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“What time will you be home?”
Simon’s voice came over Wille’s phone distorted and slightly muffled and Wille smiled softly as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. He could picture Simon easily, standing in their kitchen, using his teeth to tear open a ramen packet because he couldn’t be bothered to fetch the scissors.
“You’ll ruin your teeth,” Wille said fondly. “And I hope you’re having more than just ramen for dinner.”
Simon made an indignant noise and Wille just knew he was rolling his eyes. “How can you even tell it’s ramen?”
“Chicken Teriyaki,” Wille replied smugly. “It’s got a different sort of crunch to it.”
It didn’t and under any other circumstances he’d have no clue, but Wille had eaten the last pork packet two days ago.
“You have the most useless talents, I swear,” Simon said laughing and Wille heard the sound of dry noodles hitting a pan. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
Wille sighed and looked at his watch. “I don’t know, late, you know what she’s like.”
Simon hummed and something clattered around in the background. “You feeling okay?”
Wille opened his mouth to say yes.
“Wille.”
He closed it again, Simon’s tone had slipped, just a little, the slight change in pitch, the drop and the specific way he drew out Wille’s name.
“No,” he said. “But I’m better than I was and I’ll be fine.”
“Hmmm,” Simon didn’t sound convinced. “Just remember, if you mess up I’ll be waiting at home for you.”
Wille smiled, to anyone eavesdropping it might sound like a threat, but Wille knew better. Simon had told him earlier to give his speech, to not mumble or rub at his chest, to speak loudly, clearly and to read everything Farima had provided him calmly. Wille had felt the starting knot of anxiety ease before it had even begun and, whilst it was slowly creeping back the closer to his appearance he got, it was a quiet, background noise that he could ignore.
They’d been doing this for four years now.
Ever since that first year at Hillerska when Simon had called out to him without realising and Wille had reacted without thinking.
Four years of confusingly heated exchanges that had ended, varyingly, in anything from a spectacular orgasm to Wille crying and shaking on the floor whilst Simon frantically pulled a duvet over him. Both of them apologising with no idea why.
They’d found their way eventually, after more than one mortifyingly public internet search at Bjärstad’s library to avoid anything popping up on the Hillerska network, or — god forbid — Linda’s.
They’d learned about dropping, and safewords, and that there was so much more they could do beyond just Simon murmuring single word instructions and watching in awe as Wille obeyed. They’d tried things that they loved, things that they hated and a jumble of things that they only liked here and there and, more importantly, they’d learned to tilt the scale more towards ‘spectacular orgasm’ and less towards ‘crying on the floor of Wille’s bedroom’.
“I know.” Answered Wille quietly, his heart still jumped at ‘home’. A place that wasn’t Drottningholm or Hillerska, a place that they had chosen together. “You can add it to the list.”
“I will,” Simon said, his voice firm and promising.
Wille felt his stomach ease a little. It didn’t entirely push back the anxiety but it helped, knowing that Simon would hold him accountable in a way that made sense, a way that was defined and agreed on and scheduled and — most importantly — finished and forgotten once it was done.
The infractions crossed off.
The punishments taken.
The rewards given.
Never mentioned again, never held over him, never brought up later to be leveraged in a different argument or bargained with.
Someone knocked on his door and Wille startled a little. “I have to go,” he said. “Eat!”
“I am eating,” Simon grumbled. “I’m just also studying.”
“I will send Malin,” Wille threatened. “With something from the Palace kitchens.”
“Jesus, Wille fine,” Simon’s voice was laced with amusement. “I’m putting eggs and ham and asparagus in there, okay?”
“Two vegetables.”
“Ugh.”
There was a noisy clattering sound as Simon rummaged through their fridge. “And carrots, okay?”
“Yes.” Wille smiled widely even though he knew Simon couldn’t see it. “I love you,” he murmured, letting the slight nagging tone disappear in favour of sincerity.
“I love you too,” Simon replied immediately, any trace of mock annoyance gone as he matched Wille’s tone. “Go be amazing.”
Wille hung up the phone and stared at the screen, now blank, fondly for a second before taking a deep breath and sliding it into his pocket. The door opened and Farima stuck her head around it.
“Ready, Crown Prince?”
“Yes,” said Wille. “I am.”
And he meant it.
***
Simon heard the door close quietly, and then the noise of Wille taking his shoes off and stacking them neatly in the little cupboard that they had in the hallway, and the rustling of his jacket being hung up.
He smiled and stretched along the sofa, catching the sound of Wille using the bathroom, washing his hands and then shuffling down the hallway to their bedroom. It was the same process every time he came home. Simon insisted on him washing off the outside world before he touched anything and Wille insisted on shedding the stiff clothes the Palace gave him before he even thought about joining Simon.
By the time Simon had stretched and rubbed at his eyes, yawned widely and slipped off the sofa to rinse his bowl out and stack it to one side of the sink, Wille was coming up behind him all soft joggers and a worn, holey t-shirt that used to be Simon’s.
“Are you going to wash that now?” Wille murmured, slightly disapproving, he hated Simon’s habit of leaving dirty dishes until there was a pile to do all in one go.
Conversely Simon hated washing up one thing at a time. He soaped up a sponge and cleaned the bowl out. Tonight wasn’t about this and Simon had no desire to derail their evening with a petty, pointless argument that was never going to be resolved anyway.
“I watched your speech on TV.”
Wille stiffened behind him and Simon felt his arms start to withdraw. He put the bowl down and pressed a hand over Wille’s arm, holding it in place. “You kept fiddling with your shirt sleeves.”
Wille hummed behind him, an uncomfortable noise that Simon knew meant he didn’t want to own up to the mistake but knew he had to.
“And you said that dignitary’s name wrong.”
“Mmmm,” Wille nosed at his neck.
Simon tilted his head and let him for a second. It would be so easy, and so nice, to just give in to that, to let Wille press kisses along his neck and shoulder and push his hands up under Simon’s shirt and down into Simon’s tracksuit trousers.
It’d hardly be the first time Wille had come home, needy and wanting, and taken Simon apart on the kitchen floor, neither of them able, or willing, to stop long enough to move anywhere else.
After years of hiding away, of having only Wille’s dorm room to go to, of interruptions and of having to be careful and to plan whenever they wanted more than a quick ten minutes, the freedom of their own apartment and not having to care was a precious novelty.
That wasn’t what tonight was about either, though.
“Wille, no,” Simon said firmly and Wille froze behind him.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologise, but you know what today is?”
Wille nodded, his hair brushing at Simon’s cheek. “Friday.”
“Mmm, and what are Fridays?”
Simon felt Wille swallow before he spoke.
“Consequence day,” he said quietly.
Simon still felt a small shiver go down his spine every time Wille named it. Wille had wanted to call it something else. Wille had wanted the blunt and pointed term they’d found online, punishment and reward. Simon hadn’t minded the reward part. The word punishment had settled sticky in his stomach though, too harsh and uncaring, he couldn’t wrap his head around punishing Wille for anything.
They’d argued back and forth for a while with Wille trying desperately to convince Simon that he liked it, and that it was caring because he was asking for it, before Simon had suggested consequences as an option.
It sounded accountable instead of overbearing and made Simon feel responsible instead of cruel and didn’t take away any of the atonement Wille needed from it.
“You need anything before we start?” Simon twisted around in Wille’s arms, he needed to see Wille’s face for this conversation.
Wille stared at him, big brown eyes tired but alert, his lips a little ragged where he’d chewed at them at some point earlier. Wille shook his head. “No, I washed already and I ate before I left.”
Simon hummed approvingly, they’d already learnt the hard way that doing this on an empty stomach was a fast track to Simon holding Wille, panicked, waiting for him to come back around after fainting. Simon was just grateful that that particular incident had occurred at Hillerska, and early on in the evening, whilst Wille was still wearing his boxers. Simon had been able to make up a story about dropping by after studying in the library to get some notes from Wille and finding him sprawled out on the floor.
They’d told the school nurse he hadn’t eaten and that he’d stood up too fast.
She seemed to believe them, even if Malin stood there, one eyebrow raised, not entirely buying Simon’s version of events.
“Go and get ready then, I’ll finish up here and be in in five minutes.”
Wille nodded and Simon watched the tension dissipate from his shoulders as he walked away, overly long joggers dragging on the floor, towards their bedroom.
Simon watched him go and flicked his phone open, setting a timer for five minutes. He was just as bad as Wille at losing track of time, especially when he was occupying himself deliberately like this.
Five minutes was just long enough for Wille to take his clothes off, fold them up neatly and put them away somewhere tidily. Then get a few of the items out of the chest of drawers, set them out for Simon on the top, pull the bed cover back and lay himself out over the duvet.
Five minutes was just long enough for the pink blush that Simon loved so much to slowly spread over Wille’s face and down his neck, over his collarbone and across his chest. It was just long enough for Simon’s cock to start to swell and make itself known.
Five minutes was just long enough for Simon to think about each of the toys they had tucked away in their room and for him to envision using each and everyone on his boyfriend.
Simon’s phone buzzed silently on the counter and he carefully put the bowl he was holding away, washed his hands and dried them thoroughly before stopping it.
The walk through their apartment always felt so long.
Simon wanted to speed up, to follow Wille eagerly and at an almost run, socked feet slipping on wooden flooring as he turned the corner of the hallway.
He didn’t.
Simon walked slowly and evenly, almost silently, knowing that Wille could still hear him and would be listening carefully, eyes closed, heart rate picking up as Simon got closer, hands curling and uncurling beside his hips as he lay waiting.
Simon’s calm was important.
Whilst Wille fell apart, Simon had to hold them both together.
He stepped into the doorway and leant against it, casually, as if he weren’t bothered at all by the sight in front of him.
Wille was entirely naked save his socks, cold toes covered in some fluffy pink things Felice had bought him as a joke and Wille had fallen in love with.
The first time he’d worn them to bed Simon hadn’t entirely been able to suppress the grin that pulled at his lips and he’d had to apologise profusely when Wille got offended.
He still wouldn’t exactly say it was the first thing that sprung to mind when he considered Wille wearing clothing to bed, but the sight of the fuzzy material scrunched up around Wille’s ankle when it slipped and bunched together the further into the evening they got, had grown on him pretty quickly.
More importantly Wille was comfortable.
Comfortable enough to let Simon see this, comfortable enough to poke and jab at him for finding it funny at first and comfortable enough to wear them anyway and accept Simon’s apology for the genuine remorse it was.
Simon lingered, eyes trailing slowly down Wille’s body.
Wille had taken the pillows off the bed, carefully stacked them on top of the dresser and pulled out a double blanket from the drawer to spread over their duvet. The rich deep blue of it contrasted starkly against his pale skin and clashed horribly with the pink socks.
Simon smiled softly, a little crack in the facade he was keeping up that he just couldn’t help.
“Comfortable?” He asked quietly.
“Yes,” Wille replied clearly and simply.
He couldn’t see Simon, he’d chosen to stretch over the bed on his stomach, belly down, face turned to one side so he could breathe, legs relaxed and parted just enough that Simon could follow the curve of his arse between them. His hands were curled into balls, just as Simon had thought, the only visible indication that Wille was still tense, still tight and waiting.
Simon stepped into the room, moving slowly, watching Wille carefully as he padded over to the dressing table and cast his eyes over the items that Wille had laid out.
This was the last choice that Wille got, the final say in how the rest of the evening would go and Simon knew him well enough now to know exactly why each item had been chosen; what Wille wanted from this without even having to ask.
Simon knew the pink socks were about comfort; something soft and grounding to connect Wille in here to Wille back out there. The blanket was practical, Wille either expected to or anticipated he would orgasm at least once and neither one of them enjoyed changing the bedding when they were finished.
His position, face down, had hinted to Simon what might have been laid out for him to use and a quick glance at the dresser top confirmed exactly what sort of consequences Wille wanted this evening.
Rope, silk but strong, to hold him down, to take away the last bit of freedom he had and place it squarely in Simon’s hands — this rarely stayed in the drawer. The silver metal plug that Wille had purchased on his own from some sort of boutique sex shop Maddie had sent him to, wildly expensive and over priced. A thick, flat leather paddle, long, flexible and smooth sat next to the thin bamboo cane they’d started with, over- eager, under-informed and still learning.
It wasn’t Simon’s favourite.
He still remembered misunderstanding how to use it, the red welts that came up over Wille’s skin and the thin line of blood it raised. The way Wille had recoiled away from him, crying out with a sound that Simon couldn’t stop hearing for weeks.
The guilt every time his boyfriend sat down and winced.
They’d tried again, at Wille’s request, years later, better educated, slower, more careful and those terrible memories had been slowly been replaced with better ones.
Simon still didn’t like it though, it represented one of the few times that he’d spoken their safeword. The noise falling out of his lips before he’d even realised what he was saying when he was confronted with Wille, on his hands and knees on their bed, the only item on the dresser the single unassuming length of bamboo.
Wille had never presented it again without a secondary option.
Simon ran his fingers over it.
Wille rarely asked for it, they had other toys that created that sharp sting over the dull blooming thud of a paddle.
He looked back at his boyfriend, hands a little more relaxed now, as if knowing that Simon had seen the items and not walked out or called the evening off had eased him just a little.
“I’m not starting with this,” Simon said bluntly. “Not cold.”
Wille’s shoulders seemed to loosen. “Of course.”
Simon shifted away from the bamboo cane and picked up the loop of rope, he smirked at the colour, gold threaded, something Simon had picked up on a whim, not entirely able to articulate why he liked the idea of Wille all wrapped up in gold and spread out over blue until he’d seen it.
Wille found it funny how much Simon enjoyed taking him apart whilst wearing the nation’s colours.
Simon picked it up and turned back to the bed, resting against the dresser for a second as he contemplated Wille laying in front of him, dark eyes half pressed into the blanket and staring at him.
“Arms up,” he said softly and watched as Wille dragged his hands up from his hips and stretched them out over his head, wrists pressed against each other.
“Legs.”
Wille shifted, spreading his feet just enough that Simon could see the subtle way the skin got darker as it disappeared between his cheeks, and the scattering of dark brown curls up his thighs and over the hint of one tight ball.
Simon couldn’t see his cock.
Pressed between the blanket and Wille’s stomach, Simon had very little intention of touching it tonight anyway.
***
Wille could hear Simon moving around the bedroom slowly. He’d moved out of Wille’s peripheral vision and Wille was fairly sure his boyfriend was hovering behind him.
Simon always liked to look.
It had made him feel a little uncomfortable at first, exposed and vulnerable, all Wille had been able to think about was all the little ways his body wasn’t quite perfect. The way his ribs stuck out a little too much and his back was freckled and, on occasion, a little spotty. The way his arse wasn’t quite as round as Simon’s and how his pale skin flushed patchy and pink.
Simon had long since dispelled him of any notion that he wasn’t absolutely perfect to Simon though and now his boyfriend’s eyes lingering on him settled warm and thick in his stomach.
“Do you have the list?” Simon’s voice startled him a little, loud in the silence. It was almost too easy to relax into their bed, the soft duvet and the comforting presence of Simon, and forget the reason he was here.
“Yes,” he said clearly. Simon wouldn’t like it if he stumbled or misspoke. Simon had made it clear this only worked if Wille communicated.
It had been hard. Voicing his wants, putting the tangled knot of need into words and pushing those out of his throat and into their bedroom and making it real.
It had been worth it though.
“Good,” Simon murmured.
The acknowledgement and praise trickled down Wille’s spine and he felt the duvet shift a little as Simon lent across the half of the bed he couldn’t see.
He didn’t move though.
Simon hadn’t told him that he could.
Simon lifted his wrists instead, extending Wille’s arms just a little further and looping the silken rope around each one carefully. Each loop grazed over his skin, rough enough he could feel it, soft enough it wouldn’t wear through his skin and draw blood.
Simon tied the rope off carefully — something that Wille could undo if he needed to but never had — and looped it over the hidden hook on the wallside of the bedframe. The first time they’d done this Simon had just tied his wrists together, standard knots, a little too tight to start with and only growing tighter as Wille had struggled against them.
They’d had to cut them off.
Wille’s wrists had been rubbed raw, bleeding and scraped and he’d had to wear long sleeves in the height of summer for over a week before the damage healed up enough.
Simon had been angry at Wille for not using the safeword, and at himself for not realising, for not researching properly before he tried something new; they both knew better by then.
Wille had chosen not to tell him he liked the fact there was no out, that only Simon could release him and that he liked the sting and the reminder he’d worn for the days afterwards. It didn’t really matter, Simon was right that it was dangerous and that Wille couldn’t actually carry marks like, not day to day, not with who he was.
Simon gave each of his ankles the same treatment as Wille’s wrists, carefully lifting them one by one and securing them to the bedframe, spread just enough that Wille could feel a cool breeze over his hole and balls but not so far he felt stretched and entirely exposed.
“Comfortable?” Simon asked, his face appearing briefly as he crouched by the side of the bed that Wille was looking out over.
Wille smiled at him. “Yes,” he said, his voice already stretching out, thick and syruppy as he relaxed into the restraints, the familiar feeling of safe draping over him like a blanket.
“Good, we’ll start then.” Simon stepped away. “You have until I’ve fitted this plug inside you and then you can recite the list.”
The List.
Every infraction Wille had made this week.
Every misstep, misspeak and mistake.
All recorded in Simon’s neat handwriting in a notebook he kept locked away in the dresser, out of Wille’s reach.
Wille was expected to remember them.
Simon was expected to punish them.
That was how this worked.
Wille felt the cool trickle of lubricant being dribbled between his arse cheeks and his eyes slammed closed against the sudden cold and wet and he bit his tongue between his teeth.
He couldn’t remember exactly which plug he’d grabbed and placed on the dresser for Simon to use on him.
A smaller one would be inside quickly, he’d barely have enough time to think about the list, let alone work through it methodically.
A bigger one would give him more time but the sensation of Simon fingering him open, working it inside, the way it would press up against his prostate once it settled, was far more distracting.
“Be still, Wille.”
Simon had stopped moving behind him and Wille became aware that his hips were rolling gently into the bed and his hands were balled tightly as he pulled on the rope connecting him to the bedframe.
It didn’t even feel particularly good against his cock.
The sheets were dry and a little rough and his legs were held at an angle that meant he couldn’t really get much purchase to move.
He hadn’t even realised he was doing it.
Wille forced his shoulders to relax and his hands to open and his hips to stop and felt Simon climb on the bed as soon as he was still.
One finger grazed up his leg, the inside of his knee, all along the taut muscle of his thigh until it reached the soft curve of his arsecheek and followed it around until it rested over the slick skin of his arsehole.
Wille bit his lip and pressed his cheek harder into the duvet, holding the rest of his body perfectly still, viscerally aware that Simon would stop again if he moved.
Simon pressed in, gently at first, slowly and Wille knew he was watching carefully for any reaction that might indicate Wille was uncomfortable. He kept perfectly still, a sharp inhale the only reaction to the cool intrusion of Simon’s finger that faded as fast as that initial stretch.
The second finger followed quickly, efficiently and skillfully avoiding stimulating Wille at all, beyond the warm twist he always got in his chest whenever he really thought about the fact that Simon was knelt behind him and his fingers were inside him.
“How was your day?” Simon’s voice startled Wille a little and he flinched, Simon’s other hand, the one not buried in him, coming up quickly to press against his spine, warm and soothing.
“Sorry,” Simon murmured. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.” Wille settled back onto the sheets. “I just wasn’t expecting it, you don’t always talk.”
Wille felt him shrug, an odd sensation to get transmitted to you from between your legs.
“I want to know and… it seemed like today was maybe harder than normal.”
Wille lay quiet for a moment.
Simon was right, today had been harder than normal.
“I thought perhaps it might be easier to tell me like this,” Simon said quietly. “But if it’s not then we can move on.”
“Maybe… after?” Wille asked hesitantly. He knew what Simon meant, it would be easier to talk in the liquid space of being under Simon’s control. But he didn’t want the Royal Court in his bedroom as well.
Simon hummed in agreement. “Time’s up then,” he said and slid his fingers out slowly, pressing the pad of them against Wille’s hole gently before pulling away. “Deep breath.”
Wille inhaled slowly and Simon pressed the cold metal of the plug he’d selected into him. It slid in easily at first, the tapered tip much smaller than Simon’s two fingers. The cold against his hot insides felt nice, a jarring contrast that Wille found strangely settling in the warmth of their bedroom.
Simon pushed it in slowly, giving him time to adjust to the width of it as he went. The first raised ring took him a little by surprise, the sudden stretch and almost pop as his hole stretched over it.
Wille remembered which plug he’d selected now.
It was the smaller one, Simon’s overly careful stretching had been a misdirect, or perhaps just Simon knowing that, despite picking the smaller plug, Wille still needed the time and care Simon took for the larger one. If he closed his eyes he could see it. Silver metal, three rings about half way down, painted black in stark contrast before it narrowed to a curved stem and a flat base it could stand up on.
It looked like a wine stopper, albeit a bit larger.
Wille knew it looked like a wine stopper because his mother had told him it was a nice looking wine stopper the first, and only, time she had come to visit their flat.
Wille still didn’t entirely know if Simon had left it on the book case by mistake or on purpose. It was hardly where they usually kept those things, but they had fucked over the couch the night before to make sure their new home was well and truly christened.
Simon still refused to say, but Wille knew the curl of him hiding a smirk well enough.
The thickest part of it was inside him now and Simon was holding it there, holding him open around it and keeping Wille from properly accepting it into his body and adjusting fully to the weight.
Wille heard the low whine come out of his mouth before he could even think to stop it.
Simon huffed out a quiet laugh behind him and twisted the plug. “So impatient,” he said softly. “Are you that eager to get to the paddle?”
Wille flushed. “No,” he said.
“Liar,” Simon shot back fondly and let his hold on the plug go.
Wille felt his body almost drag it in and he couldn’t stop his legs from twitching and his hips from rolling down into the bed away from the intrusion. The duvet underneath him was wet now, slick with his own fluid that Wille hadn’t even realised was leaking out of his cock whilst Simon played with him.
It made the slide against the sheets feel good and he chased it, pressing his dick into the bedding again.
Simon’s hand cracked across his arse and the sound echoed in the room. “Stop.”
Wille froze, heat blooming across one arse cheek and his entire face.
He knew better than that.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, swallowing back the lump in his throat.
Simon’s hand soothed over the mark. “Apology accepted,” he murmured and Wille finally felt the weight start to lift off his shoulders.
***
Simon watched Wille’s arse cheek turn red from the impact of his hand and felt the familiar stir in his stomach at the sight.
He hadn’t really expected to enjoy this quite as much as he did when they had first started,
Truth be told Simon had been a bit alarmed by the whole thing when he’d first realised Wille would simply obey him if he commanded his boyfriend with the right tone. The power it gave him — and the fact Wille was so eagerly willing to let Simon hold it — had sat sticky in his stomach afterwards.
They hadn’t done it again for a while, after the first time, Wille kneeling on his dorm floor whilst Simon held his head steady and fucked into his mouth, coming only because Simon had told him to, untouched and over the spare pillow and himself.
It had been so different from every other time they’d had sex.
Simon hadn’t really known what to do with the Wille who went lax and just let Simon use him. Who didn’t giggle and laugh with him as they almost fell off the narrow dorm bed, who didn’t pause and check in or run his lips carefully over Simon’s skin and his fingers hesitantly into Simon’s trousers.
Simon hadn’t known what to do with a Wille who instead, looked up at him, wide eyed, glazed over and waiting to be told.
He hadn’t really known what to do with the Simon who liked it either.
Wille drew in a shaky breath beneath him, spread out and strapped down carefully on their bed and Simon’s attention snapped back to where he was now.
Simon had figured out what to do with it eventually and the uncomfortable tight feeling was long gone, replaced with a consistent low burn of arousal every time he got to see Wille like this.
“Shhh.” Simon ran a slow hand over Wille’s arsecheek, soothing the skin where he’d hit it. He let his fingers brush over the base of the plug, jostling it and watching carefully for the way Wille’s shoulders tightened as he worked hard to keep himself perfectly still.
He was so good like this.
As if Wille was made to obey.
It always made Simon smile, a little smug, to know that so many people had demanded Wille’s obedience throughout his life and that Simon was the only one who got it.
Precisely because he’d never wanted or asked for it.
“Start,” Simon said quietly, picking up the paddle “One strike for each item I’ve got written down, the cane for any you forget.”
Simon knew he’d forget at least one.
“I left my cup out on the side.”
Wille spoke way too fast, as if he had been holding it in, desperate to start.
Simon smiled down at him and shook his head fondly, half the reason he liked to tie Wille face down was because it was just so hard for Simon to keep his emotions off his face. Simon knew from experience that gazing lovingly at his boyfriend both wasn’t what Wille needed during these moments, and, that if Simon did it, then Wille would do it and the careful atmopsphere they’d both worked hard to create would be ruined.
He brought the paddle down on Wille’s unmarked cheek.
The leather hitting Wille’s skin snapped sharply in the quiet of their bedroom.
Wille let out a low groan and Simon watched his entire body tense with the effort of staying perfectly still, fists clenched tightly for a brief second before he relaxed.
“I didn’t pick my towel up in the bathroom.”
He already sounded stretched, voice wound tight and high, and Simon shivered a little, his cock jumping in his pants, eager to get to the next part of the evening.
The part where Simon would untie Wille. Drag all his limbs back towards his body. Bend and massage them gently to get the blood circulating properly again, before nudging him over and taking in the full view of him — hard, leaking and loose limbed and waiting for Simon to take what he wanted.
Simon shook the image out of his head, he had Wille to take care of before he could even think about himself.
He brought his hand up again and then let it fall a little harder, right over the fading handprint.
Wille groaned and couldn’t stop the slight rock up the bed, the rope around his ankles tightening as it held him in place.
“I forgot the name of the Prime Minister’s daughter,” Wille said muggily.
Simon hummed in acknowledgement and the paddle fell again.
***
The strikes seemed to come faster and faster, almost blurring together as Wille listed infraction after infraction. Simon never required them in order — thank god — so they ranged from the minor entitled thoughtless treatment of their shared space where Wille was used to having staff to public blunders that curled shamefully in his stomach as he remembered them.
Each blow from Simon cleaned the slate, and each stinging ache as the leather of the paddle hit Wille’s arse pushed that sticky uncomfortable feeling of having messed up again further away.
“I forgot I had lunch with Felice and cancelled at the last minute.”
Simon’s blow was a little hesitant.
Wille knew that he didn’t like punishing him for these ones. The ones where Wille hadn’t really done anything wrong as such. His schedule was hectic, often not entirely under his control, and Simon felt he was holding himself to the unreasonable expectation of being always perfect all of the time.
Simon was of the opinion that forgetting lunch on occasion was a normal part of being a very busy adult and, as long as you let the person know and it didn’t keep happening, then grace was allowed.
Wille was of the opinion that if he hated having his appointments changed at the last minute he could hardly do the same to others.
The paddle came down on his right cheek.
Wille’s opinion was all that really mattered here.
“Three more to go,” Simon murmured quietly.
“I—” Wille started, then stopped, frowning. “I—” He couldn’t remember anything else.
His heart picked up its pace a little as he frantically wracked his brain, trying to remember Simon’s neatly slanted handwriting from sneaking a peak at the notebook early this morning, before Simon was awake.
He could barely remember what he’d already said and repeating wouldn’t be accepted either.
“Wille.” Simon’s voice carried a light warning tone, an indication he had only a handful of seconds to name one of the three remaining infractions before he’d be punished for this too.
“I—” Wille flicked through the week quickly, replaying as much of it as he could remember, trying to match things he’d done up with things he’d already said. “I— I can’t remember.”
Simon brought the paddle down again. “That’s for forgetting,” he said quietly.
Wille heard him move around slowly and then the cool sensation of Simon’s hands running across the hot, sensitive skin of his arse cheeks, just a hint of lotion on them. Enough to take the edge off but nowhere near enough to soothe him properly.
“This is for being honest.”
Wille let out a breath he hadn’t been entirely aware of holding, the duvet beneath his mouth momentarily warming up a little damply. His fingers uncurled from where he’d been gripping the rope between his wrists and the bed and he finally felt the muscles in his glutes and shoulder relax.
“Thank you,” Wille exhaled. “Simon, thank you.”
“Don’t get too comfortable.” Simon’s hand retreated. “You still forgot three items.”
Wille heard the paddle make contact with the wooden top of the dresser as Simon dropped it. He closed his eyes. There was only one other thing on the top that hadn’t been used.
The rope was still firmly attached to his wrists and ankles, keeping him in place and giving him something to hold onto and focus on. The cool metal of the plug had warmed and Wille could barely feel it anymore, just the dim, slight stretch of his hole that flared up with every slight movement from Simon’s strikes.
The paddle had been returned.
That only left the cane.
Wille knew Simon wasn’t completely happy with it, but Simon had also promised and Simon never let him down.
“Six,” Simon said suddenly, surprising Wille slightly with how abrupt it was.
He could hear the slight tremble Simon was trying to hide, trying to push back so that Wille didn’t have to think or worry about anything except counting those six strikes out. His chest twisted pleasantly at the sound, the proof that Simon loved him so much, enough to give him this.
“You’ll count them, two for each. One for the mistake, one for forgetting about it.” Simon ran the cane along the back of Wille’s leg. “Wille,” he said, warning.
“Yes,” Wille shoved his agreement out, tongue catching on itself and mangling the word. “Yes, Simon.”
“Good, let’s go.” Simon took a deep breath and Wille heard the air move as he brought his arm up and the cane disturbed the air. “You left your wet towel on the floor for me to pick up.”
The cane hissed through the air and Wille forced himself to relax, tensing only made it worse.
Simon struck him neatly across his thigh, mid way between his knee and arsecheek. Wille’s fingers stretched out instinctively and his breath hitched in his throat as the sharp sting of the bamboo on his skin flooded through his body. He curled them back around the rope, the silky twist of the cord rough against his fingers against the burning throb radiating from his leg.
“One.”
“Good,” Simon murmured. “And for forgetting.”
The cane came down on the other thigh, a perfect mirror and Wille let out a small sob into the duvet.
“Two.”
“Good,” Simon repeated, quiet and calm, the slight wobble gone now. “Take a breath.”
Wille inhaled shakily and twisted his head just enough that he could see Simon out of the corner of his eye. Simon was staring down at his arse, eyes dark and his brow furrowed a little in concentration.
He was watching the twin welts recede, waiting for the raised skin to calm and level back to just a bright red line against Wille’s pale skin before he continued.
Wille closed his eyes and let the breath go and the tension held in his back with it.
“You finished before I told you you could.” Simon’s arm lifted again and the memory of that evening flooded back into Wille’s memory.
It had been last weekend, the first day after the last set of infractions that Simon had punished him for, close enough that Wille was still a little spacey, still wanting just a little bit of control to be taken from him.
Simon had fucked him.
Up against the fridge, hard enough that they’d had to pull it forward and back in line with the rest of the cupboards afterwards. Wille had had an imprint of a little windmill on his stomach for days afterwards, courtesy of a magnet from Amsterdam.
Simon told him to wait.
Wille hadn’t.
Too caught up in it, too busy focussing on the growing warmth and pleasant tightness in his own body. He’d spilled over the metal door a few seconds ahead of Simon finding his release and filling him.
Simon hadn’t really wanted to write that one down. He didn’t particularly like writing any of the mistakes Wille made during sex down. According to Simon you couldn’t make any mistakes during sex — unless someone got hurt.
Wille had used that to explain it in the end.
Messing it up hurt him.
Knowing he hadn’t listened, hadn’t done what he was supposed to, hadn’t made it exactly what Simon wanted made Wille hurt.
Simon’s arm came down and the cane landed just shy of Wille’s arse cheek, right on the curve, the delicate dip where it sloped into his thigh and where Simon liked to bury his nose.
“Three.”
It came out light and airy, without him even having to think about it. His fingers were lax against the rope, laying over the top of it, suspended a little off the bed by the taut woven silk.
“And for forgetting,” Simon murmured again and the cane struck his other side, another matching stripe of red.
“Four,” Wille breathed.
He loved this part the most.
The almost end.
The culmination of everything Simon had done for him, the soft reminder before he’d been pulled away for his speech that calmed his heart just enough. The easy domesticity of Wille coming home and shedding the Palace clothes for something comfortable before Simon gently transitioned him from soft kisses in the kitchen into making sure the bedroom was set just the way he needed it.
The ropes that grounded him.
The steady even tone of Simon’s voice that quietly narrated each step and told him what was expected of him clearly, evenly and understandably.
“You dropped a spoon on the princesses lap.” Simon listed the last infraction.
The cane cracked across his arsecheek, dead centre, the tip of the bamboo just glancing off the flat base of the plug.
“Five,” Wille breathed. His mouth open and wet against the duvet, his arms entirely lax against the rope.
The end of his punishment, thin red lines drawn firmly across his arse and the backs of his thighs that marked before and after with no need to ever revisit the before.
Simon would leave him tied for a bit, the rope helping tether him as Wille drifted, floating almost outside his body on the sea of chemicals Simon had managed to induce. He’d press his palms into Wille’s arse, slick and cool and soothing as he took care of the welts left by the cane and the rough, inflamed redness of the paddle.
Simon always insisted. The salve and the quiet inspection to make sure no skin was broken was non-negotiable.
Wille thought he liked the idea of still feeling it days later, the smart and sting when he sat, Simon insisted if it still hurt that long after then he’d done something wrong.
“And for forgetting.” The sound seemed quieter, more distant, like Simon was very far away.
Wille tried.
He really did.
“Wille.” Simon’s voice washed over him, a hint of warning mostly wrapped in fondness. “For forgetting.”
Whatever noise had come out of his mouth it obviously hadn’t been the number six.
“Six.” Wille forced it out, slurred and thick and half absorbed by the duvet.
Simon’s hand fell and Wille heard the whistle in the air before he felt the crack.
A matching bloom of white hot pain split across his arsecheek.
The plug vibrated with the residual energy and Wille felt the impact in his spine, his stomach, his chest, his throat.
“Si-i-imon,” Wille moaned into the sheets, eyes closed and fingers curling around the rope loosely as the endorphins flooded through him, wrapping around his limbs and dragging him into the solid weight of their mattress.
He heard himself let out a choked sob and felt his whole body move without his permission.
And through it all.
Simon.
“Let go, Wille.”