[...All right, so maybe he lied; there's no such thing as being ready for the way Adrian snatches him up like he's a ragdoll and presses him down into the mattress. Despite himself, a strangled noise escapes his collared throat as his arms are pinned, as weight bears down on him to hold him there. Of course he struggles, testing the power of Adrian's hold, and of course it does absolutely nothing.
Obeying had surprised him, with how good it had felt to empty his mind and put himself wholly in Adrian's hands. This is, to some degree, just another facet of the same sensation — the freedom to struggle and fight and accept that he's always going to lose in the end.
And he does. He twists and he squirms, and when their hips rub together he gasps for a breath that isn't nearly enough, and it does nothing. He could thrash and fight all he wants, and none of it would mean anything.
And, he recognizes deep in the back of his mind, with one word, he could stop it. This, he's never without the power to stop. He could call Star, and Adrian would stop. Pinned, trapped, trembling, caught — he's still the one holding the reins.]
'Cause I'm not sorry.
[He bucks his hips, squirming, like he's trying to unbalance Adrian and throw him off, while knowing full well how irrelevant a protest it will prove to be.]
What do you want me to do, lick your boots? For— aah! — f-forget it...
no subject
Obeying had surprised him, with how good it had felt to empty his mind and put himself wholly in Adrian's hands. This is, to some degree, just another facet of the same sensation — the freedom to struggle and fight and accept that he's always going to lose in the end.
And he does. He twists and he squirms, and when their hips rub together he gasps for a breath that isn't nearly enough, and it does nothing. He could thrash and fight all he wants, and none of it would mean anything.
And, he recognizes deep in the back of his mind, with one word, he could stop it. This, he's never without the power to stop. He could call Star, and Adrian would stop. Pinned, trapped, trembling, caught — he's still the one holding the reins.]
'Cause I'm not sorry.
[He bucks his hips, squirming, like he's trying to unbalance Adrian and throw him off, while knowing full well how irrelevant a protest it will prove to be.]
What do you want me to do, lick your boots? For— aah! — f-forget it...