Lion's Den: Ch 3

[warmskies]

 There's just something so nice about having a reoccuring dom like he does, now.

Claude's always known there were benefits, of course. He's read all the articles, talked with plenty of friends who have had a professional or more personal dom that they could go to. It's just that he's never felt the proper... connection that made him really want to give himself over before. It's not even that there's anything to say against some of them, although, yeah, he's had to deal with assholes now and then who, at the very least, vastly overestimated their ability to properly dominate. It's just... there was no spark. No connection.

He might've orgasmed, he might have had a little bit of fun, he might have even liked the other person to a decent degree outside of the bedroom. It just... wasn't what he was searching for, even when it felt like he was.

With Dimitri... He gets it, now, what all his friends and people in the various sub discussions were talking about when they talked about how well they meshed with their doms, how they'd keep seeing them for months and months. They haven't reached anything like subspace yet, of course, but that's fine. They're still working each other out, still testing their limits step by step. With Dimitri, it doesn't feel like some sort of failing that he hasn't reached that state of mind yet. Instead, it just... feels like a gentle inevitability they'll get to when they get to.

It's kind of a surprise to Claude when he thinks about it. He knows that for a lot of people, Dimitri's presence as a dom doesn't seem like it would make anything click besides in maybe the really intense subs hoping for something intense and domineering; there's that kind of presence about him. And when he's seen the different intense scenes done between subs and those kinds of doms before, well, it had never seemed like it'd be his type...

That's just his own fault, he knows. He only saw a section of the scene, the intense part that's meant to get all worked up. He never saw those doms get protective over their companions, never saw the tender aftercare that came behind the scenes. Oh, Claude is sure all of those exist, were available, but it just... never occurred to him to look into them.

Funny. He always thought of himself as the most open minded kind of guy, but times like this really show him how much more there is for him to learn. It's kind of a nice realization.

Different realizations hit him while he continues up with his sounding sessions with Dimitri, gently raising the bar for thicker sounders, or ones that vibrate, or different materials. It's kind of wild, how many different options he has, and how his orgasm differs bit by bit as he widens the passage. It'd be a little bit concerning, maybe, if he were a guy to get carried away by one-shot worries, but he's done his research. Even more importantly, Dimitri has clearly done his, and he does his aftercare every time, investigating Claude's body with that dark look in his eye focused right on him. It's the kind of look that says nothing will get past it... and Claude has rarely felt so secure.

"So how do you think I've been doing?" he asks Dimitri one night after they've done the usual session - another one with the vibrating sounder, which Claude quite likes. "We've been kinda going slow for these last couple of sessions, but I think I'd like to really ramp it up."

Having a nice luxurious bath has become something of a habit for their aftercare, which Claude doesn't mind at all. Even without the tension that comes from a good orgasm, he's always on the move anyway with his work and personal life. A shower kind of guy, you know? So just stopping everything, putting it on hold, to sink into a nice warm bath and let Dimitri wash his hair... It's kind of a special treat. Even if, well, it's a treat he has fairly often with how many times he's scheduled sessions with Dimitri. But that's just kind of what happens when you're working up with something like sounders. Gotta keep the body limber, right?

Yeah, he knows he could practice it all on his own at home. He does, a little bit. But... Dimitri makes it more satisfying.

Dimitri, who's settled off to the side, cleaning the sounders that he's used for this session. They'd been put to the side long enough, honestly, and Dimitri isn't one to leave things in a poor state like that. So there he is, completely nude as he carefully wipes down the different sounders and a couple other toys he'd used on Claude. "What?"

"What what?"

Dimitri's stare is absolutely deadpan, and Claude can't help loving it a little bit. Well, it's what he deserves, honestly. Claude knows he can take it, especially when he dishes it out at the most surprising moments at times. "What do you want to do, then?" he clarifies, turning his attention back to what he was doing before. "Did you have anything in mind, or are you just making your desires known?"

"A little bit of both, maybe," Claude muses, folding his arms along the lip of the tub so that he can rest his chin on them. Dimitri is still easily close to him, enough that he could just reach out to touch. He doesn't, but, well, it's nice to know that simple fact. "I know that you use toys sometimes with me, but I think we could go a little bit further. Make my orgasm more intense, maybe. Although that's an easy thing enough for me to say..." He knows it's in Dimitri's position as a dom to come up with all the ways to make him moan, but, hey, he'd like to make the job at least a little easier... "I've noticed you've just used toys on me instead of having sex with me using your own personal toy-" He winks. " - so maybe that's something we can try next time?"

With the utmost care, Dimitri puts one of the sounders back down onto a towel where it can air dry. They went with glass beads this time, and there's definitely something to be said for using them, in Claude's opinion. "I think we could do that easily," Dimitri answers, moving onto the next sounder. "Although, if you want a more intense orgasm... I would recommend orgasm denial, then."

Oh. Claude blinks, and then considers the recommendation. It's not like he's wholly unfamiliar with orgasm play or anything. It's a pretty good kink to engage in on the regular, in his opinion, from both sides of the dom-sub spectrum. And it's not like Dimitri hasn't messed with him using that at least a little bit... It can be a pretty important tool for doms keeping their subs in line. Something to remind them who's on top and not tied up in shibari, or leather, or whatever else. Hell, he personally finds it pretty handy just for using on himself, although it's far easier for him to give into his own impatience then.

The more that he thinks about it, the more that he's into it, Claude finds, and, well, that answers the question for him, doesn't it? "Sounds like a plan," he says. "Well, you know how I like it by this point, I'd think, so... Is it alright if I leave it to you?"

Dimitri's quiet nod is not unexpected, but there is a reassurance regardless. "I will look into an opening for you to try it, then. Although..." He pauses, holding one of the glass sounders up to the light for a proper inspection. "It may be in your best interest if you take the day after off."

Well then! Talk about being threatened with a good time. He's into it.

In all honesty, Claude actually has a couple of sick days saved up. Probably he should use them more than he does, to get his teeth checked out, and nonsense like that, buuuuut, he hasn't. Instead, he sets one up for a nice little day off for himself after collaborating with Dimitri through text on what a good day would be. It'll be nice, in his opinion. A day off to just recover from a solid ass pounding, maybe catch up on some books that have been piling up in his place that he keeps putting off. Yeah, he thinks he's excited for it.

On the day that they have set up, he walks through the door only to find Sylvain wobbling in from one of the side rooms in the lobby, with Annette right there besides him. "There we go, that wasn't so bad!" she says cheerfully, reaching back to smack his ass energetically. Claude wonders if that's just because she's the kind of perky person who does stuff like that, or if it's to wake Sylvain up, considering the way the taller redhead jerks upright. "I got some coffee ready for you, so I think you'll probably be okay... Oh, hi there!"

Ah, it looks like he's been spotted. Claude smiles a bit and returns the cheerful wave Annette gives him. His eyes, however, are watching the way that Sylvain sinks down into his seat at the lobby desk with a faint wince. "Hey there, Annette," he says. He might not know all of the Lions super familiarly, outside of Dimitri and Sylvain, but he's visited the Den enough times that he's seen most of them once... even if often only in passing and with the briefest of greetings. Also, you know, he practically memorized the entire folder detailing their names and specialties. "I hope that I wasn't walking in on anything."

"Nah, it's fine, it's fine," Sylvain says, resting his elbows onto the desktop while his palms bracket his cheeks. Combined with the way he winks, Claude is pretty sure that the intent is to make him look relaxed and chill as usual. He's also pretty sure that it's a way to hide how exhausted Sylvain might be from whatever it is that he was doing. "Just a little switching of the shifts. I had a special client today, so Annette held down the fort for me for a little bit."

Sylvain? With a client? Claude pauses, because that's sure something of a surprise. Last he'd checked, Sylvain's job was almost primarily just handling the lobby, getting people to sign up or come to events... Even the binder listed him as off limits. "Get a job change?"

There's something to Sylvain's sleepy grin that says he's really enjoying the way that Claude has been caught off-guard. Truly, a man after his own heart. "Nah," he says, while Annette digs around in some drawers of the desk happily. "Same job as usual. Sometimes I take a couple of clients, for more... specialized work." He makes a face, briefly, rolling his neck about a little bit. "Of course, that still takes some effort and care - I mean, I'm a professional, here. So I still end up a little bit sleepy."

"But that's why we're here!" Annette announces proudly as she pops right back up, a small box held in her hands. Claude can recognize the proud tradition of reused-cookie-tin from a mile away; so even the Lions have their own personal tea stashes that they don't share. "We help him get through all that frustration after his job-"

"Can a man not be entitled to a little bit of mystery?" Sylvain groans to the ceiling, and Annette smacks her hand over her mouth for a moment, having clearly let something slip, before she starts giggling. "Anyway, another session with Dimitri tonight, right?" Sylvain glances over to the computer on his desk, fingers flicking over the keyboard rapid fire. "I guess that means there's no point in prepping any tea for you."

Claude suspects that he's not going to get many more answers out of Sylvain on exactly what he does for his clients, or how those kinds of things come about. Well, he'll just put that in his pocket as another mystery that he can chase after later. For now, he just gives a small shrug and a smile as his answer. "Maybe for afterwards. Apparently I'm going to be in for quite a ride tonight, so best to keep myself ready for that. Never know - I might get my fill in entirely different ways." And he winks right back.

From the depths of the desk, Annette pulls out a mug this time to balance on top of the tin - completely white, save for the black mug handle and the bold font on it that reads, very simply, cum. "I personally think you would be fine!" Annette chirps, rustling around for something else in the drawers. Just how much do they stuff in there, anyway? "At least, if you had it for right now. Is it a long session that's planned?"

"Might be. Orgasm denial is on the agenda," he adds cheerfully.

It's a great sign that Annette perks up so much that the mug on the tin jostles, a little "oh!" of delight escaping her lips, while Sylvain's whistle bounces off the high ceiling. "That's right, I remember him mentioning something about having to prep for that," Sylvain says, rousing himself up a little bit as he turns his attention back to the screen. "Well, that sure explains why he got what he got, then."

"You got so wrapped up in your job that you forgot!" Annette announces, reaching around the tin to right the mug. "Well, I still think you would be okay, but I get being cautious! Then, if you wanna come with me to wait, we can let Dimitri know that you've come in!"

Well, don't mind if he does. Claude trots after her, sparing just a moment to duck behind the desk so that he can give Sylvain a reassuring pat on the back - may he recover from whatever sexual nonsense that he got up to. But then he's right back to following Annette as she balances the pile she's got in her arms. He thinks a spoon might have joined the mug? Not even in the mug, but balanced on top of it. Fantastic.

Once they're out of earshot of Sylvain, past a hallway or two and more than a few doors, Claude decides to take his chance. "It seems like Sylvain does a lot more work than I give him credit for," he remarks idly as Annette does her best to balance things in her arms while trying to open a door. He'd offer to help, but with the way she's wobbling, he kind of suspects he'd bump into her and send everything flying... "A pretty reliable guy, I take it?"

The mug wobbles, and the spoon slides right off of it. It's only quick reflexes that has Claude manage to jerk forward enough and grab it. At least Annette manages to get the door open, even if she squeaks at the same time. "Oh - Oh, thanks a bunch. And, yeah! He's so helpful and smart, like you wouldn't believe!" Annette beams, accepting the spoon that Claude very purposefully deposits into the mug. "He really helped figure everything out around here ages ago! Although you'd never guess he did all that work if you ever asked him about it. He'd insist it was all to the rest of us!"

Oh ho, that kind of guy, is he? Claude laughs a little bit as he closes the door behind them, watching as Annette bustles over to a small neatly made tea station set up. There's seriously one in every single room... "I think I know some guys like that. So he even puts in work helping with clients?"

"Some of them! I mean, he doesn't usually do all of them, you know, but, some!" Getting the water heated up, Annette claps her hands together. "It's probably better that way! I mean - oh -" She presses her hands over her mouth, finally seeming to realize her words have been kind of running away from her. "Well, it's something you'd be better off asking Sylvain about!"

Jeez, just what about this is such a big secret? He doesn't think it sounds serious with the way that Annette was so happy to babble on. With how sensitive some people's sex lives can be, he's sure professionals like the Lions wouldn't just let something spill. So what is it? What's going on? Ugh, he wants to know so damn bad, but it's clear that he's hit the wall with Annette for today. He'll just save it for later. For now, he nods. "I'll have to remember the next time me and him have a couple of minutes, then," he says, watching the way her hands lower to reveal a relieved smile. "So, is it tea or coffee today?"

Despite the fact that there is actually so many tea bags and packets stuffed into that little tin, there are a couple of coffee pods in there too. There is also written instructions on how to use the coffee machine step by excruciating step, along with how to add shots of expresso and how much should go into a cup.

Claude finds it a little bit excessive, really.

And then Annette somehow almost makes a part of the machine melt in ways Claude isn't entirely sure he follows, but it involves her distraction by talking to him and adding... He's actually not sure? He kind of got distracted by what her other hand was doing, which was gesturing so wildly that it almost smashed straight into his nose - not the kind of impact play he's into! Also, she might have pressed a button she wasn't supposed to, which is also kind of impressive, because a simple coffee machine doesn't have a lot of buttons.

So, yeah, that's how Dimitri opens the door to him and Annette frantically pouring out what might be toxic waste out of the still-somehow-intact coffee machine that they've upended into a trash can.

"....Are you all right?" Dimitri asks after a moment of just staring at them.

Claude's grin is maybe just a little bit frazzled. "I think we could be better!"

Fortunately, Dimitri's third pair of hands is exactly what's needed to get the coffee machine right up again, and Annette can at least be trusted to clean out the mess that has been made. "You know, I'd kind of wondered why this particular waiting room had a small bathroom area attached to it," Claude says, watching Annette get to her duty, "but I guess that answers that." It also answers just why Dimitri is able to look in one of the bottom cupboards and pull out another coffee machine.

"Annette does well in many things, but sometimes she gets excited," Dimitri states matter of factly, in such a way that almost makes it seem like Annette didn't melt a whole coffee pot through what Claude highly suspects might be some sort of magic he's never heard of. "Our session is going to be delayed for a moment."

Yeah, Claude thinks that might be for the best. Poor Sylvain is still sitting out there in the lobby, no doubt trying to keep himself awake while he waits for his coffee. At least Dimitri seems to have a solid idea of what one is normally supposed to do with a coffee machine, getting it set up and pouring in no time flat.

That's good, and for more than just Sylvain's ability to stay conscious. With no pressing matters like a coffee machine threatening to catch fire, Claude can just sit back and admire the very fine view in front of him now that he's aware it's there for his perusal. And it says a lot about how much attention a coffee machine fire can snag the attention, because otherwise? Claude doesn't think he'd ever have been able to look away from Dimitri's appearance right now. It's a fine, classic look - nothing like the more relaxed outfits he's been wearing prior. He'd even go so far as to call it a nautical-themed bodice ripper's wet dream: a nice white shirt that pillows out just enough to really draw out the breadth of his shoulders, tight leather pants that draw out that dynamism further, an open shirt that expresses that fantastic chest of his, shiny black boots... Did he mention the shirt?

Are they scheduled for some historical roleplay tonight? Claude hadn't though so, but he certainly wouldn't complain with an appearance like this before him...

"You look good," he says casually, as though he isn't storing this appearance in his head for later fantasies whenever he can't make a trip here for whatever reason. "I'm going to take a guess that the Lion's Den has a nice robust wardrobe for all sorts of costumed play?"

"We have enough," Dimitri answers simply, picking up the mug filled with just So Much Caffeine and turning back to him. "I'll reward you properly for your patience after we take this to Sylvain."

Right, right, he gets it. That, too, will have to be something that remains as a fun surprise as the future. Claude wonders what sort of play he could engage in to involve some fun outfits, and where he could get it... He bets Hilda would be all over helping him with that.

It doesn't take very long to drop by the lobby desk, where Sylvain gratefully downs a good solid mouthful of coffee before they've even managed to turn away. Going up the elevator also doesn't take that long, either, all things considered, although it also feels like it could go quicker. Claude has always felt that every single time for his sessions with Dimitri, however. He's always so giddy and excited, and it sure does make it hard for him to be patient. Probably that's a good sign for what the night will entail, honestly.

Also a good sign is the room that the two of them step into, and Claude feels his heart skip a beat from the sight. Deep warm browns, passionate reds - those have been the usual colors that have made up the rooms so far and that's not a bad thing by any means. Nice clear color theory. 

So it's a shock - almost as much as jumping into cold water - to walk into a room that's such a clear ice blue, the kind of blue along the walls that makes him feel as though he can already feel the chill of winter even with the thermostat turned high. Elegantly transparent and pale curtains drape themselves all throughout the space, from around the enormous luxurious bed that takes a place of pride there at the center of the back wall, to the walls where they serve as pretty dressing.... 

To the strips of deceivingly delicate cloth that hang there right before the bed, something for every limb, and maybe a couple other places besides. 

Claude is far from a slow thinker. He can guess all on his own just what those strips might be for... And the arousal curling all up along his spine just from that idea alone is enough to make him hope that they get to using it, and soon. 

But even if Dimitri has seen him in far more compromising positions before, he's the kind of guy who likes to keep his cool and not seem too desperate. "Now, isn't this a particularly classy place," he says, eyes tracking the way that Dimitri strides into the room with that deliciously confident aura of his. Truly, this kind of winter atmosphere seems to make him shine the most. More than deep passionate reds, more than dull browns... Dimitri looks at him with an eye so deep blue it could be deeper than Srengian seas, and the blond of his hair could be spun from choked out sunlight in winter mountains. "I like it." 

"Take it in while you can," Dimitri says, voice matching the atmosphere with how cool it is. Well, no one can say he isn't on brand. Holding his hand out, he raises an eyebrow. "Come." 

Now, Claude knows that Dimitri means for him to just come over, period. Probably he doesn't even need to take that offered hand or anything. He's a rather flexible dom, so he could work with just about anything so long as Claude follows the spirit of the command. 

...But just about. 

Cheeky as anything, Claude swaggers up with his hands behind his back and what he's sure is a teasing little glitter in his eyes. He doesn't put a hand into Dimitri's. He doesn't even just go stand in front of him. Certainly, while he's seen some subs do it, he doesn't get down on his knees before him. 

Instead, grinning, he leans all the way forward until he has his chin right there in Dimitri's palm. 

Dimitri stares at him flatly. Claude's grin widens. A sigh filters out of that mouth and, just like that, his fingers sink in slowly but firmly against his cheeks - thumb up to the hollow of his jaw, his fingers following the curve of his face. Firm, but far from painful. Exactly as he could have expected. "I see this is the manner in which you decide to play the brat." 

Even with only a little bit of his strength, Dimitri can lift him up like nothing by his jaw alone. It helps, of course, that Claude follows him right up, helps that he's pretty sure Dimitri is paying more attention to every little reaction than anything else...

But it's still pretty hot. 

"I see the only way to get you to behave is to put you exactly as I need you," Dimitri says, in that low tone of his that just skirts on the edge of becoming a growl. "I'll put it straight into that little skull of yours exactly how you're supposed act, when you're with me, until you've gotten it ingrained straight into bone and flesh."

Is it weird that he finds a description like that hot? Claude thinks it might be a little weird. He's not kinkshaming himself or anything, but violent declarations of possession are new. Wait, Dimitri's been making those kinds of threats since he met him...

While Claude grapples with that burst of arousal, Dimitri turns away with his grip still about Claude's face. More than that, he starts to pull him along with him, with just enough force that Claude stumbles a little before he gets his feet back underneath him. Sure enough, their destination is the series of silky cloth hanging there from the ceiling. Closer like this, he has an even better view of just how translucent they are. Almost as delicate looking as web...

Dimitri releases him abruptly, leaving Claude to flail his arms a little. At least he waits until he rights himself. You know. Until he finishes acting a jackass, although it's hardly acting when he's been let go so abruptly. He huffs a bit, not willing to really push out of the act that they have going on anyway. 

This is meant to fuck with him, isn't it? Dimitri isn't letting his expression break in the slightest, but that has to be what it is. Claude knows it. 

Still, he's not going to let that get to him. Or maybe he lets it get to him just a little bit, but only because he wants to rise to it. Wants to see exactly what Dimitri might do. So, sweeping his hair back from where the product is starting to lose its stranglehold on the curls, he grins up at him. "And how exactly do you plan to do that if I decide to not go along with your little training regimen?" he shoots back. 

Because that's a part of the game. That's a part of getting him right where he wants himself, and where Dimitri wants him, too. 

It's hardly any fun, otherwise. 

He's rewarded almost instantly, that hand moving from where it'd been waiting still in the air to wrapping around the back of his neck, collaring him down better than any leather. Curses roll out from his lips, carried by his moaning. Claude doesn't stop him. He doesn't think he could stop him, as the man forces him to his knees and presses his face down past the strips of fabric, down against the mattress waiting just past them. 

Dimitri's weogjt follows right after him, the bulk of his chest there at his back. Just the feel of him makes Claude want for the bulge he knows is waiting in those tight pants of his. He swears again, soft and muffled against the sheets, and Dimitri's grip only tightens. 

"You'll see exactly what you've earned, with such mockery," he growls, right there against his ear, and Claude's arousal jumps in his pants. Pants that are soon tugged roughly over his hips,  crumpling around his knees. They've barely had a chance to settle before Dimitri's palm follows the curve of his ass. "We shall see how long you last before you're begging for the lead." 

Honestly, Claude thinks a part of him might already be begging for it... And yet it's still, "I can't wait to see you do your best, if you speak that confidently." 

For all his mouthing off, he's quite happily rewarded with those teeth, digging into the back of his neck as though he's some animal, and Dimitri's nails press down against the plush of his ass. He pulls, dragging his ass out more until it's just sticking out there, all on offer to the point that it makes Claude's breath go ragged. Dimitri pries his teeth away, breath hot and wet as he presses those lips of his right against his ear. "You won't wait that long." 

Dimitri's hand leaves his rear only for a second. That's fine. Just the sound of a bottle clicking open is enough to send electricity rattling down his spine and looping back to go wild in his skull.

Maybe Dimitri can even feel it, static bristling against his palm as he slides it down along the curve of Claude's back. Maybe he can't, and that's why his hand departs, only to yank it all the way up Claude's body until it gets stuck right there at his armpits and is yanked slightly past them. "Hey!" he yells, even as the rest of his world is covered pup awkwardly by cheery yellow and a sliver of blue through the armholes of his shirt.

Of course his protests don't get a single bit of attention. Instead, there's just a faint puff of air that he almost misses with all his yelling, and then that palm, stroking down the bumps of his spine again. It makes Claude still, shivering, even as he knows he must look an absolute jackass with his arms tangled up in his own shirt.

And that's not the only touch making him shiver. Dimitri's other hand soon rejoins its place back against his skin, a touch that's now slick and cool as it follows the curve of his ass all the way to his entrance. Claude would be a liar if he said he wasn't hoping for one straight push...

So Dimitri doesn't do it. Of course. Instead, he just draws his dry hand down, spreads his ass out. The room, contrary to its appearance, is perfectly warm. Claude knows that. And yet a tremor still rocks up his spine as he's exposed to air, exposed to that cool finger tracing around his entrance and leaving him feeling all the colder. Electric. 

He stops struggling so much around then, even before Dimitri's finger drifts downwards towards the eversoft skin between his hole and balls. Instead, just to encourage Dimitri to keep going more and more, he spreads his legs out, tries to raise his ass up more so that maybe this will be enough to get him to where Claude really wants him. Just another part of the game that they play with each other. 

Sometimes, Dimitri does him a solid and does exactly as he wants. 

Other times, he reminds him exactly who's in control by being an absolute teasing bastard. That's what he's chosen now, apparently, and Claude can tell just by his stupid attractive dark chuckle. Even with a shirt over his head, he can still hear that much. 

"Want something?" he asks, fingers skirting down to his already half-hard length between his legs. "Have I satisfied you enough?"

"Wow, I never thought such an esteemed and powerful dom could be so petty as to hold my own words against me," Claude shoots back, successfully managing to rein his tone in so that it's not too breathy or desperate. "I can think of even better things for you to hold against me, personally." 

There's a familiar brush of something hot and thick against the inside of his thighs, a bulge he's grown to be so very familiar with after all this time. "And what might that be?" Dimitri asks, sliding wet fingers up his cock all the way to the tip before bringing it back again, leaving it slick in the wake of it all. Back up to his thighs, back to his stretched out hole. "You seem to have plenty of ideas." 

"Could be full with your cock," Claude says, not one to miss an easy opening. 

Really, one of these days, maybe he'll actually learn how to be a proper little submissive sub. It's in the name. It's just really hard to do... although not as hard as Dimitri's palm when he pulls his fingers back and smacks him low right on the ass. Right near to his sack, enough to make him jolt with a gasp. 

"You'll get it when you finally earn it," Dimitri growls at him, thumb grinding near his hole before his fingers return properly. 

When he earns it... How mean. Even if he did mouth off a little, because he doesn't know how to shut it. Claude laughs breathlessly, grasping one of his wrists tightly as he feels the slightest graze of Dimitri's nails. Well, if that's the case, he'll just have to encourage Dimitri to change his mind appropriately. 

That is a little bit difficult when his arms are raised up like they are, and he's partially blinded, and he can tell just from Dimitri's grip on his ass alone that he's note allowed to move anywhere.... 

Dimitri seems to have his own ideas on how to get him to earn anything. It takes a little bit to catch on, granted. The louder Claude gets, with sighs and faint moans as those fingers drift where they like, the more Dimitri teases him. Yet, eventually... Claude realizes his game. Realizes it when that finger presses so sweetly into him, only to pull right back out when his moan rises up to the ceiling like smoke to a fire. 

"Oh, fucker," he murmurs into his shirt, the mattress, as though they can all the better muffle his words. Despite those very same words, however, he can't help grinning down against fabric. 

If that's the game that he wants to play, then Claude will completely win at it. He bites down at his lip, eyelids fluttering from the slight spice a little pain brings with it. It's no easy thing, choking back the noises he really wants to make, but he's an expert at that when he wants to be. After a lifetime of living with far too many siblings, and then roommates, and then whatever neighbors might be on the other side of thin walls... Claude manages. He manages all the way until Dimitri is finally knuckle deep inside of him, the drag of his finger pulling out a moan whether he wants it out or not. 

"You're too much," he forces out, all while his legs spread out even more in wanton desire. "How can you even do something like that, huh...?" 

There's the brush of him again, leaning against Claude's body. With his finger securely inside, Dimitri seems more than content enough to slide his free hand between Claude's legs until he can stroke at him idly. Slowly. As though he has all the time in the world - and that's not even exactly wrong, they both knew that from the get-go. And that makes it worse. 

Better.

Better, as he presses the pad of his thumb right there against the ridge of his tip, traces all around with agonizing slowness that grows his arousal like a fire. 

By this point, while Dimitri maybe doesn't know the complete ins and outs of him, they've been in this relationship long enough. His touches continue onwards, with that same gentle but insistent pressure, with that ever constant stroke of his finger and then another inside of Claude. A slow burn, not hard and hot, not like what else they've done with each other in the past. New, but enticing, fantastic. 

And of course he's the kind of guy who can't be satisfied with just that. 

So of course right as he's starting to get into it, hips rocking back into that sinful touch, dull thrums of pleasure making his thighs shake... That's when Dimitri suddenly slides his fingers out. All the way out. 

"Hey!" Finally breaking his silence, Claude twists his neck to try and look behind him as though he doesn't have his shirt tugged up over his own damn head. "What-" Doing him such a kind favor, there's a pressure and a tug at the end of his shirt, and it goes flopping over past his hands. Where it goes flying next is an utter mystery to him, mostly because he isn't paying any particular attention. Not when there's a lack of pressure against his back, no hot pressure to his thigh. No nails, digging into his ass. 

Cheeks hot, Claude turns around, and finds nothing stopping him from doing so. In fact, Dimitri is already up onto his feet, not even looking at him. Instead, his gaze is focused on his own fingers as he rubs thumb and forefinger together, as though reflecting on something with all the lazy care in the world. 

A part of Claude kind of wants to sweep his feet out, kicking Dimitri down onto the floor just to get one up over him when he's being so cool and detached like this - which is quite a change from his usual, he has to say. He never gets like this. 

Then again, he's never been abandoned with his dick hard like this, either, leaving him flushed and aching. 

There are nearly a thousand words right there on the tip of his tongue, most of them insults he'd normally shy away to use when he could make delightful passive aggressive statements instead. What Claude ends up settling for ends up being something along the lines of, "You had me moaning for you and all you can do is stare at the fingers that were JUST right in my ass as though you were reading the daily paper? What am I, the weather?" 

"Well, it certainly looks as though the weather is going to be wet," Dimitri retorts, turning his hand and spreading out his fingers to showcase the lube and precum that is spread all across his palm. 

"Oh my god," Claude groans, pressing the heels of his palms against his sockets and slumping back against the mattress. Maybe if he groans enough in horror at that stupid joke, it will take away from the fact that he's grinning too. Maybe it will take away from the fact that he's still somehow and impossibly hard after all of that. "I regret being here." 

There's a single soft step against the carpet, something just barely audible and probably only made so by the weight of the man before him. Dragging his hands from his eyes lets Claude see the dom leaning right there in front of him, hair hanging like a golden curtain around his face and shrouding it in shadow. His other hand, the clean hand, the one that had dug its nail into his skin, is what reaches forward and is deceivingly gentle where it curls underneath his chin. "And you would regret leaving all the more," Dimitri says in that deep voice of his. Deep like the blue in his eye, dragging Claude under. 

Amazing how he can still say that, look like that, affect Claude like that... after making a stupid joke about newspapers and the weather. 

While Claude's breath is caught in his throat, Dimitri's finger nudges just a little bit against his chin before he pulls away once more. "On your feet, then," he continues, not missing a single beat. "You've behaved well enough, I suppose."

Only a he supposes. Claude would say he can't believe this man, but there's a couple of problems there. First of all is that he can't deny that he's a little bit of a brat and that this kind of bullshit is exactly what he's paying Dimitri for. The other part is that, well, he can't say anything at all. Not when Dimitri so suddenly pulls him up onto his feet, his wrists once again fitting so neatly in a single grip. He knows better than to fight against it; Claude simply surrenders, instead. Lets his hands be pulled up into waiting silk, where they're strung up together until he has to stand up on the tips of his toes.

And he loves it. Claude can't deny it. Loves how it makes the muscles in his calves tense up with a promise of soreness later, loves how the pads of his toes dig down against the floor. Loves how completely on display he is when Dimitri steps away, and his eye rakes over him.

"Like what you see?" he asks, head tilting to the side and pressing his cheek against one shoulder. It's easy, with how his arms are stretched up like this.

"It could be better," Dimitri says so damn plainly that it could be bewildering to anyone else. And he says it while turning away, too, the terrible teasing bastard. Yet while Claude might huff, he still watches him sharply. Sees the drawer he pulls open to pull out an opaque but lace-covered strip of cloth he can recognize as a blindfold from a mile away. Right length, right thickness, right everything.

Right there against his eyes, and tied securely around the back of his head.

"There," Dimitri says, warm breath making Claude's skin tingle before he pulls away all too soon. Draws away that wonderfully warm touch all too soon. "Now I am a step closer to liking what I see of you." There's a retort on Claude's tongue, but Dimitri's hand is on his leg all the sooner. Beats him to the punch. There's only a split second for Claude to try and adjust his balance, for al the good it does him, before Dimitri is pushing his leg up, and smooth fabric winds tight around one ankle.

A peculiar feeling, honestly, to be simultaneously off-balance and yet not have to worry about balance at all. Not while his hands are tied upwards, and all his weight is there. It only aches a bit where his one remaining leg hangs down, and where his arms are wound up and seeming to hold up all of his weight. 

That doesn't stay the case for very long. All too soon, he can feel those warm and calloused palms against his other leg, and silk sweetly kisses around the joint of his knee. That, too, is soon lifted up, and the weight hardly feels like anything at all. 

Claude's down some fun things with silk ropes before - both in the bed, explicitly, and then just using them as a fun acrobatic exercise. Something, something, healthy for the body, something, honestly it's just great and helps keep his ass fat. And yet, maybe it's just because of the blindfold wound tight around his head, but... It feels as though he's almost floating, although the tightness around his limbs obviously hints to the plain reality of it. 

Dimitri's footsteps go from soft to heavy, rug to wood, only to stop some distance away from him. He strains his ears to the best of his ability, but no dice. As much as he tries, he can't hear any creak of furniture, any shift of fabric. Nothing. No soft splash of water against porcelain, no pop of a cap. 

A guy that big should not be able to be as silent as he is, it's kind of unfair. 

There's a sound, so soft that it almost can't be identified... and even then, Claude really only has a guess or so. Something faint, a scrape, maybe... Against what? Fabric? It's impossible to be completely sure. 

Claude tries to shift in his bonds, tests the security of that which feels so fragile and yet is still keeping him perfectly suspended above the floor. The worst thing out of all of this isn't even the blindness, or being suspended, not necessarily. It's the dull throbbing hanging there between his legs, brushing against his stomach. Completely ignored. 

A soft impact, a footstep, and Claude perks up again for all that he tries to keep it subtle. Can't be too obvious, even if that opportunity is now way behind him. Dimitri's well calloused fingers glide along the length of him, tease around right there at the head. "Almost there," he murmurs, voice deep and dark. It makes Claude hungry for more. "Every step closer to what I want of you." 

His hand pulls away, only for a moment, and yet Claude's hips jerk violently up against his touch when it returns - no longer rough and warm and dry, but wet, slick, cool.

A familiar feeling. One he knows all too well, with how many times they've done it before.

"Could use a little accessory, huh?" Claude responds breathlessly, heart already pounding eagerly in his chest while that fingerpad traces over his slit. "And I bet you have so many options..." So many different things he could choose from. But where on earth in the room is he keeping them all? Or is it just the one, tucked away somewhere? With how many times they've gone at it, Dimitri no doubt has the most intimate knowledge of just how much he can handle...

Delicate clinking, almost bell-like in how melodious it sounds. Tiny. Short lived, too, meaning that it can't be particularly long and prone to swaying. A tiny little addition to the end of the sounder, probably. "Could use encouragement to teach restraint," Dimitri retorts.

And there it is. There's that familiar slide of lukewarm metal gliding against the soft skin of his cock, teasing along a hot pulse until Claude thinks it might very well echo all the way back up into his skull. As much as a part of him wants to grind up against it, encourage more of that blissful feeling he knows is incoming, he manages to restrain himself. Sure, it takes making his entire body go still to the point that he's near trembling, but he restrains himself.

A part of his brain is pretty sure this works out towards spiting Dimitri in some stupid silly brat fashion. Another part of his brain is pretty sure that makes no damn sense whatsoever and he's just proving the dom's point.

The sensible part of his brain points out that he better be damn still as metal graces the tip of his cock, only to gently push right inside.

By this point, it's an old trick, and his body welcomes the sounding rod as easily as his lungs to breath. He might even say it's almost comforting, the way it fits so snugly inside, fills him up, sends little rattling waves of arousal rolling through him just gently enough. His head lolls back, and maybe the blindfold almost has no point. Like this... He nearly wants to close his eyes, and do nothing else but savor the feeling slipping inside of him.

And whatever is dangling from the rod... It somehow makes it just a tiny bit better. Every sway of the charm back against the rod... It's nowhere near as hard as a vibrating one, and yet somehow, the inconsistency of it jolts straight through every single time.

For how good it is, well, it's still just a little more of the same, isn't it? Their same routine, as they've established over so many weeks.

He thinks that up until there's suddenly a finger, pressing right there into his ass.

Claude's entire body jolts, silk bonds straining from the sudden action, and, well, maybe he makes a weird noise! That's no one's business but his own! And Dimitri, who he's paying a lot of money to keep his mouth shut about it all. "Going straight into it, huh?" he shoots off once he's gotten his breath back from the shock that stole it from him. It's just habit, at this point, for his mouth to run. Even tied up and blindfolded, he doesn't think that will ever change. "And here - mm - here I thought you'd take your time with me..."

There's no answer. At least, there's no verbal one. Claude can just imagine the sort of look Dimitri is giving him right now, even as that finger presses further, grinds up against the inside of his body.

Another one follows suit, and Claude is almost expecting a third. Hell, with what he's asked for, he wouldn't be surprised if Dimitri got his entire damn hand up there at some point. Yet instead, Dimitri doesn't rush there. Almost as if they're right back to their usual schedule, their habits... and, with the edge of familiarity given to him, Dimitri has only gotten all the better at touching him like this. He stretches him out lazily, nudges his fingers in the right spots that sends lightning coiling throughout his gut. Unhurried, relaxed. All until his body is as relaxed as it could ever be, soft and pliant, practically begging to be filled.

And, just like when those fingers first pressed inside of him, Claude is given this relief sooner than he thought he would. The fingers pull out of him, cold air slipping inside and causing a shudder. Their replacement is quick. It comes with the same kind of faint clinking that the sounding rod did, short and quiet despite the inherent sharpness that comes with metal.

Quick... and thick, so much more than just a pair of measly fingers, even if those fingers belong to Dimitri. A moan rolls out along Claude's tongue, heady and sweet, before he can even think to stop it. That's it, that's exactly the kind of thing that he wants...

It pushes in and in and in and in, all up until Claude thinks he might be more of whatever toy Dimitri is using than anything else. Until he doesn't feel as though he could be anything else, with how neatly it's stuck inside. "And yet still not as big as your own cock," he purrs, even if the sound stutters a little bit inside of his throat. Rough and jittery, not smooth and seductive as he'd wanted. Well, sometimes that kind of thing can't be helped. Not when he feels stuffed right at both ends like this. "Going to give me just a little taste of the real thing eventually...?"

Honestly, with how much he goes on and on, he half expects for the next addition to be a gag right there in his mouth. He knows he's had a few partners who've expressed similar, to varying degrees of playfulness. But all Dimitri does is leave him perfectly be, save for one finger dragging up along the inside of soft exposed thigh.

Well, that, and the pad of his thumb presses down against the toy - right there on the outside, enough that his thumb can brush against his entrance at the same time. "When you earn it."

How exactly is he supposed to earn anything when he's tied up like this, unable to move a single limb? Sure, he could wiggle his fingers and toes a little bit, but that doesn't really mean much. Not for this kind of situation. But, of course, he knows that's the point.

If he's good and still and whatever else Dimitri demands of him, that's when he'll have earned it.

...Probably.

Even as that probably flicks through his mind, a sharp vibration suddenly rolls throughout his core, sending shocks up his spine and rattling around in his stomach. Claude gasps, trying to writhe there in his bonds. "Shit -" He laughs again, although he nearly doesn't have the breath for it. "Mean -"

Apparently Dimitri takes issue with that, because the vibrations only get all the more intense. With how thick and long it is, the toy has no issues with rattling right up against his prostate, again and again and again. Around the sounding rod, he tightens, pulses. With just that vibe alone, he could probably come... except, of course, he can't.

Trying to shift and twitch his hips gets him absolutely nothing, except, after a point, the press of Dimitri's warm palm. "And here I thought you wanted my attention," Dimitri hums.

God, he loves and hates a sassy dom. Claude has something to say, because he always does. Yet right as his lips part - no doubt timed exactly to such a moment - that hand presses down more firmly around his hips and there's a nudge at his slit. A pull.

The start of a word warbles up into incoherency, a cry, half muffled by the way his head thrashes to press against his arm. More of him would thrash, too, at the surprise slide of pleasure, but Dimitri doesn't allow him even an inch of movement. Just like before, just like all the times before. His grip is inescapable.

And fuck, if there isn't something blissful about it. Something mindlessly sweet about Dimitri keeping him like this, all his thinking overrun by sheer pleasure. It's easy to get lost in it. He wants to get lost in it.

All up until everything suddenly comes to a stop.

Maybe that's an exaggeration. Claude doesn't feel like it is - not when the vibe goes still, not when the rod nestles back all into him, not when Dimitri's palm leaves his hip and leaves behind only a cold space where his hand should be. For a second, Claude's entire body is stunned into just... staying there, mouth panting as he tries to come to terms with it.

"Oh, come on," are the first words out of his mouth when he recovers. Well, as much as he can recover. He'd ask if Dimitri is seriously going to do this to him... But it's kind of a given, isn't it?

The heavy thump of his footsteps starts to circle around Claude's body, as much as he can hear, anyway. Despite the faint tinge of annoyance, it's overridden by the stronger pulse of arousal, just hearing the weight behind each step. "Is there any reason to continue?" Dimitri hums, and there's the heat of him, right by Claude's head. In his hair, next, sliding softly through the held back curls. "I think you've fulfilled your purpose wonderfully in exactly this way..."

That is some bullshit, and Claude feels close to snapping about it. But he's been in worse situations than this, even if... not exactly with his dick in this situation, exactly. So he keeps his cool, takes in a breath as though that can soothe the burning heat in him.

He made it clear in his application that he was always going to be a bit of a brat. It's just not something that he can stop, not of his own accord; he has a mouth and he's going to make that just about everyone's problem. It's just that, it turns out that "everyone" might include him. That's what he'll say if he's asked about the way he huffs, and runs his mouth off once again.

"And just what exactly is this way? What, hanging me up like a piece of pretty artwork?"

He means it as a joke, really. You hang paintings, he's literally hanging from the ceiling... Dimitri is really hung... A play on words, you know?

Except then those fingers linger there right at the base of his neck, thumb toying with a few loose curls. "Exactly like that," he says, so low that it might be buried in the earth's core. Might be buried forever in Claude, with how much he likes it. "Seeing your body spread out as though an offering to a saint, a flush deepening the color of your thighs and cheeks, arousal trembling with even the slightest movement or breeze... I may keep you there forever."

People don't... say that about Claude. Not sincerely, at any rate. Oh, he's gotten plenty of flattery in his life, sure - hard not to get that sort of thing when he's near to his father, or his mother. Even if they don't think much of him, well, they don't want to show the direspect to his father of saying that kind of shit right in front of him.

So it's all bullshit and the most shallow, most obnoxious kind of compliments there in front of him. But the second his father had turned away? The moment they were far enough?

Compliments, especially about his appearance, aren't really in supply, is what he's saying here.

But Dimitri... doesn't feel fake. He doesn't sound shallow. If anything, he's as deep and true as the ocean, and Claude shudders as he feels those fingers slide through his hair once again. Maybe it's just the mood he's in, the way pleasure is rattling all the common sense from his brain, but, well. When Dimitri says it, it almost feels true. And he doesn't know how to deal with the feeling that draws forth.

Which is something to say about words made on him hanging nude and erect.

It definitely says something about the intensity of that feeling that it almost makes Claude forget what else Dimitri is saying. When it does hit, his eyebrows almost manage to rise over his blindfold. "Wait, hold on - that's not what you agreed to, buddy. You said I'd get my release once I'd earned it."

"Mm. And you could earn it from being like this."

"Forever? Oh no, that wasn't the agreement, Dimitri."

"Well... I would say that is not something either of us agreed to on paper, now, is it?"

Claude can't believe this. He can't believe he, out of everyone ever, was just out-schemed and out-worded! A startled little laugh leaps from his throat at the absurdity of the situation, and his own feelings that have popped up from it. "If you don't let me come, I'm going to lose it," he promises him, inbetween his own laughter.

Dimitri doesn't let him come.

Claude soon stops laughing nearly as much.

It's like being completely weightless, but not as though he's floating, or even falling or leaping from the back of a wyvern. Rather, it's like being in a deep pool, so far down that he almost can't see any light. Instead of water, however, it's pleasure. Pure, intense, bottled up pleasure. Pleasure that Dimitri doesn't seem particularly inclined to let come to fruition.

The sounding rod? The vibe? Those were just the beginning. Dimitri's experience shows...

...But only a good ten minutes after his initial teasing, long after he's taken his fingers from Claude's hair.

Ten minutes that feel like an eternity, frustrating, neverending. And yet Dimitri certainly shatters that eternity quite neatly, pinching down hard on one nipple and then the other in quick succession. It sends an electric shock jolting through his spine, a cry from his lips.

Some minutes later - Claude can't possibly tell how long - and he adds worse to it with a small vibrating strap tied right there along the head of his cock, where it shakes through flesh down into the metal rod still sunk deep into him.

He's never wondered how it felt to be an echo chamber, and yet that's what Dimitri quickly turns him into as he's stuck there, hanging, moaning, pleasure rattling through him like a cry down into the depths of a valley. It's nothing but heat and pleasure and his own moans going in circles through his skull. Perhaps it's all the better that the blindfold covers his eyes; Claude is fairly certain that they're useless to him with the way they roll up and into his head.

And it all stops again. Stops, and starts, stops, starts, over

and over

and over

until the blindfold is now longer useful for anything, the way it sticks to his face, his eyelids, wet with frustrated tears burning out from their wells.

"You may as well just kill me at this rate," he gasps, after what feels like the millionth time, and is probably just more like the fourth or fifth. Once more, Claude tries to twist in his bonds, but all that does for him is nudge the little vibe strapped to his cock further against it, and he makes a noise that he couldn't even begin to describe. Words are starting to fail him - no, maybe he's the one failing the words, letting them slip from between his fingers, from between his teeth.

After so very long, there's a touch in his hair, fingers threading through curls, and he whimpers. Whimpers. Should he be sensitive just from this? "Oh, perhaps you will soon find that kind of death," Dimitri murmurs, and his voice is too quiet. Comes through a fog. Claude can't recall just when that befell him. "Soon. Soon. But you're nearly perfect, now."

Perfect? Him? He almost wants to laugh, but that's not the noise which leaves his lips. It's hard to describe. His brain feels hard to describe. There's just the pleasure, neverending and swelling in him. Pleasure, and Dimitri's hand.

Broad and sweet, where it rests against the curve of his skull.

It grounds him, somehow, even though that feels almost silly to even distantly think when he's left hanging in midair like this. Silly. Gods, he's feeling silly. Feeling drunk, almost, even as he presses his head into Dimitri's palm. Smells something distant and faint on him. What is it? Cologne... Warm. He likes it.

Maybe he likes all of it, this mindless floating, like never ending falling, like that moment where gravity and momentum meet in a dance as he leaps from the back of a wyvern and is weightless.

Weightless, and grounded only by the faint pressure of Dimitri's palm where it lays.

Minutes, seconds, hours - nothing means anything. Just like the number of times Dimitri pulls him from the edge, lets him dip just enough to feel the rush of air that could be his release, before reminding him of the ground beneath his feet. Of the hand against his skull. He could do anything for Dimitri, like this. He is doing anything for Dimitri like this.

There's words, sentences, something said to him in that deep and patient tone, just as grounding as his hand, but Claude can't quite understand it all. Can't quite have his ears catch up with it, or maybe it's his mind? Hard to say. Might even be unimportant, in the end.

Dimitri - Dimitri Dimitri Dimitri - he seems to get this. At least, Claude thinks he might understand it. There's a quiet low hum, something almost like understanding, and his fingers patiently thread through again. More words, but they don't sound directed towards him. No, not directed to him at all, he's fairly sure. The hand which sweeps down along the curve of his cheek, over the arch of his chest, yes, yes, oh that's so sweet, and Claude gasps with it, tries to press ever more into that touch.

Unlike times before, Dimitri doesn't pull his touch away. Instead, it continues down, and his thumb brushes against the sharp press of his hips. Doesn't hesitate in going to the arousal standing straight up, there.

He's rewarded. He's good, so he's rewarded, because Dimitri reaches down and wraps those fingers all around the width of him, warm and soft and yes. Yes, that's exactly what he wants, exactly as he wants it, even if the vibe has to be turned off for it. Claude would cry at it - he's cried a lot, the blindfold sticks, but he almost doesn't notice now anymore. Not compared to how, with the weight of the vibe pulled away, thumping to the rug, Dimitri's fingers replace it with a nice smooth stroke.

A couple of strokes, warm, hot, he needs it, and yet, and yet. Something pushes down against him, refuses to let his orgasm push up, out. Claude hisses, all the sharper when those fingers are pulled away.

The dildo buried in his ass gets pulled away, too, a much heavier thump than the little vibe. Claude has a swear on the tip of his tongue - he's pretty sure it's a swear? He can't hear himself anymore. But then, oh but then, there is something warm and wet and hot and oh oh oh oh-

Dimitri presses in, absolutely nothing holding him back, nothing stopping the slick and hard slide of his cock all the way into him, and Claude screams.

No more waiting, no more restraint, there's just, there's only - there's only Dimitri, pumping in and out of him, in and out, slick and ready, yes, yes, when did he get ready? Unimportant. Not nearly as important as the fact that Claude still can't come, not with - fuck, the sounding rod, it's the sounding rod. He forgot. How did he forget?

He knows now. It's hard not to know, with the way his orgasm builds and builds in him, builds until it's painful. Builds until he's thrashing in his bonds, in Dimitri's grip there secure as iron against his hips. All he can do is be there for him, cry out with every thrust, every pump. He's speaking. Claude knows he has to be. If nothing else, he can be sure of that, the breath against his throat, brushing through his hair, all of it.

Dimitri comes before him, comes into him, fills him hot hot hot, the sweet heat of it burning right up into him until Claude realizes that his voice has gone out, realizes that he's no longer making any noise and yet his lips are still parted as though he can release it out into the air.

His cock throbs, aches, unfulfilled.

At some point, he feels he's going to have to absolutely run out of tears. He must, musnt't he? And yet more well up from his eyes as he strains there in his bonds, keening as Dimitri pulls away, out. "There," he says, and Claude doesn't know how he can understand words, right now. Even just a singular one. "Very good. Such a good boy."

Claude croaks - tries to swear, isn't entirely sure if he's coherent as he does. Dimitri only strokes along his stomach again, the dip of his hips. "Yes, yes. I know." He says something else, then. It's hard to say what, but he speaks, and then Claude's mind goes completely blank as the sounding rod is pulled up and out of him, every single centimeter robbed from him leaving behind aftershocks of arousal. How he doesn't come from that alone is a damned mystery.

There's no thump or clink or clatter to signal that the rod has gone the way of the other toys. Claude doesn't know where it's gone. Doesn't bother to listen. All he can do is shiver and tremble where he hangs, until there's Dimitri's hands smoothing over his hips and wrapping securely around his waist again.

More praise. Claude is positive that it is praise, because Dimitri is using that tone. So sweet, so deep, something that could drown him neatly. He'd welcome it, at this rate.

Just not as much as the cock that presses into his sloppy and gaping hole again, arousal jittering through his spine and about his stomach.

Crashes into his skull, and sends his orgasm hitting through him like a shooting star crashing to earth.

And Dimitri does not stop. He pushes in, and then keeps pushing, fucks him, takes him straight through his orgasm until he can't - until he can't - he can't -

Claude wakes up in the bath. It takes him a moment, for him to actually absorb that information from what his senses are telling him. All he does for a moment is come into consciousness to the sensation of something warm and comforting surrounding nearly his entire body. Of something sturdy and soft and slick, there against his shoulder, his cheek. Breathing. A heartbeat. He opens his eyes to light, and doesn't see anything past that for a moment.

The breath goes in, emerges as words. The gentle tone again, the one he's heard before in past sessions - always in the aftermath. "Claude?" Ah, Dimitri. Claude closes his eyes again. "Mm. But you are awake, are you not, Claude?"

Is he awake? He guesses so. Even as he may close his eyes, Claude has to admit that he can't fall back into blissful nothingness where there is nothing but the dark and warmth to lull him into... whatever state he was in a moment before. And yet, he is not fully conscious, either. If anything, he feels almost as if he is floating in fog.

But he supposes he can answer Dimitri regardless. Answer that gentle voice that still stays so close to him. "Mmmrph," he says, which isn't exactly a word of any kind, but does the job well enough. At least, it should be enough to let Dimitri know he's alive and kicking.

Dimitri's hum vibrates along his ribcage, rolls into Claude's own chest. "I see. Then... We can stay in here a while longer."

Good. Claude settles back into that fog. As he does so, he can feel those fingers again. His curls are no longer so noticeable this way, but Dimitri still feels nice, the way he combs through them gently. Just nothing but petting, for a length of time that feels as though it could be mere seconds and simultaneously hours and hours and hours.

At some point, he thinks he drifts back to sleep. At least, if it isn't sleep, then it's a kind of fugue state that may as well be sleep. He's roused again when he's settled on a wet stool of some sort, no longer surrounded by comfortably warm water. What he does get surrounded by, in short order, is an extremely fluffy and large towel. It wraps around him nicely - could probably wrap around him twicefold, if he's honest. Claude laughs, even though there's no real reason to. Does that matter? He doesn't think so. All that matters is the way that Dimitri gently nudges his cheek with the fluffy thing, and covers the entirety of his head with it.

Claude likes that. It's a stupid dumb feeling that he doesn't think he's felt since he was a really little kid, and he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it.

"I'm going to help you get into the spare change of clothes that you left us ahead of time, alright, Claude?" Dimitri asks him, voice muffled through fluffy towel and fog. Still, Claude can hear him. Claude can answer back with a soft hum of his own. "Mmm, very good. You're such a good boy, Claude."

Something warm and peculiar sparks in his chest, at those six simple words. Claude sways in place for a moment, still able to sit upright, which is fortunate. It'd be kind of embarrassing, probably, for him to ponder it while sprawled across the floor. While he's turning that emotion, what it means, inside of his head, Dimitri slides the towel away and slides a shirt on instead.

At this point, Claude can't even remember just what exactly it is that he left with them. He has to tilt his head down, take a good look at the front of the shirt itself. Oh, right. A pun about wyverns and stories and long tails. Where did he get this, exactly?

Another thing to ponder and, in that time, Dimitri makes sure that his underwear goes on next, followed by his pants, and then the loose sandals that Claude made sure to wear. At the time, he thought it would just be the easier thing to do, instead of fiddling with boot straps or shoelaces while his ass would be in a helluva state. Now, well. He guesses that's still true.

Oh. Oh, yeah, ow. A grimace spasms across his face when he's settled back against the stool. That is sore, and it's almost enough to jolt him out from the fog spread across his mind.

Dimitri notices immediately. Right, of course he would. He's right there in front of him. He's right there in front of them, on him, his fingers gently patting his head. "I know. You took on everything that I could ask of you. I know. Just wait a bit longer... I am dressing, and then I will accompany you back home." Getting up to his feet, he makes as though to move away.

It's not that he intends to reach out, grabbing at Dimitri's wrist. It just happens, before his conscious mind can put a stop to the action. "Hey."

Ugh. He's embarrassed the second the word sounds off from his tongue. Frankly, Claude wouldn't blame him if he just pulled his arm back and hushed him. He's being... ridiculous. What is his problem, anyway?

Claude doesn't have a chance to rescind his words. Instead, Dimitri just leans over to him, humming in understanding. "Of course." And with that, he scoops him up into his arms effortlessly. As casually and smoothly as he has every single time before in their sessions, his arms adjusted to make sure there's as little pressure as possible against his rear.

Everything is still hanging up in the bedroom when Dimitri carries him out there, but Claude barely takes any notice of it. Not while Dimitri still has him in his arms, and then laying him so gently down onto the soft plush of the bed. The perfect place, for a guy who feels as sore as he does. Claude barely even moves, honestly, save to shift a little bit against the mountain of pillows there are the headboard so that his head can watch Dimitri a little bit better without having to turn it all the time.

It's not as though he really has to watch too much for too long. Dimitri dresses immediately, with clothing tucked away into a set of drawers - nothing too fancy. A pair of good pants, a plain black shirt, a large coat with a fluffy hood of black and white. He picks up a bag with something inside of it, just to set it by the door, before he returns back to him.

"Do you feel like you can walk?"

Does he feel like he can walk? Absolutely not. And yet Claude isn't the kind of guy who calls it quits. Carefully, just a little shakily, he pushes himself up onto his hands and tries to ignore the dull throb in his ass. When's the last time he felt an ache like that? Questions for another time. For the present, he simply scoots his legs over to the edge, presses his feet flat to the ground, and stands up.

Claude wobbles so hard he almost falls to the side, and Dimitri is the only reason he doesn't collide hard with the floor.

"You fucked my body stupid!" he exclaims, even as Dimitri cuddles him up into his arms again and heads for the door. There's only a brief pause, scooping up the bag into his hand so that it hangs from his front, and then Dimitri is off again.

In all honesty, Claude sort of dozes off again once they get into the elevator. The whole ride is nothing but a faint daze, nothing but bright lights that he hides away from by burying his face against Dimitri's shoulder. At some point, he thinks he hears Sylvain call out to him, is prrrrrrrrrrrrrrretty sure that he waves in return, but who can really say, at this point? Not him, that's for sure.

The city hums around him, people chattering away and the wingbeats of wyverns echoing down to the street. Claude lets it wash over him, a comforting tide that he only occasionally breaches through. A comforting tide that lulls him into sweet blackness more often than not.

And there, always, is Dimitri's arms around him, keeping him afloat.

When clarity next comes to him, it's because he's been jostled, and Claude blearily opens his eyes while his cheek is smooshed awkwardly there against Dimitri's shoulder. The surroundings are familiar to him, a ceiling that is decorated in a beautiful geometric array of vibrant color. Oh, right. He knows where he is, knowledge that sinks into him easily more than being actively thought of. Keys clink against each other, then against a lock, clumsily. "We are almost inside, Claude," Dimitri promises against his hair. "Merely allow me to... Ah. There we go." And the faintest of creaks as the door is pushed open.

Claude closes his eyes again, but not because sleep comes to claim him once more. Rather, it's because Dimitri promptly flicks on the lights, and he has to hide his face with a low groan. The glittering neon of the city? The bright lights of the building leading up to his condo? Those were one thing. This is another, and he's gotta voice his complaint.

A palm, running up against his back, strokes one way and then back down once more. "Mm, of course. I only need it to be on long enough for me to see your living room... Ah, it is very nice."

Is it nice? Claude thinks that might be a little bit of a lie, actually, because his living room is in the same state as his bedroom, which means that everything is scattered everywhere. Most of the mess consists of books. Like, a lot of books. So many books, of everything that he can read whenever he can, which feels more and more sparse, lately. And then there's the candles and sculptures he took with him from Almyra... Little knick-knacks that he's been given by friends and coworkers, arranged on various shelves... His plants...

But, yeah, mostly it's the books that are everywhere, and he can feel the jerky and awkward way that Dimitri has to step around all the piles that he's got scattered across the floor. There's even a moment where he has to readjust his grip on Claude as he leans down, books gently clunking against the coffee table as they're moved from one place to a much less obtrusive one.

That "one place" turns out to be a couch... something Claude only realizes  when he's settled down against it, the whole of him sprawled there on the cushions. When's the last time the couch was cleared, honestly? That's kind of embarrassing to think about...

More embarrassing than the way his fingers stay curled into Dimitri's coat when he tries to pull away after settling him down, surely. And yet those calloused and large hands are gentle as the smooth across his knuckles, coax his grip to loosen. "I am here, Claude. I am still here with you. I will still be here. Let me rest my coat upon you."

Dimitri's coat isn't Dimitri, which is kind of the main problem here. And yet Claude allows him to slide his fingers away until that gentle weight comes across his chest, his shoulders. Claude squints open his eyes, peering past the burn of apartment lights. Dimitri cuts a distinct figure, for all the fog still swirling about in his head. For all the darkness that falls over the apartment when he flicks most of the light switches down, until there's just a single one there in the kitchen.

A single light, to illuminate the broad darkness of his shoulders as he peers through the various cupboards. A single light, that shines a ring about that pale hair of his.

So lost in the image that he makes there, Claude spaces out a fair bit until Dimitri returns to him, offering a single pretty little cup. "Water," he insists to him in that same soft tone as before. The cup stays offered, all until Claude can finally sneak his hands out from beneath the coat. Nice and cool. Yeah. That's what the cup is like. And the water inside of it is just as nice, when he finally gulps it all down. He's done this before, right? As in, yeah, obviously, he's drunk water from a cup throughout his life, that's... a normal human experience.

What he means to - not say, to think? right - is that he's done this... recently. Tonight levels of recently. Didn't it happen while he was in the tub, maybe...? Dimitri's heart against his head, his hands as his chin, gently guiding in a drink.

By the time that Claude pulls himself from that hazy memory, the now completely empty cup has been set to the side along with all the books that had to be relocated. Dimitri pulls the coat back over him, a nice little blanket that keeps him perfectly toasty. "And... there. Do you want to fall asleep, Claude?"

Does he? Maybe. That sounds kind of right, honestly, with the state his mind is in. He probably should just go right back to sleep. Let his body recuperate from the fuck session he's had tonight.

And yet... Maybe because it was disrupted from the slumber he'd been lulled into on his journey here, but Claude doesn't feel like sleeping. Not immediately. "Mmm... I'm awake," he manages after a moment, although that hardly seems like a statement that'll remain true for very long. "Y're not leaving... Right?" It feels.. important to establish that. To make sure that, at least, will be true.

Dimitri nods, reaching over to sweep Claude's messy hair away from his face. In the aftermath of the bath, it's only gotten worse than it usually does without any treatment. "Of course. I will be right here. Do you want me to put something on the television for you? Or would you rather hear me talk instead?"

Claude closes his eyes, tries to nudge his head further up into Dimitri's palm. Understanding the unspoken request, the dom keeps it right in place. "Mmm... Television. Just... as long as you stay."

"Of course. I will be right here. Let me go and turn something on for you, and then I will be right back here."

If there's one thing that Dimitri can be counted on, it's keeping true to his word. Claude fights to open his eyes once more just so that he can watch Dimitri as he delicately navigates the living room again all the way to the various movies that are on display there in the shelves by the television. Most of them... should even still be in place. Dimitri picks something seemingly at random; Claude can't quite see what it is even when he puts it into the player.

Really, it's the last thing on his mind. The first is how much he wants to keep tugging the coat over him until it's all he can smell. The second is how he subconsciously doesn't let his eyes drift away from Dimitri, staying on him all the way until the other is finally by his side again.

Literally by his side. There's not really any more room on the couch, with Claude taking up all of it. So Dimitri seems perfectly content to settle there down on the floor, his back against the couch and his knees drawn up slightly so that his arms can rest against them. Is it comfortable? He makes it seem to be so. More importantly, he reaches back, slips his hand underneath his own coat. Searches, without looking, until his fingers can gently entwine through the gaps of Claude's own.

Somehow... That's what he needs. That's all Claude needs to slowly shut his eyes, even as the movie starts to play. Some silly black and white thing from ages ago, one of those terrible little movies where some tiny figures in the foreground mock the whole thing. He'd always found it amusing when he was a kid in school....





"So you woke up, and there was just a stuffed lion in your arms?" Hilda asks him incredulously over the phone and, well, it sounds kind of silly when she puts it like that.

Especially because he's still cuddling the lion close to his chest, the soft plush weight of it a reassurance. It's practically as large as his whole damn torso and, while he hasn't told Hilda this, it smells... really nice. So nice that he's pretty sure that it has Dimitri's cologne or whatever he wears sprayed onto it. Maybe even into it. He'd woke up cuddling it, buried underneath not Dimitri's coat but rather one of the spare blankets he'd had in his closet.

Claude had honestly forgotten about it, and yet it still had a warm smell to it, not musty at all, when he'd come to.

Needless to say, he doesn't tell Hilda about any of that. Sure, it's fine if she hears about how he'd been edged to a life and come more than once underneath Dimitri's touch, but some things are a little too much info, right? So instead, he just laughs, as though that can hide the jittery feeling in his chest. "Well, there was the stuffed lion in my arms, and a note on the table for me giving me a number in case I woke up not feeling right, the usual stuff, that he left the bag with the clothes I wore on the table... That kind of stuff. I remember him waking me up to say all of that, but he took the extra step just in case."

It's hilarious, hearing the kind of noises that Hilda makes when she really wants something, or is envious. "Uuugh, I didn't know that they'd have the dom escort you home for the really tough sessions... I'm getting interested in all of it now! Maybe I should stop going to that cosplay cafe so much so that I can save a little bit and get a membership..."

Oh, he has no doubt that she would absolutely love all the different rooms that the Lion's Den has on offer for its clients. Still, he has to say, "I'm pretty sure the only reason he made sure to help me home was because of the state that I was in, and how they  had to clean up the room for the next client. I'm not sure how much of a mess it actually was..." He was kind of out of it at the time, after all. "I probably embarrassed myself stupid in the state that I was in, honestly. I don't think I've ever had a sex session go that bad before. I mean, bad as in good. As in I just couldn't think straight for literal hours."

Which, well, he says that sentence casually and all, but it kind of wigs him out, to be honest. It's never been so intense as that... He almost doesn't know if he likes it that way. He'll... really have to interrogate his own feelings on the whole thing before he next logs onto the Lions Den chat to update Dimitri on their next session.

"Mmm, well, good for you." Hilda's words are broken off by a yawn, and Claude glances back to his clock. Yeah, it really is an absurd time of night - or morning, at this rate. "Listen... Unlike some of us who took a vacation for a couple of days so that their ass could reformat itself, I have to go to work, so... I'll text you again when I wake up, okay? Gonna go to sleep after being in bed the whole day?"

"Ha." Claude shakes his head, although Hilda can't exactly see the action. "After sleeping the whole day? I think that's it for me. Honestly, more than anything else, I'm starving... and for really cheap food, too. I'm gonna go get something to eat. Have a good night, Hilda."

Dimitri really did him a favor, in making sure that he had a spare change of clothes for that last session. And while it was pretty good for getting him back to his condo... Well, Claude was still sleeping in them for a whole day. They're kind of gross at this stage, although not the rankest clothing he's ever slept in. So a quick switch out for a new shirt, a jacket for the night chill, and then jeans means he's good to go.

The city is still humming along when he steps out onto streets lit not by the sun but by rows of streetlamps and the bright buzz of neon - still active, of course, because some things only become active in the dead of night. Just no longer wild and and full of constant activity. There's something nice about it, honestly, even if he has to keep a little bit of self defense spray (his own design!) tucked in his pocket next to his wallet. Claude takes a deep breath of it all as he makes his way down the street.

In theory, he could probably pick any 24-7 convenience store and get whatever he liked from there. It would be by far the easiest option. Yet maybe it's because of the workout he's put his body through, but he really has a craving for something specific.... And just any average convenience store isn't going to cut it.

So he makes a little bit of effort, despite the way his body complains at him, to trek the extra half hour it takes for him to reach his place. A neat little hole in the wall that carries all sorts of international snacks and drinks. It was honestly a rare find, but it's a good thing he's so damn nosy. The first thing he did upon moving, after all, was poking around just about everywhere. A man's curiosity and all that, right?

His efforts have always rewarded him in one way or another, too, and Claude reflects on that as he steps into the little place. Overheard, the lights buzz with their cheap plastic bulbs, and the smell of fried foods wafts from where they're kept hot in a little heating unit. Exactly the kind of smell he needs after a night like he's had, even if not quite the same food that is exactly poking at the edge of his brain. Just something that wets the appetite.

At least he has no small amount of choice. There's all sorts of lovely things lined up there in the fridge section that can be reheated with a simple press of a button, and will leave him feeling like a fat hog by the end of the night. (Literally the end of the night, by the time the sun rises.) Claude practically fills his arms with all sorts of nonsense before he glances down one of the aisles. Aside from the cashier playing a mobile game up front near some live fish, it looks like there's only one other person here in the store, and it's a guy (?) scrunched up investigating some of the Srengian candies while holding a can of spray cheeze in both hands.

Some people really do be going through it at 2:15 in the morning.

But honestly... The guy has an idea, and Claude makes his way down the aisle too. While he's here, why not pick up something for the next day? Little treats that can be saved for, you know, the waking daylight hours while he tries to readjust his sleep schedule to normal people time zones. And after, maybe some chips or dried seaweed from Dagda. With the citrus flavor on them... Ugh yeah, now he wants some of that, too. He makes his way in, eyes already roaming the shelves.

The aisles must be narrower than he thought, or himself sleepier than thought, or the guy much bigger than his baggy clothes would make him seem... and it already makes him seem kind of big. All this because while Claude is looking up at the shelves, his knee catches along the curve of his spine, and Claude goes stumbling forward.

Good news: he doesn't fall flat on his face, his own feet catching him before he can make an idiot of himself in a convenience store aisle, which already sees more than enough nonsense as it is.

The bad news is that he can't say the same for all of the shit he had in his arms. Most of it goes flying from his grasp, hitting the floor in thunks and thumps and - a fact that makes Claude wince - a clang and hiss that would be from his soda can.

That it doesn't immediately explode and ricochet straight into his face is honestly nothing less than a divine miracle.

Claude swears low in Almyran. "Sorry - hey, hey!" The guy he tripped over is making a noise first like a startled dog, and then a whine like a really really anxious one, already moving over to start picking up the various bags and microwavable foods. Claude is pretty sure he's trying to apologize, except it sounds like there's something inbetween his teeth, so it's just... nonsense noises that sound apologetic. "It's my fault, hold on-"

He reaches down for the guy's shoulder, who's suddenly stopped moving at his urging, and he really just intends to apologize. Intends to put the blame squarely on his own shoulders, because he wasn't watching where he was going. That's it, honest.

Except, with just a small pull of his hand on the guy's shoulder, he's made to face him, and this time it's Claude's turn to freeze up. To stare.

Because the guy has blond hair, falling in a shaggy mess around his face from underneath his hood. One deep and brilliant blue eye, the other hidden behind a plain black eyepatch.

And from his mouth, held inbetween his teeth... A string cheese stick, one part of it in his mouth as though he was peeling it with his teeth, except completely incompletely, because the rest is still attached and half hanging there out from his mouth.

It's Dimitri.

Dimitri, staring up at him with a faint tinge of panic there behind his gaze.

And Claude, well... Claude stares back.

Huh.