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[brandingproblem]

overflows, misc psls/memes, starters that don't seem to fit anywhere else, etc

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[brandingproblem]

Normally, it'd probably feel pretty good as is. His nipples are not overly sensitive, but it's a good and pleasant sensation to have them played with overall. With every part of him hyped up with medically-induced anticipation, though, the pleasure only increases. The attention gets a stuttery exhale, shackle chains digging into his palms for how tight he's holding them.

And that, he'd be able to withstand just that, ride on that for a while without breaking. But Steve starts to touch him, stroke him, exactly where his body needs it. He can't help a sharp bark of pleasure about it, a sound that betrays how the sensations overwhelm him. His heels dig into the mattress where his legs are pressed open, an awkward angle to try and get any leverage, and simply doesn't have anywhere to go.

Clint bites his own lip, struggling to keep anything else inside, but the way moans shudder out of him anyway, whining huffs from his nose, reverberating in the back of his throat, makes it a fruitless gesture.

[americassed]

Excellent. Moans like that coming from Clint are like music to Steve's ears. It's one of the (many) things he's been trying to elicit from his caged bird and he's been successful so far. And so satisfied, in fact, that Steve pulls on the nipple between his teeth until the damn thing's bright red in his mouth. No taste of metal, though, because he's not going to reward his bird with something like that. At least for now.

Instead, he hastens his pace, torturously slow at first and then fucking breakneck, squeezing and stroking and almost pulling. This erratic pace continues like Clint's in the hands of a madman. Which isn't far off the mark, admittedly, with everything that's wrong with this Steve and how he's relishing every second of this.

It goes without saying that Steve's getting off of this display, but maybe the point isn't to get off once. Or twice. After all, he doesn't have a refractory period. Maybe if tonight's the night he tests just how much Clint can take in one go.

[brandingproblem]

This version of Steve loves to mix pain into the pleasure. And a part of Clint likes that in theory. It's enjoyable, scratching skin, biting too hard, a smack, a choke. These things belong in sex, he thinks, to a point.

But when Steve hurts him, he takes it to the very far edge. His nipple doesn't get bitten off, but damn if it doesn't feel like it's about to come right off, and he tries to pull himself away with nowhere to go.

His brain starts to short circuit when Steve's hand picks up the pace to such an extreme that it ends up more pain than pleasure. It's rough and hot and hard and too hard and too rough and overwhelming, no time to enjoy the sensations, just getting his dick pulled around to a point where he might come in an instant or might never come at all. All the signals are confused. But the huffs of pleasure are mixed with grunts of pain, and all he can think of is that this is torture. It's good torture but torture all the same. "Stop," he begs before he even realizes any words formed at all much less left his mouth. One hand has left the chains and clings to Steve's shoulder, pushing fruitlessly against him, digging his fingers in.

[americassed]

He does particularly like it when they beg.

With a smirk, Steve doesn't stop. Instead, he actually quickens his pace even more, the friction almost burning. His bird looks so good begging like this, digging fingers into his shoulder. Steve can feel how much this is excruciating for Clint if those fingers are any indication. He likes dishing out the pain, but he also likes receiving it, especially from someone who's so desperate like his pretty bird over here.

But, you know, what good is a bird if they're missing body parts, right? So Steve relents, slows down his pace after a while, gradually receding into a gentle stroke. He stops just before he can ruin his plaything, just enough to elicit the kind of reactions he wanted from his new toy. At one point, he lets go of Clint's nipple, hand still holding his cock but not stroking anymore.

Leaning back, Steve gazes at how he's slowly unraveling Clint. What a picture perfect image. With a gentle touch this time, one finger snakes down to Clint's perineum, slowly stroking it. Feeding it. Gone is the touch of a madman. Now Steve's touches are that of a careful lover. Because, at the end of the day, what's better than his bird begging him to stop, but for him to beg for more?