Chapter Text
Fiddleford held the end of the leash taut between his fingers, a delighted smirk tugging at his mouth as he reeled Stanley closer on his knees. When their bodies nearly touched, he planted a steady palm against Stan’s chest, halting him just as their cocks brushed, the faintest graze sparking a punched-out noise from Stan’s throat.
“You’re going to fuck me,” Fiddleford whispered, his breath hot against Stan’s ear. A low hum followed, almost soothing, as he released the leash long enough to stroke down Stan’s trembling arms, grounding him while anticipation made him shake.
Then Fiddleford curled the leather tight again and gave it a measured tug—not too harsh, not too gentle. Stan choked, hips snapping forward involuntarily, their shared precum smearing warm between them. His gaze dropped, caught on the sight of their cocks sliding together, unable to look away.
Fiddleford’s jaw tightened. He caught Stan’s face in one hand and forced his chin up until their eyes locked. What he saw there—half-lidded submission, pupils blown wide and shining like stars—made his smirk deepen. Stan panted softly, lips parted, caught in the gravity of it.
“C’mon now.” Fiddleford leaned back onto the bed, spreading his legs wide in invitation. “I opened myself up for you. You know what to do, don’t you, Stan?”
“Y-yeah,” Stan muttered, his face burning crimson as he shifted, fumbling to line himself up under the weight of Fiddleford’s hand and the leash still tugging him close.
He pressed in slowly, every inch a battle between need and hesitation. Fiddleford rolled his eyes in fond exasperation—then snapped the leash taut again. Stan gasped, hips jolting forward, bottoming out with a strangled yelp that broke into a moan as his whole body trembled against him.
Stan trembled against him, chest heaving, eyes still locked on Fiddleford’s like he couldn’t look anywhere else.
“That’s it,” Fiddleford murmured, voice rich with satisfaction. His fingers tightened on the leash, keeping Stan close, keeping him his. “You feel that? Doesn’t that feel good?”
Stan let out a broken sound, half a whimper, half a moan. His movements were uncertain, stuttering, as though every thrust was something he had to relearn.
Fiddleford tilted his head back with a soft laugh, tugging the leash just enough to make Stan stumble forward onto him. “Don’t make me drag it out of you, sweetheart. I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”
The words lit something in Stan’s eyes. He obeyed, hips shifting with more intent, though the flush staining his face gave away just how overwhelmed he was.
“That’s better,” Fiddleford praised, moaning with each thrust, running a hand down the side of Stan’s neck before gripping his jaw again, forcing him to hold his gaze. “Good boy. You don’t even know how pretty you look when you give in, do you?”
Stan whimpered, the leash tightening again as Fiddleford gave it another sharp tug, controlling his rhythm. Fiddleford’s smirk widened at the way Stan’s body responded instantly, desperate to please, every sound spilling from him only stoking the fire higher.
“Keep going,” Fiddleford whispered, his voice both tender and commanding. “Don’t stop until I tell you.”
Fiddleford’s smirk faltered into a shiver as a low moan slipped out of him, unrestrained and sweet. His head tipped back against the pillows, mouth falling open as the sounds tumbled from his throat, raw and unpolished.
The effect on Stan was immediate. Each noise lit him up like a fuse, stoking something fierce behind his red face. His hips, once hesitant, began to find a rhythm—slow at first, then sharper, rougher, urged forward by every moan he pulled from Fiddleford’s lips.
“Yeah—just like that,” Fiddleford breathed, leash still tight in his hand, though his voice wavered between command and need.
Stan’s eyes narrowed, focus sharpening as he picked up pace. The flush of submission still clung to him, but with every thrust his body moved more desperately, almost greedily, chasing the sound of Fiddleford’s moans as if they were the only thing that mattered.
For a heartbeat, he wasn’t obeying—he was driving. His grip on Fiddleford’s hips tightened, his thrusts edging past obedient into hungry, ragged insistence.
Fiddleford’s eyes snapped open at once, the shift in power clear as day. His moans cut off into a sharp laugh, low and warning. With a sudden yank, he pulled the leash so hard Stan’s head jerked back, forcing his gaze up.
“Careful now,” Fiddleford drawled, his voice dropping into something dark, commanding. He tightened his thighs around Stan’s hips, holding him still for a beat. “Getting carried away, are you? Thought you’d forgotten who’s in charge here.”
Stan froze, eyes wide, chest heaving. His dominance slipped away just as quickly as it had sparked.
Fiddleford tugged the leash again, less harsh this time but still firm, dragging Stan’s face closer until their foreheads nearly touched. His smirk returned, sharp and satisfied. “There you are. My good boy. Don’t you ever forget—you fuck me because I let you.”
Stan swallowed hard, trembling under the weight of his words, and let the leash guide him back into the rhythm Fiddleford demanded.
Stan was close—too close. His rhythm had gone ragged, every thrust punctuated with high, helpless whines that gave him away completely.
“You don’t cum until I do,” Fiddleford warned, voice sharp despite the shivers running through him.
Stan’s hand darted down between them in desperation, trying to stroke Fiddleford to the edge.
“No.” Fiddleford slapped his hand away with a growl, grip tightening on the leash. “That would be too easy for you, wouldn’t it? You’re gonna make me cum just by fucking me. That’s all you get.”
Stan whimpered, face burning, but obeyed. He bucked harder, faster, hips stuttering with effort, eyes locked on Fiddleford’s flushed face. Each of Fiddleford’s moans only spurred him on, driving him deeper, chasing that sound like it was the only thing that mattered.
Fiddleford’s breath hitched; his back arched off the bed as his moans broke into a raw, keening cry. His thighs clenched tight around Stan’s hips, body trembling as he came, shuddering with every pulse.
“Cum,” he gasped, voice cracking but still sharp with command as he yanked the leash taut.
The word ripped through Stan like lightning. With a strangled groan, he finally let go, spilling into Fiddleford in thick, hot ropes as his whole body shook violently. He collapsed forward, forehead pressed to Fiddleford’s shoulder, breath coming in desperate, uneven bursts.
Fiddleford gave the leash one last tug, keeping Stan’s face close as a satisfied smirk curved his lips. “Good boy,” he murmured, voice still rough with the aftershocks.
Stan slumped against him, boneless and shaking, his breath still coming in sharp little gasps. For a moment the leash dangled loosely between them, forgotten.
Fiddleford softened, loosening his grip and sliding his fingers through Stan’s damp hair. He pressed a kiss against his temple, slow and grounding.
“You did so good for me,” he murmured, voice low and steady now, a contrast to the sharp edge from before. “My good boy. Breathe with me.”
Stan let out a shuddering sigh, melting into the touch, his trembling finally easing under Fiddleford’s steady hands.
“Easy now,” Fiddleford whispered, stroking down his back in slow circles. “I’ve got you.”
Stan nodded weakly against his shoulder, and for the first time all night, he let himself fully relax, safe in Fiddleford’s hold.