Shane can hear sounds around him.
Light footsteps. A drawer opening. Closing. More footsteps. A click.
The blindfold over his eyes feels like a collar too tight. It strangles him in thin air as he is knelt down on the carpet, hands clasped behind his back.
"Shane," Nicky calls him. Finally.
"Yes, Sir."
"Tell me why I'm punishing you." Sounds of clothes brushes as Nicky's voice gets closer, as he feels a hot breath near his skin. The voice is honey dripping over his lips, a sweet taste encircling his tongue. But stern enough to make his chest clench.
"Because I didn't ask permission before I touched myself." It comes out as a timid whisper.
"Again."
"Because I didn't ask permission before I touched myself." He speaks up a little and hears a soft snort in his ear. Shane swallows hard.
Clothes whisper again. Nicky's standing, probably.
"Hold out the hand you used."
Shane holds out his right hand, palm up. His heart is beating too fast against his rib cage, about to crack the bones.
Nicky doesn't do anything for a minute. This is always the worst part. The wait. The torture of silence and stillness. Knowing that Nicky's right there staring at him, disappointment clouding that gaze, and in a way, Shane's glad he's blindfolded right now. He didn't think he could handle that look of disappointment. It's his least favourite thing. He lives to please Nicky. He lives for that delicious control over his life. For the love that is showered upon him when he's obedient.
But when he snaps in the wrong way, this wait with his palm exposed in the air is always the worst part. He would much rather be hit right now; be corrected for his wrongs and have the guilt whipped out of him.
"Keep it there." He can hear Nicky take a deep breath. The click of a belt buckle. Unmistakable. Shane doesn't know how to prepare for it.
Crack.
With a heavy jolt and a grunt, Shane crouches forward, pulling his hand in and trying to rub the sting off. "I told you to fucking keep it there," the same belt strikes his back over his thin shirt. The leather lights a streak of fire along his spine, which acts as a painful reminder for him to fucking keep it there. Tears spring to the surface of his eyes as he straightens himself out and lifts the hand back up.
The wrath of the leather belt continues to ignite Shane's palm. Nicky lets the grunts and the flinches slide. Shane is trying his best to keep his hand still and that's what matters more; the fact that he is remorseful, that he understands the need for discipline.
The count in Shane's head passes ten, fifteen, twenty in a fast pace, but Nicky doesn't seem near the end at all. His eyes feel wet under the black fabric, but he doesn't let the tears fall. No. He doesn't deserve to cry. He doesn't deserve to feel sorry for himself. Only for his actions and for Nicky who only ever wants the best for him.
It comes to a stop at thirty.
"Last five. Don't make a sound and I'll forgive you."
"Yes, Sir."
Shane bites down on the inside of his mouth. One.
His throat tickles to let out a noise that would negate his Dom's forgiveness. Two.
He swallows it down. He has to swallow it down. Three.
He's ready for the next hit when he's met with an uncomfortable silence instead. Soft lips brush against the aching welts of his palm and the reddest corner of his heart wants to cry. It leaves a second later. The wait starts again.
He's ready for the fourth, but it still doesn't come. His mouth dries with each excruciating second. Another soft kiss blesses his palm, then the blindfold is lifted from his eyes. Nicky allows him a moment to adjust to the lighting and sneaks a smile at the way Shane doesn't look at him yet. Not without permission. Good boy.
Four.
Shane's eyes are still fixed on his hand. The tips of his fingers are shaking, he realises. The palm has colours that aren't natural at all and it doesn't look like it can take the fifth, but Shane wants it. Wants it more than anything to clear his guilt, to endure that one final strike of punishment, to earn that pardon and love.
The belt is laid out on top of his palm. Shane holds his breath. His chest tightens. Even a slight slither of it against his skin stings, and five, "you're forgiven," Nicky croons as he sits at the edge of the bed, right in front of his sub. "You may put it down."
Shane watches as the belt is tossed aside. Hears a sigh that stabs at his heart. He swallows a lump in his throat and lowers his hand to his lap, compares it to his left. The vast contradiction makes Shane proud of himself. He's forgiven. He has earned it. The red welts soon to be black and blue cleanses his mind, and he feels okay to breathe at his own pace again.
"Come here, love." The soft edge of Nicky's voice returns and Shane shuffles forward on his knees, bashfully bites down on his smile when Nicky runs his fingers through his hair and cups his jaw, lifting it up a bit. "Look at me." He does. "You did well," Nicky leans down to kiss his forehead, and Shane allows himself a small smile.
"I won't do it again," he promises.
"I believe you." The blue eyes caress his soul and warms it. He's loved and trusted. He knows that. "But no orgasms for a month."
"Yes, Sir," he accepts the punishments in a single heartbeat. Anything to obey and submit.
"Give me your palm," Nicky holds out his hand, and Shane gently places his own on top, both pairs of eyes studying the angry lines of colour. It's symbolic. It's beautiful. It's a piece of their hearts. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes," there's a glint of pain in Nicky's eyes and Shane doesn't want that at all, "but I live for it. I deserved it."
"You did," Nicky nods, and leans down to kiss his forehead again. "Wait there. I'll go get the cream."
Shane waits patiently, still on his knees. This wait isn't so bad.
