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You scrambled around the corner, eyes flitting back and forth towards the walls. Surrounding, closing in, your rapid pulse spiking, blood turning cold. There was nowhere left, you were trapped. Helpless to adhere the low growl approaching, feeling his hands force you down to the ground. “Ah! Okay fine, I surrender...”
“Gotcha.” His purr, travelling through your ear and straight to your core, froze you in your tracks immediately. Rushes of exhilaration throbbed at the front of your head, this struck as surreal, reality much slower than you’d hope. Several breaths tingle against the side of your cheek, husky and reverberating, a new pair of arms snaking around to gently clutch you. It’s harmless for now, and you keep repeating that in your head, even when he refuses to lift himself away.
“Hey.” You don’t dare look at him, fingers reaching wordlessly to grip his palms, almost on instinct. The tender hum of his soft voice was reassuring. “I want to try something new.”
When he receives no response, you feel his hands skitter up your sides. “Was training tough? Is that why you’re not answering my questions?”
“Ugh, stop that.” You’re laughing, and push his hands away while he traces circles around your wrists with his thumb. Reflecting perfectly against his eyes is a glint of pooling curiosity, trying to gauge if this is a good time and atmosphere.
“I’m not sure how to bring this up but…” He suddenly looks sheepish, ceasing the pleasant rubbing of your skin.
Your elbow nudges him slightly. “Spill it, Bertie.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you earlier, and I thought maybe we could try…” No matter what, you knew he would always adhere to the sweet call of his nickname. “It’s called bondage. Have you heard of it?”
Shocked, your eyes widened before blinking many times, heat starting to rise over your face. “Yes, I have.”
A hush filled the room, and although Bertholdt seemed on the verge of gathering his thoughts to blurt, you finally mumbled it out nervously. “So you’re saying you want me to try it?”
“I know we’ve never tried it before, and we don’t have to! I was just thinking…” Again, he fell quiet and sneaked many glances at you, uncertain as ever before you finally took your hands to squeeze his forearms. “Maybe you’d like it.”
“Let’s do it.” Throat parched, it came out hoarser than you predicted.
He stills from fidgeting, expression turning grave. “Are you sure? Now?”
“Well that’s what you sneaked over here for right?”
The fierce pink flushed across his face proved true. “Yeah.”
You were willing to try, and despite the churning in your stomach, it couldn’t hurt. You either liked it or you didn’t. Reaching up until you were level with him, you cupped his face and gave him a soft peck, just to test the waters. He didn’t react as quickly, however you dived back in for another, eyes closing to only follow the feel of his lips. Pulling away, he appeared sufficiently content, letting out a sigh while you grin.
The dimly lit room traced out his faint silhouette, and lingering, sluggish waves ran along your chilled spine, goose bumps forming on your skin. It couldn’t be familiar, couldn’t be harmful, neither was the sensation welcoming, ripples travelling through your system renewed in tentative interest.
“Tell me if anything’s wrong,” Perhaps the odd uncontrollable urge was also mutual, as Bertholdt braces his shoulders on both sides of you to kiss again. “I try to hold back.”
You wondered if your body was overcome with want, the drive to remain in this feisty state unrelenting. Whatever it was, you wanted more of it, you wanted to drown in it. His cumulative touches melted your persistent worries away, each time your hands would curl around the hem of his shirt when he grazed his teeth on your bottom lip, exhaling shakily through his nose. One thing led to another and the collecting sweat in your palms became noticeable when you challenged your limits by hooking a hand around his neck. He doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he lets out a contented hum, your fingers lightly threading up his raven hair. With every deep kiss you shared, passion weaving together to bloom, the higher your inexplicable eagerness soared.
This experience was familiar, but now that you pull away and feel his wary eyes train on yours to unfasten the thin strewn lines of leather across his legs did the uncertainty become increasingly palpable. On habit, your hands hovered over your face, head averted to the side to escape the awkward sight, safe from embarrassment.
His mellow whisper broke the silence, grasping your wrists and lifting them away. You found he was always startling you with his tamer side, those impressively large, doting irises meeting yours. “Look at me; I believe you’re going to do just fine.”
Bertholdt doesn’t pressure you at all, and you’ve grown to adore that and every other unique part of him. Movements slow and calculated, your reluctant determination was yet to be replaced by a new enjoyable potential. You observe his hands. They aren’t shaking; instead the swift action is smooth, traceless of anxiety and he even gives a little tug for good measure before pulling you into his arms, resuming the numerous, long kisses. Only now, you couldn’t do your share of physical attachment, and teasing him wouldn’t have the same effect, and as awe striking as that fact was, he showed absolutely no intentions of just leaving it at there.
You were reduced to a whimpering mess in seconds, feeling the floor push firmly against the small of your back. The warm breath of his sinister chuckle skimming across your ear as he begins his pleasurable struggle of your restricted bonds, feeling your hands tug uselessly at the leather that had fastened around your wrists within mere seconds. You whined at his force, listening, alert while he hums and traces his gaze over your form, brushing a stray lock of hair away to reveal the reassuring smile painted on his face.
He’s still silent, your glare deflecting uselessly off his neck while your shoulders shook frantically, twisting, anything to avoid the way his eyes focus on the single bead of sweat trailing down your jaw. There’s silence during his proud admiration over your hazy expression, fierce with anger yet tamed in the rosy pink flushed across your cheeks, pale moonlight splashed delicately through the translucent window in the spur of moment.
At last you hear him, plentiful closer than when he’d last spoken. “I’d never imagined anything like this…”
Penetrating eyes continue to take you in, practically beaming in sultry mischief, leaning in closer and closer, you yelp and struggle however the strained voice in your head knows. It’s not possible; you’re under the merciless grasp of Bertholdt himself, the serpent underneath the innocent, fragile flower. There’s multiple sensations surging through your body, he begins to push his nose against the crown of your hair, fighting back a smirk when you shudder at his hands that creep up your back, over the bumps of your vertebrae to rest on both shoulders, turning your head, tilted stubbornly to the side, evading him. Irritated, but always coming back for more.
To be fair, it’s not the first time he’s seen you strained, bottling up your emotions to only have them evaporate during his presence and fleeting touches of comfort. You could only wish this idea hadn’t swept over your mind so easily, because now he had access to everything. He had freedom to test your patience, freedom to watch your nervous reactions, and yet what bothered you the most was that he knew you trusted him, insecurities tucked safely in his affectionate hands.
After all, he knows you from head to toe, memorizes the curves and dips of your form, the soft strangled moan that you let out when he bites that part of your neck just right. Using his ghostly touch, Bertholdt was no stranger to admitting just enough pressure and causes you to squirm, visibly brightening upon hearing your sharp inhale and shifting away on reflex.
His voice comes out impressed, low and with a lilt of shock. “Damn…”
You’re biting your lip, blood beginning to form against the skin, the salty tang only a mere inconvenience by the way his fingers trail up your sides, lingering to sweep slowly across your abdomen, the feathery touch causing your nerves to ignite in buzzing trembles as you suppressed a yelp, feeling his hands brush further north to halt at your collarbone.
“You ready?”
Bertholdt wants you. It’s no surprise, and you hated it. Hated that he could to no ends, tease you like this and remain silent about it to others. Hated how he was the only one that witnessed you vulnerable, and hide his true colours from light. Hated how he’d consume you in his exciting fantasies, leaving you hungry when stealing several breathless kisses.
But most of all, you hated yourself. Returning his commands with enthusiasm, wishing perhaps that it wasn’t an illusion after all; you were crumbling under his intoxicating spell, addicted to his shared cravings and fully aware that it might bring more harm than temporary pleasure. Your answer however couldn’t be any clearer.
“Yes.” Nonetheless a brief twinge of fear soon overpowered the ecstasy surging through your veins that flooded through your system. “What if we get caught…?”
“It’s after curfew. Just try your best to be quiet.” There’s a withheld giggle between his words. Before you could protest he’s leaning down, placing the softest of kisses along the junction of your neck and shoulder before working at the buttons of your clothes, sliding off with ease and leaving you quivering, breaths stuttered, completely unable to stray from his piercing green irises that fix you into place, captivating and holding treacherous danger beneath.
Your clothes are reduced to the undershirt, jacket and uniform placed aside; he could still remain neat in such a conflicted battle of lust. Bertholdt’s details were tiny and subtle and even though you’ve grown to notice them, his self-control was unable to be matched beyond your imagination.
Exposed to the air, you’re biting back a remark about his own clothes when it hits you that he’s going to keep going this time. His touches haven’t stopped; they’re still exploring, familiarizing themselves again with your navel, your hipbone, down lower and lower. You struggle to form words, scattered thoughts murky and dizzy in euphoria.
“Don’t….”
He halts, exhaling while finally pausing to undo the first couple buttons of his uniform. Noticing your hesitant gaze dart away from him, he grabs your chin, fingers firm while he gives you something of a relieved smile, as if expecting this result. Through your melting, frenzied senses, he still saw through you and knew that respect was always a priority. “Are you okay? If you’re uncomfortable we can discontinue anytime.”
You shook your head, grasping his shirt. Within the roots of your chest came a whisper echoed with growing confidence. “Don’t stop.”
The confines of your hands are the first passing step in his plans. Bertholdt captures your lips again, you’ve already lost track of time and everything feels distance, nothing except his lukewarm figure pressed against your bare abdomen, shirt ridden up and mouth hovering over before closing in once more. It’s achingly pleasing, being helpless under his control, as you begin to miss his touch the deprivation only adds to your delicious needs for release. Not until he allows it, but you still try, oh so hard, your head nudging feebly at his hands that now migrate to your lower body, still clutching the sturdy although thin bands, wrapping it to hook around your waist and thighs, then your ankles, fingers deftly skilled as much as you found wonder in it.
“Shit…” He’s miraculously able to detect it, feel the urge radiating from your feverish skin, his hand covering your mouth and eyes fluttering up to hold your clouded gaze. You didn’t think you could ever deny how chilling the anticipation brought your pulse racing.
“You look so fucking amazing like this okay? I promise this time I’ll make you feel good, so good…”