"Relax," Chris says. "Take deep breaths. If anything hurts, tell me."

He starts to gently probe the entrance.

He gasps and clings to Chris's shoulders and nods. "Yes Chris — yours —" 

"Mine," Chris agrees. 

Chris fingerfucks him slowly with one hand and jerks him off with the other. 

His fingers curl in Chris's hair and he buries his face in Chris's neck and keeps clinging to Chris's shoulders. 

He adds a second finger. 

He is hyperaware of everything that is happening with Marlo, every small sound, every shift, every ounce of muscle tension.

He makes a soft whimpering sound and presses back into Chris's fingers. 

Chris wants to make him fall apart. Chris wants to fill Marlo and make him unable to think and make him lose himself in pleasure. Chris wants to control Marlo, to make him feel things; Chris wants to be Marlo's toy, a thing for Marlo to use; Chris wants to be his trusted servant, the only one allowed to have power over him because Marlo knows Chris will use it the way he wants. Chris wants Marlo to pet his hair and tell him he did well. 

Chris wants to be good.

He adds a third finger

He's shaking again, can feel himself falling apart at the seams — "I, Chris, love you —" his head falls back — "yours —" 

He pulls his fingers out of Marlo's ass.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

"Please," half-gasped. 

Chris pulls on the condom, lines up, and plunges in. He feels the familiar pressure against his pelvis. How long has it been? Too long.

He kisses Marlo. 

He's so full — Chris is, is so good, Marlo kisses him and tries as hard as he can to communicate I love you I love you I love you through touch alone while he's falling apart on Chris's cock — he's probably pulling Chris's hair but he can't make himself let go — 

Having his hair pulled is so good, it hurts, it's the way things are supposed to be. To be carelessly hurt because of how well he's doing.

He is good and trusted and flawless--

The words slip out of his lips before he notices them. "Thank you, sir."

He barely registers the words, just the tone — he wants to make Chris use that voice again — he pulls again, on purpose this time. 

Chris is vaguely aware that there is something wrong with the thought process "I made my master happy and now my hair is being pulled again because I was good" but he is far too deep into subspace to work out what it is. 

"Thank you, sir," he says again, "thank you--"

He has no idea what to say so he just kisses Chris and keeps pulling his hair and rocking his hips into Chris's touch — he's so so full — 

He is good, he is good, he is good, he is good--

The pleasant pressure around his pelvis builds. He bites his lip and reaches to touch Marlo's dick. 

(If he's going to be good he can't get off before Marlo does. No one says he can't make Marlo get off faster though.)

He makes a loud ragged sound and clings to Chris and rocks forward and pulls his hair harder. 

That is going to make not getting off before Marlo slightly more challenging.

"Thank you, sir," he says, his voice breaking. "Thank you, sir."

His hand is going hard and fast and his wrist is sort of cramping and it's so good, he is Marlo's--

"I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours — Chris —" and his voice cracks and his hips stutter and he comes, clinging tight to Chris and pulling hard on his hair. 

A moment later Chris shudders through his whole body and throws his head back and moans for the first time, deep and low.

Marlo untangles his fingers from Chris's hair and holds him — he's so relaxed, it feels so good, he loves Chris so much — he kisses Chris again, soft and sweet and shallow. 

Chris is still too subspacey to really think.

He curls up and rests his head on Marlo's shoulder.

He wants to know if he did good but he's not supposed to ask.

"I love you," and he rubs circles into Chris's back with his palm, "I love you, I love you so much, Chris, I love you." 

That's not right. It's not what he's supposed to say. Chris whimpers.