Another time it might be fun to sit together and fill in the lines more thoroughly: work out what Lucillus had done, or what he was doing, that made him so awful. Explore just what Julia would have taught Clu. But these characters served their purposes for now: he made Clu grateful to have come into his present luck, with the sense he'd just squeaked past disaster, and she made him pliant and curious, but careful.
It made a good base to play from, and one that was gathering to an urgent and intense interest in his new circumstances. This was, of course, helped along by every delicate brush of sensation. Clu had no way of knowing where the next one was coming from, or when, and it shortened his breath, put a delicious shiver in him that wouldn't quite quit. Just listening to his alpha's words, focusing on and responding to his questions in a way that best fit their game, took up a share of his control.
Never mind the rest of it, not least the sharp-soft pulse of want where he was trying to rise to the occasion and just--couldn't, curled down into a snug curve by the steady pressure of the cage. It was almost like his code-brother had him firmly in hand. Certainly he had him at his mercy. It felt so good already, and he had so far to go.
Clu took a quick sharp breath and let that low note of approval wash down his spine. He focused on opening his hands--when had he clenched them?--in a bid to steady himself.
His code-brother granted their little game was diverting, warm delight on his tongue like he'd taken a sip of something good.
And Master had a question for him. The soft slither of metal was Clu's only cue that something else had changed, that his alpha must be standing in front of him. And the touches--Clu really did almost dance for him, then, a soft gasp pulled out of him on feather tips.
"I--!" Oh, oh, what would work here; he swallowed heavily, working to slow his breathing. Right now, he didn't have to imagine feeling empty, wet slit cooled to a tingle against the leather even as the sleeve in front tightened its grip.
"Oh, Master, I--" Nothing play-acted about the ache in his voice, "just, ah, just over a year."
Roughly four heats then, or five, if Master decided he should wait this one out. Not so long it was dangerous, but more than enough to drive him appreciative and starving into beta hands and keep him there. Definitely enough to make him eager for the chance at more. Ready not just to submit to anything, not just to accept however he was handled, but also eager to prove himself to his newest Master.
Who wanted to know if he had ever been used, in this system, for the purposes it asked of him.
Who wanted to know if he'd ever been bred.
The nubs of his confinement jabbed at him a little for that and he curled his toes tight in the carpet with a soft, urgent noise. An answer was expected.
"No. Mistress didn't want that part of me," he shook his head, lowered it, "but also forbade it to anyone else."
And his last house had gone the way of poor church mice. Which left one option. Clu opened his hands by sheer force of will, palms flat, beseeching.
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ninetydegrees
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It made a good base to play from, and one that was gathering to an urgent and intense interest in his new circumstances. This was, of course, helped along by every delicate brush of sensation. Clu had no way of knowing where the next one was coming from, or when, and it shortened his breath, put a delicious shiver in him that wouldn't quite quit. Just listening to his alpha's words, focusing on and responding to his questions in a way that best fit their game, took up a share of his control.
Never mind the rest of it, not least the sharp-soft pulse of want where he was trying to rise to the occasion and just--couldn't, curled down into a snug curve by the steady pressure of the cage. It was almost like his code-brother had him firmly in hand. Certainly he had him at his mercy. It felt so good already, and he had so far to go.
Clu took a quick sharp breath and let that low note of approval wash down his spine. He focused on opening his hands--when had he clenched them?--in a bid to steady himself.
His code-brother granted their little game was diverting, warm delight on his tongue like he'd taken a sip of something good.
And Master had a question for him. The soft slither of metal was Clu's only cue that something else had changed, that his alpha must be standing in front of him. And the touches--Clu really did almost dance for him, then, a soft gasp pulled out of him on feather tips.
"I--!" Oh, oh, what would work here; he swallowed heavily, working to slow his breathing. Right now, he didn't have to imagine feeling empty, wet slit cooled to a tingle against the leather even as the sleeve in front tightened its grip.
"Oh, Master, I--" Nothing play-acted about the ache in his voice, "just, ah, just over a year."
Roughly four heats then, or five, if Master decided he should wait this one out. Not so long it was dangerous, but more than enough to drive him appreciative and starving into beta hands and keep him there. Definitely enough to make him eager for the chance at more. Ready not just to submit to anything, not just to accept however he was handled, but also eager to prove himself to his newest Master.
Who wanted to know if he had ever been used, in this system, for the purposes it asked of him.
Who wanted to know if he'd ever been bred.
The nubs of his confinement jabbed at him a little for that and he curled his toes tight in the carpet with a soft, urgent noise. An answer was expected.
"No. Mistress didn't want that part of me," he shook his head, lowered it, "but also forbade it to anyone else."
And his last house had gone the way of poor church mice. Which left one option. Clu opened his hands by sheer force of will, palms flat, beseeching.
"If you wish, Master, that's yours to do."