xkelasparmakx

Kelas steadied himself forcing his hips to be still instead of to push back seeking more of the fingers when they were exploring inside. It felt so good to have Jasi's fingers there. But he remembered to be good, not to take when he wasn't offered, to submit his need to Jasi and trust that he would take care of it in his own time.

There was a brief question in the very back of Kelas' hazy mind, as to why he would want to give such trust to Ekor, a man he barely knew. Was it really possible that he felt this safe to do so? He would think about the questions later. Now he did not want to think of them. All he knew was that he did want to give this gift, as Ekor had put it, to Jasi—and it was his to give. Let his anxious mind be silent. Now he was in a peaceful, blissful, space that Jasi had helped him find and he wanted to hold onto that for as long as he could.

The fingers were pressed to his lips, slick and wet and strong of his own scent, and Kelas lapped at them.

And then in another moment Jasi constricted his breathing, pressed gentle kisses to his eyelids. Then Jasi presented his belt.

Kiss it, Atsi, because this will mark you as mine.

The whispered words seemed to echo in his mind like a ripple of water edging out, and out, and out from the spot a little stone had been dropped with a 'plink' into a great pond. He could still feel the faint brush of Jasi's lips against his eyelids, the wet lashes, the blackness beneath his closed eyes softened by that touch. He hadn't shied away from it either—giving himself over to Jasi meant allowing those gentle touches too. It felt strange to experience something so intimate and soft. He allowed himself to trust Jasi that he deserved those gentle touches too. It was more difficult and around the haze of things were lurking the feelings that he did not deserve it. But feeling that he could be stronger now, that something about what they were doing was giving him a certain strength even in his submission, he pushed those thoughts away and let out a breath to steady himself.

Kelas leaned forward, realizing he may have failed to obey right away, as he was processing the exchange, the touches, the feelings and the strength and peace present in the haze of this new submission. He pressed his lips to the leather. He took a deep breath to remember the scent of it—he wanted to be able to recall this moment vividly and linking it to scent would do this.

“I am yours, J--” Kelas hesitated briefly, the sound of his own voice giving him pause. It was thick with desire, but it occurred to him that he was still speaking like a 'proper' Cardassian. His true voice was behind those words. If he was going to submit completely to Jasi, to give him everything, then Jasi should hear his voice unfiltered by the way he was 'supposed' to speak and pronounce. There was no reason he needed to hide his accent here in the privacy of their special space. He wanted Jasi to know him. “I am your-sah, Jasi,” Kelas said, “mahk me as you wish puh-leassse.”

Why would Jasi accept him? One who was called whore, and Nokaran dog, one who was so 'outside'. It was because Jasi felt outside too. In this they were not strangers.

Kelas welcomed the sting of the belt, as many times as Jasi wished, as hard as he pleased, he relished the anticipation of the leather slap against his sensitive skin, the sound of it—waiting for it this way made his slit drip. It was very much like the music that evening, how they had discussed the audience knowing some of the notes, anticipating the rest, hanging there in that heady, needful, space of anticipation of fulfillment of the tune.

He could feel Jasi's hand tighten around the belt. Jasi was watching him--what was he thinking? If his little prey was being good? If he enjoyed the way he looked like this, suspended on the edge of a moment? That he was worth the marks that were going to come...

Kelas wanted to demand it be done now—he was eager for the strikes. But he chewed his lip and waited.