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Summary
By day, Childe dreams of fierce, bloodthirsty combat with the Captain, of the collision of metal and bone, of the smooth tip of his hydro dagger snaking below the edge of that austere mask. Childe is stronger than he used to be—perhaps strong enough for his superior to notice him now—and he relishes the opportunity to prove himself.
But, by night, he dreams of a different battle, one he is only too happy to lose. It becomes too easy to imagine himself forced to his knees on frosty marble floors, choking on Capitano’s cock as glittering chains danced above him. The visions that flicker behind Childe’s eyelids are never enough, not even when he fucks into his fist or thrusts two fingers into his slick hole, brokenly whimpering the Captain’s name as he comes. Night after night, it leaves him feeling hollow and cold.