AN: It feels like such a long time since I've written a piece of this. Have more kink, or at least sort of kink, considering which prompt this is. This one made me think a bit about how teen Conrad doesn't really have Conrad's characteristic anger yet. Even when Luce does things that are downright mean, he's more likely to get defensive and insecure, rather than defensive and then angry. This piece is clearly set after the first time they have full-out anal sex, but still before Conrad is all that comfortable with Luce's masochism. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name is still the property of the marvelous Tessa Stone, and I am still making no money and mean no offense.

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PSYCHOLOGY OF A HUMMINGBIRD

-by: Lira-

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.009. - "Whip" - .FLICK OF THE WRIST.

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Luce never told Conrad not to touch his things. Luce always relied on Conrad's skittishness with his mess, the way Conrad would turn up his nose at the filth of Luce's living space without ever dipping a hand into the detritus to see what might be hidden. It wasn't exactly that Conrad grew more comfortable with the dirt and the clutter and the veritable mass of microorganisms that had to be swarming over everything. It was that, for all of Luce's flippant stories and non-sequiturs and little tidbits that Conrad gathered like precious gems in shards of glass, Conrad needed more.

Conrad was desperate to learn just a little more about the man who had touched the hidden parts of himself that even he might not have thought to probe.

It wasn't snooping. Luce was in the kitchenette, probably pouring himself a drink, and Conrad knew now to turn down any offers for him to join in. Luce probably also thought that Conrad ducking into the bedroom was just Conrad being agreeable. It meant he had just a few minutes. He went for Luce's dresser first, under the assumption that the cleanest clothes would be in there, and there wouldn't be anything too soiled or cringe-inducing. He peeled layers of clothing aside with two fingers, horrified at the way articles clung together, like static attraction – or like some sort of scum was gluing them in place.

Underneath the worn, sticky shirts and underthings in the top drawer, Conrad dislodged a smooth object that appeared to be the handle to something. Compared to everything else, it looked clean. It was probably wood, darkly lacquered and wrapped tightly with a thin strip of what looked like leather, forming a grip that was soft to the touch but would surely give good purchase. It was only when he pulled it free from the linens to reveal the neatly coiled tail end of the whip that Conrad realized what he was touching.

The whip was quite possibly the cleanest thing in the entire room, which said something to Conrad about its importance to Luce. The only thing cleaner was likely the bottle of lube Luce would produce with his signature leer after neatly pinning Conrad. His fingers were unwinding the braided leather, rather enjoying the tactile feel of it sliding between his fingertips. It didn't even seem odd that Luce would have such a thing. It was odder that it was stowed away beneath underthings. Luce was not the sort to deliberately hide his toys.

"An' Aye thought yeh were th' privacy-mindin' sort," Luce murmured, voice pitched low, so that Conrad realized the man had come up just behind him. "Yeh like wot yeh've found?"

Conrad jumped slightly, and his fingers tightened around the handle. He'd been caught digging around in Luce's things and he knew he should feel embarrassed, should perhaps say something to defend himself. Luce's fingers closed around his wrist, but loosely, his hand moving to cover Conrad's.

"Yeh think yeh could use this?" Luce crooned. "Makes a delicious crack, if yeh know how ter swing it right."

Conrad swallowed convulsively, not knowing why his throat suddenly felt tight, or why the inside of his mouth felt dry. He didn't want to try and use a whip on Luce. He knew it was the sort of thing the man would like, and he was able to bite and scratch and cause a little bit of pain, but this actually felt dangerous. The weight of the implement in his hand felt great in comparison to those small wounds he had caused previously. Didn't whips usually leave great red welts when they were used on people? No matter how pleased Luce would be, Conrad couldn't watch the skin of Luce's back split and swell. Anywhere else would be even worse.

"I-I can't," Conrad finally stuttered, when the only change had been Luce's fingers rubbing against the soft skin of his wrist.

"Yeh cain't?" Luce echoed. "Or yeh won't?"

"E-Either!" Conrad exclaimed, gasping the word out despite his faltering. Something about the way Luce asked felt more dangerous than the whip, and Conrad needed to get away from that feeling.

"'S not so hard, kiddo," Luce said, in that croon again. "Ah'll show yeh, yeh woan' even 'ave ter do it t' me."

Conrad tilted his head around, looked up at Luce then. The older man's expression was calm and even, a steady thing that almost made Conrad feel better. He let Luce turn him around, let Luce adjust his grip on the handle of the whip so that the tail draped down in front of both of them. Luce edged backwards out of the way, his hands on Conrad's arm to guide the motion.

"Jes' swing it once, like this," Luce directed, moving Conrad slowly through the motion before dropping his hands away.

"I can't," Conrad said again, more sure than before, but also speaking more pathetically.

"Jes' do it," Luce intoned. "'S easier than it looks."

There was still the feeling of danger, of things that Conrad did not want to get into. But Luce wasn't asking Conrad to strike at him, only to give the whip a practice crack in the empty air of the bedroom. Luce's manner was surprisingly accommodating, stepping neatly out of the way so Conrad need not fear hitting him on accident, out of ineptitude. His ability to deny Luce died, not when he could please the man so easily, even if the weight of the whip was so awkward in his hands.

Conrad drew his arm back, did his best to make the same motion Luce had walked him though. But his manner was too slow. Instead of the neat crack Conrad knew Luce was expecting, the leather of the whip flopped limply through the air, the arc of its passage aborting midway through. Conrad's arm remained extended, his gaze dropping to the floor where the end of the whip was dragging, heat suddenly rising in his cheeks for reasons he didn't fully understand. He'd told Luce he couldn't do it. Why was he so surprised only to prove himself right?

Conrad felt Luce move close again, the man's body pressing near when Luce reached his arm around to again secure Conrad's wrist. He wasn't as gentle as before, taking Conrad's hand firmly and removing the whip from his grasp. The motion was almost possessive, and Conrad wasn't sure if the feeling was towards this implement that Luce kept in such fine condition, or perhaps towards himself.

"Yeh know yer lettin' me down, doan'cha kiddo?" Luce asked, voice pitched low and with a bit of an edge.

Conrad could only feel the burning feeling stronger. He already knew that he'd failed, that this was something important to Luce that he just couldn't summon the will to do. He didn't really need Luce to go and rub it in his face afterward. Luce turned him around, keeping their bodies pressed close, pressing Conrad in turn back against the front of Luce's dresser. The whip was neatly held off to one side, dangling from Luce's hand like it belonged there.

"Yer gunna make it up t' me, aren't'cha?" Luce asked, croon going even lower.

"W-What do you want me to d-do?" Conrad stumbled, remembering at the last moment to look up and meet Luce's gaze.

Luce brought the whip forward again, holding the tail against the handle and prodding Conrad in the stomach with the place where the two parts joined. Conrad could feel it pressed against him, the implement a hardness that nudged insistently against his flesh, an easy metaphor for parts of Luce's anatomy that weren't even involved with their situation.

"Yer jes' gunna 'old still," Luce told him, still in that low, dangerous tone of voice.

Considering that he was already trying to freeze up, like a deer in headlights, Conrad didn't think that was going to be a problem.

The handle of the whip pressed in a bit lower, and then Luce's long fingers were neatly unbuttoning Conrad's fly. The motion was smooth and deliberate – efficient. Not like Luce was really thinking about what he was doing, not like sometimes, but with a calm speed that meant Luce knew exactly what was going to happen next. When his pants were open, Luce neatly shoved them down, a firm yank that brought them to Conrad's knees. He was holding still, like Luce had said, and Luce simply stepped on the fabric of Conrad's pants to bring them lower instead of giving him any sort of instruction. Luce's knee between his legs nudged Conrad's feet apart wider.

Conrad could feel the butterflies in his stomach start to flutter, the way they always did when Luce started these things, took actions that could only end in one way. He couldn't even ask Luce to please not get dirt all over his jeans, not when Luce was running the whip's end over his bare skin down along his hipbone. He saw when Luce reached into his back pocket and pulled out the tiny bottle of lube, saw it because he was expecting it. Conrad must not have screwed up too enormously, because Luce still wanted to sleep with him.

Luce was still holding the lube where Conrad could see it, even as the path of the whip handle curved along the inside of Conrad's thigh, moving up along the lightly quivering flesh with the same persistent pressure. Normally by this point Luce would have gone for his own pants, for his cock, might even have given the barest touch to Conrad. Instead there was the press of the whip handle, just behind his balls, and then the audible click as Luce flipped the cap of the lube open.

It was at that point that Conrad realized Luce wasn't just going to fuck him.

"Doan' move," Luce reminded him, when Conrad started to instinctively shrink away from the touch of the wood.

Just then, Conrad could feel the leather of the whip brush against his bare skin.

Conrad did his level best to hold still. He held still while Luce was coating the handle of the whip with lube, held up by Conrad's nose so he could see clearly. He held still when the implement again dropped out of his view. He held still when Luce pressed the cool, slick, curved end of the handle up against his entrance, even when he realized that Luce hadn't actually touched him. His back was still against the dresser, pressing so hard that he could feel one of the knobs digging in just to the right of his spine.

When Luce started to press in, the motion was gradual but insistent, waiting for Conrad's body to give a little but also showing no signs of drawing back. Conrad could feel when the bulb shape at the bottom of the handle slipped in, could feel each coil of the leather around the handle rubbing against his insides when Luce kept pushing. He started to rise onto his toes, started to inch away from the stimulation in spite of the very clear order Luce had given him. Luce didn't reprimand him, only pressed further.

Past a point, Conrad couldn't even retreat any farther, and Luce gave his wrist an abrupt twist that wrung a high gasp right out of Conrad's throat. Conrad wasn't used to something inside of him that was if anything less relenting than Luce's cock, something that Luce could twist inside him and send everything shivering. At least when it was Luce's cock Conrad could imagine that the man was feeling something like he was, some measure of loss of control even if Luce seemed remarkably comfortable even then. This alternate penetration meant that Luce could scrutinize him easily, could ratchet him up with sensations until he almost wanted to sob with the feelings.

"Careful now," Luce cautioned, eyes half-lidded and gaze predatory. "Now tha' yer up on yer toes, yer gunna 'ave t' stay there."

Conrad hadn't realized until that moment that the pose was putting some awful strain on the muscles in the back of his legs, but as soon as Luce called attention to what he was doing he could feel it beginning to ache. Luce was just then turning the handle, drawing it out millimeter by millimeter before shoving it abruptly back in. Conrad gave another little cry, one of his legs nearly giving when he tried to inch up even higher.

Luce watched him. The entire time the man was sliding the device in and out, teasing him with a surface that felt nothing like Luce's hot, perceptibly throbbing cock inside of him, the entire time Luce's eyes were cataloguing every little shift. Conrad's hands had reached back to grip at the top of the dresser, his fingers seizing tight against the wood so that his knuckles were surely showing white. Even then the slide of the handle was ceaselessly pressing in and out, the shove back in coming abruptly at random times, at times in line with Luce's capricious will.

"Not so difficult," Luce murmured. "'S really not so difficult t' jes' crack a whip once or twice, jes' one careless flick of th' wrist. Cain'tcha see why Ah'm disappointed?"

All Conrad really saw was the back of his eyelids when his eyes tried to roll up inside his head, as Luce's words had been accompanied by his own wrist flicking, abruptly rotating and sending the leather rubbing deep inside of him. Luce slid his hand back again, and for a moment he waited.

"But 's all okay," Luce crooned, the opportunity at last.

Conrad started to lean forward, immediately wanting Luce to tell him that it was okay, wanting Luce to explain whatever it was he had wanted all along. Tricking him was something Luce enjoyed too much, and perhaps the man had had something different in mind all along.

"Yer gunna come fer me, an' then yer really gunna see what it takes t' make a whip crack."

Conrad gasped in again, that time in distress instead of pleasure. Luce was being ruthless in his ministrations, using abrupt motions when Conrad least expected it and persisting even when it was almost too much. He still hadn't actually touched Conrad, not with his hands. Conrad should have realized that Luce wasn't exactly getting off here. He was enjoying himself, that much was clear, but in a way he was holding himself back. He was going to force Conrad to take his pleasure, and even when that was through it wouldn't be over.

"D'yeh wan' me t' touch yeh?" Luce asked, low voice suddenly going gentle. Thoughtful, almost.

Conrad slowly focused his eyes, looked Luce right in the face and tried to understand. He couldn't string two words together. His cock was hard just as Luce wanted it, and the unfamiliar sensations were making it exceedingly hard for him to think.

"'M not gunna do somethin' yeh doan' wan'," Luce told him, serious tone melting into more of a purr.

Conrad blinked, stomach clenching, his cock jumping slightly at the implication. He started to cant his body forward, unwittingly letting himself push down more firmly against the violation of the handle Luce still had a firm hold on. Luce's head shook, just the most minute of movements to one side and back. Conrad only caught it because on some level, he knew denial was coming.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Luce gave a most deliberate shrug, before beginning to ratchet up the speed of his hand working the whip into Conrad's body. It was the point of overload, almost worse than that very first time because just then, he knew Luce was trying to tip something. Luce wanted to win, and at that moment Conrad thought he'd do whatever it was Luce wanted. He whined, low in the back of his throat, not having the words to get it across.

"Try jes' a lil' bit harder," Luce suggested, without pity.

"Please," Conrad whispered, finally, having to screw up his face and try to ignore everything just to force the single word out.

"All yeh 'ad t' do was ask," Luce said, his other hand curling lightly around Conrad's cock.

Luce's touch was barely there, almost gentle, like he knew full well that too much would probably send Conrad right out of his head. The motion of the handle smoothed out, no more of the quick thrusts used to surprise Conrad but instead an even persistence, Luce turning the handle very slowly every time he slid it back in.

Conrad knew Luce had told him not to move. Even with everything else tumbling completely out of his head, that one dictation remained, taunting him. His legs were tired of standing up, and even his arms were trembling gently. Slowly, like he was waiting for Luce to reprimand him and stop it, he brought his hands up to catch onto the sleeves of Luce's shirt. He fisted them in the material, pressing his balled fists into Luce's upper arms and holding on for all he was worth. He would have gone ahead and buried his face in Luce's chest, too, but he knew that much would earn more of Luce's displeasure.

Conrad focused on Luce's face, at the end, the feeling pooling in his gut building even higher with every minute shift in Luce's expression. It always felt like Luce knew the moment before he did, could divine exactly when Conrad was going to come. That time he yanked down on Luce's sleeves first, just needing to stay upright as Luce's hand persisted inexorably until he was spent. Conrad tottered forward then, coming down from his toes and tumbling against Luce's chest. Luce was kind enough to let him rest there, but Conrad still knew, somewhere buried in his head, that this wasn't quite it.

"'M sorry," he mumbled into Luce's shirt.

"An' why's tha'?" Luce asked, so slowly that Conrad knew it wasn't patience but a ruthless sort of deliberation.

"I didn't want to do it," Conrad muttered, still speaking far too freely.

He should have known better than to admit to Luce that he hadn't even /tried./ But he was tired and still trembling slightly, always played so easily by all of Luce's tricks.

Luce yanked down, and Conrad jumped against him when he felt the tool slip completely free. He was too sated to worry about what Luce was going to do then. But all he heard was the muffled thud of Luce setting the whip down on the dresser behind Conrad. Luce didn't even force him to stop clinging, He was already trying to shift closer, his body knowing better than his head that this only lasted so long, and that he should snuggle close while he had the opportunity.

"Clearly Aye jes' 'ave t' give yeh a lil' motivation," Luce murmured. Like he didn't want to shatter the moment.

The words did it anyway. Conrad tilted his face up, the confusion evident on his features. Luce only chuckled quietly, surely enjoying his moment of doubt and worry.

"Doan' artists need strong wrists?" Luce asked.

Conrad knew it was rhetorical, because Luce took that moment to dislodge him, at least making sure he was steady on his feet before letting go entirely. Luce started to turn away, sliding smoothly into a more businesslike mode. The tell was that he was still smirking, clearly holding something back.

"Draw me somethin', an' we'll see if yeh kin handle makin' a whip crack."