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George’s back arches off the bed as a broken moan is ripped from his chest. Tears stream down his cheeks and his body is hot all over. Spikes of intense pleasure erupt throughout his abdomen, all of his muscles tightening as he quickly tumbles toward his climax.
He’s about to tip over the edge, and he makes a noise of alarm as his eyes widen. Instantly, the pleasure is ripped away from him, and he sobs as he relaxes back against the bed.
“Good boy,” Karl coos, rubbing George’s thighs soothingly.
Six.
Karl wants him to make it to eight.
He’s been worked right up to the edge just to be denied release six times already, and Karl still wants two more. George isn’t sure he can do it.
His chest heaves as he hiccups out a few more sobs, trying to calm himself down to go again. He hears Karl’s voice saying things to him but none of the words are registering.
He’s so hard it hurts, his tip flushed red and angry from being edged so many times. He’s wet from pre-cum and his cock twitches against his stomach whenever Karl so much as moves an inch closer to it. He wants to cum so bad.
He starts to come down from the high of being close, and his head calms a bit. He opens his eyes and finds Karl looking back at him, smiling.
“You’re doing so good, Puppy. Ready to go again?”
George shivers, cock twitching against his stomach. He whimpers, but he knows his safeword and he doesn’t say it. He wants to be good and make it to eight.
A sharp sensation erupts across his chest as Karl pulls on the chain connecting his clamps, which are secured tightly on his nipples. He cries out in surprise and a mix of pleasure-pain, the pink buds swollen and sore from their abuse.
“I asked you a question,” Karl says sternly.
“Yes,” George says, strained.
“Yes what?” Karl asks, pulling a fraction harder on the chain, causing George’s eyes to squeeze shut tight.
“Yes, Mommy,” he answers, voice rushed and apologetic.
Karl drops the chain, and George’s muscles relax again. His nipples are tingling deliciously, and the dull throbs of pain that happen every few seconds only heighten the pleasure. It’s so much, it’s bordering the line of too much, but he hasn’t quite crossed it yet.
Just as George recovers from the unexpected abuse to his nipples, Karl’s hand returns to his cock and strokes him quickly. His thighs and core tense instantly, and he can feel himself being thrown alarmingly quickly back towards the edge.
One of Karl’s hands moves to grip him at the base, holding his foreskin back so his cockhead is exposed. His other hand wraps around his flushed tip, and he flicks his wrist smoothly as he makes tiny jerking movements over the most sensitive part of George’s cock.
Instantly, the pleasure is overwhelming, and he tries to tell Karl that he’s close, he really does, but his hand is so warm and wet and it moves so expertly over the head of George’s cock that he just starts cumming before he can do anything.
Karl takes his hands away the second he tips over the edge, and George sobs. It’d been building up, he’d had intense stimulation seven times now, just to be taken from him at the peak. His ruined orgasm sends dull throbs of could’ve-been pleasure through his dick, and cum pulses out of his slit with each one, but it’s devastatingly unsatisfying.
He’s crying and moaning, hiccups forming in his chest each time he tries to take a breath. The clamps are still on his nipples and he’s somehow overstimulated and understimulated at the same time and he can’t stop fucking crying.
“George,” Karl tuts, “look at the mess you made.”
Shame washes over him in a thick cloud. Everything happened so fast and so intensely and he just went through like five different emotions all at once. He closes his eyes in embarrassment, dropping his head back against the pillow and feeling tears slip down his temples. The deprivation of one of his senses helps him start to steady his breathing, and he focuses on relaxing his muscles so he can come down a bit.
Then, Karl’s voice darkens, “I told you to look at the mess you made, mutt. Is this your way of telling me you want to be punished? Did you let yourself cum on purpose?”
Panic flares like a wildfire in George’s chest, and he looks at Karl quickly, preparing to deny it, to apologize for being bad, but nothing comes out except for another harsh sob. Everything crashes into him at once; the overstimulation, the shame, the panic. He’s full-on ugly crying and he can’t form a coherent thought , let alone any words. It’s too much.
It’s too much, but he doesn’t want to ruin the scene by safewording. His mind is running faster than he can process but it doesn’t even matter because he wouldn’t be able to get any words out anyway. All he can do is surrender to his guilt, accept that it’s too much, and clumsily snap his fingers repeatedly. He feels another wave of shame weighing him down at the fact that he couldn’t even manage his verbal safeword, and he has to close his eyes so he can’t see Karl’s face. He doesn’t stop snapping his fingers even when Karl says they’re done, because he’s still heaving and the words don’t really register, not until he takes the clamps off and sits beside his legs.
Karl asks him what’s wrong, and he wants to answer because he doesn’t him to worry, but he’s fucking humiliated. He covers his face with his hands and tries to muffle his sobs, desperately tries to stop crying, but his body is betraying him and the lack of control just adds to his distress. He’s so pathetic. He’s so bad. He’s a bad sub and a bad boyfriend and a bad person, a mutt in every sense of the word. His heart is beating rapidly and there’s too many feelings happening in his chest and head.
He manages to stop sobbing, but he can tell that one wrong move would make it start back up all over again. He feels weak and worthless.
He registers Karl’s soft voice, “Can I touch you? Just— Can I clean you up? I think it’ll help you feel better.”
George wants to roll his eyes at himself, at how embarrassed he feels about something as simple as uncovering his face. He doesn’t understand what just happened. All he knows for sure is that it’s fucking laughable. He’s so fucking stupid. Karl must hate him.
He takes his hands off his face, barely makes eye contact for a second before wiping his nose with the back of his hand and nodding. He sniffles, wipes at his eyes, anything to hide the puffiness and redness that he’s surely sporting. His breathing still stutters every few seconds, like his body hasn’t recovered from crying so hard and is trying to get the oxygen before he freaks out again.
He has nothing left to wipe at, so he drops his arms and fiddles with his fingers over his chest while Karl grabs a wet wipe. His forearms brush over his nipples and he winces away from his own touch. It makes something ugly swell in his chest again, another rock lodge in his throat. He swallows harshly. He’s already cried enough. He needs to chill the fuck out and stop being such a dumb idiot baby.
Karl returns to perch on the edge of the bed, and he smiles reassuringly but George can see the concern in his eyes. He hates it. He hates this. He gently brings the wipe to his stomach, cleaning off his cum and making his face burn hotter. He looks away, to the side. When Karl’s finished and goes to throw out the wipe, George shivers, damp skin feeling cold against the stifling air.
He sits up and slides underneath the covers, back resting against the headboard and fingers fiddling at his lap. He wants to ask for a hoodie but he doesn’t want to feel the material against his overly sensitive nipples. He stares at his hands, dripping with shame and embarrassment.
Karl returns, one of his own hoodies in hand along with a pair of George’s shorts. He sets them to the side to let George decide if he wants to put them on, and then returns to his spot beside him. He stays silent, waiting until George is ready to talk, giving him space.
Karl’s patience is appreciated, though George still kind of feels like he’s suffocating. The shame and embarrassment eat away at him from the inside, crawling up his spine and into his throat, stealing all his words before they can be spoken.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, lip trembling. His eyes sting and he purses his lips, willing his body to stop fucking crying.
Karl shifts, bringing a leg up onto the bed so he can face George more directly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love,” he says sincerely, and George just shakes his head.
“Can we talk about what happened?”
George takes a breath, begging his emotions to stabilize. He nods, wants to scoff at how dumb he’s being and just speak, but he doesn’t trust his voice or body right now.
Karl nods softly and stays quiet, which George is grateful for. He doesn’t keep asking him questions, doing his best not to overwhelm George further. Slowly, his body remembers that Karl is safe and that he can lower his defenses.
He tries to think of what to say, how to explain what just happened. He had a meltdown, obviously. But he doesn’t really know how to explain why because he doesn’t even really understand why. It was just too much and also kind of not enough? And he hates being bad and he knows he was bad but it was an accident. He just feels shitty all over, through and through.
“Um,” he starts, clearing his throat after he hears how small and weak his voice sounds. God, he’s acting so daft.
He takes a deep breath to try and quell the nervousness in his chest which is putting pressure on his lungs. “I just got, like… really overwhelmed, I think.”
“Okay,” Karl says after a moment, encouraging him to continue.
He’s still staring at his hands, can’t find it in himself to meet Karl’s eyes and see the expression on his face. Whether it’s disgust or annoyance or concern or care, he doesn’t think he can handle it.
“It was a lot… um. Like, physically. And it was good— like, it felt good. And I really didn’t want to be bad, but I was, so— I got— I just got overwhelmed physically, and then emotionally. Because I was bad, and then for ruining the scene. And then I got, like, embarrassed about everything. It all happened really fast. I feel, like, stupid. I dunno.”
Karl tilts his head like he’s trying to get into George’s line of vision, and he asks “Can I hold your hand?”
George nods, and he can feel himself blushing like an idiot. Not because of the usual reasons, like how Karl fills him with butterflies, but because he’s mortified. He hates feeling so exposed and vulnerable but he knows Karl needs this. The talking, the touch .
He takes George’s hand in his and rubs his thumb over his knuckles softly. “There is absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. I’m not upset with you. At all. It’s okay to have those feelings, but I don’t think any less of you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
George chances a glance up at him, softening when he sees his loving smile. George nods and smiles weakly in response.
Karl continues, “I’d like to talk more about what exactly became too much, or when it became too much. But we can do that later, if— if it feels like that would be a lot right now.”
He nods again.
“Okay,” he squeezes George’s hand. “You’re not bad, George.” He pauses, and then asks, “Can you look at me?”
George does, and he knows he must look pathetic right now: face red and eyes puffy and frame small. But Karl smiles gratefully, so he doesn’t look away.
“You’re not bad.”
Karl’s expression is soft, genuine. George’s eyes sting again, and he purses his lips. He doesn’t really believe him, but he appreciates the words anyway.
“Our scenes aren’t real life. Sometimes things get intense and the wires get crossed, so we need to have conversations like this to remind each other of that.”
George nods, distantly criticizing himself for not doing more. Not saying more. That makes sense, he supposes. He’s starting to just feel tired. Physically and mentally.
“I’m really proud of you for safewording. Thank you for stopping the scene, baby.”
He’s a little surprised at that part. It must show on his face, because Karl squeezes his hand and smiles again.
“It’s really important to know when it’s too much. And sometimes that’s not easy. You did really well, Georgie.”
His eyes start to well up again, but this time for a different reason. Karl visibly breaks a little, clearly hurting with George. He starts to move closer before stopping and giving him a questioning look, and he nods and pulls the covers down so Karl can slip underneath them too.
When he’s in the bed, he extends an arm so George can curl up against his chest. Once he’s settled Karl holds him tight. He kisses the top of his head and leaves his mouth there.
“ I love you, ” he whispers, into his hair.
“I love you,” George responds.
They stay like that, silent, for what feels like hours. George does start to feel a bit better, but mostly he just feels exhausted and guilty. He feels kind of floaty, like he’s not fully there, and it probably has something to do with how drained his body and mind are.
After a while, the hand that’s been drawing shapes along his back stills. Karl whispers, “Can I give you a bath? Please?”
George can barely keep his eyes open but he nods against Karl’s chest regardless. Everything feels a little blurry as he lets himself be led toward the bathroom, Karl’s hands barely leaving him for a second other than when he starts to fill the tub.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, eyes squinted against the harsh bathroom light. He looks… strange. Disheveled, and small. His eyes are puffy and his nipples are swollen and pinker than usual. He frowns at himself and then turns his attention back to his partner, who’s plugging the tub now that he’s gotten the water to the right temperature.
Karl turns back toward him, smiling warmly. He rubs his hands over George’s upper arms, like he’s trying to warm him up.
He lets his head fall forward until his forehead meets Karl’s chest, and they stand there like that, George naked and cold with his arms crossed, Karl rubbing his arms and back, waiting for the bathtub to fill. It kind of feels like he’s in a dream, like he could wake up in his bed at any moment and go about his day. His head is cloudy and he’s not really forming anything more than surface-level thoughts, like his mind’s edges are hazed. The bad feelings have mostly subsided, but he kind of just doesn’t feel anything. It’s almost like he’s hollowed out, empty and numb.
He feels Karl move a bit, and then he asks, “You wanna get in now?”
George picks his head up and squints at the tub, realizing it’s almost full. “Mm,” he answers, accepting the hand that Karl then offers to help him into the water. It’s a smidge too warm, but the subtle sting helps him come back to himself a little more.
He sits, brings his knees to his chest so he can rest his cheek on them. His head is tilted toward Karl, and he smiles in appreciation, then wraps his arms around his legs and closes his eyes. The water feels nice. Soothing, like maybe it could wash away all the bad.
He hears a bit of movement, and then feels the familiar sensation of a warm washcloth on his back. Karl is gentle as he cleans George’s back, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. He takes his time, the drag of the cloth moving slowly and softly over his skin. George feels his breathing start to change as the soothing sensation draws him further into his drowsiness, muscles relaxing as much as they can in his position.
After Karl has washed and rinsed his back, he runs his fingers through George’s hair to get his attention and softly instructs, “Arms up.”
The brunet blinks his eyes open, and immediately he knows he’s going to pass out the second he hits the bed. He lifts his arms, allows his partner to wash his armpits, blushes when their eyes catch.
After a minute or so, once he’s cleaned underneath both of his arms, Karl whispers, “Okay,” and nudges his wrists to let him know he can put his arms down. He moves onto his collar, his sternum, and George flinches when he gets close to his nipple. Karl’s eyes find his face instantly, worry painted over his features, and then his shoulders drop with realization. “Sorry,” he whispers.
“‘S okay,” George answers, because it is. He may not be fully present, but he feels calm, and loved. Slowly, rationality is coming back to him. Little by little.
His partner brings the cloth to his stomach, washing the soft skin there, and stopping once he reaches his hips. George is thankful for the younger man’s thoughtfulness, and the way he just knows him. Although George feels kind of lost and far-away, his body recognizes the comfort that Karl provides.
Then Karl wrings out the cloth, drapes it over the bathtub faucet. He lays his forearms on the edge of the tub, still seated on the floor, and then rests his chin on top of them. George mimics his position, resting his forearms on his knees and tilting his head toward his partner.
“How are you feeling?” Karl asks, tone soft and light.
“Better. Tired .” He takes a deep, sleepy breath. “Thank you.”
Karl smiles, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle adorably. George lets his eyes slip closed again, content to sit in the bathtub and bask in the tranquility. He has no idea what time it is, how long it’s been since their scene, but he doesn’t mind. He just wants to breathe.
He thinks he may have started to actually fall asleep when he hears Karl speak next; he doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting in silence. The sound of his voice startles him a little, and then the words register and they almost startle him more.
“I’m really sorry if I— if I was too harsh on you. I never want to hurt you.”
He picks his head up and turns as much as he can, facing Karl directly. His eyebrows furrow a bit, and his brain still feels sluggish but he does his best to show his sincerity through his features.
“Karl— no. You weren’t— you didn’t do anything. I don’t— I’m not really sure what happened, or why, but it wasn’t you.”
Karl smiles, barely, and George can tell he doesn’t believe him. The same way he hadn’t believed Karl when he said George isn’t bad. His heart clenches in his chest, and he doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t know how to make it better. Guilt starts to gnaw at him again, subtly, like it’s sneaking its way back inside. He hates that Karl thinks his meltdown was his fault, but he doesn’t know how to put that into words. How to make him believe it.
He reaches a hand out, resting over Karl’s elbow. His hand is wet and his fingers are pruney but the younger man doesn’t seem to mind, as his features relax a bit with the contact.
It’s now that George processes how scary that was. For both of them, he’s sure. He strokes his thumb over Karl’s skin, and he knows it’s not enough to provide any real comfort but he also knows that Karl understands that right now, the action is replacing the words he can’t seem to find.
“It wasn’t your fault,” George whispers, throat starting to close up a bit. “I promise.”
Karl smiles again, and it seems more genuine this time, but he still looks a little sad. “Okay,” he says, picking his head up to press a kiss to George’s knuckles.
“Wanna dry off and go to bed?”
George hums, moves slowly as he stands up. Lethargy takes hold of his limbs, makes them feel heavy. Karl helps him up and out of the tub, and he insists on drying him off as well. He’s so gentle: treating George not as though he’s breakable, but like he’s something to be cherished and cared for. It warms him inside, sparks a familiar good feeling.
He whispers thank you when Karl’s finished, and they share a soft, affectionate kiss before heading back to their bedroom. George dresses in comfy sweatpants and no shirt, deciding he’ll use Karl as a furnace to keep warm instead.
They crawl into bed, and the silence feels weighted. It’s not necessarily bad, but it’s weird, and he knows they’re going to have to talk more about everything tomorrow. He dreads it slightly, but now that he’s starting to be normal again he can remind himself that Karl loves him, and wants to talk about it so they can prevent it from happening again, and probably make a plan for if it does. And hopefully after a good night’s rest he’ll be able to find the words to reassure Karl, too.
“Can I be little spoon?” he asks, wanting to fall asleep to the feeling of Karl taking care of him and protecting him. He’d never admit that, obviously, but the younger man is really good at taking care of him and right now he craves that comfort.
“Of course,” Karl responds, and George can hear his smile. It’s probably soft and fond, like it often is while talking to him.
George smiles to himself, since Karl can’t see it in the darkness of their room, and turns onto his side. He feels the warmth of his partner’s torso press against his back, then his legs bending to fully spoon George. A lithe arm snakes around his waist, curling around his abdomen just above his belly button, pulling him further into Karl’s embrace and holding him securely. George rests his arm over Karl’s, intertwines their fingers and brings their hands to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Karl’s fingers.
They shift a couple times, getting comfortable before they settle and relax into their mattress. For some reason, it’s not as easy for George to fall asleep as he’d expected. A few minutes go by submerged in comfortable silence, eyes closed as he listens to his partner’s breathing. Then he feels lips against his shoulder as Karl leaves a tender kiss on his skin there, and though it’s a tiny action — especially in comparison to everything Karl’s done for him tonight — he can feel the meaning behind it. He can feel the love and devotion and how much Karl cares about him.
He knows they’re both a little sad and probably feel a bit lost. But it isn’t a reflection of their relationship. It isn’t a reflection of them. Things like this happen. It’s normal. Scary, in the moment, but not world-ending.
They’ll be okay. Karl is good, he knows how to pull George from the dangers of his mind and how to mend his wounds. He’d like to think he does the same for Karl.
They are okay. They’re good.
He falls asleep to the faint feeling of Karl’s heartbeat against his back, which he can only feel because of how tightly they’re connected. His last coherent thought before he’s totally out is that he thinks his own heart beats to the same rhythm.