An exercise in trust: Mick and Len, probably nsfw

[hottestrogue]

Mick sits on Len's bed, his head in his hands. The smell of smoke and burning books still clung to his clothes. He had been helping that woman burn the books in the library, not because he cared for the books or her in anyway but because of the call of the fire. It could have gone bad. Really bad. They were on a spaceship, but once he had seen that flame it had been too late.

This was getting out of hand, he felt like he couldn't help it. He isn't sure how to put it into words, but for once in his life, Mick is scared. The timemasters had turned that need for chaos and the desire to watch the world burn in to a weapon they could point at people. With the legends it was less a weapon and more a controlled fire. Here on the Barge he doesn't have either of those two.

He licks his lips when he hears Len's footsteps and glances up at his partner. "Len..."

Comments

[hottestrogue]

Mick calms with Cold's hand on him and he turns his head to face where Cold's voice is coming from even if he can't see him.

"Yes boss."

And he stays put, waiting for Cold to come back.

[chillestrogue]

He returns with a damp, cold cloth, and begins to clean off the wax before it really gets sticky. The touch is tender, careful; as Len wipes away the wax on Mick's back, he tightens the towel and smacks it sharply against the newly bare, clean skin.

[hottestrogue]

Mick shivers a little at the cold cloth, goosebumps appearing on his skin. Then when the smack hits he hisses again. His skin turns red, and he trembles again. "Does it have to be so cold?"

[chillestrogue]

"You've got a safe word." He snarks, as the towel makes a sharp crack, hitting Mick along his backside.

"If you want to, use it."

[hottestrogue]

Mick hisses again. "You think it is that fucking easy, Len?" Yeah he is using Len's name on purpose. An act of defiance that is backed by a grin.

[chillestrogue]

There were places he knew from experience never to hit - namely, the head, and the kidneys. But Mick gets a sharp smack on his ass instead, as Len judges that to be a safer spot than most.

"What did I say about the name?"

[hottestrogue]

Mick swears, but the grin is still there. "You said you didn't want me to use it. That when we're like this you're not my partner." He licks his lips. "That you're the guy in charge and I better listen to you."

[chillestrogue]

"Exactly. Good boy." He replied, placing another possessive kiss on top of Mick's head, running his hand over the man's forehead to bring his chin up.

"Let's see if we can't remember that."

[hottestrogue]

Mick pauses a little at the kiss. Then he licks his lips. "Then what would you like me to call you? Sir? Master? Boss?"

[chillestrogue]

Sir still rang a little with tones from Len's father, and boss was something Mick called him anyway, outside the bedroom. He paused, considering, before finally settling on;

"I think Master'll do for the time being."

[hottestrogue]

Mick isn't going to argue, at least not this point. Len has his reasons for picking what he wants. He takes a deep breath and the licks his lips.

"Can you hit me again, Master?"

It had been good, but he can take more, wants more even. When the fuck did he get this fucked up? He knows the answer, he's always been this fucked up.

[chillestrogue]

He gives a small laugh, already preparing for it, but pauses before doing so.

"Beg for it."

[hottestrogue]

Mick frowns. He thought he had done enough begging when he asked for this, now Len wants more? It is new. He's never begged for it to end, not with the time masters not any of the times before that. And now Len is asking him, no ordering him to beg to be hurt.

But the parts of him that crave the pain and the submission wins out and he shifts ever so slightly, the defiance leaving him. "Please master, hurt me more."

[chillestrogue]

He hears the hesitation, and makes a note of it; pain, and not humiliation, was the key here. Okay - that he could remember.

He smacks his hand down again, hard, knowing it'll leave a reddened mark where he drops it.

[hottestrogue]

Mick makes a sound, half a gasp half a moan. Then he breathes "Thank you Master." He knows that will leave a mark, he knows he'll feel it in the morning. He's worn Len's marks before, but that had always been to show off, to signal to the others when they were inside. This is different. This is just for the two of them.

He shifts slightly pushing his pants down all the way and spreading his legs a little. The back and inside of Mick's thighs are sensitive, they both knows that.

[chillestrogue]

Giving a smile at the invitation, Len moves his hand down and hits, with the flat of his palm, onto one of Mick's inner thighs.

"How many?"

[hottestrogue]

"I want? I..." He thinks about it for a moment. He doesn't know how many he can handle. Or how man Len can handle giving him.

"You want to try for a hundred, Master?"

[chillestrogue]

"I try for a hundred, you're not walking for days." He replied, but walked over to his bag anyway. If he was going to be hitting Mick that many times, he'd need a tool at his disposal, instead of hurting his hand.

"Going to be able to explain that?"

[hottestrogue]

"I'll think of something, Master. Sure you're not just going to enjoy the excuse to have me stuck on your bed for the whole time?" He tries to turn to follow the sound of Len moving.

[chillestrogue]

Extensive experience with his father has taught Len which instruments hurt more, which injuries last longest. For a hundred - probably his limit - he'd never use heavier objects, like a belt or a beer bottle, or a closed fist. He settles on a wooden spoon instead, walking back over to Mick's side, a little hesitant.

"This isn't my room. You could be discovered here."

[hottestrogue]

"Master. I can take it. I need it." He takes a deep breath. "I remember my safeword, and I promise I'll use it if I have to."

[chillestrogue]

He shrugs, rolling his shoulders back, though Mick can't see it.

"Good. Remember that promise."

Len pulls the weight of the spoon back with his other hand, and lets it smack against Mick's thigh.

"One."

[hottestrogue]

Mick makes a surpised sound at the feeling of the spoon. He hadn't expected a spoon. "One." He repeats. And then he keeps the count. For the first good while his voice is steady, calm. Then slowly it starts to change, his breathing is harder and the voice sounds strained. He tenses, not pulling away but anticipating each it. Then well past the point where most people would ask for it to stop something else changes in Rory. He seems to relax into it.

[chillestrogue]

He knows pain intricately, from being on the receiving end of it one too many times. He switches it up before it can be either too much to bear, or too monotonous. Mick's other thigh gets the same treatment after twenty, and even Leonard switches hands after a while.

It's becoming a little zen for him now, easier to zone out, when he listens to Mick's voice and takes careful note of when it threatens to become too much for him.

But he knows that tone of voice; it's right after Mick's set a gigantic blaze, and is settling in to watch it all burn. Bit by bit, Len starts to understand it.

[hottestrogue]

After the final count Mick is just resting against the bed for a long moment. Breathing, floating. "Thank you master." And his voice sounds like he means it. He knows it is going to hurt tomorrow. And the day after. But he doesn't care, right now he feels like he is floating. He reaches out with one hand, holding it out to take Len's hand.