“I—” There’s a blur of emotions swirling in Chester’s chest and a jangle of thoughts whipping through his head, too hard and sharp and fast to fully unpack, but he catches something about?—
About role reversal. About petty revenge.
About taking this place that ripped away Chester’s childhood and using it to spite the very people who took it from him. He meets Obie’s eyes. “Because I really like the idea of a demon god having his way with a Sanctum hunter right on one of their interrogation tables.”
To Chester’s delight, a slow smile spreads across Obie’s face. “Aw,puppy.Our love language.”
Ah, yes. The all-important sixth love language: vengeance.
Relief floods through Chester. “You get me,” he whispers.
“Of course I do.” Obie leans down, pressing a kiss to Chester’s lips. “We’re the same like that. And just in case…” This time, when he pushes himself up again, it’s only to snap his fingers, making the door’s lock click into place. “There. Now I can take you exactly how I want you.”
The words are more teasing than anything else—just a casual way for Obie to play into Chester’s fantasy—but they still make Chester’s breath hitch in his throat. “Yes, please,” he rasps.
“Good,” Obie murmurs, leaning down to claim Chester’s mouth again. Chester melts into the kiss with a quiet moan of approval, parting his lips to give Obie everything he wants to take. Obie doesn’tneed to be asked twice, taking Chester’s invitation and making him see stars in return, and this?—
This is real.
Chester really gets to have this. He takes a deep breath, starts to slide his hands down from Obie’s shoulders, down towards his belt?—
Obie breaks the kiss again, pushing himself up despite Chester’s grumble of protest. “So, ah.” He clears his throat. “How deep do you want to go into this petty revenge sex fantasy?”
Chester squints up at him. “What do you mean?”
For a long moment, Obie hesitates.
And then,everso slowly, he wraps his fingers around Chester’s wrists, tugs Chester’s hands away from Obie’s waist, and pins his arms out to the sides—exactly where Chester would usually strap a prisoner’s wrists to the table. “Like that,” Obie says, his eyes not leaving Chester’s.
For a split second, the world goesveryquiet around Chester. “Oh,” he says, tugging experimentally on his wrists; Obie twitches above him, but he doesn’t let go. “Like—like that.”
“Yeah.”
And Chester?—
Chester has never really let himself dwell on the finer points of sex before, and he’s certainly never let himself dwell on anything remotely resembling kink. Sure, he understands the general mechanics of it, and sure, he idly researched the safe, sane, and consensual philosophy of BDSM as a curious teenager, but he never really thought to apply any of that to himself.
But the simple act of Obie pinning his wrists down is making Chester’s brain go haywire and his body respond in a way that he’s never felt before. Because if Chester lets Obie take control, then he doesn’t have to worry about his next moves or second-guess everything he does. He can turn off the part of his brain that exists in anear-constant state of anxiety and just trust Obie to take care of all the little details. To take care ofhim.
It kind of sounds like a dream come true. “Well, how—how deep doyouwant to get into it?” Chester asks evasively.
Obie arches an eyebrow. “I asked you first.”
Of course he did. Chester drags his teeth down his bottom lip, trying to organize his thoughts; Obie’s eyes flicker down to track the motion. “Well, I—” Chester begins hoarsely, and he clears his throat. “I feel like I’m on the verge of discovering several things about myself, so yeah. Yeah, I—I think I’d like that.”
“Good,” Obie murmurs, his hands tightening on Chester’s wrists as he leans down to kiss him again, keeping it slow and sensual. Chester strains against Obie’s grip, trying to push closer, but Obie moves just out of reach, grinning down at him.
Chester scowls back. “Buzzkill.”
Obie’s smirk widens. “But you’re enjoying it?”
Yes,Chester pushes through the bond. Out loud, he adds, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed about it, too.”
“Good,” Obie says smugly, and he goes back to kissing him. For a few minutes, Chester lets himself sink into the sensations: the taste of Obie’s mouth, the weight of his body on top of Chester’s, the heat of his palms pinning Chester down?—
But it’s altogether too soon when Obie releases Chester’s wrists with a grimace, glaring at the leather restraints next to Chester’s hands like they’ve personally offended him. “I can’t actually tie your wrists down—those straps have corrosion spells on them—and I need my hands for…” Chester’s breath stutters when Obie’s fingers slip underneath the bottom hem of Chester’s shirt, massaging slow circles just above his waistband. “Other important matters right now. But I’ll definitely keep this in mind for the future, and?—”
An idea sparks through Chester. “Wait,” he blurts out.
