Jane Davitt's Blog - Posts Tagged "advent"

Door opened by Michaelle

It’s Beginning to Sound a Lot Like Christmas


The metal Sam’s holding glints in the candlelight. Power cuts suck. The motel room is freezing and Dean’s wearing nothing but a thin layer of cold sweat and goose bumps.

“We don’t have to do this now,” he tells Sam. “Really. It can wait. It’s not like it’s a tradition of ours. Well, it wouldn’t be, would it?”

His mouth’s too dry to say more, his fingers curling, relaxing, in time with his rapid, shallow breaths. Shit, he’s shaking here.

Sam frowns at him and hangs the ornament, sparkling, pretty, on the tiny tree they’d bought earlier. It was reduced to a few dollars, the last on the lot with dusk falling on Christmas Eve and snow crusting its needles.

“It’s a tree, Dean. It needs decorating.”

And it does, but Sam’s taking his own sweet time about placing each of the six ornaments (battered box, marked down to a dollar) and Dean’s cuffed naked to a chair, a thin sound lodged deep in his rigid, aching cock, giving it a core of solid metal. Weird how that part of him never registered before. He pisses out of it, no more, no less, but the sound’s turned it into a source of pleasure and pain, touching hidden depths with pinpoint accuracy. The sound’s staying there until the star goes on the top of the tree. He’s been writhing, panting, begging for a solid fifteen minutes. Lube streaks on his balls have dried to an itch he can’t scratch and Sam won’t.

Sam’s a goddamn sadist.

Of course, it’s part of why he loves him. And the sounds are an early gift off his wish list, after all. God, will Sam drag this out until midnight, so it’s officially Christmas Day when he removes the sound? He’ll do it excruciatingly slowly, Dean knows, letting it slide back in now and then, fucking the stretched hole with merciless metal, an intent look in his eyes, the same look he has when Dean’s ass is getting a thorough reaming at glacial speed with a thick plug or best of all, Sam’s cock.

Being Sam’s focus makes Dean warm and tingly, even when he’s screaming and cursing his name.

Sam frowns again, all his attention on the goddamn tree, removes the ornament and hooks it on a lower bough. “Does that balance out the one with the dancing elves?”

Dean whimpers.

Day Four opened by me :-)

Penalties and Payback

“And so this is Christmas…” Andy warbled, off-key and way too loud around a man with a hangover.

He was doing it deliberately. Payback for me coming home drunk and late from an office party I’d promised would only take an hour. I’d gotten a ride home and I hadn’t thrown up or become embarrassingly sentimental, but the session we’d planned had been out of the question. The day I whip a sub when I’m tired, angry, or under the influence hasn’t happened yet and never will.

Andy’s revenge for his disappointment was making the morning after hell. Curtains flung open to let in a dazzle of light, clattering pots and pans, the goddamn singing. I’d apologized. Explained my boss had poured me a triple and expected me to drink it. Invited sympathy for my plight in being unable to leave before the Secret Santa handout, delayed because the sack with the gifts was in a locked cupboard and the person with the key had gone home sick the day before.

None of it had erased the pinched-lip disapproval and hurt.

Enough. Time to show my sub who was in charge around here. A spanking and a gag to start with. Then when his ass was nicely warm, I’d plug it and make him scrub the kitchen floor, naked, on hands and knees, encouraging his efforts with a flick of the crop he loathed and loved in equal measure.

I rose from the couch and strode over to him. Halfway across the room, my pounding head slowed me to a stagger, stomach lurching uneasily.
He broke off mid-note. “Sir?”

I could’ve chipped ice off the word.

“Andrew, you--“ I broke off. A Dom didn’t beg. Didn’t grovel. And he didn’t punish his sub for having hurt feelings he’d caused. “Hon? I’m going to lie down. I feel like crap. My fault, I know. I’ll make it up to you when I’m human again, I promise.”

He melted visibly, the sympathy I’d wanted warm in his eyes. “Yes, Sir. May I kneel by the bed while you sleep?”
He was under tight discipline for the week, at his request. He thought he’d become complacent and wanted to reinforce our dynamic. A week of progress screwed up on the final night when we’d planned to wind it up with a deliciously intense and satisfying session.

I drew him in for a hug. “Why don’t you keep me warm in the bed instead?”

And though he was a sub who thrived on pain and extreme discipline, who screamed, but rarely cried, I could’ve sworn I saw a glitter of tears and a smile before he bowed his head and went to his knees to make the journey to the bedroom.