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He doesn't smile when you kiss him — unless you use your teeth.
He doesn't smile when your mouth finds his nipple — unless you bite, and bite hard.
He doesn't smile when you're gentle, when you're touch is so light it just teases.
He doesn't smile when you whisper, your breath warm against his skin, your words soft.
He doesn't smile when you run your fingers through his hair; he doesn't smile when you prep him, when you make sure it feels good and that he's ready; he doesn't smile when you stop to check if he's okay, when you hear that cry of pain and go still, kiss him on the lips, ask if he's alright.
He doesn't smile when you tell him that you love him.
He smiles when you hurt him; he laughs when you ask him for a safeword. Be sure to hurt him, then. Be sure to bruise him; make him bleed; dislocate his shoulder; kick him, slap him, humiliate him, scrape his knees and leave open gashes on his back; shove his face into the carpet; make him choke on your cock; leave him black and blue, take him to the brink of consciousness or further if you need to. Choke him. Bite him. Kick him. Beat him.
Otherwise you'll break him.
Otherwise you'll never see that smile.
That's all.