~ Take me to you, imprison me, for I Except you enthrall me, never shall be free Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. ~ - John Donne, ‘Batter My Heart’
~
He gags Andy to stop him screaming.
Roger knows the American tries to be quiet when Roger fucks him knowing it’s what the Swiss likes, but it’s hard, harder still when Roger uses teeth and nails to write his name across Andy’s skin. The one time he’d used a knife Andy had screamed loud enough to bring a terrified neighbour banging at the door. Roger had had to talk fast to get out of that, Andy refusing to leave the bedroom to prove Roger wasn’t murdering him, curled in bed with a hand pressed to the crimson-stained R carved in his hip. The neighbour had left satisfied with Roger’s excuses and Andy had sent her flowers a few days later in apology but Roger’s careful. Another time may be more difficult and he likes Andy quiet during sex anyway, so he uses the gag. Andy never protested though his eyes widened the first time Roger gently pressed it to his mouth.
Andy never protests. Which makes the knife incident all the more surprising; Roger had treated the American delicately for weeks afterwards, unwilling to push his luck. He knows Andy hates the games he plays, hates the teeth marks that last for days and the bruises that last for longer. Knows it and he still can’t stop.
Occasionally, when Andy is writhing and whimpering beneath him, he thinks he might not care.
Apart from the knife incident though he never leaves permanent marks and Andy tells him when he’s gone too far; tells him with cries from behind the gag; with the way he curls in on himself when Roger lets go and with the hurt, sharp as shattered glass behind hazel eyes bloodshot from holding back tears. Yes, Roger knows when he’s gone too far. He presses a kiss to the ridged scar on Andy’s hip to remind himself and it’s rough on his tongue, a mark of ownership, a reminder to all who see it in the locker room of who this pretty American belongs too. Roger longs for an F to complete the initials but he’s afraid Andy won’t take it this time. Mardy has already been working on his friend, whispering doubts and warnings in Andy’s ear when he thinks Roger isn’t looking.
Roger hopes it doesn’t become a problem. Mardy is too pretty to break but he will, if he thinks Andy is starting to listen.
Andy is writhing beneath him now, muffled whimpers coming through the gag and Roger digs manicured nails into the American’s shoulders, half moons of warning biting through skin. Andy quiets, eyes screwed tight shut, wrists trapped above his head with soft cloth that’s still rubbing the skin raw. Roger’s been trying to get him to wear wristbands on court so they can do this during tournaments without waiting for the bruises to heal but Andy’s avoided it so far, somehow. He never usually disobeys now Roger thinks about it. It must be Mardy’s influence. Dammit. Roger really didn’t want to take the time to break the little blond American.
Could be fun though.
Thoughts of Mardy are pushed aside as he starts to slide into Andy and catches the sharp gasp even through muffling cloth; it’s too soon and he shivers at the way Andy chews on the gag in his mouth, throwing his head back and pulling at the restraints until his wrists are painfully red, but Roger doesn’t stop. He loves Andy like this, loves the shell of confidence peeled away to reveal the naked layers underneath and all trace of rebellion vanished as the American screws his eyes shut and shakes beneath Roger’s touch.
The sex is like it always is, hard and fast and all about control; Andy’s lack of it and Roger’s love of it, painting his name like a brand across Andy’s chest in sweat, spit and come. Andy’s silent when Roger finally slides out, silent when his bruised wrists are released and silent as Roger snuggles up to him, whispering ‘I love you’ in the American’s ear and kissing swollen lips, curled together in the tangled mess they’ve made of the bed. He’s silent even when the gag’s untied and Roger’s tossed it aside. The Swiss is too tired to notice. He just curls up against Andy’s warmth and closes his eyes, Mardy and what to do about him on his mind.
He’s asleep long before the first of Andy’s tears soak the pillow. He’s asleep as Andy slides out of bed and tiptoes stiffly, painfully towards the door. He’s still asleep as a door slams and a car starts, the sound of it swiftly fading towards the highway.
He’ll sleep till morning and wake up to nothing but an empty bed and salt on his pillow.