Defiance

He stepped back to admire his work. He could not see too clearly since his glasses had slipped and fallen off midway, but he could see enough to make himself smile.

Arthur on the floor gagged and bound hands and feet; wrists cuffed to the radiator, ankles tied together, his boxers and trousers pulled down so he was exposed. The belt used as a makeshift rope for his ankles had been put to better use as a whip, but Arthur's kicking had warranted them being tied. Still, he had done enough. He could see the thin red lines running up the back of Arthur's thighs and rear, a few of them bleeding where the skin had split.

He kicked his broken glasses aside as he advanced towards Arthur again. Arthur shrank from him, but his eyes were burning with defiance. He would have to fix that, he thought. He would have to fix a lot of Arthur.

Roughly, he pulled the lower half of Arthur towards himself and arranged so he was knelt in between Arthur's legs. He spat into his hand, slicked his fingers with saliva, and inserted them into Arthur; not the best of lubrication, but it would serve. Besides, he had not intended for it to be pleasant for Arthur. Arthur's only protest was a choked noise. He was still glaring with sharp, unyielding eyes, but he was not fighting back.

He made quick work of preparing Arthur's ass and, with a new urgency, undid the zip of his jeans and brought out his erection. Arthur's eyes narrowed further still but there was something else stirring in them. Was it fear? Anticipation?

He spat once more into his hand and slicked himself up, rolling back his foreskin. Arthur had fallen so still his breathing seemed to have stopped altogether. His hands were gripping the chains of his cuffs so tightly his knuckles had turned white, betraying some of his tension, but his defiance never wavered. His expression was actually strangely bland. Perhaps he had given up.

He found that he did not quite like this meek Arthur after all. It was true that he wanted Arthur subdued, but there was no fun in it if Arthur gave in first. He wanted the pleasure of beating him into submission.

Gripping Arthur's thighs hard enough to bruise, he spread Arthur and pushed himself in. Arthur let out a pained, strangled noise, and for a moment his defiance slipped. The preparation had not been adequate at all, of course, but he carried on regardless, thrusting in once again. Arthur made the same pitiful sound, but a little softer. As they gained more lubrication (blood, judging by the metallic tang invading his nostrils), they slid into a smoother rhythm, and slowly he increased the speed of his thrusts.

The chains of Arthur's handcuffs jangled against the radiator as he was fucked; he had thrown his head back and was groaning as the thrusts came harder, quicker, building up a punishing rhythm. It could not have been the slightest bit pleasant for him. His muscles were clenched tight and provided resistance; undoubtedly painful for him if exquisite for his tormentor.

He shifted the angle of his thrusts, tilting Arthur further back and slamming into him rough, hard and quick, and he was rewarded with a new sound; a tinge of a whine to his groans. Arthur's breathing had grown shallower, his pretty green eyes softening and clouding over with pleasure – a pleasure tinged with discomfort, but pleasure nonetheless – and he brought it up a notch by grabbing Arthur, stroking him, watching avidly as Arthur came quickly undone.

Arthur jerked bodily as he came, spilling liberally over the plains of his bruised abdomen as he tossed back his head, making a feral sound that stayed locked in his throat. Then he slumped back. His entire weight hung on the handcuffs which bit savagely into his wrists, clinking together slightly.

He kept thrusting into Arthur, kept up the gruelling pace as he seek his own release, and then – yes, there! He peaked with a delicious thrill, a groan falling from his lips as he came inside Arthur's ass.

Flushed and sated, he nuzzled against Arthur, planting an absent-minded kiss to his sweat-drenched temple as he stayed connected still. Then slowly, as he regained his breath, he pulled out, wiping himself clean with a corner of Arthur's shirt. He did up his jeans again and stood up. He was halfway towards the door when he thought to turn for one last look of his sweet Arthur.

"Sleep tight," he said, flicking off the light switch.

Hot, angry tears slid down Arthur's cheeks as he closed the door on him.