Chime

By The Queen of Blueberry Toast 


When the feathery bones in Schuldich's wrist shifted, bells chimed, half muted 
by the rosy curve of his skin and what blush the heat the leather cuffs left 
there.  He smiled, and shook the chains on purpose, not merely casting around 
on the satin of their mattress.  They glided from note to note, and the steal 
loops fastened to the finals of their rococo headboard ground like a marimba.

"Don't you like my new toys?" Crawford asked him, and his words blew a little 
cloud of powder up from the rim of his boots.  

"Well, they're better than the heart shaped padlocks you insisted on using 
last time we went to the club, but..." Rather than finish the thought out 
loud, he shuddered once more.  This time one of his carpals popped.  ::They 
don't really DO anything, do they?::

"Of course not, lovely.  But why should they? Why should sex have to 
accomplish anything?"

Schuldich folded his thighs together as best he could with the iron bar strung 
between his ankles to keep them open.  So bound but otherwise naked, his legs 
looked impossible long, fragile, and they were wearing marks form last week's 
games well.  Brad though, as he ran the handle of the riding crop over the tiger 
stripes, seemed anything but delicate.  His own skin shimmered with a touch of 
oil, and his boots- the only thing he wore -sang with a few sister bells, 
clacking in unison for against the latex they could not ring.  

"Well, it's supposed to make me feel good," Schuldich told him, grinning.  

The blunt handle of the riding crop came down and struck him on the tender, 
unmarked curve of one hip.  He gasped, groaned, pressed his back against the 
satin sheets.

"And what about me? Hmm? What about what I want?" Brad's words are far from 
bitter, but he withdrew anyway to the lace bower of their curtains, which he 
opened.  The sunlight streaming in caught the bells, and lay among them as jewels 
on fine velvet, though there was only leather, latex and the creamy stuff of 
Schuldich's body as he strained and purred and missed the sting.

"You're the dom, you get whatever you want."

"Yes, pet.  And isn't it beautiful?"

By the gauzy morning light, Crawford drew back to the bed, and caught his lover 
under the chin with the tip of his crop.  He lifted his head away so Schuldich 
couldn't see when he struck him over the chest.  One streak of blood crept from him 
amid his happy moans, and then another as his smile broke his lips, the bells broke 
the air.

Crawford's boots hissed against the covers as he slid over them and hitched himself 
under the rod that parted his lover's legs, kissed the cuffs that held it in place.  
The muscles just beyond twitched and shimmered, and they too met his lips, little 
flickers leading him almost to Schuldich's crotch, though before even his hair could 
flutter against him, Brad rose and crouched over the prone and silent singing thing 
there with it's bloodied lips.

"Hmm? Crawford?"

Though there was no way Schuldich couldn't have known what he was thinking, for he 
never left himself quite so open as when they played.

"Aren't you beautiful? More beautiful than anything with meaning."  

As he licked the trace of crimson from that pale, lush mouth, he pressed his fingers 
tight against the skin tucked just behind Schuldich's balls, and stroked him there 
until he moaned.  No, the bells didn't make sense, didn't even thrill him as that 
sound did.