Jealousy With a Halo - Part Eight - Face

[indigo_angels]

Face:-
It doesn’t matter how much I think I know the old man, Hannibal always manages to surprise me. Tonight, though really takes the biscuit. I’d thought he’d had enough of me, that the twenty times round the range and his little show with Jessica Rabbit were a polite way of saying, ‘Yeah, piss off now kid, I’m moving on.’ I mean, he certainly wouldn’t be the first to tire of me. Or the last I suspect.

 

But this? The out and out seduction? No, that was a surprise. Didn’t he realise that all he needed to do was ask, or even just look meaningfully in my direction? God, I’d have been stripped and ready for him at a moment’s notice, any place, any time. Always.

 

So, as he lays me down on the bed and lowers himself to lie, full length, on top of me, I’m confused. But I’m also aroused, and with me, that always takes precedence.

 

It’s strange that he’s still fully clothed, even got his boots on, but as he returns to plundering my mouth, there is something so utterly fantastic about the rough feel of his jeans, his buttons, his belt on my skin, that I push up into him and hear his soft moan in my mouth as I feel his answering erection.

 

My fingers grab at his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans and trying to get to the hot skin underneath, but suddenly his hands are on mine, first of all pinning them to the bed at my sides, but then pulling them up, above my head, his mouth on mine all the time, not letting me move, not letting me think. Which is why it’s a total shock when I feel the cold metal against my wrists and, somewhere in my fuzzy awareness, hear the unmistakable ‘snick’ of cuffs locking shut.

 

I wrench my mouth away from his and he lets me go as I tug on the cuffs and realise that they are already looped around the slats of the head board, “What the hell?” I whisper, trying to focus on his far too close face in the darkness.

 

“Don’t worry,” he won’t meet my eye, instead dropping his mouth to start kissing a trail down my chest, and I am worried, more than worried, “I promise you are safe.” Safe? Safe? Why the hell does he need to promise me that?

 

I lift my head, but he still won’t look at me. “Hannibal, I-” but my protest is succinctly silenced as he takes my cock into his mouth and my head hits the pillow in defeat as fireworks explode behind my closed eyelids. I have to admit that maybe this isn’t so bad after all...

 

He’s only done this once before, without the cuffs of course, on our first night together over six months ago now, and he is so magnificent at it I wonder why we’ve never done it since. I can’t keep my hips still and his hands are busy, one following his mouth along my length, the other one rolling my balls, edging me closer and closer with every second, so I’m free to buck up into that gloriously hot mouth of his.

 

This is spectacular, and I know that when I come I’ll feel satisfied for the first time in this whole two weeks of pining for him with shallow, empty, ‘smokescreen’ fucks. But just as my stomach starts to tighten, and the worn out muscles of my calves tense up in anticipation, he’s gone, and my cock, cold now with the saliva and the night air, is bucking up hopelessly into empty space, and I hear myself let out a very unmanly whimper of disappointment as the promised high rolls away from me.

 

“Don’t worry, lieutenant,” and I frown as I hear the edge to Hannibal’s voice, “You’ll get what you want, just as soon as you get what you deserve.”

 

I try to push the fuzzy lust fuelled cotton wool from my brain so that I can process what he’s saying to me, but as I open my mouth to demand an explanation, he’s there before me, shoving a bandana in place and tying it tight around the back of my head and suddenly this thing, whatever it is, takes on a whole new angle.

 

Hard learnt survival skills kick in and I buck my hips up into the air, trying to get enough leverage to throw him off me. I’m dangerous even with my hands tied, and he, more than anyone else, should know that.

 

“Steady, kid, steady,” he whispers as he spreads himself across my thighs, obviously knowing the direction my thoughts were heading, “I just need to know you are going to stay quiet, that’s all. I told you, you’re safe, I’d never hurt you.”

 

But this whole thing is so crazy, there is no way that I can just lie back and take it. As I continue to squirm and fight under his weight, the head board shaking with the efforts to free my hands, I hear him swear and then he is reaching under the mattress and bringing out a leather belt and my gut freezes up as unbidden memories of another leather belt and a foster parent that didn’t quite work out, flood into my mind. For just a second I go limp with despair and in that second Hannibal wraps the belt around my knee, fastening it firmly, but not too tightly before leaning down to secure it to the wooden leg at the midpoint of the right side of the bed. In another minute he’s done the other knee, but I’ve given up anyway, what’s the point in fighting anymore? He’s got me.

 

But then, what he obviously doesn’t realise is, that he’s always had me.

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