locketofyourhair: (ducky)
[personal profile] locketofyourhair
Test Phase

500 | Clint/Bruce | R (kb: caning)

Bruce doesn’t ask a lot of questions about how this is going to work. There are variables he needs, and then there are things he understands. Before, when he was managing the anger with his own pain, he had rituals that would help lull him into the proper headspace. He needed the lab to be quiet; he needed to be able to have the space to do what he needed to do. Sometimes it would just be yoga, some centering movements. If it had to be pain, he was ready for it.

But with Clint, there is just acceptance that once a week (twice if either of them need it particularly badly) that Clint will put the blindfold onto him and take him to the room. He’ll endure the pain, and they’ll both be better for it. It’s a simple, easy surety that makes his life run just that much smoother.

It’s a surprise when Clint comes into the lab with a bag. “I need to see some things.” His tone is pleasant, conversational. “I know blades and candles work for you, but I want to branch out. And I want to see your responses.” He glances at Bruce. “Whatever you do to the cameras, you might want to do it now. I don’t want Tony to see me like this.”

Bruce looks at the things Clint is putting on his table, and he turns back to his computer, to the camera controls that he managed to hack his third day in the tower. He loops footage. Tony doesn’t seem to notice gaps in Bruce’s time record. It’s probably unethical to take advantage of Tony’s good will, but Bruce sees Clint pull out a switch and then a flogger.

He doesn’t care about shortchanging Tony right now. Bruce watches Clint put out the toys and switch their order around, making some sort of pattern that makes sense to him.

“This would work better if you took off your shirt. I’ll have more area to work with on your back,” Clint says, leaning back on his stool. “But I can make it work with your arm if you’re expecting company.”

Bruce shrugs out of his button down, looking at the toys. There’s a whip on the table, curled up and harmless looking. “I could tell you if I have experience with any of those you know,” he says, and it’s hard to keep his tone light, when he’s faced with the promise the toys bring.

Clint picks up the flogger. “I know. But this is my research. If there’s something on the table that’s a hard no for you, I want to know, but aside from that, turn around and hands clasped in front of you.”

He’s sliding in his own head without the steadying regularity of their routine. It’s different and probably worth further study, but Clint says, “Flogger,” and then there’s a heavy slap of leather against his skin.

Bruce lets his shoulders drop. He knows that. He knows most of the table. He has tried most of them before. Clint doesn’t ask for the strikes to be counted, so Bruce tries not to pay attention, tries not to have the steadying one, two, three in his head when Clint switches between the toys.

He isn’t expecting the switch. It’s a thinner pain, a different crack, and Clint strikes hard over the meat of Bruce’s shoulders. The sound he makes surprises him, and the whimper that slips out from between his lips makes him glance back at Clint, to see if he noticed.

“Turn around, Bruce,” Clint says, his voice mind. “I’m going to try it again.”

He braces his hands on the table now, stretching out. “Like this?”

Clint laughs, and it’s a quick, delighted sound. “Yeah, hold it like that, Doc. I think we need a little more practice with this.” He cracks the cane against Bruce’s back again. “Were you hot for teacher as a kid, or is it just that good?”

He tries to keep his back and loose. “I was a nerd in school. I was always hot for teacher,” he says, and his voice betrays him, cracking over one of Clint’s strikes.

“I figured.” Clint steps close to touch the marks, the new cane marks over the marks from the flogger and the slapper. “I was going to try the whip, but I’m thinking we can start with this.” He cracks Bruce again. “It gets the response I want.”

Bruce bites his lip when Clint cracks him again, three more lashes on his back. “Anything you want,” he says, pleased that his voice is mostly dry and amused.

Clint slaps him across the ass. “Don’t make me gag you, Doc. I’d hate not to be able to hear your pretty screams.” He lays the crop against Bruce’s skin. “Now, start counting.”
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locketofyourhair: loki! (Default)

June 2013

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