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[brandingproblem]

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

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[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?