When Jean starts to wake, Sky is inside him.
He’s barely moving, just kissing his face and murmuring to him, pressed up against him, stroking his hair.
He forgets to be afraid of anything.
This is -- it feels like sacrilege to call it a kink, it's just good, to be taken care of while he sleeps and be loved and held and owned.
His head is throbbing and when he tries to speak it comes out an inarticulate rasping noise and he's so happy.
This gives him some amount of latitude without straying into disobedience. There are a lot of places, and many of them have various good qualities, and he can't after all guess perfectly at which Sky would like most.
"There's the club you went to," which, after all, Sky might well enjoy re-visiting in a different capacity. "There's a tea-house," because Sky liked the tea very much, didn't he? "And a living sculpture garden," which Sky would surely appreciate, "and a winery," which Sky would certainly appreciate, and Jean would not, so he feels he is being particularly scrupulous in including it, "and a little further away there's a sort of coffee-shop."
"The coffee shop -- it's really mostly just a coffee shop? Our sort of people do want to drink coffee, sometimes. I've been there often on business. But people often bring new slaves there, or particularly fine slaves, or -- anything they want to share."
"The winery, on the other hand, is ... very formal. They do tastings, and dinners with wine pairings." Get to the point. "And pain pairings. They specialize in ... the aesthetics of sadism."
Also, his father is unlikely to attend either.
"I was jealous. Jealous of the people using you -- jealous of you, I'd rather have been in your place than where I was."
"Lonely. Scared. I was afraid you wouldn't ever ... let me touch you again, not really. Like you had been. Obeying but being untouchable. I had to hurt you enough that you wouldn't dare try."
"I was afraid it wouldn't work. Afraid you'd carry on like that -- and I'd have to try to come up with something worse -- that I could bear to do to you -- or else never have you again..."
"All I wanted was you there with me. I think I got up and got my keys half a dozen times, to come get you. But I was afraid that if I did, you'd be cold and distant and it would be worse than nothing."
He'd hated the single lesson in which he'd taken electricity, at school. Nothing is worse than this -- the way it takes over his body, moves his muscles with its burning fingers. He hated it then, and he hates it now, more than even the pain would justify.
"I'm sorry, Sky," he chokes out. "I'll do better."
It's the cruelest possible way to ask him.
If Sky had said do you want, he would have begged with everything he had to be spared. If Sky had said can you take, he might have said no -- it might even have been the truth.
But. Do you think we should. In his professional judgement -- "yes, Sky."
He can do the clinging for himself. Cuddle up to him, lay his head on his arm where it's bound out away from his side, start to kiss over his neck and his collarbone and his chest.
Between little sections of melody, he speaks to him, always the same - I love you, I love you, I love you.
It's uniquely cruel; at any other time this would be so good, he'd be kissing Sky's feet and begging to come, but right now all he can feel is pain and fear.
(Sky doesn't have to be done. Sky could hurt him more any time he pleases. Sky could tell him he was done and hurt him more anyway. He could do anything. He will always be able to do anything.)
It doesn't slow by much.
(Sky likes him scared. It would be just like Sky to be waiting to hear his heartbeat slow, for him to feel safe, before he hurts him again. The thought is enough to keep him on edge, make his heart jump again whenever he feels himself calming.)
He is dead fucking exhausted and everything hurts and all he can think about is how he can stop it from happening again. (He can't. There's no way he can stop it.)
How the fuck did Sky come from this?
He hates this rule already. Does Sky know how often -- he loves Sky very much, but Sky has never been taught to be an owner, Sky errs in a thousand little ways every day -- does he need to say this -- no, this is different, he thinks it's an imprudent rule but it's not a wrong one...
"Practice. A teacher, ideally. Making sure you yourself know what it is you want. A good slave isn't a computer, you don't need to spell out every step; if what you want is 'to have you at hand when I want you,' you'll often do better to say that, rather than trying to lay out where to be and when. If you want something very unusual, and you want it done readily, don't just order the slave to do it, say they won't be punished for it. If you want to know how you could have given that particular order better, I can tell you."
The last part, especially, is hard to swallow.
But he's in love. It doesn't matter if it's hard.
"...I don't want you to be...resenting that I don't know how to do this all the time. I want to know so I can learn how to be better or so I can tell you why I'm doing what I'm doing, so you don't think it's just me being stupid if it's not. I–"
He cuts himself off.
"Tell me. How to give it better."
"That was better already. Telling me what you want, so I know what to give you. The first time, you just told me to say it, you didn't tell me what it was. I didn't know why you gave the order; I could guess you wouldn't want me to wake you in the night if I was thinking something, but I couldn't guess whether you'd want me to interrupt you, whether you'd want to hear it if you were angry. I didn't know if you were planning to punish me if you didn't like what you heard; I'd tell you regardless, of course, but I didn't know whether to be couching it in polite words or not. And telling a slave they must always speak their mind, about anything, is a risky business; it leaves the slave guessing how many passing thoughts you want to hear, whether they should do so in public, when you're busy or angry or tired..."
He trails off, shakes his head. "And of course I don't think you're stupid. I've had thirty years of training. You haven't had thirty days."
"I told you when we began that I wanted to hear from your vocal instructor that he was impressed with your progress each week, and I never did have to punish you for that. Your thoughts on literature are worth listening to -- you didn't think I asked all my slaves for commentary on what they read, did you? -- even though your file doesn't list much in the way of formal education. Your progress in French has been remarkable. I never had to tell you something twice because you forgot the first time. You saw what I was, when no one ever had -- when I hadn't, even. You've learned this as you do it and you're still better than half the new owners I meet."
Cute. He pats him before he gets up all the way.
Sky halfway clothes himself (why would he need a shirt to answer the door?) and disappears out the bedroom door.
When he returns (a little while after the door slams), he has a tray full of sushi and gyoza.
...he might have gotten conveniently bite-sized foods so it would be easier to hand-feed them to his adorably exhausted slave.
It hurts. He doesn't do this often. And it's hard to relax when everything hurts and he's so, so afraid.
He almost begs for Sky just to kiss him. But he remembers the last time he tried that.
(Sky will do it. He knows Sky will. It isn't just for play.)
"...please ... Sky..."
He can't say it. He can't make it pass his lips. How can he ask for...
"......please -- do it -- only kiss me after, please, please..."
How can he say no to that?
"Please, Sky, fuck me with the cattle prod," he gasps, and there's tears streaming down his terrified face and his voice is shaking. "Please tear me apart and ruin me and make me scream and, and, do all the things to me that I'm afraid of, violate me with pain and lightning and -- only please, Sky, kiss me when you're done..."
He was going to stop to talk to him but he finds that he can't – this is just too good and he can take it from Jean as much as he wants and it doesn't even feel like taking, to him.
He moves his fingers inside him slowly and sucks and bites at his lips and hums his satisfaction.
He can do this for a while.
After a few minutes, he withdraws his fingers and rearranges himself.
He ends up sprawled on top of Jean, pinning him with his weight – as if he's going anywhere – with his head laid on a pillow, Jean's face turned to the side so Sky can give him long, lingering kisses without so much as lifting his head. He glows with soft, languid contentment.
(The way he shifts and rolls his hips seems almost like an afterthought.)
It's so wonderful.
Every moment Sky isn't kissing him, Jean gasps adoration, gratitude, pleas for another kiss, please Sky, please don't stop, it's so good. He tells him he loves him, over and over and over. He's forgotten entirely about his aching neglected cock.
He can find so many. He's fantasized about this, sweeping the floor, doing the dishes, in the gym. He places gentle kisses on the palms of Sky's hands, on his eyelids, behind his knees, over his heart -- proceeding not in any sensible order, but as he's overcome with the desire to kiss each place.
More more more!! His fingertips and his earlobes and the back of his neck where the soft fuzz starts, the arch of his foot and the dimples on his hips and his navel and the tip of his nose and under his chin and the beauty mark on one shoulder and the lovely pink-brown edge of an areola.
It's so hard, it's so hard to be good for him -- but it's good for it to be hard, because then Sky will be pleased with him, Sky will be proud of him, Sky will love him.
Besides. Floating like this, awash in blissful torment -- what could be better?
He tries to move to make it good for Sky. He wants so badly to be good.
The next few days are...as uneventful as one could really ask for, given the situation.
Sky has him start edging again, four times a day rather than on the hour this time. He allows him in the room while he practices. He decides the second time he comes back from the gym that Jean should be cleaning him up every time. He canes him for small infractions and tries a few floggers on him just for fun.
He starts figuring out better instructions, over the next few days. Chores should be done without him needing to ask, and he'll tell him if he needs him free (unless he wants to watch him scramble and drop everything, which he thinks is equally valid). Clothes in the house while working, but be prepared to get rid of them. Sky is still "Sky", even out of the house, absent some reason to change it (probably related to the sabotage mission).
His attitude varies, during the day, moods changing on a dime, but every night he showers him with affection.
Edging four times a day leaves him desperately affectionate, clinging to Sky whenever he can, gazing at him all the time, hanging on his words, all more than he already does. He cries sometimes; he never begs. Occasionally, especially if Sky has been moody, he has to ask Sky for help.
Being in the room while Sky practices is the best thing in the world. Cleaning him up after the gym isn't bad either.
Jean kind of likes some of the floggers; they're an interesting sensory experience. He doesn't like the cane. That one almost always makes him cry.
He follows instructions exceptionally well, never needing to be told anything twice, starting to anticipate what Sky wants as he gets a sense of him. Sometimes he offers criticism on how Sky gives the instructions. Sometimes he offers advice, which (apparently out of some obscure sense of fair play) is as likely as not to be unpleasant for him. Things Sky shouldn't let him get away with. Things Sky could have said to hurt more.
He loves the evenings. He lives for the evenings.
On one particular night, after Sky runs a long errand somewhere, he's especially cuddly, smiling even as he falls asleep.
The next morning, Jean wakes up cuffed to the bed (ankles and wrists both, this time) and gagged.
Sky is naked at the end of the bed, lying on his stomach, kicking his feet idly off the edge. He's back in his collar.
He starts to undo the buckle.
"And, monsieur – I'm going to get them out of you eventually. I know nobody's expecting you for a few days, so I have lots of time. You should think about how hard you want your life to be after I'm done."
Strap pulled out, prong pulled back.
"I know you're not very attached to sex, but..."
And the gag comes out.
"I just did it because I thought it'd be better if you didn't know and now it won't even be a surprise the next time–"
He cuts himself off and mouths something to himself.
"...and you should tell me what else happened. So I can figure out if I need to punish you or if it was my fault."
"...she's an expert," he says, quietly, to himself. "She doesn't have them either so it's not about having things I can't have. He doesn't get to have his own things but it might be important for keeping them safe. It wasn't about keeping them safe, it was about keeping her from being angry. But maybe that's how he keeps track."
"And there are definitely," he says to himself, tone almost scolding, "things he wouldn't do because I would be mad. I already decided that she gets to have some things, because otherwise nothing works and she's not bad. It's not good that he wouldn't–no I didn't tell him to do something, he just had feelings, I can't stop him from having feelings and anyway I don't want to."
"...she'd be angry if you killed me and she didn't get a chance to say goodbye. She'd be angry if I told you things that aren't mine to tell -- her secrets, other people's secrets. She'd be angry if I fucked a teenager. She'd be angry if you -- damaged my relationship with her -- wouldn't let me talk to her properly, that sort of thing. ... She might be angry if you broke me for a bad reason."
He looks delighted.
"Good. I didn’t get enough of your firsts.”
The back half of the cage goes on relatively simply. It’s the front, of course, that’s going to present complications. Especially given that Sky is now touching Jean’s cock as he makes sure the ring at the back is secure.
And here’s the little padlock clicking shut.
He glances back and forth between Jean’s tortured expression and the cage, smiling.
“I think I’ll have to do this to you sometime while you can get hard.”
He runs a fingertip around the end of the device.
“I like having a new way to be inside you.”
It's so good to be able to make him feel good this way too.
(Jean can't keep his hands off the cage, in the meantime. Every time he tries to stop, one of them finds its way back promptly enough, as though he'll be able to free himself this time. And then he catches himself, and his cheeks burn more with humiliation.)
Sky enjoys himself immensely.
There’s a hint of something new in his expression, as he regards Jean cleaning him up — not the thrill of new authority Jean is used to, none of the excitement of dominating a superior, just the easy, satisfied confidence of someone getting everything he deserves.
He pulls Jean up to his feet, and leads him into the bathroom.
The collar is a simple circle of wrought iron, unadorned, looking (just like Sky wanted it) to be one continuous piece.
Sky can't stop touching his ring, holding it up discreetly at his side to glance at it in the mirror.
He doesn't try to stop himself from touching the collar.
He's crying again. It's agonizing torture, and it's painful on top of that, straining against the cage; and he can't get the horrible mockery of it out of his head, the image of Sky between his legs sucking him off, only he doesn't deserve to come, he isn't even allowed to get hard for him, and so something that should be so unspeakably good is transmuted into the worst thing possible.
If he just doesn't let the noises become words, he can't beg for mercy, no matter how loud he is or how much he cries out. Keeping still is much harder, but he can do it if he thinks about it right, if he lets himself forget that this is only torment and try to arch up into Sky's mouth, try hopelessly to get more, more, just a little more.
Of course, letting himself forget that is its own kind of torture.
He can't help but be a little pleased with how well Jean is holding out. He's trying so hard for him! (And look at the tears, listen to him almost scream...)
Of course, this also means that Sky has to do better.
He can touch his thighs, and make soft, blissful noises around the cage, and look, he can fit it all into his mouth at once...