Mercy
by Merith
Silk ropes tied in practiced, expert fashion and looped through the headboard slats bind his wrists and ankles in a kneeling position. He tests them with a gentle tug of his arm, even knowing he is well and truly caught. Another swatch of silk is wrapped about his head, blinding his sight. His lips part. He is panting in sudden, vicious need, and his ears strain for any sounds of him.
"Quatre," he breathes, knowing a response will not come. But, the act of saying his lover's name excites him even more, and the cheeks of his buttocks tighten, pushing his hips out, making his stiffened cock jut that much more.
A touch. A touch is all he needs. At least for the moment.
Fingertips ghost over his cheek, and his head tilts toward it, seeking further contact, and earning a sharp tap on his nose.
"My pleasure, not yours," the voice he longs to hear says.
So close, and Trowa lowers his head in instant submission. The mattress dips and there is a touch, a hand running up the inside of his thigh. His breath stutters in a gasp and he trembles, holding back the urge to speak, to ask for more. The hand is gone before it reaches where he most desires touch.
"Beautiful," his lover says, and it is all he can do to remain still, to keep from uttering pleas.
A mouth closes over his nipple and he tenses, his arms jerk in slight appreciation. The mouth is warm; its tongue works his erect nub. He is vibrating, feeling the hint of suction from chest to groin, and his erection jumps in its confine. A brush of a thumb over his other nipple and he arches his head back, gasping.
"Easy," is the breath of a word on his skin.
"Master," he pleas.
The vibration of the laugh is felt through their connection of mouth to nipple, and Trowa moans. He pulls on his wrist restraints, wanting to touch, and stills only when the soothing hand runs down his flank, caresses the cheek of his ass. With a sigh, he gives in to that hand, to the mouth sucking and biting, and to the pinching and twisting of his flesh between the fingers.
It is the anticipation of knowing what is to come that has him tense. The blindfold keeps him from knowing just where he will be, what he will do.
The hand slides palm flat on his skin from his chest down to his abdomen. Fingers curl and stroke in caressing touches; his hips jerk in short, quick motion, seeking the hand, seeking more. And the hand is bridging the frame of his pubic curl. His lower lip quivers, and he bites at it, keeping the utterance from being released.
"Do you want me to touch you? Or," fingers brush in the lightest of touches over his cock; the voice tickles his ear, its tone teases along nerve-lines, twitching at his cock, "...do you want to suck me?"
Trowa gasps, his mouth is open, and he is straining in the war of his decision. To give or receive; the desire is both his, and the choice is made. A finger glides over the rigidness of him, swipes through the moisture gathering at the head, and is gone. A wet, pleased sound is made, and the finger is back, another swipe, another sound.
"Lovely." And Trowa smiles, knowing he has given already, knowing there is more to give. A zipper sounds, and there is the rustle of clothing. His skin pimples and immediately flushes; he shivers as he waits.
Arms circle around his confined ones, and the play is loosened in pinning his upper body to the bed. His lover is so close; the smell of him overwhelms his nostrils. Trowa turns his head just enough, and his face is tucked against a shoulder. He cannot resist nuzzling, though he knows he will be punished for the liberty.
"Che, none of that." The tone is light, though, amused, and Trowa dares more. His tongue streaks out for a taste. He is rewarded with a laugh, but his lover's body draws away, and he regrets the distance.
"You should have enough room, now."
A hand is placed on his head, pushing it down, and he bends at the waist, his mouth open and seeking. Slick wetness slides on his cheek, and he homes in on his target. Mouth wide, the thick, stiff flesh glides over lips and tongue, and Trowa begins to work throat muscles, clamping, and drawing, swallowing at nothing.
The hand on his head begins to stroke through his hair; his lover moans, hips thrust to his face. His throat relaxes, letting his lover fuck his mouth. His lover's other hand joins the first and his hair is gripped in twin fists, guiding and holding his head in place.
Trowa smells the leather, and can feel the metal of the zipper with each down-stroke. He images what his lover is wearing, wishes he could see to confirm. The red leather, he decides knowing they are Quatre's favorites. His feet will be bare, and Trowa's cock jumps at the thought. He cannot tell if a shirt is being worn, but determines there hadn't been one - no fabric came between him and his lover when he pressed his face to his lover's chest. Trowa moans around his lover at the mental picture he's created.
The need to come is strong and gaining.
"So good," his lover groans.
He works his tongue, adding some small measure of friction and texture to the experience. He knows it will last moments only, and if he is pleased, it will be his turn. His buttocks clench in excitement, and he feels his cock jiggle against his thighs. A touch will be all it takes.
And his master is coming; he swallows. He feels a spill and whimpers at the loss. His lover is finished, but still the leather is pressed tightly to his face, his nose is squashed into the fly's crease, his forehead against the waistband. Trowa's breathing steadies as he waits his lover's pleasure. A hand releases its hold and he feels it slide over his shoulder, stroke his back in a soothing caress.
"You are so beautiful like this. So very beautiful." There is unconcealed desire and adoration in the voice, and Trowa shivers at its rawness. "You please me very much," his lover says, and Trowa moans.
His mouth is emptied, and Trowa's tongue is licking at the edges of his lips, recovering the last of his lover. A laugh and his lover is kissing him, tongue plundering, tasting him and himself. The hand still wrapped in his hair pulls, drawing him upward, and he is flush with his lover, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Trowa tests his bonds again, sounds his displeasure at being unable to touch, to hold.
"Would you like release?" his lover laughs softly against his mouth. The hand on his back is gone, only to appear at his hip, trailing fingers tease at the tuffs of hair cover his groin.
"Please," he murmurs, seeking the mouth so close to his. "Please."
Fingers unclip his ring. "Come for me," he is commanded, and his mouth is covered again with his lover's.
His cry is swallowed as he comes, his body arches, straining against the silk ropes, and his eyelids flutter behind the blind. Quivering, weak and panting, he slumps into the arms that hold him.
"Beautiful," he hears even as he begins to fade. "So beautiful."
Mercy lyrics:
Yeah Yeah Yeah x4
I love you
but i gotta stay true
my morals got me on my knees
I'm begging please stop playing games
I don't know what this is
but you got me good
just like you knew you would
I don't know what you do
but you do it well
I'm under your spell
Chorus
You got me begging you for mercy
why wont you release me
you got me begging you for mercy
why wont you release me
I said release me
Now you think that I
will be something on the side
but you got to understand
that I need a man
who can take my hand yes I do
I don't know what this is
but you got me good
just like you knew you would
I don't know what you do
but you do it well
I'm under your spell
You got me begging you for mercy
why wont you release me
you got me begging you for mercy
why wont you release me
I said you'd better release yeah yeah yeah
I'm begging you for mercy
you got me begging
you got me begging
you got me begging
Mercy, why wont you release me
I'm begging you for mercy
why wont you release me
you got me begging you for mercy
I'm begging you for mercy
I'm begging you for mercy
I'm begging you for mercy
I'm begging you for mercy
Why wont you release me yeah yeah
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