Kinktober Day 8: Breathplay (kbnz)

(Brief cw for mentions of past unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms)

It took Piers a long time to learn how to trust.

He’d let people hurt him before, of course. In the bedroom and outside of it, because it felt like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It wasn’t self-harm if someone else did it to you, right? So he’d allowed people to push past his boundaries time and again, but he’d never really trusted anyone. Had never trusted himself.

Until Raihan. Raihan was really the one who made all that self-care shit worth it, especially because he would never let Piers get away with anything less. His will was truly draconic and iron, and no matter how much Piers pushed him, he would walk away before he ever gave in. And Piers loved him for that kindness, even when he hated him for it, and hated himself for hating it.

Yet over time, the need metamorphosed, as needs are wont to do. He didn’t want to hurt, but he wanted to be out of his head. No more drugs, no more drink, no more pushing too far, but he still needed that release. Craved it more than anything, and finally, he asked Raihan one night if he would please, please, just this once…

Raihan had shocked him by saying yes. It wasn’t the kind of yes Piers was used to, they still sat down and talked about what Piers really wanted and expected, and that made him feel nakeder than any removal of clothing ever could. He’d blushed and stuttered, but had finally managed to admit that he just wanted Raihan to take him out of it all. To be his entire world, when he couldn’t occupy it himself. It was only Raihan he could trust with that world, after all, because he was the one Piers could always lean on. The one who seemed to understand in a fundamental way what it was to play a role, and how good it felt to put that character aside for a while and just be.

It had been frightening back then to admit all of that, and in some ways, it was still frightening now. The only difference was that now Piers could trust the fear, like an acrobat trusting the drop in their stomach when they let go of the trapeze and reach for their partner’s hands. That faith itself is a reward, a sign of progress, and…a pleasure. The stop of breath and heartbeat between one second and the next. The crystalline moment, and the warmth of the one who catches him.

So now, in the dead of the night with rain lashing the windows and his lover’s body pumping like a piston between his thighs, he can reach for Raihan’s wrist and beckon it close to his throat trustingly.

“Will you?” The words are a quiet murmur, but Raihan slows, and smiles down at him with all the languid beatification of a true angel. Another beat, and then he adds “Please?”

He doesn’t plead anyone else for anything. That’s what makes this so sweet.

“Anything for you,” Raihan says, and brushes the back of his wide knuckles across the skin of Piers’ cheekbone, tracing the blush resting just beneath the skin. Piers feels him pulse where he’s buried so deep he’ll feel that cock in his gut for days, signalling the excitement he’s too cool to voice.

Then his fingers find their place on Piers’ throat, right where his choker normally rests. Raihan has smooth palms for a trainer; there are scars on the backs of his hands, like all of them have, each one with its own story that they never bother to tell because they all go more or less the same way. But Raihan’s palms and fingers are smooth, hardly calloused, speaking to the care he takes of each part of his body. Piers has watched that meticulous ritual a dozen times before, and he loves Raihan for it even as he privately thinks he could never have the patience for all the exfoliating and moisturising and oiling he does. Yet it’s all the more appreciated now that Raihan is pressing down on his throat, just enough pressure to make the inhale a little more difficult, so that he can feel his muscles working against that strength.

It’s the fingertips that make it, though. Not about cutting off air, not really—the pleasure of being choked is twofold, and the first half is the way Raihan’s fingertips massage the blood vessels in the sides of his neck, constricting the flow just enough that the room starts to go fuzzy around the edges. Not enough for danger; Raihan’s grip is too good for that. But enough for it to feel like danger, and Piers falls through the fear until he’s clenching and twitching around the length buried deep. It pulls back and Piers feels every last wicked inch, body clutching desperately as it retreats, and then it slams back in and the world spins on a new axis.

Instinctive, his hand comes up and his fingernails bite into the thick muscle of Raihan’s forearm, but this is the other half of the pleasure. Raihan only fucks him again, harder, controlling his entire life under five points of contact and Piers can’t move him. There’s only this, only the sensation of taking, and he feels his mind judder out of place as Raihan presses him down into the bed, using his free hand to bend Piers’ knee up towards his body. Little white dots speckle Piers’ vision, but he loves it. Flying. Falling. Belonging to someone else entirely, his life in the palm of his lover’s hand. And Raihan holds it so easily, smirking down until the world is a kaleidoscope of white teeth shining in low light.

Raihan fucks Piers like he’s taking ownership of him, and Piers gives it to him willingly. Gratefully. His lips part—he can feel his chest burning slightly, rasping in and out even as his hips try to lift for more. Inside, he can’t tell what his body is more desperate for, air or the building orgasm, but he chases both with a building frenzy. His ears are ringing and under that he can hear Raihan panting and praising him, telling him what a good slut he is, how it’s amazing how tight he can get when being choked like this.

His fingernails scrape down Raihan’s arm, the cue that he’s getting close, and he looks up with imploring eyes. He needs it. Needs it so bad, Raihan, please, he can’t voice the words like this—

“Cum for me,” Raihan says, and releases his throat.

Blood rushes up to his brain, and air hits his lungs anew. The sudden flood shoves him over the edge and he cums so hard his back arches off the bed, struggling until Raihan has to hold him down as everything turns hot and ecstatic. Is he screaming? Is he silent? Does it matter? His legs clamp around the firm waist between them, and Raihan’s cock doesn’t give him an inch of mercy as he cums so hard he forgets his name for a minute.

Even when the pleasure releases him back to the sweat-damp sheets, it’s not over. Raihan thrusts into his limp body, and Piers can do nothing more than whimper as he feels himself get used. Appreciated. Loved. On a last shuddering thrust, Raihan bites out a sharp curse and surprises Piers by pulling back, aiming the hot gush of cum right at his entrance. Each pulse coats it, until it drips down towards the bed, and Piers whimpers to feel it running along his skin. More marking, more ownership. Reaching up with both hands, he grabs Raihan’s face and pulls him down into a hungry kiss, needing to taste his lips and tongue as they collapse together in a sweaty mess.

Piers catches his breath a few minutes after that, but he’s always grateful to Raihan for having held it first. He’s the only one Piers would trust with it, after all.