♱ synopsis: you kneel for him like it means something and he lets you because it doesn’t.
a/n: song rec: god's game by dove cameron | this is nothing but a treat for myself
The blood on his hands isn't fresh anymore, only smeared remnants, half-dried and fading into the lines of his palms. Kei sits on the edge of his chair like a monarch in the otherwise rather empty room. His fingers are laced together while those piercing blue eyes assess the person kneeling in front of him.
By now, your legs are aching from being folded for too long, your throat feels dry, and your mind is almost frantic with that tight, unbearable hunger for his approval.
A torture in itself for a person so terribly eager for his attention.
“Do you know why I let you come back?” he breaks the tense silence at last, with a voice low and unhurried to make matters worse.
You flinch at the sound and work your throat in an effort to find your voice. “I—I did what you said,” you murmur with those fearful eyes of yours downcast. “I followed your orders. I didn't hesitate.”
Kei hums in amusement while considering your words for a moment too long. “No. That's not why,” he says almost without any emotion on his tongue. “It's because you think if you obey enough, bleed enough, beg enough, I'll say you matter.”
Shame tightens your chest, almost painfully so, but not enough to stop you from nodding and confessing, “I want to please you,” in a whisper.
A beat passes between superior and subordinate before the tip of Kei's boot nudges your chin upward until you meet his gaze. Those cold, distant eyes look at you not as a person, but as a project.
A puzzle.
“I know,” he leans in, just enough that his breath ghosts across your lips to tease you. “That's what makes you useful.”
The words burn cruelly because, in the end, they are the truth. In Kei's world, your worth is measured by how deeply you can cut yourself away, peel back your own humanity, and offer it to him like penance. And you would do it over and over, just to receive his acceptance.
You didn't realise when the silence stopped feeling awkward. It was just part of being around him, even his silence feels heavy with expectation. And you want that. You want to be squished under his expectations, broken down until the only thing left is what Kei allows you to be.
Now, you were kneeling closer. No longer across the room like in the beginning, but right at his feet with your cheek pressed to his thigh, your breath warming the expensive fabric of his trousers.
“I wonder if you even know what you’re doing to yourself,” Kei muses with a voice no louder than a whisper, the edge of amusement tracing along his usually even tone.
You should not be this close, but he put you there, and worse, you didn't resist. You bask in the contact, in his hand moving slowly through your hair like you are some prized pet, a fragile creature he can either feed or break on a leash disguised as affection.
"You're trembling," he notes casually, stroking behind your ear with fingers too soft for the chaos they cause anywhere else. “But you're still here. How pitiful.”
The words hit harder than any slap ever could. But that's the game you have chosen to start: You want him to say worse, you want his attention, even if it cuts. Especially if it cuts because then it means he is looking at you, paying attention to you, no matter how short-lived it might be.
“I just want to do it right. For you.”
He chuckles at that, breathy and quiet with no hint of warmth in it. “But why?” his thumb adores the line of your jaw. “Why try so hard to please someone like me? You've seen what I do to people.”
“I don't care,” you confess all too quickly, too earnestly like a dumb pet begging for a treat. “I just... I want you to want me here.”
At least you manage to surprise him at times.
A task most people fail at. The hand in your hair stills now that Kei leans down slightly; he's close enough that his breath seeps through your hair. “Want you here?” he echoes. “No. I allow you here. There's a difference.”
You try to hide your face, try to lean your forehead against his thigh to cover the shame on your features, but Kei tilts your chin up before you can look away.
“I-I want to be good,” you confess with those sickly-sweet pleading eyes that look at him like he is some sort of god.
“You want too much,” Kei hums faintly. He always says things like that with such gentle cruelty, with that smooth tone of voice that makes you feel ashamed to be aroused by it.
Your throat feels tight, constricting as if your body is begging you to stop making a fool of yourself. But you are weak against the storm in his eyes. “I just want you to want me,” you murmur.
Pathetic.
The silence hangs there for a moment, like a guillotine ready to drop, while you lose yourself in those detached blue eyes as Kei's stare pins you in place.
“I don't want anyone,” he says at last. “But I use what's useful.”
His words twist something inside you, somewhere deep and already half-rotten from wanting too much. From needing his approval, his voice, his hand in your hair. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, his thumb grazing the delicate hinge of your jaw.
“Which is why you're lucky, aren't you?” He guides your head forward gently. With you, there is no need for force because, after all, you obey without question just to see the ghost of satisfaction flicker behind his dead eyes.
“I didn't even have to ask,” Kei continues, brushing your temple with the backs of his fingers. “You crawled here on your own, like the pathetic little thing you are.”
Yet still, he guides your head down, fingers firm but calm against your scalp. His eyes are half-lidded, his head tipped back slightly as a small sound of pleasure already forms in his throat at the thought of what you are about to do.
“Undo my trousers.”
The command is a whisper, no louder than a sigh, but it makes your whole body tense in anticipation. He has never allowed you this close before, never saw more use in you than to keep you kneeling at his feet.
You obey with trembling hands that move hastily to unbuckle his belt and undo the buttons of his trousers with more care than necessary. His arousal is evident, straining against the confines of dark fabric as you finally pull down his briefs to reveal the flushed tip of his cock slick with pre-cum.
He watches everything, from the way your lips part to the split-second you hesitate before leaning in.
"I haven't said you could have it.” The reprimand causes you to freeze as shame crawls across your skin from the maddening calm in Kei's voice. "But you want it anyway," he sighs, sighs as if this entire thing was nothing but a drag.
Two fingertips are enough to lift your chin and meet your humiliation in the reflection of his eyes. “Look at yourself being desperate for it. Go on then,” he says in that same soft tone.
His hand cups your cheek, a thumb tracing the corner of your lips as he slowly slides it inside. You suck without question or instruction while your eyes are glued to shades of blue as your tongue swirls around the digit.
“You like that?” The question makes Kei's voice sound almost affectionate now. “Letting me feel you like this, so soft and warm...”
He subs his thumb for his ring and middle finger, both now pressing down against your tongue until you choke, just slightly. Though Kei doesn't stop at that, instead, he leans in with a faint smile of satisfaction dancing across his lips once the wet sounds get worse.
“You want me to think you're good.” There is a pinch of venom hidden in his tone now, a fine line of madness wrapped up in filthy praise. “But this is what you are, isn't it? A mouth for me to use.”
He pulls his fingers out, saliva trailing after them, and lets the mess cling to your lips like proof.
“Then show me. Show me how good you can be.”
Your lips brush the warm skin of his abdomen before you lower your head further to leave ghostlike kisses of your pathetic adoration on his skin. Kei's hand never leaves your hair; it’s like a constant reassurance of control and ownership.
“You like this, don't you?” he murmurs as your lips wrap around the head of his cock, tongue pressed beneath the vein along the underside. The salty taste of pre-cum torments your taste buds once you begin to suck slowly, unsure, perhaps overwhelmed. “Being used. Being good.”
His fingers flex in your hair, holding you there as your tongue works along the underside of his shaft. “And you know what I like, hm?” Kei adds before nudging your face back to adore the dribble of pre-cum that's already smeared across your lips. He watches you intently, no grin, no smirk, just analysing as if he is studying something broken and fascinating.
“I like watching people try.”
With that, he guides you forward once more. The tears pooling in your eyes are almost enough for Kei to find you cute, to consider giving you a moment of reprieve as your throat begins to tighten.
Instead, you gag because he guides you deeper, as if to punish you for the momentary crumble of his walls. Your nails clutch his thighs as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, and a wet, choked sound escapes you.
Ah, but you don't pull away. No, no, you let him fill your mouth until you’re trembling, barely breathing, and still he keeps you there, with fingertips that graze your nape.
“Don't stop now,” Kei whispers, voice almost tender. “You've made it this far. What’s a little more suffering for me?”
You shudder around him, your tears now streaking your cheeks in messy black as you push forward again, choking softly when your jaw aches, when your nose presses to his pelvis. He holds you there, not forcing, just expecting because he knows you would do anything for him.
And when he moans, quiet and airy, more whine than a masculine moan, you almost cry from the sound alone.
“Just like that. Don't think. Don't breathe. Just take.”
You do, always so eager to follow any demand. But your jaw aches, your throat constricts again as spit obscenely drips down your chin. And Kei tries, tries to ignore the way you gag, tries to ignore the way your eyes roll back, but something in him almost feels … worry.
A wave of fresh air fills your lungs as a soft slap to your cheek returns your attention to the man looming over you. “You're going to keep trying,” he remarks calmly while wiping a tear from your cheek. The other hand is curling into your hair again. “Because you're terrified I'll stop and leave you.”
His hips shift barely; it's a test and promise all in one, and the next time he pushes deeper, you let him in with a slack jaw, choking once more around the length of him.
Your eyes flutter shut as Kei guides your rhythm. Slow at first, too slow, until he sighs, his breath hitching just enough to betray his satisfaction. He doesn't groan, doesn't moan like other men would. He sighs like your mouth is relief.
Maybe that is why he let his guard down just a little. Maybe that is why his hand curls tighter in your hair as more of those satisfied sighs leave his lips—quiet, controlled, but unmistakably real.
Your eyes roll back when he whispers, “Such a pretty little ruin you are.”
Teary eyes blink up once his fingers tighten in your hair. You feel the tremble, the tension in his thighs, and curiously glance up to witness the way he tilts his head back for just a moment as his mouth parts. He guides your head up and down with low, pleased hums or a ragged exhale through his nose.
He doesn't need to say a word—you understand just how close he is, how close you are to fulfilling your purpose. So, you hollow your cheeks, swallow him deeper, until he groans softly, beautifully, like he almost didn’t mean to.
You don't even realise how tightly your thighs are pressed together until warmth pools so filthily wet between them it is near unbearable, almost enough to grind down on Kei's shoe that mockingly nudges them apart. You choke once more, only for Kei to hold you in place, letting out the softest gasp—one that he cuts short with his teeth clenched, too proud to make noise unless it’s earned.
And then you feel his cock twitching on your tongue, hear the sharp intake of breath as Kei releases into your mouth. You try your best to manage the warmth coating your tongue and leaking down your throat.
You shudder, almost choke, and cough. Almost—
“Don't spill it,” Kei’s sharp tone snaps you out of it as you realise the fatal mistake of squirming against his hold, but a firm hand on your neck keeps your head down.
“Swallow, or you'll disappoint me.” The words nearly crush your pride, so you obey without making a fuss, even as it burns, even as you whimper, even as the bitter taste makes you shudder.
And when he finally pulls you back, the string of saliva and cum between your lips and his softening cock snaps to stain your neck and chest. Your hands shake where they grip his thighs; you are clearly struggling to come down.
But Kei holds little regard for comfort. His fingers come to your mouth again, just to tilt your chin up for him to admire the humiliating state you put yourself in.
“Open.”
He smiles when he sees the glossy pink of your tongue. “Look at you,” his voice remains soft as his thumb drags through the mess around your mouth like a painter placing his final stroke on a masterpiece. “You tried so hard to please me. And all you got was this.”
Your breath comes in shallow waves, your chest feels tight, and your mind seems to blank further. But his hand stays on your cheek like a mark, like proof that you belong to him now.
“You should be proud. You do make such a pretty mess when you are useful.” Then he leans back in his chair, adjusting his shirt as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just broken something inside you.
You remain kneeling at his feet, not sure if you are meant to move or wait for the next command, with a gaze downcast that takes your chance at noting the flicker of something softer in Kei's gaze.
