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Drool pooled down at the tip of Rafe’s tongue, pathetic offering, worse yet for it went unrecognized; it stretched down from his tongue in long strings, dripping finally, when gravity stole them from him. He let it happen, wouldn’t move, not without direct instruction to.
It was just his hazy eyes that jumped and moved to follow selfish fingers wrapped tight around Barry‘s cock, they turned soft and low on tempting droplets on his glossy tip—Rafe seemed almost hypnotized, or on the sweet verge of passing out, eyes fixed, and tongue still offered.
Saliva ran over his chin, and he barley itched to wipe it off, was fighting instead, against leaning forward just a bit, catch some of Barry’s precious seed, taste him on his lips.
Humiliating to sit there like it—with want—though it was a simple test, and Rafe eager to get it right, prove to Barry there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him, no humiliation he wouldn’t endure. The tests had been playful at first, a slow search for Rafe’s limits with almost innocuous curiosity, that turned sick once Barry realized there were none, dark temptation, though more gut wrenching the feeling then, that it was on him and only him to keep Rafe from giving himself up completely; protective instinct he hadn’t felt before, and excited him far deeper, than Rafe’s unconditional devotion had.
Didn’t harm, to take advantage of it every now and then, fulfilled the boy to please with sacrifice, made his pretty face glow with pride and his little heart jump at praise, and Barry was kind to grant it every now and then, give Rafe the chance to prove what he so desperately needed to feel deserving of Barry’s hands on him, of Barry’s heart in his.
Rafe‘s delicate features twitched, when Barry let go of himself and reached out, hope for his hand on him, hope for fingers down his throat, or dare even hope for the blessing of a rough hand in his hair, pulling that willing mouth on him. Barry did no such thing, he didn’t touch—held his hand out under Rafe’s tongue, stretched out, and let saliva pool in his palm.
Sadness to blue eyes only softened by a sense of pride, over providing at least this, when Barry rubbed his drool over his dick, pumping with delicate, teasing rhythm to his cupped hand. He‘d put down a bottle of water on front of Rafe way earlier, told him to drink up and mocked him a good boy for it. Intent, they called it in court, and Rafe‘s dick throbbed with fear and excitement over plotted cruelty.
Barry let his thumb run up his tip, squeezing out precum Rafe drooled ever more at and rubbing it over his pink tip, holding his cock like a present to take, though Rafe knew the offer wasn’t genuine.
“Want this?“, he asked.
Rafe’s eyes were low on his hard length, panting now, and trying not to; any breath could be movement too much, that Barry didn’t initiate, didn’t approve. Rafe didn’t need to speak, he was drooling with his tongue out, he was on his knees, for just a taste of him. Was holding back on squirming, and couldn’t help and tremble still, sometimes, with sheer impatience for his cock.
“Tell me“, Barry slurred, released him finally. “Tell me what you want, Babyboy“
Took effort to pry his eyes off Barry’s dick and look up, breathe an answer that felt like the premature spilling of your shameful load, involuntary and unmistakable in all he failed to hide, desperation once leaked could not be taken back.
“Be good“
Barry pushed air out of his nose, an astonished, silent laugh. Wasn’t so much mocking, was more stumped adoration at that simple embarrassing truth. Desire that told too much on him, and a sense of dread, for Barry and all this might never be enough to make it true, him good, in all the ways he lacked, and desperate attempt from both of them, to try, and make it, just close to enough.
“You are“, Barry said. Empty phrases, Rafe didn’t believe this kind of stuff till he was choking on all Barry held back now, testing his patience, testing goodness. Longingly, Rafe’s gaze had dropped to Barry’s dick again, he begged without words and Barry heard it all.
“Kiss it“, he said, wasn’t order; was offer, and Rafe blessed to press wet lips against his tip, feel him throb and close his eyes, restraining himself from sinful greed. Pulling back felt like the tearing of skin, Rafe was always proud in pain for Barry, and yet it was unnatural to hurt on command.
“That’s good“, Barry noticed and Rafe gave him a pained smile, distorted on his lips.
There was little to test the kook, little to train, he enjoyed most variations of pain and submitted like the only way he‘d learned to love; restraint though, was what took real strength to warrant honest praise, when Rafe held back on anger, he earned the 'good’s’, when he pulled back all by himself, when he endured lack like he never had, Barry was truly proud and called him not just good, but better even.
“Tongue“, he nodded at him and Rafe stuck out his tongue again, hope flashing blue at possible reward for his patience, for self restraint and all that didn’t feel like him, and better therefore.
And Barry didn’t grant. He knew Rafe‘s strength, or craved his weakness upon breaking, maybe, palmed his dick and didn’t push deep down a willing throat, didn’t lay his tip on a wet tongue and rub against it; didn’t take replacement for his hand, skilled and quick on himself in utter mockery of Rafe’s useless self, there to watch, there to beg, to endure, to prove forced selflessness.
With stupidly hopeful excitement, Rafe noticed Barry getting closer—with none of his help, and he still expected to get a share but Barry was greedy with his pleasure, he held his twitching dick and aimed to miss an open mouth. Cruel, Barry‘s seed fell between Rafe‘s spread fingers on the floor, warm over the back of his hand, wasted where it dripped on the ground.
Rafe stared down in disbelief. This wasn’t a question of whether he deserved even a drop, though awful part of him asked it anyways, it was a question on whether he‘d hold back regardless. He looked up again, as if awaiting command, awaiting permission to lick the floor, or for Barry to spit on his waiting tongue, but Rafe’s pathetic look didn’t even warrant enough pity for that.
Rafe’s patience was stretched thin, and he ready to snap, to cuss and fuck all that and fail; felt impossible almost, to actually stay good now, wanted to jump to his feet and yell instead, wanted to laugh in utter disbelief, at Barry’s cruel play, wanted to take and force, all Barry didn’t give, the tension tore at him and ran over his face like threat, and Barry lovingly pushed him still.
Rafe was angry and calm, was good.
“Wipe it“, Barry said and nodded at him.
The gloss of tears dampened a hateful glare, wasn’t the loss that threatened cries, was how unnecessarily mean it was, to not grant the last of waste. What was the point of it?
It wasn’t for Rafe to question, and he did so anyways. And Barry didn’t say it again, was dangerous like that, and wouldn’t speak an order twice. He just waited.
A grimace split Rafe’s pretty face, he lifted his hand like heavy weight, and ran it over the light pink fabric of his shirt, smearing cum under Barry’s patient eyes. Rafe’s frustration was showing; no matter how much he tried to hide it, in equal parts for obedience and pride, an unwillingness to show how much it took, to follow through, and give up on leftovers pathetic to crave.
“You mad with me?“, Barry asked, humor to his voice, if not plain ridicule.
Rafe looked bitter with his teeth clenched together, and Barry never even told him to close his mouth. His stare was icy cold, was fight behind those eyes, before they softened up. He nodded, admitted. “Yeah“. Closed his eyes and opened them only slowly, lifting heavy lids.
"Good“, Barry smiled. "Good boy, now. Get up“.
Anger burned too much, to feel the warmth of praise—it‘d take hours to sink in, for Rafe to smile at strength that didn’t feel like his. He ached from holding position only once he left it, his legs felt stiff when Barry made him stumble, pulling him closer with a finger hooked into a belt loop of his pants. Opened them quickly, tugging to let them fall to his ankles and free his dick.
Cruel for Barry to prove contrast, how he got to touch Rafe whenever he so pleased, how he’d take all of him now, every inch and every drop, while Rafe got none.