He can't pull his eyes away from Alecto, from the aborted movements of his hands, from the way he glances at Josh over his shoulder, every gesture perfectly calculated and deliberate. He isn't sure how he would answer Alecto's inevitable response - is already somewhat regretting having spoken up at all - but he's completely thrown by that final aside, and it takes him a moment to recall that he'd been asked a question.
"I'm - uh." He says, not at all eloquently. "It was just..." he hesitates again, "a feeling. But, you almost always know exactly what to do. So I couldn't..." Well, Alecto had just confirmed it, so there was no point in prevaricating.
"I'm...glad." He admits, soft and genuine. "That you did." That Josh had done well.
He turns around fully, closing and opening his eyes slowly as he studies Josh in silence.
And then, Alecto prowls towards him. Each step is measured careful, sharp. “Maybe I’ll phrase it another way,” he says, and he finally reaches the bench that Josh is seated on. He bends a knee upon it, halfway to straddling Josh’s lap. “Why did you ask?” The leash still attached to his collar swings slack between their bodies.
“What was it you were hoping I’d say? Or perhaps…do?”
His mouth goes dry as he watches Alecto walk closer to him, the full import of all the many interlocked facets of their various roles colliding in that moment: Alecto's usual direction in their work interactions and Josh's trust in his expertise, Josh's improvisations and escalations and Alecto's reactions to them, Alecto's attire now - barely clothed, but entirely in control as Josh - in full formal layers, stares up at him in awe, all his carefully deferred arousal for the sake of the mission suddenly shifting to the forefront of his mind.
The denial springs to his lips - instinctive, cautious, restrained, professional - but they had passed those bounds already, at least on his side. So he takes a deep breath, and wraps his fingers around the trailing leash - no pressure, just making the connection between them physically.
"I was hoping you could tell me." He says, simply, but his eyes burn as he stares up at Alecto due to his slight advantage in height, standing over Josh while he's sitting down. "What you want me to do." He sounds utterly sure and confident, but it's a request. The length of leather trembles between them.
Alecto’s smile is slow. He considers Josh fully, reaching out a hand to touch and trace his jawline as Alecto straddles him fully, eyes sparking when he sees Josh reach out to grab the leash. His hand is trembling. Alecto licks his lips.
How interesting Joshua Archer is, he thinks. Especially now. A trained weapon wrapped up so nicely, so tamely, deceptively so, in layers of cotton and twill, and asking for direction. Every inch of him decorated to appear powerful, in command, demanding. And yet.
The contrast between them right now is dizzying.
“I want you to keep playing along,” he begins, rocking his hips in Josh’s lap. “I want you to make me obey you.” Alecto leans in, inhaling the spicy scent of Josh’s cologne. “Pull me, push me, mark me up so during the day, no one but you knows what’s hidden underneath my clothes, the evidence of you having used me so thoroughly - mm. Would you like that, Mr, Archer?”
He places one hand against Josh’s chest, feels the steady beat of his pulse, digs his fingers in as if he were about to claw his heart out, wrinkling the fine fabric of his shirt.
Alecto's orders, delivered while he leans so close to Josh, like he actually wants to be there, like he can imagine nowhere better, even with no one and nothing else watching them, sound like something out of a fever dream. In a way, this whole night has seemed utterly unreal, but the full breadth of that realization slams into Josh all at once with the impact of an oncoming train, arousal roaring in his ears as his body reacts, unmistakably, to Alecto's warm weight in his lap, to how close he's leaning, a deceptively delicate display of balance and strength, even as his words settle into Josh's psyche, a second skin, the same certainty that he felt in the depths of a mission, whether delivered by earpiece or directly like this, warm breath against his ear.
His hand tightens on the leash, pulling Alecto's face closer and lower, but not quite enough to kiss, and he reaches his other forward to grab Alecto's wrist, grip firm but not in the least painful, a far subtler display of strength and control than exercised by the mark they had been forced to spend time with this evening.
"I would," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact, as though it weren't patently obvious. "And what would you like me to call you for the rest of the night, Mr. Crabtree?"
He hums again in clear approval at this exchange while he allows Josh to tug his head down, their mouths mere inches apart. “What you’ve been calling me all night so far,” he says, and then pauses purposefully before adding: “master.”
Alecto sighs happily into Josh’s mouth as he feels him tighten the grip he has on his wrist. He hopes by the end of the night he’ll see a mark there. “After all, aren’t you pleased with your pet, sir?” His free hand travels down to grip Josh between his legs, squeezing his crotch tight and just this side of painful.
For a moment he doesn't react outwardly to Alecto's provocation, his expression almost placid, but there is no mistaking the light of desire and intrigue in his eyes. Then he yanks down hard on the leash, pulling Alecto off balance to fall against him before flipping their positioning, so he can pin him on his back to the bench. It's more of a move from a fight than a seduction, but he trusts Alecto to understand his intention, despite his subpar execution. He slides his knee between Alecto's legs, pressing up against the leather of his ridiculously short shorts, deliberately pressing it against the bulge of his cock. He'd been teasing Alecto all night, manhandling him with impunity under the auspices of their cover story, and while he was no stranger to the sight of Alecto naked and willing above or beneath him, the context was now so different, such a strange, liminal honesty, that he's really not sure what to expect anymore.
He's...excited though.
"I've been very pleased with your behavior all night, my pet," he replies, fingers flexing around Alecto's wrist, pinned above his head, his breath warm against Alecto's ear, his tone a whisper, his fully clothed body a tantalizing weight and contrast above Alecto.
"But right now I think what you really want is for me to truly remind you of your place."
He pulls away, just as suddenly as he'd moved in close, leaving Alecto on the bench on his back. His eyes rest thoughtfully on the bulge of his erection, barely hidden by the tight leather, even though it is certainly restrained by it, but then his eyes slide upwards to the collar, still wrapped around Alecto's slim neck.
"I want to see you on your knees for me," he says, quiet, but sure. "I want to see how you look at me when it's just us."
He’s taken entirely by surprise when Josh pins him down. When his back hits the bench he gasps involuntarily, eyes going wide as he looks up at Josh in a sudden moment of real helplessness. It lasts barely a second but Alecto is thrilled by this obvious show of Josh’s strength and physical brawn. It’s always so well hidden, beneath that reserved, warm demeanor that pushed forward a look of intense normalcy.
Alecto doesn’t even realize it when he starts to rut against Josh’s thigh, the insistent pressure of that hard knee against his straining cock -
And as quickly as it happened, it stops and Alecto finds himself flushed and breathless and scrambling to pretend that he isn’t.
“Yes, master,” he somehow manages to say, forcing his voice to be even and soft. He watches the way the leash tethers him physically to Josh. “I think I would benefit from a good reminder.”
When next he meets Josh’s eyes, there’s a twinkle of a challenge there. Alecto stays still for a moment longer, so curious -
He notes the obvious hesitation, the way Alecto meets his gaze. Insolent is the word that comes to mind, but the concept is so foreign to Josh in the context of him and Alecto that his brain struggles briefly with the notion.
His body has no such qualms. He pulls hard on the leash, a visible snap of tension tautening the leather, causing the collar to dig in a little into the skin of Alecto's neck, without dragging him out of position entirely against his will.
"Given how much you know you'll enjoy that, my pet," he says, a chilly menace, a cool, icy anger, sliding into his tone, "you don't seem at all eager to just let me give you the reminder you're asking for." He wraps the leather of the leash in slow, deliberate loops around his fingers, picking up only the slack, at first, but with each rotation the tension steadily increases. In a moment, either Josh will have to step forward, or Alecto will be forced to move in obedience to the weight of silent command.
He suppresses a pleased smile when he sees and feels Josh tug on the leash, making it tense between them. The way the leather digs into his throat makes Alecto reel a little, hoping by the end of the night, there could be a mark left there, some small proof of him having been made to submit to Josh like this.
He falls to his knees then, gracefully, off the bench and onto the floor, letting the combined pull of the leash and collar around him tug his face upwards. His eyes are clear with want but his face remains demure, flushed, eager, excited. “I just like getting you riled up, sir.” I know you like it too.
Alecto knows him far too well, and they are both deeply aware of that fact. It had been a foundational basis for all their missions together, and Josh at least attributed a lot of his successes to that. Their recent missions together had only underlined the reliance and trust he had on and in Alecto Crabtree and he feels no different right now, watching him settle gracefully onto his knees, eyes sparking with challenge and curiosity. He can feel the rising pace of his heartbeat, the less physical thrum of excitement to rise up to, meet, and maybe even exceed expectations.
His gaze slips sideways briefly, to the various tools and other implements now very much at his disposal. But then he moves forward, the leash shortening between them with each and every step, until he is standing barely an arms length away from Alecto. He reaches down, cupping his face with his still-gloved hands, tilting it up for him to see.
"I know. I also know just how much you enjoy being put through your paces, my pet," he says, thumb tracing along Alecto's bottom lip. "So, if you can't - or won't - stay still for me on your own, shall I make you?" His eyes flick to the spreader bar again, alert for Alecto's reaction.
It took some time for Alecto to learn how to read Joshua Archer but once he had, it felt as natural and easy to do, to comprehend, as speaking his own mother tongue. There were a few tricks to it, sure, as there always were with any language (body or otherwise): but with time and practice and exposure, it becomes second nature. It was a crucial skill for a handler to have anyhow, to be able to understand their agent as thoroughly as possible, to be able to anticipate their intentions or needs in any context or moment. In many cases, this made the difference between life and death.
This is something Alecto knows for a fact by now: so much about Joshua was hidden in subtlety, in slight of hand, in making you look exactly where he wanted you to and not where you should, so it's difficult to pin down his true feelings. But luckily, Alecto's talented at overcoming such ruses. He knows exactly when Josh is uncertain about something (it's in the twitch of his brow), or when he's feeling exhilarated (it's tucked in the quiver of his upper lip), or when he's cocky (this one is obvious. Does he need to even say it?). And right now, Alecto could feel just how restrained Josh was being, how it was contained in just that one swipe of his thumb across Alecto's lip, how he hesitated just a little as if debating whether or not to go any further.
But that's ok. Alecto can work with that.
Alecto flicks his tongue out, feels the smooth leather of the gloves Josh still has on. "I think you have to make me, master," he murmurs, chancing a look as well at the variety of...tools at their disposal. "I don't feel like behaving tonight."
He can see and note where Alecto's gaze goes without breaking the eye contact between them, but the sight of Alecto's tongue, sliding with curiosity over the butter soft leather of his gloves, is hard to pull away from regardless.
"Then perhaps I need to remind you of your place first," he says silkily, and then he drops the leash and reaches out to grab Alecto directly using the collar instead, pulling him off balance and closer to Josh, his foot slotting between his knees where he was kneeling, an echo of that moment in the car, the hard bulge of Alecto's cock, wrapped in those tight leather shorts, pressed against his shoe.
"You've been hard all night, my pet." He says, matter-of-factly; his tongue stutters on the phrase that bubbles up - for me. "Do you need some relief?" He slides his foot forward, presses deliberately and none-too-gently against his erection. "If I told you to get yourself off, until you made a mess of yourself in those shorts, what would you do?"
He's mostly making conversation, curious as he is to hear the response. He knows what he wants to do next - wants Alecto bound up for him, perhaps to one of the specialized pieces of furniture spread out for them around the room, and he wants to pull out some of the toys he'd been oh-so-thoughtfully provided in the briefcase, which had invaded his brain the moment he'd laid eyes on them, and give Alecto the marks he'd been angling for, pinking his skin and seeing exactly how he reacted, physically, to the crop and perhaps a whip biting into his skin while he writhed and ached, begging for -
He bites back a groan, swallows it, feels it go back down with a tremble. His hips rock against Josh’s shoe, against the sharp tip of it and he feels light-headed with pleasure. It’s clear he wants more, pressing purposefully against Josh’s foot, making the pressure far harder - the way he likes it.
But Alecto isn’t one for mess.
“I would do that for you, master,” he replies, but he stares at Josh, knowingly, “Although…that’s not what you want, is it? No,” Alecto’s hands slide down his body, slowly down the smooth lines of his torso, knees spreading just so, “you want me bound and open for you, on display. Helpless but to take whatever you give me.”
He doesn't bother hiding the light and interest in his eyes. What was the point? If anyone knew him, in all the messy, intertwined chaos of his life as a spy, it was Alecto Crabtree. This wasn't about surprise or duty, nothing in service to any of their missions. Instead, it was an unexpected indulgence. This wasn't about Christopher, or Thomas, or any of a long line of aliases marking time back to when they'd first begun working together.
For him, at least, this was about being himself, in conversation and mutuality. He's still not entirely sure whether he can have an expectation for what that meant for Alecto.
"You're right," he says, simple, straightforward. "I do want to see you like that, use you like that." He gestures to the room and all its potential arrangements. "So how exactly do you want to please me, my pet? Take your pick."
He glances around the room and immediately something catches his attention and his eyes dart to it before going back again to Joshua's face. He looks so incredibly present, fully in this moment they're sharing together, that it makes Alecto's heart do an unexpected leap.
"I want you to use the spreader bar over there on me. Make it so that you can spread me open and bare for you, so I don't have a choice but to be at your mercy like that."
He looks anything but commanding as he's splayed on the floor, leashed and practically being stepped on. But his words are smooth and confident, even if his body language is pliant, submissive, and eager.
"Do you want me to stretch you out for me right here on the floor, my pet?" he asks, calm and steady, his tone one of polite inquiry rather than anything more urgent, though his heartbeat is quickening in his chest. "Or shall I make you crawl to something a little more suitable?" He's curious about Alecto's preferences, in this room with so many options at their disposal.
His next breath hisses out with the enormity of lust and want and desire he feels at Alecto's words, and he reaches down for the clasp where collar and leash meet, letting his hands slide along the length of leather and tugging Alecto just enough to direct him.
"You want to be held open for me, my pet?" he asks, almost thinking out loud, his steps slow and steady, just enough for the leather to shift towards tautness without digging in, for Alecto to have to make the choice between dignity and obedience in their interactions together as Joshua leads him towards one of the padded benches, at the perfect height and position for Alecto's body to be within easy reach for all manner of potential tools or gestures, if the niggling desire to put him through his paces could be trusted. Alecto is beautiful in his submission, crawling gracefully for Josh, at his direction, and the enormity of the implication makes Josh dizzy with want, with the spark of creativity it fans into an open flame, his entire body flushed hot with anticipation in all the layers he is wearing.
"You're mine, after all, to touch and tease and use however I choose." There is no longer even the slightest hint of uncertainty in his tone or demeanor, as he gestures for Alecto to stand and lean over the bench for support, and he takes hold of the leash, leans down to hook the end into one of the metal rings screwed into the base of the bench. More a symbolic gesture than anything else; there was just enough slack for Alecto to be able to stand normally, if he wanted to, but the click of the leash, the level of control it implied, the implication - that Alecto was nothing more than a pet, subject to the whims and desires and orders of his master...
He slides his hands up his legs, fingers warm against the tight leather shorts as he tests Alecto's willingness to be manhandled, his balance and the level of arousal he feels. "I want to see how hard you are for me, my pet," he murmurs, finally hooking his fingers in the shorts and starting to peel them back and down and off by slow inches, pushing down Alecto's thighs and pausing. They were so short and so tight that they barely left anything to the imagination, the contrast between Josh's full suit and layers already apparent, but there was a world of difference between barely clothed and fully naked, and he intended to savor that reveal and touch his fill, groping Alecto proprietarily, without doubting his welcome for a moment, his still-gloved hand gripping Alecto's cock and pumping, the shorts a tight restriction around his knees as he tries to keep his balance. It's a lovely counterpoint to Alecto's stated desire to be spread wide for Josh's use, forcing him to stand in that awkward position, bent over and restrained by his own clothing and the leash around his neck.
Somehow, he manages to make crawling on all fours and getting tied to a bench seem elegant and delicate. Every motion, every arch of his body is measured and careful, held at the perfect, most appealing angles. Even now, as he stands, bent at the waist, with his legs spread wide and held apart by his ridiculous shorts, Alecto looks nearly artful, all long lines and sharp angles. Even his face has an almost resplendent expression even though his fingers curl with tension against the seat cushion he's bracing himself upon, and he's biting down on his lip to quell the sound of his panting as Josh's hand works in determined strokes up and down his leaking cock.
"Feels good, master," he whispers, the faintest purr of pride leaking into his voice, utterly taken by Josh's performance thus far. "I love showing myself off to you like this."
He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, the briefest, airiest "Ah," escaping him and scattering his thoughts, and when he feels the insistent press of a thumb against his foreskin, tugging it back just this side of harshly, Alecto groans with pleasure. His thighs tremble with the effort of keeping himself in position, and he can't wait for what Josh might demand of him next -
"Can I come, master? Can I - mm - make a mess for you yet?"
"You know, I don't think you want it badly enough just yet, my pet," he replies matter-of-factly, still fondling Alecto without even a hint of hesitation, toying with his cock, his balls, his smooth thighs, as though he were a plaything, an object, solely meant to serve Josh's whims and pleasure.
"No, my pet, you're going to wait," he says, as if making a decision, announcing the exact course of the night. It's not even phrased as a demand - that would be an acknowledgement of Alecto's agency, that there was a personality that needed to be accommodated, rather than a helpless and willing body for him to use however he pleased.
His gloved hand slides down between Alecto's legs, stroking over his balls, ignoring the desperate length of his cock for the moment. He weighs them in his palm, bare of any cover, the contrast of butter-soft leather and blood-warm skin heady and even for him; he wonders how Alecto feels about it. He shifts his fingers, curling them upwards, fingertips stroking along Alecto's sensitive perineum behind his cock and balls, a gentle but insistent pressure, as a hint of things to come (heh).
Absolutely incredible, he thinks, as Josh takes more and more of the reigns, tightens his hold on them and metaphorically pulls.
Alecto pushes back against the hand teasing him, playing with him. Josh knows more than enough about his body and all the spots that make him squirm to really get Alecto worked up, to dangle him delicately in front of the promise of explosive pleasure and make him desperate enough to work for it.
Alecto makes a pleased sound, a whimper of bliss. Josh is speaking to him like he’s nothing, like he’s just a mindless object to be used however Josh wanted, for him and him alone. It makes Alecto feel so held, so cared for, and so horribly aroused. His dick twitches suddenly, pre gathering quickly at the head and dripping onto the bench beneath him.
“Yes, master,” he says, turning to look at Josh over the pale curve of his shoulder. “I don’t have the right to come, you’re right. I have to earn it, don’t I? Please. Make me.”
He lets go of Alecto, meeting his eyes steadily as his fingertips dance up the curve of his backside and along the long line of his spine, bent over and presented for Josh's avid gaze.
"You do so want to be good for me, don't you, my pet?" He asks, his palm resting between Alecto's shoulderblades, a deceptively gentle pressure through the thin mesh of the shirt. "You want my marks on you, showing everyone exactly how I've used you, that you belong to me?" He unhooks the buttons holding the shirt together, one by one. Objectively, Alecto looks far from dignified at the moment - his tight leather shorts pulled down to his knees, the shirt falling open around his torso, his hard, dripping cock pressed up against his stomach making it clear how worked up he is from the night and the treatment so far - and Josh cannot pull his eyes away.
"Take your pants off," he orders, airy and unconcerned, and lets the shirt drop to the ground next to the bench. He steps back, curious what Alecto will do. "I want to see you completely bare for me, my pet, except for my collar around your neck, reminding you exactly who you belong to."
Alecto and the concept of good don't always align. He's never been, objectively, a good person and, as his job requires, often finds himself sitting comfortably in moral gray areas. And, he's never really been good in the other sense either: coloring within the lines, following directions, observing social graces. No, Alecto preferred to make things uncomfortable, to ask difficult questions and make risky moves, be a challenge.
And that's exactly why he loved being put into his place like this, in the intimacy of a scene, under the calm and steady hand of a man he - no, he's not in love, don't be ludicrous - trusts. Everywhere else, Alecto has his carefully cultivated walls, masks, and metaphorical knives. He keeps his cool, his edge, and stays mission-driven. It keeps him and the people under his care alive.
It's only here, in this private moment, that Alecto ever obeys another.
Slowly, he strips himself out of his pants. It's only one piece of simple clothing but Alecto takes his time, inching his way out of it as if pushing the fabric down to the slow beat of a song only he can hear. He slides one long leg out, then the other, and kicks the offending thing under the bench, stretching just a bit before getting back down on all fours and peering up at Josh with nothing but focused attention and the will to please him. The leash at his neck, tethering him, swings lightly as if begging to be held, tightened.
He waits until Alecto is entirely back in position again, settled down while facing Josh and waiting for his next directive. There's something so hot and intent in his gaze, wholly different from the looks they exchanged even in the aftermath of the directed and almost ritualistic sessions that had been deemed necessary for the long-term cover identities. There were still moments of connection - Josh still remembered that first exchange, fucking Alecto against the kitchen counter, the way he'd said 'Josh' when he came - but Alecto was fastidious and otherwise perfectly professional. If Josh had to put a label on it, it sometimes felt like he was being graded and - well, usually he wasn't found wanting, per se, he could pride himself on that much, at least - scoring adequately. A fulfillment of a duty that happened to be physically enjoyable, but nothing more than that.
This was... something else entirely.
"Stay," he says, his tone forceful but even, as though he weren't affected by the sight of Alecto stripping down for him at his orders, by the way he gazes at Josh with his focus utterly fixed on him, by long limbs and a body utterly on display for his eyes alone.
He forces himself to turn around, to walk with steady steps and not a hint of impatience, to select the toys and implements that had caught his eye (or that seemed to have caught Alecto's own interest and attention, that he had managed to observe) and bring them back within easy reach. He takes his time, passing them before Alecto's gaze, ever attentive and attuned to his reactions. There is the spreader bar, of course, the obvious choice, given Alecto's earlier suggestions, but he notices a humbler - two carefully shaped halves with a hole between them for Alecto's scrotum, which would render him utterly unable to shift from a bent position without causing himself pain - and sets it within sight but out of reach, a silent threat (or promise). He removes the leather cuffs and the riding crop from the briefcase he'd been carrying about all night and tries not to think too much about their provenance. He selects a wooden paddle, considers his options for positioning, and keeps it close by.
He wants to hear Alecto, wants to hear the way his calm, measured words, each one carefully calculated, dissolve into incoherence, if Josh can manage it, so foregoes any gags or other restraints for the moment. Besides, in a pinch, he could definitely improvise.
"You barely have any of my marks on you, my pet," he points out, sounding thoughtful and vaguely displeased. "How are people supposed to know you belong to me like this?"
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"I'm - uh." He says, not at all eloquently. "It was just..." he hesitates again, "a feeling. But, you almost always know exactly what to do. So I couldn't..." Well, Alecto had just confirmed it, so there was no point in prevaricating.
"I'm...glad." He admits, soft and genuine. "That you did." That Josh had done well.
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And then, Alecto prowls towards him. Each step is measured careful, sharp. “Maybe I’ll phrase it another way,” he says, and he finally reaches the bench that Josh is seated on. He bends a knee upon it, halfway to straddling Josh’s lap. “Why did you ask?” The leash still attached to his collar swings slack between their bodies.
“What was it you were hoping I’d say? Or perhaps…do?”
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The denial springs to his lips - instinctive, cautious, restrained, professional - but they had passed those bounds already, at least on his side. So he takes a deep breath, and wraps his fingers around the trailing leash - no pressure, just making the connection between them physically.
"I was hoping you could tell me." He says, simply, but his eyes burn as he stares up at Alecto due to his slight advantage in height, standing over Josh while he's sitting down. "What you want me to do." He sounds utterly sure and confident, but it's a request. The length of leather trembles between them.
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How interesting Joshua Archer is, he thinks. Especially now. A trained weapon wrapped up so nicely, so tamely, deceptively so, in layers of cotton and twill, and asking for direction. Every inch of him decorated to appear powerful, in command, demanding. And yet.
The contrast between them right now is dizzying.
“I want you to keep playing along,” he begins, rocking his hips in Josh’s lap. “I want you to make me obey you.” Alecto leans in, inhaling the spicy scent of Josh’s cologne. “Pull me, push me, mark me up so during the day, no one but you knows what’s hidden underneath my clothes, the evidence of you having used me so thoroughly - mm. Would you like that, Mr, Archer?”
He places one hand against Josh’s chest, feels the steady beat of his pulse, digs his fingers in as if he were about to claw his heart out, wrinkling the fine fabric of his shirt.
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His hand tightens on the leash, pulling Alecto's face closer and lower, but not quite enough to kiss, and he reaches his other forward to grab Alecto's wrist, grip firm but not in the least painful, a far subtler display of strength and control than exercised by the mark they had been forced to spend time with this evening.
"I would," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact, as though it weren't patently obvious. "And what would you like me to call you for the rest of the night, Mr. Crabtree?"
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Alecto sighs happily into Josh’s mouth as he feels him tighten the grip he has on his wrist. He hopes by the end of the night he’ll see a mark there. “After all, aren’t you pleased with your pet, sir?” His free hand travels down to grip Josh between his legs, squeezing his crotch tight and just this side of painful.
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He's...excited though.
"I've been very pleased with your behavior all night, my pet," he replies, fingers flexing around Alecto's wrist, pinned above his head, his breath warm against Alecto's ear, his tone a whisper, his fully clothed body a tantalizing weight and contrast above Alecto.
"But right now I think what you really want is for me to truly remind you of your place."
He pulls away, just as suddenly as he'd moved in close, leaving Alecto on the bench on his back. His eyes rest thoughtfully on the bulge of his erection, barely hidden by the tight leather, even though it is certainly restrained by it, but then his eyes slide upwards to the collar, still wrapped around Alecto's slim neck.
"I want to see you on your knees for me," he says, quiet, but sure. "I want to see how you look at me when it's just us."
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Alecto doesn’t even realize it when he starts to rut against Josh’s thigh, the insistent pressure of that hard knee against his straining cock -
And as quickly as it happened, it stops and Alecto finds himself flushed and breathless and scrambling to pretend that he isn’t.
“Yes, master,” he somehow manages to say, forcing his voice to be even and soft. He watches the way the leash tethers him physically to Josh. “I think I would benefit from a good reminder.”
When next he meets Josh’s eyes, there’s a twinkle of a challenge there. Alecto stays still for a moment longer, so curious -
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His body has no such qualms. He pulls hard on the leash, a visible snap of tension tautening the leather, causing the collar to dig in a little into the skin of Alecto's neck, without dragging him out of position entirely against his will.
"Given how much you know you'll enjoy that, my pet," he says, a chilly menace, a cool, icy anger, sliding into his tone, "you don't seem at all eager to just let me give you the reminder you're asking for." He wraps the leather of the leash in slow, deliberate loops around his fingers, picking up only the slack, at first, but with each rotation the tension steadily increases. In a moment, either Josh will have to step forward, or Alecto will be forced to move in obedience to the weight of silent command.
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He falls to his knees then, gracefully, off the bench and onto the floor, letting the combined pull of the leash and collar around him tug his face upwards. His eyes are clear with want but his face remains demure, flushed, eager, excited. “I just like getting you riled up, sir.” I know you like it too.
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His gaze slips sideways briefly, to the various tools and other implements now very much at his disposal. But then he moves forward, the leash shortening between them with each and every step, until he is standing barely an arms length away from Alecto. He reaches down, cupping his face with his still-gloved hands, tilting it up for him to see.
"I know. I also know just how much you enjoy being put through your paces, my pet," he says, thumb tracing along Alecto's bottom lip. "So, if you can't - or won't - stay still for me on your own, shall I make you?" His eyes flick to the spreader bar again, alert for Alecto's reaction.
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This is something Alecto knows for a fact by now: so much about Joshua was hidden in subtlety, in slight of hand, in making you look exactly where he wanted you to and not where you should, so it's difficult to pin down his true feelings. But luckily, Alecto's talented at overcoming such ruses. He knows exactly when Josh is uncertain about something (it's in the twitch of his brow), or when he's feeling exhilarated (it's tucked in the quiver of his upper lip), or when he's cocky (this one is obvious. Does he need to even say it?). And right now, Alecto could feel just how restrained Josh was being, how it was contained in just that one swipe of his thumb across Alecto's lip, how he hesitated just a little as if debating whether or not to go any further.
But that's ok. Alecto can work with that.
Alecto flicks his tongue out, feels the smooth leather of the gloves Josh still has on. "I think you have to make me, master," he murmurs, chancing a look as well at the variety of...tools at their disposal. "I don't feel like behaving tonight."
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"Then perhaps I need to remind you of your place first," he says silkily, and then he drops the leash and reaches out to grab Alecto directly using the collar instead, pulling him off balance and closer to Josh, his foot slotting between his knees where he was kneeling, an echo of that moment in the car, the hard bulge of Alecto's cock, wrapped in those tight leather shorts, pressed against his shoe.
"You've been hard all night, my pet." He says, matter-of-factly; his tongue stutters on the phrase that bubbles up - for me. "Do you need some relief?" He slides his foot forward, presses deliberately and none-too-gently against his erection. "If I told you to get yourself off, until you made a mess of yourself in those shorts, what would you do?"
He's mostly making conversation, curious as he is to hear the response. He knows what he wants to do next - wants Alecto bound up for him, perhaps to one of the specialized pieces of furniture spread out for them around the room, and he wants to pull out some of the toys he'd been oh-so-thoughtfully provided in the briefcase, which had invaded his brain the moment he'd laid eyes on them, and give Alecto the marks he'd been angling for, pinking his skin and seeing exactly how he reacted, physically, to the crop and perhaps a whip biting into his skin while he writhed and ached, begging for -
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But Alecto isn’t one for mess.
“I would do that for you, master,” he replies, but he stares at Josh, knowingly, “Although…that’s not what you want, is it? No,” Alecto’s hands slide down his body, slowly down the smooth lines of his torso, knees spreading just so, “you want me bound and open for you, on display. Helpless but to take whatever you give me.”
A breath.
“Isn’t that right?”
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For him, at least, this was about being himself, in conversation and mutuality. He's still not entirely sure whether he can have an expectation for what that meant for Alecto.
"You're right," he says, simple, straightforward. "I do want to see you like that, use you like that." He gestures to the room and all its potential arrangements. "So how exactly do you want to please me, my pet? Take your pick."
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"I want you to use the spreader bar over there on me. Make it so that you can spread me open and bare for you, so I don't have a choice but to be at your mercy like that."
He looks anything but commanding as he's splayed on the floor, leashed and practically being stepped on. But his words are smooth and confident, even if his body language is pliant, submissive, and eager.
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"Make me crawl," he says, voice surprisingly steady and equally as calm, though it's clear his breath is starting to go a bit ragged.
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"You want to be held open for me, my pet?" he asks, almost thinking out loud, his steps slow and steady, just enough for the leather to shift towards tautness without digging in, for Alecto to have to make the choice between dignity and obedience in their interactions together as Joshua leads him towards one of the padded benches, at the perfect height and position for Alecto's body to be within easy reach for all manner of potential tools or gestures, if the niggling desire to put him through his paces could be trusted. Alecto is beautiful in his submission, crawling gracefully for Josh, at his direction, and the enormity of the implication makes Josh dizzy with want, with the spark of creativity it fans into an open flame, his entire body flushed hot with anticipation in all the layers he is wearing.
"You're mine, after all, to touch and tease and use however I choose." There is no longer even the slightest hint of uncertainty in his tone or demeanor, as he gestures for Alecto to stand and lean over the bench for support, and he takes hold of the leash, leans down to hook the end into one of the metal rings screwed into the base of the bench. More a symbolic gesture than anything else; there was just enough slack for Alecto to be able to stand normally, if he wanted to, but the click of the leash, the level of control it implied, the implication - that Alecto was nothing more than a pet, subject to the whims and desires and orders of his master...
He slides his hands up his legs, fingers warm against the tight leather shorts as he tests Alecto's willingness to be manhandled, his balance and the level of arousal he feels. "I want to see how hard you are for me, my pet," he murmurs, finally hooking his fingers in the shorts and starting to peel them back and down and off by slow inches, pushing down Alecto's thighs and pausing. They were so short and so tight that they barely left anything to the imagination, the contrast between Josh's full suit and layers already apparent, but there was a world of difference between barely clothed and fully naked, and he intended to savor that reveal and touch his fill, groping Alecto proprietarily, without doubting his welcome for a moment, his still-gloved hand gripping Alecto's cock and pumping, the shorts a tight restriction around his knees as he tries to keep his balance. It's a lovely counterpoint to Alecto's stated desire to be spread wide for Josh's use, forcing him to stand in that awkward position, bent over and restrained by his own clothing and the leash around his neck.
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"Feels good, master," he whispers, the faintest purr of pride leaking into his voice, utterly taken by Josh's performance thus far. "I love showing myself off to you like this."
He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, the briefest, airiest "Ah," escaping him and scattering his thoughts, and when he feels the insistent press of a thumb against his foreskin, tugging it back just this side of harshly, Alecto groans with pleasure. His thighs tremble with the effort of keeping himself in position, and he can't wait for what Josh might demand of him next -
"Can I come, master? Can I - mm - make a mess for you yet?"
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"No, my pet, you're going to wait," he says, as if making a decision, announcing the exact course of the night. It's not even phrased as a demand - that would be an acknowledgement of Alecto's agency, that there was a personality that needed to be accommodated, rather than a helpless and willing body for him to use however he pleased.
His gloved hand slides down between Alecto's legs, stroking over his balls, ignoring the desperate length of his cock for the moment. He weighs them in his palm, bare of any cover, the contrast of butter-soft leather and blood-warm skin heady and even for him; he wonders how Alecto feels about it. He shifts his fingers, curling them upwards, fingertips stroking along Alecto's sensitive perineum behind his cock and balls, a gentle but insistent pressure, as a hint of things to come (heh).
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Alecto pushes back against the hand teasing him, playing with him. Josh knows more than enough about his body and all the spots that make him squirm to really get Alecto worked up, to dangle him delicately in front of the promise of explosive pleasure and make him desperate enough to work for it.
Alecto makes a pleased sound, a whimper of bliss. Josh is speaking to him like he’s nothing, like he’s just a mindless object to be used however Josh wanted, for him and him alone. It makes Alecto feel so held, so cared for, and so horribly aroused. His dick twitches suddenly, pre gathering quickly at the head and dripping onto the bench beneath him.
“Yes, master,” he says, turning to look at Josh over the pale curve of his shoulder. “I don’t have the right to come, you’re right. I have to earn it, don’t I? Please. Make me.”
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"You do so want to be good for me, don't you, my pet?" He asks, his palm resting between Alecto's shoulderblades, a deceptively gentle pressure through the thin mesh of the shirt. "You want my marks on you, showing everyone exactly how I've used you, that you belong to me?" He unhooks the buttons holding the shirt together, one by one. Objectively, Alecto looks far from dignified at the moment - his tight leather shorts pulled down to his knees, the shirt falling open around his torso, his hard, dripping cock pressed up against his stomach making it clear how worked up he is from the night and the treatment so far - and Josh cannot pull his eyes away.
"Take your pants off," he orders, airy and unconcerned, and lets the shirt drop to the ground next to the bench. He steps back, curious what Alecto will do. "I want to see you completely bare for me, my pet, except for my collar around your neck, reminding you exactly who you belong to."
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And that's exactly why he loved being put into his place like this, in the intimacy of a scene, under the calm and steady hand of a man he - no, he's not in love, don't be ludicrous - trusts. Everywhere else, Alecto has his carefully cultivated walls, masks, and metaphorical knives. He keeps his cool, his edge, and stays mission-driven. It keeps him and the people under his care alive.
It's only here, in this private moment, that Alecto ever obeys another.
Slowly, he strips himself out of his pants. It's only one piece of simple clothing but Alecto takes his time, inching his way out of it as if pushing the fabric down to the slow beat of a song only he can hear. He slides one long leg out, then the other, and kicks the offending thing under the bench, stretching just a bit before getting back down on all fours and peering up at Josh with nothing but focused attention and the will to please him. The leash at his neck, tethering him, swings lightly as if begging to be held, tightened.
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This was... something else entirely.
"Stay," he says, his tone forceful but even, as though he weren't affected by the sight of Alecto stripping down for him at his orders, by the way he gazes at Josh with his focus utterly fixed on him, by long limbs and a body utterly on display for his eyes alone.
He forces himself to turn around, to walk with steady steps and not a hint of impatience, to select the toys and implements that had caught his eye (or that seemed to have caught Alecto's own interest and attention, that he had managed to observe) and bring them back within easy reach. He takes his time, passing them before Alecto's gaze, ever attentive and attuned to his reactions. There is the spreader bar, of course, the obvious choice, given Alecto's earlier suggestions, but he notices a humbler - two carefully shaped halves with a hole between them for Alecto's scrotum, which would render him utterly unable to shift from a bent position without causing himself pain - and sets it within sight but out of reach, a silent threat (or promise). He removes the leather cuffs and the riding crop from the briefcase he'd been carrying about all night and tries not to think too much about their provenance. He selects a wooden paddle, considers his options for positioning, and keeps it close by.
He wants to hear Alecto, wants to hear the way his calm, measured words, each one carefully calculated, dissolve into incoherence, if Josh can manage it, so foregoes any gags or other restraints for the moment. Besides, in a pinch, he could definitely improvise.
"You barely have any of my marks on you, my pet," he points out, sounding thoughtful and vaguely displeased. "How are people supposed to know you belong to me like this?"
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