A TEST OF CONTROL (18+)
2.3k words. PART 1/? not for minors! shoo!
Pt 2 -> here ♡ Pt 3 -> here
After being stood up three times, MC decides Caleb won’t earn her forgiveness without enduring some playful punishment. What starts as teasing quickly becomes a torturous test of Caleb’s self-control as she takes charge, drawing out every ounce of his restraint.
(Self-Indulgent and heavily inspired by 2-3 of Caleb’s lines in the cafe)
cw/tags: f!MC(reader), slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, dom!mc, sub!caleb, pilot!caleb, established relationship, teasing, punishment kink, edging, light power play, breath, withheld pleasure, delayed gratification, soft dom/sub, emotional tension, begging, dirty talk, gravity evol, fluff and smut, romantic smut, pining, touch, reward/punishment, kisses all over, oral tease, tension relief, switch dynamics, intimacy, NSFW, dominant/submissive, dubcon (mild), restraint, light pain play (scratching), suggestive language, mature themes, power imbalance, sensory teasing
MC is getting very, very annoyed with Caleb. He's canceled spending time with her twice with “emergency business” for the fleet. And even though when things like this happened before, Caleb tried his best to make it up to her, this time she figured she wouldn't be pleased until he received what she deems as a fair punishment. She sits on her couch, arms folded, waiting and waiting. ‘I can't believe he canceled two days in a row and still has the nerve to be late today!!’
She flips through channels before hearing light boots and the sound of dangling keys. Then a soft rhythm of knocks follows.
“It's open.”
She hears the soft click of the door but doesn't get up from the couch. Instead, she turns away and pouts, her head resting on the armrest. The footsteps come closer until Caleb is in front of her face, squatting down to eye level.
“Hi, pipsqueak. Are you mad at me?” His big pretty eyes look like a sad puppy's.
“Guess.” She pokes him in the forehead with her finger, frustrated at how fast she wants to forgive him. “I was excited to see you. Two days ago, yesterday, this morning…” She scowls.
Caleb tries to hide a smirk at how bratty she's acting, knowing this show she puts on is a necessary and very cute step towards quick and easy forgiveness.
“I'm sorry, cutie, you know I hate making you wait. The fleet—”
She pushes a finger to his lips before he can finish. “Shh. It's done anyways, no use explaining it again. But… I still haven't come up with a proper way to punish you.” She sits up properly on the couch and turns off the TV, the motion turning her away from him. But not before seeing his somewhat surprised expression.
He comes to sit next to her on the couch and suddenly her head is being turned to him. “Punish me however you like, I'm all yours, pips” She glares at the use of his gravity evol and shoves him onto his back as soon as he lets go of her face.
“However I want, hm?” She hums.
Caleb lets out a soft “oof” as he lands on his back, laughing under his breath. His arm flops over his forehead like he's fainted. “Ah, Cruel Mistress, striking a defenseless man,” he groans dramatically.
MC narrows her eyes. “You don't look very sorry.”
He peeks at her through his fingers. “Maybe I'm just waiting to see what my punishment is.”
She climbs over him slowly, straddling his hips, and he swallows a bit too obviously. Her hands rest on his chest, steady, firm.
“You made me wait,” she says, low. “You got my hopes up. And you know how I get when I'm disappointed.”
He nods quickly. “You get pouty.”
“And a little mean,” she adds with a smirk, “Don’t you dare forget that.”
“Dangerous combination.” His voice is breathy now, no more teasing. “What are you going to do to me, pipsqueak?”
She leans in close, brushing her nose along his jaw. “You’ll find out. But not all at once. You’ll get it in doses… like I got my disappointment.”
His breath gets a bit heavy. There's no hiding the rises and falls of his chest as he searches for ways of maintaining control of himself. He doesn't touch her, his arms slack at his sides, his right arm hanging off the side of the couch.
MC looks him in the eyes now, her face centimeters from him, and something dubious lights her expression. She holds his face in her two hands, their breath still mingling softly as Caleb searches her face for her next move, holding himself completely still. Her hips press into his abdomen, her arms across his chest, her head tilted as she moves his chin down to look at her. “I know what I will do.”
He swallows again his Adam's apple bobbing. “Yeah? What is it, then?” His voice is a bit husky and low, she can almost hear the restraint.
“Your self-control test is in order, I think.” She whispers into his ear, the action making him shiver beneath her.
“My self-control test?” He says softly, eyes darting across her face for any sign of not meaning what she said. “Then do you want me to pass with flying colors... or fail miserably?”
She hums, low and thoughtful, the sound skimming along the shell of his ear. “That depends…”
Her fingers trail from his jawline down to the collar of his shirt, brushing barely-there touches that make him twitch under her. Her hips shift just a little, barely, but enough to remind him who’s in control.
“On?” he asks, and it’s a little breathless, a little desperate.
She meets his eyes again, her expression unreadable for a beat. Then, with a wicked little smile:
“On how entertaining your struggle is.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh caught in a groan. “Oh, I see. You want a show.”
MC nods, mock-innocent. “I waited three days. Seems fair I get some entertainment.”
“Then I hope you enjoy watching a man fall apart, your highness,” he mutters, trying to keep still even as her hands dip just under the hem of his shirt, palms warm against his skin.
She pauses, enjoying the tension curling tight between them. “You’re not allowed to move unless I say so,” she adds, brushing her lips against his cheek – but not quite kissing him. “And no evol. If I even feel a tug of gravity...”
“I won’t,” he promises instantly. “No evol. No hands. No movement. Just...” Torture.
She chuckles, finally settling her weight more firmly on his hips. “Exactly.”
His hands clench at his sides, his breathing uneven, and she can feel the tight coil of restraint beneath her like a drawn string.
“I should be mad at you more often,” she muses aloud. “You’re kind of cute like this.”
He closes his eyes with a strained smile breathing softly out his nose in an ironic chuckle. “Glad I can be of service.”
“Good,” she whispers, and leans in again. “Because I’ve just barely gotten started.”
His eyes flicker open at that, dark with anticipation and lust. She sees it all – how tightly he's wound, how badly he wants to move, touch her, flip them over. And she also sees how hard he's trying not to. Her hands, splayed open, find their way slowly up his torso as she moves her hips, straddling him lower. He bites his lips, eyebrows knitted, breath catching as she can feel through their pants exactly how much he's holding back.
“Take your shirt off, Caleb.”
He doesn’t move. Not at first.
His eyes search hers, questioning, hopeful, desperate for permission, because technically, that would mean breaking the rules. And she's made those rules very clear.
So she just raises an eyebrow. “Huh? You need help understanding basic commands now, Pilot?”
That’s all it takes.
Caleb sits up slightly, just enough to reach behind his neck and pull the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, jaw tight the entire time. She watches the shift in his shoulders, the flex of restraint even in something so simple. He drops the shirt to the floor beside the couch without taking his eyes off her.
“Much better, good boy.” She drags her palms across his now heaving chest, letting her nails trace faintly, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. She's always loved his muscles, and as they flex with tightly bound desire she drinks him in with her gaze and careful touch.
“Remind me to never upset you again…” he groans, laying back down as she pushes him gently.
“You won't forget, I'm sure.” She smirks at him, truly enjoying him being so helpless.
“Please, can I fail just a little, pipsqueak?” He begs huskily, almost making her weak enough to forget her plan, but it's not enough.
“No way. Pass this with flying colors like you have everything else, my sweet Valedictorian. Perfect marks. Be a good boy.”
He nearly whimpers and she revels in it.
“You’re taking this seriously,” she whispers, letting a finger trace the edge of his ribcage, “I appreciate the effort.”
“I’m trying so hard,” he grits, voice tight, strained, barely holding onto control. “You have no idea.”
“Oh but I do.” She grins devilishly at that, leaning in and planting a kiss to his throat.
He trembles beneath her. His muscles are tense, breathing shallow– but he doesn't move. Doesn't grab, and he doesn't flip her over like she can tell he's dying to. His pulse thumps erratically against her lips.
“Three days,” she mutters softly, breath hot against his throat. “Do you know what that does to a girl?”
“I’m learning,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut like he can’t take looking at her anymore without breaking her so called “rules”.
She leans in again, lips at the shell of his ear. “And if I decide I don’t want to let you pass this test?”
He grunts – wound up, helpless, so full of wanting it cuts through the air like static. “Then I’ll fail spectacularly,” he whispers, “but only if you make me. I'm already on the edge of it.”
She giggles softly, unable to contain how that pleases her. Her hands delicately grace his throat, resting there as she kisses just below his ear, then his jaw, the corner of his lips. She slides her hands down his trembling body like reading scripture in braille as she kisses his throat (twice), his chest, his ribs…
When her hands rest they are on either side of his waist, thumbs brushing up and down his stomach. His fists clench as she kisses his sternum, just above his belt, darting her tongue out for a millisecond. He twitches his hands, and in his pants.
“I'm one move away from failing, MC," his voice is a husky groan as his head is thrown back, hands balled into shaking fists. "Is this a punishment... or...?”
“…Or?” she echoes, voice low, breath warm against his skin. She doesn’t lift her head. She just hovers there, lips parted just above the line of his belt, her fingers now resting unbearably light over his hip bones. The control in her touch is both maddening and deliberate. Calculated.
“...Do you want to keep going?” Caleb’s voice is gruff, harsh with self-control and want. “If you keep going, I won't be… able… to let you off the hook. Even if you claim you're doing… it on a whim…” He's breathless, frustrated, his knuckles turning white with gripped restraint.
Her reply is syrupy and as sweet as it is torturous. “Shh… Are you forgetting” Another kiss to his sternum... “Who” A kiss to the cool metal of his buckle. “Is in charge?” Her breath hovers below his belt, her mouth centimeters away from his clothed arousal.
“Please…” Caleb chokes out, desperately hanging by a tight thread of control.
She lifts her head at this, allowing the word to linger in the air for just a moment before responding with a sweetened smile and a whispering voice. “You sound so desperate, Caleb… I like this… the sound of you begging for me… Music to my ears.”
He groans and it's deep and guttural, pained pleasure wrapped in reverence. His eyes flutter open, just enough to meet hers through the haze of desire and restraint.
“That’s because I am desperate,” he grits, voice shaking. “For you.”
Her lips curl into something between a smirk and a smile, satisfaction, maybe. Or mercy, laced with a promise she hasn’t decided to grant yet.
“You’re doing so well,” she whispers, almost mockingly tender as her fingers dip just under the waistband of his pants, but don’t venture further. Her touch is light, barely there, a spark without flame. “And you’ve been so obedient.”
His hips twitch, bucking just slightly beneath her, involuntary, restrained.
“I told you,” he breathes, “I’ll do anything. Just… please.”
She hums again, eyes half-lidded. “Mmm… you almost sound like you're sorry.”
“I am sorry,” he groans. “I’m so sorry.”
That does it.
She sits up slowly, eyes locked with his, hands dragging up his sides as she speaks.
“Good. Because only good boys get what they want.” A beat. “And you’ve been so good for me.”
He barely has time to exhale before she leans in again, this time with intent.
And then, all at once, she kisses him hard, pushing him flat against the couch again as the dam of tension finally, finally snaps. His hands rise, cautiously at first, then urgently, moving to grip her waist, as he grounds himself in the fact that yes, finally, the test is over.
She moves to unbutton his pants and undo his belt, pulling it out of his pants and tossing it to the floor with a clank. Suddenly, Caleb's evol is hovering her above him, suspending her in air until he flips their positions.
He's lifted up above her his hands and buff arms on either side of her head. “I might… fuck” he kisses her collarbone while moving one arm to take off her shirt. She lifts her arms as he pulls it up and off her, and the fabric joins his on the floor.
“You might what?” She asks him, her voice cracking with anticipation.
He bites her neck, drawing a mangled moan from her at last. He's breathing like an animal and already damp with sweat. “I might have… run out… of self control.”
“You earned it… do your worst– and don’t make me wait for it.” She mutters, gripping him tightly. Knowing that with him, she always gets what she wants. One way or another.