A Cappella

by Vivi

He loves to look at them in the mirror.

Little lines of crimson along his ass, scattered like confetti. Not many; he might writhe and beg and curse, but Viggo would go only as far as HE wanted, and no further. Spankings were easy and common, paddles a new flavor thrown in from time to time, but a riding crop had been a different experience.

He'd wept and squirmed and begged, all to no avail, and in the end, he'd gotten what he wanted. Streaks of color over pale skin, and Viggo's tongue stroking them afterward, scalding and cruel.

Elijah could look at those welts in the mirror, alone, touch them possessively and remember how it felt to get them, the crisp sound of leather-wrapped fiberglass striking his skin, the second of painless shock before it burned its way up his spine, like a hundred wasps stinging a line across his ass.

He can touch them, pinch the welts between his fingers and feel an echo of that pain, not more than a ripple in comparison, but enough to make him hard. Enough for him to move closer to the mirror and lean against it, to see the sweat on his forehead smear his reflection.

Strokes himself hard, relentlessly, and thinks of Viggo's eyes, pitiless and dark when he raises his arm and brings it back down, Elijah's cry reflecting in those eyes, a shimmer of unnamed emotion.

Viggo's voice as harsh as his eyes, scraping over raw nerves like concrete on flesh, and the memory of Viggo ordering him to his knees is enough to make him come, spattering the glass, droplets of pearl sliding down in tear shapes.

Elijah slides to his knees and watches his mirror image lick each one away.

-finis-

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