The Cavillry: Henry Cavill and his Characters One Shots

Red Rope: August Walker (IS)

Summary: August likes bondage

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

August unfurls the red rope. He always has red rope, he dyes it himself. "No one else gets the shade right." You wonder if he means the colour of blood, and whose blood he used for comparison.

You're naked, in position on the bed. On your knees, bottom resting on your ankles, legs slightly parted, hands open face up on your thighs, head bowed. August as usual is still clothed, however his tie was removed, and his sleeves rolled up.

He squats before you, rope halved and ready. He lifts your chin, "Ready, Pet?" he asks. You nod, a nervous smile played on your lips. His lips twitch into a brief smile before he turns his attention to his task.

He begins with the first knot, the Lark tie. He had laughed about that once, but he never told you why. He grinned even now as he wound the rope around and around your upper thigh and lower leg. As you watched his practiced fingers work and the rope slides through them, the rope starts to hold firm, you feel your anxieties float away. The ritual, the soft rubbing of the rope, its gentle caress brings to you a sense of calm.

You're helpless as he finishes one leg and starts on the other with a new length of rope. He checks in with you regularly, especially as he is close to finishing, when your calm gives way you your arousal.

You like the way the rope looks on your skin, the stark red a contrast to your natural hue. He ties you so beautifully, the ropes flat against your flesh, pretty rows of scarlet slashed against your thighs. You touch the rope with your fingers when August was done. He allows you to admire his work before he asks for your wrists, which he ties together in front of you.

August caresses your cheek. "My helpless, Pet," he croons, "So beautiful and vulnerable, all for me." His whiskered lip curls into the smirk that made you quiver in fear and desire. He whispers, "What ever shall I do to you?"

Your throat is tight, but you know your line, you know what he wants to hear. "Whatever you want, Sir."

In probably his last act of tenderness that evening, until it was over and he soothed away your pains, he kisses you as he praises, "Such a good girl."