs, “It seems your gun gets Neal even harder. I wonder why that is, do you think it has the same effect in the field? Do you think he follows you to work with his cock hard,” she palms Neal’s cock head there, and laughs when he thrashes helpless and groaning in Peter’s hold, “and with his mind full of dirty thoughts?”
She steps around him again and pushes her thigh in between his legs, rubs it against his cock.
“What do you say, Neal?” she whispers, dirty and quiet, all breath and sharp teeth in his ear, “Are you cooled down enough? Should we let you come?“
Neal is far beyond answering verbally; he just moans and nods his head and hopes that he won’t come before they give him permission. The slow, burning slide of Elizabeth’s tights is rough against the sensitized skin of his cock, his foreskin is dragging on it and pre-come glistens on the sheer material. Neal’s entire body feels taut, feels like one giant knot that needs to be released or it will burst and he knows it will only take a few seconds more until he comes.
But then there’s one of Peter’s hands around the base of his cock, and the other one on his balls and with a flash of pain he is knocked back from the edge of orgasm and throws his head back in despair, his hips bucking, futile, nothing but air hitting his cock where just a moment ago Elizabeth thigh was.
“I don’t think so, Neal,” Peter softly closes his teeth over Neal’s earlobe, the sharp pain pulls him back further from the brink, “I believe we still have some ice to use.”
Neal whimpers and closes his eyes in defeat. He won’t come until Peter allows him to, he’s agreed to that, but when he sees the glass plug still glistening from the ice water it has been pulled from, he whimpers.
He knows he’s in for a long ride.
+
Author: veronicasleeps
Rating: NC-17 | FRAO
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
Word count: 1600
Contains: D/s, sensation play (hot and cold), polyarmory, orgasm denial, gun-kink, dirty talk, pain play
Summary: Neal tries hard to be good on a hot day.
Notes: Written for
rounds_of_kink's New Year's Mini Round for the prompts shadows, stripe(s) and glass. +
List of used Kinks: gun-play, heat, submission
+
The room is cast in shadows.
Neal is on his knees, the coolness of the dark tiled floor is startling in contrast to the hot air, almost freezing against his over-heated skin, emphasizing the ache where his kneecaps, already bruised as they are from the hours spent kneeling and crawling that week, are unrelentingly pressed down hard by his own body mass.
He doesn’t shift, though, doesn’t stir. He stays still and tries his hardest to not even think about moving, especially when –once in a while- he hears the faint rasping that Elizabeth’s tights make when she crosses and uncrosses her legs.
The movement brings her feet closer to him. Close enough to touch, close enough to press his face to the shiny patent leather of the high heels she’s wearing, and he wants that, wants to break position, wants to kiss her feet and lick her shoes and revel in that feeling of slow hot burning need that debasing himself like that sends through his body.
He doesn’t.
He swallows down needy moans that want to escape from his throat and has to close his eyes for a moment to focus. They open in shock when the hard thwack of wood on bare flesh, of the unyielding cane laying a stripe of fire on his skin, reminds him that closing his eyes is not allowed.
“You know better than that.” Peter doesn’t sound angry, thank god, and Neal takes a few deep breaths until the startlingly intense pain dulls to a throbbing ache. It almost fades into the background, together with the other aches in his body. They don’t matter as much as the feeling of being there, of obeying, of staying for them does.
The touch of Peter’s foot against his spine sends an uncontrollable shiver through Neal’s body. The slow languid slide of dry foot over sweat slicked back is almost too much for Neal. He groans when the force gets harder, when a toe digs deep into the muscle just below a shoulder blade and he folds his body under the pressure of Peter’s food until his torso is flush against his knees and his head rests on the floor.
It’s hard to breathe, kneeling like that, even harder because it feels as though the temperature is rising in the room and as if the air is getting thicker. He concentrates on dragging air into his lungs, and spares only a small part of his conscious thoughts for the weight and the feel of the foot that is now flat on the small of his back. Resting there, heavy and constant, so very much like Peter’s presence in his life.
“Small breaths, Neal,” It says lot about him that he can get so lost in this that he hasn’t even heard the loud clack-clack-clacking staccato that he knows Elizabeth’s heels make on the stone, but there she is, squatting down to the right of Neal’s body and burrowing a hand in his hair. “Easy.”
She pulls Neal’s head up by his hair so she can look at his face. He feels the burn in his neck where it’s not used to the movement, but keeps his eyes to the floor, resists the temptation to beg. For what, Neal isn’t sure. ‘Pull harder’, maybe, or ‘Touch me’, or ‘let me kiss you, any part of you, please’.
“That’s better,” she praises his softer, faster breathing, and pats his flushed cheek. “Are you hot, Neal?” She swipes two of her fingers over the spot where sweat from Neal’s brow has transferred to the stone below and –after looking at the sweat covering the finger tips with a small frown on her face- glides them along Neal’s lower lip, salty from his sweat and from her skin and so close to his tongue that all it would take is a small flick and he could taste Elizabeth, but he doesn’t because he’s not supposed to do that.
Neal can’t help but let out a moan when she pulls her hand back and turns to Peter.
“Darling, I think Neal needs to cool down a bit,” she says and lets go of his hair so his head is down on the floor again, the muscles of his shoulder relaxing from their tense position and his breathing getting a bit shallower so he can keep following Elizabeth’s orders.
The clinking sound of what can only be ice in a glass almost makes Neal stop breathing completely for a second, but Peter’s food sliding along his side, up to his chest and hooking itself between his arm pulls him up and then there’s the unmistakable ‘click’ of a gun’s safety being released and Neal sucks in a startled breath of air.
Neal shivers when ice-cold metal is dragged along his neck and shoulders, and he keeps completely still when the hand that leads the gun stops it just below his ear. He can feel Peter shifting closer behind him; can feel him kneel down with his legs spread on either side of Neal’s, and the hot skin of his chest pressing, sliding, rubbing against Neal’s back.
“Are you feeling cooler yet, darlin’?” Peter whispers softly in Neal’s ear as he slides the gun that small bit higher so the muzzle is flush against Neal’s temple. “Elizabeth seems to think you’re too hot.” He chuckles, low and dark, so very obviously enjoying the way Neal has to swallow down his natural response to a gun pressed to his head, and pleased with the trust that he shows. Neal knows Peter is all about trust. He revels in it.
“I think I agree,” Peter murmurs, sliding the slowly warming barrel sideways down Neal’s throat, and lower, much lower, over nipples and heaving chest until it’s following the line of Neal’s thighs.
“The way you strut around, flirting and charming everyone that crosses your path, you’d think you were burning, wouldn’t you? Burning with need like an animal, like a cat in heat, really.”
Neal’s eyes are wide open when the gun is guided over his aching cock, he can’t quite follow, it feels like his brain is sluggish and the only thing on Neal’s mind is the sheer madness that is a gun stroking him there, gliding over parts of him that should have no business ever being touched by a weapon.
That doesn’t keep him from reacting to the stimulation, to the want that Peter’s shaming words send coursing through his body. Neal bucks into the movement of Peter’s hand, gun and all, and a helpless moan escapes his slack mouth until Elizabeth, who has just been following the gun with her eyes steps closer and claims his lips, biting them hard and licking over them, never allowing him a real kiss.
Her tongue is cool as well, cooler than the gun by now.
When she stops with her nibbling and sucking and licking, Neal’s lips ache as much as the rest of his body. They feel hot and swollen, but he still moves as if to follow her, asking silently for another kiss, another shared breath. Elizabeth just smiles, gets up and plucks the gun from her husband’s fingers.
“I don’t think that will help,” she murmurs, “It seems your gun gets Neal even harder. I wonder why that is, do you think it has the same effect in the field? Do you think he follows you to work with his cock hard,” she palms Neal’s cock head there, and laughs when he thrashes helpless and groaning in Peter’s hold, “and with his mind full of dirty thoughts?”
She steps around him again and pushes her thigh in between his legs, rubs it against his cock.
“What do you say, Neal?” she whispers, dirty and quiet, all breath and sharp teeth in his ear, “Are you cooled down enough? Should we let you come?“
Neal is far beyond answering verbally; he just moans and nods his head and hopes that he won’t come before they give him permission. The slow, burning slide of Elizabeth’s tights is rough against the sensitized skin of his cock, his foreskin is dragging on it and pre-come glistens on the sheer material. Neal’s entire body feels taut, feels like one giant knot that needs to be released or it will burst and he knows it will only take a few seconds more until he comes.
But then there’s one of Peter’s hands around the base of his cock, and the other one on his balls and with a flash of pain he is knocked back from the edge of orgasm and throws his head back in despair, his hips bucking, futile, nothing but air hitting his cock where just a moment ago Elizabeth thigh was.
“I don’t think so, Neal,” Peter softly closes his teeth over Neal’s earlobe, the sharp pain pulls him back further from the brink, “I believe we still have some ice to use.”
Neal whimpers and closes his eyes in defeat. He won’t come until Peter allows him to, he’s agreed to that, but when he sees the glass plug still glistening from the ice water it has been pulled from, he whimpers.
He knows he’s in for a long ride.
+
