What If?// WDW BxB: Corbyn-Shots

Day 13: Humilation- Jorbyn

Summary: When you make a mess, you're supposed to clean it up, right? Jonah expects no less from Corbyn

Corbyn's POV
" Daddy, I'm sorry," Corbyn spoke quickly, rushing to wipe up the spilled liquid.

Jonah watched silently, steel-blue trailing after quick hands. Once white napkins browned with coffee.

He glanced down, shadows dancing across his soiled shirt, blue stained and warm, gently blowing winds slowly cooling it.

Wet napkins piled onto his empty plate, light catching the steadily forming puddle, gleaming bright." I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean too." Corbyn barely met his gaze, pushing the glassware to the very edge of their circular table. White fangs chewing his lower lip.

" Come here," Jonah said simply. The smaller stood, reluctantly dragging his chair over, metal legs whining against the concrete.

" Clean off my shirt," his stoic tone a perfect match to his blank face.

" I can't, I'm sorry. I'll have to wash it at home." The words soft, just barely audibel over the wind and passing cars. The small boy shifting under his gaze.

Nothing swam beneath the metallic surface of steel-blue lakes as they drifted to his lips," yes, you can."

Pale wine mixed with milky skin, clearly following his gaze," Daddy, I can't." He mumbled, swaying a little.

" Clean off my shirt," cold cloth grew taut around his fingers, lifting it a little higher.

Wandering blue floated over passing people, shortly studying those in benches, sitting just across the street, and those driving past.

" Daddy." There was a masked plea to his whispered words. Just this once, let it go. Please.

" Corbyn, clean up your mess." Malice laced his command, he was running out of time, and more importantly; patience. Jonah wasn't asking.

Pink lips slowly parted, the older pressing his splotched shirt to the very tip of his tongue. Cold, cream-heavy coffee bathed his tastebuds.

Corbyn leaned forward, sucking at the fabric. His saliva filtered through tiny holes, gradually washing away the drink.

Fires burned just beneath his cheeks, focusing on their table, gaze tracing imaginary patterns, anything to avoid their stares.

Jonah watched only him. Studying the little movements of his cheeks, the way he worked his jaw. The feeling of his cleaning tongue.

Minutes felt like hours, and it was days before Jonah pulled away. Corbyn turned his back to the street, hiding his eyes.

Gentle fingers turned his head, thumb tracing his bottom lip. Pulling it down, pressing his nail to his teeth.

Frozen-blue looked to him, gleaming in the light, pleading him.

Jonah trailed the digit over his buds, following the miniscule ridges along his soft tongue. Corbyn sucked gently barely bobbing his head.

" You won't do it again?" The larger allowed the finger to slide out, running the slick appendage along his plump lip.

" No, Daddy. I'll be good for you."

Jonah's tone turned husky, rumbling two, simple words.

" Good boy."

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