The weight is heavy on his chest, a twin set of knees digging into his pectorals, pressing in a way that makes every inhale burn his throat, every exhale struggle to escape.
A hand wraps around his neck, loose at first, until he nods and it tightens. His air is cut off, and as his chest tries to move, tries to take in any oxygen, even the smallest amount, he finds that he cannot, no matter how he tries.
There’s a smirk hovering over his face, a voice deep and raspy in glee whispering, “Look at you. Does it hurt?”
He nods as much as he can with the hand tight around his throat, knuckles bright white as they steadily grasp harder as the seconds go.
“I’m sure you would love to breathe, wouldn’t you?” the voice asks, and he nods again. A hand reaches back, the body pulls away but the hand remains, and while one hand is tight around his neck the other reaches loosely around his naked, straining cock. “I don’t think I’ll let you, yet.”
His hands come up, and he feels like an animal muzzled and trapped in a cage, as his nails claw at tight pants, the immaculately pressed and styled jacket that signifies the rank of its wearer.
“Pathetic,” the voice taunts, and the hand around his neck loosens until it is simply a presence. Bartz sharply gasps, taking in as much air as he can. “Breathe while I still let you!”
He seems to eagerly take the advice when he can, rapidly taking in deep breaths as though hyperventilating. A hand still slowly traces its fingers around his cock, and the voice counts down from five, with each slow stroke.
“No, wait, I’m not—” His voice cuts off when the hand tightens around his throat again, trapping the oxygen in his windpipe.
“Don’t you remember what we agreed upon? You breathe when I say you do!” The voice is stern, a deep frown etching onto the pretty features. The hand on his cock slowly tightens and begins to speed up.
Bartz’ hands become more frantic, and he claws at the person above him, fingers catching on armor, beads, buttons, but not stopping, desperately trying to free him from the suffocation.
His vision is blurring, the person above him blending into purple, black, gold smudges, white framing his vision and turning his world into an abstract painting.
There’s panic in his brain, pain in his chest and pleasure coiling deep into his belly as his struggles weaken, and his hands soon fall, resting on strong thighs that support a heavy weight on his chest.
The hand on his throat tightens and the one on his cock speeds up, and soon his fingertips lightly dig into white pant legs in a last desperate attempt to beg for air.
The hand comes off of his throat and he gasps as his back violently arches, almost managing to throw the heavy weight off of him completely. The pleasure that had been coiling deep in his stomach finally comes to a head as he releases, crying out and whimpering as his seed shoots out onto a hand, a sleeve, up to an elbow.
His body falls limp as he becomes spent, panting heavily and feeling tears unwittingly forming at the corner of his eyes and spilling.
“Hush,” the voice whispers, it’s tone shifting from harsh and demeaning to gentle and supportive. “You did so good. I’m so proud of you.” His head is lifted up and pressed against a flat chest, cradled there and cooed at. His crying and his arms are wrapped around the form before him, lightly gripping onto the back of the jacket that the other is wearing. “I love you. Good job.”
He relaxes against the man before him, his breathing finally evening out and becoming calm.