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Summary
“I'd make you count,” Doyoung murmurs.
“What?”
“Before spanking you again. I'd tell you that I wanted you to count each hit, and I’d ask you what number we were on.”
He looks at Taeyong expectantly, and it takes a second for Taeyong’s brain to lurch into gear. “O-one,” he stutters, and then, “I’d keep count well.”
“I know you would.” Their hands aren’t tangled together any more, which only gives Doyoung the freedom to turn into Taeyong, push his wet hair back off his forehead. His thumb skirts all the tender, vulnerable dips in Taeyong’s skull; his temple and the corner of his eye socket, the hollow of his cheek. He drags it to the dip behind Taeyong’s ear and digs under the jut of bone there, a harsh hurt that slides rapidly into relief as he starts to work out the tension between spine and skull. “You’re always so good for me.”
[Or: Taeyong wants Doyoung to hurt him. It feels like the kind of thing they should have a discussion about]
Series
- Part 2 of whiplash