Title: Breath
Author: JC Sun

Rating: If ever a fic of mine deserved its rating, this is the one. NC-17 folks for some serious bondage-style activities, breath play, and sexual activities that might be non-consensual. You don't want to read this if you're underage or easily squicked.

*

The boy comes in fifteen, twenty minutes afterwards. Shuts the door of the sleeping compartment behind him, and stands there, swaying with the motion of the train for a moment or two. The first thing Sephiroth does to him is unwind that long, intriguing red-gold scarf from around his neck and put it around his eyes instead. The belt from Sephiroth's pants go around the elbows -- wrists are too little, and there're extra holes punched into the belt, but even so, Sephiroth has to pull it back to the second to last notch and that's with all the clothes on. He reaches over to one of the bunks and is going to put a handkerchief in the boy's mouth when the boy speaks up for the first time.

It's the first time Sephiroth's heard him speak, and it's not too bad Lots of backcountry, mountain swing to the vowels, rough on the consonants, but it's intelligible, and the voice itself is clear over the clicking of the track. "Don't, alright?"

"Don't what?" Sephiroth says, still moving his hand with the handkerchief towards the boy. Lovely bright golden hair. It'd be a shame to cover any more of it than he had to.

"I won't make any noise, I promise."

Sephiroth considers this for a moment. "And what do I get if you do?"

The boy smiles, and Sephiroth sees it as a quick gleam of teeth in the half-darkness. "You paid for my ticket to the city. You get to do what you want me until then. What more do you want?"

Even though Sephiroth knows the boy probably can't see it, couldn't do anything about it even if he could see it, he turns away to smile in the dark.

*

It doesn't take too much to make the boy cry. A finger, a mouth, some light teasing and this collar made out of strong, thin wire he brought along for just this purpose. Sephiroth strings it through the loops of his spare belt, puts the belt around the boy's throat, then the twine up, over, and through the frame of the top bunk until the boy's swaying on his toes with the rhythm of the train, naked with his elbows still pinned behind him with Sephiroth's good belt and the trackside lights painting his body.

Orange for three seconds. All dark for two. Orange for three seconds. No sounds worth mentioning, and Sephiroth tugs the twine just a little more, to force the boy onto tiptoe or have pressure on his windpipe, then tightens the belt at the throat just a little to make the boy's facial muscles flicker in darkness. In orange, he slips to his knees in front of the boy, whose cock is as hard as the straining muscles in his legs. When Sephiroth takes it into his mouth, the boy gives a sudden, tense jerk, and Sephiroth has to put a steadying hand at the boy's waist behind him, and Sephiroth takes him lightly, gently in the mouth. Teases the damp head a little with his tongue, then looks up to see if the boy will make a noise.

There's no noise, just a sudden dark spot in the boy's scarf from -- tears. Sephiroth smiles, then takes the head fully in his mouth and starts swirling his tongue around the burningly hot shaft.

After a few minutes, he feels the tears drop onto his cheek, neck and shoulders from above.

*

Some time later, it's the boy's turn to kneel in front of him. It's a hard thing to do with your hands pinned behind you like this, especially if you've been strung up like that for a bit. When Sephiroth let him down, the boy almost collapsed to the floor, and Sephiroth had to prop him back him, steady him.

"You want a drink of water?"

Mute nod.

Sephiroth fills a metal cup with water for the carafe, then wets the lip of the cup with water. Gives the boy a lick, then makes him strain upwards on exhausted thighs for more. When then boy's face, still blindfolded, is twisted with longing and parched from crying so much, Sephiroth lets the cup spill all over his face, soaking the blindfold, making the boy's lips and chin flash silver in the darkness.

The boys sucks the water in greedily and sucks on his lips afterwards to get the last of it, and then, Sephiroth catches the boy by the back of the head and draws him across the sleeping compartment, on his knees, to the edge of the bed. With one hand on the boy's head, he undoes his pants and draws his hard cock out with the other, then guides the boy to it with both hands.

The boy makes a soft, strangled noise when Sephiroth forces it into his mouth, but Sephiroth forgives that.

*

They hit the last stretch of countryside before the city an hour or two before dawn, when the sky is lead grey, and it's nothing but fields and dark trees and the occasional farmhouse. The boy is on the bed know, wearing that collar again, except this time, the lead wire is attached to the frame for the top bunk bed. There's another wire for his elbows, and Sephiroth has spread his legs wide enough so that the boy's whole weight must be resting on those two wires.

Sephiroth considers the picture for a moment, watches the boy sway to the train, sees the boy has run out of tears. From the chest, heaving like that, he must be sobbing, though, and when Sephiroth puts a hand on that pale, thin back, he can feel the trembling.

The boy's feet hang off the edge of the bed; his ass is hanging on the very edge, and Sephiroth squirts a good amount of lube into his hand. Smears a good deal of it on his cock, then spreads what is left on the boy's ass.

The boy flinches a little, at the coldness, but his whole posture changes when he feels Sephiroth's cock pressing against his ass. Sephiroth then takes the boys hips and *swings* them back and holds himself right at the entrance while the boy flails -- as much as he can . The boy has to get used to the collar tightening, too, figure out how to angle his head so his hair doesn't get caught in the wire frame for the bottom and make it worse for himself, and after a moment, Sephiroth lets the boy swing back down. Like a pendulum, and when the boy gets back down to the bottom, he's trembling so hard that Sephiroth can see it in the grey dawn-light. Shoulders trembling, back trembling, thighs trembling.

And Sephiroth reaches over and presses his right hand against the boy's hipbone to swing him up again. This time, farther, deeper onto his cock, and the collar draws tighter around the boy's neck -- tight, tight, tighter, until Sephiroth imagines that the boy must feel the breath burning in his lungs and the panic surging through limbs that are too tired to obey anymore, and simultaneous to the very beginning of the boy's scream, Sephiroth lays an index finger on the boy's back and whispers, soft as a kiss:

Mute.

*

The boy screams until dawn but makes no noise.

*

They pull into the station. The boy gets of first: he is sore. Walks with a little limp, and the scarf rubbed him raw around the cheeks from when it was wet and chafed him. You can't see the marks on arms, though, because of his sweatshirt, and the scarf covers the neck-marks.

Sephiroth is indulgent. The boy was good -- he kept his promise for a long time, and the scarf worked out well. He may even bring his own scarf next time, for the next boy, but there is this a curiously transparent quality to this boy. He almost seems familiar, somehow, and when Sephiroth gotten off the train and checked to make sure he has all his bags, he calls after the boy who leaped off the train the second it stopped and is just on the threshold of stepping into the station proper.

Sephiroth says, "What's your name?"

The boy stops. Doesn't turn around, but from his shoulders, he's still trembling.

"Cloud," the boy says and pulls his sweatshirt more tightly around his shoulders. "Cloud of Nibelheim."

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