Archive of Our Own

Colt and Ryland have decided to explore his thing with pain a little bit further. That being, experimenting during sex.

They have an extensive talk about it. Mostly about what Colt’s limits are, which is unsurprisingly almost nothing. Though he makes sure to draw the line at anything like knife play and tries not to laugh at Ryland’s horrified expression.

Ryland then makes him explicitly state what he is and isn’t okay with, and the former ends up being a much longer list. They discuss what Ryland’s okay with doing as well. What his limits are. It’s a very productive conversation.

The thing is… they don’t really do, like, full BDSM scenes or anything. 

Colt is submissive more often than not because he’s a service top by default and Ryland is great with handling that side of him, but they don’t really do anything explicitly kinky.

This whole pain thing? It’s very markedly a kinky thing. 

Not to mention the fact that Ryland would be the one inflicting it, so that automatically kinda meant he’d be dominating. In his own Ryland Grace way.

Colt’s naturally impulsive and often excited about things that have to do with Ryland, so he eagerly agreed to Ryland being more dominant and tried not to shiver too visibly about what that would look or sound like.

Ryland’s a soft guy, gentle and kind by nature. But Colt knows intimately that that’s not all Ryland is capable of. 

Sure, he’s kind, but he’s got bite. And he’s bossy and sassy and often stubborn, putting up with zero bullshit. In the right scenario, that could become prime put-Colt-in-his-place energy.

Not that Colt needs to be put into his place during sex considering he’s all about doing what makes Ryland feel good, but just… hypothetically.

So he gets all excited about it, and then… the next time they have sex, Colt kinda forgets completely about the whole talk. 

Not because it wasn’t important to him! It’s mostly because he’s always very, very happy to be intimate with his brother like this. So anything else not related to the moment slips his mind. 

Ryland clearly did not forget the talk.

It starts pretty normally. Foreplay and kissing and Ryland opening up around Colt’s fingers. All fantastic things. 

Then they move on to the main course, so to speak.

Ryland tells him, “Slowly, Colt,” and Colt doesn’t take that as anything even close to a command. It doesn’t register in his unsuspecting brain.

To him, it’s a suggestion. A “this is what’ll make me feel good right now” pointer. 

Above all, it’s a chide at Colt’s eagerness.

Nevertheless, Colt nods and adjusts accordingly. He sets his pace as something sweeter, taking his time with it, grabbing the back of Ryland’s knee and dipping his head to kiss his thigh before he spreads it back open.

It’s good. Great, even. Just like it is every time. Colt gets lost in it, the heat and Ryland’s tightness and the flush coloring him red from the chest up. He’s so gorgeous it hurts like a spike to the chest sometimes.

It’s when Colt picks up speed, some of that intensity creeping back in now that he’s all worked up and sweaty and panting, that Ryland speaks.

“Pull out.”

Colt’s insides freeze. 

Ryland’s breathing heavy too, and he’s been muffling sounds of pleasure into his own hand, but… was Colt not…

Colt slows to a stop, that eager pleasure fading away. After a moment to process that yes, Ryland did actually just say that, he gasps, “Wha—”

“Pull out,” Ryland repeats, with absolutely zero change in inflection. His eyes are steady and unwavering when Colt searches for them. 

He’s being serious.

His tone pokes at something stored in Colt’s brain. A memory. It unspools in his head, his own voice echoing back to him about him and Ryland experimenting a bit in the bedroom.

Exploring his pain kink. 

Ryland being more dominant.

Oh.

Heart thudding up into his throat, Colt swallows and obeys, carefully retreating and shivering at the feeling of Ryland’s hole clinging to him like it doesn’t want him to leave. But he does, despite the wrongness of the feeling. 

The air in their bedroom isn’t cold, necessarily, but it is much less warm than Ryland’s insides, and Colt bites his lip at the loss of sensation. At the drastic change in temperature against his cock.

Colt feels like a scolded puppy when he settles awkwardly back on his haunches. If he’s honest, he might start whining like one too.

Colt’s initial attempt to speak breaks apart in his throat before the first word, so he clears it and tries again. “Is everything… okay?”

Ryland doesn’t answer that. At least not with words; his eyes go soft, that unwavering seriousness fading away. 

It’s such a slight shift, but relief floods through Colt all the same.

Ryland’s eyes hold his gaze for a long, extended moment of silent communication. Searching for Colt’s consent, for the confirmation. Have you caught on? Is this okay? Do you want to keep going?

Colt gives a tiny nod, heartbeat quick in his chest, blood thrumming in his veins. He’s… excited. Nervously excited. Colt wants to know what Ryland has in store. 

The unknown is part of the appeal, Colt thinks. He knows Ryland knows what he likes. Not only because they talked about it, but because they’re twins. They know each other.

So, everything’s fine. This is… part of it. The start of it, actually.

“Come here?” Ryland then beckons. His voice is gentle, but it’s not a request despite the lilt to it. It’s a command. 

There’s an undertone of something disapproving in his tone. Or maybe disappointed. Colt feels his metaphorical tail droop even as his nape starts to tingle.

Regardless, he obeys, twitching into movement and leaning back up and over Ryland’s body. Shifting his weight to the hands pressed either side of him. He leans down, helpless with seeking Ryland’s heat, his presence. 

Wide-eyed and nervous, Colt waits for the next instruction.

Ryland doesn’t smile, but his eyes crease a little. “Back up a bit,” he says.

Wordlessly and without hesitation, Colt does just that. So there’s more space between them, not crowding as much. He doesn’t know what Ryland wants to do, but Colt will make it happen. 

Or maybe… let it happen? He’ll be good. And he’ll probably enjoy it.

Colt’s blinking the sweat out of his eyes when his head suddenly snaps to the side with a delayed smack. 

A punched-out breath leaves him before he even processes what happened. 

…His cheek stings. It quickly blooms into a simmering heat that spreads from the point of contact, sinking into his bloodstream like poison. It’s a familiar sensation, though the context couldn’t be more different.

Realization dawns slow and disbelieving.

Wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, Colt realizes Ryland just… slapped him.

Colt’s cock twitches. Hard.

Oh. Oh, fuck. So that’s how they’re doing this.

“Look at me,” comes Ryland’s voice, firm and low. Not mean, just… commanding.

Oh god. Oh god.

Colt chokes on his next breath, swallowing back the whimper crawling up his throat. He turns his head.

He feels like he should’ve expected it, but he still gasps at the proceeding hit upon his other cheek. 

A bright flash of stars, a split second of utter stillness in which his entire body freezes in reaction, in shock, chest jumping with the frantic skip of his pulse. And then sensation fades back in within the next half second, and Colt is left panting as his face gains another new blood-hot tingle of pain. 

A tingle that seems to travel all the way down south, transforming into pleasure along the way, tangling in his gut and turning the blaze of his arousal into an inferno. He feels himself pulse in response.

Fuck.

Colt groans, utterly ruined. 

The sound of Ryland’s palm cracking against his skin echoes in his ears. Twice. Twice. Colt’s so turned on he can’t feel his toes. His dick is probably leaking.

Without having to be told, Colt quickly reorients his head, blinking the lingering stars out of his eyes. He can tell he’s heaving for breath, each one ragged and uneven, but he barely feels the ache in his chest, head spinning.

Ryland’s hand raises to Colt’s cheek. 

Colt doesn’t flinch, but he does still and hold his breath, waiting in anticipation for another hit. His heart is thundering in his chest, battering against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

Ryland doesn’t slap him again. Instead, he overlays his palm over the mark he just left on Colt’s right cheek and forces him to maintain eye contact.

It’s a little hard when Colt’s starting to feel fuzzy from the mixture of unadulterated arousal and stinging pain, but he manages. The corners of his vision start to blur.

Ryland’s a captivating sight, flushed cheeks and ruffled hair and beading sweat. Especially with an expression like that, low brows and shining eyes. 

Colt wants to worship him until there’s nothing left. Let him be the lamb to the slaughter. If it’s for Ryland, Colt will do anything.

Ryland wordlessly checks in again, waiting for Colt to understand the searching look in his eyes. Making sure he’s still okay with this. His thumb gives a sweet little stroke when Colt nods with very poorly contained lust.

“I told you to go slowly, and you didn’t,” Ryland then says, reprimanding. “You have to listen to me, Colt.” 

Colt swallows roughly and isn’t able to respond before Ryland’s continuing, “Or I’ll punish you. Do you understand that?”

So that was a punishment? Because he didn’t obey properly?

Colt’s spine tingles at the suggestion of more, a fine shiver traveling to his fingertips, goosebumps rising in its wake. Holy fudging hell.

He doesn’t want to disobey; he wants Ryland to feel good. But… if disobeying means Ryland slaps him again…

Colt whimpers in the back of his throat. Still, he nods, unsure of the last time he blinked.

Ryland raises an unimpressed brow. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” Colt immediately gasps. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Ryland gentles his touch, fingers softly caressing the heated skin of Colt’s cheek, down to his beard. Then leaving altogether. “Now, go slow.”

Colt’s having a very hard time breathing. His voice trembles when he speaks. “Okay.”

He carefully lines himself back up, dragging a wet fist down his shaft to slick it up again. Colt fights not to fuck into his own grip, cheeks burning, breaching Ryland’s hole agonizingly slow. He stares with wide, stinging eyes as the pucker opens up for him and Ryland sighs. 

It still fucks Colt up, every time he watches how his brother’s hole stretches to accommodate him. Like maybe this time, it won’t fit. But it always does. 

A few breathless seconds later and the head pops in, Ryland’s tight heat enveloping him once more. Colt shivers all the way to his teeth. 

Immediately his instincts are jumping and screeching to bury himself in the warmth, to let go of control and fuck until they both reach their peak. 

But that’s not what Ryland wants.

And so, Colt continues pushing in at that same snail’s-pace. Even as his head swims with heated fog that only thickens with every centimeter further into Ryland’s body.

He feels like he’s in a sauna, inhaling humid air that never fills his lungs fully. Or like he’s gradually being dunked into hot water; heated pants and dripping sweat and full-body flush.

When he’s far enough inside Ryland to safely remove his hands, Colt grips his brother’s waist with desperate strength. 

He can’t find the breath to speak, to ask, Like this? so Colt instead darts his eyes repeatedly to Ryland’s face to check his expression. 

To see if he’s doing it right, if it’s slow enough. If he’s obeying this time.

Ryland’s also staring down at where they connect, at where Colt’s not even halfway inside. His lips are parted, soft, almost audible pants leaving him. 

Colt wants to see that expression screw up with pleasure. Wants to slam the rest of the way in and watch Ryland’s lidded eyes widen in shock.

Watch them roll back as he fucks hard and fast.

Colt ruthlessly shoves those thoughts as far down as possible, stomping on them for good measure. Not right now. Focus. Do as you’re told.

When Colt’s about halfway sheathed, Ryland’s eyes flutter shut with a soft, breathy groan that goes straight to his gut. 

Colt’s pulse spikes, a violent jolt of heat that ricochets through the rest of him. It takes an immense amount of self-control to stop his hips from jumping at the surge of arousal. 

Slow. Slow. Ryland said to go slow. 

“Yeah,” Ryland breathes, then goes mmmh. “That’s good, Colt. Like that.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck.

Colt hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, fingers flexing around Ryland’s waist. 

Praise always breaks him down, lowers his defenses quicker than anything else. It also turns him the fuck on. 

Ryland knows that. Very very well. He knew exactly what effect the praise after the degrading slaps would have on Colt.

You messed up, but now you’re doing good. Doing it right. You’re fixing it.

Colt stifles another whimper, feeling his cock kick from its spot nestled inside Ryland’s walls. Slow, slow, slow, he frantically chants to himself. 

This is going to be a blissful torture.

His cheeks feel like they’re on fire, both from his own flush and Ryland’s slaps. The sting still lingers, now bloomed into an ache that makes his temples pulse. It only amplifies the pleasure.

The rest of Colt is tensed up in a desperate attempt to hold himself back, to keep sliding in inch by careful inch. His breath keeps getting stuck in his throat, hitching out of his chest in bursts. Occasionally, a half-strangled whine escapes him. 

He sounds like a wounded animal.

It feels like an eternity of struggling breaths and encompassing heat before Colt’s hips finally meet the backs of Ryland’s thighs and he gasps out an exhale. 

But there isn’t any relief. Not… not yet.

Now what? Colt wants to ask, but something in him says it’d be a good idea to stay quiet. He listens.

Trembling, Colt waits, stare zeroed in on Ryland’s face. He’s biting his lip. 

Every second feels like it drags on further than the one before it, but Colt holds still and waits for the next command. For the go ahead. 

No matter how badly he wants to move, he won’t. He’ll be good.

Ryland opens his eyes. Hooded, swimming with pleasure, he looks down at Colt. He must like whatever he finds, because he smiles.

“Look at you,” he coos. “Waiting like a good boy. Go on.”

Colt doesn’t do jack shit to stifle his resulting whine. Good boy. Ryland thinks he’s good.

Like a good boy, Colt obeys. Ryland holds his gaze as he carefully pulls out an inch or two and pushes back in. Colt’s nerves light up, sensation racing along his skin. 

Finally, movement. His fingers start tingling.

Colt moans on his next breath, eyes briefly slipping shut. God… Ryland’s still deliciously tight and very warm. Colt wants to bury the entirety of himself into his brother’s body. Wants to fuck in hard and deep and never leave, just keep making Ryland feel good until the end of time. 

But he doesn’t. He wouldn’t. Despite the frantic heat licking up Colt’s gut and bleeding into the rest of him, he doesn’t speed up. 

Because Ryland didn’t say to go faster. He just said go on.

Colt’s good at listening. Especially to Ryland. If this is what Ryland wants, Colt will gladly obey.

He dares to pull out further on the next thrust, strangling back a curse at the drag of Ryland’s walls. Fuck.

Back and forth, out and in, Colt keeps pace, even though his skin crawls with the need to speed up and the tight-leashed control he has on himself begins to fray.

He completely loses any sense of time, after that. He’s probably left bruises in the shape of his hands on Ryland’s hips at this point, with how hard he’s been squeezing to control himself. He tries to loosen the grip, to ease up. He’s not sure he succeeds.

Despite the lack of any proper stimulation, Colt feels strung-out, sensitive. Each meeting of his hips against Ryland’s thighs sends little spikes of pleasure skittering along his nerves. There’s an occasional clench around his length. 

It’s good, but it’s not enough.

Colt has to remind himself that this isn’t about him. It’s about being good for Ryland, because above all else, that’s what matters to him. But he’s on edge.

He starts trembling at one point, panting like he’s fucking rough and frantic. Ryland’s moans and little sounds of pleasure just keep sending heat spiraling further and further into his gut, stoking that inferno into something that feels desperate and hungry. 

Ryland breathes, “Just like that. Good,” and Colt feels the fog in his head wrap around his brain, his thoughts, until the only thing he’s focused on is Ryland. On keeping himself in check. 

He feels dizzy, drunk on his brother’s heat, the slickness, the sounds. The praise.

Even the tiniest slips of control feel like they have the power to derail this whole thing. Colt’s good. He can do this. But it’s hard. His hips keep trying to instinctually speed up. Every time, he has to gasp and wrangle himself back into control.

The leash is so tight it might as well be suffocating. It almost feels physical, real, with the way Colt just can’t seem to catch his breath.

He wants to go fast. He wants to feel good. 

Colt feels sweat slip down his brow, jaw clenched tight, trying to ignore the increasing urge to give up and chase his own pleasure eating him from the inside out. It scratches at his spine, sends impulses to his muscles that he refuses to give in to. 

Because more than anything, he wants to obey.

His blood is too warm in his veins, his heartbeat a loud pulse in his ears. It feels intoxicating and never-ending and torturous.

Colt’s so deep in his own head, fighting against the sensation of spine-tingling pleasure that whispers it could feel better if he went harder, faster— that he isn’t aware Ryland had moved until there’s a significantly lewder moan from the direction of the pillows.

Colt’s eyes snap open to the sight of Ryland with his own cock in hand, jerking himself at a much faster pace than Colt’s hips are going. Ryland’s head is tossed to the side, his bare neck pale and shiny with sweat, chest heaving.

He’s flushed down to his stomach, spread out beneath Colt like a forbidden temptation. He’s breathtaking.

He’s also looking right at Colt, a dark heat in his eyes that strips Colt bare right down to bone.

Holy fuck. 

He’s never seen Ryland look at him like that before.

Colt’s gut pulses. Something inside him crumbles.

He stills himself buried deep in Ryland’s heat and shakes. “Please,” he begs, whiny and pathetic. “Please let me speed up. I’m— Ry, fuck, please.”

Colt’s two seconds away from saying fuck it and speeding up regardless, because he doesn’t dislike the idea of being punished for it. 

But the part of his lizard brain that demands he take is much quieter than the part of his brain that stores all the devotion he has for Ryland. It’s obscured by fog, superseded by Colt’s current desire to obey.

It continues to win, over and over, every time. 

Colt wants to be good. He wants Ryland to feel good, more than he wants himself to. His own pleasure is irrelevant right now unless Ryland tells him otherwise.

But still, he can’t stop himself from begging for it.

“It’ll feel good, I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I—” Ryland’s strokes are slick-sounding, and he’s so tight around Colt’s cock, and Colt starts to feel dizzy with his desperation. “Please? Please, please, please—”

“No,” Ryland pants. He groans on the next rapid breath. “I want to come like this. Can you— Ah— make that happen? Be a good boy?”

Ryland’s voice is pitchy, a moan in every other word. Colt gets so distracted by the incredible sound of it that it takes him a couple seconds to process the actual words spoken.

He almost starts crying.

No?

Something about the restraint of the pace, about the plain denial from Ryland and the implication that he’s using Colt for his own pleasure, is guiding Colt further into the murky waters of foggy bliss where nothing but pleasing Ryland matters. 

Ryland’s in control. 

Colt gladly hands it, and himself, over. He sinks into the hazy depths.

“‘m good,” Colt whines. “I’ll be good. Promise.” He nods dumbly to himself, readjusting to hopefully nudge Ryland’s prostate with each thrust instead of just brushing past it.

And then Colt’s resuming the torturous, dragging pace, whimpering open-mouthed at every beautiful moan that falls from Ryland’s lips. At the way his walls clench up tight while he works to get himself off.

Colt distantly wonders if he will come like this. If he’s allowed to. He hadn’t thought to ask.

He’s too focused, too hazy, to speak now and do it, but the suggestion of an orgasm on the horizon suddenly seems much more possible than it was twenty seconds ago. 

Oh, god. Is he gonna have to hold that back, too? Colt assumes he will. It’s not about him, after all.

Ryland will tell him. He’ll know. All Colt has to focus on is this; in, out. In, out. His task, what he’s good for. Deep enough to make Ryland’s breaths stutter, for him to moan yes, yes. 

But he doesn’t tell Colt to speed up. Just keens, “Right there,” and starts to writhe on Colt’s cock as the pleasure ratchets up inside him.

Colt has no idea how this is enough for Ryland to come. He’s almost in awe. 

Then he starts to wonder if it’s not really about the cock inside him at all, and is more about how Colt’s mindlessly obeying him despite being so desperate for it he’s near tears.

Colt goes lightheaded at the thought. Of Ryland being so turned on about how good Colt is, how well he’s listening, that he can come from it. 

Oh, fuck. Colt might come from it. He feels suffocatingly hot all over. His body might be untethering from his mind, he’s gone all fuzzy.

“Ryland,” he gasps, watching his brother’s hand stutter in its rhythm, “can I— Am I—” 

He’s unable to finish the sentence, but Ryland hears the unspoken words anyways. 

“Not yet,” he commands, breathy. His free hand flies to Colt’s wrist. “Come- come here.”

Not yet.

Colt makes a sound embarrassingly close to a sob. He keeps one hand on Ryland’s waist and uses the other to hold his weight as he, as always, obeys. 

The further he bends, the deeper his cock slides, Ryland’s hips hitching against his own. Colt’s unable to even moan at the feeling before Ryland’s tangling his fingers in his hair and yanking him into a filthy kiss.

Colt can feel the back of Ryland’s hand moving against his navel, still stroking himself with desperate speed even as their tongues tangle. It’s devastating.

Colt whines into the kiss, into Ryland’s mouth. His head feels full of cotton, too much heat stuck between his ears and slowing his brain. He can’t multitask, can’t kiss Ryland back and maintain the slow pace at the same time. 

Panting, Colt groans, “I can’t—”

Ryland gets a firm grip on Colt’s hair and pulls.

Colt’s head gets wrenched painfully back, and he makes a wounded, guttural sound through his teeth. The sharp sting wraps around his scalp and cascades down his spine with surging heat. 

Colt’s mouth drops open. His vision goes hazy around the edges. Orgasm creeps up on his senses, just out of reach. Dangerously close. 

“You can,” Ryland demands, voice quivering, face flushed and twisted with pleasure. “I’m so close, Colt. Come on, be- be good. Make me come.”

The sting travels to Colt’s eyes. Heat blooms behind them, and then his hips are moving before his brain really tells them to. 

Without thought. Just pure, obedient muscle memory. Still slow. Still good.

“Good boy,” Ryland breathes fervently. His breath hitches around his next moan. “You’re doing so good, Colt. L-Listening to me, do- mmming what I say. Fuh— Oh god, Colt—”

Ryland’s hand falls to Colt’s shoulder where his nails dig in deep as he tightens up and moans high and strung-out. 

Colt watches his eyes roll back and doesn’t dare to even breathe as he fucks Ryland through his orgasm. All else falls away.

Colt stops feeling the rest of his body, a tingling fire consuming him in tandem with Ryland’s peak. He doesn’t think. Not of his own pleasure, not of his speed. All Colt focuses on is Ryland’s face, his sounds. How to keep him in that high for as long as possible.

Colt’s arm starts to shake at the same time Ryland’s hand slows its rapid strokes. He’s so tight Colt can barely pull out with his thrusts, but he does his goddamn best, only stopping when Ryland shudders to stillness, heaving for breath.

Colt gasps in a shaky breath of his own, static roaring to life in his head as his lungs recover. He feels like there’s sparks popping inside his veins.

Ryland always looks incredible when he comes, even when Colt can’t see his face. The way he looks like the pleasure overtakes his entire body, like he loses control of what his limbs are doing as his brain whites out…

It’s one of the many reasons Colt’s so adamant about Ryland’s pleasure. On getting him to that gorgeous point where he’s shivering in ecstasy and his moans go all high and pitchy. He sometimes groans after, a dramatically lower sound of pure satisfaction. It makes Colt’s stomach flip.

Ryland’s hand releases Colt’s shoulder, and the biting sting speaks to another couple lines scratched down his skin, but Colt welcomes the feeling. He’s always loved the marks Ryland gives him. 

Pinpricks of fire tingle up his shoulder and into his scalp. He’s hazy with heat, so deep in it he doesn’t know what’s pain and what’s not. All of it feels good.

The first thing Ryland says after he’s gone limp and opened his eyes is, “You’re still shaking.”

Colt just blinks, barely cognizant. He feels fuzzy, waiting for the next instruction. The next command. “Huh?”

Ryland glides his palm up Colt’s trembling forearm, the only one holding his weight up, because he’s pretty sure he can’t remove his other hand from its spot at Ryland’s waist. It might be stuck there forever.

Up the forearm, to the bicep, across Colt’s collarbones, a teasing dip down his chest. Everywhere Ryland touches, the shake seems to spread. Colt whimpers.

Ryland smiles at the sound, fingertips pressing into his skin. “Can you pull out?”

Compared to the first way he said it, it’s far kinder. Like he’s asking Colt to do him a favor, instead of commanding him to.

Colt doesn’t even question it.

“Okay,” he rasps. He appreciates having been told to do something, even if there’s a sinking feeling in his chest as he once again leaves the warmth of Ryland’s walls.

Colt tries not to stare for too long at the shine on his cock, how he’s so hard his length bobs. His eyes crawl up Ryland’s gorgeous cum-streaked body and back to his face. 

He’s still smiling, almost… approvingly?

The static in Colt’s head starts to spread to the rest of him as he returns to position, but it’s a pleasant feeling. He’s not entirely sure if he can move his legs; he can barely feel them.

Ryland takes Colt’s face in one hand, thumb and fingers pressed to either cheek. He tilts Colt’s head side to side like he’s appraising him. Colt lets it happen without complaint. Ryland’s touch feels nice.

“Very good,” is Ryland’s verdict. “My good boy.” He pauses as Colt’s racing heart stutters. “But you sped up at the end there, didn’t you?”

Colt’s brain loops my good boy until the words lose all meaning. He’s so warm all over he doesn’t think it’ll ever leave. He hopes it doesn’t, even if it feels like his blood has been replaced by pure electricity. 

I’m Ryland’s good boy.

“Colt,” Ryland calls, waiting for Colt to focus back on his face. He isn’t smiling anymore. “You sped up, didn’t you?”

It takes a couple seconds to register Ryland’s tone. 

Disappointed. 

Colt’s breath stutters.

His mouth opens and closes soundlessly for a few seconds. It probably looks really stupid, considering Ryland’s fingers are squishing his cheeks. Colt’s having a hard time processing things at the moment.

“…What?” he eventually manages, small and helpless.

Ryland holds him there for just a couple more seconds, and then he’s dropping his grip and sliding his hand into Colt’s hair instead. He brushes through the damp strands stuck to Colt’s temple unblinkingly. 

This time, when Ryland’s fingers tangle in his hair, it’s a gentle touch. Without command, no promise of pain. Colt’s scalp tingles.

“I know,” Ryland soothes. “You didn’t mean to. Just wanted me to feel good, right?”

Colt feels the trembling in his muscles sink through to his bones. “I… I didn’t… I wasn’t…” 

He doesn’t have an explanation. He was so focused on Ryland, on how he looked and sounded, he wasn’t focused at all on his own movements. He just wanted to prolong Ryland’s orgasm. 

He wasn’t really using conscious thought. He kinda can’t.

So he just… unwillingly disobeyed? Colt’s mind has been disconnecting from his body since Ryland denied him control, swimming in the tingly haze of pain and pleasure and obedience. He couldn’t possibly have- have known.

But Ryland knows that… right?

“I’m sorry,” Colt whispers anyways.

Ryland looks between his eyes, a faint frown on his face. Colt doesn’t know what he’s searching for, but he’s an open book right now. He couldn’t hide anything if he wanted to, not that he knows what he’d even be hiding in the first place. 

He can feel his heartbeat tripping over itself in his throat. He feels embarrassingly like he might cry.

“Okay,” Ryland eventually says. He combs his fingers through Colt’s hair a couple times. “That’s okay, I forgive you. You did good listening for so long. Did exactly what I told you to.”

Colt nods slowly, breath lagging, going labored. He sinks into the blissful sensation of being good again. Ryland forgives him. It’s okay.

“You can have the punishment anyways, if you want it,” Ryland continues. “Only if you want it. And then you can come however you’d like to.” 

He strokes his thumb across Colt’s brow, hand sliding to cup his cheek in a mockery of the way he did earlier. 

After he slapped Colt. Twice.

Colt’s body jolts at the reminder of the sensation. Of the way stars exploded behind his eyes and white-hot arousal sparked through his veins. 

Of how much he liked it.

The heat sitting dormant in Colt’s gut reignites so abruptly he feels like he chokes on it. He suddenly wants with such intensity that it makes him shiver.

“You can say no, Colt,” Ryland gently reminds him.

“No,” Colt immediately says, then shakes his head. “I mean– Yes. Yes, please. No to the- the no. I want the punishment.” He swallows roughly, now shaking with poorly-restrained excitement. “Please.”

Ryland smiles fondly. “Okay.” 

He keeps Colt’s eyes on him, genuine sincerity in his gaze. “This… might sound contradictory, but this punishment is because you were good. Because you want it. Right?”

“Yes,” Colt breathes, shifting restlessly on his knees. There’s sparks crackling up into his lungs. “Yes. I want it.”

“And you deserve to get what you want,” Ryland says warmly, eyes going soft. “My good boy.”

Colt might burst from his own skin. The praise sinks through his skull and settles right into his brain, warm and addicting. He nods while the pleasant fuzz returns, the feeling of cotton stuffed in between all the gaps of his head. 

He’s good. He’s good. He’s getting what he wants because he’s good. 

Colt’s breathing speeds up when Ryland’s hand leaves him. 

There’s no warning, no countdown; Colt’s head snaps to the side with the sharp crack of skin against skin. 

He moans behind closed lips, shivering as the familiar pain stings and blooms, sinks heat into his bloodstream that shoots down to his cock with a jolt of pleasure. He’s hard again like he never flagged in the first place.

Colt pants, eyes going lidded. When he returns his head into position, he isn’t given a second to recover. Ryland slaps him the other way.

It’s an explosion of sensation, enough to make him blink out of existence for the split second it takes for his body to process it. 

That was… that was a backhanded slap.

Ryland just backhanded him. Holy shit.

That’s different. Different than a palm. Still Ryland’s hand, still a bright sting, but more concentrated. Harsher. Colt feels the pleasure diffuse through his entire body, stars encroaching on his vision. 

His fingers clench into the sheets, two desperate fistfuls as the pain snakes along his skin and sets his nerves ablaze.

“Fuck,” he moans with a ragged exhale. On the inhale, he begs, “Again.”

Ryland rubs his thumb into Colt’s other cheek when he once again recovers, like he’s rubbing the pain deeper into his skin. Trying to make the blood that rushes to the surface burn even hotter. Colt’s surprised there’s any blood left in his head. It feels like it’s all rushed downwards.

His face throbs. Ryland’s touch lights up the sensitive nerves, exacerbating the sting and dragging it out into a fiery pain that travels up to his temples and gathers behind his eyes. 

Colt whines breathlessly, vision blurry.

“I’ve got you,” Ryland murmurs. “One more.”

Colt’s yes please gets strangled halfway out of his mouth with the next and final slap. Open palm, an echo of sound. 

It sends him reeling, lightheaded and dizzy as he drags in desperate breaths that hurt his throat. Ryland’s got one hell of a left hand on him. It hurts. It feels so good. 

Colt feels his wires crossing in real time. The white-out of coherent thought making way for the fuzzy overwhelm of pain given for pleasure. He slips gladly into the haze.

“Now,” Ryland says, while Colt’s head drops and a tremor overtakes his entire body, “how do you want to come?”

Come? 

Colt gasps in a high-pitched breath. “I get to…?” 

Ryland sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “Mhm. However you want.”

Colt whines brokenly. He hiccups, and the sting in his eyes finally overflows into tears, dripping down his blazing cheeks and landing on Ryland’s chest. He feels like he’s buzzing.

Choice. He gets to choose.

Colt struggles to scramble together his coherency. Trying to grasp onto thoughts, to go through the many options and decide on one, feels like trying to catch a cloud. Whenever he gets close, it slips through his fingers like it was never there to begin with.

Decide. Decide.

He doesn’t know. He should know. Ryland’s expecting him to.

Colt feels like all of his bones have been replaced by hot coals, burning him from the inside out. He’s all floaty, high on the pain that’s started to trickle down to his neck. His head is fully submerged in the hot water, cloudy and blissful.

Decide?

Isn’t Ryland supposed to decide for him?

Stomach tumbling, chest stuttering, Colt can only whine again.

Ryland’s hand finds Colt’s nape, a grounding, comforting touch. He hums soothingly. 

“Alright, then, how about this.” Colt latches onto his low, gentle voice with fervor. “Nod your head for outside, shake your head for inside. Those are your only choices, just the two.”

Okay, only two choices. That narrows it down. 

Colt drags in a shaky breath, trying to fill his lungs to full capacity. When his head sinks further with his exhale, Ryland’s hand follows, still resting on his nape.

Outside or inside…

He shivers. Shakes his head. “Inside.”

“Good,” Ryland praises, and a bright fuzziness unfurls in Colt’s chest. “Now, same thing. Two choices: nod for my ass, shake your head for my mouth.”

The murky haze Colt’s brain is swimming in parts enough for him to grasp onto a singular coherent thought: No wonder Ry’s a teacher.

Immediately following that is a bright flare of heat settled low in his gut. Inside Ryland. He feels himself twitch. Colt nods.

“Good,” Ryland repeats. He scratches lightly at the damp hair matted at Colt’s nape.

Colt sniffles, blinking any remaining tears from his eyes as he raises his head. Ryland’s smiling, small and genuine. 

Colt feels settled by the softness, the steady touch. “Is that… okay? I want… I know you—”

“However you want,” Ryland reiterates. “It’s very okay.” He wipes his dirty hand on the sheets and settles both of them on Colt’s back. 

He then pointedly tugs at Colt’s weight, forcing him to jerk his other arm up to catch himself before he smushes Ryland into the bed. Ryland’s eyes are bright and much closer than before, now that Colt’s on his forearms.

Ryland even spreads his legs open further to make room, nudging his heel coaxingly into the back of Colt’s thigh. Colt gets distracted by the closeness, the heat Ryland’s radiating. The approaching promise of being allowed to come inside.

His breathing goes shaky. He leans in and kisses the corner of Ryland’s mouth, whimpering faintly at the subsequent curl of his lips. There’s a click, and then Ryland’s nudging his nose against Colt’s, slotting their lips properly together.

He’s warm. Tastes good. 

Colt pulls back when he feels Ryland shift, blinking dumbly as his brother reaches down between them.

Ryland completely bypasses his own length to instead wrap his fingers around Colt’s. They’re wet, though Colt doesn’t know how.

He jolts at the touch, cock jerking, a high-pitched and strangled sound caught in his throat. Oh—

Ryland just sucks in a breath and helps guide Colt back to his entrance. Colt tries to duck his head down to watch, but then the tip of his cock meets Ryland’s hole and he’s struggling to just keep his eyes open and his arms from giving out on him.

Colt’s body does more work than his brain does in actually getting back inside Ryland. All he can feel is Ryland’s hand, holding him steady. The pulsing flame in his stomach that’s making it hard to breathe again. His cheeks still sting.

This is the most stimulation Colt’s gotten since they first started. He’s so hard he feels like he’ll burst. The heat in his gut starts to numb him from the inside out. 

Oh, god. 

He pops through, and then Ryland’s retracting his hand, lifting it to join the other over Colt’s back. Colt catches his eyes, waiting for permission. Ryland nods, looking endeared.

Colt watches for any flickers of pain or hints to stop as he pushes in, slow and careful. There isn’t any. Just his brother’s captivating blues, swallowed by his pupils. Beautiful.

Ryland’s tight and hot, almost unbelievably so. If Colt’s brain cells were scrambled before, now it feels like they’re melting out of his ears. 

It looks like Ryland’s holding his breath, and his lashes flutter when Colt bottoms out. Pretty. So pretty.

Colt doesn’t know what to focus on; Ryland’s beautiful face, or the velvet caress of his walls. His brain feels fried. Overworked. 

He can’t divide his attention, so he doesn’t. 

He feels it all. 

It’s ruining, the tremble in Colt’s core from the sheer amount of sensation flooding through him. He hasn’t even started moving yet and he already feels a touch away from losing it, finally being granted what he was denied. 

It feels all-consuming.

Ryland’s gotta still be uncomfortably sensitive, but he does nothing but smile when Colt holds himself carefully still, buried deep inside. He’s only vaguely aware of the way he’s whimpering on every breath. 

Instinctually, Colt waits for the next command. For the confirmation. Ryland’s still in control.

“You can move, Colt,” Ryland tells him. He sounds so gentle. Patient.

“Okay.” Colt’s voice is more breath than actual sound. A wrecked, trembling whisper. 

Colt shifts his weight back testingly, keeping himself in Ryland’s embrace as he wraps his own arms firmly around his brother’s very warm and very solid torso. He pulls Ryland into his chest, uncaring of the drying cum squishing between their bodies. Colt buries his face in Ryland’s neck and holds him tight.

When Colt shifts again to give an experimental thrust, a slow pull out and push back in, he shivers. Full-body. It travels from head to toe, zipping down his spine and making his muscles twitch. 

His blood feels like it’s buzzing, skin tingling all the way to his extremities. Movement, movement, movement, his brain sings. Colt gasps.

Ryland makes a stilted sound. Not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but he only holds Colt back just as hard. Embraces him with his entire body and urges him deeper.

Colt’s breaths rebound off Ryland’s skin and onto his own face, cheeks still blood-hot and aching from leftover sensation. It all gets tangled up in the pathways to and from his brain; Colt’s not sure where the pain ends and the pleasure begins.

There might not even be an end. It might just be all he is. Colt’s entire body throbs in one pulse of neverending pleasure.

He’s already embarrassingly close. “This won’t take long,” he chokes out.

“That’s okay,” Ryland says tenderly. He sighs, soft, and hitches his legs higher to cross his heels over Colt’s lower back. “I want you to feel good.”

Colt buries his keening whimper into Ryland’s skin. 

The orgasm that he’s been keeping at bay this whole time is finally within reach. Finally allowed. He doesn’t have to desperately hold himself back anymore. Ryland doesn’t want him to.

Colt can go at whatever pace he wants.

It’s one second between that thought and his brain processing it before he’s moving, fucking into Ryland’s body fast and sloppy. Finally relinquishing control and letting himself chase his own pleasure with explicit permission. Ryland makes a shocked little noise, jolting in Colt’s arms.

It’s nothing but relief. Colt’s nape starts tingling immediately, pleasure racing up his spine with every frantic pump of his hips. His nerves are so frayed they don’t know how to function. The heat just climbs and climbs and climbs.

Finally. Finally.

He can’t seem to get enough air in, quickly devolving into desperate gasps that make his head swim. Ryland’s scent is on every breath, sweat and musk and something uniquely freshly him. Colt finds he doesn’t mind the idea of passing out like this, drunk on bliss.

Ryland clutches at Colt’s heaving back, fingers slipping on the sweat. And even though being pressed this tight together doesn’t allow for much movement, Colt still manages. Short powerful thrusts and deep grinds that make his gut swoop.

He doesn’t need much, anyway. His orgasm is fast approaching. Muffled slaps of their skin meeting compound with Colt’s uncontrollable ah ah ahs, and his entire body burns with it. 

It’s fucking incredible.

Ryland starts to make little punched-out sounds of pleasure too, right into Colt’s ear. Breathy and tipping sporadically into low- or high-pitched. A whimper or two get mixed in. 

He’s warm and wet and amazing inside. Colt feels like he might explode. Or start crying again.

“Thank you,” Colt moans brokenly, rocketing towards his orgasm with dizzying speed. “Thank you, thank you, Ryland, thank you!”

On one particular snap of Colt’s hips, Ryland moans something that sounds more like a squeal. An overwhelmed, keening sound.

He then moans, “Oh my god, Colt,” and starts scrabbling for purchase up Colt’s back to his shoulders.

I’m making him feel good, something in Colt’s brain dumbly realizes. The part of his brain currently doused in a blissful fog. Again. Still.

Colt’s hips speed up of their own volition. There’s not really a steady rhythm, he’s too gone for that. He’s just doing whatever feels good, because Ryland wants him to do that. Because he deserves it.

Ryland’s started crying out little scattered praises between his moans, ‘good’ and ‘yes’, and his nails are deep in Colt’s skin, and Colt can feel his pulse rabbitting from the inside and the outside.

The heat inside of Colt builds, a wave of pleasure that feels intimidating in its intensity, too big for his skin to contain. He feels like he’s sucking in fire on every breath, like Ryland’s walls are squeezing the life out of him. He’s seconds away from leaving this plane of existence.

Sure enough, it’s barely a handful of thrusts later until Colt’s slamming deep with a sharp, keening cry and shaking through an orgasm that feels like it tears through him. 

His brain stutters into pure static as tingling fire burns his nerves to blissful ashes. His world erupts into a white nothingness.

He thinks he whimpers through the whole thing, wounded sounds that break apart with every jerk of his hips as he empties himself, but he can’t be sure. The roaring fuzz in his head spreads to the rest of him, and he can barely remember to breathe as heat drenches his perception.

It’s possibly the hardest he’s ever come.

Colt floats there for a while in that ascended state, content to lose complete feeling in his body knowing Ryland has him. 

He fades back into reality an unknown amount of time later to the sensation of Ryland combing his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. 

Every time his hand reaches the bottom of Colt’s skull, he scratches lightly at the scruff at his nape before sliding back up into the longer strands. Over and over.

Colt shivers and melts. He squeezes the body in his arms, letting Ryland know he’s coming back down to Earth. He also tilts his head so he can breathe easier.

“…boy,” Ryland is saying, slightly muffled as the ringing in Colt’s ears gradually fades. “Good boy. You did so well. You were perfect for me, Colt. Thank you for listening.”

Colt mumbles happily, not any actual, real words. Just various incoherent sounds of contentment. It’s all he can really manage to do at the moment.

“My good boy,” Ryland praises. He drags his nails lightly down Colt’s scalp. “Did that feel good?”

Colt makes an enthusiastic affirmative sound. He tries to make it convey just how good that felt. That it wasn’t just “good,” it was literally mind-blowing. He probably doesn’t quite hit the mark.

Ryland seems to understand anyway. “Good. I’m glad.”

Colt lethargically tries to shift some of his weight off his brother and is unsuccessful. Ryland seems completely unbothered by it though, so he gives up. 

“You?” he rumbles, muffled.

“Yeah.” Ryland just keeps petting him, gentle touch easing Colt from the soupy haze of his brain. “The first time especially. You did amazing.”

Colt’s pretty sure he’d be purring if he were capable. Instead, he kisses whatever skin is in reach, breathing deep and calm. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt warmer than right now, in Ryland’s embrace.

Ryland’s hand has completed another few cycles of hair-petting before he speaks again. 

“I feel like I really almost got hard again at the end there, even with the sensitivity,” he says. “Maybe I have a thing for pain too.” A pause. “Or maybe you’re just too good at this.”

Wha…?

That throws Colt for such a violent loop that he goes hunh? He physically cannot process it. 

“I’m joking,” Ryland clarifies, humor in his voice. “Well, not the part about you being good. That’s true.” 

Colt soaks up the praise like a greedy sponge, smiling into his brother’s skin. There’s a steady pulse beneath his lips and fingers in his hair. It’s absolute bliss.

Ryland’s voice is a touch lower when he next speaks. Genuine. “I liked that more than I thought I would, actually, being dominant. You made some really good faces.”

Oh, great. 

Colt grumbles, his words slightly slurred. “Sounds embarrassing.”

“It was hot,” Ryland corrects. “And very cute. You beg like a little stray puppy.”

Colt squeezes him extra tight for that comment.

Ryland just laughs, tired-sounding. It’s nice.

Colt basks in the shared afterglow, feeling very pleasantly wrung out. He waits until he’s fully coherent and back on solid ground before attempting to move again. 

When he pulls back and resurfaces from the trapped heat of Ryland’s body, he feels faintly fuzzy all over and very warm. Satisfied bone-deep.

Pulling out is a slight ordeal, but Colt does it quick and careful, muttering a soft apology when Ryland twitches. He flops over his brother onto the bed next to him, springs creaking beneath his weight. 

“That was amazing,” Colt sighs to the ceiling. He rolls onto his side to find Ryland already watching him, head tilted in his direction. “Thank you. I, uh, really liked the slapping.”

Ryland smiles cheekily. “I could tell.” He’s still flushed all over, hair adorably messy. “Are you okay, though? I didn’t hit too hard?”

Colt props himself up on an elbow. Ryland’s eyes track the movement, bright and satisfied. A tad worried. 

“I feel like I think this every time we have sex,” Colt says, “but I’m pretty sure I’ve never been so turned on. It was perfect. You’re a natural.” 

The soreness might linger, but Colt’s actually perfectly okay with that. He kinda hopes it does.

Ryland huffs, worry fading. He looks pleased. Colt even spies some relief in there. 

So he was nervous about this whole thing. Good to know.

“I mean it,” Colt insists. He knows Ryland’s horrible with compliments, but that will not stop him from giving them. “I don’t know how you did all that so well.”

Ryland’s half-shy smile quickly turns into a smirk. “Research,” he says simply.

Colt goes ahh. He hadn’t had the foresight to do that. Too excited. “Of course.”

Ryland rolls over to properly face Colt. “Baths after are usually pretty good,” he says. “For aftercare.”

“Yeah.” Colt pauses. Blinks. “I think it’s a bit more complicated for us, though.”

Considering Ryland bottomed but was the dom… Who of the two of them would it even benefit more? It’s not like Ryland spanked Colt.

…Oh my god.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Not thinking about that. Not now, and not ever.

Ryland hums. “You have a point. Still a good idea though, considering the…” He gestures to the sticky mess on both their torsos.

Colt concedes to that. 

And it does end up being a good idea, even if it’s a little silly for the two of them to be sitting together in a tub, grown ass men that they are. 

It’s sweet. Relaxing. Ryland guides Colt between his legs and leans him back against his chest even though he’s less broad, and he washes the both of them like that, insisting that Colt just lay back and let him do the work. 

It goes against some of Colt’s fundamental beliefs to not give anything back, but he folds like a wet noodle the moment Ryland’s voice goes all low and sincere when he says please. 

Colt then gets to experience the pleasure of Ryland’s fingers in his hair again, the murmured sweet nothings and kisses pressed into his skin making him tingly and melty all over.

Ryland even lets Colt twist around and cup his face for a kiss or two. It’s slow and gentle and tender, and when they pull back Ryland kisses each of Colt’s cheeks, right over the fading marks. 

He lets Colt guide their lips back together and mutters an “I love you” into the miniscule space between them. 

Colt makes sure to say it back as many times as he possibly can before Ryland’s forcibly silencing him with another kiss and then threatening to flick soap into his eyes.

Well, he says as much, but he only ends up laughing when Colt ducks into his neck to escape the terrifying soap threat.

Yeah, aftercare baths are the fucking best.

When they eventually curl up together under the fresh covers— “Did you seriously wipe your hand on our sheets?”— Colt feels warm and cozy both inside and out.

God, he hopes they do this again. Preferably many more times.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow,” Colt whispers, cheek pressed to Ryland’s heartbeat.

“Absolutely not,” Ryland whispers back. He squeezes around Colt’s shoulders. “Go to sleep.”

Colt’s already halfway there. He draws a couple of lopsided hearts into the soft skin of Ryland’s back, just some mindless movements enjoying the skin on skin.

Ryland sighs, heavy and content. Slightly put-upon. “Not tomorrow, but soon. Okay?”

Colt falls asleep smiling.