#the adder

[thewhitesaint]

[toast-to-lonely-souls]

Stephens closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Seemed to shrink into himself.

"Back straight," hissed Rosten.

Stephens did as he was told.

Rosten pulled--not much, just enough--on the back of his shirt collar; the nape of Stephens's neck burned in the August sun.

"Father." It came out half a whine, half a whisper.

He screwed up his face, shrinking away inside, away from the sun and the tug of the linen at his throat, the heat of shame and fear--

The first button snapped, almost inaudibly.

Stephens's hands crept up; Rosten's closed on his wrists, dragging them down.

A low terrified squeak, alien in his own ears, escaped Stephens's clenched teeth.

"Shut up."

The next button snapped, and the next. Sweat trickled down Stephens's bare collarbones, burning, soaking deep into the Ace bandages wrapped tight around his skinny chest.

[toast-to-lonely-souls]

What in Heaven’s name are the two of you doing?

[toast-to-lonely-souls]

Stephens’s yelps filled the air. The bullwhip cracked, decisive and pure.