[FoF] Seven Days 02
Oct. 5th, 2018 06:35 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 One
Jazz woke with a low, deep groan, a sensation of heat and wet between his thighs, a tongue working him over with long, lingering licks. He peeled his eyes open to greet a hazy morning, hips rocking up toward Bluestreak’s mouth, his clava slowly extending while slick gathered between his thighs.
“Morning,” Bluestreak murmured, exhaling hot and wet over Jazz’s antrum, his tongue making quick flicks over Jazz’s clitnub.
“That’s not punishment,” Jazz said, because he was an idiot, and his thoughts were muddled by yes-more-please rather than the more intelligent reaction of not-reminding his master of his upcoming punishment.
Bluestreak laughed against him, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through Jazz’s groin. “Oh, yes it is.”
His hands gripped the back of Jazz’s thighs, pushing them up and out, baring Jazz to the heat of his mouth. He licked, long and deep, as though desperate to consume every drop of Jazz’s slick.
Jazz moaned, head tipping back, his groin a blaze of throbbing fire, and release boiling in his veins. He trembled, feathers quivering, hips rocking against Bluestreak’s mouth. The slight scrape of teeth made him jerk.
He was already close. So close. This was the best way to wake up.
He moaned again, one hand fisting the blankets, the other reaching for Bluestreak’s head, wanting to pet that crest of gorgeous feathers. He warbled an encouraging sound, his clava rigid and seeping. Jazz hoped he could encourage Bluestreak’s mouth toward it.
“Are you close?” Bluestreak murmured with a lingering squeeze of his lips around Jazz’s nub.
“Yes,” Jazz moaned.
“Good.” Bluestreak smacked a kiss over Jazz’s antrum and suddenly sat up, licking his lips clean. “That’s enough of that, I think.”
Jazz blinked. His hips moved in little circles, but Bluestreak was backing away from him, rising out of the nest like he hadn’t left Jazz a limp pile of desperate feathers, whose lower half throbbed for release.
“What?”
Bluestreak quirked an eyebrow. “Punishment,” he said, almost singsong. He waggled a finger at Jazz, a light in his eyes that was all too sinister. “You disobeyed, flitterling. You came without permission. So you’re not allowed to come for the whole week. Seven days. Understand?”
Jazz’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. It felt like they moved through molasses, and he tried to sit up, but his lower half was weak and still throbbing toward release.
“What?”
Bluestreak’s lips pulled into a slow, devious smile. He crouched by the edge of the nest, out of reach.
“You heard me.” He tilted his head, and there was no mercy in the glint of his eyes, though the curve of his lips still spoke of affection. “You could have held back. You chose not to. We’ve been together long enough I can read it in you now. You were testing me, weren’t you? Seeing what I’d do if you chose to ignore my order.”
Realization trickled through the slow sap of incomprehension.
Jazz managed to sit up, though his groin ached, and the urge to grab a pillow made his fingers twitch. “Blue, you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.” He swiped the pad of his thumb over the corner of his mouth, wiping away a smear of Jazz’s slick. “It’s just a week, Jazz. Weren’t you telling me a few days ago that you’re a big, bad adult, and I’m the barely out of the creche youngling who has no idea what he’s gotten himself into?”
That was made in jest!
“I know you were teasing,” Bluestreak said as if he’d read Jazz’s mind, and maybe he could, because damn if he didn’t seem to always know what Jazz was thinking. “And this punishment isn’t because of that. It’s because you can’t get away with disobeying me. What kind of master would I be if I allowed that?” He tilted his head, eyes sparkling, looking so damn innocent.
“A forgiving one.” Jazz rolled over to his knees, wading across the nest. He rested his hands on Bluestreak’s knees as he looked up at his much bigger lover. “A real, real forgiving one.”
Bluestreak laughed, but he let Jazz kiss him, let their bodies almost come together. It was a slow kiss, a savoring one, and Jazz tasted himself on Bluestreak’s tongue. It made the arousal pooling within him, surge to new heights. He moaned and rolled his hips, the tip of his clava catching on a pillow just right.
“I can make it up to you,” Jazz panted as he thrust forward incrementally, just enough to keep that sweet, sweet sensation.
“You already are.” Bluestreak wrapped his hands around Jazz’s upper arms.
He stood, lifting Jazz from the nest with ridiculous ease. Why was he so damned big? Baras shouldn’t even be this big. It was unseemly. It was intoxicating, and another throb of need rocked through Jazz’s body.
Bluestreak set Jazz on his feet, far enough away Jazz couldn’t get friction of any kind. A lonely drop of fluid leaked from his clava, spattering on the woven floor. His knees wobbled.
“Enough of that,” Bluestreak said as he let Jazz go. “One week. No orgasms. Can you do that or do you need a drink?”
A drink. Their safe phrase.
Jazz gnawed on his bottom lip. It was hardly a challenge. Honestly, a week without an orgasm? It wasn’t really a punishment. He folded his arms and turned up his nose. What did Bluestreak think he was? Some tween harpy without an ounce of self-control?
“Pfft. Who do you think you’re talking to?” Jazz lifted his chin and threw his shoulders back. “For a punishment, it’s not that difficult.”
Bluestreak chuckled. “If you say so.” He looked Jazz up and down before his gaze lingered on Jazz’s groin. “Good luck getting that to go down then.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Jazz had to ignore a bit of morning arousal. Though normally he just got it out of the way with a quick pillow rut.
“I’m not worried,” Jazz said.
And it wasn’t precisely a lie.
Bluestreak snorted and pulled Jazz close for a brief kiss that seriously tested the limits of Jazz’s self-control. He nuzzled Jazz, murmured a promise to see him later tonight, and then he swept out of their nest. He was on Gathering duty this morning, and Jazz didn’t envy him that responsibility. Rumor had it Rodimus was on the crew as well.
Jazz distracted himself by tidying up their nest, indulging in a quick wipedown, and devouring half a bowl of fruit for breakfast. He ignored his arousal, and eventually his clava tucked itself away.
A week? He could do it without a problem. He’d gone months without taking someone to nest before. Seven days were a blink of an eye.
Bluestreak obviously had no idea what kind of challenge he’d just laid.
Hah.
That night, however, Jazz was forced to reevaluate the ease at which he could weather this quote-unquote punishment. He’d imagined the command not to orgasm meant Bluestreak wouldn’t touch him at all for the next week. He’d assumed it meant that aside from the occasional kiss and hug, anything sexual would be off the menu.
He was so very wrong.
Because later that evening, with the both of them freshly bathed and Bluestreak tasting like the sweet cherries they’d eaten for dessert, Bluestreak pulled Jazz into his lap as though it were any other night. He kissed and kissed and kissed until he pinned Jazz beneath him, hips rutting against the inside of Jazz’s thigh, leaving smears of pre-slick behind.
He made those noises Jazz loved so much, urgent little moans and whimpers. He whispered sweet promises and compliments and every once in a while, the tip of his clava would rub Jazz’s nub and send a shock of heat through his groin.
Bluestreak kissed Jazz like he was hungry for him, like he hadn’t tasted Jazz in days and was finally sating a craving. Jazz rose up to meet the push and dance of Bluestreak’s body, because he couldn’t not want Bluestreak no matter what else. So what if Bluestreak wanted to make a point?
This push-pull, this was part of the dance, part of the game. Besides, the sight of Bluestreak gripped by pleasure, moaning as he came and spilled all over Jazz, while Jazz was left shaking with his own arousal, was a sight to behold. If anything, all it did was solidify the sense of ownership Bluestreak had over him.
Bluestreak kissed him, soft and sweet, and then tucked them into the nest, curling around Jazz as he always did, trapping Jazz in a warm embrace. Jazz swallowed down his protests, his whines about the arousal thundering through his veins.
It was only six more days. So what if Bluestreak intended to make it a challenge. He would meet it as he did all things – head on.
~
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.
Jazz woke with a low, deep groan, a sensation of heat and wet between his thighs, a tongue working him over with long, lingering licks. He peeled his eyes open to greet a hazy morning, hips rocking up toward Bluestreak’s mouth, his clava slowly extending while slick gathered between his thighs.
“Morning,” Bluestreak murmured, exhaling hot and wet over Jazz’s antrum, his tongue making quick flicks over Jazz’s clitnub.
“That’s not punishment,” Jazz said, because he was an idiot, and his thoughts were muddled by yes-more-please rather than the more intelligent reaction of not-reminding his master of his upcoming punishment.
Bluestreak laughed against him, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through Jazz’s groin. “Oh, yes it is.”
His hands gripped the back of Jazz’s thighs, pushing them up and out, baring Jazz to the heat of his mouth. He licked, long and deep, as though desperate to consume every drop of Jazz’s slick.
Jazz moaned, head tipping back, his groin a blaze of throbbing fire, and release boiling in his veins. He trembled, feathers quivering, hips rocking against Bluestreak’s mouth. The slight scrape of teeth made him jerk.
He was already close. So close. This was the best way to wake up.
He moaned again, one hand fisting the blankets, the other reaching for Bluestreak’s head, wanting to pet that crest of gorgeous feathers. He warbled an encouraging sound, his clava rigid and seeping. Jazz hoped he could encourage Bluestreak’s mouth toward it.
“Are you close?” Bluestreak murmured with a lingering squeeze of his lips around Jazz’s nub.
“Yes,” Jazz moaned.
“Good.” Bluestreak smacked a kiss over Jazz’s antrum and suddenly sat up, licking his lips clean. “That’s enough of that, I think.”
Jazz blinked. His hips moved in little circles, but Bluestreak was backing away from him, rising out of the nest like he hadn’t left Jazz a limp pile of desperate feathers, whose lower half throbbed for release.
“What?”
Bluestreak quirked an eyebrow. “Punishment,” he said, almost singsong. He waggled a finger at Jazz, a light in his eyes that was all too sinister. “You disobeyed, flitterling. You came without permission. So you’re not allowed to come for the whole week. Seven days. Understand?”
Jazz’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. It felt like they moved through molasses, and he tried to sit up, but his lower half was weak and still throbbing toward release.
“What?”
Bluestreak’s lips pulled into a slow, devious smile. He crouched by the edge of the nest, out of reach.
“You heard me.” He tilted his head, and there was no mercy in the glint of his eyes, though the curve of his lips still spoke of affection. “You could have held back. You chose not to. We’ve been together long enough I can read it in you now. You were testing me, weren’t you? Seeing what I’d do if you chose to ignore my order.”
Realization trickled through the slow sap of incomprehension.
Jazz managed to sit up, though his groin ached, and the urge to grab a pillow made his fingers twitch. “Blue, you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.” He swiped the pad of his thumb over the corner of his mouth, wiping away a smear of Jazz’s slick. “It’s just a week, Jazz. Weren’t you telling me a few days ago that you’re a big, bad adult, and I’m the barely out of the creche youngling who has no idea what he’s gotten himself into?”
That was made in jest!
“I know you were teasing,” Bluestreak said as if he’d read Jazz’s mind, and maybe he could, because damn if he didn’t seem to always know what Jazz was thinking. “And this punishment isn’t because of that. It’s because you can’t get away with disobeying me. What kind of master would I be if I allowed that?” He tilted his head, eyes sparkling, looking so damn innocent.
“A forgiving one.” Jazz rolled over to his knees, wading across the nest. He rested his hands on Bluestreak’s knees as he looked up at his much bigger lover. “A real, real forgiving one.”
Bluestreak laughed, but he let Jazz kiss him, let their bodies almost come together. It was a slow kiss, a savoring one, and Jazz tasted himself on Bluestreak’s tongue. It made the arousal pooling within him, surge to new heights. He moaned and rolled his hips, the tip of his clava catching on a pillow just right.
“I can make it up to you,” Jazz panted as he thrust forward incrementally, just enough to keep that sweet, sweet sensation.
“You already are.” Bluestreak wrapped his hands around Jazz’s upper arms.
He stood, lifting Jazz from the nest with ridiculous ease. Why was he so damned big? Baras shouldn’t even be this big. It was unseemly. It was intoxicating, and another throb of need rocked through Jazz’s body.
Bluestreak set Jazz on his feet, far enough away Jazz couldn’t get friction of any kind. A lonely drop of fluid leaked from his clava, spattering on the woven floor. His knees wobbled.
“Enough of that,” Bluestreak said as he let Jazz go. “One week. No orgasms. Can you do that or do you need a drink?”
A drink. Their safe phrase.
Jazz gnawed on his bottom lip. It was hardly a challenge. Honestly, a week without an orgasm? It wasn’t really a punishment. He folded his arms and turned up his nose. What did Bluestreak think he was? Some tween harpy without an ounce of self-control?
“Pfft. Who do you think you’re talking to?” Jazz lifted his chin and threw his shoulders back. “For a punishment, it’s not that difficult.”
Bluestreak chuckled. “If you say so.” He looked Jazz up and down before his gaze lingered on Jazz’s groin. “Good luck getting that to go down then.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Jazz had to ignore a bit of morning arousal. Though normally he just got it out of the way with a quick pillow rut.
“I’m not worried,” Jazz said.
And it wasn’t precisely a lie.
Bluestreak snorted and pulled Jazz close for a brief kiss that seriously tested the limits of Jazz’s self-control. He nuzzled Jazz, murmured a promise to see him later tonight, and then he swept out of their nest. He was on Gathering duty this morning, and Jazz didn’t envy him that responsibility. Rumor had it Rodimus was on the crew as well.
Jazz distracted himself by tidying up their nest, indulging in a quick wipedown, and devouring half a bowl of fruit for breakfast. He ignored his arousal, and eventually his clava tucked itself away.
A week? He could do it without a problem. He’d gone months without taking someone to nest before. Seven days were a blink of an eye.
Bluestreak obviously had no idea what kind of challenge he’d just laid.
Hah.
That night, however, Jazz was forced to reevaluate the ease at which he could weather this quote-unquote punishment. He’d imagined the command not to orgasm meant Bluestreak wouldn’t touch him at all for the next week. He’d assumed it meant that aside from the occasional kiss and hug, anything sexual would be off the menu.
He was so very wrong.
Because later that evening, with the both of them freshly bathed and Bluestreak tasting like the sweet cherries they’d eaten for dessert, Bluestreak pulled Jazz into his lap as though it were any other night. He kissed and kissed and kissed until he pinned Jazz beneath him, hips rutting against the inside of Jazz’s thigh, leaving smears of pre-slick behind.
He made those noises Jazz loved so much, urgent little moans and whimpers. He whispered sweet promises and compliments and every once in a while, the tip of his clava would rub Jazz’s nub and send a shock of heat through his groin.
Bluestreak kissed Jazz like he was hungry for him, like he hadn’t tasted Jazz in days and was finally sating a craving. Jazz rose up to meet the push and dance of Bluestreak’s body, because he couldn’t not want Bluestreak no matter what else. So what if Bluestreak wanted to make a point?
This push-pull, this was part of the dance, part of the game. Besides, the sight of Bluestreak gripped by pleasure, moaning as he came and spilled all over Jazz, while Jazz was left shaking with his own arousal, was a sight to behold. If anything, all it did was solidify the sense of ownership Bluestreak had over him.
Bluestreak kissed him, soft and sweet, and then tucked them into the nest, curling around Jazz as he always did, trapping Jazz in a warm embrace. Jazz swallowed down his protests, his whines about the arousal thundering through his veins.
It was only six more days. So what if Bluestreak intended to make it a challenge. He would meet it as he did all things – head on.
