Title: "Slave" Pairing: Josh Hartnett/Orlando Bloom Rating: NC-17 Summary: Josh ensnares. Disclaimer: Never happened. Notes: Written for the Furorscribendi gluttony challenge. Thanks to Jen for the beta. Again, he says, and you're helpless to disobey – and would you, he's only telling you to do what you already want. You're toast, quivering, 12-odd stone of liquid Jell-o and still he keeps moving inside you, keeps hitting there, that spot, keeps pulling, tugging, stroking your cock until your nerves are screaming, shattering, moaning, begging. Until you're screaming, shattering, moaning, begging. Again, he says, and how could you not? Come is still cooling on your stomach, his hand – large, capable, strong (stronger than most think) strong enough to bring you to your knees – is still moving over you, stroke after stroke, wringing more moans until you're hoarse, throat raw, body raw, soul flayed open and bare for his amusement, his pleasure, his perusal. As all of you is open and bare for his amusement and pleasure. You're aching, twisting, need still pumping in you like his cock, still buried deep, but not deep enough, never enough, and it's good, so good, so very fucking incredible to lie here and take it like the bitch you are. And you know you are; there's no shame, no worry. You're his bitch, his whore, his fucktoy, his slave. And oh how he treats you like one, has always known what you are. From the moment you'd first met, that first handshake that had sealed your fate, bound you to him; speculation in his eyes, lust and recognition in yours. That first time, you both had barely made it to an empty trailer – hadn't mattered that it wasn't either of yours – you'd both been too busy crawling inside each other to notice or care. You'd wanted every inch of that long-limbed body, wanted to know him inside and out, possess him the way he'd already possessed you. He'd called you his bitch then, and you'd loved it, acknowledged the truth of his words by going to your knees, sucking and licking and worshipping him until he'd thrown you down, just as you are now, driven inside you, demanding and taking and taking and demanding until you'd been just as you are now – Broken, rebuilt, sated and unsatisfied, seeking and searching and twisting and moving. With him, always with him, you can't imagine coming without this, without him there to watch, to bring you to completion. And why would you? Why would you do anything if he's not there to watch, to watch with those eyes, pretty long-lashed brown eyes, soulful and deep, piercing skin and flesh and bone, piercing you until there's nothing left except this. Again, he says, and oh yes again, again, again. Whatever, whenever, keep moving, don't stop – larger, muscled body draped over yours, lean hips to bruise when he moves and thrusts and oh moves just right, so right. It's adrenaline and crystal-meth and cocaine and crack and endorphins and every rush in the world, and surpasses them all. What drug could possibly compare to this, to those hands, large, talented hands, tangling in your hair, lips taking yours, moving, moving, slipping, sliding, please oh yes please... Again, you murmur, breathe, gasp, again, and he gives and gives to you and moves for you and yes it's perfect and right and perfectly right and there is nothing else, nothing else at all, just – If you enjoyed this fic, please leave feedback here. Thanks!