Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5284250.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond
  Relationship:
      Sanada_Shunpei/Todoroki_Raichi
  Character:
      Sanada_Shunpei, Todoroki_Raichi
  Additional Tags:
      Leashes, Collars, Breathplay, Master/Pet, Dom/sub, Aftercare, No_Plot/
      Plotless, Hand_&_Finger_Kink, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-08 Words: 3040
****** Held ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Sanada never lets the leash go." Raichi likes being led and Sanada's
     hands are steady.
Sanada never lets the leash go.
That’s what Raichi likes best, of the many and varied things he likes about the
pressure of the collar around his neck and the weight of Sanada’s presence
behind him and the drag of the other’s hold against the leash connecting them.
It would be easy for Sanada to let the other end go slack for a few seconds, or
even to let the leash go entirely; Raichi wouldn’t try to pull away, has no
interest in any kind of retreat from this even if he had the mental coherency
to spare for the idea of escape. Sanada could make movements that are difficult
with one hand thoughtlessly easy with both, could turn this entire process into
something so quick Raichi is left breathless with the efficiency of it. But he
never does; once his hand is looped into the opposite end of the leash Raichi
knows the tension against his throat won’t ease until Sanada reaches around to
release the clasp on the collar.
He likes it. It makes him feel owned, makes him feel possessed until he’s
shaking with it, until even now -- with Sanada kneeling behind him, his hands
too busy with the bottle in them to touch Raichi’s bare skin -- every tug of
movement against the collar is enough to jolt a shudder of electricity down the
whole length of his spine.
“Are you okay, Raichi?” Sanada asks. There’s the tremor of a laugh in the back
of his throat, amusement warm and slurring over his vocal chords like syrup.
His fingers brush Raichi’s hip, a glancing touch still enough to let Raichi
feel how slick his skin is, and Raichi quivers, whines wordless against the
pillow underneath him as his cock jumps to bump against the tremor of his
stomach.
“You’re a good boy,” Sanada says over him, his touch drawing away again and
leaving chill promise in its wake. “A good pet.”
Raichi shuts his eyes to the too-close view of the sheets under him, feels the
pressure of sound catch in his throat just under the weight of the leather
pressing against his skin. The vibration doesn’t make it to his ears, stalls at
the friction Sanada is pulling at him, but he wonders if it makes it up the
leash, if Sanada can feel the speechless reaction that is all he is allowed to
offer once the collar has clasped a substitute for Sanada’s hands around his
throat.
Fingers touch the inside of his knee. Raichi jumps at the contact, his whole
body tensing on a sudden burst of adrenaline, and Sanada hums over him,
wordless comfort in his throat like that he would offer a skittish horse or a
frightened puppy. “Ssh,” he says, pushing at Raichi’s leg as the sound washes
over the other boy, pushing panic aside and leaving warmth in its wake. “There
you go, it’s fine.” Raichi’s knee slides wider on the bed, his body dipping
lower and closer to the sheets as his thighs spread apart, and he presses his
forehead hard against the mattress, breathes a deep, shaky inhale that pushes
against the tension around his neck.
“I’ve got you,” Sanada is saying behind him, over him, and his fingers are
coming up, leaving a dotted line of contact up Raichi’s thigh like he’s marking
out his route as he goes. Raichi knows what’s coming, is aching for it all
through the tension in his forearms and the wide angle of his legs, but it
still feels like too much to hope for, seems like too much to ask to have
Sanada’s touch on him. But it’s there, the friction dragging up his leg and
towards -- and Sanada tugs a shiver of tension along the leash, cuts off the
trajectory of Raichi’s thoughts into a shudder of helpless heat just as slick
fingertips skim against the other’s entrance.
“Just relax,” Sanada says, his voice so soothing-sweet it sounds almost
insincere. “Come on, Raichi, just relax for me.” There’s another drag at the
leash, hard enough that Raichi’s breathing catches against the pressure, and
he’s obeying without thinking, the distraction of breathlessness enough to let
Sanada’s touch press inside him. The friction makes Raichi whimper, arches his
back against the sheets under him, and Sanada’s hand fits into the curve of his
spine, the weight of the leather wrapped around the other’s palm cool against
Raichi’s skin.
“Good,” Sanada says, the praise warm in his throat and hot in Raichi’s veins.
“That’s a good boy.” His touch slides deeper, pushing Raichi open with steady
force, and Raichi’s hands go to fists on the sheets, his cock swelling hotter
with the feel of Sanada inside him, with the mental image of Sanada’s elegant
fingers sliding into his body. Raichi’s knees slide, drop him down another
half-inch, and he moans into the pillow as Sanada draws his hand back for
another thrust, shifting his angle to press his finger in against a different
line of sensation. Raichi’s hot against his stomach, his cock aching for
friction, but he doesn’t let his hold on the sheets go, doesn’t reach down to
stroke over himself; that’s part of the rule, too, obedience strong enough in
him that even when his hips rock forward in a futile search for friction his
hold on the sheets doesn’t so much as falter.
“Do you want more?” Sanada asks, thrusting in a rhythm that short-circuits all
Raichi’s thoughts, that blurs his coherency even farther out of reach than it
was before. “You’re pink all over, Raichi.” A tug at the leash, a drag of
friction at Raichi’s neck, and he groans agreement, moaning a plea that skids
into a sharp yelp as Sanada’s touch pushes into him at just the right angle.
Sanada laughs, eases the drag at the collar, and Raichi presses his head
against the pillow, gasps for air while Sanada’s finger slides back and out of
him, the loss enough to make him whine even though he knows what’s coming.
“It’s okay,” Sanada says, his tone more soothing than the almost-meaningless
words. “Just relax, Raichi, you’re okay.” Pressure, a stretch of sensitive
skin; Raichi chokes, wheezes against the bed, and Sanada’s inside him, two
fingers this time instead of one, angling into a stretch he can feel pool hot
at the base of his spine. Sanada moves slower, this time, lets Raichi adjust to
the greater width, and for every inch he gains he’s offering a downpour of
words, reassurance that it’s “just a little bit more” and praise for “being
such a good boy for me, Raichi.” Raichi’s breathing hard against the sheets,
quivering every time Sanada’s voice slurs hot on his name, and then the other’s
fingers are fully inside him, pressing him open and shifting to stretch him
wider before Sanada has even started to draw back.
“That’s it,” Sanada promises, and Raichi can feel his collar shift, Sanada’s
hand at his back lifting and winding along the weight of the leash until his
fingers can skim the line of the leather at Raichi’s neck, can slide up into
the fall of hair curtaining his face. “You’re so good, you’re opening up for me
so fast, you’re so hot and so ready for me already, aren’t you?” His touch is
steady, hard enough to drag Raichi’s hair back from his back but gentle enough
that it doesn’t pull at any of the tangles in the strands; Raichi turns towards
the contact, gasping hard against Sanada’s fingers while a thumb presses
against his cheek to trace the line of the scar there. “Do you want me to fuck
you, Raichi?”
Raichi can’t answer. He’s not allowed to speak, not coherently, and even the
simplicity of agreement is too much to grasp past the haze in his thoughts, the
blur of heat and friction and sensation into one wave of Sanada, sound and
sensation and sight all toppling over one another. Fingers press over his scar,
slide to the corner of his mouth, and he parts his lips to reach for them,
licking against Sanada’s fingertips in an attempt to urge the other’s hand
closer to his mouth. He can taste salt, the low undertone of leather clinging
to Sanada’s skin from the leash wrapped around his hand, and Sanada laughs
again, delight spilling to sound that slides warm over Raichi’s skin.
“Only for a minute,” he warns, and then he’s sliding his hand down, letting
Raichi suck Sanada’s ring and middle fingers past his lips. He tastes good, the
friction of his touch like fire on Raichi’s tongue, and when his other hand
thrusts into the other’s body Raichi rocks his weight back to meet it, his
thighs straining with the effort and his chest humming on a whine. His cock is
going slick at the head, precome threatening the blanket underneath him, and
his thoughts are going hazy, the heat at his spine cresting higher with each
movement of Sanada’s touch inside him or Sanada’s fingers pressing over his
tongue. His eyes are open but he’s not watching anything, he’s just staring
glazed and unfocused at the dark of the leash wrapped around Sanada’s too-close
palm, and the whine in his throat is turning to a groan, the warm in his
stomach flaring to a fire when Sanada says “Enough” and draws his fingers from
Raichi’s mouth at the same time he stills his thrusts. Raichi whimpers at the
loss, tries to rock himself back on Sanada’s touch, but there’s a jerk at the
leash, fingers splaying over his back again, and he chokes on the force at his
throat and goes silent as Sanada speaks over him.
“You can come in a minute,” he says, an order as much as comfort, and he’s
sliding his fingers free, his touch at Raichi’s spine holding the other in
place even against the aching loss of the pressure inside him. Raichi drags at
the sheets, gasps for a breath of superheated air, and Sanada hums behind him,
shifts his weight to fit his knees between Raichi’s. “Don’t you want my cock in
you first, though?”
All Raichi’s skin goes hot, his flush warm enough he can feel the color it must
bring sweeping from his face down over his shoulders and the line of his back.
There’s no embarrassment, not with the collar on his throat and Sanada’s hand
heavy on the leash between them; the only problem is the lack of words, the
need to express himself without the vocalized yes he wants to offer. He groans
instead, turns his throat to vibration to indicate his agreement as he pushes
himself backwards to catch against Sanada’s hip and grind back as hard as he
can.
“I thought so,” Sanada purrs, and his hand is back, closing at Raichi’s hip to
tip him forward and away. The loss of the contact is unpleasant, chills all
along Raichi’s spine, but Sanada is pushing him forward and into the steep
slope of the position that he favors, the curve of Raichi’s body enough to draw
Pavlovian heat into his blood. Raichi sucks in a breath, feels it trembling
through his chest, and Sanada leans towards him, the bed shifting as skin drags
over skin, as the resistance of Sanada’s cock digs against Raichi’s thigh for a
moment. Raichi can’t breathe, anticipation choking his lungs rather than any
real pressure on the collar, and then there’s heat against him, the promise of
pressure catching at his entrance, and Sanada’s hold at his hip loosening,
implicit permission in the motion even before he speaks.
“Okay,” he says, and Raichi tips himself back, slides himself backwards and
onto Sanada’s cock with the shaking desperation of the want in his veins. He
moves too quickly, takes all of the other boy at once before he can let himself
adjust, and he’s left shuddering with friction, gasping at the sheets while
Sanada’s hand closes at his hip again to hold him still.
“Slowly,” he chides. “You always go too fast, Raichi.” He shifts his weight,
eases them both farther forward over Raichi’s spread open knees; Raichi can
feel the way Sanada’s cock shifts inside him, the stretch and drag of the
pressure as they change angle, and he loses his breath in one shuddering rush
of air. Sanada sighs at the back of his neck, the heat of his breathing
tangling into Raichi’s hair, and when he moves it’s in a slow, graceful slide,
drawing back to fill Raichi up in one fluid movement.
“Better,” he says, sounding pleased, sounding satisfied. He shifts his hand,
unwinds a loop from the leash, and then he’s bracing himself against the bed,
the weight of his body dipping into the mattress enough to drag friction
against Raichi’s throat. It flushes him hot, as hot as the thud of his
heartbeat taking him harder with each moment, and then Sanada hums “You’re so
good, Raichi” like syrup against his skin and Raichi tenses in the first wave
of pleasure, the slur of his thoughts turning to a happiness at pleasing Sanada
so intense it is nearly painful. Sanada’s still holding to his hip, holding
Raichi steady as he starts to fuck into him, but Raichi’s not thinking about
the ache of desire in his untouched cock any more than he’s thinking about the
burst of sensation that comes with each forward drive of Sanada’s hips. He’s
too busy flushing warm with happiness, with the pleasure of Sanada’s voice
giving wordless praise against his ear and the satisfaction of Sanada’s leash
dragging at the collar around his throat; his eyes are shut, his mouth is open,
he’s making little shattered whimpers every time Sanada moves and still,
there’s nothing in his ears but Sanada telling him “You’re always such a good
boy for me, aren’t you?” and Raichi’s throat tensing on a whine of agreement.
Sanada’s hold at his hip eases, draws away; then there are fingers in Raichi’s
hair, a fist in the strands to drag his head back and against the restraint of
the leather at his throat, and he’s groaning at the friction, not protest as
much as involuntary reaction to the strain that shudders through his body like
the electricity in the air before a jolt of lightning touching down. Sanada’s
lips skim his cheek, press heat over his scar, and Raichi’s still choking on
his startled inhale at the friction when Sanada says, “Come for me, Raichi” and
Raichi’s entire body tenses as that electricity grounds out into sudden
pleasure. His cock twitches untouched at his stomach, spurts sticky over the
sheets under him, and Raichi will feel bad about that in a minute but right now
he’s too busy choking on air made heat to think straight. Sanada’s still
moving, still thrusting into him as he comes, and then there’s a breath at
Raichi’s ear, a choked-off moan as Sanada’s cock spills hot into him. The sound
makes Raichi go hot all over again, stalls his breathing in his throat
completely, and this time it’s heat turning his vision to white instead of the
dark of his closed eyes.
Sanada keeps his hold on the leash. He keeps it pinned against the bed as he
collects himself, as Raichi pants for air against the sheets and stares
sightless at the distant wall of Sanada’s bedroom. The tension clings to
Raichi’s throat as Sanada eases out of him, as the touch of Sanada’s free hand
urges him to fall sideways over the clean of the sheets. It’s not until Sanada
has his fingers at the clasp of the collar itself that the leash goes slack,
the loss of tension offset by the press of his fingers between the loop of
leather and Raichi’s skin. There’s a click of metal against itself, the easy
slide of well-practiced motion, and then the collar falls free, replaced by the
gentle drag of Sanada’s fingers across Raichi’s pulse instead.
“Are you okay?” Sanada asks over him, his voice gentle with sincerity and
wholly absent the edge of command it had a minute ago.
Raichi nods. It’s simple agreement, easier than trying to find words for the
whole-body pleasure that is still jolting up his spine at odd intervals.
“Sorry,” he manages, the words grating in his throat and foreign on his tongue.
He can feel himself starting to blush, self-consciousness as quick to return as
his voice. “About the bed.”
“Don’t be,” Sanada says, his hand sliding up from Raichi’s throat to cradle the
edge of his jaw, his thumb seeking out traction against the other’s scarred
cheek again. “You did exactly what I told you to do.” He ducks in close,
presses his lips just against Raichi’s hairline and lets the warmth of the
contact linger; Raichi whimpers appreciation, still struggling to put himself
back into his own existence and not the thing that Sanada makes of him, the
alternate self that sometimes feels more true than reality. “You’re a good boy,
Raichi.”
Raichi shuts his eyes, lets himself slide back into the reassurance of darkness
for a moment, where there’s nothing but the gentle skim of Sanada’s fingers and
the soothing hum of his voice. He nods again.
Sanada kisses him once more, a press of lips to the center of his forehead,
this time, the contact enough for Raichi to feel the tension of a smile at the
other’s lips. “Come with me,” he says, gentle with the words and gentler with
his touch. “I’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”
Raichi nods, quick to agree to the promised comfort of warm water and Sanada’s
hands on him, and Sanada’s mouth touches his, a slow slide of friction across
his lips that leaves Raichi whimpering and leaning in for more when Sanada
draws back. He gets a smile when he opens his eyes, a slide of fingers down to
press against his shoulder, and when Sanada shifts sideways and off the bed he
tugs Raichi by that same gentle force, keeps the point of contact as he leads
the other boy into the bathroom and the promise of a bath.
Even after he has the water running, Sanada doesn’t let his hold go.
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