[FoF] Seven Days 01
Oct. 4th, 2018 06:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Seven Days
Characters: Bluestreak/Jazz
Universe: Flights of Fancy ‘verse, Harpyformers
Rating: M
Warnings: BDSM themes, Sexual Punishment, Orgasm Denial
Description: Perfectly behaved pets are boring pets, but Jazz might have bitten off more than he can chew when he disobeys Bluestreak.
Day Zero
It was one simple command.
‘Don’t come.’
It was too easy. Jazz swallowed a laugh at it. Show some restraint? Hold back? Prove he could obey? Those were easy. He’d had far more difficult commands from far more difficult masters.
Jazz was the perfect pet. He always had been. It was part of his charm.
Well, he was perfect until he didn’t want to be. Perfectly behaved pets were boring, after all, and there was something in Bluestreak’s blue eyes that made Jazz want to be ornery. It made him want to push his master’s boundaries, his limits. He wanted to see how deep those still waters ran.
Bluestreak told him, “Tonight, your task is to wait.”
Wait. Obey. Hold back until Bluestreak allowed him release, and only then, could he let go.
Jazz solemnly agreed, but his fingers were crossed behind his back, and mischief crowded around his core.
It was time to test the limits.
Self-control was something to be utilized or ignored when it suited his whims. So tonight, Jazz tossed the very idea of it off the balcony and surrendered to the pleasure. It swept him up and tossed him around in a sea of heat, and he held tight to Bluestreak as he shuddered through his release, spattering warm and wet against Bluestreak’s belly, and tightening around Bluestreak’s clava.
He floated in the pleasure, little ripples of it dancing up and down his spine, and when he peeled his eyes open, Bluestreak was looking down at him with narrowed eyes. He’d gone still, hands tight on Jazz’s hips, clava buried deep, still throbbing and firm.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” he said, his tone thick with warning and command, sending another wave of heat down Jazz’s spine. “Because it’s the last orgasm you’re going to get this week.”
Jazz licked his lips and arched his back, tightening his thighs around his master’s waist. “I apologize,” he purred, not sorry at all, planting a look of contrition on his face. “I’ll do better next time, sir. I promise.”
He couldn’t tell if Bluestreak was swayed or not. Sometimes, he seemed so immune to Jazz’s charms.
It baffled Jazz, the first time he realized that as much as Bluestreak wanted him, that didn’t mean he could be manipulated. Somehow, he saw through all of Jazz’s games, right to the core of him.
Blue eyes didn’t soften, but they flared with heat.
“I know you will,” Bluestreak said and he nearly bent Jazz in half as he pressed their foreheads together, pinning Jazz between himself and the nest.
Jazz stifled a whimper, real and not feigned, because the change in position added a new pressure to his groin and the smell of his own spill was thick and sweet in the air. He could feel Bluestreak within him, so close to his own release, and while disobedience was fun, he could never abide letting his master pull away without being satisfied.
“You are a terror,” Bluestreak murmured in his ear. Jazz shivered at the rumble of it. Bluestreak had such a pleasant voice. “Just when I think I’ve tamed you…”
Jazz laughed aloud. “Tame ain’t in my nature, love.” He carded his fingers through the feathers at Bluestreak’s nape and rolled his hips, working a rhythm he knew his master loved best.
He knew he succeeded because Bluestreak’s eyes drifted to half-mast, his thrusts increased in urgency, and his teeth skated over Jazz’s ear. He breathed hotly, talons pricking Jazz’s skin, and moments later, Jazz felt the hot splash of Bluestreak’s release within him. His master shuddered while curled over him, hips working in tiny jerks with each pulse of his clava, until he rested his forehead against Jazz’s and just breathed.
His fingers clenched and unclenched, until his talons withdrew from their sharp pinprick at Jazz’s hips. His palms swept down, following the grain of Jazz’s feathers, and his head tilted into a nuzzle.
Jazz purred and returned it. Post-orgasm Bluestreak was a cuddly Bluestreak and one of Jazz’s favorite Bluestreaks. He had a way of making Jazz feel both cherished and owned, and just the reminder of the collar he sometimes wore made him shiver all the way to his core.
“I haven’t forgotten your misbehavior,” Bluestreak said as he pressed a kiss to the curve of Jazz’s jaw, his lips dragging toward Jazz’s mouth and hovering over it.
Jazz leaned up and stole his lips for a sweet kiss, grinning as Bluestreak squeezed his hips before finally sliding free. He let Jazz sink into the nest, easing the strained curve of his spine.
“A kiss isn’t going to make me forgive you either,” Bluestreak added as he rose up on his knees and looked down the expanse of greyish-blue feathers on his torso, now liberally spattered with Jazz’s release. “You made a mess, flitterling.”
“I’m sorry,” Jazz said, his eyelids coyly lowered in a feigned deference he knew Bluestreak would recognize.
Amusement tugged at the corner of his master’s lips. “You don’t look very sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “Cleaning me up would go a long way toward earning my forgiveness.”
That was a request Jazz was all too eager to fill. He rose in the nest, catching his balance easily in the sea of pillows, and bent over to lick Bluestreak’s belly, cleaning it of his release. Bluestreak carded through the feathers on his head, a sound of approval rising in his chest like a purr.
“I think punishment is in order for your indiscretion,” Bluestreak said, his tone half-thoughtful, half-distracted. “But I’m going to think about it and tell you what it is in the morning.”
Jazz said nothing. His mouth was too busy. A small thrill ran up his spine, however.
It was part of the game. The anticipation, the contemplation, the theories of what creative means Bluestreak would devise this time. Had the ability to look sweet and innocent, his lover did. Few realized he was as devious as his carrier beneath the gentle smile and friendly babble.
Sometimes, it was like he was two entirely different people.
Jazz loved it. Loved this. Loved what they had together.
Loved Bluestreak, truth be told. He needed to say it more often.
He finished his task, and Bluestreak left the nest, only to come back with a damp cloth to clean up the remnants on from them both. Said cloth was unceremoniously tossed in the direction of the laundry basket before he curled around Jazz, tucking Jazz into the cradle of his body, nose pressed to the crown of Jazz’s head.
Excitement and intrigue was almost enough to keep Jazz awake. But listening to Bluestreak’s steady breathing lulled him right to sleep.
Morning would bring something new and challenging.
Jazz couldn’t wait.
~
Characters: Bluestreak/Jazz
Universe: Flights of Fancy ‘verse, Harpyformers
Rating: M
Warnings: BDSM themes, Sexual Punishment, Orgasm Denial
Description: Perfectly behaved pets are boring pets, but Jazz might have bitten off more than he can chew when he disobeys Bluestreak.
It was one simple command.
‘Don’t come.’
It was too easy. Jazz swallowed a laugh at it. Show some restraint? Hold back? Prove he could obey? Those were easy. He’d had far more difficult commands from far more difficult masters.
Jazz was the perfect pet. He always had been. It was part of his charm.
Well, he was perfect until he didn’t want to be. Perfectly behaved pets were boring, after all, and there was something in Bluestreak’s blue eyes that made Jazz want to be ornery. It made him want to push his master’s boundaries, his limits. He wanted to see how deep those still waters ran.
Bluestreak told him, “Tonight, your task is to wait.”
Wait. Obey. Hold back until Bluestreak allowed him release, and only then, could he let go.
Jazz solemnly agreed, but his fingers were crossed behind his back, and mischief crowded around his core.
It was time to test the limits.
Self-control was something to be utilized or ignored when it suited his whims. So tonight, Jazz tossed the very idea of it off the balcony and surrendered to the pleasure. It swept him up and tossed him around in a sea of heat, and he held tight to Bluestreak as he shuddered through his release, spattering warm and wet against Bluestreak’s belly, and tightening around Bluestreak’s clava.
He floated in the pleasure, little ripples of it dancing up and down his spine, and when he peeled his eyes open, Bluestreak was looking down at him with narrowed eyes. He’d gone still, hands tight on Jazz’s hips, clava buried deep, still throbbing and firm.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” he said, his tone thick with warning and command, sending another wave of heat down Jazz’s spine. “Because it’s the last orgasm you’re going to get this week.”
Jazz licked his lips and arched his back, tightening his thighs around his master’s waist. “I apologize,” he purred, not sorry at all, planting a look of contrition on his face. “I’ll do better next time, sir. I promise.”
He couldn’t tell if Bluestreak was swayed or not. Sometimes, he seemed so immune to Jazz’s charms.
It baffled Jazz, the first time he realized that as much as Bluestreak wanted him, that didn’t mean he could be manipulated. Somehow, he saw through all of Jazz’s games, right to the core of him.
Blue eyes didn’t soften, but they flared with heat.
“I know you will,” Bluestreak said and he nearly bent Jazz in half as he pressed their foreheads together, pinning Jazz between himself and the nest.
Jazz stifled a whimper, real and not feigned, because the change in position added a new pressure to his groin and the smell of his own spill was thick and sweet in the air. He could feel Bluestreak within him, so close to his own release, and while disobedience was fun, he could never abide letting his master pull away without being satisfied.
“You are a terror,” Bluestreak murmured in his ear. Jazz shivered at the rumble of it. Bluestreak had such a pleasant voice. “Just when I think I’ve tamed you…”
Jazz laughed aloud. “Tame ain’t in my nature, love.” He carded his fingers through the feathers at Bluestreak’s nape and rolled his hips, working a rhythm he knew his master loved best.
He knew he succeeded because Bluestreak’s eyes drifted to half-mast, his thrusts increased in urgency, and his teeth skated over Jazz’s ear. He breathed hotly, talons pricking Jazz’s skin, and moments later, Jazz felt the hot splash of Bluestreak’s release within him. His master shuddered while curled over him, hips working in tiny jerks with each pulse of his clava, until he rested his forehead against Jazz’s and just breathed.
His fingers clenched and unclenched, until his talons withdrew from their sharp pinprick at Jazz’s hips. His palms swept down, following the grain of Jazz’s feathers, and his head tilted into a nuzzle.
Jazz purred and returned it. Post-orgasm Bluestreak was a cuddly Bluestreak and one of Jazz’s favorite Bluestreaks. He had a way of making Jazz feel both cherished and owned, and just the reminder of the collar he sometimes wore made him shiver all the way to his core.
“I haven’t forgotten your misbehavior,” Bluestreak said as he pressed a kiss to the curve of Jazz’s jaw, his lips dragging toward Jazz’s mouth and hovering over it.
Jazz leaned up and stole his lips for a sweet kiss, grinning as Bluestreak squeezed his hips before finally sliding free. He let Jazz sink into the nest, easing the strained curve of his spine.
“A kiss isn’t going to make me forgive you either,” Bluestreak added as he rose up on his knees and looked down the expanse of greyish-blue feathers on his torso, now liberally spattered with Jazz’s release. “You made a mess, flitterling.”
“I’m sorry,” Jazz said, his eyelids coyly lowered in a feigned deference he knew Bluestreak would recognize.
Amusement tugged at the corner of his master’s lips. “You don’t look very sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “Cleaning me up would go a long way toward earning my forgiveness.”
That was a request Jazz was all too eager to fill. He rose in the nest, catching his balance easily in the sea of pillows, and bent over to lick Bluestreak’s belly, cleaning it of his release. Bluestreak carded through the feathers on his head, a sound of approval rising in his chest like a purr.
“I think punishment is in order for your indiscretion,” Bluestreak said, his tone half-thoughtful, half-distracted. “But I’m going to think about it and tell you what it is in the morning.”
Jazz said nothing. His mouth was too busy. A small thrill ran up his spine, however.
It was part of the game. The anticipation, the contemplation, the theories of what creative means Bluestreak would devise this time. Had the ability to look sweet and innocent, his lover did. Few realized he was as devious as his carrier beneath the gentle smile and friendly babble.
Sometimes, it was like he was two entirely different people.
Jazz loved it. Loved this. Loved what they had together.
Loved Bluestreak, truth be told. He needed to say it more often.
He finished his task, and Bluestreak left the nest, only to come back with a damp cloth to clean up the remnants on from them both. Said cloth was unceremoniously tossed in the direction of the laundry basket before he curled around Jazz, tucking Jazz into the cradle of his body, nose pressed to the crown of Jazz’s head.
Excitement and intrigue was almost enough to keep Jazz awake. But listening to Bluestreak’s steady breathing lulled him right to sleep.
Morning would bring something new and challenging.
Jazz couldn’t wait.
