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He's nervous, you can tell that much. You know he's been trained for this, he holds his bound arms in a familiar stance, easy and ready. But when he glances up at you, something scared flares up in his eyes and he tenses. You wait. You don't know what it is you're supposed to be doing, exactly. You almost look over your shoulder, and then stop short. No, you should be concentrating on Dave. You look back at him, on his knees, hands bound to his elbows behind his back in a simple harness. You've got Dave Strider on his knees in front of you and you aren't sure what to do with him. He isn't looking at you anymore, though. He's looking over your shoulder again.
“Dave,” you start, and his gaze slides to you. “What,” you struggle to think of what to say here. You wanted his attention but you're unsure where to go now that you have it.
He smirks, then opens his mouth and says, “What, what, Tavros, cat got your tongue? Or a bull? All red and waving a cape---” but he cuts himself off when there's a noise behind you as his brother stands up.
Bro is very quiet, walking over, and you can barely hear his footfalls, but you can see Dave's eyes tracking him closer. You don't move. Bro is right behind you now, and puts a hand on your hip, then leans in to whisper, “You really gonna let him talk to you like that?” You glance over your shoulder at him but his eyes are on the ground in front of you, on Dave. “I thought we talked about this, Tavros,” he continues, still so quiet, barely a breath in your ear. “You can't let him treat you like that.” His thumb briefly rubs your hip before he's pulling away and retreating back to his chair. He's right. You did talk about this. You're in charge here. You take a deep breath, in through your mouth, out through your nose.
You almost brace yourself for Dave's reprimand for being bull-like again, but when you look down his eyes are still over your shoulder. That won't do at all.
“Dave,” you say, “What are you looking at?” you grab his hair and pull his gaze forcefully back to yours. You can tell when you pull just hard enough, just right, because his eyes snap to you and focus hard on yours.
“Tav,” he says, then, clearly backtracking, “Sir, I mean, Sir, please touch me,” he sputters in a short wave. Usually his inability to shut up in endearing, but here---
“ That wasn't, really an answer, Dave” you say slowly, leaning away and pulling his head back, and then tack on, “Was it?” He opens his mouth, then shuts it and shakes his head, even though it makes your hand in his hair pull more. Nervous, but sure—you talked about this, about how hard and everything, you draw your right hand back, your left hand still in his hair, and slap him. You let your left hand go loose enough that his head twitches to the side, and you know his movement is an exaggeration, but it's still buzzing in your head that you just hit him, you just hit him that hard, and you don't feel bad at all. Not even a little.
“I said, what were you looking at?” you repeat.
“My, my brother,” he replies. “He's--” his eyes flick over your shoulder again but come back quickly. Behind you, you hear the sound of a zipper, but you're ignoring him. That's right.
“If I can ignore him, you can,” you tell Dave. “And you know what will happen, if you aren't a good boy for me.” Dave straight up whines at that, nuzzles desperately into your hand that was still resting on his head. “Please, then, Tavros,” he says, “you do it, you punish me, please--” and that's all it takes for you.
You grab his hair again and hall his head further down, until he overbalances and tips forward. You use your other hand to catch his shoulder before it hits the ground, and guide him the rest of the way, his face on the floor and his ass in the air.
“There,” you say as he moves with you, “There you go,” until he positioned and breathing hard. You don't know if he can see his brother from where he is. You don't think you care. You move around behind him, and now you can see Bro. He’s got one hand down his pants already. Since you hit Dave that first time, you’ve been more confident, but you still wait for Bro’s go ahead, a barely perceptible nod, before you draw back your hand and hit Dave’s ass. He squeaks, legitimately squeaks, and his brother cracks a smile. You've gotten both brothers to show a bit of emotion here, and you have to take a moment to appreciate that. You wonder how much more you can get them to show.
You hit Dave again, a bit lighter, and watch his bound hands clench then relax against his back. You hit him on the other side and listen to his sharp intake of breath and long sigh out.
You keep hitting him. You hit him until the skin under his red panties has turned bright red and hot, until his thighs have marks that look like they will bruise, until both of your hands are sore. His breathing is hitching and uneven against the floor, almost like crying. You feel elated and simultaneously awful—what if you went too far, what if he's not okay, what if he's crying-- and refuse to acknowledge the spike of lust that comes with that thought in favor of the guilt. You look up at Bro, desperate for some kind of hint, where to go next. He's leaned forward in his chair, his shades doing nothing to hide his unabashed interest in the proceedings. At your look, he rises and comes over, if a little stiffly from the bulge hanging half out of his pants. You try to keep your cool—ask, “You think he's, think he's had enough?” and hope that if he's good to keep going you haven't just ruined the mood with your nervous apologizing—saying sorry every time you hit someone doesn’t quite fit the Dom persona.
But Bro smirks at you---or rather, his face doesn't really move, but you get the impression he should be smirking, you guess? And he says “Oh, not nearly. He's not even crying yet.” He gestures at Dave, then, realizing you can't see his face, kicks at him gently and says “Up, c'mon, up.” Dave struggles to get up with his arms still behind is back, and after a moment manages it. Rather than sitting all the way back, butt to heels, like he was before, he's kneeling. You think you know why he decided to do that, and it maybe brings a bit of a smile to your face.
Bro grabs Dave's hair and yanks his head around so you can see. It's bright red under his amber skin and his eyes are shining like he's maybe about to cry, but isn't quite there yet. His expression, though—there is no real way to describe it except “blissed out”. You once hung out with him while he took hits off John's bong, you know what he looks like high, and he looks almost like that now, but panting and blushing.
“Wow,” you say at last. He looks amazing. You reach up and touch the side of his face gently, and say quietly, “You've been so good,” just to see his eyes light up at the praise.
“You wanna really get this show on the road?” Bro asks you, and you look back to him and nod. “Alrighty, I need more rope, in the bag, there,” he points to the duffel next to his chair, “And Dave, move over here.” Dave obliging shuffles over on his knees the place Bro indicated, under a suspension hook, and waits there. He does try to rest his butt on his heels now but winces and moves back out of that position.
Bro really does smile at that, and tells his brother, “Oh, it'll get worse.” Dave looks up at him, eyes unshielded and very red, and says nothing but something on his face implies sass. Bro's smile fades and Dave, apparently aware he's in for it anyway, starts talking.
“Are you for fucking real? Like you're calling the shots, here, man.” He looks over at you, and smiles. You've never really seen his face like that before, not so easy to smile, not so broad and unguarded. “Tavros has got this. Don't you, baby?”
Bro arches an eyebrow and almost says something before you say, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I got this.”
Bro looks at you, glances back at Dave, and then puts up his hands and takes a step back. “Take it away then, kid,” he says to you.
You nod, and return to Dave's side with the duffle. But instead of pulling out more rope, you fumble through it to find—there. The flogger you've practiced with. You let Dave see it.
“Bro? Can you, get him up?” you ask, gesturing towards the hook. You put the flogger on the ground so you can massage his shoulders from the front and run your fingers over the irritated skin under the rope. Bro removes the harness Dave is currently wearing and reconfigures it, undoing everything and then redoing Dave's wrists together above his head. You kiss Dave slow and easy during most of this, and revel at the way he gasps when you touch his ass.
Once he's tied up, arms above his head, tied to the ceiling, feet on the ground, you're ready. You move the flogger in the air a few times. Bro nods at you, and you bring it across Dave's ass.
“Ah, shit!” Dave says, and Bro chuckles.
“Maybe hit his shoulders, more,” Bro suggests. You nod, and swing again, this time across Dave's shoulder and upper back. Dave breathes out but doesn't curse this time, and Bro coos, “Oh, good boy, my good boy,” for that.
Bro retreats, after that, away from your swings, sure of yourself as you are. Aradia taught you two days ago, hitting a wall until she was sure you were swinging right, not too hard, and could hit where you aimed.
You are hitting where you aim now, Dave's shoulders turning slowly red even as the red across his ass fades, in some places darkening to purple bruises. This time, you hit him for much less time before he's gasping. Bro, sitting back in his chair, angled toward you again, says, “Okay,” and gets up.
You take this as your cue to stop. “Alright?” you ask Dave as you lower the flog and touch his arm. He's barely holding himself up on his feet anymore, unsteady, and sags against you. His face is all wet.
“Ahh—hey, Tavros,” he says, and, like he's trying to keep his cool and act like he wasn't just crying, says, “Fuck me, okay.”
“Like you're in control,” you laugh. But you have to admit, the idea has merit. “Bro?” you say, “Would you hold him?” Bro comes in front of him and steadies him by holding onto his ribs, and you go around behind him.
You fish around in the bag again to find lube and smear it over your fingers. Moving aside his panties, you rub your fingers against Dave until he lets you in, which is pretty fast, considering how relaxed he is. In no time you've got two fingers working in and out of him, and he's gasping against his brother's chest. You reach your other hand around to touch him between his legs, and his brother palms one of his nipples. He comes like that, crying out and gasping, tightening on your fingers.
You don't worry about you right now—later, Bro eats you out while Dave gives him a messy handjob—but for now, it can wait.
For now, you get together things to clean Dave up and take them into the bedroom as Bro unties him from the hook. They meet you there, and after checking over Dave's injuries and giving him some apple juice, you curl up, half over Bro's lap as he sits against the headboard, and drag Dave into your arms.