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When the door to his lair slides open, the boy flinches on the tile. It draws a smile to Slade’s lips, and a blooming look of panic into Billy’s wet blue eyes.
It still doesn’t stop the terrified, sharp rise of, “Scha-hahn! Scha-hhahn!” from the boy’s throat as Slade crosses the tile to meet him. Leisurely, like he has all the time in the world at his disposal.
Billy abandons the attempt as he draws closer, his empty hands lifting to divest himself of the gag holding his pretty lips open wide, locked behind his teeth and his skull. They get as far as his waist before the thick band of leather binding the two cuffs snaps tight against his back and his shoulders lock from the resistance.
A high, panicked little mewl tumbles from the boy’s mouth, followed by a string of drool that drips to meet the pool collecting down the front of his shirt. It makes Slade’s smile widen, makes him reach forward to run fingers through the mess on Billy’s chin, stained with spit and tears that are still flowing.
A noise of protest rises from the boy’s throat, perhaps a denial, perhaps a plea, that tugs behind Slade’s navel for all the wrong reasons. Billy leers back, and Slade huffs a short, breathless laugh when the collar around his throat snaps taunt to choke it from him.
“Easy, boy,” he soothes, fingers climbing to hook into the metal arms that protrude from the silver ring holding the boy open, exposed. Slade traces the soft red marks on his cheeks, rubs the salt of tears into the cuts as the Billy sobs and whimpers. The distorted sound is music in Slade’s ears, made even sweeter when the boy stills and slumps in his sit. “Good boy.”
Those blue eyes flicker up to meet him, depthless and desperate. Slade could drink that blue down for days. There’s a question in them, a plea lined in a demand.
Slade ignores it. “Your malefactor is still withholding payment,” Slade murmurs, threading his fingers through the boy’s dark locks just to feel the minute tremors that rise up his spine to meet them. “Apparently they’re having buyer’s remorse. That suits me perfectly fine.”
Those brows knit, a grunt prying from Billy’s lips when Slade straightens from his crouch at the boy’s side. Those eyes follow him up, widening when Slade’s large hands fall to his belt. The noises sharpen, definitely more on the edge of denial when he tries to scramble back.
Slade takes a step forward and - carefully, deliberately - presses his boot down on the length of the boy’s leash. Traps the leather beneath the tread of his shoe, and the choked shout of surprise Billy gives him when he tips forward makes mirth bubble in Slade’s throat.
Billy’s hands shift, trying to counteract the loss of balance, and come up short again. When he looks up to meet Slade’s hard gaze, there are fresh tears blooming.
Slade reaches down to reclaim his handful of dark hair. From above, features scrunched in pain, Billy almost reminds Slade of another time, another boy.
Those hands hesitate a moment, before slipping back down to the cold tile as Slade tips the boy’s head back, holding his throat open so he can see the wet close of muscle through his gagged lips. There’s a blush rising on the boy’s cheeks, a sheen of humiliation to add to the red line around his eyes.
“The great Captain Marvel. Reduced to a snivelling, sobbing little boy.”
He thrusts two fingers into Billy’s hot mouth, smirking at the wet gargle that greets him. Those hands twitch on the tile, those fat tears finally spilling as Billy holds his gaze, imploring. Pleading.
“Or maybe you were just a weak little boy all along.”
The slide down to the tip of Billy’s pliant tongue is punctuated with a sharp, short shove into the boy’s throat again that makes his chest spasm. Makes his head dip as the muscle protests, flexing around the digits, and his teeth scrape on Slade’s long fingers.
It’s not too far to reach into the back of the boy’s mouth, and the realisation amuses Slade with the implications. His cock twitches at the thought of that longue lathering something fuller.
He reaches down with a sigh to palm himself through his jeans, not missing when Billy’s eyes flick down to follow it, his expression pinching.
His tongue flattens though, compliant as Slade slips down his zipper. It’s a beautiful sight, the boy sitting at his feet, shaking and ready to take his cock. Whether it’s fear or resignation making Billy’s shoulders slump into a docile line, the sight makes Slade sigh as he pulls his member free.
There’s a soft gasp when he does, a hitch of fear in the boy’s inhale when Slade drags a calloused palm up the stiffening length. It makes his own pulse jump, spiking with anticipation at the thought of those small lips wrapped around his considerable girth. At how tight he’ll feel, how warm that velvet heat will be.
That terror returns, and Billy flinches beneath his grip when Slade takes a half-step forward, the toe of his boot nudging the boy’s knee. His palm tightens on the upstroke, a groan bitten down as that throat flexes, beckoning him in.
“Say it again,” he finds himself saying, and Billy frowns, before it clears with numb resignation, “your magic word, boy.”
The metal of the gag clacks against pearly teeth as Billy’s jaw flexes, a last ditch effort to rid himself of the device. It gouges lines into his cheeks, as if in reprimand, and those eyes squeeze shut briefly as the boy gathers himself.
Slade waits, idly tracing the head of his cock through the spittle on the boy’s chin as the hero shudders and collects his resolve.
“Scha-” A flex of that throat, the wet sound of saliva displaced. “Schahahn.”
Slade’s smile is slow and cruel, depraved even by his standards, as those beautiful tears roll over the boy’s rosy cheeks. “One more time for me.”
A sob, weak and forlorn, as Billy’s hands curl into fists on the cold tile. “Schahahn?”
Slade lines up the head of his cock with the boy’s plush lips, noticing when he stiffens as the member slips into his mouth, slow and deliberate. Drags it out before sliding back in at an excruciating pace to make sure the boy feels every millimetre.
“You’re no hero, Billy. Just a scared, helpless little boy.”
That tongue curls around the head of Slade’s cock, soothing the glans as Slade groans and rocks forward, girth straining against the tightness of the gag. A cold counterpoint to the warmth of Billy’s throat.
Billy’s Adam’s apple bobs against the thick leather of the collar as Slade works himself deeper, sighing once the thickest point of his cock is nestled firmly in Billy’s mouth, the tip nudging the boy’s gag reflex. He winces when Slade tightens his grip on his dark hair, deftly manoeuvring his head back to open Billy’s throat further.
Then he smirks, and waits until that throat closes reflexively, saliva dribbling thick from the corners of his mouth - before Slade slams home. The choke that greets him is too late to reject the length Slade forces down his throat, and he groans loudly at the vice.
Billy’s bound hands lift pathetically, frantic as they grab for Slade’s jeans, for an anchoring point, and close short on empty air. There’s a sound of pain from the boy, smothered deep in his gullet as Slade rocks forward. A desperation in his imploring gaze as his nostrils flare around the desire to breathe.
Slade pulls back after a heady, indulgent minute, revelling in the slick sounds as Billy gasps in a lungful of air. His face is flushed, his eyes wide and horrified, glimmering that entrancing blue. More spit slides down his chin, dripping to the tile between his shaking knees.
With the grip he has on the boy’s locks, Slade wraps a second, steadying hand around the side of the boy’s head, pulling him back down onto his cock to halt the protests in his throat. The slick sounds are a reward in and of themselves, and they only spur Slade into a rapid tempo, yanking Billy down hard to meet his thrusts.
It’s barely a full minute before Slade’s pulling back, head flush with the metal of the gag as he comes in Billy’s mouth, cum shooting hard down that working throat. The boy gives him a weak, dejected sound for the effort, lashes thick with tears when Slade pulls out completely.
He doesn’t release his grip on the boy’s hair yet, and confusion laces sluggishly through that wet gaze before the first glob of cum spills over Billy’s raw, red lips. His features pinch, a sob rattling his chest as Slade watches the slow progress of his spend sliding down his captive’s chin to join the mess at his feet.
“Maybe I’ll let you out of that gag long enough to say your magic word,” Slade muses, basking in the afterglow simmering hot in his veins. Revels in the small, dejected frame of the boy beneath him. “Give me a chance to use that other mouth too.”
