Beau is a giver. But not in the traditional sense of the word, not really. She doesn’t give through actions. She doesn’t give through brushing fingers and tongue and power. She doesn’t push Yasha down onto the bed and pull her to the heavens time and time again, shaking limbs, or fingers over hips. She doesn’t control a single thing. No, Beau is not a giver in the traditional sense of the phrase. Not the way other people think or imagine based on the way she acts every day, harsh, brash, too cocky for her own good. Instead she gives herself over. Utterly, completely, fully. And Yasha understands it wholly. Because Beau is nothing but a giver when it really comes down to it.
Yasha would never complain. She craves it.
And so - Beau gives.
Yasha knows that she shouldn’t get off on this. In theory, this should make her feel something totally different, disgust or worry even. But it’s been a long time since she let herself worry over something like the scene in front of her. It’s been too many times that she has found herself here, and she knows that brains are just complicated things. Somewhere along the line, she was wired for this, she was made to put Beau into situations exactly like this . Fighting against it or questioning it seems pointless now. So, she looks. She observes. Every little thing about the beautiful creature in front of her, puts it to memory and knows she is the holiest and luckiest person alive.
It had taken nearly thirty minutes to get Beau into this position. The rope's color looks stunning on her, blue of course, highlighting every single curve and dip. The light streaming in through the curtains illuminates Beau’s skin, a golden hue untouchable by mortals. Her hands are secured tightly behind her back, pulling the muscles in her shoulders taut, as if she is balancing on a wire and using her impeccable movement to keep herself beautifully perched. Her legs fold on themselves, a low kneel, the rope binding there too, everywhere, holding her in a position so intricate Yasha thought it deserved to be in a museum. No one should be able to look like this. She swears her heart jumps into her throat.
In all fairness, Yasha had practiced for months to get the ties and knots just right. It hadn’t come naturally to her, more detail oriented than she was used to. But with practice, just like anything else, she had mastered it fairly quickly. It had been worth it, after all, looking at Beau now. Yasha can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across her face.
Beau shifts, body pulling against her restraints, a faint noise falling from her parted lips. It isn’t quite a moan, but Yasha knows it is minutes away from becoming one.
“Okay?” Yasha lets herself whisper, breaking the nearly hostile silence that had overcome the room.
A response doesn’t come right away, and Yasha watches so intricately as Beau’s chest rises and falls, ropes expanding ever so slightly around her ribs as air is pushed and pulled from her lungs. Beau’s head is hanging down and Yasha can’t tell if her eyes are open or closed, but trains her own eyes on her lover’s face for any sign of communication.
“Beau,” Yasha tries again, this time her voice is more stern. And like magic, like a command given from within, Beau’s head snaps up. Her eyes are open now, but hooded still, lost in her own head. Her pupils too, blown wide with a type of need Yasha can barely comprehend. “Are you okay?”
And finally, Beau’s head is nodding, over and over again, a desperate kind of plea, “Yeah- fuck , yes, Yasha.”
It is exactly what Yasha was looking for, and that grin that was already holding her lips grows. She takes a few steps forward so she’s standing at the foot of the bed. Beau’s kneeling form sits right in the middle, spread and waiting, a devilishly tempting sight. It calls to Yasha, the loudest scream from the depths of her soul. But she goes slowly.
It’s always so much better when it’s slow.
“How do you want this?” Yasha tries her best to keep her voice even despite the way desire is rushing through her. “How do you want me to start you off, Beau?” Words already seem lost on the monk. Even though her eyes are locked onto Yasha’s for dear life, her mouth doesn’t move. “If you don’t talk to me, I won’t touch you, beautiful.”
It’s like this sometimes, right at the start. Beau’s headspace runs so deep, so far, it feels nearly too intense at times. But Yasha doesn’t hesitate. Instead, she steps around to the side of the bed and reaches out gently with her right hand, brushing the back of her knuckle across the side of Beau’s face. She starts at the apex of her jaw and then runs towards her chin. It’s delicious, the way Beau tilts her head into the touch, the one part of her body that truly has any autonomy. So Yasha flips her hand and lays her open palm on the side of the other’s face, coaxing and relaxing Beau’s jaw in a fleeting and warm touch.
That’s all it takes.
“Anything,” Beau finally breathes out, “Anything, please.”
The begging is instant and also constant. If Beau isn’t begging, Yasha assumes she’s doing something wrong. And there is something about that idea that urges Yasha on.
“Anything?” Yasha repeats, a bit of a tease.
“Yes, Gods, anything, anything ,”
It’s easy to get Beau desperate. And after nearly half an hour of maneuvering knots and rope across Beau’s body she’s more than ready. Everything after it is already at a peak of intensity. It’s been practice to draw things out. Yasha intends to implement that practice now, knows she’ll break Beau a thousand times over before they are done today.
It starts with just a touch. Yasha takes her hand from Beau’s face and runs it down the length of her torso. Touching just enough, all the way down towards her navel, then further, running loops along her hips. Yasha watches as Beau’s eyes close and now her head falls backwards, face towards the heavens. And now, those noises from before do transform into moans. They are quiet at first, but as Yasha lets the touch trail lower, finally approaches the apex of Beau’s thighs, they are full and breathy.
Yasha lets herself rest on the edge of the bed, catalogs everything about the figure before her. Beau’s legs already begin to tremble, and Yasha watches as Beau tries to push her hips into Yasha’s touch. The ropes, of course, don’t let her get too far, and Yasha pulls her hand back.
“Did I tell you to move?”
Beau’s head snaps back to face forward. Her dark eyebrows curl inwards, unable to contain the clear desperation. Yasha admires the folds in her skin, the way even now, the corners of her eyes are starting to show smile lines. Those weren’t there when they had first met.
Once Yasha is satisfied that Beau had listened to the warning, she puts her hand back, this time running her fingers all the way down, ghosting over Beau’s clit.
“Oh- fuck, Yasha ,” The moans are increasing, even with these light touches. Now Beau’s eyebrows unfurl, and they relax back down, the wave of pleasure erasing the displeased look from her face completely. In fact, Beau’s brow seems to peak up, and her mouth falls open slightly, letting another round of moans free.
Yasha feels how wet Beau is, and isn't surprised even a little.
“Please,” The begging is back, this time louder, with more power behind it, “Please, Yasha. Don’t go so slow. Not today, please ,”
The words hit Yasha like a ton of bricks, a wave of arousal coursing through her. She is still wearing most of her clothes, still so focused on Beau first and foremost. But it does seem unfair, how exposed Beau is, completely naked and completely bound.
“Well, I must get undressed first,” Yasha says by way of excuse, and she stands from the edge of the bed. Without her weight on the corner the bed rebounds slightly, knocking the bound Beau off balance for a moment. Without hands to steady herself, Yasha watches as her abs clench and her legs fight against the blue rope. She doesn’t fall over, of course she doesn’t. But the strain makes her let out a groan, and that look of perturbed desperation comes back to her face. “Don’t you want me to be naked too?”
It’s all just teasing at this point.
Beau bites the inside of her cheek, Yasha can see it, a little divot on the left side and her jaw tense and square. She jerkily nods, her muscles too tight to allow for any fluid movements.
“If you don’t let yourself relax a little more you will be sore for days, babe.” Yasha starts to undress herself, finally taking her eyes off of her lover, which is an exceptionally hard thing to do at this moment. She turns herself away, and feels Beau’s eyes on her back. It’s satisfying.
After a few moments she is undressed, and turns around with a gentle smile, “Shall I come back to the bed?”
“Yes,” Beau is nodding again, “ Please ,”
“You have been such a good girl, waiting while I tied you up so nice and pretty,” Yasha speaks softly as she resituates herself on the bed, this time more central, allowing herself full access to the stunning sight in front of her. “You were so patient, let me do everything I wanted.” Beau’s eyes snap closed, that divot in her cheek still there, breathing still rapid. “I will let you have what you want now. But do not forget to listen, Beauregard.”
The monk’s eyes don’t open. In fact, they press shut harder as Yasha replaces her hand. She doesn’t move her hand right away though, let’s the simple touch drive Beau mad.
“Yasha,” Beau groans, “Yasha, please touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
“ Fuck , you know what I mean!”
Sometimes Yasha forgets how fiery Beau really is. When they are in positions like this, it’s easy to forget, because Beau becomes a docile beast, a true giver. She gives every ounce of herself to Yasha as if a gift from the Gods.
But that doesn’t mean that Beau’s personality doesn’t still shine through. And this teasing has been particularly elongated.
“Yasha, stop fucking teasing! Please, you -”
Once again, Yasha removes her hand. Beau’s body pulses, skin rubbed against the ropes as her muscles flex again. Yasha wonders if Beau could snap the rope. She wonders what it would look like if she did.
“Babe, you are not listening.” Yasha has to use every ounce of control to not give into the pleas. She steadies herself with an intentional breath and tries to maintain her focus, “If you do not relax, you are going to be miserable tomorrow.”
Beau is shaking her head then, side to side on repeat, “I don’t care. I literally don’t care. If you don’t touch me for real I’m going to fucking lose my mind, Yasha. I can’t-I don’t- ”
Maybe, Yasha thinks, she doesn’t have as much control as she thought she did. Because the begging does get to her apparently. She puts her hand back, this time applying just a bit of pressure to Beau’s clit. A gasp falls from Beau’s mouth at the contact, finally something more than a whisper of what she wanted.
“If you want it so bad, take it.”
It’s cruel. Of course it is. Beau can move maybe a few centimeters, if that, considering the tight binding of the ropes. Even moving up and down is restricted, thanks to the ropes along her thighs, her ankles, her shins. But Beau doesn’t hesitate a second. She starts to move her body in earnest, every single movement has her face twisting in effort, muscles tightening again and again. All Yasha does is watch in awe.
It doesn’t take long of this for Beau to get close. Yasha sees all the tell tale signs. The way Beau’s head falls back again. The way her eyes are closed in bliss, mouth hanging open, moans mixed with sighs of gratification. Beau’s hips start to shifts on Yasha’s fingers faster somehow, the ropes seeming to loosen after the repeated movements, and Yasha makes a mental note to tie them tighter next time, if that is even possible.
“Yasha, I’m so close. Can I, please, can I-” Beau can’t finish her thought. Yasha pulls her hand away.
The frustrated groan that Beau lets out is nearly a growl, and Yasha thinks that it shakes mountains, it sends rockslides. She watches the shaking of Beau’s legs, that familiar tremble across her arms.
“Cool down for a moment and I’ll put my hand back. You were such a good girl for telling me, such a good girl, Beau.”
The praise doesn’t help Beau cool down, in fact, Beau squirms in her restraints more. But this is familiar, and Beau’s meditation has improved tenfold over the years. Yasha watches as her breathing starts to even out, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly, clearly focused on something outside of this moment.
“Are you ready for my hand again?” Yasha asks after a few minutes of this pass.
“Yes,” Beau’s eyes are wide and pleading again.
“You are not lying to me?”
“No, I swear,”
Yasha doesn’t reply, just returns her fingers right where Beau needs them.
And it starts again.
There is a beauty in this, in the power of it. The way Beau gives everything in herself over to Yasha. It continues to stir Yasha’s own desire, and she reaches down with her unoccupied hand and touches herself. For the first time in the evening she lets out a completely uncontrolled moan of her own, and she watches as Beau snaps to attention, looking down to where Yasha’s other hand now is.
“Gods, Yasha, holy shit ,” Beau doesn’t take her eyes away.
“I’m going to finish first, do you understand?” Yasha’s own voice is now breathy, her own moans hard to control with everything she tries to focus on. Beau is still grinding onto her one unmoving hand. Her other hand rubbing circles on her own clit, desperate to finally have some kind of relief to the ache that had been building.
“ Yes ,” Beau breathes.
Yasha’s touches on herself are a bit clumsy, but it doesn’t matter. Everything building up to this has been disgustingly intense, and her body begs for anything, the same way Beau’s words beg for everything, everything, everything. She feels like she is sitting on a bed of hot coals, embers, searing every inch of her skin. In reality, it’s just Beau, helpless and bothered, desperate for anything Yasha will give her.
Her own touches start to become too much.
“I am keeping you tied up all night,” Yasha says, unable to control her own words, her own thoughts, “You will take me every way possible. You are mine, Beauregard.”
Beau lets out a particularly loud moan, her hips pushing down onto Yasha’s hand, desperately. Her throat already seeming scratchy from overuse and the evening has only begun.
“I’m close,” Beau is saying again, “Yash, are you-fuck, are you close?”
Yasha can’t answer, is too focused on how hot the room is, how good Beau’s abs look as she pulls against those damn ropes.
“Yasha, please, are you listening, I’m close, I can’t-”
Beau stops talking, because Yasha feels herself being pulled to the edge and she moans wildly. Her body tenses, her own fingers pulling the most amazing feeling, and she lets herself go. Euphoria spreads through her veins and she can’t help the curses that spill from her lips. Beau always tells her she talks more in bed than she ever does in day to day life. Not that that is a particularly hard thing to do.
She touches herself through the waves of it, keeping her eyes trained on Beau, how good the other looks. Red marks start to ignite around where Beau’s skin contacts the rope, all the movement rubbing burns across her body. But it doesn’t stop Beau, surely egged on by the bite of pain.
“What a good girl waiting for me,” Yasha finally manages, “It’s your turn, Beau. That’s it.”
Yasha finally moves her fingers against Beau’s clit, repeating those circular motions she just used on herself. Beau’s voice breaks, a moan slipping into a scream.
“Fuck, Yasha, please, don’t stop,”
Beau’s body tenses her head pulling forward, shoulders hunching inwards, and those ropes do their job, hugging Beau’s body so tightly. It’s sinful. Yasha moves up on the bed, uses her free hand to now run her palms across Beau’s body. She leans in towards Beau’s ear and whispers, “Come, Beau.”
Yasha wishes she could hear Beau like this every day forever. These are sounds just for her, just for her ears. No one else gets to hear Beau like this, not anymore.
“Fuck, Yasha, fuck, fuck,” Beau starts to mutter, her body now properly shaking, moans turned to whispers as she rides out her high. All of the tenseness across the monk’s body starts to melt away, exhaustion seeming to take over.
“Don’t give up on me yet,” Yasha kisses where Beau’s neck meets her shoulder, “We are just getting started.”