After having the Sharpe cast and crew prove that they're just as good at partying as any other film crew, Bill's glad that he told Sean he wanted to sleep in. He's not actually hung over, but he'd been tired enough to appreciate the comfort of a nice bed and a warm boy to share it with.
It'll be hard going back to London, he thinks as he finishes showering. I'll miss the sun. He'd told Sean he wanted to stay on a couple of days so they could have some time together here, and he grins as he thinks about the kind of time he wants them spend. Less time spent sightseeing and more time spent with my boy recovering from a heavy scene.
Back at home, mornings are going to be different. For one thing, Sean's going to be awake; right now he's struggling just to get himself upright. He can hear the shower turning off in the background; he wonders if Bill's going to want him to order up coffee.
Coffee is on Bill's mind as well, but he's gotten used to making it himself and so he heads into the kitchen after drying off and putting his robe on. Once the coffee's brewing, he moves to lean in the bedroom doorway. "How're you feeling this morning?" he asks, smiling a little. There's something almost insanely domestic about all this, and he wonders if his life would be more like this if he weren't kinky.
"Like I might kill something if I don't get my hands on a toothbrush soon," Sean admits, rubbing at his cheek with one hand. "How much did I drink last night?" He's not hung over, either, but he can definitely feel every drink he took. I'm not as young as I used to be.
"I lost track," Bill says with a laugh. "Do you make a habit of trying to drink big Irishmen under the table?" He moves into the bathroom and then returns with a couple of aspirin and a glass of water. "Here, this should help. And there's coffee in a few."
"Thank you." Sean grins. "And no, it's not a habit, but I used to be better at it than I was last night, I can tell you that much." He swallows the aspirin down and heads for the bathroom; after he's brushed his teeth and had his morning piss, he's feeling a hell of a lot better. He pokes his head out the bathroom door for a moment before he gets the shower going. "Going to need anything or can I take my time in here?"
"You can take your time," Bill says. "Just let me know if you're interested in breakfast." He would love to twirl invisible mustachios and leer at Sean while saying, "you should eat; you'll need your strength," but he resists the temptation. No point in giving anything away.
The shower feels good; all the aches and pains from the physical parts of the shoot are wearing off, and it's going to be nice getting back to the aches and pains that come from living with Bill. Sean can't help grinning at that thought; as good as it's been to have Bill here with him, he can't wait to get home.
He finishes his shower and comes out of the bathroom with one towel tucked around his waist, drying off his hair with a second. "God, much better," he says, "I feel nearly human again."
"Coffee will help," Bill says, looking up from the paper. He gestures at the table in front of him. "There's fruit and toast and scrambled eggs as well, for when you can bear to eat."
"I can eat now..." Sean finishes drying off his hair and raises an eyebrow at Bill. "What I'm wondering about is whether I should dress."
"You can dress now or later," Bill says with a slight smile. "If you do it now, put on the uniform that's in your side of the closet." The people back at the London club hadn't blinked when he'd requested uniforms, although he'd seen a slight gleam in the concierge's eye when he'd asked that one of them be as close to Sharpe's uniform as was humanly possible.
"Oh--" Sean grins as he adjusts the towel wrapped around his hips. Curiosity's making his eyes wrinkle at the corners, and he glances over his shoulder towards the bedroom. "Maybe I'll dress now." Assuming I can get the pants done up. Uniform? He's got a strong suspicion what that uniform might be.
"All right," Bill says with a smirk. "Here's the deal. It's role play, so I don't expect you to go into it as my boy." He feels no reason to tell Sean that that he expects Sean to come out of it convinced he's Bill's boy. "You can come back in here and have breakfast while I get changed."
"That sounds great." While you get changed? Into what? Sean wonders. "I'll be right back."
As he expected, the uniform's a Sharpe replica. Instead of being covered in months of dirt and sweat from shooting, this one's new, and Sean chuckles softly to himself as he strokes a hand down the jacket. Master's being pretty damn devious, he thinks, I had no idea he'd had this made.
It fits perfectly, all the way down to the boots, which doesn't surprise Sean in the least. He gives himself a look in the mirror and takes a couple of minutes to comb his hair so it'll look reasonably neat when it dries. Just wish I had the sword, he thinks, but all in all he's pretty pleased with the effect. He just hopes Bill will be, too -- so he heads back out to the kitchen and does his best to put a Sharpe sort of look on his face, not quite the ear-to-ear grin he left the bedroom with.
While Sean was getting dressed, Bill took the opportunity to push the furniture in the living area to one wall, and he nods as Sean comes out, pleased with the amount of free room it's given him. He's got a few ideas about how this is going to go, and he's going to need space for a couple of them.
"Go ahead and have breakfast," he says, heading to the bedroom. "I'll be back out in a bit."
It takes him a fair amount of time to get dressed; while he'd tried the whole uniform on before, it's still not easy to put on without help. Once on, however, he's comfortable enough in it, although he can see where doing action work with this much wool on would get old. And what I'm about to do could be called action work, he thinks with a smirk as he pulls on the highly polished boots.
Squaring his shoulders, and picking up the plain black leather bag that holds several toys, he returns to the living room.
Sean's done eating by the time Bill comes out, and it's a good thing, too; his mouth drops open when he sees Bill, and though he gets it closed pretty fast, he's still impressed. Christ. I'll have to tell him later how good he looks -- not that he won't be able to tell what I'm thinking, given how tight these pants are.
The word master's springing to mind already, but Sean's not sure how Bill wants to play it, so he starts with something a little less loaded: "Morning, sir."
"Sharpe," Bill says coolly. He'd debated putting on an upper class Brit accent for this, but decided that it would be too much to juggle. Like almost all actors, he can manage a Mid Atlantic accent well enough, and so he goes with that as he gives Sean a scornful look. "I know you came up from the ranks, but even common soldiers know how to behave when a superior officer enters the room."
That's an interesting approach, and it's very easy to find Sharpe's response to it. Sharpe's never been one for ceremony -- but he'll do the bare minimum required to satisfy an officer set on rules and regulations, so long as it's not going to do him any harm. "Sir," he says again, softly, and he stands up -- taking his time to straighten his uniform -- and snaps off a salute.
"I've been told you have an attitude problem," Bill continues, moving right into Sean's personal space. He looks Sean over carefully, and shakes his head. "I'm not sure if you're a disgrace to the uniform or if it's the other way around."
It's an odd thing to say, so Sean says nothing in response. He looks straight ahead, eyes focused hard on nothing in particular, and waits to see if Bill's looking for more from him.
Bill hides his amusement; this, he figures, is exactly how Sharpe would deal with an officer who gave a damn about such trivial things as the appearance of a uniform. "I think you lack respect," he continues. "In fact, I'm sure of it, and I'm here to do something about that lack."
"Respect doesn't win a battle for you, sir," Sean points out. It might not be worth saying, but Sharpe would say it, which is enough for Sean. Just enough lack of respect to prove his point, but enough to get him flogged? Probably not yet...
"We're not talking about battles at the moment," Bill says, giving Sean a narrow stare. It's tricky, this sort of scene, because there's no right thing for Sean to do, but Bill trusts Sean to understand. He's got more confidence in himself than he used to. Bill's not sure if that's because of him or if Sean would have bounced back on his own.
"Perhaps I misunderstood, then, sir," Sean says, cocking one eyebrow. "I wasn't aware my job had much to do with anything else."
"And that's why you shouldn't have been made an officer," Bill says with a sneer. "You're just not one of us, Sharpe. You've no respect for your fellow officers." He reaches out and grabs the front of Sean's jacket, pulling Sean close. "It's time to teach you a lesson and I'm going to enjoy doing it." Letting go of Sean, he steps back. "Strip to the waist."
Of course, there's nothing on earth Sean wants more right now; he's hard already and he's more than ready to take a beating. But the role requires a bit of a struggle, so Sean does his best to make it look good. He takes a step backward and straightens his uniform jacket again, and he sets his jaw. "Flogging a private's one thing, sir, but whether you like it or not, I am an officer. Take me to court."
"Oh, I could do that," Bill says, stepping forward again. "Of course, if it comes to that, I'll arrange the charges so that, when you are found guilty, they will see you shot and your men dishonorably discharged, after which they will undoubtedly fall back into whatever gutter they came from." He smiles smugly. "Or you could just do as you're told."
"Why me?" Sean asks. He's still not moving to get his jacket off just yet. "There are others who've come up from the ranks -- why do you care about me in particular?"
"Suffice it to say that I do, Mr. Sharpe," Bill says and now his frown is more pronounced. "Do I need to make my threat more clear, or will you do as you're told?"
Instead of answering in words, Sean turns his back on Bill and starts unbuttoning his jacket. It's going to be interesting, being in Sharpe's head and taking a beating -- Sharpe, of all people, is Sean's polar opposite when it comes to flogging, and that could be very interesting headspace indeed to play around with.
The jacket hits the floor, and Sean starts imagining what it'd be like to have scars across his back -- the way they'd itch, and stretch, and how he'd remember every one of them. It's definitely going to be a struggle -- something he might have worried about doing a few months ago, but he knows full well if Bill wanted a specific reaction, he'd have let Sean know ahead of time. This is all about improvisation, and God, it's going to be fun.
"Hands against the wall," Bill says, going to his back to pull out a nice heavy flogger. It's nowhere near as cruel a whip as the ones used back in the 1800s, but it'll still get the job done. "There's only one way someone like you can learn anything," he says as he shakes the flogger out. He brushes it once against Sean's back as a warning and then brings it down hard enough to ensure that Sean will feel it.
Sean jumps at the first hit, then braces himself harder against the wall and tilts his head down. This is rougher than he expected -- it fits the scene, but it's rough -- and he ends up growling, partly his own reaction to the heavy start but mostly Sharpe's frustration with his superior officer.
The growl is good, and Bill grins as he continues the beating. He has a specific purpose in mind, but even if they don't get where he wants to be, it's good to be able to beat the hell out of Sean's back and not worry about the consequences. He ramps up the strength of the beating faster than he might otherwise, wanting to push Sean, wanting him to fight the beating some.
Sean's hands clench into fists as it goes on, growls turning into snarls. His shoulders are getting tight from tension -- it works in the scene, but he knows he'll pay for that later. It's mainly force of will and years of experience that keeps him from trying to turn or make any sudden moves; move the wrong way while you're getting beaten and all kinds of things can go wrong. He stays still, but when one stroke hits particularly hard -- and God, but it's the right kind of hard -- he snaps out, "Bastard."
Bill moves in quickly and grabs Sean's hair, pulling his head back. "You've got to learn to watch that tongue of yours, Sharpe," he says, pressing in close and knowing that the buttons and wool of his uniform must be hell on Sean's back.
They are -- rough enough to make Sean jerk and try to flatten himself against the wall. That only puts his neck at an uncomfortable angle, so he stops trying to get away, instead gritting his teeth together and snarling again. "Go to hell," he forces out.
Keeping his hand in Sean's hair for a moment longer, Bill chuckles a little in Sean's ear. "No, hell is where you are right now." He shoves Sean's head against the wall and steps back to pull a pair of cuffs out of his bag.
"Hand behind your back, Sharpe," he barks.
Sean glances behind him, eyebrows raised, but he's putting his hands at the small of his back while he does. The stretch of his shoulders hurts -- though not as much as it will later. "One of those," he murmurs under his breath. "Should have figured."
"Oh, good," Bill says, cuffing Sean's hands together. "Then you know what to expect." He moves in close again and grabs Sean's hair, tugging back hard. "Is this why you're so insubordinate? You hope for this reaction?"
"No," Sean says harshly, eyes closing. But maybe that is part of the answer for Sharpe; Sean might not be the kind of boy who craves being put down hard, but suppose Sharpe is?
Even if he is, he'd never admit it. He tugs at the cuffs, not expecting them to go anywhere, and tries to pull his head free of Bill's grip.
"Stop that," Bill says with a smack on the back of Sean's head. "You're in for enough as it is." He reaches around and undoes Sean's trousers, pleased that he'd practiced with his own uniform pants. "Why does this not surprise me?" he murmurs as his hand moves lightly over Sean's hard cock.
"Because you do this every time you can get away with it?" Sean guesses, squirming against Bill's grip. The trouble is, there's nowhere to go. His hands grope uselessly behind him; there's nothing to get a grip on.
"No," Bill says, with another smack to the back of Sean's head. "Only with the ones low enough to want it." He tugs Sean's trousers down hard, getting them bunched around Sean's knees before stepping back and looking at Sean's ass. Unlike his back, there are a few marks here, mostly fading bite marks. Smirking Bill presses at one of them.
"That from that big Mick of yours?"
Why not, Sean decides. Daragh and Harper are two separate people, and the characters have always been close, so Sean's willing to decide that they were that close, too. Of course, deciding that for the scene and being willing to say so to Bill's superior officer are entirely different things, so Sean's quick to give the other answer. "No," he says, trying not to lean into the pressure against that bruise.
"Mmmm hmm," Bill says, noticing that Sean's not squirming as much as he had been. With one last press against the bruise, Bill steps back and takes up the flogger again. "Wonder what he'll make of this?" he says before landing a good solid blow against Sean's ass.
"Christ!" Sean yells, jerking forward into the wall. It's going to get harder to fight this, harder with every blow, and if he doesn't keep his mouth shut he's going to end up begging despite himself. Not just yet, fuck, not yet, just hold on. Wait for it and you can beg 'til you're fucking hoarse.
Grinning, Bill continues the beating, knowing that Sean is fighting it. Normally he wants his boys to be accepting, even greedy, for whatever he gives them, but once in a while it's good to start like this, where every reaction given is grudging. I'll get him down soon enough and it'll be so fucking good for both of us.
Even Sharpe has to have his limits. Sean has a feeling Sharpe might break before he would, odd as that seems -- but Sharpe doesn't get beatings as often as Sean does, and somewhere deep inside him Sharpe wants this.
He counts out three more strokes and the lets it happen, tension dropping out of his frame, jaw unclenching, small sounds making their way out of his throat.
Oh, yeah, that's what I was looking for, Bill thinks, although he doesn't stop beating Sean. Sharpe's broken, but he's not as far down as Bill wants him to be. "I get the feeling you truly like this," he says, landing a particularly hard blow on Sean's ass.
Sean grunts and scrambles for words to give Bill in response. "It's what you want, isn't it?" he bites out. "You bloody want me to like this."
"Oh, I don't think I'm the only one who wants you to like it," Bill says with a slight laugh. The flogger lands on Sean ass again, hard enough to leave welts. "It's not just you liking it either, is it? It's that you need it."
Yes, Sean thinks, a little desperately. But the urge to keep that quiet is a strong one in this particular role, and the only sound that makes it out of his throat is a low, hungry moan.
It's a start, Bill thinks, but Sean--or Sharpe--needs more to bring him all the way down. Stepping back, he takes up a cane and flexes it. "I'll get you to admit it, you know," he says, tapping Sean on the ass to warn him of the switch to something else.
Oh, God, you will, too, Sean thinks, sucking in a deep, rough breath. "You want me broken, don't you?" he murmurs. "You're wasting your time."
"I have nothing but time," Bill says with a slight chuckle. Stepping back a little, he lands the cane in a sharp stroke onto Sean's ass, grinning as a welt rises almost immediately. Good thing we're here for a few days more; I don't think he'd want to sit on a plane right now.
Sean jerks, trying to keep his balance. He's been missing this more than he realized, and now that they're here he's sinking down little by little. It's uneven -- the headspace he's been in has been anything but submissive -- but he can feel himself starting to let go.
Bill lands three more strokes before he realizes that his jacket is really just too bulky for this kind of thing. "Stay there," he orders curtly and begins the tortured process of taking the jacket off.
"Better," he finally says when it's off. "Now I'll be able to really make you feel it." He takes up the cane and begins carefully laying down stripes on Sean's ass again. "And you do feel it, don't you Sharpe?"
It takes two grunts before Sean can get a word out. "Yes," he moans, and that sense of weakness and desperation cuts through him, pushed all the way out to the surface by one stripe after another. Even Sharpe couldn't last through this; it's not breaking role, it's the role being broken.
"And you need it, don't you?" Bill asks, landing another blow.
Sean holds his breath, trying not to speak, but he can't help himself. "Yes. Christ help me -- yes, sir, yes I fucking need it," he pants, all in one hot gasping rush.
Gotcha! Bill thinks as he lands yet another blow on Sean's ass, low where it will hurt like hell. Even as Sean's reacting, Bill's moving up behind him, pressing against his back and ass. "What will you do for it?" he whispers in Sean's ear.
It's the question that gets him, even more than the roughness of Bill's trousers shoved up against raw, aching skin. Sean tries to press his face into the wall as he chokes out a breath that comes this close to being a sob. "Anything," he whispers. And while the part of him that's still playing Sharpe is damning himself over it, the part of him that's Sean knows just how right all of this is.
"That's what I wanted to hear," Bill murmurs, biting at Sean's earlobe. "You'd beg for more if I let you. You'd beg for anything I wanted to give you." It's not exactly a question, but he pauses, giving Sean room to answer if he wants.
"Yes," Sean pants, and the part of him that's still Sharpe is both burning with shame and so hard he almost can't breathe. "Yes -- sir. I'd beg, sir."
Biting at Sean earlobe and grinding up against him, Bill says nothing. Part of him wants to stop dicking around and just fuck Sean, but he ignores it. It'll be better for the wait, he promises himself.
Even as far down as he's gotten, it still takes Sean another few breaths to say it. Christ, man, and that's Sharpe, in the back of his head, say something and he'll give it to you. Beg, for God's sake.
He shifts his legs, trying to get them further apart. There's so little room to move, and Bill's taking up all his senses -- the way Bill's biting at him is making it so damned hard to think. "Please," he whispers.
"What if I want proof," Bill says. "Proof that you want it. What if I want you to go down even further? Will you do that just so you can get more pain, get my prick up your ass?"
"What... proof?" Sean whispers. "What the bloody hell do you want from me?"
"I want to hear you really beg for it," Bill murmurs. "See you beg for it. Down there," he adds, his voice harsh. "On your knees."
Sean turns, very slowly, and meets Bill's eyes. He looks down at the floor, then, and nods, taking a deep breath. It's an awkward drop to the floor, with his hands cuffed behind him and his clothes askew, but he makes it -- and that's all Sean and not Sharpe, but worth the shift in role to avoid falling hard on his knees.
From the floor, he doesn't look up again. He takes another breath. "Please," he whispers.
Something about the way that Sean says "please" gives Bill the feeling that he's got his boy back. "That's a good boy," he says, nudging Sean's thigh lightly with his boot. "And that's what you want, isn't it? Wanna be my boy?"
Oh, God -- and it feels so right hearing that. It's like a part of Sean's been missing, and there it is, just within reach -- all he has to do is beg hard enough and it's his again.
"Yes -- please," he says, "please -- God, yes, that's what I want."
"Strip down," Bill says, moving behind Sean to remove the cuffs. "And think about these boots while you're doing it. Think about how much you want to be down there licking them like the slut you are."
As soon as the cuffs are off, Sean struggles out of the rest of his costume, shoving it out of the way so he can get on his knees properly. It's been a long time since he's made it into a proper kneel, and his muscles feel a little stiff -- though that could be from the beating, too.
Either way, it feels right when he's finally gotten himself into that kneel, and now he's looking at Bill's boots -- and hell, yes, he wants to be licking them. If that'd prove how much he wants to be on the floor for Bill, how much he wants to be Bill's boy again, that's exactly what he wants to be doing right now.
"Beg for it," Bill says, once Sean's kneeling. He can see the hunger on Sean's face, and seeing it feels good, loosens a knot of tension Bill didn't even know he was feeling.
"Please, sir," Sean murmurs, eyes on Bill's boots, tongue coming out to slide over his lips. He realizes he's said it wrong, though, and corrects himself on it-- "please, Master -- your boy's here to serve you, please, let me prove myself." It's been so fucking long since he's been able to say that, and it feels right, absolutely right, down to his bones.
It feels right to Bill as well, and he smiles down at Sean. "Good boy," he murmurs. "Now beg for the chance to prove it. Convince me." Although, to be honest, once Sean's tongue appears, Bill usually doesn't need too much convincing.
"Master, please, your boy's so fucking grateful to be yours," Sean says softly. "Please let your boy show you how much. Please, Master -- let me start with your boots, if that's where you want me to prove myself, and then anything -- everything -- whatever Master wants, please, God, your boy's desperate to serve."
"All right," Bill says, spreading his legs a little so he's standing with his feet well apart. "Let's see you put that eloquent tongue to use on my boots, then."
And Sean's so grateful for permission he goes hot all over from it, bending over with his hands still behind his back, spreading his knees wide for balance. It's slow, getting down without falling over, but his muscles remember the motion, and then he's there, lips parting, tongue getting them wet one more time before he gets his mouth on Bill's boots.
Now that Bill's got Sean where he wants him, he can settle down into his own role again. It's comfortable, or at least it's comfortable mentally; physically, however, he's finding the trousers a rather snug fit. Be damn glad when we get to the point where I can take the damn things off.
Sean's so damned hungry for this he's moaning softly as he streaks his tongue across leather. He's trying to take it easy, trying not to go too fast or look too greedy, but that's not easy -- right now there's nowhere else he'd rather be, nothing else he'd rather be doing. He's giving himself to Bill all over again -- or maybe it's more that Bill's taking him.
Needed this, he thinks, so fucking much.
One of the things Bill truly enjoys about his boy is how Sean really gets in there and does his best at whatever Bill wants from him. That Sean almost always wants it as well just makes it better. "You're such a damn good boy," he says as Sean finally leaves the right boot and moves over to the left. "My damn good boy."
"Yours," Sean agrees between licks, "yours, Master." He really is -- for all that he's enjoyed having time with Bill out of role, he belongs here, on his knees, serving. And it's an enormous relief to him that Bill wants him this way again, that Bill's not backing off now that they've got the chance to be master and slave again.
A little maneuvering and Bill's in a position to put his right foot on the back of Sean's neck. "You love it, don't you? Love being on the floor with your mouth all over the leather of my boot?" He could have made his words an accusation designed to humiliate Sean, but instead his tone of voice makes it clear that he's offering a compliment.
Sean goes still, eyes closing. This is just so damned good-- as good as when they first started and it felt like Bill knew exactly what he needed before he could even figure out what he was begging for. "Yes, Master," he whispers. "Yes, Master, I love it."
"Yeah," Bill agrees, leaving his boot on Sean's neck while Sean finishes with the other boot. "Kneel up," he says, stepping back a little. "I'm thinking about fucking you, but I think you need to convince me." In some other universe, perhaps, he thinks with a mental smirk.
Now that Sean's kneeling up, Bill's crotch is at eye level, and Sean can see just how tight those pants are. Oh, God, I want that, he thinks, and he nods, licking his lips again and glancing up at Bill. "Master, please, your slave's yours-- yours-- and here to be used. Please use me, Master?" He knows it's not much, but he's having trouble thinking clearly about words; what he wants is to rub his face all over Bill's cock and beg with his breath hot against Bill's fly.
"I don't know," Bill says. "I think I need a little more convincing. Non-verbal convincing." After all, it's not too hard to figure out what Sean would love to be doing right now.
"Oh, God, yes, Master," Sean says, bending his head forward so he can nuzzle against Bill's cock-- Christ, so hot, want this so much, want to be a good slave for you-- and start licking with fast, hot, lapping strokes. "Please." He gets that out between breaths as he keeps licking, rubbing his face against Bill's cock, feeling both gratitude and lust in just about equal measures.
The idea that Sean is down there licking at the rough wool of Bill's uniform trousers just to impress Bill is almost as exciting as the pressure of Sean's face and mouth against Bill's cock. He reaches down, sliding his fingers through Sean's hair and then frowns a little when he reaches Sean's neck. "This is good," he says, "but my boy is missing something."
Sean stops and looks up, confused. "Master...?" The idea that he's done something wrong is worrying, but not paralyzing the way it would have been six months ago; he really is doing much, much better these days.
"Nothing you're doing wrong," Bill says quickly. "But I think it's time you got your collar back on. Go into the bedroom, get it, and kneel in the middle of the bed with it."
Collar. Yes. Sean nods, leaving one brief kiss against Bill's fly, and for the first time in what feels like ages he crawls off to the bedroom.
It's good to see Sean crawling again, so good that Bill's a little startled as he realizes how much he missed it. It's made even better by the fact that Sean did it without being ordered to. God, he's good, Bill thinks as he follows Sean into the bedroom.
Sean crawls over to Bill's dresser and gets his collar; he grins as he opens up the box and holds the heavy chain in his hand. It's going to feel so good having it back on-- having Bill put it back on. Amazingly good.
He climbs up on the bed and kneels, palms open, collar draped across one of them. Christ, I'm really going to feel this in the morning, he thinks-- he's definitely going to be sore all over, and he's going to love it.
Pausing in the door way, Bill just looks at Sean for a moment. "You look good like that," he finally says, stepping forward. Taking up the collar, he locks it on Sean's neck and then nods. "And even better like that. Go on, get these damn pants undone and use your mouth on me."
It's bloody strange how having his collar locked back on him makes him feel like a part of him's been freed, rather than being trapped-- but that's exactly how Sean feels, and his grin probably reflects that. He reaches forward-- the buttons on these fucking pants are so tight it'd be difficult and time-consuming to unbutton Bill's fly with his mouth-- and within a matter of seconds, he's nosing between folds of fabric, tongue slicking up the underside of Bill's cock in one long swipe before he swallows as much of it down as he can.
With a gasp, Bill twists his fingers in Sean's hair. "That's my boy," he says, looking down at Sean. "That's my cocksucking bitch." Holding Sean's head still, he begins to pump his hips, fucking Sean's mouth hard and fast.
Sean barely manages a moan before the sound's cut off, but it's a convulsive, involuntary sound: this is all so right. Love being here, he thinks, eyes closing as he focuses on sucking, on holding his position while Bill uses him. Missed this so goddamned much.
It would be easy to just come like this, to just shove into Sean's mouth hard and watch him choke on it. But Bill thinks about Sean's ass, all red and hot from the beating, and then it's easy enough to pull Sean off his cock. "Mine," he growls, still holding on to Sean's hair. Before Sean can say anything in reply, Bill slaps him, not quite hard enough to leave a bruise, but still hard enough that Sean will feel it. "Mine."
"Yours," Sean pants, voice rough. "Yours, Master." For as long as you'll keep me, he thinks. "Anything, Master, please."
"Something basic," Bill says with a grin holding down two of his fingers. "Get them good and wet, and then get down on your knees and elbows, boy. I'm gonna fuck you with nothing else." As soon as Sean gets his mouth around Bill's fingers, Bill pushes them in hard, just as he did with his cock earlier.
And just like before, Sean's doing his best to make this good for Bill-- even if the vast majority of what's happening here is Bill using Sean. Sean's aching for this, has been for longer than he's realized, and the idea of getting fucked with nothing but a little spit has never seemed so good.
Once Sean's gotten Bill's fingers good and wet, Bill pulls them away and lets Sean get into position. Ignoring the fact that he's getting on the bed with his boots still on, Bill kneels behind him, shoving his fingers hard into Sean. "You fucking love it like this, don't you?"
The first thing Sean gets out in reply is a scream, but he figures Bill knows him well enough to know that's a good sound, that it means yes in all the right ways. "Yes-- Master," he growls, shoving back. "Love it... Master, please..."
Both the words and the scream are exactly what Bill wanted to hear and he twists his fingers a few more times before pulling them out. Spitting into his palm, he slicks up his cock and then pushes into Sean. "Good like this," he grunts. "So fucking tight...."
Sean's breaths are ragged as he takes Bill in, harsh and panting. He's so far past the urge to fight that everything Bill's doing just makes him ache for more. Hurt for you, bleed for you, Master, yours-- "yours, Master, Christ, yes, yours!"
Once he's buried as deep as possible, Bill leans forward and bites down on Sean's shoulder. "Wanna mark you," he mutters around a mouthful of skin. Sucking hard, he digs in and works Sean's shoulder with his teeth until he can taste blood.
The pain goes from a sharp ache to a deeper pain that feels bright red. Sean braces himself against the bed as best he can; he knows he's yelling, but he can't tell if he's getting out words. It doesn't matter. All he wants to say is how fucking grateful he is to have this, to be here. Yours and I'm so fucking glad, thank you, Master, thank you...
"I'm not normally jealous," Bill says after he pulls away. Looking at the mark with satisfaction, he continues. "But when I was there that day and saw Toby beating you, I had a serious Alpha male moment." Pulling almost all the way out of Sean, he slams back in. "You're fucking mine!"
"Yours," Sean gasps. The camera gets sweat and sounds and smeared red paint, but this is real. Bill gets Sean's body and sweat and screams that mean something, that mean everything. "Your-- slave-- yours," Sean gets out, "yours."
Bending down again, Bill attacks the other shoulder, closer to Sean's neck this time. He manages to move as well, fucking Sean with short strokes that are more grinding than anything else. Sean continues to make amazing noises and once Bill's drawn blood again, he straightens back up and begins to fuck Sean hard, his hand resting on Sean's collar and back of Sean's neck.
This is as good as it gets, Sean thinks, as good as it could ever get. He can't see Bill behind him, but he can feel the sting on his shoulder and he knows-- this time he's sure-- that Bill's got blood on his lips. My blood. Because it's his. Because he can have everything he wants.
Sean's thoughts are shattering, body's aching, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing right now is the need to please Bill. To please Master. He clenches his teeth together and puts his head down, because now the only words that are jumping to the surface are things like yours always and love you, Master, and now's not the time.
With the taste of Sean's blood still in his mouth, Bill knows he isn't going to last much longer. Sliding his fingers under the links of Sean's collar, he tugs, hard, pulling Sean back a little by it. "When you're sure you can't go without another breath," he says through gritted teeth, "come for me."
When you're sure. How sure is sure? It's past the point where he's hungry for air. It's past the point where his chest starts getting tight. Sean waits, holds out with the scent of his blood in the air and the feel of Bill's cock deep inside him, waits while he forces himself not to fight against Bill's grip. Anything. Even the air I'm breathing. Yours.
And that's the moment. Sean goes over hard, rough grunts choked out of him, coming because it's one more thing he can give Bill now. Yoursyoursyoursyours, fuck, yours, Master!
If they were still fucking with condoms, Bill would have pulled out as soon as Sean came, ripped off the condom and come all over Sean's back and ass. Instead, it's fantastic to be able to just let go of the collar and let Sean's gasps and the memory of the sounds he's been making all morning push him over. "Mine!" he snarls, knowing that he's marking Sean in the most basic, primal way, knowing that Sean is his.
Sean sucks in a deep breath and somehow, God only knows how, manages to stay more or less upright. But the way he's feeling right now, it's only going to be a matter of minutes-- if that long-- before he collapses. "Jesus... Christ, Master," he pants, lowering himself to his elbows. Christ, I fucking love you.
"What you...said," Bill says, panting hard. He pulls back and then presses lightly on the small of Sean's back, his fingers caressing the faded tattoo scar. "Relax," he says and when Sean goes all the way down, Bill settles in next to him, pulling him close. "You're the best boy I've ever had," he murmurs into Sean's hair. I won't want to let you go.
The thought should be more startling than it is, and Bill firmly pushes it down. He's mine for another year and a half. A lot can happen in that time.
Sean swallows down another impulse to say I love you at that. He nods, settling in with Bill, grinning when he realizes how sticky they both are. "Hope so," he murmurs. "You're the best master I've had."