“Tell me what you see.” What a ridiculous question, Daniil thinks. I’ve got a blindfold on. I can’t see anything. But he hears, hears the heels of those fine leather shoes as they tap against the wood of the stage, the accompanying sound of the cane as Mark sets it down just ahead of himself, wood creaking when he leans against it. This, he can imagine: that suit, the scarf, Mark’s face in the dim lighting and the dust in the air around them. He can imagine the wood worn thin from rehearsal after rehearsal, scratches and chips from set pieces moved and dropped and dismantled against it.
But that wasn’t the question. And they’ve been over this before. ‘Not ‘what do you imagine,’ Bachelor; what do you see?’ Daniil’s brows furrow and his shoulders tug where he’s kept in place, tied too tightly to the chair. Mark will let him sit here and wait, agitated, until he gives the man a proper answer. “I see a town,” Daniil says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. And it fits, doesn’t it? This is the role he was given to play. And if he doesn’t see it yet, he will soon enough.
“Is that all?” Mark seems to be behind him, now, leaning in so their knees press together. The touch would make Daniil shudder, if he could move. He feels the heat all pool in the same location, throbbing any time he feels something like contact. “Normally I can’t get you to shut up. Even when you’re not in the script. You ad lib too much.” He taps Daniil’s heel, but there’s nowhere for them to go, either. He doesn’t imagine the Bachelor would sit like this, but he’s not really in character yet. This has been more of a brainstorming session, director to actor. “You see a town,” Mark repeats. “And what sort of town is it?”
At least they finally seem to be getting somewhere. “A small town,” Daniil says. He can picture it now. Rows of townhouses, of little flats. Twisting walkways, made of stone. A few manors. Grocery stores on the bottom levels of apartments. “A quaint one. Not even a suburb. Rural. Far out in the steppe –“
“No, no, no,” Mark interrupts. “You’re being too literal.” Daniil tries to roll his shoulder, and the rope tugs at his skin painfully. A drop of sweat slides down his neck, under his collar. How long have they been out here? “Think, Bachelor: What is town?” A spread of land with people. With homes and buildings. Shops, families. But those answers had gotten a hard whack across his thighs, and no relief in his position. He feels Mark to his right, feels his eyes following the curve of his shoulder. Daniil’s ass is asleep, and all wiggling his hips does is rub his erection against the front of his trousers.
Not enough. Mark knows what he’s doing. “A town is a body,” Daniil says. It will have the names of one. Flank, chine, backbone. He tries to picture the form it will take, but it is nothing like a human’s. A cancerous form, a blob. A head too large, a stomach too wide, legs unfit to carry it.
He thinks Mark coos the word Good, but it’s spoken too softly for him to hear. It wasn’t meant for him, anyway; not a praise, but an acknowledgement of progression. “And what are you, Bachelor?” Not a man, he thinks. That’s not what Mark would want to hear. Something more abstract. If a Town is a body, then what is a person?
“I am not the Bachelor yet. The play has not begun.” Mark clicks his tongue against his teeth. Wrong answer. Daniil feels Marks knees press against his own, and can imagine how he stands, resting his weight on his cane to loom over Daniil. The height difference is not so great, but when he’s got Daniil bound to a chair the way he has…
Long fingers, cold fingers, press against his jaw. He doesn’t pretend this is a gentle caress. This is Mark, angling his face upward. And there’s no pretense, either, that Daniil can see him. It’s not about what Daniil can do, it is about Daniil obeying. “Do you even know why I’ve brought you here? Why you’re bound as you are?” Mark asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Daniil could only provide him sarcastic answers, anyway. Strangest audition I’ve ever been to. “How can you portray a man who seeks to overcome the limitations of Death if you yourself only rely on what you can see, on what you can touch?” The fingers slide down his jaw to grip his chin.
The ropes feel tighter against his chest, and he realizes he’s being pulled against them. His erection throbs. Transcend your boundaries, indeed. Daniil moves back, out of Mark’s grip. He waits for the blow to his thighs, body rigid, his tongue between his lips.
But it never comes. The hand leaves his face. He doesn’t hear Mark move away, though their knees no longer knock together. There’s a pressure, suddenly, against the base of his cock, and Daniil tries to squirm. Mark’s voice is calm, somewhere above his head. “What do boundaries do, Bachelor?” The more Daniil struggles, the better it feels. “Do they confine us?”
“They define us.” He doesn’t know why the answer comes as easily as it does. The pressure dissipates, and Daniil groans in frustration. He feels something, a hand, pushing on his thigh. He feels his zip being pulled, and nothing else. The implication is clear: Go on. “Our responses to our boundaries define us. How we react.”
His cock is pulled free of his trousers. The grip on it is almost painful. “And how does one overcome their boundaries? How do you transcend?”
“You step outside.” He doesn’t need to be asked, Of what? His hips are dying to move, to grab at any stimulation. “You step outside of yourself, of the role you portray.” He gasps as the hand drags up his length, as a digit pushes hard against the slit. He hates how easily riled up he’s gotten, how the bonds put in place have sunk heat so heavily in his stomach. This is not his preferred method of sex, but they’ve been here over an hour now and he’s been on edge for half of it.
He doesn’t dare entertain the thought of Mark’s mouth around him. His voice comes from somewhere he can no longer place, head dizzy. “Good.” Mark’s hand on his cock is tight, his strokes a statement. Each one feels abrupt, and when Daniil’s orgasm hits him he isn’t quite expecting it. He grunts, overstimulation setting in as the hand pulls him to a twitching mess. It’s a moment before the hand pulls away, sitting with his cock falling against his trousers.
(FILL) Mark/Daniil, Bondage
But that wasn’t the question. And they’ve been over this before. ‘Not ‘what do you imagine,’ Bachelor; what do you see?’ Daniil’s brows furrow and his shoulders tug where he’s kept in place, tied too tightly to the chair. Mark will let him sit here and wait, agitated, until he gives the man a proper answer. “I see a town,” Daniil says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. And it fits, doesn’t it? This is the role he was given to play. And if he doesn’t see it yet, he will soon enough.
“Is that all?” Mark seems to be behind him, now, leaning in so their knees press together. The touch would make Daniil shudder, if he could move. He feels the heat all pool in the same location, throbbing any time he feels something like contact. “Normally I can’t get you to shut up. Even when you’re not in the script. You ad lib too much.” He taps Daniil’s heel, but there’s nowhere for them to go, either. He doesn’t imagine the Bachelor would sit like this, but he’s not really in character yet. This has been more of a brainstorming session, director to actor. “You see a town,” Mark repeats. “And what sort of town is it?”
At least they finally seem to be getting somewhere. “A small town,” Daniil says. He can picture it now. Rows of townhouses, of little flats. Twisting walkways, made of stone. A few manors. Grocery stores on the bottom levels of apartments. “A quaint one. Not even a suburb. Rural. Far out in the steppe –“
“No, no, no,” Mark interrupts. “You’re being too literal.” Daniil tries to roll his shoulder, and the rope tugs at his skin painfully. A drop of sweat slides down his neck, under his collar. How long have they been out here? “Think, Bachelor: What is town?” A spread of land with people. With homes and buildings. Shops, families. But those answers had gotten a hard whack across his thighs, and no relief in his position. He feels Mark to his right, feels his eyes following the curve of his shoulder. Daniil’s ass is asleep, and all wiggling his hips does is rub his erection against the front of his trousers.
Not enough. Mark knows what he’s doing. “A town is a body,” Daniil says. It will have the names of one. Flank, chine, backbone. He tries to picture the form it will take, but it is nothing like a human’s. A cancerous form, a blob. A head too large, a stomach too wide, legs unfit to carry it.
He thinks Mark coos the word Good, but it’s spoken too softly for him to hear. It wasn’t meant for him, anyway; not a praise, but an acknowledgement of progression. “And what are you, Bachelor?” Not a man, he thinks. That’s not what Mark would want to hear. Something more abstract. If a Town is a body, then what is a person?
“I am not the Bachelor yet. The play has not begun.” Mark clicks his tongue against his teeth. Wrong answer. Daniil feels Marks knees press against his own, and can imagine how he stands, resting his weight on his cane to loom over Daniil. The height difference is not so great, but when he’s got Daniil bound to a chair the way he has…
Long fingers, cold fingers, press against his jaw. He doesn’t pretend this is a gentle caress. This is Mark, angling his face upward. And there’s no pretense, either, that Daniil can see him. It’s not about what Daniil can do, it is about Daniil obeying. “Do you even know why I’ve brought you here? Why you’re bound as you are?” Mark asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Daniil could only provide him sarcastic answers, anyway. Strangest audition I’ve ever been to. “How can you portray a man who seeks to overcome the limitations of Death if you yourself only rely on what you can see, on what you can touch?” The fingers slide down his jaw to grip his chin.
The ropes feel tighter against his chest, and he realizes he’s being pulled against them. His erection throbs. Transcend your boundaries, indeed. Daniil moves back, out of Mark’s grip. He waits for the blow to his thighs, body rigid, his tongue between his lips.
But it never comes. The hand leaves his face. He doesn’t hear Mark move away, though their knees no longer knock together. There’s a pressure, suddenly, against the base of his cock, and Daniil tries to squirm. Mark’s voice is calm, somewhere above his head. “What do boundaries do, Bachelor?” The more Daniil struggles, the better it feels. “Do they confine us?”
“They define us.” He doesn’t know why the answer comes as easily as it does. The pressure dissipates, and Daniil groans in frustration. He feels something, a hand, pushing on his thigh. He feels his zip being pulled, and nothing else. The implication is clear: Go on. “Our responses to our boundaries define us. How we react.”
His cock is pulled free of his trousers. The grip on it is almost painful. “And how does one overcome their boundaries? How do you transcend?”
“You step outside.” He doesn’t need to be asked, Of what? His hips are dying to move, to grab at any stimulation. “You step outside of yourself, of the role you portray.” He gasps as the hand drags up his length, as a digit pushes hard against the slit. He hates how easily riled up he’s gotten, how the bonds put in place have sunk heat so heavily in his stomach. This is not his preferred method of sex, but they’ve been here over an hour now and he’s been on edge for half of it.
He doesn’t dare entertain the thought of Mark’s mouth around him. His voice comes from somewhere he can no longer place, head dizzy. “Good.” Mark’s hand on his cock is tight, his strokes a statement. Each one feels abrupt, and when Daniil’s orgasm hits him he isn’t quite expecting it. He grunts, overstimulation setting in as the hand pulls him to a twitching mess. It’s a moment before the hand pulls away, sitting with his cock falling against his trousers.
“I think we can call the scene,” Mark says.