Archive of Our Own

When it finally happens, it’s not so bad as Thomas worried it might be.

Perhaps the change in location is what spurs them to it—they’ve met, this time, in a flat belonging to someone Richard knows, a bloke who’s gone away for the weekend and left Richard the key.

Neither of them has ever bothered pretending there weren’t other men before each other. Difference is that Richard seems to have fraternised with the sort who know what Turton’s is, or which hotels in London rent by the hour. Whereas Thomas knew…a greedy duke who seized an opportunity. Seized more than that, if he wants to be crass. A fellow in New York who acted as though he wasn’t the same as Thomas. Like he merely needed a release, as all men do, didn’t matter by whose mouth or whose hand, and Thomas was just the person to give it to him, because Thomas was the sort of creature that wanted to. 

“Very modern,” he’d told Mr Molesley and Jimmy upon his return. “And very interesting.”

Because he never could have told the truth: that he’d come back from that trip loathing himself in a way he never had before.

Richard acts as though it’s normal to know a bloke who has a flat and who’ll charge you a few bob to use it overnight. And Thomas doesn’t want to complain about a private place—it’s in the attics above a shop that’s closed over the weekend—where he and Richard can do whatever they like without worrying about being overheard. He just hates thinking about the blokes Richard’s shared a bed with before, and hates having to wonder if Richard has shared this bed before.

The physical part of their arrangement is going swimmingly. It’s still challenging for them both, at times, to gauge how much pain Richard actually wants versus how much he only thinks he wants. But Thomas has learned to trust his instincts and Richard’s reactions. Can push Richard harder now than he’s been able to in the past. 

The psychological part they’re getting a handle on too. He’s more confident in delivering the level of humiliation Richard craves, knowing when to scold and tease, when to pull back and reassure. 

It’s that other thing Richard wants—to be brought to tears. To believe, however fleetingly, that he’s been such a disappointment he might not be forgiven. To be chastised until he comes apart under the weight of it.

Thomas can do it. He’s got a few tears out of Richard before—alas, what jumps to his mind is Richard weeping at the end of their first weekend together, not as part of their games, but a sorrow bubbling up from somewhere deep. So he hesitates to tear Richard down completely, in case he touches that well of genuine sorrow again. Or in case he comes too close to those parts of himself he’s tried to leave behind. He knows too well how to push someone to breaking. But he’s afraid to let that bone-deep knowledge—that previously misused knowledge—find its way into this.

He knows things will be different with Richard. He’d be an actor performing a part. There’s nothing he’d ever do to Richard that wouldn’t be done out of love.

Just what if something real, something ugly seeped in?

It won’t, he tells himself. It wouldn’t.

Richard says he doesn’t mind if Thomas can’t give him this one thing. Says he won’t ask for what Thomas doesn’t willingly offer. But if past experience is anything to go by, the things Thomas initially baulks at—tying Richard to the bed, for instance, taking a riding whip to him, scolding him for any number of misbehaviours; even something as simple as calling him ‘good boy’, ‘good lad’ —are things he comes to love once he tries them. Once he sees how an act that, in his head, seems strange, or cruel, or humiliating, holds nothing but love and good humour when he and Richard carry it out together. 

Mightn’t this be the same?

“Just know that I trust you,” Richard said once. “That I know you care for me, and would know it no matter what you were saying or doing to me.”

He’d never want to make Richard cry really. But in a game? To have Richard helpless and vulnerable, so completely taken apart he can’t put himself back together without help?

He can’t stop bloody thinking about it.

So they’re in this bloke’s flat, kissing, and Thomas can’t get over the quiet of the place, the way the sound of their lips meeting seems to echo in the stillness, how even the din of the city outside can’t touch them here. He slides Richard's braces from his shoulders and says, “Get on your knees.”

Richard replies, simply: “No.”

Thomas is taken aback. When Richard disobeys, it’s not usually quite so…flagrant. Or if it is—like the time Richard spent into his handkerchief while Thomas was out of the room, then left the evidence for Thomas to find—it’s very clearly an invitation.

This ‘no’ is so blunt and unexpected, Thomas isn’t sure what to do with it. 

Then Richard grins, and Thomas understands this, too, is an invitation. They have the opportunity, the privacy, at last, for Thomas to do whatever it takes to bring Richard in line.

He'll be drunk on that feeling in no time if he's not careful.

“No?” he enquires, pleasantly enough.

“That’s right.” Richard's lips shape the word beautifully: “No.”

“D’you want to rethink that?” he asks, mostly to buy himself more time to decide what to do.

Richard shakes his head, not quite suppressing his smirk.

They’re about the same height, but Thomas is broader in the shoulders and chest, and as he steps forward he doesn’t miss Richard’s slight flinch back. 

Doesn’t put a stop to Richard’s cheek, though. “And what will you do, Mr Barrow? Since I refuse? Now that you’ve the freedom to do anything?”

Thomas leans in and kisses him again, long and full. “Make it worth your while to listen,” he whispers, nuzzling the side of Richard’s neck, running his tongue along Richard’s jaw as he draws away.

“Mmm.” Richard’s face flushes, that familiar redness coming to the tips of his ears. “But what if I’m stubborn?”

“Then you’ll pay for it.” Thomas is already sliding his hands down Richard’s arms to grip his wrists.

Richard’s breath hitches. “I see.”

In a fluid motion that leaves Thomas rather impressed with himself, he forces Richard’s arms behind him and spins him round to face the wall. Richard struggles, but Thomas shoves him against the chipped plaster, tugging his wrists to the small of his back. Richard goes still and silent but for his panting. Thomas is as aroused as he’s ever been. He likes the sight of Richard like this, enjoys holding him pinned here and squeezing just hard enough to draw a whimper. He grips both wrists in one hand and reaches to undo Richard’s flies with the other. Yanks his trousers down without ceremony. Richard is hard, prick straining at his underwear, which Thomas also shucks to his knees. He shoves Richard more firmly against the wall, caging him with his arms and pressing his trouser front against Richard’s bare arse.

Richard moans. 

“Spread your legs,” Thomas orders, voice rough with want.

Richard hesitates, so Thomas takes one hand from the wall and uses it to whack back and forth between his thighs. “Spread. Your. Legs.”

Yelping, Richard spreads his legs as wide as they’ll go with trousers and pants still trapping his ankles.

“Undo your shirt, the top four buttons. Now.”

Richard undoes his top four buttons quickly and effortlessly, and Thomas takes over from there, yanking his shirt down to expose his left shoulder. Richard makes a soft, uncertain sound, but stays in position.

Thomas licks his palm and grasps Richard’s prick. Strokes it vigorously enough that Richard tries to tuck his hips forward to escape the harshness of the touch. Thomas murmurs in his ear, “Going to put my mark on you and work your prick at the same time. You tell me which one you need me to stop first, and I’ll stop that one but do the other harder. Understand?

Richard is breathing shallowly. “I…yes.”

He sinks his teeth into the crook of Richard’s neck. Gently at first, sucking until that lovely prick twitches in his hand. Then more firmly, making Richard’s breath catch. He strokes roughly— Richard whimpers his discomfort, but Thomas only bites harder and strokes faster. Richard tilts his head, clearly struggling not to pull away. His hips twist. 

Thomas exerts a bit more pressure with his teeth, sucking hard, and Richard cries out. “Stop! Stop the—the biting—please…”

He stops biting but pumps Richard’s prick faster, keeping the sensation too harsh and erratic to be pleasurable, until Richard begs, “Please stop, please, Thomas. Please!”

“Will there be any more disobedience?” He runs his thumb warningly along Richard’s cock and presses lightly on the head. 

“No,” Richard promises at once, a breathy yelp escaping as Thomas presses harder. “Thomas…”

Richard gives an audible sigh of relief when he’s let go. Thomas places a hand on his arm and turns him so they’re face-to-face. Richard’s shirt still hangs off one shoulder, and Thomas gently pinches the fabric and tugs it up, covering the bruise he’s left. “How was that?”

A rush of nervous laughter. “Bloody terrifying.”

Thomas laughs too. “D’you mean it?”

“Good God, yes. I made it all of ten seconds into that little rebellion before I panicked.”

Thomas rubs his arm reassuringly. “Pull your pants and trousers up.”

The obedience this time is instant.

“No need to fasten them,” he says, and Richard’s fingers pause at the buttons. “You won’t be wearing them for long.”

Richard’s exhale this time is slow. He returns his hands to his sides.

“Good lad.” He's pleased to see Richard’s cheeks pinken at the praise. “Stand in that corner and don’t move.”

Richard glances at the corner Thomas has indicated. “I’d prefer not to.”

Thomas grips his arm and smacks him soundly on the bum. Richard stumbles towards the corner as he’s urged along with another swat and a shove. 

“Stand in the bloody corner, and don’t move.”

Richard stands very still.

“That’s better,” Thomas says. “What I ought to do is send you outside to cut a rod. A nice thin green one, and then I’d stripe you up one leg and down the other till you were wailing.”

“Thomas, no. Please, don’t.” Richard sounds so genuinely desperate, like he really believes Thomas is set to torture him. “Don’t punish me,” he whispers, half turning from the wall.

“’Course I’m going to punish you. What did you think? Hmm? That you’d just get away with that display? You say you want to please me. But I really doubt it sometimes.”

The response is a whimper so mournful Thomas nearly apologises, nearly offers Richard any damn thing he wants in the world. 

But he forces himself on. “You need to learn a lesson. I can see I’ve let you get away with too much for too long.”

“I don’t want to be punished.”

“Then behave yourself,” Thomas suggests.

“I will now.” Richard’s voice is very soft. 

“It’s too late now, isn’t it?” He watches Richard carefully to make sure this is still alright.

“Yes.” A jerky nod. “I know it is. But I’m—I am still sorry.”

“I get a lot of apologies from you, and not a lot of improved behaviour. And I love you far too much to let you go on acting as you do.” The words come out on their own, and he isn’t sure they’ll be what Richard wants, but they seem to have quite an effect on him. Richard tries twice to swallow without appearing to succeed. 

“I—”

“No. You keep your mouth shut. I don’t want to hear any more excuses.”

A game. Only a game. 

Richard slowly closes his mouth and looks down at the floor. 

“Face the wall. You’re going to stand there and think about how you’ve been acting.”

Subdued now, Richard turns to the wall and leans forward so that his nose is practically in the crevice where the walls meet. Thomas’s prick strains at his trouser front. What a sight. Nothing in the world like having this sort of control—even if it is only an illusion. Even if Richard plays him like a damned fiddle every step of the way.

He steps closer. “Think about what got you here, hm? Why are you standing with your nose stuck in the corner like a naughty schoolboy? I’ve told you before, I’ll never be disappointed in you—only in your behaviour. But your behaviour right now leaves a lot to be desired. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” A whisper.

Thomas smacks that wonderfully pert rear. “So I can hear you.”

“Yes.” Richard shifts his weight a little. “I understand.”

“Thought you could be good for me. Be a good boy. Maybe I was wrong.”

Richard shuts his eyes tightly, lips parted again.

“What have you to say for yourself?”

“That I— I can be. If you give me another chance…”

“I’ve given you plenty.”

“I know. Please, though?”

“What’ll be different this time?” When Richard doesn’t answer right away, Thomas pats his thigh, making him jump. “Hmm?”

“I’ll listen. I won’t say no to you. I’ll do whatever you say.” Richard is breathing hard now, anxious, ragged breaths, pausing now and again to wet his lips with his tongue. “I will.”

“I don’t believe you.” Thomas steps back and slowly crosses to his other side. “What I think you need, Mr Ellis, is a good, hard punishment. I don’t care how much you beg, and I don’t care what you promise.” Richard breathes faster, harsher. They’re getting close; if Thomas can just stay steady enough to push Richard this last little bit… “I’ll have you bawling your eyes out, and no mistake. I expect better from you, and I’ve had quite enough of your—” 

“Thomas—Thomas, er—ordinary.” 

Thomas stops at once, heart thudding. It’s a rare thing for Richard to use their word to halt a game. Has he read this situation entirely wrong? “’Course,” he says, as Richard turns to him. Richard’s face is pale except for twin spots of colour on his cheeks. He’s having trouble getting his breathing in order.

“I don’t want to quit, just— I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Thomas assures him, trying not to let his concern show. “You just let me know what you need.”

Richard closes his eyes and inhales. Lets his breath out on a shaky half-laugh. “I get very silly about all this, don’t I?”

“Not silly at all.”

“I was almost there,” Richard mutters, eyes still shut. Thomas can hear how disappointed he is.

“We can still get you there, don’t you worry. Or we can stop.”

“Can I—?” Richard opens his eyes. “Can I have…?” He steps closer but then hangs back. Thomas fills in the blanks easily enough, taking him in his arms and holding him tightly.

“Of course,” he whispers. 

Richard sighs and leans into him. “I’m sorry if this isn’t any fun for you.”

“Stop apologising.” Thomas wonders how many times he’s had to say that since they’ve known each other. Richard will scarcely apologise for anything outside the confines of the game—certainly not for eating half of Thomas’s dessert that evening in April when they’d brought a hamper full of food to a hotel room and Thomas said he could have ‘a bite.’ Nor for saying that cricket is dull to watch. Nor for insisting he knew better than Thomas the right amount of grenadine for a Mary Pickford, and then creating a concoction God never intended. 

But in their game, he’ll apologise for damn near anything. Thomas has learned to accept it’s something he needs to do—part of the cycle of guilt, penance, and forgiveness that he likes to put himself through. “I was feeling quite good about myself,” Thomas tries to joke. “Like I ought to consider changing careers. Make a decent actor, wouldn’t I?”

Richard laughs into his shoulder. “You would. You’re far too convincing.”

Thomas squeezes him tighter for a few seconds and rubs his back. “Do you want to stop?”

A shake of the head. “No. I want you to lay into me. Tell me what a brat I am, and everything you’re going to do about it. Then do it.”

A warmth spreads through Thomas. He hasn’t made a hash of this, then. He drops a kiss on Richard’s hair then releases him. “I love you—a great deal, and always.”

“I love you too,” Richard says softly. “I’ll make this up to you someho– Ow! Thomas.” Richard puts a hand back to rub where Thomas has swatted.

“You don’t ever apologise for what you want. Not to me.” He nods at the wall. “Back in the corner.”

Richard hesitates. Flinches at Thomas lifted hand, tucking his hips forward, but Thomas only takes his elbow gently and turns him, giving him a push. Richard shuffles to the corner. He draws his shoulders back and stands straight except for his head, which he bows.

Takes Thomas a moment to pick up where they left off. He’s lost the momentum, the mood of the thing, so it feels like any threat offers will sound hollow or ridiculous. 

But then Richard makes it easy for him. “I don’t have to do a damn thing you say, you know.” 

Thomas strides to the wall, grips his arm, and pulls him round to face him. Ignoring Richard’s protests, he tugs him forward, bends him over his hip, and smacks his trouser seat three times. Richard yelps and struggles, kicking out, and gets spanked all the harder for it.

“Ow! Ow! I don’t have to—you’re not going to bloody make me—” His hips twist as Thomas hoists him higher and swats him harder.

“Oh, aren’t I?”

Richard’s protests give way to a choked sound.

Thomas puts him upright, keeping hold of his arm as he drags him towards the bed. 

“Go on, then. Get on the bed. Going to find out what happens when you’re disobedient, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Richard sounds wretched now.  

“Not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be.” Thomas applies his palm twice more as Richard tries to pull away. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

He doesn’t think Richard’s listening anymore. Too lost in his own distress.

“Richard,” Thomas says, softer. 

“I’ll do whatever I like.” The defiance is unconvincing.

“That so?” Thomas tugs him forward, and Richard tries again to twist away, pulling back against Thomas’s grip.

“Don’t,” Richard begs. “Please, please don’t.”

Thomas listens closely. He thinks—is fairly certain—this is going exactly as Richard wishes it to. He just doesn’t want to be wrong about that. God, don’t let him be wrong. “What did I say?” Thomas jerks him forwards more roughly, until his knees are at the edge of the mattress. “On the bed. On all fours. Now.”

He smacks Richard as hard as he ever has. 

“Ow!” Richard yells, in what sounds like genuine shock.

“I won’t tell you again.”

Richard sniffs hard as he climbs onto the bed, breath shuddering out of him. He’s on his hands and knees for a few seconds, then bows his upper body, burying his face in the pillow, his arse in the air. He groans miserably as his unfastened trousers are tugged down, exposing his pinkened bottom.

“Thomas…”

“Naughty lad, Richard. Take what you’ve got coming.”

“I can’t. I can’t…”

“You can and you will.” Thomas slaps his bare arse, the sound delightfully loud in the small flat. He keeps on, enjoying the way Richard jerks and whimpers with each smack, swaying his hips side to side, creating a most delightful target. Thomas makes a loose fist around Richard’s prick, so that every time the crack of his palm makes Richard jump, he thrusts into Thomas’s hand.

“Oh God,” Richard whispers, starting to pump his hips in time with the swats. “Oh, God. Please.”

“Please what?” Thomas demands, rewarding him with a light swat and a quick rub behind his balls, just enough to increase his excitement. “Please stop?”

Richard’s eyes are shut tight. He shakes his head.

“Are you enjoying it?” Thomas asks, mock-incredulous. “Disobedient, can’t be relied upon, thinking only of yourself instead of how to please me…and now begging for your punishment?” He gives Richard’s cock a tug.

Another choked sound. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d bleedin’ well better be!” He spanks Richard again, right where the colour is the deepest. Then he strokes his prick, turning Richard’s sound of despair into one of need. Richard moans, rocking his hips in time with Thomas’s strokes. “Don’t you dare come,” Thomas tells him, working his cock faster. Thomas’s own prick is making its interest known, and since he can’t touch himself while he’s using both hands on Richard, he’s more determined than ever to give Richard all the pleasure he craves for himself. “I mean it, Richard. Show me you can obey this one time, at least.”

Richard breaks down into noisy sobbing, and Thomas pauses.

This is difficult.

It’s hard to see Richard cry for any reason. But to see him cry because of something Thomas has done to him…

He’s given Richard what he wants; he knows that, he’s glad of that. But at the same time, he can hardly stand to see the result. 

He makes a decision. Even if it’s not the right one, even if Richard’s wishing he would keep on, Thomas needs a break if they’re to see this through. He releases Richard’s prick and sits on the mattress beside him. Places a hand on his lower back, pressing lightly. “Richard. Come on,” he says, quiet. “Lie down now.”

Richard collapses onto the mattress, his face in the pillow.

“That’s the way.” He strokes Richard’s shaking shoulders. His palm throbs. “Just take a breath.”

“Oh, God,” Richard whispers again.

“There’s no need to get so worked up, is there?” Thomas asks. “Hmm? I’m right here.”

“I know.” Richard sounds miserable. But Thomas has to trust that he’s pleased with how this is going—or will be, after the fact.

“Go on. Get it out.” 

Richard cries near silently into the pillow for another few moments. Thomas runs a hand down his back, then up, gliding it across his shoulders and neck. Feels like he should be doing more. 

Finally, after a few more choked gulps, Richard lets out a very long, shaky sigh and turns his face outward. His lashes are wet, eyes red-rimmed. 

“You’re alright,” Thomas promises him. 

“Thank you,” Richard says at last, voice hoarse. 

“Nothing to thank me for. I love you. But you know what I expect of you.”

Another nod, and a hard sniff. Richard wipes his face on the pillowcase, then huffs out an unsteady breath and rests his cheek on the pillow again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He tries to think what else Richard might need to hear. “You can cry as long as you need to. But then you are going to learn to do as I say.”

“I’m ready,” Richard whispers. “I’ll listen.”

“Alright. Sit up and let me just…have you in my arms a moment, yeah?”

Richard slowly pushes himself onto his elbows. Thomas helps him up the rest of the way, then pulls Richard against him and holds him crushingly tight. A shiver passes through Richard’s body as he leans harder against Thomas. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

You never could. But Richard doesn’t want to hear that, not now. Richard wants to believe he has disappointed Thomas, and that he’s in proper trouble for it. “Well, behave yourself from now on, then.”

“I will. Please don’t be angry.”

Tension rises in his shoulders. Just a game, he reminds himself. Just how he likes to play. But it’s hard, even in a game, to hear Richard ask that.

He knows you’d never hurt him. It’s why he feels he can say it. “I’m not angry. We need to work on your behaviour, is all.” He rubs Richard’s back. “Can you be a good boy for me now?”

Richard nods emphatically. Blows out a breath with a trace of a laugh in it as he tilts his head to kiss Thomas’s shoulder through his shirt. “Promise.”

“Stand up.”

Richard obeys at once, his movements inelegant, gangly, not at all his usual. He starts to pull up his trousers, but stops and straightens, leaving his half-stand bobbing under the hem of his shirt. His hands curl at his sides as Thomas rises beside him. “Am I…am I still to be punished?”

“Can’t let you get away with how you were acting, you know that.”

Richard ducks his head. “Right.” He glances at Thomas, eyes still damp. “How?”

And just how is Thomas supposed to remain unmoved, with Richard looking at him like that?

“I’m going to give you a thrashing,” Thomas says, with more certainty than he feels. It’s a word they’ve discussed as being one Richard finds particularly intimidating—and particularly arousing.

“Christ.” Another hesitant laugh. “Do you have to put it like that?”

“I do. You know you’ve earned it.”

“I won’t argue with you there, just…”

“Just, you’re arguing with me when you should be thanking me for teaching you some manners.”

“But I don’t want to be thrashed.”

“You’re not supposed to want it.”

“What—” Richard dashes at his eyes with his wrist “—um, what exactly does a thrashing entail?”

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s never been done to you before?”

“Only by you!” Richard laughs as he swipes at his nose too. “It’s not something I’m used to.”

Thomas isn’t sure anymore how much of this is part of the game, and how much is real. “That so? Never been in trouble in all your life, until me? Got away with murder, till now?” He’s reaching, trying to understand precisely what Richard wants.

Richard’s face grows redder than ever. “My parents never really believed in that sort of punishment. I was quite a Goody Two-Shoes growing up, believe it or not.”

They’ve discussed the subject before, and Thomas knows what Richard says is true. Thomas was thrashed more times than he cares to remember—none of this for your own good stuff, either. It was done for the sole purpose of causing him pain. He doesn’t resent Richard for the difference in their upbringing, but he does feel an odd twist in the pit of his stomach, for just a moment. “I believe it.”

“Suppose I did get away with a lot.” Richard offers a brief smile. “Charming. Easy to indulge.”

“And a good lad, much of the time,” Thomas supplies, hoping he’s found the thread of the scene again.

Richard looks down. “Pretended to be, at least.”

“What do you mean, pretended?”

Richard’s fingers flex again. “I don’t—didn’t feel I was good, always. The thoughts I had, about—about blokes…”

A sense of discomfort creeps in. If Richard’s talking about…about what they are, then Thomas knows the feeling well. Except they went different directions with it: Thomas, damned already, so why bother trying to be good? Richard, striving to be good in every other way, as though that might make up for the one way he couldn’t be.

Maybe Richard doesn’t mean that. Maybe he’s inventing a script just for the game. But Thomas senses there’s at least a kernel of truth here.

“You don’t have to be a good lad,” Thomas says softly. “Not here. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Richard’s voice is rough.

“But you won’t get away with anything either.”

“I’m glad of it.” Richard raises his head slightly but doesn’t meet Thomas’s eye. “I don’t know why…” he begins, and it’s clear he’s speaking honestly, not playacting. “I don’t know why this is…why I’m saying all this now. I just get so nervous.”

Thomas doesn’t know why either, exactly. But he knows it’s important to Richard to feel this fear, and to get through it. He catches the hand Richard’s been compulsively flexing and rubs his thumb over the tense knuckles. “You’re trying to hold onto control when you ought to be giving it over. Still clutching the ship’s wheel, Mr Ellis.”

“I don’t mean to,” Richard says quietly, almost musingly. 

“I know.” Thomas squeezes his hand. “So let me steer. Isn’t that half the fun? That you don’t have to?” He looks into Richard’s eyes, hoping the surge of warmth in his body is something that Richard can feel too. 

A fleeting smile, then Richard’s gaze flicks to the wall. “Suppose it is.” He turns back to Thomas. His mouth opens, and he’s frozen like that for a moment before he speaks again. “I get so nervous…about not being a good lad.”

Well, that’s obvious enough. But Thomas isn’t sure whether he means then or now.

“You’re allowed,” Thomas repeats.

Another twitch of his lips, rueful, maybe, but sincere. “I’m going to try to take your word for it.”

“About time you started listening to me.”

Richard laughs, looking away again. “Right.”

He brings Richard’s hand to his lips and kisses it. Richard’s gaze comes back to his. Thomas doesn’t want to risk spoiling this if he’s got the wrong end of the stick, if he’s making more of Richard’s words than Richard intended. But he wants Richard to know. “You were a good lad,” he says. “I’m sure of it.”

Richard’s hand twitches in his grasp. There’s a pause. “Feels like I deceived people who were nothing but kind to me.”

“They wouldn’t have been so kind if you’d been truthful.”

A shaky breath. “Right.”

“What were you going to do, tell your family and all the North Riding that you fancied blokes?”

“West Riding.”

“Well, you’d have to tell the North Riding too. Wouldn’t want them feeling left out.”

Richard laughs. “Suppose not.”

Thomas covers Richard’s hand with both of his. “If the people in your corner think you’re a good person, then they’re right. One thing’s got nothing to do with the other.” He’s caught off guard by the swell of feeling rising in him. “Got it?”

A nod and a swallow.

“Do you want to stop for now?”

Richard shakes his head vehemently. “No. This is exactly what I didn’t want to… I don’t know why all this nonsense comes up when we’re supposed to be having a good time. Can we go back to where I was a naughty lad, and you weren’t going to let me get away with anything?”

“We can.” But they don’t move, neither of them.

“Don’t stop,” Richard says at last, voice low and rough with emotion. “This time, don’t. You can make me bawl, Thomas. I—I’d like that. I need that.”

“I know. And you know what this punishment is for, don’t you?”

Richard appears caught off guard. 

“It’s not for having thoughts about blokes, then or now. Got it? Unless you’re having thoughts about blokes who aren’t me. That’s a different matter.”

Richard barks a laugh, and Thomas is relieved to hear him sound more at ease. “That, I can promise you, is not the case.”

“Good. Then what’s it for?”

Richard goes still, then surprises Thomas with a grin. “This is for not standing in the bloody corner, right?”

“And for answering back. And for thinking you can charm me out of a much-deserved punishment.”

The laughter is heartier now. “I never thought that.”

“Then you won’t object to me sorting you out.”

“You already gave me a smacking,” Richard protests, a hint of whinging creeping into his voice.

“That was just for fun, Mr Ellis. This will be a proper punishment.”

“Ah.”

“Do you trust me?” Thomas asks, seeing Richard has once again gone too white-faced for his liking.

“Entirely.”

“Then you know I’m doing this to help you learn. So…so you can do whatever you need to do. Cry and whatever else. I won’t punish you any worse for that. But this is still going to happen.”

“Yes,” Richard agrees immediately.

“It’s going to hurt a bit. You just remember, when it does, to let yourself feel it. And think about doing better in future.”

“I will. Don’t go easy on me. I can take it.”

“I’ll decide what you deserve. What you can take.”

Richard’s eyes widen. “Yes, I know.”

“Remember who’s in charge.”

“Of course.” Underneath the obvious trepidation is an unmistakable relief. “I’m sorry. Sorry, Thomas.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology.”

“My mum raised me to have manners.”

Thomas puts an arm round him and pulls him closer. “Your mum raise you to offer your arse up to any bloke who'll have it?” he asks with a sly smile, running his hand down to pat Richard’s backside. 

Richard’s shocked laugh tuns to a gasp as Thomas slides a hand between his legs. “No. Oh…fuck, no…”

“Look at that. Tell him he doesn’t have to be a good lad here, and suddenly, a mouth like a sailor’s.” Thomas kisses that lovely mouth, and Richard closes his eyes, tilting his head back. The kiss turns rough to where they’re almost sparring, Richard’s prick issuing a slight wetness against Thomas’s hand that makes Thomas’s own cock throb painfully in response. “Where’s my good boy now?” Thomas demands, breathless.

Richard half laughs, half sighs against Thomas’s lips. His body softens, and for an instant it feels as if he’s surrendering. Then he initiates another bruising kiss that makes Thomas grip where his hand rests between Richard’s legs. 

“Hard as a bloody stovepipe,” Thomas says, low. “Bet I could milk every last drop from you and you’d still be rock-hard.”

“Thomas.” 

He plays with Richard's prick, tugging and stroking till Richard’s up on his toes. Then he lets go. “My mum didn’t raise me half so well as yours.”

“Lucky for me.” Richard, panting, leans in for another kiss.

Thomas stops him. “Ah-ah. Your punishment.”

“Was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Not a chance.” Thomas sits on the edge of the bed. “Trousers off.”

Richard’s blush deepens, but he obeys, toeing off his shoes and then fumbling with the trousers puddled at his ankles, He tries to step out of them, but they catch round his foot. “Sorry,” he whispers. Thomas doesn’t bother to scold him for apologising. It’s clearly a part of the script that Richard needs. 

Thomas nods once in encouragement.

“Did you say, erm—only my trousers?”

“Pants too. Anything worth doing is worth doing right—you’ll be thrashed on your bare bottom.”

Richard’s ears flush to match his face. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but he kicks trousers and underwear off, then picks them up and folds them. Sets them on a chair. He starts to place his hands behind his head but hesitates. Grasps the hem of his shirt instead. He tucks the tails up as best he can so his thighs and groin are exposed. “Sorry,” he says, glancing down at his erect prick. “Has a mind of its own.”

“Used to it, aren’t I? You begging me not to punish you but then getting hard when I do.”

Richard’s embarrassed snort of laughter makes Thomas grin more broadly. “Come here.” He pats his thigh. “Bend over.”

He’s not surprised when Richard baulks. “Alright,” Richard whispers at last, as though to himself. 

Thomas is flooded with love when Richard steps forward and assumes the position. Not an easy thing, this. Not something Thomas could ever do. And never in his life did he think he’d be worthy of a trust like this. It never fails to amaze him.

Once Richard is situated, Thomas flips his shirttails over his back. Richard’s arse, firm and beautifully curved, clenches in anticipation. Thomas lets him anticipate for a few seconds, then sets his hand on his hip and rubs gently until Richard lets out his breath. “That’s the way,” Thomas murmurs. This may be a punishment, but it’ll help Richard take in the message, learn from it, if he’s calm.

Richard exhales once more, clearly attempting, with mixed results, to relax. 

“Stop clenching.”

Another slow breath, and the taut muscles ease further.

“Good boy,” Thomas says.

“If I were that, I wouldn’t be in this position.”

“You are good. And very loved—otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

The catch in Richard’s breath is almost undetectable. Almost. “Not fair to say such sweet things to me. I’ll forget I’m being punished.”

“I’ll see to it that you don’t. Bottom up, that’s right.”

Richard groans softly and pushes his arse higher. “I’m ready,” he says. “That is—I don’t mean to—You decide. I’m just…letting you know.” He laughs again. “Please stop me talking.”

“That’s enough, now.” Thomas can’t keep the amusement from his voice. He sets one hand on Richard’s lower back to hold him in place and lifts his other hand, not wanting to give nerves any more time to build. He swats firmly, harder than he would in their usual play, but still mindful of Richard’s low tolerance for pain. Even a light spanking will feel like punishment at this point.

Richard stays quiet for the first few smacks, but starts to squirm after half a dozen. His breath hitches, and he mutters an “ow,” every now and then, occasionally kicking his foot against the floorboards. He’s trying to be good, though, that much is clear. 

“You need to listen when I tell you something.” Thomas swats him three times fast. “You were asking for trouble, and now you’ve got it.” Three more.

Richard cries out at a whack on his thigh. He twists his hips sideways, tensing. Thomas waits for him to untwist. Pats his hip in warning. “Keep your bottom up, or I’ll start over.”

Richard’s exhale contains a hint of a moan, but he dips his spine, pushing his bum higher. 

Thomas deals him a slap designed to startle, and a surge of heat goes through him at Richard’s indignant hiss. “Higher. And spread your legs so I can get at everything.”

“Thomas…”

“What…did…I…say?” Four swats to the tops of Richards’s legs, four desperate yelps.

Richard raises his bottom higher still and widens his stance.

Thomas swats back and forth across his buttocks. “This the sort of attention you wanted?”

Richard’s “no” is heartfelt. While Thomas suspects this is precisely the sort of attention Richard wanted, he indulges the fib, swatting faster but no harder, letting speed substitute for force. Richard’s cries rise in pitch and he rocks his hips, one leg sliding off Thomas’s lap. Thomas smacks his inner thigh, and Richard quickly pulls his leg back up. Thomas stops and readjusts him, hoisting him closer to his own body, then sets his leg over both of Richard’s, pinning him. He resumes spanking, using broad movements of his arm but pulling each punch, so to speak, so that the swats are more noise than sting. 

He has little doubt Richard feels safer like this—knowing he can’t get away, knowing Thomas can handle it if he struggles. And Richard takes up those struggles in earnest, straining against the leg trapping his, pushing up onto his elbows, knocking his toe against the floorboards.

“Well,” Thomas remarks, “this is the sort of attention you get when you’re disobedient.” He slows his pace a little. “Now you’re going to sit down to supper on a sore bottom. Was it really worth it?”

“N-no. No. Ah! Thomas, it wasn’t.”

“Are you going to listen next time I tell you something?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise, please…” Richard clasps his hands together on the duvet and rests his forehead on them.

Thomas stops to rub for a moment. The flesh is deliciously hot, Richard’s shiver a delicate movement that makes Thomas want to touch him all over, find all the most sensitive places. “Alright.” He’s not sure if his next words will sound ridiculous, or if this is something Richard will appreciate. He drags his nails lightly over a red patch on Richard’s left arsecheek, watching dimples appear as Richard tenses. “Twenty more. After each one, I want you to say, ‘I will obey without answering back.’ Understood?”

“Twenty? Ow!” Richard sucks in air, clenching his buttocks against the sting of the swat. “Ahh-hh-ow.”

“Understood?” Thomas repeats.

Richard nods against his clasped hands. “Yes, Thomas.” He wriggles a bit over Thomas’s thighs, an act that seems deliberate, intended to increase Thomas’s need. Thomas runs his nails briskly back and forth across his backside in answer, making him squirm more, making things more difficult for both of them.

“Alright. Ready?” He doesn't wait for an answer before he delivers a sound smack to Richard's left arsecheek. Richard flinches, gasping.

“I will obey without answering back.”

Thomas swats the other cheek, and where his palm lands the skin turns pale, then flushes a deeper rose. Richard presses his forehead hard to his hands. “I will obey without answering back.”

A third swat. It takes Richard longer to answer this time, his voice tight when he does. “I will obey without answering back.” 

Thomas can’t tell whether this is enjoyable for Richard. He’s not trying to crush the man’s spirit, just make him feel like he’s being properly punished, the way he says he wants. And Thomas isn’t sure how to ask without interrupting the scene. He swats again. 

“I will…” a small breath “...obey, without answering back.”

Thomas smacks the crease where arse meets thigh. Richard crosses his ankles, pressing his thighs together. His voice breaks on the words as he says them. Thomas hesitates.

“I deserve this,” Richard whispers. It’s clearly a reassurance meant for Thomas. Keep going.

Thomas rubs the flushed skin encouragingly. “You certainly do.” The next swat is a little harder. Richard makes a noise in his throat but says what he’s meant to. “And you’re taking this well,” Thomas tells him. “Don’t think I don’t see that.” 

The praise softens Richard’s body, and Thomas smiles to himself.

He lands two swats in rapid succession, one to each cheek. Richard hesitates, clearly uncertain as to how to navigate this change in pattern. “I will obey without answering back. I will obey without answering back. Thank you, Thomas.”

Does he have to be so sweet, when Thomas is trying to be strict? Thomas steels himself and delivers the next swat. A shuddering exhale, and Richard shifts his hips. Repeats the words. Thomas immediately swats him again.

“Ow. I will obey without answering back. God, this is very embarrassing,” Richard murmurs.

“What’s embarrassing is your behaviour earlier. Your disobedience.”

Richard gives a soft sound of distress.

“Are you embarrassed by that? Or by the fact that you’re getting your bottom smacked for it?”

“Both,” Richard whispers.

Thomas’s hand descends.

“I will…” Richard’s voice cracks. He draws one sharp breath, then another. “I’m sorry.” He lets out a sob. “Oh. Fuck…” Another sharp breath, his belly contracting against Thomas’s thighs. “Sorry. I’m trying…I’m trying…”

“It’s alright.” Thomas rubs again. “We’ve got time.” He doesn’t think he’s being too harsh; it’s not pain that’s got Richard in tears, but rather that very deep well of feeling these games tap into. He runs his palm over one buttock, then the other, squeezing gently, feeling the heat.

“I will…obey…without…” Richard’s shoulders hitch. He swallows. “Without answering back.”

“I know you will.” Thomas continues rubbing, trying to take stock of where they are. Richard’s not panicking, doesn’t seem like. He’s just feeling a lot of things at once, the way he sometimes does. Thomas gives him a lighter swat. 

“I will obey without answering back,” Richard manages. But then unclasps his hands and buries his face in them, dragging in a rough breath and letting it out. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. You don’t have to say it for the last ten. I think you’ve got the message. Just concentrate on learning from this, alright?”

“Thank you,” Richard forces out. And then he reaches down and grasps Thomas’s ankle.

Thomas swallows, stroking Richard’s thigh. That soft grip around his ankle feels sweet, Richard bracing himself while reassuring Thomas as well. He’s never felt quite so close to Richard before, so connected, and he finds he needs another moment spent touching him, enjoying the warmth of his skin, the texture of the curls of hair on his legs, the firmness of his muscles. He senses Richard try to gather himself even as he longs to come apart. 

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispers, not sure if Richard hears.

Richard’s belly contracts more rapidly against Thomas’s thighs, and he sniffs, shoulders starting to shake again. Thomas’s chest tugs in sympathy, and he circles his palm round the small of Richard’s back, then lifts his hand.

The final swats aren’t hard, but Thomas can imagine how they feel to Richard, who bursts into uninhibited sobs at the first. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” he chokes out, tightening his grip on Thomas’s ankle. “I’m sorry. I won’t be disobedient anymore. I’m so sorry. Please, please believe me…”

Thomas suspects it’s often Richard’s fear of the possibility of pain, of losing control, that gets him worked up—not the pain itself. Thomas barely does more than tap him for the final three, but Richard still cries out, twisting and moaning. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise, I really promise. I won’t disobey anymore, Thomas, please…” He’s crying in earnest now. 

Thomas is more than ready to end the punishment and offer comfort. Richard lies limply over his lap, sobbing with abandon, and Thomas strokes him, not speaking. “Did I make myself clear?” he asks after a moment.

Richard laughs through his tears, the sound a relief to Thomas. “Very.”

“Alright. Come here, sweetheart.” He helps Richard up and into his arms. Richard hisses as he tries to find a way to sit that doesn’t hurt, and Thomas assists there too, settling back on the pillows so that Richard can lean sideways and rest his head on Thomas’s chest. “Good boy,” Thomas murmurs. “That’s right. That’s a good lad.” He pulls Richard’s bedraggled, half-buttoned shirt up over his shoulder again, and smooths the shirttails down to cover more of him.

Richard puts the back of his hand to his nose. “God, this is... I’m afraid I’m a mess.”

Thomas fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief and holds it to Richard’s nose. Richard hesitates, then blows into it. Lets Thomas wipe his nose for him then dab round his eyes with a clean edge. It startles Thomas for a second, the intimacy of the gesture, but then he relaxes and lets himself enjoy being caretaker. “Better?”

Richard nods and settles against Thomas’s chest once more.

Thomas slips his hand under his shirttails to rub his hip. “Very proud of how you took that.”

Richard inhales. “I really am sorry,” he says, muffled.

“’s over now. You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you.”

Thomas wants to ask, Was it too much? Won’t be afraid to play the brat with me in the future, will you? Because I wouldn’t ever actually want you to stop.

He slides his hand cautiously to Richard’s backside, meaning to soothe. But Richard flinches. “Sorry,” Thomas murmurs, returning to his hip.

“Maybe in a minute? Just…sore now.” 

“Of course.”

They don’t speak for a few moments. At last, Richard’s breathing calms, and he sighs, pressing closer to Thomas. “Thank you,” he repeats. “So very much.”

“You’re alright?” Thomas asks. 

“More than. Feel like I’m flying.”

“Do you?” A small burst of pride in Thomas’s chest. He’s done well, then.

“God, Thomas…it’s so…”

“‘So’ what?”

“It’s so good. I know it’s an odd quirk, I do. I appreciate you indulging it.”

“I’m not indulging you.” Thomas has tried to explain this before, but it’s difficult, and sometimes he gets frustrated trying. “You always act as if that’s all I’m doing, but I like playing this way.” He does. He’s still learning, he’s still not always sure of himself, but he can’t imagine wanting things any other way between them.

Richard nuzzles his chest. “Sorry,” he offers softly. “It’s still a bit hard to believe I’ve found someone who wants this. Especially hard to believe straight afterwards, when I’m feeling a bit foolish. Seems like this is all a dream.”

“Well, it’s not. And what are you on about, feeling foolish?”

“It's embarassing, to think how I carried on.”

Thomas tries to glare down at him, but Richard’s still got his face against his chest. 

“I know you don’t want me to feel that way,” Richard continues. “And Thomas, I’m trying. But I can’t help it; I do feel foolish, at times.”

Thomas kisses what he can reach of him, some combination of hair and ear. “You were beautiful,” he ventures. “That bottom was made for smacking, is what I think.” 

Richard chuckles, still sounding a little unsteady. “Maybe so.”

“Were you really so nervous?”

“Good God, yes. It scares the daylights out of me, getting punished like that. Embarrasses the hell out of me too. That’s more than we’ve ever done, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve never given me a spanking quite like that. A thrashing, was it? But I trusted you completely. I knew I’d get through it. Knew you’d help me. That’s really something, that feeling.”

Thomas tightens his arm around him. “Was it what you imagined? You always say you want a real punishment, and I know I can’t always deliver. But—”

“No—now, no, never talk like it’s your fault. It’s an odd quirk, as I’ve said. The fact that you try to give me what I want, even when I keep changing my mind…” Richard’s breath is warm through Thomas’s shirt. “Because I do get nervous. Obviously. I worry that I won’t be able to take it. But then if we push on, it’s so, so good. And the fact that you can love me as much as you do, and still give me that even when it goes against your nature, it’s just—God. Please don’t ever think I’m not grateful. So grateful.” 

Thomas glances towards the wall. What if it doesn’t go against his nature, is the thing? What if it’s right in bloody line with his nature? That’s what worries him. “I just want you to be happy,” he says truthfully.

“I am. But I want you to be happy too.” Richard’s hand is on his arm, rubbing. “I don’t want you to have to force yourself to stomach doing these things to me.”

“It’s not like that,” he says quickly. He hesitates, strangely shy about admitting what he fears. “I worry about going too far. Worry I won’t see that you want to stop, really want to stop.”

“That’s what the word is for.”

“I know that, but sometimes you…”

“I know,” Richard lifts his head slightly, looks up at him with a wry smile. 

“But I feel like I always, or usually, know somehow.”

“You do,” Richard confirms. “Know me better than I know myself, at times.”

That makes Thomas feel better. “And I like to see you give yourself.” He hopes he doesn’t sound stupid. “It makes me happy. Seeing you get what you need.” He shifts a little, peering downward, wanting to see more of Richard’s face. “Can’t pretend I don’t like the sight of you arse-up over my knee, either.”

Richard grins. “I’ve a fine arse, I don’t mind saying.” 

“That’s rather stating the obvious, Mr Ellis.” Thomas likes this sort of intimacy too, the intimacy of conversation. He’s never had anyone he could talk to this way before. Which he supposes makes it all the more confusing when Richard acts embarrassed by what they do. Should he be embarrassed too? Is it alright if what he seeks isn’t confirmation of his authority or his lovemaking prowess, but that sense of fitting together, understanding one another? If he wants to use this time afterwards to bask in their closeness, rather than feel shame over what they’ve done? “Felt so with you towards the end there. Like I could feel what you were feeling.”

“Well, there were some things I was feeling that you certainly weren’t,” Richard grouses, though he sounds amused.

“But I could feel you trying for me,” Thomas says quietly.

“I was,” Richard agrees, just as soft. “I do want to be good for you, Thomas. I love getting myself in trouble. Love being your brat. But I’d be good for you—as good as I know how to be—anytime you truly wanted me to.”

My brat. The words settle somewhere deep in Thomas, fill him with a sensation that’s like light spreading, illuminating more and more space. He gives Richard another kiss and leaves his lips against his hair as he whispers, “My brat, hm?” He suspects if he moved his lips down to Richard’s ear, he’d find the edge of it hot with a blush. 

“Yours, every part of me,” Richard agrees. “Even the odd bits.”

“What are the odd bits? Have you three livers or some such, Mr Ellis?”

Richard’s snort blows more warm breath against the fabric of Thomas’s shirt. “Can’t say I’ve ever checked.”

Thomas shifts slightly, and Richard lifts his head as though anticipating his getting up. But Thomas only crooks his arm round Richard’s head once he’s comfortable and eases him against his chest again.

“You said I don’t have to be a good lad here.” Richard makes it almost a question.

“You don’t.” Seems that’s what’s at the core of it all: Goody Two-Shoes Ellis wants a chance to cut loose a little. “I like that you keep me guessing.”

“Just say so, if you ever don’t.”

“Don’t you worry yourself about it. I’ll tell you if it’s too much. You let me handle it.”

They stay like that awhile, neither of them in a rush to be anywhere else. Eventually Thomas asks, “Did you do this with the other blokes? Ask to be punished till you cried, and all that?”

Richard hesitates. “One of them. That second one I told you about.”

The one who didn’t give Richard a way to stop it, Thomas remembers with a jolt of bitterness.

“Was he better than me? At giving you what you wanted, I mean. Without second-guessing?”

Richard snorts. “He wasn’t better, no. You’re in a class by yourself, I can assure you. But he did…well, he really went for it. Didn’t pay much mind to how I was taking it, I suppose.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I asked him to,” Richard says quickly.

“But did you enjoy it?”

“I think I enjoyed the excitement of it, in the first few moments. The sense that he was truly seizing control. But no, I didn’t enjoy being hurt.”

“You don’t have to pretend, to make me feel better. If you did enjoy it with him, I mean. It’s okay to say that. I’m only curious.”

“I really didn’t. I didn’t understand at the time, but…it only works if there’s affection there. For me, I mean. I’m never going to be the sort of bloke who enjoys pain. But I love trusting someone enough to let it happen. I love— Well. You know what I love. Getting myself in hot water and suddenly finding myself in too deep. Asking for mercy and not always receiving it.”

“You like being forgiven,” Thomas murmurs.

“Yes.” Richard’s breath moves his body softly against Thomas's. “I like knowing I’ll come out the other side. Like being loved even when I’m not perfect. And I like…”

It seems an awfully long time before he finishes.

“Being comforted. When I’m…when I’m not in control of myself.”

When you cry.

Not such an odd thing. Odd for a bloke to admit to, maybe, and he knows Richard wouldn’t admit it to anyone but him. Thomas has wept a few times in the past, but he’s never really considered what it would be like to be held through it. No one’s ever offered, and he wouldn’t have thought it was something he could ask for. Closest thing was maybe when Mrs Hughes found him out in the courtyard after the business with Jimmy and took him back to her sitting room. She’d been kind enough that he’d revealed more to her than he ever would have otherwise.

But here, when it’s just him and Richard, they can ask those things of each other. Can ask anything of each other. He hopes.

“Did you cry? With him?” Thomas asks.

“Not the first time. No way I could have. I was too nervous, and too…confused, I suppose.”

“Confused?”

“Surprised by how much it hurt. Punishment was something I thought I wanted, and I expected it to feel as good as it did in my head. Didn’t want him to see that it frightened me, or that I couldn’t take it. And I was angry—at myself, mostly, for not handling it as well as I’d hoped. But also at him, because it felt so…callous, I suppose, the way he went about it. Then angry at myself again, because it was what I’d asked for, so what right did I have to be angry at him, and so on.”

Thomas holds him tighter. “The bastard.”

“He was only doing what I’d asked.”

“Yes. Only what you asked, and not a bleeding thing more.” Thomas’s heart pounds. “You’ve got to… It’s not fair to do that to a person. If a punishment is just about making someone feel small, or—or hurting them, without—without looking after them too, then that’s not right. I’ve never been an especially kind person, but I do know when something’s not right, and that’s…” He sighs loudly. “I hate thinking about it. Hate thinking about blokes hurting you how they want, not how you want.”

Richard goes very still. When he speaks, there’s a slight roughness to his voice. “But if they thought it was what I wanted…”

“No, now listen. Not saying I always know what you need, or how to give it to you. But I can see well enough that you don’t want to be hurt for the sake of it. I know you’re the most—wonderful man, and that no one should take you for granted, and if anyone’s going to do all this to you, then they’d bloody well better take care of you too.”

Richard raises his head enough for their gazes meet. There’s a lot in Richard’s eyes—always is. Affection and amusement and wonder and something a little fragile and uncertain. They’ve usually switched back, by this point, to the roles they’re in when they’re not playing the game—Richard more confident, sure of himself and of his place in the world; Thomas glad for Richard’s confidence, glad to be helped along a little. But right now, in Richard’s eyes, there remains that longing to be guided. To have someone tell him how it’s going to be.

So Thomas kisses him hard, letting him know he’s still being cared for. That he’ll take charge whenever Richard needs it. Even just for a moment, when the aches of the past find a foothold in the now. 

“They’d better tell you how amazing you are, too,” Thomas adds. “For giving what you give.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“I’m not sweet, I’m right.”

“I’m fine now, Thomas. Really. It wasn’t some terrible experience that’s left me scarred forever. I have everything I need.”

Thomas isn’t ready to let this go. “You’re alright, sure. But maybe this is why you get so nervous about being punished. At least partly. You ever think that?”

“I assure you, I was nervous the first time, too.”

“Well, of course you were nervous the first time. But it could have gone better than it did. Could have been everything you wanted, and then you wouldn’t have been so nervous the next time.” Thomas isn’t sure why he’s worked up. Besides the obvious, which is that he cares so deeply for Richard that it hurts to think of him hurting. But there’s that need in him he can’t quite explain, that only seems to come out when they’re together. He wants the chance to see to Richard, in every sense. To care for him, punish him, orchestrate his pleasure in ways that satisfy him entirely. The man is a gift, plain and simple, and the idea of being careless with such a gift is unthinkable.

“Maybe so. But it’s alright now.”

“It’s not,” Thomas mutters.

Richard laughs, a short, soft sound of surprise as well as amusement. “Means the world to me, to know you understand. And to know all you do comes from a place of love.”

“You’re just so special,” Thomas mumbles, as though he’s not really sure he wants Richard to hear him. “You deserve good things.”

“I have good things.”

“Every good thing, then.”

“The past is past.”

Not really a mantra Thomas can live by. The past washes over him with astounding frequency, colouring the way he sees everything. But he’s glad for Richard, if Richard can leave it behind. He’ll try to leave Richard’s past behind too, even if he can’t quite manage that with his own.

He rubs between Richard’s shoulder blades, pausing after a few seconds. “Take off your shirt.”

Without hesitation, Richard undoes his remaining buttons. He’s elegant in his movements now as he sits up to shrug off the shirt, then crosses his arms over his chest to grip the hem of his undershirt and strip it from his body. Manages to do it all in close quarters without elbowing Thomas. He sits there fully naked, palms resting on his thighs, head slightly bowed. He’s lovely; he really is. All lean muscle and elegant lines, his pale skin flushed from their exertions. Thomas leans over and kisses the red splotch of the earlier love mark on his shoulder, just barely brushing it with his lips.

“May I ask a question?” Richard keeps his head lowered. 

“Of course.”

“Could I be good for you now? Please?” He closes his eyes as Thomas’s lips find his neck. “Tell me what you’d like, and I’ll do it.”

“I’d like to see you come,” Thomas murmurs against his jaw.

“Anything,” Richard repeats, without looking up.

Thomas thinks for a few seconds, and it doesn’t take him long to come up with what he’d like to do. “Wait here.”

He swings his legs over the bed and stands. Undresses quickly, not making a show of it. He’s oddly self-conscious. Richard looks so dead stunning, sitting like that in the lamplight. Thomas feels oafish by comparison. But as he sheds his clothing, he’s aware of Richard sneaking glances—keeping his head bowed, but most definitely watching. That gives him some confidence.

“Lie on your back. Over my lap.” Thomas returns to the bed and sits on the horizontal, scooting backwards to extend his legs out in front of him as far as possible. His calves rest against the edge of the mattress. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he’ll survive.

Richard watches him, then starts to shuffle towards him on his knees. “You mean…”

“Just lie down, head on the pillow. Like how you’d sleep. But your arse in my lap.”

Richard crawls over his legs towards the foot of the bed, and then gets himself turned around. He stretches out, facedown at first, rolling over once he’s in position and shifting until his arse rests on Thomas’s thighs. He tenses a little at the contact where he’s still sore, but doesn’t protest, and Thomas revels in the feel of the still-warm skin against his own. Richard places his hands up near his head, fingertips under the pillow.

That body Thomas so admires is even lovelier in this position. Richard’s prick is hard again, almost against his belly, and furrows of muscle standing out in his thighs.

“Aren’t you a sight,” Thomas whispers.

Richard smiles briefly. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Don’t be modest, Mr Ellis. Surely you know you’re easy on the eyes.” He licks his palm, hesitates, then uses his thumb and forefinger to coax a bit of lubrication from the tip of Richard’s cock. Richard moans softly.

Thomas spreads the fluid down the shaft, his own prick hardening at the sight of Richard’s, flushed and eager. Richard whimpers, arse tensing against Thomas’s thighs, hips starting to lift. 

“Don’t you be fussing, or demanding anything,” Thomas warns. “This prick is mine, and I’ll touch it just how I like.”

Richard’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s so much need in them that Thomas’s hand nearly falters. He truly loves this. Loves you being in charge.

Loves you.

Thomas is determined to be worthy of that.

Richard settles at once and doesn’t make another sound.

“You can make noise,” Thomas assures him. “Let me hear what you’ve got to say about it all.” He rolls Richard’s balls lightly, then grips his shaft again and slides his fist up. When he reaches the top, he gives a light tug and then releases, watching Richard’s prick bob. His own cock is hard against Richard’s hip.

One of Richard's hands comes down to grip the edge of the mattress, and he moans.

It’s perfection, Richard sprawled like this, head thrown back, Thomas cradling him with one arm, stroking him with his other hand. Richard doesn’t fidget, doesn’t beg, simply arches his body every now and then when pleasure takes over. Tenses his buttocks, curls his toes, moans deeply. 

“Good boy. Very good. Can you come like this?”

Richard nods, face no longer screwed up in concentration, but soft and relaxed, eyes closed as though he’s asleep. He pushes his hips up to meet the downward slide of Thomas’s hand, and sighs. They find their rhythm, a slow, easy one, growing incrementally faster. Richard’s breathing quickens, stutters. “Please?” he whispers.

“You can.”

Richard comes at once, and beautifully, keeping the movement of his hips steady as his seed spills over Thomas’s fist. “Oh…” he whispers, pausing with his hips raised and his thighs trembling as Thomas gently strokes him through the orgasm. He exhales.

“Good boy,” Thomas repeats softly. “Beautiful, Richard.” There’s a rasp to his voice he can’t do a damned thing about. 

Richard’s lips curve up, though his eyes remain closed. He pants quietly through the last pulses of his release, then lowers his hips until his arse rests on Thomas’s lap again. His breath catches with the tiniest sound, and that almost does Thomas in, the thought that Richard’s bottom is still sore, that he’s been punished and pleasured both.

He gives Richard’s prick another slow pull, even though it’s softening, and Richard winces but accepts that last demonstration of Thomas’s control.

And then Thomas is bending at the waist, the movement slightly awkward, but he has to taste that sheen of sweat on Richard’s skin—has to kiss down his throat and chest. He is completely in thrall to this man, so painfully in love that it feels less like what poets write about and more like being stabbed and then having the knife twisted. Whoever came up with the words ‘I love you’ didn’t bloody think it through to all the times when those words wouldn’t be enough, could never be enough, to match the feeling. 

He puts one hand behind him on the bed for support. His fingers are still sticky with Richard’s spend; he’s getting it on the sheets, which is going to be annoying to clean later. But he doesn’t care. Richard is staring up at the ceiling, looking dazed. Thomas strokes his belly, his hips, his thighs. 

It’s some time before either of them speaks. Richard finally swallows, tilts his head to the side a little to find Thomas’s gaze, and lifts a hand to touch his arm. “May I ask for something?”

“’Course.”

“Would you bring yourself off, and finish on me?”

Thomas startles.

“If you’d rather I do something for you, I will.” Richard’s voice is low, gravelly, as though he’s been sleeping. He stretches luxuriously and smiles, plucking lightly at Thomas’s arm. “But I’d also just watch you. If I could.”

Well, then.

Thomas eases out from under him, drawing his legs up onto the bed as Richard lifts his hips to let him. Richard settles back onto the mattress, placing his hands up by his head again, and Thomas straddles his waist.

He remembers Richard’s shyness, the first time they did anything like this, when Thomas asked him to put on a show bringing himself off. He feels a touch of that same shyness now. But the reverence in Richard’s eyes helps. “I’m not going to last long,” he admits with an embarrassed laugh.

Richard smiles, closed-lipped, but doesn’t answer. 

I’m allowed, Thomas thinks. I’m allowed to do this however I want. He takes himself in hand and gives a few tugs. Stops. “Help me.” He intends it as an order, but it comes out as more of a question. 

Richard’s smile grows. He nudges Thomas’s hand gently out of the way so he can grasp Thomas’s prick. His rhythm is smooth, even, and within a few seconds, it’s as if all of the pleasure Thomas has experienced this evening comes rushing back to him at once. His hips jerk; he hunches forward. Comes harder than he expected to, and Richard angles his cock downwards, so that the spend streaks his belly.

He kneels over Richard, panting. Richard’s still watching him, looking rather complacent. Thomas can scarcely keep his gaze off Richard’s stomach, the way he’s marked him. “Looks good on me, don’t you think?” Richard enquires smugly.

Thomas’s breathing gradually slows. “Ought to get cleaned up,” he manages.

“No,” Richard whispers, taking his hand. “Let’s rest like this for a bit. Then we’ll worry about cleaning up.” He tugs lightly. “Please?”

Thomas stretches out beside him. Richard turns into him, the stickiness on his belly getting on Thomas too. It’s a strange sensation, though not entirely unpleasant. He’s acutely aware of his own exhaustion. Richard must share it, because he’s asleep almost before Thomas can get an arm properly around him. But as he’s shifting to get comfortable, Richard’s hand closes around his. “Rest,” Richard whispers, and Thomas has that odd sense of slipping between worlds. When they wake, Richard will be chattering, full of stories and plans, things he’s read in the papers or seen on the streets that he thinks Thomas ought to know about. And Thomas will be back to following quietly and contentedly, holding wisps of this dream in his head. 

Thomas is who Richard turns to. Who Richard trusts with both the softest and fiercest parts of himself. Thomas has earned that trust, earned this man.

Every good thing.

He has every good thing.