[ He manages that, but only barely because fingers digging into his thigh is kind of uncomfortable and - he has to get through the desire to tense up and squirm, in order to pointedly relax the muscle around the pressure.]
( he leaves it open-ended as a statement. they both know what shrapnel does to a body. then, satisfied, he lets his hand trail back up the length of crais' spine. )
C'mon, old man. Up you get.
( somehow, that playful little teasing statement became a mark of endearment along the way. )
He pushes up onto his hands and knees and then stands but with a theatrical groan. He is not stiff. He is not uncomfortable. He is lose, relax, and not even nervous, really, anymore.
Hence the ease with which he actually does stand, and even that he turns and gives Cyram a brief, biting kiss before moving toward the dresser.]
Someday, the desire to retaliate by calling you kid will overcome how wrong that is.
( he follows crais up, and presses up against his back, reaching around for his wrists. he positions his hands where he wants them against the dresser, and while he's so near he kicks crais' feet a little further apart, resulting in his thigh briefly between the other man's. he grinds a little forward, hands at crais' hips to move him into the proper position, and then steps back. the switch into headspace is near instant, and that playful little attitude drops off like a piece of clothing he's shucked and discarded at the door.
with his hand at the small of crais' back — )
Thirty strokes. Count them out, call me sir. Safeword if you need to stop. Say 'yellow' if you need me to slow down.
( he reaches for the cane crais had selected, and swishes it a couple times through the air to get the weight and the feel of it, judging where he'll have to stand to avoid the tip clipping his hip on a wraparound. he brings it down against his own thigh with weight behind it, just to gauge exactly how much pressure he can use on crais, and thus satisfied, he steps back into place. )
Hold that posture. If you lose it, I'll wait for you to get back to it. We'll do twenty over clothing, ten naked. Understood?
[ He doesn't resist where or how he is positioned, but he isn't actively helpful, either, because while he understands the general position well enough he doesn't know exactly what Cyram needs. It seems easiest and safest to let himself be moved.
He does adjust his feet slightly once Cyram's back a bit, but it's only to fix his balance and his center of gravity.
He takes an unconsciously deep breath the moment Cyram step back and-- this time the change in demeanor doesn't throw him at all, this time. It's the timing. He's more confident, they had time to connect, he just feels better about it.
He isn't altered, but he slides into a different mental state (not altered, not dropped just differently focused) at more or less the same time.
Instructions heard and understood - and recognition that he can slow, pause, and stop this with either words or physical movement. He knows what is expected of him and what is going to happen. He's actually gotten comfortable with it.
Most of it.
The sir thing? He's not sure about but what the frell, he'll give it a try. If he forgets and fails, he forgets and fails. Maybe it'll end up being something that helps him draw some lines and develop a positive association. Like Cyram's hands around his wrists or Cyram behind him.]
( he reaches for crais' shoulder, gives it a bit of squeeze of warning, and then he begins. each blow falls measured, sharp. he varies where he strikes, so it's not always on the same spot. the pressure too is never twice the same, though it's by design rather than an accident of human strength. he's lived in this body for so long that his awareness of it goes well beyond instinct.
the rhythm is easy to fall into. the cane cuts the air, the bite of it against crais' ass, the lift of his arm to do it again. halfway to the twenty mark, he switches sides and hands so that it's even from both sides. )
[ At first he's just tense, and pain is just pain. Vaguely turned on, sure, but the first couple of strokes that's in spite of the sting of the cane, not because of.
After that, though, and with the counting, it gradually slides toward something else. It still hurts, yes, and in fact it hurts more, but it's a different kind of thing. It's intense sensation. There's heat, that builds in and under his skin, a jar and almost follow through vibration.
His breathing finds a rhythm that follows the one Cyram is using, with the inhale and on the back swing and exhale with the stroke. His voice in counting goes from military precise to something just a little softer around the edges. His hands on the dresser relax. Not huge stuff, but good stuff.
The side change is about the point he yelps, but it's not a real protest it's a...deeper relaxation of demeanor.
He discovers he likes this (for the intensity and simplicity) in some corner of his brain that isn't... wrapped in softening fog.
Around the fifteenth stroke the 'sir' goes away, though. Nothing intentional just... falling out of his vocabulary. He doesn't stop counting, though. ]
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notleavingquietly) wrote2037-07-18 11:23 pm
no subject
[ He manages that, but only barely because fingers digging into his thigh is kind of uncomfortable and - he has to get through the desire to tense up and squirm, in order to pointedly relax the muscle around the pressure.]
no subject
( he leaves it open-ended as a statement. they both know what shrapnel does to a body. then, satisfied, he lets his hand trail back up the length of crais' spine. )
C'mon, old man. Up you get.
( somehow, that playful little teasing statement became a mark of endearment along the way. )
no subject
They both know old man is an endearment, too.
He pushes up onto his hands and knees and then stands but with a theatrical groan. He is not stiff. He is not uncomfortable. He is lose, relax, and not even nervous, really, anymore.
Hence the ease with which he actually does stand, and even that he turns and gives Cyram a brief, biting kiss before moving toward the dresser.]
Someday, the desire to retaliate by calling you kid will overcome how wrong that is.
no subject
with his hand at the small of crais' back — )
Thirty strokes. Count them out, call me sir. Safeword if you need to stop. Say 'yellow' if you need me to slow down.
( he reaches for the cane crais had selected, and swishes it a couple times through the air to get the weight and the feel of it, judging where he'll have to stand to avoid the tip clipping his hip on a wraparound. he brings it down against his own thigh with weight behind it, just to gauge exactly how much pressure he can use on crais, and thus satisfied, he steps back into place. )
Hold that posture. If you lose it, I'll wait for you to get back to it. We'll do twenty over clothing, ten naked. Understood?
no subject
He does adjust his feet slightly once Cyram's back a bit, but it's only to fix his balance and his center of gravity.
He takes an unconsciously deep breath the moment Cyram step back and-- this time the change in demeanor doesn't throw him at all, this time. It's the timing. He's more confident, they had time to connect, he just feels better about it.
He isn't altered, but he slides into a different mental state (not altered, not dropped just differently focused) at more or less the same time.
Instructions heard and understood - and recognition that he can slow, pause, and stop this with either words or physical movement. He knows what is expected of him and what is going to happen. He's actually gotten comfortable with it.
Most of it.
The sir thing? He's not sure about but what the frell, he'll give it a try. If he forgets and fails, he forgets and fails. Maybe it'll end up being something that helps him draw some lines and develop a positive association. Like Cyram's hands around his wrists or Cyram behind him.]
Understood, sir.
[ Not smart assery, just military precision. ]
no subject
the rhythm is easy to fall into. the cane cuts the air, the bite of it against crais' ass, the lift of his arm to do it again. halfway to the twenty mark, he switches sides and hands so that it's even from both sides. )
no subject
After that, though, and with the counting, it gradually slides toward something else. It still hurts, yes, and in fact it hurts more, but it's a different kind of thing. It's intense sensation. There's heat, that builds in and under his skin, a jar and almost follow through vibration.
His breathing finds a rhythm that follows the one Cyram is using, with the inhale and on the back swing and exhale with the stroke. His voice in counting goes from military precise to something just a little softer around the edges. His hands on the dresser relax. Not huge stuff, but good stuff.
The side change is about the point he yelps, but it's not a real protest it's a...deeper relaxation of demeanor.
He discovers he likes this (for the intensity and simplicity) in some corner of his brain that isn't... wrapped in softening fog.
Around the fifteenth stroke the 'sir' goes away, though. Nothing intentional just... falling out of his vocabulary. He doesn't stop counting, though. ]