?

Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Title: On Tender Mercies
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Pairing: Douglas/Martin
Disclaimer: Ohh, not mine. Very, very not mine. I fear everyone involved would be quite genuinely creeped out by all of this
Summary: Of course Martin likes lazy morning kisses and gentle vanilla sex. But if Douglas ever thought that was the only thing Martin liked, then reality must have come as a bit of a surprise.
Notes: Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme
Original Prompt
Masochist Martin, loving a hard, bruising session with the paddle before Douglas fucks him.


On Tender Mercies


Douglas moaned lazily, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling as pleasure swelled through him. He draped one hand idly over the upholstered seat arm while the other cupped the back of the head bobbing softly over his lap, fingers twining in the smooth, auburn curls. On the edge of his vision he caught an occasional glimpse of the naked body kneeling between his thighs and Douglas hummed in appreciation as wet lips slid devotedly up the straining warmth of his cock. Martin's eyes would be heavy-lidded and dark as he paused at the tip, glancing up at Douglas as he swirled his tongue over the engorged crown. Douglas's grip tightened controllingly in reply, pushing Martin back down as Douglas's hips rose to deepen the slick thrust of cock pushing into Martin's mouth. Martin groaned deeply, hands curling around Douglas's trouser-covered calves, reflexively trying to swallow as Douglas held him pinned.

"That's it," Douglas breathed roughly. "All the way down..."

He could feel release pooling low and tight in the pit of his stomach, hips rocking slightly with the urge to thrust. The hand in Martin's hair curled reflexively into a fist, dragging Martin's head up and down to set a deep, steady pace as he fucked into the warm, sucking wetness of that obedient mouth. Douglas growled in satisfaction, letting Martin linger at the tip just long enough to put his nimble tongue to use before pushing him forward sharply and forcing the full length of his cock right to the back of Martin's unresisting throat. Martin choked and spasmed, the fluttering tightness an exquisite bonus. Douglas came quickly, ejaculating with a low grunt, fingers knotted in his boy's curls as he jetted thick, bitter spunk straight down Martin's esophagus.

The feel of him struggling to swallow it down was glorious, the frantic constriction of Martin's throat too tempting to abandon straight away and Douglas kept his grip purposefully firm, holding Martin pinned for a long, breathless moment until Martin's struggles had teased the last flutter of sweet aftershocks from Douglas's still mostly-hard cock. The instant Douglas's grip finally relaxed Martin pulled back with a sharp gasp for breath and Douglas looked down at him hotly, Martin's cheeks flushed scarlet as he panted and shivered at Douglas's feet.

Martin's lips, still parted, were red and swollen. The tip of Douglas's cock had dragged across the bottom one just heavy enough to have left a thin, lingering smear of cum on the plump, kiss-bruised flesh and Douglas almost ached to bend down and lick it off. Martin's eyes were glazed and hungry, his throat bobbing as he gulped down the lingering tang of Douglas's release.

Languorous and well-sated, Douglas idly petted Martin's head, warm palm eventually reaching down to cup Martin's cheek as he wiped away the wet smear of ejaculate with the tip of his thumb.

"Your mouth is sinfully distracting," Douglas murmured. "Though I can tell you're angling for something. What exactly were you hoping for in return?"

Martin squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, naked body arching into the contact, hungry with un-spent arousal. His cock was hard and pink, straining straight up between his parted knees as if begging for attention.

"Mm, you know already," Martin moaned.

"I like to hear you say it," Douglas prompted and Martin whined in frustration.

"Please?" Martin huffed. "You said you'd spank me, Douglas. It's not fair to make me wait. You know you promised..."

"You haven't finished licking me clean yet," Douglas murmured. "Finish up and we'll see."

A nudge of his fingers had Martin dipping his head to nuzzle down obediently against Douglas's lap once more, mouthing gently at the soft warmth of his spent cock. Douglas inhaled sharply, a frisson of arousal searing through him even as his sated flesh twitched feebly in response. Martin flicked out his tongue, lapping at the sensitive shaft as he glanced up through demurely lowered lashes.

"I'll make it worth your while," Martin promised.

"I think you already did," Douglas gasped.

Martin grinned, anticipation bright in his expression.

"I'll let you fuck me after you paddle me?" Martin purred. "I know you like how tight it makes me." He suckled gently at the tip of Douglas's penis. "And if you whip my cleft again it'll make me so sore that, for days, every time I sit down the only thing I'll be able to think about is you."

Douglas clenched his teeth, cradling Martin's jaw in the palm of one strong hand and pushing the boy's head back enough to be able to tuck his cock back into his trousers with the other.

Martin pouted sweetly, nipping at Douglas's thumb.

If you had asked Douglas before they got together, what his hypothetical future sex life with Martin would have been like, he'd have laid good money on his answer being "Nice."

Martin, he'd thought, would like "Nice" things. He'd like cuddles and gentle, Sunday-morning blow-jobs. He'd probably shy away from anal and, if Douglas did ever convince him to try being the recipient, it would only be on pre-arranged evenings. It would happen only when he could be sure they wouldn't have to fly the next day, because Martin would be scared of the potential discomfort. He wouldn't like the humiliation of sitting on the flight deck for hours either, trying not to fidget from the soreness in his bottom just in case someone guessed what they'd been doing.

The one thing Douglas is fairly sure he never would have imagined is that Martin - his sweet, silly, naive little Captain - would actually be nothing like that at all.

Oh, he enjoys the cuddles and lazy weekend blow-jobs and faintly sloppy coffee-flavoured kisses over breakfast in bed. Of course he does. But Douglas would have been a liar if he'd said that it was the entire limit of Martin's interest. A very big liar indeed.

If he was honest, it was almost as if all that repression Martin displayed at work was purely there as a counterbalance to the uninhibited, wanton creature he seemed to be in the bedroom.

Martin veered somewhat more towards the submissive, which in retrospect seemed like no real surprise (positions of authority had never fitted him terribly well,) and he very definitely preferred bottoming. Which was all rather wonderful because Douglas very definitely didn't. Of course, with Douglas having been so uncharacteristically wrong about so many things, it should not have come as a shock to either of them just how much Martin actually loved being made to squirm.

It was fortunate of course that, aside from his colossal failure to predict how filthy Martin could be when aroused, Douglas had yet to find anything else at which he wasn't naturally gifted. He would admit some personal surprise that this included the wielding of both paddle and rattan cane, but Martin certainly didn't seem to have any complaints. It was, after all, his backside that received the majority of Douglas's expertise. Douglas didn't doubt for a minute that his Captain would not have taken to moaning and thrusting his bottom out for more if he wasn't quite enthusiastically set on enjoying it.

Douglas came back to himself as Martin nuzzled at the inside of his thigh impatiently, a hungry blue-grey eye sliding open to peek pleadingly at Douglas's face. Douglas dawdled only for a moment, trying and probably failing to look inscrutable before ultimately having to relent.

"I can see you haven't left me much of a choice," Douglas murmured. "Go to the bedroom, then. I want you over the bed, face down, feet on the floor. Keep your legs spread and wait for me."

Martin sighed in pleasure, eyelids fluttering in anticipation as he got unsteadily to his feet, his bare cock exposed and bobbing awkwardly as he walked. Douglas watched him go, head tilted slightly in appreciation of the pale, delicate lusciousness of his back as Martin disappeared down the hall.

It would be fun catering to Martin's whims this evening, he thought. Martin and his fondness for the paddle. In part because he enjoyed wielding it and in part because he always found it incredibly difficult to refuse Martin anything when he begged for it so prettily. Especially while knelt demurely between Douglas's thighs. Douglas was more than aware he was too easily swayed by the plush warmth of Martin's eminently fuckable mouth, and some day he knew he should really whip out the cane instead just for some long-overdue chastisement at such overt manipulation, but most of the time he didn't quite have the heart. Not when doing so denied himself the sound of the addictively low, aching groans Martin made whenever he was rewarded with the heavier, broader strike of flattened leather and wood.

Douglas dawdled for a few moments, still sprawled lazily in his armchair. Post-orgasmic warmth had lingered in his joints, rendering them rubbery and loose and he smiled contentedly as he finally forced himself to his feet.

The boy would be bent over and waiting for him by now, Douglas thought. He'd have his feet spread on the bedroom carpet, slim body folded at the waist, thighs pressed against the side of the bed as his top half sprawled face-down over the duvet. He'd look decadent and wanton, bare arse presented and offered up to Douglas's whims even as those long, agile fingers tangled expectantly in the cotton sheets.

He wasn't wrong. The image presented to him as he walked in the door was one he knew all too well. The lush spread of Martin's vulnerable form was seared into Douglas's memory like the echo of looking too hard at the sun.

Douglas could see the shadow of tightly-drawn testicles between Martin's spread thighs. The boy's cock, however, had been calculatingly trapped between Martin's stomach and the edge of the mattress and Douglas aimed a sharp slap of his palm roughly against the top of Martin's left buttock.

The sting made Martin jerk, breath leaving his body as his erection rubbed teasingly against the softness of the duvet. Douglas tutted disapprovingly.

"You know the rules. Move back, Martin," Douglas ordered sternly. "I've told you before you're not allowed to rub yourself off. If you leak all over my new sheets I will make you lick them clean before I let you come."

Martin hitched and tensed at the threat but obediently shuffled backwards a few inches, his hips canted away from the side of the bed just enough to let his cock hang heavy and unsupported, distanced from any inadvertent stimulation.

"Better," Douglas murmured. The paddle was already laid out on the bedside table and Douglas raised an eyebrow as he picked it up. From the corner of his eye he saw Martin wiggle slightly in expectation.

Douglas hefted the flat implement against his palm for a moment, circling behind Martin's displayed body before swinging his arm down to land a firm whack against Martin's arse. Martin gasped, flinching at the heavy, unforgiving sting even as he arched wantonly towards it.

"Be still now," Douglas says. "I shan't make you count. We go until I decide it's enough. You've been a good boy which is why you got to request the paddle, but if you wiggle too much I will finish you with the cane instead. Is that understood?"

Martin nodded, eyes squeezed shut as he buried his face in the duvet. His fingers curled and flexed in anticipation, like a cat kneading a blanket, his body pale and arched and so very inviting that Douglas had neither the will nor the inclination to resist.

He let the seconds of silence stretch out, letting anticipation build, eye on the clock until almost a full minute had passed before he finally landed the first real blow against Martin's buttocks. The sound was gratifying, a hard crack and a breathless moan, lewd enough to fire his enthusiasm all by itself. Douglas let himself enjoy the rhythm of it as he measured the passing seconds into sharp, bruising increments, the steady slap of each impact striking like a metronome into Martin's flesh.

Douglas's aim was impeccable; cruel but beautiful, the even tempering of each slap blurring the transition of Martin's skin from pink to red to blotchy. The steady, beating throb of the heavy, leather paddle made Martin tremble and whimper in pain, his reactions growing more vocal the harder Douglas hit him. He barely seemed aware that he was flinching, gasping at the bruise-deep hurt even as he pleaded brokenly for more. He was aroused, achingly so if the fine string of pre-come drooling from the tip of his cock was anything to go by and Douglas growled possessively, lengthening the arc of each strike against the upturned curve of Martin's perfect backside until he was sweating with the effort. The swelling increase of force made Martin mewl and jerk, tears leaking from his eyes as the percussive blow of the leather against his seat jolted through his flesh hard enough to vibrate teasingly into his tightening balls. Martin cried out desperately, arching his back and spreading his legs wider to present his perineum as if in open invitation to hurt him more and Douglas clenched his fist around the handle at the temptation of it.

Douglas growled possessively, focusing his efforts just to either side of Martin's crack, bruising the join where thigh met buttock until Martin was almost sobbing in pleasure at the painful ache of each blow. His hips were twitching, visibly mirroring the urge to thrust that pooled low and hot between his parted legs. He could come like this, Douglas knew. It had happened a few times; a climactic howl that left Martin wrecked and insensate, quite impossibly beautiful in his flushed depravity. It was an image Douglas stored faithfully in his memories, but he still had other plans for the evening. He forced himself to loosen his grip on the paddle's handle before he beat a last, sadistic tattoo, the flat tip slapping back and forth sharply to welt the white flesh of Martin's untouched inner thighs.

The sound Martin made was desperate, verging on orgasmic as Douglas tossed the paddle onto the pillows above Martin's head.

"Oh..." Martin gasped weakly. "Oh please, please..."

He barely seemed to know what he was begging for any longer; either release or a surcease of pain. An anguished cry escaped his lips when Douglas's palms pressed firmly against his bruise-hot buttocks, squeezing hard before wide thumbs pushed into the warmth of his crack to part his cheeks, spreading the heated globes far apart enough to see the puffy, slick hole hidden within.

Douglas paused, lips parting on a breathless curse.

"You've been busy," Douglas growled. Martin's hole was already slick, glistening with lube that he must have hastily pushed inside himself while Douglas was still dawdling in the lounge. Douglas was almost disappointed he'd missed it. The thought of those long, elegant fingers disappearing into Martin's greedy body rolled heat straight into Douglas's belly. He pinched Martin's buttock cruelly, the tight pucker squeezing sharply closed as Martin squealed pathetically at the sting of it.

"Reach back. Hold yourself open," Douglas said firmly. "I want to be able to see."

Martin moaned roughly at the promise in Douglas's voice, his hands shaking as he reached back, palms spread over his aching buttocks to keep his cheeks pulled firmly apart. His fingers gripped so hard they left white spots in the scarlet flesh, his body tensed in expectation as Douglas walked over to the wardrobe.

It was not something they did often, but Douglas knew Martin had been dropping hints about a repeat performance for a while now. He heard Martin's breath catch, his lip trembling as Douglas reached for the little-used tawse that hung at the back of the rail. The last time Martin had begged for it, braced much as he was now, he had ended up howling from the pain as Douglas had mercilessly whipped his cleft. Martin's hole had been so tight and puffy when Douglas was done that Martin had cried when Douglas fucked him. He'd cried and come harder than he'd ever done before and still gaspingly sobbed for more. He'd been left so raw he'd had to bury his teeth into his bottom lip with a hiss every time he sat down for almost a week afterwards.

The image had stuck with Douglas, a sharp burn in the back of his mind as he let the strap feather over Martin's hot flesh, teasing for a moment before he flexed his wrist back and flicked it sharply across the rim of Martin's hole.

The noise Martin made was incomparable; a broken whine so desperately needy Douglas just had to do it again. He aimed each snap of the leather at a slightly different target, peppering up and down the length of Martin's exposed crack. Sharp taps stung randomly across delicate flesh, the narrow strip of leather delivering a much crueler bite than the brute force of the paddle before it. Below him, Martin whimpered almost continuously, his voice breaking as each strike seemed to burn brighter, legs starting to fail as Douglas finally let the force of his blows increase.

It wasn't long until he was laying into Martin's arse with his full strength, beating with cruel force as he alternated between lashing the tender, red-raw flesh of Martin's pucker and the delicate, hairless skin behind his balls. He kept the strokes evenly distributed, thin weals raising bare moments after each strike until the inside of Martin's cheeks and the very tops of his inner thighs were cross-hatched with lurid, scarlet weals.

Martin sobbed and wiggled beneath Douglas' ministrations, but his grip did not falter, clenched hands holding himself spread open for abuse even as he flinched away from the stinging bite of the tawse. Douglas aimed a final, vicious crack right against the top of Martin's opening, forcing a breathy plea from Martin's lips before Douglas tossed the thin strap onto the pillows to join the discarded paddle.

Douglas dropped to his knees behind Martin, easing the boy's stiffened fingers free of their desperate grip. Relieved of their duty, Martin's arms flopped down uselessly onto the bed beside him, his face scrunched and wet with tears even as his cock strained desperately up towards his belly. Douglas cupped Martin's purpling buttocks, rubbing at the hot flesh as he bent closer, carefully inspecting the soundly abused little hole. Martin cried out, cringing even as he tried to force his body to relax, the reddened pucker yielding fractionally as Douglas dragged his thumbs heavily down either side of the bruise-dark entrance. Stretching Martin's aching buttocks apart, Douglas paused only long enough to see the glistening flash of lube still lingering at the centre before he dragged the flat of his tongue heavily over Martin's hole.

Martin let out a desperate yelp, thrashing in Douglas's grasp, his head arching back as he whined helplessly. Passion had thickened his voice, words barely decipherable beyond "Please," and "Yes," and "God," his cock engorged and dripping with pre-come as Douglas replaced his mouth with the hard push of a broad, insistent finger. Martin's entrance eased open grudgingly around the probing digit, the flesh inflamed and hot, and Douglas twisted his finger meaningfully in the tight warmth before stretching the opening just enough to push in a second. Martin's sharp mewl of pain at that larger invasion seemed to flush straight down into Douglas's belly, the image of pinning that writhing, clenching body on the end of his prick latching hungrily into Douglas's mind.

Douglas growled, pumping steadily into Martin's arse, fingers squishing wetly with each deep push inside. He must have used an obscene quantity of lube, Douglas thought. He pulled his fingers out and fumbled for the bottle still sitting in the bedside drawer. He paused, hissing at how empty it was before smearing the remainder on his hardened cock and slicking himself as much as possible. He got to his feet, leaning over Martin domineeringly before lining up the head of his erection and pushing it up tight against the inflamed, resistant heat of his boy's well-thrashed opening.

The first push was a battle just to breach his tender rim, Martin so swollen and tight that Douglas wondered for a second if he'd even manage to fuck him after all. It was a long, torturous moment of breathless indecision before Martin finally reached back to hold himself open once more, pleading for it brokenly until Douglas finally forced the reluctant flesh to part. Martin's body hitched before suddenly seeming to surrender as, with a choked, anguished whimper from beneath him, Douglas sank deep, straight down to the root.

The unexpected pressure of hips against his bruise-tender backside made Martin hiss, his shoulders hunching as he pushed back into the sensation. He couldn't help clenching down on the base of Douglas's cock, the thickness filling him like a stinging burn to counterpoint the throbbing ache of his battered rear. Douglas cursed above him, arching over Martin's prone form and grinding roughly into his offered hole.

The urge to thrust was intense, the need to pound into this willingly sensitised body overtaking all other thought in Douglas's head. He could hear Martin underneath him, breath choppy and shallow, his face screwed up in some euphoric mix of endorphins and discomfort as Douglas drew most of the way out before slamming back, hard, into the heated flesh pinned beneath him.

Martin's yell was deep and guttural, each shove of Douglas's hips slapping against his backside, re-igniting the flare of painful bruises. When Douglas's fingers tangled in Martin's hair, yanking his head back, Martin couldn't help but arch gloriously into the calculated cruelty of it. Douglas knew the boy's cock was a rigid line of need between his legs, the eager flesh jerking neglectedly with every jarring pump of Douglas's hips, and he grit his teeth to resist the temptation of relieving it.

Martin knew better than to reach down and touch himself, not without permission, and Douglas could see his fingers were once more curled white-knuckle tight in the sheets. He was moaning, openly and unashamedly with every stroke of Douglas's cock inside him, and when Douglas adjusted the angle to rub across his prostate on the way in, Martin entirely fell apart.

The feel of him clenching as he sobbed in untouched orgasm was ecstatic. Martin helplessly convulsed as he pumped a thick stream of ejaculate across the linens, his thighs giving out and head dropping limply on the duvet as Douglas released the grip on his hair. Douglas leaned down across Martin's quivering back to press his forehead against Martin's shoulder before taking firm hold of his boy's slender hips. Hot palms wrapped around Martin's waist, cupping and lifting to find the perfect angle so Douglas could rut sharp and fast into the plush heat of such a willingly helpless body. Beneath him, Martin tensed and panted, over-sensitised, toes barely brushing the carpet as Douglas lifted him higher. Captive against the onslaught, weight firmly on his shoulders, Martin squirmed futilely until Douglas finally found his own orgasm, groaning and heaving as he pushed his hips tight up against Martin's flesh and pumped a copious, thick load into his body.

The stillness that followed was almost deafening in its intensity. For a searing, shattered moment there was nothing but harsh breath and sparking nerves, sudden and utter silence swallowing everything until Douglas groaned hoarsely and shuffled back enough to pull his spent cock free.

Martin's toes curled at the feeling and he hissed sharply in discomfort, only going limp again when warm hands stroked soothingly up his bare sides. Now it was over, his body seemed to almost melt into the sheets, his limbs heavy and pliant as Douglas kissed the back of his neck. There was come smeared on Martin's belly and a trickle of it escaping from his still raw hole but, taken with the purpling colour of his arse and thighs, Douglas thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Martin, sated for now, stretched weakly under Douglas's warmth. His bottom brushed Douglas's hip and he squeaked in pain, a minute shiver running up his spine even as he bit his lip and arched sensuously at the feeling.

Tomorrow they were supposedly flying to Antwerp. Douglas already knew that Martin would spend the whole flight perched gingerly in his seat, glazed and gasping with discomfort. Any hint of turbulence would be murder, and the landing would leave his eyes dark with need from the lingering, throbbing tenderness pounding through his abused backside. When they got to the hotel Douglas would probably fuck him again, just because Martin liked the burn of being taken while still sore. And if they were really lucky the restaurant where they had dinner afterwards would have some nicely hard wooden chairs. After all, Martin may get off on the humiliation of being forced to squirm, but there was no denying he looked gorgeous while doing it.

At least Martin was predictable in his unpredictability, Douglas mused. Some judicious pain with his pleasure; a little cruelty mixed in with the sweet.

He kissed the back of Martin's neck again before grudgingly parting from the boy long enough to help him drowsily clamber more comfortably onto the bed. Martin was still sticky and the sheets would need changing before they left but, as he spooned up behind him, Douglas couldn't bring himself to care. There was a perverse sense of satisfaction in letting Martin wake with the immediate memory of being thoroughly debauched, dried evidence of Douglas's ownership still clinging to his skin.

He reached down between Martin's buttocks idly, letting one finger swipe through the cooling, tacky trail of come that had already escaped from his arse. Douglas gathered it on his fingertip, swirling a wet trail across the stinging flesh before pushing it back into Martin's unresisting hole. Martin twitched and murmured at the invasive touch but didn't properly wake, too far gone to protest, his breath growing heavy as Douglas wiggled his finger inside the faded resistance of Martin's rim. He should get a plug, Douglas thought idly. A nice fat one to keep the come sealed in.

The thought of Martin jiggling in his chair in added discomfort as a curved, deep plug stretched him out during the flight appealed to Douglas in some possessive, slightly predatory sort of way. He thought he might run it by Martin some time tomorrow and see if he liked the idea as well. Given their track record on that score he reckoned the chances were good, and he finally pulled his finger out to rest a firm, splayed palm contentedly over the heat radiating out of Martin's welted bottom. It didn't take long before he felt the first pull of drowsy contentment, and it was barely a minute later that he followed his much-adored Captain into sleep.

Comments

dioscureantwins
Jun. 14th, 2012 05:36 pm (UTC)
This is most certainly not my idea of having fun in the bedroom but your lavish style, and the wonderful psychological interaction between them made this an insanely hot read.
Thank you and goodbye!
lady_t_220
Jun. 14th, 2012 06:00 pm (UTC)
Heh, thanks :) Glad you enjoyed it even if it's not usually your thing.