fe_male | memeboxing

[ ahh shit that backfired horribly one day he will learn to keep his mouth shut

or at least put some kind of filter on it

or something he probably won't but he can at least curse himself for the lack of forethought anyway. he gets all tense again for a moment but just as quickly it fades out, because he's super good at controlling his reactions to things - usually - but it's difficult to extend that to your whole body when you're already on alert ] This specifically? There are elements here that I can't truthfully say I had fantasized about to such a degree.

[ one day he probably should because once he starts using his mouth she starts specifically looking for ways to go against what he says. well, unless he's using his mouth in a very specific way. if he's talking with it she is all for not letting him have what he asks for unless he asks for it right. ]

Which parts had you thought about? [ A thoughtful hmmm almost against his chest, mouth against the edge of the reactor, and her fingers drift down to trace the insides of his thighs. ] You didn't answer the other questions.

Thought it was a multiple choice. Pick one then move on. [ As to why he ignored the other questions. Either way - not really, not really, and answered. [ Whatever. Answering questions - if she wants him to answer anything, she's gotta be clear about it. No wiggle room. ]

Mostly the tying. The restraint. Not quite so much with all this back and forth, but whatever. Pull me higher, watch me really flail for you. [ No he's not at all attempting to distract or compel you with things you didn't mention wanting. Shhh. ]

[ But messing with him is so much fun, it really is. She takes so much pleasure out of the push and pull. ] Mmm. We'll come back to that later then. [ In just a little bit, because this avenue is - more interesting. The 'for you' part of that sentence jolted somewhere inside her, started something burning that she'd been mostly managing to avoid. Now there's a significant part of her that just wants to see what he'll do for her, how far she can push him. ]

You like how little control you have, right now? [ One hand slides down to behind his knee, pulls it up a little so that that foot can no longer touch the ground, leaving him only the other as stability. ] Is that what you want? To flail for me? [ She runs her hand up and down a little against the back of his knee, lets it back down. ] You're going to have to ask better.

[ Yes, well. That's mean.

As is that, and he winds up being all the more taut for the way he's got to balance now with his arms and the other foot as the points of contact. It's kind of an interesting -- he's not totally sure he doesn't want that, but he's always got a bigger mouth than he does anything else and while it's happy to get him into things, it frequently doesn't know how to finish them. He's got no idea how to ask for that. (The couple of reservations he might have about it probably don't help, but they'll likely fall in the face of the possibility anyway.)

Asking how he should ask didn't really go badly last time per se, but he wouldn't say that it actually worked. ] I thought you were the one with all the asking power here?

[ It's her job, right now.

It's going to have to start figuring out stuff here for him pretty fast if this is actually what he wants, because Max isn't inclined to give him anything he wants right now without a slightly better request than that. She's not even really inclined to touch him beyond her palms feather light on his thighs, because he's still being difficult. ]

I don't ask. I say things, and you do them. You have to ask.

[ That's totally not a low, high pitched, whatever-it-actually-is from the back of his throat. Just brushing against him, leaving him so tense and alternating between being blissfully free of thoughts and trying furiously to figure out what it is he wants his irritating mouth to actually get out.

At least by now he's being difficult because he's stalling, rather than just being difficult? ]

I ask for you to do things. For you to tell me to do things I can do. I'm pretty sure there's residual trauma, and they handled it poorly, in my opinion, and those of everyone around us if the looks they turned our way were anything to go by. Please touch me. Come on. Anything but this breezy, gentle, bullshit. It's too much, not enough, it's just --

[ Mildly better. Not all that much, but she guesses she prefers the stalling over the being difficult for the sake of being difficult.

There's silence and absence for a moment after he finishes speaking, but it's because she's pulling the chair back over, using it to adjust him just a little higher, not quite touching the floor anymore. The chair she leaves there, because she's going to need to let him down again quite soon for safety reasons, but also because she can use it for a convenient location to give her support as she leans in and slides her mouth over him, a long slow glide before she pulls away again just long enough to say something. ] You don't come unless you've been given permission. Tell me how they handled it. [ Because that's obviously something he's going to be totally capable of with her mouth back on him, insistent and firm as she keeps one hand on his hip to steady him, make sure he's not swaying too much. ]

[ He listens to whatever it is that she's doing now, just aware that she's pulled away completely again and is moving things, and then - oh, okay, yes, that's definitely. That's a thing. He's okay with that thing. His body sort of does that thing that cats do when they just get longer and longer as you pick them up, but she had mostly gotten that length to appear anyway (wow could that sentence have sounded worse jfc), so there's not a whole lot of difference. It's just more obvious now, more difficult to let his muscles lose their tension, if only because they disagree when he tells them that they should.

She is, of course, also not helping. He can feel her proximity and the heat of her even before she tastes him, but it doesn't do a whole lot more than mitigate the jump in his reaction, the hitch in his breath. It's been more difficult to use part of his lungs with his arms up, is difficult sometimes anyway, and even more effort now, so it's predominately his diaphragm and lower lobes doing all the work, which makes it look sort of like he's trying to breathe through his stomach. Or maybe his liver. That would be hilarious. He's been trying to breathe with his liver for years now. Either way. She asked him a question, right? Sort of. She told him to do something, anyway. He ought to get started. ]

First it was fine. [ In his opinion. Ransom paid, he went back home, he doesn't actually remember too much about it, which in his mind means that there wasn't anything important to remember. ] Less impressed as it kept happening. More negative.

[ She runs one hand down his side as he stretches and settles, just getting a feel for the tension in it and the way his body is trying to reach the floor she's temporarily denied it.

She's very rarely helping, in this particular setting. She rarely wants to, and in fact generally actively wants to make things more difficult for him. It's the way he moves and talks when things are made more difficult for him, she just really enjoys it. And yes, she did ask him a question, and when he answers she rewards it with her free hand joining her mouth, working on a rhythm and making sure she can reach all of him. Though she does have to come away again for a moment to ask her next question, her voice thick with arousal and needing a little more breath beneath it itself, something she's not trying to hide. He can't see her, so he gets this. ]

How negative? [ The question is brief and simple, direct as she can make it because she's a little occupied in getting back to hollowing her mouth around him, giving pressure and waiting for his answer. ]

[ He hangs, and he doesn't move very much, if only to appreciate the sensation of hanging. He kind of likes the stretch it pulls out from him, the tension all along him. And her mouth, jesus, if she wants him to answer questions. ]

How negative? [ He says, stalling, because god, she's magnificent and knows exactly what she's doing and yet-- ] Depennds on which one you cared about. Most cared about dad. Me and something else drove him to drinking, where he tended to be angry. Mom was just happy to see me home, but her anger was within. Never in front of me. Had to put two and two together and come up with one and one on my own.

[ She wants him to answer questions. She just also wants him to make other noises and reward him for answering the questions, and this is how she's doing that.

She listens, pulls her mouth away and then returns with just her tongue for now inbetween speaking, slowly and carefully ensuring that she's reached all of him and made sure it received some attention. ] Which one did you care about?

[ Well she's getting both, she's overachieving, be all you can be, &c. &c. She's doing fantastically, really. His breathing hitches again when she pulls off, abdomen tightens when she returns with such careful deliberateness. It takes him a couple of attempts to swallow before he can reply, and when he does it's even lower than it had been before, like the pull of everything is causing it to sink further and further into his chest. ] I just wanted attention. Didn't care who it was from.

[ She loves the difficulty of his answers right now, how much effort he's having to put into concentration. And yeah, maybe that's not very fair of her, asking him questions and making it hard for him to answer them, but she finds it's the best way to get the actual answer rather than some bullshitted version. ] Did you get it?

[ Yes, well, even his subconscious had figured that one was coming, so this answer doesn't take quite as long. ] I get it now. [ Which technically implies the 'no' without actually making him say it, even though there's a fairly solid chance she will anyway. And possibly even elaborate, since his answer could also be viewed as sidestepping a real answer, which was what all of this was actually about. ]

[ Nope, not good enough. There's a pause and then she's pulling back, hands still resting on his thighs but leaving that the only contact for the moment. ] That wasn't an answer, Tony. [ It wasn't any kind of an answer, and he should know better than to think she's going to let that slide very far at all. ] Try again.

[ He grits his teeth and clenches his fists and pulls up a little bit, all in frustration, before slowly, slowly, relaxing out again. At least, as much as he's able to do so right now. ] It just wasn't one that you liked. [ ...ohhh. Wow he doesn't usually regret things that fast, and he tries to pull himself all the way up if she lets him do it, just because for some reason it feels like a thing to do. Either way, he comes back to where he was, and doesn't really have the arm strength to do it properly at this point anyhow - he's been tense and they've been above his head for too long. ] I didn't get it from the people I wanted it from. [ And he says that and then immediately knows her most likely next question. ] Not from them. Not enough. [ And that's something else too, that bothers him when he thinks back and does remember normalcy and his mother showing him things and his father asking about school - did he just want more attention than they were even capable of giving? Maybe it was his fault, he needed too much, he was the reason that they became the way that they did, formal and distant and buried in machines and art and whiskey and gin. He saw them occasionally in the papers after he'd started boarding school. They seemed happier - and you couldn't trust the faces people made for the papers, but what if those were thinner masks? What if?

Anyway. ] Next question please.

[ Yeah, that's something he might need to regret saying. Her eyes narrow and she slides one hand down his leg to a knee, finds a nerve ending and presses it just for a moment, just a sharp reminder of who's supposed to be listening to whom here. But he does answer after that moment of waiting, and she considers and then lets him have her hand around his dick again, slowly setting up an even pace. ] But you loved them anyways? [ Because there's not - he doesn't talk of them the way people talk when they hate their parents. It's mixed feelings, but she doesn't think she's ever heard hate in it. ]

[ Thank god, and a bit of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding back is released, along with several square pounds of pressure from his body. Just a rhythm, that's all he's asking for right now. The difference between having something fantastic, then nothing at all, and then shortly something also fantastic - he's a little disoriented for a moment or several. Not that he mightn't have said this anyway, but w/e. This is also the point of the whole thing. ] They didn't do anything wrong. Don't ask me why, I don't know.

[ Disorientation isn't something she's particularly opposed to. But she's almost done asking questions, has most of what she wanted from him now. And she knows she can't keep him either literally suspended or this on edge for too much longer without risking something backfiring. ] It's complicated. That's okay. [ Sometimes things just are. Sometimes you can love people even if they're not able to do what's best for you. ] But were you angry then?

[ He's kind of pleased she was okay with that answer. It makes it a lot easier to ignore some annoying voice inside him saying that no shit it was complicated, gee, what turned you on to that? But he doesn't actually care enough to worry about it, because he's not going to say it. He's going to think about the next question, and nothing else. Nothing about how everything is feeling sensitive and hot and raw and definitely not about how steady her hand is, because he's not allowed to do anything here, and certainly not finish until she says so, and so. He's keeping his mouth shut until the answer to the next question presents itself. ]

I was angry about a lot, but not at them. Not until - not until after they died, anyway. But that's normal, right, Jarvis had always said things like that, that things came out when things weren't there anymore. Something like that, I don't fucking know.

[ She's pretty sure that the actual issues behind that are going to someday require more time than she has right now, and it's a tangent from what she started this out wanting to know. She catalogues that information though, quite carefully, leans in close enough that he can feel the warmth from her skin, lips against the skin of his stomach as she speaks. ]

One more question. If you answer it and ask well enough you can come. [ Everything about her movement terribly deliberate right now. ] Do you believe that I will always come find you?

[ Oh, jesus. Not like there's any pressure involved with that or anything.

It's probably a good thing she put that particular restriction on his reply though, because it's one thing to trust someone first without realizing it, another to actually know that you do trust them to the extent that you do - and that revelation is a little strange in and of itself, and accompanied by no small amount of additional inner probing. It's something entirely different, for some reason, to admit to that person that you do, for some reason, in fact trust them to a degree that's more or less simply implicit. It feels almost as baring as anything else he's told her so far, and he squirms with the directness of it just as much as with the warmth of her breath and motion of her hand. She's so controlled though, so deliberate, and there's not a whole lot he can do to escape the focus she's put him under that doesn't consist of giving her what she's asking for.

Which, of course, in and of itself makes him less willing to give it to her. He holds out stubbornly for a little while, the answer he's going to give fairly obvious but one he's still - for some reason - ill prepared to provide. Eventually, of course, the pressure both physically and otherwise provide an admirable incentive. As per the norm - because he's a genius but obstinance requires he be somewhat slow on the learning curve for some issues - his answer hovers around the grey wiggle room associated with what she was actually asking, although this time it's closer than his previous ones have been. ] You always have, you haven't left me so far, all of my shit and whatever shit you still have, I don't think you'll leave me anywhere, please. Can I please, now?

[ He can't escape this focus, not without answering the question. It's specific for a reason, oriented at a specific goal. She knows he trusts her. She knows a lot of things in regards to him, but she wants to drive this one particular point home right now, wants him to understand after everything he's said to her, all the times people have failed him and all the ways he's been left to fend for himself over and over again - she needs him to know that is never going to happen again. She is fairly certain he does believe it, but she wants him to say it out loud, acknowledge to himself that he believes it. If he doesn't believe it that's another matter entirely, but she's pretty sure this is just a matter of him having difficulty actually saying it.

It happens a lot, and it's something she understands, but nevertheless she's waiting out for the answer. This is something he's going to be able to acknowledge that he believes because she needs him to say it out loud, for him and for her. There's a long pause after his answer as she considers it, determines whether it fits what she asked from him.

And then she speeds up her pace a little, just calculated enough, presses closer against him and gives herself enough leverage with the chair that she can press her mouth against his neck and his pulse. ] I will never leave you anywhere. You can come.

[ Yes, well. It's most of those things that she's trying to contradict that are causing the synapse misfire in the first place. More than simply being difficult to accept that she'll be there every time, is the corollary that he won't be by himself. It seems obvious, and the two are highly intertwined, sure, but there's still a world of difference between them. At least, the way he's looking at it.

It's a good thing she has so much patience and faith. He is himself frequently ill-possessed of either, although for her that frequency tends to alter. He'd be willing to bet that the same goes for her as well.

He's not totally sure whether he was expecting her to accept that answer or make him elaborate for specifics, it wasn't really something he was thinking about anymore by the time he actually got to speaking, but he groans with the increase in speed, the way she gets closer to him and speaks against his skin. It's positive reinforcement of the most basic kind, and he doesn't even care at all, not when it comes with such physical, even emotional release. It doesn't take long at all, just a number of seconds maybe, before he goes even more taut, arms and torso and body flexing and tightening as she finally brings him to the edge and pushes him over it. He doesn't have any sort of stability or traction, nothing to help him stay close to her except her hand and his own lack of counter-movement.

Which is totally fine, he's okay with that, and after a little while, he loosens back up again, albeit somewhat slowly, starting to just hang in place as he was. ]

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dammit my coding

pets gently it's okay it happens to us all

|:-|

it's going to be okay i promise

uh huh

just trust me

well okay then mistress

i like the sound of that word

I'm sure you do

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