Kiron was sitting straight as a rod, as soon as he heard the crunch of boots outside the tent, his hands folded tightly in his lap. He stands up incredibly quickly, when reeve scolds him, eyes immediately turning to the floor at the snap of leather.
"I am very sorry, Master," He whispered, barely above a breath, his head bowed. His fingers worked a little nervously as they reached for the buttons of his shirt - pausing before he actually did anything with them.
"Should I... do you wish me to undress, Master, or..." It wasn't often that Kiron couldn't anticipate exactly what Reeve wanted, but he'd never seen him in this bad a mood, before. There was a good chance Reeve might simply wish to beat him, instead, which - of course - Kiron would take willingly, if it meant he might ease some of his Master's frustration. A very real flush was starting to glow under his skin, purely from the anxiety of not knowing what he should be expecting.
It's said with a cold kind of callousness, Reeve pacing to the desk at the back of the tent, dragging his fingers along the wood as he gets there. He's purposefully looking down and away so Kiron can't see his expression, can't read anything from him; he's asking his Pledge to read his mind, to just know what he wants, and it's funny. He doesn't really want anything.
He moves to sit in the chair by the desk, resting his cheek on his fist, eyebrows raised as he watches Kiron silently. He looks good like this, Reeve thinks. Nervous and red and fragile, so easy to bend or break. So fucking stupid, too. Standing there with his fingers on his buttons, unable or unwilling to do anything without express permission. Permission that Reeve isn't going to give.
"Do you really not know what I want?" He lets the words hang there, venomous. "Because - fuck, kid. Pledges are replaceable. There are others who wouldn't need me to spell this out for them."
Kiron was far from stupid, even though he was all too happy to reinforce that assumption. Right now, though, he was quickly trying to decide whether it would be better to act on what he presumed were Reeve's wishes, or better to wait until he was ordered - both of which technically fell under his programming.
In the end, he decided that there were only two real things that Reeve could want, right now.
Both required a bare back.
So his fingers started working - quickly, efficiently, in stripping himself of his clothes.
"Forgive me, Master," he whispered, carefully pulling his shirt off and letting it slip to the floor before going for his trousers. The flush that had made his cheeks glow continued down his throat, and spread across his freckled shoulders. "Please, punish me for my failure. It won't happen again."
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"I am very sorry, Master," He whispered, barely above a breath, his head bowed. His fingers worked a little nervously as they reached for the buttons of his shirt - pausing before he actually did anything with them.
"Should I... do you wish me to undress, Master, or..." It wasn't often that Kiron couldn't anticipate exactly what Reeve wanted, but he'd never seen him in this bad a mood, before. There was a good chance Reeve might simply wish to beat him, instead, which - of course - Kiron would take willingly, if it meant he might ease some of his Master's frustration. A very real flush was starting to glow under his skin, purely from the anxiety of not knowing what he should be expecting.
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It's said with a cold kind of callousness, Reeve pacing to the desk at the back of the tent, dragging his fingers along the wood as he gets there. He's purposefully looking down and away so Kiron can't see his expression, can't read anything from him; he's asking his Pledge to read his mind, to just know what he wants, and it's funny. He doesn't really want anything.
He moves to sit in the chair by the desk, resting his cheek on his fist, eyebrows raised as he watches Kiron silently. He looks good like this, Reeve thinks. Nervous and red and fragile, so easy to bend or break. So fucking stupid, too. Standing there with his fingers on his buttons, unable or unwilling to do anything without express permission. Permission that Reeve isn't going to give.
"Do you really not know what I want?" He lets the words hang there, venomous. "Because - fuck, kid. Pledges are replaceable. There are others who wouldn't need me to spell this out for them."
no subject
In the end, he decided that there were only two real things that Reeve could want, right now.
Both required a bare back.
So his fingers started working - quickly, efficiently, in stripping himself of his clothes.
"Forgive me, Master," he whispered, carefully pulling his shirt off and letting it slip to the floor before going for his trousers. The flush that had made his cheeks glow continued down his throat, and spread across his freckled shoulders. "Please, punish me for my failure. It won't happen again."