Make me, he wanted to shout, not caring that it was a complete non-sequitur. Just try and make me.
“Oh, I will,” Sullivan said, low and unafraid and firm, and Tobias realized he’d actually said the words, actually yelled them. He’d refused, he’d raised his voice, and Sullivan... Sullivan wasn’t backing down. He wasn’t letting Tobias go.
He hit Tobias again, harder, and Tobias yelled again, louder. No words this time, just fury. He couldn’t stay still, kept yanking at the cuffs, kept shouting, kept thinking that he wouldn’t yield, he wouldn’t submit, not this time, not ever, that he hated this, hated every moment of it, hated his whole life and everyone in it, and he’d never wanted to destroy anything so much as he wanted to destroy the world right then.
“Color,” Sullivan said grimly, and Tobias wanted to laugh, wanted to say fuck you, and you can’t make me and stop it right now—
And his mouth opened and said, “Green.”
“I thought so,” Sullivan muttered, and the spanks paused for a heartbeat, a stutter of a heartbeat, long enough for all of Tobias’s loaded fury to pause, shocked at his answer, because he’d meant to say “red,” and then another blow landed, different and louder and impossibly, brilliantly painful. The paddle. It lit up every nerve from head to toe, and he howled at the bright, crimson burn.
“Fuck you,” he gasped, and Sullivan laughed. He laughed, the bastard, and the paddle fell again and again, moving to his thighs now, and the blows weren’t as hard there, not nearly, but it didn’t take as much to register the same level of pain in that place, and he coughed out a furious sob. It was electricity and fire and burning, and it didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.
He was dimly aware of Sullivan saying, “Color,” and of his own voice saying, “Green.”
But seconds or ages later, he was pulled out of it by the sensation of fingers in his hair. “What...” he mumbled. “What...”
“Breathe, sweetheart.” Sullivan didn’t sound angry. “Come on. Take a breath for me.”
Tobias did, and only then did the lightheadedness start to dissipate. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, and Sullivan stayed beside him, rubbing his back and saying over and over, “Breathe. That’s it. Keep going.”
“I can’t,” Tobias whispered, and he didn’t mean the paddle, although that wasn’t inconsiderable. He meant that yawning, terrible feeling from downstairs that had backed off briefly with Sullivan here beside him, but which hovered in the distance. It wasn’t gone. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No more.” He might’ve been crying. The part of him that had watched a lot of TV and movies told him that crying during sex was bad, but it didn’t feel bad to him. And it was sex, somehow. He was still hard. Hard to the point of dripping. He was pretty sure he’d been rubbing against the bed.
“You can take a lot more than this,” Sullivan said, not unkindly. “And you will.”
“Sullivan, please.”
“Color?”
Tobias sobbed once. “Green. God, green.”
“Take a breath.”
Tobias did.
“Another.”
He did that too. Sullivan leveraged him to his feet, then pushed him down on the mattress on his belly, easing his feet wide so that he was exposed.
“Between every blow, take a breath. Think of each blow as the first. Don’t tense up. Your mind will follow your body, so try to keep your body relaxed.”
Tobias sucked in another breath and another, and when he’d met some unknown criteria, Sullivan nodded his satisfaction and stepped back. Tobias knew what was coming, knew that he had to brace for it, but Sullivan had said not to. Sullivan had said breathe and don’t tense up.
He obeyed, and Sullivan hit him again.
It hurt. No amount of breathing could possibly take the pain away. But the brilliant agony stayed in his body, didn’t touch his mind. It hurt good, in a way that went beyond words. He’d never be able to explain why. It simply was. Sullivan was hurting him and Tobias liked it. His legs were spread wide open and he was exposed and humiliated, and he liked it.
That nervy urge to comply that he’d known every other time they had sex was finally building. All he had to do was breathe and be here. Sullivan would handle the rest. Sullivan was strong, Sullivan was in charge. Tobias could go away for a while, and Sullivan would take care of him. Tobias put his head down, breathed, and submitted.
He had no idea how much time went by. He only knew that sweet, perfect quiet, that warm, bubbling happiness brewing behind it.
At some point the pain hit a sharper note and Tobias felt a tiny tendril of worry in the quiet. Without thinking, he mumbled, “Yellow.”
Sullivan stopped. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s it. Good boy, Tobias. That’s perfect. I’m so proud of you.”
The praise slid into the quiet and he closed his eyes, shivering with the pleasure of it. He could sense Sullivan moving behind him, could feel hands on his body, on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. The skin felt tight and swollen and sensitive to the gentlest touch.
“You like this?” Sullivan asked.
Tobias nodded. Wet fingers slid inside him, opening him up, and he was so relaxed that it seemed effortless for his body to obey.
“You’re so good,” Sullivan whispered. “Look at you, so soft for me, you’re so good.”
Tobias made a wordless noise of contentment, the feeling of being full starting to creep up on him. Sullivan’s
