[RAUM/GREED] LEATHER & COLLAR Title: Leather & Collar Author:dexteria Rating: NC-17 Series/Fandom:Forgotten Gods Characters/Pairings: Raum/Greed Warnings: Violence, language, sex. Summary: When Greed wakes up with an unfamiliar weight on his neck.
This has happened too many times for it to be a pain in the ass anymore. Literally.
Waking up with the skirt of the bed in his face, breathing raggedly, his body twitching with the cold that's close to the floor, only welcome when he's usually high or hungover. The cold getting worse as he rolls over, despite the expensive carpet now covering his naked chest. Hands slowly unraveling themselves from fists, feeling the ache in each digit, the stickiness of last night's activities staining deep into the skin and into so much more beneath them.
It's all very familiar.
The little details count and the big ones don't surprise him anymore.
Like how his jaw's dying from even the smallest of tensing, how his lips are glued together by the same sticky substance that is still faintly evident on his chin. Like how his ass is screaming bloody murder from the slight shift in position, a dull pain now in his head as he stretches, taking in all this pain with a healthy dose of hate spreading his body, warming him up.
Yeah. He's not surprised.
It's the regular, usual morning routine ever since he sold his soul to someone worse than the Devil.
Only because the Devil couldn't give two fucks about some small fry like him or his ass. He wouldn't know just how fuckable his lips are and how he's talented in innumerable languages, which means his tongue has more options in playing the alphabet game on skin, lips, and cock.
Maybe it's why he gives himself over, again and again. Like how someone gives into their secret desires, darkest indulgences, and, ironically, favorite Sins. Every time.
They knew what you really wanted. Even if you don't even know it yet.
So it's normal, this train of thought, this remembering of last night and the long checklist of things to forget right away.
But it's the heavy shift of leather, metal, and chain that breaks the routine.
It's enough to break the sticky seal on his lips when he gasps for air. Enough to breathe out a shaky "what the fuck?". To give his muscles enough oxygen to force himself to sit up and have blown pupils to look sideways at the tall mirror a couple of feet away.
Eyes travel upwards along large expanse of smooth pale skin, past the dark bruises lining his arms and the long lines of red on his back. Then they freeze on the nape of his neck, just below the messy curl of his black hair.
There's a collar there. A leather collar, with a chain leading away from it.
What. The fuck.
He's surprised, he's infuriated, he's humiliated, but his brain actually thinks about it in another way before all the rage and profanities are sure to kick in. It actually completes the whole slut, whore, boytoy, slave, rapeable youth image he's got going on. He's almost tempted to lick his lips, take in some more of last night's sinful aftertaste, just to make it picture-perfect, to complete the whole sensory overload and experience the moment fully.
But his sudden overwhelming desire is crushed by the soft clink of the chains leading from the collar, reminding the poor bastard that being a slut isn't all fun and games.
It immediately has him clawing at the damn thing, gasping for air as the leather constricts against his neck muscles from the effort, his nails find a metal padlock on the back of his neck, explaining everything and nothing.
It explains why he's woken up on the floor again, almost like a pet dog, despite the many other times when it was just all due to a losing battle for pillows.
But it explains nothing when it came to why it's needed. The bastard that placed it on - no doubt the same one that did a number on his ass, mouth, and mind from last night and every single fucking night since reemerging from Hell - is already pretty damn good restricting his pet Sin from going anywhere.
Then again, since when did Raum really think practically when it came to making Greed's life Hell?
The heavy pants of exertion slowly twist into strangled whining and whimpering before he's found himself flat on his back again. When his stupid raging brain gets that it's the lack of oxygen that immobilized him, Greed pulls himself up once more - a little bit too quickly.
A strangled groan rips from his throat instead of the scream for bloody fucking murder that his ass wants him to vocalize, and finally, it's enough to wake the asshole responsible for this.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the bed covers rustle, parting black silk more easily and sexily than Moses could ever of the Red Sea, revealing not a path towards freedom, but instead a more tempting towards damnation, a pair of heavy blue eyes, and golden skin encasing True Evil.
Greed's unaware of how his body tenses right on cue, his breaths coming out startling short at the image. Maybe his ass and brain are linked, one telling the other that this Evil on the bed is Not Your Friend. The one that laying a couple of feet away, with a slow, dangerous smirk that makes Greed's stomach churn in an unpleasant way.
Then it's his neck that kindly constricts painfully from the ever-present grip around it, snapping Greed out of staring at those blue, blue eyes.
Because there's still the matter of the collar.
"Wha--" His mouth snaps shut immediately when his voice is high-pitched, having not recovered from screaming last night.
Too late. Now Raum's smirk splits into a wide grin. (It's just another piece of arsenal he'll use against you when you want to play Big Boy again, something you'll never live down.)
Greed carefully clears the sore throat before trying again.
"What the fuck is this doing on me?!" he yells, getting it out in one go, which is a Hell lot better than in painful, embarrassing squeaks. His throat is obviously not pleased.
The grin that was on the princely face now twists into displeasure - which makes Greed feel suddenly sickeningly empty (what the flying fuck, get a grip). Apparently Mr. Don't I Look Fine has his kryptonite moments, too.
"Keep it down," Raum growls, fingers pushing through golden hair, something Greed can't help but notice from time to time. "It's too damn early to deal with your loud-ass shit."
"My shit?"
Greed's throat laughs dryly at the squeak that comes out anyways. Try the yelling thing, you fucker, and next time it'll be a squeal, it cautions him.
"You put this fucking collar on me and you think that I won't be making a big deal out of it? After last night, you think I'm going to be okay with how your sick mind wants to make the best of my contract with you?"
No yelling. Just angry hand waving this time.
There's no more empty feeling when Greed wipes away that damn grin for good, which has been replaced with a scowl, giving the Sin a gleeful feeling. A very safe feeling.
He tries to prolong this feeling when fingers go for the collar again, despite what lack of oxygen's taught him a few minutes prior, proving something that only he'll be caring about and not the Duke. Because there's still the matter of the padlock, but Greed's own pride runs more deeper than he'll admit.
Raum interrupts this pathetic moment of proving nothing by lying back onto the pillows once more. Allowing his lips to put on that slow, lazy grin again, enjoying the visual image of his newest purchase for his pet and allowing that pleasure to taunt the hot-tempered Sin.
It works brilliantly, since in the next moment, Greed climbs onto the bed and crawls up towards the Duke, filled with both hate and humiliation. It's not the expression of lust and the aftermath of too much cocaine, but it's enough to make Raum laugh anyways, in that obnoxiously charming and dangerous way.
Quicker than you can say "kinky", the fight's over - like the Sin had a chance - and Greed's in a familiar submissive position, pressed chest-to-chest with his torturer. Raum's lack of muscle achiness and ass-bitchery of Bloody Fucking Murder gives him the advantage of pining Greed's hands down on either side of his torso and thus, successfully causing him to stumble and give in.
The sudden hard press of hips and shocking warmth of naked and naked also might have something to do with it. Along with an elegant leg wrapped around his waist and a strong, toned body that dominated Greed's all too easily.
"This is no way to appreciate me for your new gift," Raum tsks, head tilting slightly to examine the squirming creature pinned underneath him. It's the perfect moment to brave the snarling jaws of one very frustrated Sin, to dip down and taste both leather and musk, grazing teeth against the lower edge of the collar.
It makes things worse for Greed, who immediately stops squirming and then starts breathing, and then remembers that there's not enough air between the both of them to survive.
Fuck it.
The bastard could die from asphyixation for all he care.
So he starts breathing greedily again, before Raum realizes he's going to die, die, die for what he's done.
Which doesn't work so well, when he feels faint anyway, and that he realizes that's not all air he's breathing in.
Because it can't just be air that makes him breathless again, lips parted for something else, more intoxicating and needed like air itself. And that want is his Achilles' heel every single time, ridiculous sex accessory of a collar or not. How the hot press of skin against skin and hips thrusting viciously against thinly covered bruised ones spell promise of pain, pleasure, and a thousand and one mornings of living through it all.
"Fuck you," Greed manages to gasp, his vocal chords finally breaking free from the blockage of air resting in his throat, most of it having been released from a traitorous moan given off.
"My, my, quite the eager little bitch this morning, aren't you?" Raum laughs, coming up from a reddening patch of skin that doesn't entirely look like bruises, but suspiciously dotted with real blood.
His mouth is never forgiving, be it through words or through actions, and Greed knows better than to underestimate it. Or question it, for that matter.
Raum continues to lick his lips, savoring the metallic taste of iron like the morning dew and raises himself to his knees, overlooking Greed's spread-eagled body, heaving and flushed.
"Well, come on. We haven't got all morning, if you're dying for it." Taking up the chain in one hand, Raum viciously tugs Greed upwards, getting him to sit up as well, the chain feeling mighty fine and powerful in one hand while the sight of Greed struggling beneath him with a heavy blush on his face only feeds his sadism even more.
One hand winding the chain around, the other pulls down another pair of silk pants to reveal more golden skin and a raging hard-on that needs to be attended to, left solely for the skills and company of one ex-Ace Moore that was completely, utterly, his.
"Eat up." Raum sneers, knows that Greed won't refuse.
And he doesn't.
And they both know it's not because of some damn contract either.
Some of that sticky stuff is already drawing a line halfhazardly across his cheek as he leans forward, starting from the base. The shine of spit's following up the length to the head before Greed draws another line with his tongue, before he pauses at the tip and let's it split his lips into two halves as he sucks it slowly inside of that wonderful, pliant, dirty little mouth.
When lips travel a mile down south to a dead end, Raum starts tugging the chain again, jolting Greed from concentration and a mild form of comatose in lust. The poor confused and irritated Sin starts to gag, if only because there's this thing around his neck that he's still not used to, and that, in turn, causes the same effect as him swallowing.
The nails that dig in sharply on Raum's hips wakes him from his own reverie, as he hisses sharply, almost chokes when there's something sharp dragging against his length. The grip on the chain tightens, but Greed's one step ahead this time by continuing to threaten Junior with slips of both tongue and teeth.
It's a stand-off, a close to checkmate, and what the hell is Greed trying say with his mouth full of cock but whatever it is, it's working as the vibrations work their way up bulging veins and finally to his balls that are having their turn at screaming Bloody Fucking Murder.
In the end, it's a combination of both of their own egos and another sharp tug of the collar, another round of choking, teeth grazing hard against the tip and then "oh, fuck".
Strings of come and saliva link both Master and Boytoy for a couple of seconds more as Greed pulls back, face looking dazed, flushed, finally getting what he wants and every inch of the reformed pet Raum intends him to be for however long this game plays out.
"Good boy."
Satisfied and satiated, Raum drops the chain from his hand, long enough to leave Greed to a momentary state of freedom as he wipes away his essence from abused lips, leaning down to share a dirty kiss, inspecting the internal damage, finding it sweet, salty, and still tasting like Sin every single time.
Greed's too tired again to try and resist, having found release himself during those excrutiating moments, his body enjoying the torture more than he's ever going to admit, but the white spots on the black sheets say otherwise.
And because he can't resist, since a loving Master is just as important as a sadistic and perverted one, Raum pulls up the soiled sheets around Greed, as well as licking a stray line of white cooling on the underside of his chin.
Greed only gives off a soft growl as Raum pats his cheek too hard, too tired and spent to spit in his face and give him a mouthful of profanities that Raum only would tease him in being endearments. The trouble isn't worth it, not right now when finally he can draw a pillow close to himself without it being cruelly snatched away.
Besides, he's finally off the floor and he has pillows to cushion his ass, which isn't screaming Bloody Murder any more, instead, doing Praise the Lord for Raum having spared it for this morning's early activities.
The rattle of the chain being tied up against the bed post, well out of Greed's reach, makes Greed sleepily mumble a "fuck you" as an instinctive response, his dirty mouth never disappointing him.
"Maybe later," Raum tells him with a dark chuckle.
After all, there was always their afternoon routine.