Paint it Red

by Jane Davitt




Mike's hands are tied to the back of the chair, just the way he'd asked for, appealing to Harvey's indulgent side with some pitch-perfect wheedling. He's held in place more securely than he'd realized he would be, though. Harvey lets Mike discover that fact with a discreet tug, watches his eyes darken with a flash of panic and heat, waits for the bravado and bluster to go from a flood to a drip, then smiles.

Mike's so hard now. Harvey's unzipped, unbuttoned, tugged down, but not removed Mike's pants or briefs. His cock juts up, emphatic, a finger of flesh beckoning Harvey closer. He draws his chair an inch nearer, so his knees brush Mike's, and without taking his gaze off Mike's face, grabs all that hard, aching stubbornness and squeezes.

Mike's mouth falls open on a shocked, pained groan, his eyes widening, but he licks his lips a moment later and tries very hard to stay still, the way he'd said, so defiantly, he would.

The involuntary wriggle he gives is charmingly framed by a glare and a blush, but Harvey punishes it anyway, removing his hand with a 'you asked for it' look. Mike gasps indignantly, but it's all show and they both know it. If there's one thing Mike loves -- and there isn't, they're legion -- it's being teased and denied, made to wait and suffer, his arousal a flagellant's whip. He hates it, he loves it. He wants to beg for it, Harvey can tell, but so far Mike's bitten his lip raw and refused to go there.

Well, there's no rush.

Harvey uncaps the lipstick he's chosen, a hot, rich red, and twists the end. The column of red rises obediently and he grins. "Remind you of anything?"

"Yeah." Mike sticks out his tongue which just makes Harvey smile. Insubordination is so much fun to deal with here, when he's not constrained by, well, anything.

"Not really what I had in mind," he murmurs and takes Mike's chin in his hand. Mike could struggle and spoil this, but Harvey holds his gaze until the wildness in Mike's eyes becomes trust and a certain amount of resignation.

Then he paints Mike's lips red.

The lipstick drags, changing the shape of Mike's lips fleetingly, deepening their color, making them glossy, shiny, scented in a way Harvey finds disturbing. Even with the lipstick on, even with Mike's boast that he could pass as a woman up for debate, there's nothing all that feminine about Mike -- apart from that faint, evocative scent.

When he's finished, Harvey caps the lipstick and pockets it, then blots Mike's lips with a tissue.

The heat between them is unbearable now. Harvey's aching with the need to kiss Mike, but he holds back. He'd promised to let Mike see first. He moves aside, so that Mike can see his reflection in the bathroom mirror and watches the flush bloom and blossom in Mike's cheeks.

"You like it?"

Mike shakes his head too slowly to be a true negative, his eyes unblinking as he stares at his reflection. His tongue darts out to taste, but that's Harvey's treat and he's grabbing a hank of hair and yanking hard before he knows it.

Mike's breath hisses out, raw, hoarse sounds spilling after it. Harvey's lost control and they know it. Mike likes that, Harvey not so much. He twists the handful of hair around his fingers, knowing some strands have pulled loose, and uses his grip to make Mike's throat a taut bow of skin. Mike can't breathe easily, but he's not struggling now. As his head's tugged back, he relaxes, his choice to submit made.

When Mike's eyes close and his red lips pout and purse invitingly, Harvey runs his fingers over Mike's throat lightly, then kisses him, hard enough to bruise, then petal soft, licking at the red, biting and scraping it off with his teeth. He's going to be a mess when he stops, but Mike won't care.

Mike comes at some point, a wet, messy gush and spit, but Harvey doesn't stop kissing him.

Can't stop kissing him.

His hands are tied.








bite, sass, bondage, mess, power, lipstick, kissing,

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