frost doesn't bite

— what am i looking at? — you know damn well what you’re looking at, sha. tate grinned admiring the look of confusion and disbelief on his lover’s face. he was sitting on the bed with a bag lying next to him. in his hands — a goddamn muzzle. not a “kinky” kind, but an actual muzzle one could find in any pet store. — the problem is, hon, that you’re getting quite disturbed and therefore distracted when i need you to be focused or at the very least relaxed. never have you ever said that out loud but it doesn’t take a scholar to understand that my mouth- or to be exact my teeth are to blame, — tate approached the boy and got at one knee before him, — so i thought about it and came up with a pretty obvious solution. the confusion on boy’s face was getting stronger and stronger. his pulse was up and his cheeks were flushed. — tate… are you- do you want me to use that… on you? — quit fooling around, sha. doesn’t suit you, — tate’s grin got wider, — i have my way of doing things. and when i’m doing you i want you to be focused on the process, not on the thoughts about me biting something else off of you. the boy gulped and looked down at his kidnapper. — but you’re going to do it any way. — true, — tate answered bluntly, — later for sure. but for now… — he put the second knee down and moved closer until his knees hit the bed’s carcass, — just for now i’m not going to bite. go for it, sweetheart.