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i dream of you draped in wires

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He recognizes that look, the flash of anger in Paul’s eyes that dissipates as quickly as it comes. Recording had been going smoothly so far, but Daniel realized he’d struck a nerve a second too late after the words - little pushy, passive-aggressive suggestions - left his mouth. Paul had gone unusually quiet afterwards, offering only terse, one-word answers until everyone silently agreed it was time to leave and that they’d finish up tomorrow.

“Stay here. I need to talk to you,” Paul’s voice rings out just as Daniel’s about to pull on his coat. He tries his best to ignore the trembling that’s already set into his hands, offering brief good nights to everyone until, at last, they’re left alone in the studio.

He can’t see Paul from where he’s standing, but he knows better than to move. This is hardly new, almost routine, even, and yet he can’t stop the soft whimper that escapes his lips when he feels Paul’s breath ghost along the back of his neck.

“Daniel, Daniel, Daniel,” he says simply. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Did I say you could talk?”

Daniel shakes his head. Paul steps back, as if contemplating him for a second.

“Strip.”

It’s warm in the studio but goosebumps rise on Daniel’s skin anyway as he slowly pulls his sweater over his head and unbuttons his shirt. Paul’s still looking at him, head tilted in mocking amusement as Daniel stumbles a bit getting out of his pants and underwear.

“Gorgeous,” he smirks as the bright red flush encompasses Daniel’s entire body. “Lay down for me.”

The rug is coarse, unbearably so. Daniel arches and whimpers some more when he feels the rough material against his back and ass, making the other man tsk disapprovingly.

“None of that.” Paul presses on Daniel’s chest with his foot, forcing him back to the floor. “Down, boy.”

Daniel does as he’s told, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him as Paul rummages around in his bag, coming back a short while later with a few things and a piano stool in tow. The blindfold he ties around his head and the handcuffs with which his wrists are bound are as uncomfortable as the rug. He considers asking if Paul carries this shit around with him all the time, but decides against it. The feeling of Paul maneuvering him onto his knees with his cheek pressed to the floor is welcome contact, even as he swears he’s getting rug burn on his face already; the small bullet vibrator pushing into his ass, however, is decidedly not. A soft “fuck” tumbles from his lips as Paul turns it on to a low setting.

“Count for me,” Daniel hears, and the first spank is like a hot iron against his skin.

“O-one,” he breathes. The vibrator isn’t on high enough for him to feel anything, but he’s already half-hard.

“Now… you know I don’t like it when you talk back to me, right?”

This is what they had been building up to. Daniel swallows and takes a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Then why did you?”

“I didn’t mean-”

Without warning, Paul turns the vibrator’s controls up to the maximum setting and spanks him again, so hard Daniel pitches forward.

“Fuck!” he cries. “Two!”

“Don’t give me that ‘didn’t mean it’ bullshit,” Paul growls. It’s the angriest Daniel’s heard him in years. “Why did you talk back to me?”

“Because- because-” Daniel’s skin feels like it’s on fire; his grasp of English suddenly tenuous at best.

“It’s because you’re a little bitch, isn’t it?”

The word makes Daniel flinch as though he’s been struck again. He’s fully hard now, aching cock dripping onto the carpet, but he makes no move to answer.

“Say it, Daniel. Say you’re a bitch.”

“I- oh God, three- I’m- I’m a b-bitch.”

“Good boy,” Paul coos, and delivers another round of spanks- four five six seven eight - so fast Daniel can’t count them, only scream and beg incoherently into the rug.

Paul leans over and digs a hand into Daniel’s hair, pulling him up roughly. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir,” he gasps, and Paul’s breath hitches. “Please let me come.”

“Do you think you deserve it?” He forces the vibrator in deeper with his other hand, earning him another pathetic scream. “Are you sorry?”

“Yes- yes, I’m sorry,” Daniel pants, and his cock is flushed such an angry red Paul’s inclined to believe him. “I’m sorry, sir, I was a bitch, I was a brat, please- just-”

The vibrator’s tugged out of him with one swift movement, and just when he thinks he’s getting a reprieve, Paul presses it against his cock.

Daniel practically blacks out with how hard he comes, speech a jumbled mess of French and English and Paul’s name over and over and over, until he’s left pushing his face back into the floor, trying to hide his tears and catch his breath. Paul watches him for a moment before moving him onto his back again, then kneeling next to his head and undoing his fly.

“Stay still,” he grits out, and Daniel manages to open his mouth obediently before Paul comes too, getting it all over his tongue and lips and chin.

They regain their composure what seems like hours later, Paul gingerly unlocking the handcuffs and pulling the blindfold off. Daniel’s eyes are unfocused with stray tears still leaking out of them, and Paul’s face softens and he bends down to kiss them away.

“You all right?” he asks finally. Daniel smiles.

“Yeah.”

His hand returns to Daniel’s hair, but it’s gentle this time, stroking instead of tugging.

“Fuck, how are we going to get that stain out of the carpet?” he wonders aloud, eliciting a bubbly laugh from the other man.

“Should have thought that through, huh?” Daniel sits up and kisses him, hands on both sides of his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“Mmhm. And I love you.”

Paul smiles at that, pressing his forehead against Daniel’s in an unspoken promise to do it all again tomorrow.