Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4805105.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Other, M/M
  Fandom:
      Yu-Gi-Oh!_Zexal
  Relationship:
      Black_Mist/Tsukumo_Yuuma
  Character:
      Tsukumo_Yuuma, Black_Mist
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Handcuffs, Manhandling, Submission, Dirty
      Talk, Hand_Jobs, Brief_Blowjob, Fantasized_Knife/Bloodplay, Masturbation,
      Voyeurism, Sex_Tapes, Crying_Kink
  Series:
      Part 2 of Call_Me_'verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-15 Words: 6898
****** make him shed – ******
by charcoalscenes
Summary
     It’s Ninety-six’s birthday, and Yuma gives them himself, weak and
     willing.
     •
     sequel to call_me_yours and based on this_tumblr_post. so, you know,
     let me reiterate my apologies from the first fic and hope you excuse
     the hell out of me.
Notes
     welcome to yet another addition to the Human 96yuu AU where Yuma
     makes questionable decisions. please keep in mind the warnings in the
     AO3 tags. hope you enjoy the read!
See the end of the work for more notes
His fingers dig into the sofa, but he stops himself from squirming at the sight
of it, and how Ninety-six just shamelessly jingles it. Ninety-six’s lips are
already trembling, and Yuma knows the look; the guy is just restraining
themself from cheering, from howling aloud in mirth, from how excited they are.
They play with the cuffs like a child plays with a still-sealed lollipop, eager
and expectant and with the barest amount of control.
The laughter in Ninety-six’ voice is evident. “Do you like them?”
Yuma has long since surrendered fighting down his blush, and Ninety-six
continues, “I was thinking of getting something softer. You know, something
frilly, or plush. But I knew you’d like the tough ones better.” They finally
let themself smile fully, so wide that their teeth seem to take up half their
face. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
Yes. Yuma allows himself to look down, and at his bashfulness, Ninety-six
approaches. The handcuffs are pressed into his hands, and Ninety-six guides his
palms to stroke the metal, his skin gliding gently on the smooth, curved
surface. “There are so many things we can do with these, pet. Do you want to
hear about them? See which one you like most?”
Their tone grows patronizing despite their own thrill, sounding like they’re
asking Yuma where he wants to go on a date or what his favorite dish is as
opposed to discussing how Yuma would prefer to be made a mess out of. He shoots
Ninety-six a red-faced glare, and as always, the reaction earns him not a shred
of remorsefulness.
Ninety-six pushes him onto the sofa, and he bites back a squeak, making himself
rigid as the other climbs on top of him. Ninety-six is heavy from their
pressing onto him, from how Yuma had already felt hot and weighted even before
they had made a move. Through both of their clothes, Yuma can feel how the two
of them had grown some during the exchange, how Ninety-six is starting to dig
into Yuma and Yuma into them.
He lets himself whimper in a way he would’ve forced himself to keep in his
throat at any other time, knowing that Ninety-six would want to hear it,
knowing to keep in mind that the person above him is the reason he’d come at
all today. And Ninety-six rushes down at the noise, their lips dipping to
Yuma’s own as their hips grinding on him.
Ninety-six kisses too hard; even now, they push onto him like Yuma is a second
away from slipping away, like they need to take in as much of him as possible
even if it has to hurt, and from how Ninety-six’s hardening thrusts are
anything to go by, Yuma would guess that the way they’d make love wouldn’t be
much different. The prospect of that and the way Ninety-six plunges onto him
now make him keen and mewl into the kiss, and just as Yuma feels as though he
really is devoured, Ninety-six seethes and rumbles from over him.
It’s only when Ninety-six’s hands move, roughly grabbing Yuma’s wrists and
placing the handcuffs next to his skin, that Yuma stops. “W-Wait…” He doesn’t
even sound urgent, not helping but remain meek and docile from how everything
at this moment is being handled. But he pulls at his arm anyway, and Ninety-six
slows down. They rub Yuma’s front with theirs and keep his wrist captive, the
plaything between them stilling.
Yuma takes a few breathes to collect himself. Ninety-six’s eyes are slits as
they peer down at him, and Yuma has never seen the other look this focused
before. The flattery makes him shift so that Ninety-six can feel the friction,
and he brings up as Ninety-six hisses. “Weren’t you going to ask me what I
wanted to do first?”
Ninety-six’s face breaks into a smile. “Oh,” they laugh softly, and rear back,
grip on Yuma relaxing and the toy easing from how threateningly close it was
against him. “You’re right, you’re right,” Ninety-six admits, and they raise a
hand to stroke Yuma’s head. “I was about to get carried away, wasn’t I? So
sorry.”
They don’t sound sorry at all. Yuma pouts, and starts to prop himself up again,
coming up high enough to give Ninety-six the message to sit back and make room.
Ninety-six doesn’t at first, letting both their faces stay close enough that
they almost kiss again, and stares at Yuma with half-lidded eyes.
The possibility of Ninety-six keeping the two of them there, of them wondering
whether or not to abide by Yuma’s request, motivates him to shove at Ninety-
six’s shoulder. “Well?” He pushes, testiness coming back to his voice. And
Ninety-six smiles again, shuffling back until Yuma can sit up.
When he does, he catches Ninety-six winded as well. They usually play at having
some sort of composure when it comes to riling Yuma up like this, to acting the
pervert and holding Yuma still so he can’t run. Something in Yuma warms up at
Ninety-six finally showing how affected they can be from him, and somehow, it
helps him relax again.
Ninety-six holds the cuffs on their lap between them. “Option one is obvious,”
they begin right away, eyes glazed as they rest on the object in their hands
and fantasize. “I have an efficient bedpost for these things. You can lie down,
make yourself cozy, I’ll do the rest.”
“Gggrrrhhh…” Yuma whines, hand flying up to rub at his face, already feeling
some mix of dread and embarrassment at just the first suggestion. It doesn’t
help that Ninety-six’s attention flies up at the sound, eyes bright as they
return to staring at Yuma. “What’s option two?” He asks quickly.
Ninety-six only tsks at the first being dropped. “Well. If lying down isn’t
your thing, I can always have you sit. You’ve seen the chairs in the kitchen. I
wouldn’t mind keeping you there.”
Yuma can picture it now, arms stretched behind him and with no way to relieve
the strain, keeping the discomfort to himself at the sight of Ninety-six’s leer
and proud, gleeful smile, knowing Ninety-six can keep him distracted for a
long, long while.
“What else,” he ventures, wanting to hear it.
Granted, the second option sounds a lot more bearable to him than the first,
but it’s more than just making sure that Ninety-six will do to him something he
can handle. Ninety-six’s voice turns wistful and his breaths grow more deep
when they talk about these things, and when the words fall so readily from
their lips, Yuma knows that it must be either because Ninety-six’s creativity
and imagination when it comes to him is quick or that Ninety-six has actually
thought of it all before. Either way, Yuma wants to hear and see the yearning
oozing from them more.
Ninety-six grins, squinting at Yuma like they know, like something in the way
Yuma asks gives it away, and maybe it did. “I could handcuff us together,”
Ninety-six coos, reaching out and taking one of Yuma’s hands in theirs. “A
build-up for the leash I promised you. You wouldn’t be able to run away, and I
can make sure you do everything exactly how I want you to. I’d make you touch
yourself,” they go on, saddling up closer. Yuma’s shoulders hunch as they kiss
his neck. “–again. And this time, I’ll be here to see it. And I’ll make sure
you do it right.”
Yuma grunts, giving into the instinct to cover himself, bringing his arms and
shoulders close and burrowing into Ninety-six’s chest. Ninety-six laughs at him
again and strokes his hair, inquiring, “Do you like that idea?”
Yuma presses his face into the other’s shirt before giving a single short nod,
and asks again, “What else?”
“I want to handcuff you – just you.” Ninety-six’s hands clasp his arms. “You
won’t be able to push me back anymore. But I would like to see to try to run
with your hands behind your back anyway. Maybe you’d try unlocking the door
with your teeth?” They kiss his ear softly before nipping. “And I’d pull you by
your pretty collar back to bed.”
Yuma would do that for them, he thinks, but doesn’t voice it, craning his neck
to give Ninety-six’s throat a quick peck. “…What else.”
“Dirty boy!” They preen. “What else do you want, hm? Should I string you up
with them, find a nice hook and have you hang from your wrists? I’d have to do
something about these sprightly little legs you’ve got too, then. Wouldn’t want
you kicking or closing shop on me.”
They pull back and take Yuma’s face in their hands, thumb pressing his bottom
lip and playing between stroking the skin there or sliding in and testing.
“I shouldn’t have stopped at the handcuffs,” Ninety-six muses aloud. “I made
the mistake of pitying you. Poor Yuma, not knowing just how much I’d ask him to
take, best stop while I’m ahead and get only the most basic of toys. But you’re
being such a good boy.” They tilt Yuma’s head back, experimentally, prying open
his unresistant jaw and petting the nervous tongue inside. “You’ll really do
anything for me. Almost makes me want to go back. I saw this cute little thing
you can wear around your head, Yuma. I saw this cute little thing I’d want to
put around your other head.”
One hand still holding his head back and his tongue down, Ninety-six’s other
follows their words and grinds onto Yuma’s hardness through his clothes,
cupping and stroking, and Yuma’s mewl is gurgled slightly from the finger in
his mouth. It finally breaks him when he allows himself to grind into the
other, and the first tears of the night crawl down his face. He doesn’t bother
to hide them from someone he suspects would appreciate the sight more than
anything.
Ninety-six’s hand moves from Yuma’s mouth and cinches his jaw, tugging him
part-way so that they can kiss the drops as they fall, teeth grazing lightly
over Yuma’s cheeks, and they start to grind on Yuma slowly.
“Decide.” Ninety-six says, and Yuma’s brain wracks for an answer. “I’m letting
you choose. Be good and decide now.”
He gasps from his crying and opens his throat for Ninety-six to distract
themself with. Yuma almost wishes that Ninety-six did buy more items; maybe
there’d be options less intimidating, games they’d want to play that Yuma could
feel more confident about. Though really, he wasn’t sure what to expect jumping
into this – maybe something more chill, like having to wear a weird costume.
Admittedly he’d thought restrains might come up, but now that the situation is
happening, in front of him for him to have to face, it suddenly doesn’t seem as
tame as it did in his head.
He’s still sniffing when he answers, “I… I want us chained together.” The other
choices made him too helpless, and not being able to reach out, to touch
Ninety-six the way they would undoubtedly touch him, might make him feel too
isolated. Gift to Ninety-six or no, Yuma wants to experience this with them as
closely as possible, as much like partners as his companion would allow.
“I see,” Ninety-six coos, giving a last gentle peck to the skin beside his
collar. “Can’t bear to be far from me.”
“Oh please,” Yuma finds it in himself to grumble, the waterworks stopping for
now and Ninety-six brushing their lips over the lingering tracks.
“Ah, ah!” Ninety-six tsks. “Don’t be grumpy.” Both their hands release Yuma
only to slide up his top, pushing it up to remove it. “Acting like you’re not
with someone who’ll make you so happy.”
He purses his lips, and the shirt goes over his head, falling over the back of
the couch. “And now for these~”
Ninety-six unclasps his belt, and Yuma tries to keep a cool head now that the
two of them are finally getting to this point, thinking to ask, “W-Where are
the keys to these things?”
“Don’t worry about it,” is the answer. Yuma is worried, but in all likelihood,
it’s stashed in one of Ninety-six’s pockets, or at least in the shopping bag
that they had left in the other room.
They pull his bottoms down, tugging it past his legs, and he keeps stammering –
anything to derail the overload of tension now coursing through him. “Are you
going to take your clothes off too?” He all but squeaks.
Ninety-six hums. “If I want to.” The rest of his clothes slide to the floor,
and Yuma lies naked before them, just barely restraining himself from covering
himself with his hands or curling into himself for cover. What would be the
point of that.
“Y…” Yuma begins, breath shallow from the way Ninety-six leers at him, eyes
roaming up and down his body, finally having what they’ve lusted for in their
sights. “You should! G-Get naked, I mean.” He bites back the “please,” and says
instead, “Join me.”
“Oh, Yuma…” Ninety-six hisses, palms coming to rub at Yuma’s thighs, prying
them open and earning another docile keen. “I know, I know. I will, later;
promise. I’ll even let you strip me yourself.”
They kiss his inner legs once, then hand Yuma their handcuffs. “Put one
bracelet on you,” they instruct as they get up off the couch. Yuma watches them
walk to the drawers, pulling one open while he fidgets uncertainly with the new
toy.
“What are you doing?” He asks. Ninety-six conspicuously leaves a small key atop
the drawer before a duel pad is brought to the small table beside the couch.
They sit back down beside him as the tablet is propped up. Yuma can tell what
the fuck Ninety-six is doing, but repeats his question regardless, more out of
disbelief than anything. “What are you doing.”
“Please?” Ninety-six asks sweetly, the recording program already turned on and
watching the two of them regardless. Yuma really does move to cover himself
then, knees propped up over his stomach and looking near-mortified at seeing
himself on Ninety-six’s screen. “For me, Yuma. I’ve always kept my promises to
you; no one else is going to see this. It’s all just for me. People take videos
of their birthday parties all the time.”
Something about having the image of himself like this saved – panting with
Ninety-six hungry beside him – brings him close to tears again, but he pauses.
As fucked as Ninety-six is, Yuma trusts them. Ninety-six can hold this over his
head, can tease him until the both of them are dead that they were able to
convince Yuma to display himself so shamelessly, but in the end, they’d show no
one; the memory really would be kept to themself, anyone else daring to try and
see Yuma or play with him the way they’re doing now risking Ninety-six’s ire in
any case.
And it’s the memory of the gift that Ninety-six had given him months ago, of a
recording of just Ninety-six’s voice that Yuma – to the knowledge of no one,
Ninety-six included, but himself – had replayed more than once since then,
listening to Ninety-six talking to him so sweetly and not-so-sweetly and
rocking himself to that gift. How would it feel if Ninety-six could have
something like that of Yuma, of knowing that Ninety-six can always think of him
when they’re alone, what they’d do while watching him.
He realizes he’s tearing up again when Ninety-six kisses his eyes, the water
not making it to his cheeks and landing instead on the other’s lips. A hand
rubs his back as he’s shushed softly. “Do you need help?” Ninety-six
patronizes, touching the cuffs in his hands.
Yuma clears his throat, biting back a sarcastic retort, and nods instead. “I’m
scared,” he confesses, shaky, feeling himself tremble as the metal is taken
from him, Ninety-six holding his wrist out for the ready.
Ninety-six gives him another kiss for the admission, and makes quick work of
it, then; one cuff clicks around Yuma, and before he knows it, Ninety-six does
the same to themself, the two of them locked together. “Don’t be,” they murmur.
“I’m right here.”
Yuma wonders why Ninety-six cuffed both their rights when they flip him. He
doesn’t hold back the yelp, or the tense noises that break free from his throat
and thundering chest when Ninety-six lies ontop of him, their own erection
prodding Yuma’s behind while their own cuffed hand gropes the back of his. Yuma
dissolves to simpering as Ninety-six guides his palm to cup his own length,
strong fingers curling over his own and having him pump himself.
“Ninety-six!” He squeals, voice embarrassingly high, and he inevitably closes
his eyes, turning away from peeking at his partners tablet.
Their other hand curls into Yuma’s hair and clenches, and Yuma screams as his
head is turned back to face outside of the couch. “Don’t look away,” Ninety-six
rasps, and Yuma squints obediently back at the tiny light on Ninety-six’s
tablet, at the image of Ninety-six overpowering him, of making him hand
himself. “Let me see you.” The fist in his hair reverts back to petting, would-
be comforting. “Pretty thing, let me see you.”
Ninety-six is hot over him, and Yuma gradually recognizes the impression he’s
been feeling. He’s crushed, trapped from all sides – the most oppressive of
them constructed from the most overbearingly affectionate person he’s come to
know, who’d somehow wormed their way to his life and won’t leave his head. The
tablet witnessing and saving their activities come in a close second to the
side of all this that Yuma feels stifled by the most.
Ninety-six still tries to smooth away the crying. Yuma sees them through the
recording; Ninety-six isn’t watching him through the same medium, preferring to
watch the live Yuma beneath them, eyes gleaming. Yuma can sometimes feel the
other’s smile against his skin and cheeks, but looking at the screen, Ninety-
six’s expression is ever shifting, joyful and intense, sweet and cruel, savage
and gentle.
Yuma can’t see Ninety-six – really see them, the real them instead of the image
– from this position, pushed against the couch and barely able to just breathe.
He thinks he likes this – being able to really let go in front of the bastard
who he couldn’t help but be drawn to for so long, being able to really see
Ninety-six in action, to experience the things that the guy had promised so
many times before they would do to him if given the chance.
But he’s dizzy. “Ninety-six,” he pants, shifting to push up against them, and
Ninety-six moans at his movements meeting with the way Ninety-six had been
rubbing their erection against him.
“What is it, pet?” They press down on him more when he moves his hips just a
bit, away from Ninety-six’s hand and from his own hand, at knowing that
continuing would make him finish soon. Too soon.
“W-Wait, Ninety-six,” he finally concedes. “Stop, wait…”
Ninety-six’s hands around him are pulled up, away from his straining erection.
He’s rolled to his side with Ninety-six’s hand rubbing his chest, then his arm,
stroking. “What is it?” They repeat. Yuma can finally see their face clearly,
and they still watch him with narrow, lusting eyes. He focuses on that, on the
thumb stroking his arm soothingly.
“I…” He takes in a gulp of air, but everything seems a bit better now, with the
renewed space, with being able to face Ninety-six, reminding himself who he’s
trying so hard for. “You were too heavy,” he starts to explain.
“Every…Everything was heavy. I don’t think I can finish like that. I want to
try something different.”
“…Everything was heavy?” Ninety-six mumbles, considering. Yuma can’t help but
sigh softly, relieved at the low, preoccupied tone, like Yuma’s concern is
another problem that Ninety-six is attempting to solve for him. His penis is
still uncomfortably hard and begging for attention, as he’s sure Ninety-six’s
is, but the other sits back anyway, staring to the side thoughtfully.
They both stay like that for a moment, and Yuma wonders what he should say, if
he could ask what Ninety-six is thinking they could do to relieve the both of
them. He doesn’t, though, taking some initiative and reaching out to Ninety-
six’s tablet.
The other blinks at him, and Yuma takes the pad from the table, bringing it
enough distance to mimic the act of taking a selfie, making sure both their
faces are staring into the screen and keeping it still until Ninety-six gets
the message. They smile slightly after seeing Yuma do the same, and with that,
Yuma ends the recording.
“Alright.” Ninety-six huffs, decisive, and swoops to peck Yuma’s length once
with their lips before pulling away quickly.
Yuma yelps, “The hell!” But Ninety-six only smiles back before pulling him off
the couch and lifting him up.. “What–” Yuma fumbles with the tablet and holds
it to his chest to keep it from slipping out his hands.
Ninety-six drags him back towards the drawers. Yuma wobbles, body still
flustered from its treatment minutes ago, and hangs onto Ninety-six’s shoulder
as the other takes back the key they placed there.
“Uhm,” Yuma frowns as his end of the cuff is unlocked, and the metal slips from
his wrist. He doesn’t voice the loss he feels at seeing it come off, and
regardless of the disappointment he harbors at how easily Ninety-six let him
free, he does feel a lot lighter now. It’s when Ninety-six makes no move to
remove their own bracelet, keeping it on as Yuma’s end dangles and putting the
key back where it was, that he speaks. “What…”
“I have an idea.” Ninety-six’s eyes sparkle, less fierce but the
mischievousness is a more familiar sight to Yuma than the viciousness that was
there before. “Want to hear it? You’ll like this, I promise. I should have
thought of it before.”
“Ah?” Yuma quips. The way Ninety-six had returned to their usual languid,
teasing demeanor almost made Yuma think that they were going to suggest an end
to the more hardcore escapades. Maybe share a much simpler cold shower, get off
in there, and the suggestion of a new plan surprises him. “W…What is it…”
“We go to the bed.” Ninety-six answers, going on only when Yuma blushes. They
hold the cuffs up, as well as both their own wrists. “And I wear these. Just
me!” They smirk, Yuma’s wide eyes all the more reason for them to. “And I’ll
let you do whatever~ you want. All the space you can need. And however you want
to finish yourself off, I’ll be fine with it.”
Ninety-six’s voice is warm, warm, for that last statement, and Yuma gawks.
“What? R-Really, you’d trust me?”
“Are you kidding, Yuma,” Ninety-six jeers. “Who wouldn’t trust you? You were
willing to go along with anything I said just now; what would make me think you
wouldn’t make me feel good if I tell you how?”
“I- I don’t know!” Yuma replies, ineloquent and too embarrassed to say the
other things on his mind, like, “I’ve never given a blowjob!” or, “I don’t know
how to penetrate!”
“Don’t worry,” Ninety-six looks at him slyly. “It’ll be easy. I’ll be right
here.”
The repetition makes Yuma scowl, and he gives Ninety-six an unimpressed look
until the other brushes past him.
“I’ll meet you there,” they mewl in his ear, and he blushes as Ninety-six
leaves for the bedroom.
Yuma gives himself a minute, idling naked in Ninety-six’s sitting room with
their duel pad in his hands and the key to their cuffs in front of him. He
considers going in and meeting them by himself – share an experience without
the prying eyes of modern technology and let it remain just a good memory
afterwards.
He embraces the bad idea when it comes to him, touching the option to record
again and peering up through his lashes at the camera.
“Happy birthday, asshole.” He grumbles. “Take good care of me.”
===============================================================================
 
Yuma pauses at the sight of Ninety-six cuffed sitting up by the post of their
bed instead of lying down as Yuma’d imagined.
“Thought this might be more fun.” Ninety-six explains at his look, and tilts
their head as he steps inside. “But you can always move me, boss. And I thought
you wanted to stop using that?”
Yuma grunts, propping the tablet on the desk beside them. Even with the built-
in stand, he isn’t sure about the view from this position.
“You said you wanted to take a video,” Yuma mumbles, fumbling with the device,
testing if the two of them would look better if the pad were farther away. 
“I did.” Ninety-six doesn’t even bother to hide how pleased they are, and Yuma
keeps his eyes averted from their smugness. Not that it helps; Ninety-six grins
at him too in the screen, focused more on Yuma’s behind than on giving any
useful tips for how to get the best picture.
The attention heats Yuma up, and he huffs, “This will do,” finally leaving the
recording and crawling back to his companion.
Ninety-six’s tongue flicks out. Yuma diverts himself from meeting it, reaching
for Ninety-six’s waist instead, pulling their bottoms down.
“Buy me dinner first,” they tease. Yuma squints up at them, but otherwise
continues, pulling Ninety-six’s clothes off until their lower half is as naked
as Yuma’s. Ninety-six leans back and stretches, legs sliding snuggly to meet
Yuma’s sides, and Yuma finds himself envying the easy way with which, even now,
Ninety-six is moving, like they know exactly what they want and how to get it
while Yuma is feeling like he has to depend entirely on the other’s guidance.
He pants as the nerves come back to him. He slides down and brings his face
closer to Ninety-six’s girth. He hears Ninety-six exhale, sharp and long, and
doesn’t see how Ninety-six’s toes curl into the bedsheets, how their hands grip
the bedpost behind them, the temptation they have to just wrap and maneuver
Yuma with their legs and have that capable mouth land on them so present.
But they wait, agonized by the heavy breaths Yuma makes against them. Another
time, yes; soon – they have all the time in the world after this to teach Yuma
the things they’d want him to learn, teach him how to handle a little
unexpected affection, maybe teach him more. Maybe make the meaning behind that
cute slip of a collar he’d so sweetly put on more literal, have Yuma
crawl all the time.
One step at a time. “You want to do it this way?” Ninety-six makes sure,
because they know – oh, how obvious it is, the way their small little thing is
hesitating – that Yuma sure as hell isn’t. “There are other ways.”
“I want to try,” Yuma says meekly against them, against them, and takes his
first lick near Ninety-six’s tip.
Ninety-six bears their teeth at that, and bites at Yuma, “Then use your whole
mouth.”
It gets the desired effect; Yuma trembles, from trepidation or guilt, and does
as they say, sliding his lips over and down Ninety-six’s shaft, slowly,
pressing and rubbing his tongue in an imitation of what would feel good if he
were doing this through the more familiar means of his hands.
It helps that Ninety-six keens softly, head thrown back, and by the way they
twitch and rumble inside his mouth, he knows he must be doing something right.
“Yuma…”
“Hmm?” He hums back, deep and letting the sound vibrate from his throat.
Ninety-six moans, and Yuma slips off them, sitting up and facing the other’s
impatient glare.
“Um.” He shuffles closer, hand reaching to fist Ninety-six’s shirt, and settles
onto their thighs. “D…Do you want to…”
“Yes,” Ninety-six replies readily. Yuma is already trying to psyche himself up
for it; Ninety-six can see the way Yuma is reared up, ready to hover over them,
thighs spread. One quick order to have him go to where Ninety-six left the
shopping bags, get the orange jar, and the two of them would have all the lube
needed to pull it off. “Always, pet, always.”
And Yuma nods, short and quick like his head is too heavy, and maybe it is,
with all the blood rushing to it. Maybe Yuma feels faint and lost and too
needy, and the combination is intoxicating; Yuma has never been more obedient
and susceptible than he has this night, after the rough teasing, after getting
Yuma turned on, after convincing the boy that Ninety-six would be here to tend
to him.
“Kiss me,” Ninety-six says, and Yuma swoons into them, mouth limp and pliant.
Yuma pants into Ninety-six, heavy, and they wonder if his mouth is dry, if
there’s a switch in Yuma’s mind that he’s learned to turn off at will.
That would be a useful skill. “Later, beautiful boy,” Ninety-six amends. Yuma
pulls back, and they go on. “Not tonight. Don’t rush it. I want to use my hands
when we do that, and we both know you’ll just have to get used to me
being heavy before I do that to you.”
Yuma ducks at the jibe, but doesn’t snap back, leaning over and hiding his face
again into the crook of Ninety-six’s neck. They sigh in return, stroking Yuma’s
head with their cheek.
“You’ve been a good boy,” they say, and even more does Yuma press against them
at the praise, growing more restful and easing from the lust-driven haze. “I’ll
let you finish gently this time. Didn’t I say I’d look after you?”
It’s rhetoric, but Yuma nods, obedient and quiet even now. The role came so
easily to him, Ninety-six thinks, just as they knew it would. It
looks perfect on him.
“Get the knife in the drawer,” they direct. “Under where the duel pad is.”
Yuma’s eyes are wide as he shoots Ninety-six with a gawking expression.
“It’s nothing scary,” they drip with mockery. “Even now you don’t believe me. I
said I’d be gentle, and it’s certainly more than you deserve if you choose to
defy me now.”
Yuma does as they say, stretching and reaching to open the drawer, peering into
its contents briefly, but the knife in question isn’t hard to find given the
size of it. He takes it out, closing the drawer only part-way, distracted by
the folded weapon in his hands, the potential of animosity from his partner.
“Open it,” Ninety-six clips. Yuma is cautious, using both hands to ease the
blade out. “Now you can undress me.”
His eyes flutter again, wide but much more softly this time, glowing from some
sort of thrill at Ninety-six’s allowance. The tension in Yuma dissolves, and
Ninety-six watches his breathing grow even once more as he lifts their shirt
up, hooking the knife from inside and carefully tearing the cloth at its front.
Ninety-six can’t say they would give Yuma the same consideration, only hoping
that the day that Yuma would let Ninety-six hold one to his throat, his chest,
his hard and shapely little legs would come soon – that Yuma would accept and
delight in the little marks Ninety-six would leave all over him; let him think
twice, then, about showing that supple body to anyone else besides them.
Yuma pushes the rest of their shirt down their arms, leaving their chest
exposed, and without any encouragement folds the blade closed again. He tosses
it back into the drawer.
“I didn’t say you were done with that,” Ninety-six attempts to tease, wanting
to see the flustered look on Yuma’s face.
They grin when Yuma sputters, “W-What else would we do with that thing!”
“You can write Yuma, Yuma, Yuma on my skin,” Ninety-six shrugs. “Let me draw
hearts and wings on yours.”
He pouts at them, and Ninety-six takes his unguarded moment to lean forward
against their restraints, lips meeting Yuma’s and caressing.
Yuma follows their lead, tilting his head and leaning forward, one hand coming
to stroke his own erection while the other finds Ninety-six’s.
“No,” Ninety-six moans into the kiss, and Yuma’s actions freeze. “Just you,”
they clarify. “Touch yourself. Right here, in front of me.”
Again? Yuma’s starting to suspect a pattern, some kind of specific kink that
Ninety-six doesn’t voice as much as they do others but one that happens to come
up a lot when the two of them actually do stuff. But he keeps his thoughts to
himself, asking instead, “But you…?”
He gestures to Ninety-six’s hardness, but they dismiss him. “Worry about that
later, doll. Do this for me now. One more time, all by yourself. Like you did
before, when I let you do it alone.” Yuma purses his lips at the reference, and
Ninety-six smiles. “How often have you practiced, hmm, Yuma? Show me how good
your hands are now.”
Yuma’s fingers wrap around himself, and as he starts to pump, he presses his
face to Ninety-six’s shoulder, by now at home with the gesture. He makes sure
his face is still seen by the tablet, though; it wouldn’t do inspire Ninety-six
to get testy over little details like that.
Beside him, Ninety-six’s face turns, and their teeth clamp onto the collar on
Yuma’s neck. Yuma is tugged once before Ninety-six’s teeth clench at the skin
of his throat, jaw stretched wide, and Yuma gasps at the feel of Ninety-six’s
canines, at the impression of his flesh being threatened, and at how he would
scratch and bleed if he were to carelessly pull away.
It makes him whine, high and anxious, and along with playing with his own
length, he starts to rock against Ninety-six, pressing his erection onto the
other’s stomach as the mouth entrapping him sucks at his flesh.
Ninety-six gives him a closed-mouthed kiss over the new wound, and as their
lips move lower on Yuma’s neck, he hears them request, “Cry for me.”
By all means, it probably wouldn’t take much. Yuma might vehemently deny it
later on – perhaps as soon as tomorrow – and claim that he merely knows how to
cry on command, but the truth is that all he’d have to do is stop for a minute
to really think about what he’s doing right now. All he has to do is turn to
his side and watch himself sprawled on top of the person who’s managed to make
an emotional mess of him and remember that he’s recording all this, that he’s
bearing himself to be completely vulnerable to this guy, trusting them to keep
a sex tape with Yuma, of all things, to themself.
Ninety-six, having known Yuma long enough to recognize how ridiculously
sensitive the boy is, probably has the same impression, especially if their
helpful remarks are anything to go by.
“Coming to my door, ready to do as I say – just for today, as though that isn’t
enough time to turn you inside-out,” they taunt. “Look at you, you were
so easy, Yuma. You would have bent over a table for me. You would have kneeled
and let me use that pretty mouth until I’d be dry, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” Yuma’s voice breaks, shaking his head on Ninety-six’s shoulder. He
shudders when the act is reprimanded, Ninety-six nipping at the skin they’d
made red and raw.
“Liar,” they seethe, teeth playing with Yuma’s earlobe briefly. “It doesn’t
matter if it’s just one day, Yuma. It doesn’t matter if you give me one hour.
I told you what I’d do if you’d let me have you. You won’t come out of this the
same. You won’t leave tonight and not want to come back for more.”
Ninety-six moves their legs, knees drawn up and pushing Yuma closer to them,
their thighs pinning him as best as they can from his back. “Maybe after today,
everyone will know just how nasty their little-ball-of-sunshine-Yuma really is.
Maybe they’ll know you came to me today, knowing what we’d do, and every time
someone thinks of you, they’ll imagine all the things you recorded
yourself doing right now.”
Yuma whimpers, and Ninety-six snaps, “Don’t spill yet. Hold it, hold it in
until I say you can.”
“Wh… I-I can’t do that!” Yuma bemoans, and Ninety-six can tell that they’re
close, they’re so close to getting Yuma to spill more than his seed. “How does
someone hold it in, you can’t do that!”
“Try,” Ninety-six grits out, and Yuma does, straining, his hands fumbling and
fidgeting pathetically, as endearing as ever. “My incompetent little pet, I
should have you stand and walk back to the other room and hope that it hurts
you, being so close to finishing and not being able to. I should make you get
the key and uncuff me, switch ourselves so I can keep you hard and make sure
you stay that way, stopping every time you think you’ll finally finish.”
Yuma trembles, hands leaving his erection completely and grasping tightly onto
Ninety-six’s shoulders. Timidly, Yuma gives a small shake of his head.
“Why not?” They test him. Hoping that he won’t push Yuma over the edge just
yet, they relieve some of their own frustration, using their legs and pelvis to
rock themself against Yuma, their own length rubbing onto him. Yuma’s fingers
clench even more. “You’ll still have all the room you’ll need, nothing heavy.
As a matter of fact, you can have the whole room to yourself – left all alone,
no one to help you with your little problem. I think you’d like it, Yuma.”
The reply is shallow and uneven. “I… I won’t like it…”
“What? What did you say? I couldn’t hear you!” They grunt and hump harder onto
him, and though they cheer quietly to themself at the sight, Ninety-six keeps
up the movement and the ridicule as tears finally return to streaming down
Yuma’s face. “And remember, Yuma, the microphone needs to hear you too. Say
what you would like to do, pet. Hm?”
“I want to finish like this,” Yuma answers, morose and keening, and Ninety-six
has to thank him later for having it in him to let Ninety-six save this moment,
even if just to hear the delicious mix of defeat and pleasure in Yuma’s tone
now. “I want to touch myself until I finish.”
“Where do you want to do it, Yuma?” They press. “Who are you doing this for?” 
Yuma’s reply is quick. “You,” he sobs, grimacing at himself before continuing.
“I want to finish on top of you. I want to be good for you. Ninety-six–”
“Then do it,” they order, and kiss Yuma’s tears once more, watching his beat
red face as his hands dart back to down between his legs. Even before Yuma
moans from his release, there is already relief in his face, in the taste of
his tears, as though he really believed that Ninety-six would have left him
hard and crying for hours. As though he would have allowed them to.
They kiss as much of Yuma as they can reach from their position, warm from the
other’s devotion and wanting to express as much of their gratitude in this way
before voicing it aloud later. Even more so when, without encouragement or
comment, Yuma’s hands find Ninety-six’s length again to stroke his partner to
completion as well.
Yuma slumps on them, slowly this time, as they moan, and hugs Ninety-six around
their neck, laying his head on their chest. He still covers his expression onto
the other’s skin, and prompts himself to heave in more even breathes, sucking
air in deep and and letting it out, gradually less labored.
“Good boy,” Ninety-six sighs heavily between them. “My good boy.”
Yuma doesn’t right away, embracing Ninety-six more tightly and pawing at the
skin and hair at Ninety-six’s back until the other returns the hold as best
they can, petting Yuma’s head with theirs and kissing his temple softly. And
belatedly, Yuma nods against them in reply.
===============================================================================
 
He doesn’t speak until Ninety-six breaks their post-experience cuddling session
with the request to be uncuffed. Yuma would have wobbled from the
lightheadedness that the day’s activities inspired if Ninety-six had asked him
to do even this simple chore right after, but he manages it steadily now, and
asks Ninety-six while turning the small key, “Are you alright?”
“Are you?” Ninety-six grins, cheeky, and it’s enough of an answer for Yuma.
“No.” He mutters. Ninety-six stretches once he pulls the metal off completely,
laying it on the desk as the other rolls their shoulders.
Quietly, though he’s aware that Ninety-six notices, he reaches for the tablet.
He’s able to give the camera a wry smile and a quick wink before he flicks it
to stop recording.
Ninety-six’s arms come around him from behind, looping around his waist and
pulling him to sit back further onto the bed. Ninety-six remains lying down,
and kisses Yuma’s hips from where they are.
“Happy birthday to me,” Ninety-six hums over his skin. They stare up at Yuma
for the first time today, finally rested and coddled, and the thought that Yuma
had made Ninety-six wear such a look has him reaching down to do the petting,
hand stroking their face and hair.
“Yeah,” he says, letting his hand linger and glide over them just as the rare
gentleness in Ninety-six lingers. “Happy birthday.” 
End Notes
     me @ myself: r u fucking kidding me
     more fics at tumblr if you’re interested.
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