Oh, you poor slut. I'm sure you wish that were true, but I intend to make you suffer.
[ The words are so at odds with his tone. It's so pleasantly full; Kaoru can hear the smile on his lips, as if he were commenting on the lovely weather or complimenting a smart tie. And that, in context, could be absolutely terrifying. Here he stands, holding a knife to Kaoru's face, shoving him around with rougher hands than he's ever dared with such a blooming flower of a man, and sounding for all the world as if it means nothing to him.
And that's how Kaoru knows, how he can draw the very apt conclusion, that this is all cerebral for Ainosuke. All psychological. Every part of this dance was decided, calculated, long before Kaoru ever stepped into the kitchen. Because that, as always, is how Ainosuke and Kaoru keep each other on their toes. Strategy. Intellect. Each poised at opposite sides of a chessboard, without either one knowing which is ahead of the game.
Just like this. Ainosuke holds the reins because Kaoru has handed them to him. He can be as mean and hurtful and raw as he pleases, but if Kaoru ever threw the flag, it would be over in an instant without any questions asked, and that? That is power. The real power. And both of them know it. ]
Now you be good. Stay still and keep your fucking mouth shut, and maybe I'll let you leave here in one piece.
[ Ainosuke works his belt open while he speaks, then the clasp and zipper of his slacks, all orchestrated so that Kaoru can hear every deliberate move. To stoke the anticipation (or the terror, as it were). His slacks hang loose at his hips, and his cock is already achingly hard when he eases it out, to press in a hard grind between Kaoru's ass cheeks. It's a slow arc, head pushing from Kaoru's tailbone to perineum, then back again.
That's all the warning he gets before Ainosuke sinks in, teeth grit against a soft groan, straight down to the hilt. ]
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[ The words are so at odds with his tone. It's so pleasantly full; Kaoru can hear the smile on his lips, as if he were commenting on the lovely weather or complimenting a smart tie. And that, in context, could be absolutely terrifying. Here he stands, holding a knife to Kaoru's face, shoving him around with rougher hands than he's ever dared with such a blooming flower of a man, and sounding for all the world as if it means nothing to him.
And that's how Kaoru knows, how he can draw the very apt conclusion, that this is all cerebral for Ainosuke. All psychological. Every part of this dance was decided, calculated, long before Kaoru ever stepped into the kitchen. Because that, as always, is how Ainosuke and Kaoru keep each other on their toes. Strategy. Intellect. Each poised at opposite sides of a chessboard, without either one knowing which is ahead of the game.
Just like this. Ainosuke holds the reins because Kaoru has handed them to him. He can be as mean and hurtful and raw as he pleases, but if Kaoru ever threw the flag, it would be over in an instant without any questions asked, and that? That is power. The real power. And both of them know it. ]
Now you be good. Stay still and keep your fucking mouth shut, and maybe I'll let you leave here in one piece.
[ Ainosuke works his belt open while he speaks, then the clasp and zipper of his slacks, all orchestrated so that Kaoru can hear every deliberate move. To stoke the anticipation (or the terror, as it were). His slacks hang loose at his hips, and his cock is already achingly hard when he eases it out, to press in a hard grind between Kaoru's ass cheeks. It's a slow arc, head pushing from Kaoru's tailbone to perineum, then back again.
That's all the warning he gets before Ainosuke sinks in, teeth grit against a soft groan, straight down to the hilt. ]