Mal rubbed over his sore bottom. “Color.”
“Green,” he managed before sniffling.
“You look so pretty like this, baby,” he said gently. “I wish you could see yourself. You’re being so good for me.”
“It hurts,” Nico heard himself say.
“I know. I know it does,” Mal said, his voice full of sympathy, like it was just something that couldn’t be helped. “It’s supposed to hurt. That’s how you learn.”
Nico cracked wide open at his words, a torrent of tears flooding from his eyes and dripping onto the floor. “I’ve learned,” he promised.
“That’s for me to decide, Fidget. Not you,” Mal said in that same patient and chastising tone, still caressing Nico’s abused backside. “You don’t make good decisions when you’re left to your own devices. Do you?”
“No,” Nico said, choking on another sob.
Mal sighed, petting his hair once more. “Poor baby. It’s not your fault. That’s why you have me to take care of you.”
Smack.
“Six,” he yelped, the pain growing unbearable.
He was a mess of snot and tears, his head filled with the sound of his own weeping. He was dizzy and his body was shaking, but, beneath it all, there was this pleasant buzzing in his head, this hint of more to come. Mal’s fingers combed through his sweaty curls.
“Shh,” he soothed. “You’re so close to being finished. You can be good for me for just a little longer. Can’t you, baby?” Nico nodded. “I need your words, Fidget.”
“Yes,” he cried. “I-I can be good.”
“Of course, you can. My good boy.”
His words only sucked Nico deeper under the waves, pulling him down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean where things were muted, where the world was quiet. This was his world—champagne bubbles bursting in his head and that crack on the floor. Mal’s sweet words, and his mean hands, Nico’s pain a throbbing red in a sea of white.
What was he even saying?
He didn’t know.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Nico flailed at the sudden onslaught, pain exploding behind his eyelids, an inhuman sound escaping as he tried to extricate himself from Mal’s lap without thought. But Mal’s arm was an iron bar over his back, holding firm, keeping him just where he wanted him. Nico’s skin was raw, just like his heart. He could hear himself sobbing. Not just sobbing but apologizing, babbling out mindless pleas for forgiveness.
Counting.
He was supposed to count. What number? Panic clawed its way through his belly.
“S-Seven?” Was it seven? If it wasn’t, he’d already fucked up. “Eight, nine,” he managed. Cold sweat rolled down his spine and dripped from his face onto the floor.
He didn’t want to start over.
He’d die.
He’d literally die.
Mal was very much enjoying punishing him. Nico could feel the evidence of his enjoyment poking against his stomach.
“Just one more, baby,” Mal said, voice gentle again like it was moments ago.
Was it moments ago or an hour?
Who knew?
