[Seriously: one has to admire Hikaru Shinta's timing, because that is echoing what Makoto had asked him back then, as he held the boy close, as he held that face between his hands and looked into his eyes. Imagine how he felt, when the boy only pursed his lips, gathered the tattered remnants of his resolve, and nodded.
"Use me."
Odd, really, how history tends to be all about repetition. It's not like people plan it out like that. It just happens.
It started, back then, when a kiss, one that was slow, deep, and possessive. Then quiet commands, all of them directed towards forcing the Blade King - somebody young and unstoppable and ultimately a force of nature unto himself - to strip and stay still and make sure that he completely at Makoto's disposal. Then there's that boy on his bed, spread out, completely naked, perfectly vulnerable. Then there's Makoto lashing those slender wrists together, attaching them to the bedpost. Those ankles get cuffed to an impossibly long pole. Those pretty violet eyes are covered by a blindfold. Those lips are parted by a ball gag. Those cute little nipples get a bullet vibrator taped to them, one to one.
Makoto's thorough. Every inch of the one he loves the most must be attended to, with loving care. It's only proper. It's only right.
"Then you're mine for tonight. And I'll do exactly what I want to you."
When he whispered that into the boy's ear, he trembled. You've never felt him tremble for you like he had for Makoto yet, have you, LaRue?]
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[Seriously: one has to admire Hikaru Shinta's timing, because that is echoing what Makoto had asked him back then, as he held the boy close, as he held that face between his hands and looked into his eyes. Imagine how he felt, when the boy only pursed his lips, gathered the tattered remnants of his resolve, and nodded.
"Use me."
Odd, really, how history tends to be all about repetition. It's not like people plan it out like that. It just happens.
It started, back then, when a kiss, one that was slow, deep, and possessive. Then quiet commands, all of them directed towards forcing the Blade King - somebody young and unstoppable and ultimately a force of nature unto himself - to strip and stay still and make sure that he completely at Makoto's disposal. Then there's that boy on his bed, spread out, completely naked, perfectly vulnerable. Then there's Makoto lashing those slender wrists together, attaching them to the bedpost. Those ankles get cuffed to an impossibly long pole. Those pretty violet eyes are covered by a blindfold. Those lips are parted by a ball gag. Those cute little nipples get a bullet vibrator taped to them, one to one.
Makoto's thorough. Every inch of the one he loves the most must be attended to, with loving care. It's only proper. It's only right.
"Then you're mine for tonight. And I'll do exactly what I want to you."
When he whispered that into the boy's ear, he trembled. You've never felt him tremble for you like he had for Makoto yet, have you, LaRue?]