Tight leather around his throat steals Hawke's breath for just a moment. When he next takes a breath there's pressure at his throat. Not too much, not too little, but just enough and his eyes fall closed for a moment to just feel that. To let himself indulge in letting go.
A moment later and he's pulled into Chris' legs by the ring, a move with sends a jolt through him that ends in warmth already pooling between his legs, fire stoked hotter with each option considered but not offered. Just put out there for Chris to survey and Hawke to have no say and that in and of itself is a relief and a pleasure that Hawke rarely examines. To let Chris take the lead and simply do with him as he will... when he's put in a similar position against his will he chafes and fights and ultimately gains back that control he has such a fraught relationship with, but when he's actively submitting? It's almost like a drug.
Each scenario spins through Hawke's mind's eye as he practically nuzzles into Chris' thighs, eyes a bit glazed for the digits carding through his hair. Himself tied to the chair and worked to exhaustion. Being fucked into the concrete floor, his hands and knees aching on the cold surface to be cared for later or carried as secret reminders.
The bed, though. The idea of being constrained and made to remain spread like a display for Chris to enjoy. A work of art for him to deconstruct slowly. That idea stops Hawke's breath again and he swallows, another shiver running through him at the pressure of the collar and the fingers in his hair that he has to brace one hand against the back of Chris' thigh to keep his balance there on his knees. That one, that one goes straight to his cock and his head. But Chris is in charge here. That's how this works, yes?
"Whichever you'd prefer of me, I'm happy to oblige." His voice is low and husky for all the want rolling through him. It's easy to see which position he'd prefer, but he's trying to play the good submissive and that in and of itself is also a small thrill.
no subject
A moment later and he's pulled into Chris' legs by the ring, a move with sends a jolt through him that ends in warmth already pooling between his legs, fire stoked hotter with each option considered but not offered. Just put out there for Chris to survey and Hawke to have no say and that in and of itself is a relief and a pleasure that Hawke rarely examines. To let Chris take the lead and simply do with him as he will... when he's put in a similar position against his will he chafes and fights and ultimately gains back that control he has such a fraught relationship with, but when he's actively submitting? It's almost like a drug.
Each scenario spins through Hawke's mind's eye as he practically nuzzles into Chris' thighs, eyes a bit glazed for the digits carding through his hair. Himself tied to the chair and worked to exhaustion. Being fucked into the concrete floor, his hands and knees aching on the cold surface to be cared for later or carried as secret reminders.
The bed, though. The idea of being constrained and made to remain spread like a display for Chris to enjoy. A work of art for him to deconstruct slowly. That idea stops Hawke's breath again and he swallows, another shiver running through him at the pressure of the collar and the fingers in his hair that he has to brace one hand against the back of Chris' thigh to keep his balance there on his knees. That one, that one goes straight to his cock and his head. But Chris is in charge here. That's how this works, yes?
"Whichever you'd prefer of me, I'm happy to oblige." His voice is low and husky for all the want rolling through him. It's easy to see which position he'd prefer, but he's trying to play the good submissive and that in and of itself is also a small thrill.