Work Text:
Hours have passed and he can still feel the strike of leather, the faded stripes a brand across his back. He remembers the fire of each stroke, closes his eyes and can hear the crack in the air, the slap on his flesh. He stretches, presses into the mattress, mentally outlines the lash's marks on the sheets.
Movement in the kitchen, the click of a burner before the gas ignites in blue flame. He smiles, but what he craves is not domestic. His hunger is hidden, only visible within these walls. Slow breaths in, out, and he waits, needing more.