A tender ache radiates through Team’s thighs where he holds himself spread over Win’s lap. They’ve been at this for what feels like hours, and Win refuses to let him come. Granted, it was Team’s idea in the first place to try edging. And the flimsy ribbon binding his wrists together at the small of his back was also his own suggestion.
On his back below him, still buried inside Team, Win slides a hand up his chest reverently. And then, because he’s mean and must be stopped, he pinches a nipple. Team fails to smother his noise in time, hips rolling down reflexively.
The corner of Win’s mouth lifts, smug. “I thought you wanted to see how long you could last.”
“That was before you fucked me for thirty minutes straight,” Team would normally be embarrassed by the pleading tone in his voice, but he’s too far gone to care, “and then put me on top.”
Like earlier, there’s no warning before Win suddenly drives up into him, hard and fast and unrelenting. Team’s lips part around filthy noises, head dropping back as the pleasure builds again. Just as he feels like he might tip over the edge, Win stops completely. Strong hands clamp down on Team’s thighs to hold him still, leaving him straining with the promise of a release that he never gets.
Breathing heavily, Team levels Win with as strong of a glare as he can manage around the haze of his arousal. Win simply smiles at him, appearing entirely unaffected. Having Win watch him like this, teasing and controlled in direct contrast to Team’s desperation, makes Team’s stomach twist with heat.
“An hour ago,” Win traces a maddening line up Team’s cock with his thumb, the touch such a relief that it drags a broken whine out of Team’s throat, “you gave me strict instructions not to give in to you no matter what you said.”
“Past Team was an idiot,” he manages. The unrelenting need to come is clouding his mind. Win has brought him devastatingly close to orgasm five times, only to yank him back from the edge each time.
“Do you want to stop?” Win asks, a touch of concern in his voice. “I can untie you.”
Team’s eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t want to stop, he wants to come. “No,” he replies, testing the strain of the ribbon. He could easily slip free if he wanted to. It’s only an illusion of helplessness, but it makes the whole thing better.
Team waits for Win to move again, but he remains torturously still. The throbbing between his legs begs for some kind of relief. The tip of his dick brushes against Win’s abdomen every time he shifts, but it’s not enough to get him there.
Despite having his wrists bound, Team isn’t fully restricted in his movement. He spreads his knees further to get more leverage, beginning to ride Win on trembling thighs as best as he can.
Win tightens his hold on his thighs in an attempt to still him, but rather than deter him, the grip sends a flash of heat through Team’s body. Win’s hands always feel so big around him. Team’s back arches shamelessly as he shoves his hips down.
“You told me not to let you come,” Win’s composure is slipping; Team can hear it in his voice, feel it in the unrelenting grip of his hands, “you need to stop moving.”
“Or what?” Team’s hips roll harder, warmth coiling tighter every time it shoves Win deeper inside him. It’s getting harder to speak coherently, mind going fuzzy at the edges in his need. “You’ll spank me?”
One of Win’s hands slides to grip his cheek, where Team is split open around his length. He squeezes once in warning. Another noise slips past Team’s lips, unable to resist bending down to kiss him as best as he can. The new angle forces Win so deep he almost chokes around a whine, muffled into Win’s mouth as he continues to fuck back onto him.
Win’s other hand threads into the back of Team’s hair, tugging him away with a silent gasp. This close, Team can see how dark Win’s eyes are. The promise behind them makes him shiver.
“Maybe I should,” Win’s voice is low, “since you’re being so disobedient.”
Team manages a breathy laugh, but his hips don't stop. He’s so close, the heat scorching through his veins, he just needs a little something more.
“I dare you,” Team rasps.
Win smacks him, once, a firm hit to the fleshiest part of his ass. Team barely registers the hot sting of it ricocheting through him before his vision whites out and he comes instantly, the force of it wrenching a shocked sound from his throat. He’s been wound so tight for so long that his orgasm is vicious, pulsing pleasure rolling over him in waves.
When Team’s mind swims hazily back into focus, he dimly registers the way he’s collapsed down onto Win, face buried in his neck.
“Fuck, Team, did you just—did you just come from one hit?” Win frantically tugs the ribbon loose from his wrists. Team lets them fall gratefully to the bed. “Look at me, baby. Come on.”
When Team doesn’t respond, Win rolls them onto their sides. Win pulls out of him with the movement, leaving behind an aching emptiness that has him making a small bereft sound into the pillow.
Concerned eyes meet Team’s as Win delicately tilts his face towards him.
“I’m fine,” Team murmurs. His brain feels disconnected, floating somewhere above his body. “That was just—intense.”
Win closes his eyes, equal parts relief and strained. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, Team.”
The words wash over him as a familiar glow in his chest. Tugging Win closer by the small of his back, Team curls a hand around where Win is still hard and slick from the lube. Win’s eyes flutter shut when Team swipes over the sensitive tip.
Team has discovered a lot of things he favours in bed while experimenting with Win, but when it comes to what Win likes, it’s a little different. What Win enjoys the most is watching Team fall apart. By extension, this means Win is usually wholly in favour of anything Team wants to try. Watching Team come from a single strike to his ass is probably something out of his wildest fantasies.
Forehead pressed to Win’s, Team watches with rapt attention as Win’s breathing goes laboured. Win is close already from holding back so long, not as unaffected as he made himself out to be. Team’s hand moves faster, and Win breathes his name like a prayer.
One of Win’s hands is tangled in the back of Team’s hair. The other has gravitated to Team’s ass, squeezing reflexively, in the exact place he’d spanked him. The memory of that touch is enough to set Team’s nerves alight. Win hadn’t used nearly enough power to leave any lasting sting; Team thinks maybe he’d like it if he did.
“We should do that again,” Team says, voice quiet. Win looks completely out of it, eyes locked dazedly on Team’s. “You can do it harder next time.”
Team thinks Win is the only person on the planet who can pull off a pretty orgasm face. His plush mouth drops open slightly, eye fluttering shut, head tilted back from the pleasure. He’s not as loud as Team, but the sounds he does make are beautiful.
Team gentles him through it until Win clamps a hand down on his wrist to still him, oversensitive. Team absently kisses along the bared line of his neck as he comes down. The fuzziness from earlier is fading from his mind, aided by the soft swish of Win’s hand up and down his back.
“Next time?” Win’s voice is a quietly curious thing right by his ear.
Reality creeps in. The frantic arousal has mostly faded away, leaving room for embarrassment to slither through and sink its teeth in. Team fell apart on top of Win from a single blow, coming practically untouched. A gnawing, twisting feeling sits uncomfortably in his stomach.
There is nothing but tender affirmation in Win’s expression, but Team isn’t ready to face it right now. He doesn’t want to think about why it affected him so much. Something like being spanked should leave him feeling humiliated, not desperate for more. Team doesn’t answer the question in Win’s voice.
“Will you wash my hair?” Team asks quietly. A deflection.
Win searches for something in his expression. Team holds still and lets him look. Whatever Win finds makes his eyes go soft, liquid caramel warming Team all over.
“Of course, baby,” Win responds, pressing an understanding kiss to his cheek, before dutifully heading to the bathroom to fill the bathtub.
Team goes boneless in relief. He knows Win will insist they talk about it if Team never brings it up again. Nothing like this ever stays buried for too long, and Team always feels better afterwards. There’s nothing he could want or say that Win would judge him for.
But the process of figuring it out is often painfully embarrassing for him. Team prefers to mull things like this over on his own, to figure out why he wants it, before coming back to Win.
Win’s fourth year dorm is bigger than the one from last year. Win never says it out loud, but when he found this place, it was with the knowledge that Team would be spending most of his time here too. One of the best things about it is the full size bathtub big enough for the both of them.
Team sinks into the warm water, back against Win’s chest, and allows himself to melt under his boyfriend’s ministrations.
He likes the way it feels when Win takes care of him. He likes that he fits snug against Win’s slightly broader chest, slotting together like two perfect puzzle pieces. He likes the feeling of Win’s long fingers massaging the shampoo into his scalp. He thinks about how they would feel elsewhere, using their strength in a different way.
Team closes his eyes and surrenders to the feeling of Win all around him.
Team goes through the next day in a distracted haze. It’s difficult not to be distracted the day after experiencing one of the best orgasms of his life — especially courtesy of one little hit from Win. Team never imagined that would be something he would enjoy. He’s struggling to understand why it had that much of an effect on him.
While Team is comfortable with his sexuality, his relationship with Win is his first one with a man. Despite throwing himself into sex during his first time with Win, now that they’re official, they’ve been taking the time to slowly explore different kinds of dynamics.
Sometimes, what Team discovers he enjoys in bed doesn’t always match up to what he expects of himself in his head.
On his way into the locker room, Team walks past their coach chewing out one of the freshmen for poor behaviour.
He imagines a scenario where Win tells him he’s misbehaved. Or scolds him for doing something wrong, then punishes him for it in the bedroom. The thought of disappointing Win, even in an imaginary scenario, makes his throat lock up. There is absolutely nothing arousing to him about letting Win down.
It’s not because of the punishment aspect, then.
Shoving his bag in his locker, Team is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Mew repeatedly calling his name. Frustrated, Mew whips him with a towel, a sharp sting right over his ass. There is a brief moment where Team is terrified he will have a visceral reaction to it, but absolutely nothing happens.
Relief quickly turns to annoyance as he spins to face Mew, who is grinning and still brandishing the towel.
Team lunges for Mew immediately, managing to rip the towel from his grasp to fling it onto the floor. They’re locked in a playful scuffle when the door opens to reveal Win, who pauses at the sight of them.
“Saved by the boyfriend,” Mew quips.
Both Win and Team look down at Mew who is currently trapped under Team’s arm in a headlock.
“I think you might be the one who needs saving, Mew.” There is distinct amusement in Win’s voice, though he’s looking at Team in question.
“He whipped me with a towel,” Team explains. “Trust me, hia, he deserves this.”
They both ignore Mew’s indignant yell from below them.
“In that case,” Win smiles at him, eyes shining, “good job, Team.”
Team’s heart stutters ridiculously as Win heads into the office. Team is left staring at the empty space when Mew taps his side, still locked under his arm.
“Um, Team?” he asks hesitantly. “Can you let go of me now?”
Snapped from his daze, Team hastily releases Mew, who immediately begins rolling his neck to work out the kinks.
“Sorry,” Team offers absently, unable to prevent his mind from once again drifting to thoughts of his boyfriend.
Team never wants to hear Win say that he’s disappointed with him. The only words he ever wants to hear from Win are those of approval. Win has long since picked up on Team’s predilection for praise, often using it behind closed doors to Team’s own undoing.
It's something Win picked up on before Team himself realised it.
“I’m your senior and the Vice President of this swim club. You owe me a basic amount of respect if you wish to continue to be a member of this team.”
Team freezes at the steely tone to Win’s voice. He knows he should mind his own business and go back to his warm up stretches, but he can’t help tuning into the conversation happening across the pool.
The freshman Win is talking to looks thoroughly chastised. Team hasn’t seen such a stern expression on Win’s face outside of competition days. Whatever the new student did must have been bad enough to warrant such a reaction.
Glancing around, Team notices most of the club’s attention is now on the two figures across the pool. The other freshmen risk a peek at Win and then at each other, shock written plainly across their faces.
Team smiles inwardly. On the surface, Dean is the stern leader who barks out orders and keeps everybody in line. People tend to hear about Win’s easygoing nature and assume he’s the pushover. The type to give in to his juniors.
While that can be true, Win can be ruthless when he needs to be. Team knows that better than anyone — even now, his legs occasionally ache with phantom pain from the extra swim training he’s been put through courtesy of Win.
From the look on their faces, the first years are beginning to realise that too.
Win instructs the new student to take practice laps to check his form. He waits at the side of the pool, arms crossed, sharp eyes tracking every movement. He stands tall and commanding, completely at ease in his position.
Pride rushes through Team at the sight. But there’s something else brewing below the surface; a dark, potent thing. Something similar to what he felt last night, when Win stared up at him in challenge, just before the impact of Win’s hand against his skin.
A few days later, Team walks out of the locker room and freezes.
Due to their recent success at competitions, the University has arranged a meeting with a Sponsor interested in providing funding to the swim team. The plan is to start with a meet and greet, followed by a photo opportunity with their star swimmers, all culminating in a meeting between the club presidents, the coach, and the Sponsor representatives to go over the contract.
That isn’t the problem.
Win is wearing a suit for the occasion. A beautiful, two-piece suit in light grey, with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. The matching slim silver tie is done up in a perfect knot at the hollow of his throat. Team can tell by the tailored fit alone that it probably cost more than his car. His hair is loose and styled, one side tucked behind an ear to expose the silver piercings he hasn’t bothered to remove. They compliment the suit perfectly, glinting in the light.
Win looks incredibly expensive. And most importantly, he looks powerful.
Team’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. Somebody brushes past him, but his feet remain rooted to the spot.
One of Win’s hands rests inside his trouser pocket, effortlessly casual as he talks to Dean. Blissfully unaware of the effect he’s having on Team. His height and general aura ensure Win has command of any room he walks in, but there’s something else about seeing him like this. It’s intoxicating, and Team feels dizzy with it.
As if sensing eyes on him, Win’s head turns to lock eyes with Team.
Win doesn’t pause during conversation, making a ‘come here’ gesture at Team. A subtle crooking of two fingers. Team’s legs move before he has the chance to think, obediently drifting over to Win’s side.
Being this close is so much worse.
For the purpose of the photographs, Team is clad in nothing but his tiny swim shorts, while Win is fully dressed in an elegant expensive suit. The juxtaposition of it sets his nerves alight; Team is painfully aware of the power imbalance it creates.
Dean’s hand clamping down on his shoulder is so jarring that he almost jumps.
“This is Nong Team,” Dean says, to the woman wearing a pressed suit that Team didn’t notice before, “the swimmer we were talking about. He won gold in the last three competitions.”
Team manages a wai in greeting. The gentle pride diffused across Win’s expression isn’t helping Team feel less like he’s vibrating out of his own skin.
“Nice to meet you, Nong Team,” the woman, who must be the Sponsor representative, says with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. Shall we move on to the photos?”
There’s movement around him as the photographer instructs the group to move into position. The other high ranking swimmers in the club are here, along with the coach, the Sponsor, and the University leadership team. Team ends up wedged between Win and someone he doesn’t recognise.
Win tugs on his arm to get his attention and Team turns sluggishly, blinking up at him.
“We only have to take a group photo, then you can leave,” Win murmurs. “Okay?”
Team nods, not daring to speak.
Win pulls something shiny from his inside blazer pocket — Team’s latest gold medal, still attached to the royal blue ribbon. There is the soft swish of silk against his skin as Win deposits the medal around his neck. The heavy weight of it is enough to anchor him, bringing him back to reality enough to focus on what Win is saying.
“It was Dean’s idea to have you wear them for the photo,” Win explains, smiling fondly at Team. Team’s throat bobs under the attention.
“Eyes on me everyone,” the photographer calls.
Team shuffles sideways in order to put as much distance between himself and Win as he can.
“Nong,” the photographer calls in Team’s direction, “please stand closer to your phi.”
A few people swivel to look at them. Team feels like an ant pinned under a microscope, frozen in place.
Win’s hand slides around the back of his neck and squeezes. Only the several pairs of eyes on him stop Team from dropping to his knees. Nails biting into his fists, Team allows Win to guide him into the correct position beside him.
The hand at his neck disappears, allowing Team to take a deep cleansing breath.
And then, instead, Win’s palm slides to rest across his lower back.
The world tilts on its axis. The tip of Win’s finger is pressed into the dip at the base of his spine. Warmth radiates outwards from the point of contact, sending goosebumps rippling up his spine.
Realisation hits Team so hard that he goes lightheaded.
It’s Win. The reason Team wants so strongly to be good, to be laid out across his lap with all his attention focused solely on Team. He wants those approving eyes on him, sinking into the feeling of safety while being taken apart under his hands. He wants to give Win that power over him while simultaneously knowing he'll be taken care of.
Win is everybody’s respected senior, but only Team gets to see another part of him. The part that would happily bend Team over his lap if given the chance. Only Win could make him want to fall to his knees from a single touch.
Heart pounding for the rest of the photoshoot, Team stays as still as he can and tries to let nothing show on his face.
They all get jostled when the group moves off. Team almost overbalances, but a hand catches him before he can. Team would recognise Win’s hold anywhere, though something feels different, pressed into his skin where Win steadies him by the waist. In a daze, Team looks down.
It’s a ring. The silver ring Win used to wear on his index finger. Team hasn’t seen it in a few months, but Win is wearing it now to compliment the suit. The metal is slightly cool where it’s pressed into Team’s skin. The glinting silver of it draws attention to his beautiful hands; to the strength Team knows is hidden beneath them.
“Team?” Win’s voice swims back into focus. He’s now stroking Team’s waist with his thumb, in a manner he probably intends to be soothing. It’s the only thing Team can concentrate on. “Are you alright?”
Team finally brings himself to look away from Win’s hand. “I’m fine,” his voice comes out embarrassingly hoarse. Win’s expression shifts, piercing eyes locked on Team like he sees right through him. He drops his hand from Team’s waist, allowing Team a chance to compose himself. Team swallows around his dry throat and tries again. “Good luck in the meeting, hia.”
Win thanks him, but the knowing look in his gaze doesn’t falter.
Team heads to the locker room before he breaks and confesses his every desire right there by the pool. Win’s eyes stay on him like a brand as he disappears through the door.
Once again clad safely in his uniform, Team walks out of the locker room and almost careens straight into Pharm.
“Pharm?” Confusion breaks through the fuzz in Team’s brain, “what are you doing here?”
“I heard P’Dean was wearing a suit today,” Pharm replies, unashamed. “I came to check if that was true.”
Team nods absently, mind once again drifting to thoughts of suits. In particular, his boyfriend currently wearing one less than ten feet away.
A few seconds later, Team belatedly realises Pharm is staring at him expectantly.
“What?” Team asks.
Pharm’s eyebrows furrow, peering at Team with increasing levels of concern. “I asked you whether P’Dean is wearing a suit.”
Team has no idea if Dean is wearing a suit. He could have been wearing nothing but a fluorescent orange thong and Team wouldn’t have noticed. Not with Win stood next to him looking like he could put Team over his knee at any moment.
In the face of Pharm’s stare, Team offers, “I think,” he pauses, “yes?”
Pharm’s expression shifts, turning all at once viciously knowing. Team wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
“Does P’Win happen to be wearing a suit today, Team?”
Team’s ears burn in response. Pharm laughs at him, but it’s not mean.
“Team,” Pharm places a solemn hand on his shoulder, “you’re down bad.”
“Listen,” Team defends weakly, “I’ve been going through something.”
Silence for a moment as his best friend observes him. Pharm squeezes his arm comfortingly.
“You should tell him,” Pharm tells him kindly.
“Working on it,” Team replies.
The ambient noise of Win typing at his laptop greets Team as he lets himself into Win’s dorm room that evening. Team doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not to see Win has changed out of the suit and into the old, worn sweatpants he refuses to throw out no matter how threadbare they get.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. Clothes have little to do with the iron-clad grip Win has around his heart.
Win seems engrossed in his work, so Team busies himself changing out of his uniform while he tries to pluck up the courage to voice the thoughts swirling around in his mind.
There is a momentary lull in Win’s typing. Team turns toward where Win sits at his desk and says, “I don’t enjoy punishment.”
Win’s hands hover briefly over the keyboard before he pulls them away to swivel toward Team. “Okay,” he says, voice carefully even.
“I don’t like pain that much either.” Team forces himself not to fidget. “I mean, nothing too intense. A little bit can be nice.”
“Okay,” Win repeats. His body language is relaxed, hands resting on his splayed legs. Team stares at his fingers; long and slender with delicate bones. Thinks about the potential they hold.
“I like the—the difference in power. It felt good when you spanked me because it was you. You’re older, and more experienced. I trust you with it.”
Win’s index finger is tapping repeatedly over his thigh. He probably doesn't even realise he’s doing it, a nervous habit he’s unable to shake. The slight crack in Win’s normally calm facade settles Team somewhat. It’s comforting, knowing Win is just as affected by this as Team is.
“I think I also like how much you seemed to like it. When you—watched me.” Team swallows, eyes focused just to the right of Win, “You already know that I like to feel as if I’m being…”
“Good,” Win finishes for him. “You like to feel like you’re being good.”
Team nods, ears warm. He doesn’t say anything else.
“Just so I’m clear,” Win approaches him, then. Walks slowly toward Team until Team’s back hits the wall. Team has to tilt his head a little to look up at him, revels in the way it makes him feel caged in. “You also like that I’m taller than you. You like that my hands are bigger than yours.” Win’s hand encloses his wrist, thumb stroking the delicate skin there. “You like when it feels like I have more power than you. Like I can—put you where I want you.”
Team swallows, then nods.
In a complete contrast to their conversation, Win’s other hand comes up to scratch gently through his hair. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I know,” Team replies and means it.
“Good,” Win praises, an undercurrent of pride to it. Pride for Team. “Let me know if you want to try it again. Okay?”
“Okay,” Team says softly. Their conversation lifts a weight off his chest.
Win smiles at him, amicable and warm. A summer afternoon. Making it abundantly clear that Team is under no obligation if he doesn’t want to.
Sometimes, the way Win understands him so inherently makes Team feel like he dreamed him. Like one day he’ll wake up to find out none of this is real.
Win goes back to his desk, and Team settles on the bed to work quietly on his assignment. Beneath it all, there’s a fizzling undercurrent of expectation.
Team watches Win’s hands, and the desire in his blood sings.
Win squeezes Team’s thighs encouragingly.
“Lie over my lap,” he says. It isn’t a request.
Win always sleeps with at least one part of himself touching Team. It’s a habit born from Team needing to be held in order to fall asleep peacefully, in those first few months they knew each other. Even now, with his nightmares chased out by Win’s presence, Win will press his palm against Team’s back or slip his calf against Team’s shin before he lets himself doze off.
Sometimes, on the warmest days, the air sticky and muggy despite the air conditioning, Team wakes up to Win’s pinky finger tangled with his. Even in the unbearable heat of summer, Win will always keep that single point of contact in case Team needs it. It’s one of the infinite reasons Team is so desperately in love with him.
This morning, Team wakes to Win’s hand resting on the gentle swell of his hip. The weight of it is as comforting as it always is. Team allows himself to scan the contours of Win’s face; his expression is relaxed, but Team can tell from his breathing that he isn’t completely asleep, just dozing lightly.
Wordlessly, without lifting his head from the pillow, Team guides Win’s hand on his hip around to his ass. As if on reflex, Win squeezes the soft flesh there. Team knows he doesn’t have to say anything for Win to get the hint.
“You want to try it again?”
Win’s voice is pitched low from sleep, curling warmly in Team’s belly. Team nods into the pillow, keeping his eyes closed, body still relaxed and sleep-muzzy.
“Today?” Win’s voice is closer now.
Team nods once more.
Faced with an answering silence, Team opens one eye to peek up at Win from his hiding spot. There is something dark and unnamable in Win’s eyes.
Win must have been waiting for eye contact because he doesn’t look away as his finger inches under the leg of Team’s boxer briefs, sliding along the sensitive line where Team’s thigh meets his ass. Team tries to push back into it, but Win pulls away entirely. Team muffles his frustrated sound into the pillow.
Win presses a kiss to his sleep-rumpled hair.
“Later,” he promises.
He’s doing this on purpose, Team knows. The anticipation buzzing beneath his skin will keep him riled up for the rest of the day, like a spring coiled tight with tension.
“Tease,” Team mumbles.
Win hums consideringly, a low rumble in his chest. “Later,” he repeats, “we’ll see how you feel when I’ve got you over my knee.”
And then he slips out of bed to head to the bathroom. Team’s brain is filled with white noise for several seconds before he buries his head in the pillow again. He tries, and fails, to not rock his hips down against the bed. Just that single touch from Win has him half hard already.
Win’s voice calls over the sound of the shower running, “Don’t even think about touching yourself!”
Team doesn’t kick his feet against the bed in frustration, but it’s a near thing.
The apartment is unusually silent when Team gets back from class that evening. He glances around for any sign of Win, but finds nothing except Win’s backpack abandoned in its usual place.
He has a brief moment of panic that Win somehow forgot about him and made other plans. He’s gradually worked himself into a nervous ball of energy the entire day, and he’s just about ready to vibrate out of his own skin, until he spots the note on the bed. It’s resting on top of a fluffy towel.
I only went to the store. Take a shower and wait for me, it reads in Win’s handwriting. And then underneath, almost as an afterthought, Be good.
Team doesn’t have the cognisance to get offended that Win chose to go to the store at this time. The be good echoes on a loop in his head, curls up warm inside his chest and takes root. Team takes the towel and drifts towards the shower.
The hot water beating down soothes the tension in his muscles, body gradually relaxing under the spray. This, he knows, was Win’s intention. His mind is pleasantly blank from the warm steam, surrounded by the scent of Win’s body wash. Any anxiety that had been building throughout the day washes down the drain.
Win hasn’t left anything specific for Team to wear, so Team pulls on sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He doesn’t know what Win has planned, but Team knows he doesn’t need to worry about anything. All he needs to do is let Win guide him.
Team emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam to see Win depositing a plastic bag on the coffee table. The approving smile Win sends him makes Team’s heart jump pathetically in his chest.
The atmosphere in the room switches. Now that Team can see Win, anticipation begins to thrum steadily in his veins. He watches, rapt, as Win removes his wrist watch and places it safely on the table. It leaves both wrists bare; delicate bone and sinew leading to slender hands. Team stares at them and thinks about what he wants Win to do with them.
Win is looking at him like he knows exactly what Team is thinking.
Team’s legs move before he gives them permission.
Win cups one hand over the angle of his jaw. The cool metal of his ring presses into Team’s cheek; Team fights the urge to nuzzle into it and keeps his focus on Win.
“Can you be good for me?”
Win doesn’t take his eyes off him. Team feels pinned in place by what Win is asking—for Team to give himself over to Win entirely.
Win is the safest place he knows. There is nobody else Team would entrust himself to.
Win leans in to kiss his parted lips, and Team makes a blissful sound into his mouth.
“Take off your clothes,” Win murmurs against his mouth, and then he’s gone. The sudden loss of contact leaves Team reeling.
With trembling fingers, Team obediently removes the t-shirt and sweatpants. He can’t bring himself to take off the boxers just yet.
Movement behind him makes him turn. He’s a little surprised to see Win has also stripped down to his black boxer briefs.
“I thought about spanking you while wearing the suit,” Win’s voice is matter-of-fact, like he’s talking about the weather, “I could tell you liked me in it. But it’s my favourite one, and I didn’t want it to get dirty. You know how wet you can get, sweetheart.”
Team’s face burns. There’s a towel laid out on the edge of the bed that he didn’t notice before. The implication of it, of how messy Win knows he gets, makes his stomach twist in the best way.
Win is holding the silver tie. The same one he was wearing for the meeting with the potential Sponsor.
“Hands tied,” Win offers, “yes or no?”
Slow, undulating warmth spreads through Team’s body. The tie is stronger than the ribbon—there’s little chance Team could get out without Win’s permission.
Team drifts towards Win on autopilot.
Win brushes the end of the tie over Team’s wrist, a cold press of silk that almost makes him shiver.
“Tied in the front or behind your back?”
Team makes an aborted noise. He wants to pick whichever one will please Win.
Win senses his hesitance.
“Do you want me to choose?”
Relieved, Team nods.
“In front would be better,” Win decides. “I don’t want you to be too overwhelmed the first time.”
Team isn’t sure he would mind. He presses his wrists together at the front, allowing Win to tie the length of silk around them. Team tests the strain of them, finds he’s unable to move, and the lightheadedness from that day is back. He’s never felt less in control yet so safe.
Win says something. Team forces himself to respond.
“Aren’t you worried I’ll untie myself?” Team’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth.
Win shoots him an amused look. The hint of condescension makes Team swallow.
He traces Team’s cheekbone with his thumb. “How would you do that, sweetheart?”
“I could use my mouth,” Team gets out.
Win locks eyes with him. “You wouldn’t.”
“How—How are you so sure?”
Win’s thumb stills. “Because it would disappoint me.”
Team shudders. He can’t speak.
Win just looks at him with searching eyes.
“You’d do anything to be good for me, wouldn’t you?”
He would. He would do anything, and Win doesn’t know the half of it.
Win sits on the edge of the bed. He settles far enough back that Team will have enough room when he’s… in the correct position. Team’s throat clicks in another swallow.
Win observes him again with knowing eyes. Opens his legs in invitation, guiding Team to stand in between them with hands on the back of his thighs.
Win tugs Team’s boxers down and off his legs. He’s achingly hard already, has been since Win first touched him. Win leans in and tongues at the head. Team tries to smother a noise, hands flexing against the tie. His cock twitches as Win pulls back, trying to chase his mouth. The soft laugh Win gives at his reaction sends a bolt of embarrassed arousal straight through him.
Win squeezes Team’s thighs encouragingly.
“Lie over my lap,” he says. It isn’t a request.
Embarrassment mixes with anticipation in Team’s veins as he complies. Win gently rearranges him until he’s lying comfortably face down, his tied wrists in front. Team can easily turn his head if he needs more room to breathe.
A gentle press on his lower spine settles his pelvis firmly in Win’s lap. Team has to bite back a noise as his cock brushes Win’s thighs.
“Stretch your legs out,” Win says quietly, “let me take your weight.”
Team takes a cleansing breath and complies. The rougher material of the towel gives way to the softness of sheets near his feet.
The praise coils happily in his chest. The approval laced so clearly through Win’s voice has him relaxing further into his lap. Win wants him like this.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I love your legs?” Win asks, adoration in every syllable. “Especially your thighs.”
Team has mostly figured that out by now. The way Win’s eyes sometimes bore into him when he’s wearing shorts is a giveaway, but he flushes anyway under the attention. It makes him want to curl into himself, though Win doesn’t let him.
Win dips a hand between Team’s legs, traces a maddening line up his sensitive inner thigh. His knuckles brush against Team’s balls, making Team muffle a noise into the bed.
“You walk around in those little swim shorts all day. Sometimes it makes it hard to concentrate.” Win’s voice pitches quieter, “I always wondered how it would look if you let me mark you.”
Team’s breathing is shaky. Win’s nails dig crescents into Team’s skin; a hint of pain.
“You can,” Team breathes, so quiet he thinks Win mustn’t have heard.
The sudden sting of Win’s teeth on his sensitive inner thigh makes Team cry out, trembling as Win sucks a deep bruise into Team’s skin.
Win releases him, and the mark throbs in time with Team’s heartbeat.
“When I eat you out, you sometimes wrap them around my neck to keep me there,” Team’s toes curl at the memory, eyes squeezed shut, “it drives me insane.”
Win has always had a mouth on him, but this is something Team didn’t expect. Like he’s been holding back and finally has Team where he can’t run away.
“That day after the photoshoot, I wanted to follow you into the locker room,” Win continues. “Press you up against the shower wall. I wouldn’t have cared who saw you whine for it.”
Team presses his forehead into the sheets and breathes. Win would never do that to him. He would never do that, not in public, but the thought of it is overwhelming. He squirms as Win begins to palm over his ass.
“Stay still, please,” Win says mildly. Absentmindedly, like he has more important things to concentrate on. It makes Team feel small in the best way. He grinds against Win’s lap again.
Win’s other hand slides to grip the back of his neck in warning. The rush of arousal is blindsiding as his body goes completely limp.
Team is suddenly glad Win can’t see his expression, though he’s under no illusion that Win doesn’t know how affected he is. The way Team is already leaking against Win’s thigh is evidence enough.
“Stay like this,” Win says.
Team curls his bound hands into the sheets and doesn’t respond. He’s scared if he opens his mouth he’ll beg for it. He wants this so badly, breathless with the desire for Win’s hands on him.
“I’m not going to order you to count. This isn’t a punishment.” Win palms his ass again, fingers dipping casually between the cheeks to graze over his hole. "You can come whenever you want. Got it?"
Team bites his own lip to stopper the noise that tries to escape. "Yes."
The hand on his neck squeezes gently, once, reassurance. "Good boy."
The breathless sob skips straight from his lungs to his lips without his brain's permission, before Win’s palm even connects with his backside. The crack of the first hit is visceral, a zip of all-consuming pleasure up Team’s spine.
"Okay?" Win checks.
“Please,” Team chokes out.
Win slaps him over the tender mark he made on his thigh. Team’s hips jerk and he gasps in surprise as the pain shoots through him, setting his nerves alight and fuelling the fire in his belly.
He whines, pushing back into his hand. "More."
“Needy,” Win accuses, but he does it again anyway. Then again on the globe of his ass. And again, over and over, blow after blow until Team’s mind is absolutely blank.
Anticipation and endpoint twist together in his gut, sheer need burning away every other thought. His heart is pounding in his chest. He barely feels the tension in his wrists, gripping the sheets hard enough to bruise, barely registers the way he's grinding against Win's thigh. All sensation has narrowed down to the feeling of palm cracking across his ass, to knowing that every stinging stroke is one he’s allowed to have.
This isn’t something Team can only have because he’s earned it. Win is giving it to him willingly; allowing Team to sink into the pleasure of the blows without having to think about anything else.
Before long Team can hear the desperate edge in his own voice. Tears burn in his eyes when he squeezes them shut. Win goes from alternating, keeping him guessing, to coming down on the same spot twice, thrice in a row.
He's shaking by the time they get to what could be the thirtieth or fortieth strike. Team can’t do anything but take the blows as he sobs out another shattered-sounding noise.
“Fuck,” there is filthy reverence in Win’s voice, “Team. You have no idea what you look like.”
Team’s skin burns under Win’s palm. He imagines what Win sees; Team trembling over his lap, skin pink and still desperate for it. He’s going to come soon.
“Hia,” he pleads, voice small and wrecked.
“Shh,” Win soothes, “just a little more, baby. Doing so well.”
Win doesn’t relent even when the noises Team is making turn broken, practically sobbing into the covers below him. The hand on his neck lets go, goes underneath him to form a fist around the head of Team’s leaking cock.
“Making such a mess, baby,” Win says. Team whimpers, pushing down into Win’s fist and back against his palm, “coming apart under my hand. Good boy.”
Win’s hand comes down on him once more, the metal of his ring biting into Team’s skin like a brand, and the coil of tension in Team snaps. He whites out a little bit, coming so long and so hard that it feels like it lasts forever, leaves him wrung out and a little shaky as his grip finally loosens in the sheets, entire body absolutely boneless.
He feels rather than sees Win drop a kiss on his lower back, hand smoothing up towards his shoulder blades in a comforting caress. Team can feel the hardness of him beneath where he lies.
Team does what he’s wanted to do since he saw Win in that suit and drops to his knees. He’s glad his hands are bound in the front because it makes it easier for him to frantically slide Win’s boxers down, taking Win into his mouth as deep as the position allows.
He faintly registers Win gasp his name but he’s too far gone to care. The hand that slides into his hair is trembling even as it grips him, pulling his hair at the root, making Team whine around Win’s cock.
Team’s hands are trapped between his body and the bed from where he’s kneeling between Win’s spread legs. He can’t pull Win forward to encourage him to go deeper, so settles on blinking glassy eyes up at him, hoping he’ll catch on.
The answering noise Win lets out is obscene. The gentleness with which Win’s hands cup his jaw is belied by the slow, firm roll of his hips, fucking himself into Team’s mouth.
Team feels like he's drifting. There's a pleasant buzzing in his brain that excludes any need to think, or even move.
"You did good," Win murmurs, "you looked so good bent over my knee." Win gently tips his head back so he can slide deeper, and Team moans at the stretch; Win knows exactly how he likes it. "Now look at you, on your knees for me. You're perfect."
Team’s eyes flutter closed in dazed bliss. He kneels there, relaxed and obedient, and lets Win fuck his mouth. He only comes back to himself when Win gets close, feels him try to pull out of Team's mouth. Team makes a muffled noise of protest and presses forward, until Win is groaning his name and coming down his throat.
Team’s mind drifts again. His wrists ache beautifully when the tie is removed. There are soft, gentle swipes against his lips as Win cleans his mouth. His other hand is carding soothingly through Team’s hair. Team simply blinks fuzzily up at him, happy to be taken care of.
“You did so well for me,” Win murmurs. The praise helps ground him, the fog in his mind slowly clearing. “Are you okay?”
Team swallows, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.
“I’m okay,” he rasps out. Enough awareness has crept back in to register the lingering warmth on his thighs and ass where Win’s hands had been.
Gingerly, Team presses on the back of his thigh. There’s a faint tingle at the touch, but nothing that’s unbearable. Win was extremely careful to pull his strength and avoid putting him in too much pain.
Win watches him, face tense with worry, “Does it hurt badly?”
“There’s only a slight sting,” Team is quick to reassure him. “I shouldn’t feel anything by tomorrow.”
Regardless, Win’s caring instinct kicks in anyway. He pulls Team to his feet and gently pushes him toward the bed
“Go and lie down,” Win says. As Team moves to comply, he adds, “Flat on your stomach.”
Team complies readily, though he’s a little confused. Win doesn’t explain anything further, but there’s the rustle of a plastic bag from the other side of the room. The bed dips at one side as Win settles next to Team’s thighs. A snick of a bottle opening makes Team’s ears prick up.
“Ointment,” Win answers, already dabbing a generous amount of the cool cream onto Team’s overheated skin. Team tenses slightly, but Win’s hand is gentle, and eventually it starts to feel soothing.
Team rests his head on his folded arms, eyes closed. “I’ve never seen ointment in your apartment before.”
Win’s touch drifts down to the skin of his thighs. He traces the tender skin of the bite mark almost worshipfully. “I bought it especially for you.”
Surprised, Team looks back at him as best as he can. Win glances up only briefly before continuing to softly massage the ointment into his skin. If Team had to guess, he’d say Win looks shy.
“I did a lot of reading about it after the first time I spanked you,” Win’s voice is quiet, almost hesitant, “I could tell it was something you would really enjoy after you had some time to figure it out. I wanted to make sure I got it right. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you—more than you wanted, I mean.”
Team’s breath catches. Every time he thinks he’s reached his limit of affection for Win, something like this happens to sweep the rug out from under him. The stars must have aligned perfectly across the cosmos for Team to have found someone like Win.
“Hia,” Team says. His heart suddenly feels swollen, too big for his chest.
Win blinks up at him, earnest. “The forum said this brand was the best for aftercare. Is it not working?”
“Hia,” Team says again, unable to help his smile now. It radiates across his entire face, incandescent. “I’m fine. You didn’t do it any harder than I wanted. It feels better already.”
Win’s concern is absolutely adorable. Realistically, there’s no way Win would ever do any lasting damage, but Win has always taken Team’s well-being very seriously.
Win’s eyes never leave him as Team, still smiling, carefully pulls on a clean pair of boxers. Team’s smile gets more manic as Win just stares at him, nonplussed.
“Are you going to share the joke?” Win eventually asks, but he’s smiling now too. Like Team’s happiness is contagious.
Team laughs and reaches for him. Win goes willingly, settling across from Team on his side.
“Nothing,” Team taps Win on the tip of his nose, “you’re just cute when you worry.”
Win snaps his teeth at Team’s finger and Team whips it away before he can bite it.
“How’s your hand?” Team asks.
“Not the surface area I’m concerned with at the moment, Team.”
“That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to kiss it better.”
“In that case,” Win presents his hand to Team, his voice dry, “I am in excruciating pain. If only there was somebody to save me from this torment.”
Team shoots him an unimpressed look, “Zero out of ten for your acting. It’s a really good job you’re smart.”
Win adds, “And pretty,” then wiggles his fingers expectantly.
“And pretty,” Team agrees, kissing the centre of his palm dutifully.
Win is still wearing the ring. Team kisses that, too, then folds Win’s fingers into his hand and cradles the knuckles against his cheek. The metal has warmed now, smooth against his skin.
“What is it about the ring, baby?” Win asks. His tone is softly bemused.
“I like the way it feels against me,” it comes out quiet. Win’s hand tenses, just once, then relaxes in Team’s hold. “I like the way it looks on you.”
Win’s face cycles through several complicated emotions before eventually settling on besotted.
“I’ll wear it every day for you, if that’s what you want.”
Team smiles, gentle. “I’d like that.”
Win traces the gentle slope of Team’s nose with a finger. He doesn’t say anything else. Team wriggles closer until it’s hard to tell where one person starts and the other begins. Win’s arms encircle him, and Team takes the opportunity to breathe him in.
“I’m happy you came to me about what you wanted,” Win tells him softly.
“I’m happy you waited for me to work it out,” Team replies, just as soft.
Team still feels floaty from the rush of endorphins. Maybe that’s the reason why the next words skip straight from his brain and tumble out of his mouth.
“Nobody’s ever been this tolerant of me before,” he murmurs. There’s a quiet inhale as Win’s arms tighten. “I know I can get skittish and run away from things if I can’t process them straight away. Most people tend to chase me for an answer instead of giving me space to work it out. Apparently, I’m a difficult person to be patient with.”
Voice pained, Win says, “Team.”
“But you aren’t like that,” Team finishes.
Win is silent for so long that Team’s eyes flutter open just in time to catch the simmering fire in his expression. Under different circumstances, Win would be prepared to fight the people that made him feel that way. Faced with Team’s vulnerability, the fire in his expression washes away to be replaced with tender understanding.
“Those hardest to treat with patience often need it the most,” Win replies, voice quiet.
Team gets that warm feeling again, safe and small under the umbrella of Win’s kindness. He tucks himself more firmly into the crook of Win’s arm.
“Can we try other things, too?” Team asks. “Once I’ve decided what those should be.”
“Whatever you want to try,” Win replies, “I’ll always wait for you.”
Team smiles contentedly into his spot in Win’s neck. He takes that as the promise that it is.