Gackt writhed on the bed, breathing hard, almost gasping. “Nng...” The tangled sheets were cool against his skin. His wrists, tied above his head, were beginning to hurt, but he barely noticed it. The room was dark except for a line of candles set up on the dressing table against the far wall, and they perfumed the air with the thick scent of vanilla as they burned.

“Do you like this? Mm, I can see that you do.”

Gackt stared up at the ceiling. “Unh… Don’t tease me...”

A low, wicked laugh. A light touch, too gentle to satisfy. Gackt closed his eyes and bit his lip and tried not to die of wanting.

“I’d ask you to beg me for it, but I already know you won’t. Prideful boy. So I suppose I’ll have to be content with making you squirm.” Another light touch, and then it became a slow up-and-down stroke. Gackt whimpered and bucked his hips mindlessly, seeking rougher contact, but this only prompted another laugh and the removal of that teasing hand. Gackt groaned, frustrated. The smell of the vanilla candles was too rich, almost overwhelming, as he sucked in harsh breaths.

“Tell me that you want it.”

He was hot, so hot, hotter than the candles…

“Just say the words, and I’ll give you your release.”

The smell of vanilla was beginning to make him feel dizzy, almost drugged with the sweetness.

“Don’t be stubborn, now...” The touch returned once more, and Gackt couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do it,” he hissed. “Do it.”

The hand on his length stroked harder, faster. “Do what?” The voice was teasing.

Gackt wanted to scream. He jerked at his bonds, twisting almost violently on the bed. “Damn you, damn you...”

“Two words, Gackt.”

He gave in. He always gave in.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. He stared up at the ceiling, barely able to think past the ache of desire. “Fuck me...”

There was a triumphant laugh, and then pleasure and pain and the scent of vanilla were all he knew.