Work Text:
Percy knows something good is about to happen when he gets home from work and smells vanilla. The scent is heavy and sweet, and promises something very good to come.
He sheds his jacket and throws down his briefcase as he rushes to the bedroom, his heart already racing. Candles. Vanilla candles. Dozens of them in little black votives. The black satin sheets are on the bed and Credence, sitting on the edge with one knee crossed over the other, in little black leather shorts and a skin-tight black tank top, a smile on his lips that spells danger. When he sees Percy, his smile widens as he languidly uncrosses his legs, leaving just enough space between them for Percy to kneel.
Percy wastes absolutely no time crossing the room. His knees hit the floor and his head automatically drops to Credence’s thigh, his eyes falling shut at the precise moment his cheek touches the creamy-soft skin. “Ohhh, was it so bad?” Credence coos softly, his fingers deftly snapping Percy’s hair tie and combing through his long hair. “Did you miss me that much?”
He knows better than to pretend. “I did,” Percy murmurs, and emphasizes his point by turning his head to kiss Credence’s knee. “God, I wanted you. Couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.”
“Is that right?” Credence weaves his fingers into Percy’s hair and tugs, just hard enough to be tantalizing.
A little thrill runs down Percy’s spine. That tug is foreshadowing, he knows; a little hint of what’s to come. “Yes,” he murmurs, eyes still closed, face pressed into Credence’s knee.
It’s hardly anything: just a little pull of his hair, just the feeling of being on his knees, and Percy is already slipping away. Already letting himself shift from Sharp Businessman into…whatever Credence needs. Soft. Flexible. Craving every bit of what he knows Credence is ready to do to him now that he’s finally home and ready. Nothing that happened at work today matters anymore. He’s home, and here, despite the beating that he knows is imminent, Percy is safe.
Credence pets his hair another few moments, occasionally interjecting another tug, before he gently nudges Percy’s cheek with his knee, making him sit upright. “Look at me…there, that’s better. I have something for you,” he says, and—it’s silly to hope, he knows, but Percy really likes the way Credence is looking at him…
Credence widens his knees a little and leans forward. His smile is tender, his fingers feather-light as they cup Percy’s jaw and tilt his head back…but his eyes are black vortexes, the evident hunger a silent warning of what Percy is to willingly endure tonight. “If you do well tonight,” Credence promises in a deceptively gentle whisper, “you can have it. Understand?”
Percy swallows hard and nods. Because he hasn’t yet been ordered to stay silent he says, “I do. Can I—can I ask you something first, before we…start?”
“What is it, angel?”
Angel. Percy can’t help but shiver, just a little; Credence only calls him that when they play like this. “Will it—will it ruin everything if I ask—what is it you’ll want me to do? What I need to do in order to, ah. ‘Do well.’ Tonight.”
“Mmm. I don’t think you need the details, no…” Credence lets his nails just barely scratch the side of Percy’s neck. “But I appreciate you asking permission to ask, that definitely gets you points.” He lets go of Percy’s jaw, only to reach out and pull his hair again. “Good, very good,” he praises, and Percy feels his face heat up as humiliation at being spoken to like a dog wars with pleasure from the praise.
(The humiliation, he has to admit, is also part of the appeal. But maybe he isn’t quite ready to own that just yet.)
“Tell me your safeword,” Credence orders softly, and Percy closes his eyes, savors it for the moment before he answers, because he knows it’ll be the last time he is spoken to so gently for a good long while.
“Panic.”
“And if you can’t talk?”
“Make a fist three times.”
“Good boy.” Percy opens his eyes, and Credence leans in and lightly brushes their mouths together. One last soft kiss, one last taste of cotton candy before Credence draws blood.
And here…we…go…
~
“Fifteen, I think.”
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Percy knows that sound, even though his eyes are covered he can just about see Credence tapping his palm with the flogger. Can picture him standing there, straight-backed and calm, the tiniest flicker of excitement in his eyes as he licks his lips at the sight of Percy kneeling there, tied up and completely at his mercy.
It’s a lovely image, so different from the hunched, anxious boy he knew at their first meeting, and just the thought of the joy Credence will get from this, the catharsis he will feel, has Percy’s heart swelling.
So far Credence has hit him exactly twice. Warm-up taps, gentle enough to feel more like a massage. Percy knows damn well it’s not going to stay that way, but it’s not the fear of pain that has his body tensing in anticipation. It’s excitement. He’s been thinking of this all day.
The soft tap of the flogger against Credence’s hand stops. Moments later a faint sting materializes across Percy’s shoulders as Credence drags his nails across the warm skin. “Fifteen hits,” he repeats, his voice deceptively calm and soft. “And I want you to be quiet. Every sound you make gets you another hit. Nod if you understand.”
Percy bobs his head just once, knowing from experience that nodding blind will make him dizzy, and he doesn’t want to fall because if he falls over Credence will stop and be gentle with him and he does not want that. Not right now. His wrists are bound behind his back and he’s already feeling the bite of the ropes against his skin, the sweet burn and stretch in his muscles of being forced into this position for more than a minute or two. His head, for once, is quiet; no thoughts except stay still, stay quiet, he’ll touch you if you do what he says.
He’s as hard as the wood floor under his knees, and there’s an extra thrum of anticipation and something almost frightening mixed in with the arousal because, God, only Credence has ever made him feel this way, and he knows what that means but he’s as scared to admit it as every other red-blooded human male on this godforsaken earth.
So he just stays. Still. Quiet. Obedient. It’s easier, he thinks, when Credence tells him what to feel.
The first crack of the flogger echoes through the room like a backfiring car and Percy gasps, sharp and short, and Credence laughs. “Feels good, doesn’t it,” he coos softly. “You can tell me. I’ll just add one more hit.”
Percy nearly chokes on a mouthful of air before he spits out, “Amazing. Perfect. I love it, oh, please—”
“Oh, yes, I like that,” Credence hums. “You begging, that is.”
He stops expectantly, and Percy lets the tiniest whimper escape before he whispers, “Please. Please, Credence, I need…I need you to hit me again.”
Pain spikes through his scalp as a hand weaves into his hair and yanks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, what was that?”
“Please,” Percy repeats, fighting the urge to moan as Credence pulls his hair again. He lets out a real whimper this time, swallows hard, lets himself get lost in the pleasure of humiliation. “Please…hit me. I need it, I need the pain, please.”
Credence purrs quietly, and it’s all the warning Percy gets before the stinging hits him full force. He lets out tiny gasps but nothing louder, his mouth gradually filling with a familiar metallic taste as he bites his tongue to stay quiet. The stinging is never uniform. It’s sharp, then it softens; it blooms on his shoulders, then on his side. The pain heats his blood to boiling, dulls every thought in his mind until there’s nothing but pain and all he has to do is just—stay.
Work is a distant memory. Percy knows there’s an outside world, but he can’t for the life of him recall why he cares what’s in it. Hell, if you asked him who the President is, he couldn’t tell you just now. There’s nothing in the world except Credence and pain, and the pleasure he feels from his exposure to both.
Credence counts aloud and the numbers blur into nothing as the delightful agony overrides everything else. The floor could dissolve, the walls collapse, a marching band could come through—the entire Trojan army could burst out of the closet and Percy would be right here, just like this, his soul floating free with just the pain to tether him to earth. Every now and then when he bites out a little gasp he’ll hear Credence say, “That’s another hit,” but at this point, it doesn’t matter. He wants more hits. He wants to stay just like this. Forever.
The stinging gets deeper, more intense. Percy’s heart throbs, as does his cock. His head tips back on a gasp as Credence gifts him with a final crack of the flogger, a sharp hit that clears his mind entirely—
And then the pain stops. Percy waits, just a moment, and when no more pain comes, a tiny whimper escapes, a soft, pleading, involuntary sound. He can’t ask for more; he’s not allowed. He can only speak if given permission, but—oh, God, but he wants. Touch. Pain. Something, anything, his skin stings and his heart aches and he is so…so hungry, please; the hair raises on his skin and bumps erupt up and down his arms as he shivers, please more, please.
And then a pair of hands gently cups his face, thumbs carefully pushing up the blindfold. “Percy,” comes a soft familiar voice, sounding about fifteen feet over his head. “Can you hear me, love? You’re crying.”
Oh. He is. That’s…not unusual. He often loses track of the rest of his body when Credence hits him. Not surprising he didn’t realize his eyes were getting wet.
Credence’s long fingers stroke his cheeks, thumbs smoothing away the tears. “Percy, look at me,” he coaxes, and it takes a minute for Percy’s eyes to focus, but when they do he registers concern. “Tell me what you want,” Credence urges him gently. “Do you want to stop?”
Percy shakes his head. He wants more. More pain. More touch. “I’m…” His throat is tight, but he clears it and manages to speak. “I’m all right. Keep going.”
“Good boy,” Credence praises him softly, and Percy’s heart constricts even as pleasure coils in his belly. “I have something for you,” Credence goes on, his thumb tracing the curve of Percy’s cheekbone. “Since you did so well tonight…I gave you twenty-six hits, did you feel that?”
Percy nods automatically; he lost count even as Credence said the numbers out loud, but the pleasant burn in his shoulders tells him all he needs to know. He inhales, and then barely stops himself; he doesn’t have permission to talk.
Credence strokes his cheek with a thumb again. “What it it?” he prompts. “You can speak, angel.”
He’s being gentle now and it’s unmooring, Percy wants the pain back, wants more. “Did they bruise?” he asks.
Credence laughs quietly and leans in, soft kisses trailing down the line of Percy’s neck until his teeth sink into the tender flesh. Percy gasps as Credence bites down, releases, whispers, “There’s a bruise for you,” and then does it again. Percy squirms, still on his knees. He’d beg, but he doesn’t have to: Credence bites him again and again, all over his neck and down the front of his chest, sucking on the vulnerable skin in between sharp nips. Every bite bursts inside Percy like a firework, pleasure lighting him up from inside even as his entire body writhes in discomfort: the floor is hard and he is hard and he wants, he fucking wants more, and all he can do is take what he’s given and it’s awful and frustrating and so, so hot.
Eventually Credence stops, with one last almost-gentle nibble before he draws back and rests his forehead against Percy’s. “Such a good boy,” he murmurs tenderly. “You’re so good for me, my angel, aren’t you? I could do anything and you’d just take it, wouldn’t you…” He trails his fingernails down Percy’s arm. “Let me scratch you, whip you, pull your hair, bite you until you’re red and purple and blue all over. You’d let me cut you open, wouldn’t you, if I wanted to. You’d let me beat you raw…you’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you,” his voice dips low and husky and stalks directly to Percy’s already-twitching cock, “if I took a hammer to you, broke every bone, made you helpless…broke open your chest like a surgeon and carved my name into your ribs…”
He trails off and Percy stays still, his heart beating so hard it feels as if it’s ricocheting off the inside of his chest. He should be afraid, should recoil at the thought of Credence doing any of what he just said.
He is not afraid.
He is in love. He is painfully, violently in love.
And then Credence cups his face in both hands, locks their eyes together, and asks in a quietly hopeful voice that pierces Percy’s already-fragile heart like a nail gun, “But what I need to know is…would you let me make you mine?”
Percy’s mind takes a moment to catch up with his body; his breath comes in sharp pants as his heart takes off like a helicopter. Credence circles his hands around Percy’s throat, thumbs meeting just under his chin to tilt his head back. “Mine,” Credence repeats. “For as long as we both want. Can we do that, angel?”
Percy thinks he may well cry. He nods, just once, and it’s all Credence needs to see. Because Percy closes his eyes and feels Credence’s hands leave his neck just for a moment, only to let out an involuntary moan as a thin strap of leather closes around his neck, something cool and smooth resting just over the hollow of his throat.
A collar. Percy’s collar. Because Credence loves him and wants to keep him.
Because Credence wants to own him.
“You will not take this off,” Credence orders him, voice barely above a whisper. “Because it means you are mine. And it means I have the right to touch you, hold you, hurt you, take you whenever I want…and,” his voice getting a little louder, rougher, “I have the privilege of protecting you. Which means I can and will absolutely flatten anything and anyone that touches you without my permission.”
Percy’s eyes roll back even behind his closed lids at the thought. He loves me. He wants me. He owns me. It’s so much, so good, he thinks he might just burst into tears on the spot.
“Percy.” Credence sounds different. Firmer, more commanding, less…lost in his own emotions, perhaps. Percy forces his eyes to open, to focus. Credence looks serious as he says, “Tell me the safeword. Right now.”
“Panic,” Percy replies automatically, surprised.
“And if this is ever too much—and I do mean ever —you’ll use it.” Credence locks his eyes on Percy’s and won’t let go. “I mean it. Even if you just don’t like the movie I choose on date night. Use the word. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Promise what?”
Percy licks his lips and tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Credence is so, so good to him. “I promise I’ll use the safeword if I need to,” he agrees; after all, Credence is giving something truly precious here and making this promise is the least he can do in return.
“Good. So good. My angel,” Credence murmurs, leaning in and capturing Percy’s mouth in a fierce, life-breathing kiss.
When they break apart Credence stands, gently hooks his fingers under the collar and pulls Percy to his feet. Percy lets out a trembling little gasp at the feeling of the collar pressing into the back of his neck. The pressure is sweet, soothing, a reminder that he is owned.
Because they’ve talked about this. What it would mean, how it would be if they did. The boring fine details have been hammered out, “breaks” from the total power exchange scheduled, boundaries established—Percy knows, for instance, that Credence doesn’t expect him to wear the collar to work—but it was always a hypothetical, a “someday,” and now it’s here and there’s something so intimate about this, about knowing that he can let Credence have his way for the rest of their lives if it suits him and oh God it does…
Percy is so overwhelmed he can’t believe this is happening. So, yes…he feels a little in awe right now. The grounding pressure of the collar is more than welcome. It’s a reminder that this is real. That Credence wants this, wants him, and he never has to let go again if he doesn’t want to.
He’s led over to the bed, where his hands are untied. “Face down,” Credence commands, and Percy scrambles to obey, quickly turning himself face down and pillowing his head on his folded arms. “Good. Just like that. Now, stay still.”
Anticipation trickles through Percy’s stomach. His heart beats on his ribcage like it’s trying to get out. He should, he thinks with a throb of excitement, have known Credence wasn’t done after the flogging. No. There’s more tonight. Percy almost laughs: looks like the collar isn’t to be his only reward.
A palm delicately cups the curve of his ass, the tender warning of what’s to come. And then—with no discussion, no indication of how many hits Percy will be given, no disclosure of why—comes the first hit.
Percy bites back a cry, pleasure burning low in his belly even as the sharp kiss of pain cracks against his skin. He loves being spanked like almost nothing else; many nights he comes from that alone, rutting like an animal into the bed while his tears of pleasure soak the sheets under his face…
Tonight, however, Credence leans in and bites him on the lower back, right over a bruise. Percy whimpers and Credence says sternly, “You may grind on the mattress as much as you want, but you will not come from this tonight, do you understand?”
“Please,” Percy whispers. “Please, please let me—”
“What’s this? You’re already begging to come from one hit?” Credence purrs with a low, almost sinister laugh that sends tingles of pleasure sparking down Percy’s spine. “Mmm. That’s flattering. But”—his voice sharpens as he strikes Percy’s ass again—“it’s not going to change my mind. You will not come until I’m inside you, is that clear?” Percy manages a strangled noise of assent and Credence rewards him with another spank.
Credence knows where to hit, how much force to use, how to make the flesh sting just enough to feel incredible. Worked up from the flogging, raw emotion pulsing through him every time he remembers the collar around his neck, it doesn’t take long for Percy to go right to the edge. He’s long stopped writhing against the bed and gone rigid, which increases the pain of each hit (which, of course, only turns him on even more) because he swears the slightest feather of a touch against his cock right now would make him come like a geyser.
But he doesn’t come. He stays still. Because Credence demands it, and the leather band around his throat is like iron. Credence has every right to demand Percy not come yet. He doesn’t need a reason. It doesn’t matter how badly Percy wants to come; what matters is that Credence has told him not to and he has a reason and Percy doesn’t need to know why. He only needs to obey.
All my pleasure belongs to him, he thinks deliriously, and then almost laughs because the last tiny brain cell that is still operational knows damn well how cliche those words are. But that doesn’t make them any less true.
“Mmm, look at you, nice and pink,” Credence coos, stroking the reddened areas of Percy’s ass with a too-light touch. It tickles, and Percy has to fight to not squirm. “Oh, you like that?” Credence leans over him, sweeps aside his hair and kisses the curve of his neck, right beneath the collar. Percy moans involuntarily, just the feeling of Credence’s soft lips on his skin enough to send him reeling.
“Please,” he whispers. He’s not sure what he’s begging for. Please, let me come. Please, hold me. Please, hit me again. Please, just don’t stop.
“Sh-h-h,” Credence soothes him, pressing another delicate kiss to his skin, this time on the back of his neck. Another, between his shoulder blades. And then another and another, light and soft as a snowflake, all down his back, everywhere there’s—his heart skips—everywhere there’s a bruise or mark from the flogger.
Credence occasionally brushes over the bruises with his fingertips, might press on one if the mood takes him, and every time Percy jolts like he’s been shocked and whimpers like he’s being fucked. “That’s it,” Credence murmurs with each touch, each kiss. Each delicious little throb of pain. “So good for me, Percy. So good. Love you so much.”
By the time Credence finally gets all the way down Percy’s back and has gently cupped his hands around the warm, still-stinging curves of Percy’s ass, the pain and pleasure warring inside Percy has reached a fever pitch. He feels Credence’s warm breath against his cleft and keens quietly, knowing what’s about to happen and knowing it will be torture to try and hold back.
With a satisfied little hum Credence encourages him, “You can make as much noise as you like now. Scream, moan, beg, do whatever you want.” He kisses the base of Percy’s spine before he returns to the task at hand.
The first lick inside Percy’s fluttering hole is an electric shock, a hit from a cattle prod, and Percy’s glad he has permission because only God himself could stop him from screaming now. He bites mouthfuls of the bed sheets in an ineffectual effort to stop his moans from reaching a fever pitch. His entire body is taught with the need for release, the tension in his muscles heightening the pain and fueling his arousal, and with every plunge of Credence’s tongue inside him he edges closer to insanity. He wants, oh, God, how he wants to come, to let go, but he can’t because—because—
There’s a reason, he thinks hazily as Credence slowly drives him to madness, his vision blurring with tears and his mind unable to focus on anything other than torment and need and fuck yes please, why Credence doesn’t want him to let go yet. He knows it…doesn’t need to know what it is…he just needs to obey and, he knows, everything will be so good. Perfect, even.
Just let him do what he wants.
Just obey.
Just let him have all of you.
Your body isn’t yours anymore.
It’s his.
He owns you.
Obey him. It’s what you wanted. Just…be good…
(Somewhere distantly off in his mind he thinks Credence has never edged him this long before and oh God if it doesn’t stop soon he’ll pass out.)
That’s okay. He’s made you faint before, he can do it again. Just relax. Just obey. He’s got you.
You don’t have to think right now. You don’t have to be strong. It’s okay. Credence is here. Just let him have you.
Aching, hungry moans burst unchecked from his lips, the effort of muffling them in the sheets long forgotten. Percy goes slack and helpless underneath his lover, lets his vision blur, lets himself shut down entirely. No point in struggling after all; begging and pushing back won’t make Credence let him come any sooner.
He feels the tongue withdraw, feels himself turned over as if it’s happening to someone else, feels two slick fingers plunge into his saliva-drenched hole. “So open for me,” Credence breathes, “so ready…” A hand pushes up his knee; the other comes to his throat and makes his head tilt back. Something blunt and swollen pushes its way into him, and an animalistic, wordless plea rips itself from Percy’s throat as Credence’s skilled fingers find those two pin-point spots and gently squeeze.
Percy’s eyes roll back. He couldn’t even conceive of this happening tonight. Credence hates choking, thinks it’s dangerous and too much; Percy only gets it on very rare occasions as a precious reward. To feel it now when he’s this worked up, this far gone, this absolutely desperate to be good for Credence—
It crosses his mind to use the word before his heart physically explodes. Instead he lets his eyes fall shut, lets himself drift further into the mist. Credence is inside him and all around him, and he decides it all. When Percy comes. When he feels pleasure, when he feels pain. When he breathes.
The euphoric fog of being choked quickly takes over as Credence pushes into him. When Credence bottoms out he lets go of Percy’s throat, and the sudden rush of blood makes Percy feel even more dizzy and vulnerable. He gasps as if he’s been suffocated for hours, and the orgasm he’s been denied for what feels like eternity pushes up inside him.
Credence presses a tender kiss to the base of his throat, right under the collar’s metal fastening. “Come for me,” he commands.
Oh, and Percy does.
It’s not just an orgasm. It’s a blessing. Confirmation. The understanding that seals their bond. Credence knows exactly how much Percy can take. Percy knows he can make his body do what Credence wants. And they both know they have the other’s complete and unwavering trust.
Pleasure explodes through Percy like the trinity test, an atomic bomb of bliss that sweeps him away and leaves him flying. He can feel Credence’s hands on him, taking his hands and pinning him to the bed—as if he could move right now anyway!—as Credence moves inside him, faster and with more precision, hitting him where it counts with every stroke. Frantic little noises of pain and joy erupt from him as Credence’s movements extend his already-fierce pleasure, and he’s being torn apart but it feels so incredible he never wants it to stop.
If Percy could live one moment on a groundhog-day loop until he dies, he thinks, this is it. Credence on top of him, on his back with the bedsheets agitating the bruises Credence so kindly gave him earlier, pleasure burning through his veins like venom, his entire body one energy-burning mass of agony and bliss, with Credence’s hands holding him down and Credence’s collar around his throat and nothing, nothing to think about other than the way his beautiful Dom makes him feel.
Safe.
Wanted.
Owned.
~
It takes a while for Percy to come back to himself. Credence doesn’t often drive him so deep into subspace, doesn’t usually make him orgasm so hard he loses consciousness; it used to be a huge thing, in fact, when it did happen. Sweet Credence, gentle by nature, still not quite sure what to do with the impulses to control and take what he wanted, still thinking of those needs as selfish, sadistic, WRONG, used to be very unhappy if he thought for a moment that he’d truly hurt his Percy.
Of course, that was before he figured out that his Percy doesn’t tolerate pain, he craves it.
Now Percy comes back to reality in time to feel a pair of hands stroking and caressing his back and shoulders. Something cold and very soft rests on his ass, presumably to soothe the heat from the spanking. It’s all nice, sure, but what really matters is that his neck is still encased in the sweet embrace of Credence’s collar and the familiar, heavy post-scene lassitude has enveloped his body like a cloak and Percy could fade out of existence right now like all those people at the end of Infinity War and be perfectly fine with it.
Something cool and fresh-smelling is being massaged gently into his bruised, aching back. Percy moans contentedly as he feels the slick gel being spread over the marks from the flogger and then slowly, carefully rubbed into his skin. Credence is always so gentle with the aftercare, so eager to make sure the pain he inflicted is properly balanced out with tenderness. “Easy,” he cautions Percy softly when Percy tries to crane his head around to look at the marks. He continues to apply aloe gel with a steady hand. “I really got you this time. Just stay still for me for a second, okay?”
Percy nods, or tries to, and realizes he can’t because he’s face-down in bed, a squishy pillow supporting his neck. He tries to say okay, but all that comes out is a slurred hunnh. “Spoken like a true Irishman,” Credence teases him, and Percy huffs out a quiet, hoarse laugh.
When the bruises and welts on his back have been properly treated, the cold compress is removed from his backside and he’s rolled over to lie flat. He groans a little at being moved, only for Credence to hush him and say sternly, “I have to check your throat for bruises. So this,” he taps the collar, “has to come off for a minute.” As Credence surely knew he would Percy makes a weak noise of protest and Credence quickly assures him, “It’ll go right back on, I promise. But I choked you, love. I need to see if I did any damage.”
Percy is sure Credence didn’t leave so much as a fingerprint, but he knows better than to protest. He lies still while Credence gently removes the collar and inspects the skin underneath. Credence worries aloud for a moment about the lack of marks (trust Credence to do that!) but ultimately decides it’s good as it means he didn’t choke Percy hard so he just lightly sweeps a little cocoa butter across the skin, lets it air dry, and then sprinkles on some powder that smells very crisp and clean. “To keep the skin underneath the collar from getting chafed,” he explains. “Okay, angel. I’m putting it back on now.”
Percy lets out a sigh of relief and, having recovered some of his gross motor skill by now, squeezes Credence’s arm in thanks. “Wait,” he says, and Credence, ever mindful of what he needs, promptly stills. “Can I see it before you put it on?”
“Oh, of course you can.” Credence holds it up so Percy can see. Plain black leather, easily mistaken for a fashion choker, held together in the front by a piece of metal not shaped like an O-ring, but a little heart. “Surgical steel,” Credence says proudly when Percy reaches up to trace the heart with his fingertips. “So it won’t rust or tarnish or turn your skin green.”
“Very thoughtful. Thank you.” Percy lets his arm drop back to his side and Credence rightly takes his cue to put the collar back on.
He’s had it for less than a few hours, but Percy still doesn’t fully relax until the collar is back in place. This little strip of leather that he’d never seen before tonight now feels like a piece of his soul. Because it’s visible, tangible proof that he is wanted. That Credence, who everyone told him was “too damaged” to feel anything for him other than gratitude, does love and want and care for him, in the deepest and most intimate way possible.
Percy lets Credence baby him, wrap him up in a soft blanket and coax water into his mouth, finger-comb the knots out of his long hair. Credence makes their bed into a pillow-stuffed nest and holds him there, long arms wrapped around Percy like the safety belt on a carnival ride, and Percy tucks his face into that long neck and breathes. This is good, he thinks.
“Do we need to talk?” Credence asks, one hand stroking up and down his spine.
Honestly, no, they don’t. This isn’t unexpected. Percy’s a little overwhelmed at how the collar makes him feel but, really, he expected that too. He knew being collared would be intense, because he’s not used to giving up this much control to anyone and couldn’t imagine it would make him feel so…safe. “Later?” he offers.
“Later,” Credence confirms, tightening his grip just enough to make Percy feel even more secure. “You need rest…God, you did so well,” he says, and pleasure sweeps through Percy once again, nothing too much, just the tingling contentment of knowing his Dom thinks he did something right. Credence squeezes him again, then kisses his forehead in another offer of tender benediction. “Sleep,” he commands.
And as he always does with Credence, Percy obeys.