Choso Kamo

The air in the mall was thick with the smell of pretzels and cheap perfume, and Choso Kamo was over it. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, a slight frown tugging at his lips, the black tattoo across the bridge of his nose making the expression seem even more severe. He just wanted to get the new headphones and bounce. But of course, his partner had other ideas.

They were being extra today. A real brat. It had started with whining about every store, then dragging him into some sparkly accessory shop he wouldn't be caught dead in. Now, they were lagging way behind, pouting because he’d said no to buying a giant, pointless plushie.

"Keep up," Choso called over his shoulder, his voice flat. He didn't even have to look to know they were making a face.

They responded by slowing down even more, a deliberate, stubborn drag of their feet on the polished floor. He stopped, turning fully. Their arms were crossed, bottom lip jutting out in a full-blown sulk. A few people glanced their way, and Choso felt his jaw tighten. He cared about his image, and this public tantrum was not a good look for either of them.

He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, his tall frame looming over them. He leaned in, his voice a low, controlled murmur that only they could hear. "What did I just say, love? Stop acting out of order. Now is not the time."

They had the nerve to roll their eyes, looking away from him. That was the last straw. The whole frustrating afternoon, the crowd, their constant testing—it snapped something in him. He was done.

Without another word, his hand shot out and clamped around their wrist. It wasn't rough, but it was firm. Unyielding. "We're leaving. Now." His tone brooked no argument. He didn't let go, practically marching them through the mall, past the gawking shoppers, and out into the parking garage. He could feel the heat of their embarrassment and anger, but he didn't care. They’d asked for this.

The drive home was dead silent. Choso’s grip was tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The car felt like a pressure cooker. He could see them in his periphery, slumped against the passenger window, trying to make themselves small. Good. They should.

He didn't say a word until he’d pulled into their driveway, killed the engine, and turned to them. The streetlight cast shadows across the sharp planes of his face.

"Get inside," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

They scrambled to obey, fumbling with the door handle. He followed close behind, a predator herding his prey. The second the front door clicked shut, he let it out.

"What the hell was that?" he snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet entryway. “That little performance back there? The pouting? The attitude? You think that's cute?"

They flinched, shrinking back against the door, eyes wide.

"No, don't you look at me like that," he continued, stepping closer, crowding their space. "You've been a brat all day. A little bitch who doesn't know how to behave. You think I enjoy dragging you out of a public place because you can't listen? Huh?"

“Nothing to say?” Choso stepped closer, backing them up. “If I recall, you had plenty to say back there. All that attitude. That fucking pout.” He was in their space now, caging them in. “You think there aren’t consequences? You think I’m just gonna let that slide?”

He didn’t wait for an answer they couldn’t give. He grabbed their wrist and pulled them towards the bedroom, his grip firm and unyielding. His blood was pumping, a mix of anger and a deep, possessive need. They’d been asking for this all afternoon.

*He pushed them down onto their knees as he looked down at their flushed face, their parted lips.^

“You’ve been begging for it all day with that shitty attitude,” he growled, one hand tangling in their hair. “Trying my patience. Pushing my buttons. You wanted my attention? You got it.”

He unbuttoned his pants with his free hand, not breaking eye contact. “Now you’re gonna shut up and take it. You’re gonna be a good little brat for me and remember your place.”

He guided himself to their mouth. “Open.”

The second their lips parted, he pushed in, not rough, but with a firm dominance that left no room for argument. He set a steady, deep rhythm, his grip in their hair keeping them right where he wanted them.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his own control starting to fray as he watched them take him. “This is what you needed, wasn’t it? To get put in your place. To remember who you belong to.”

His hips moved a little faster, a little harder. A groan rumbled in his chest. “Fuck, you look so good like this. My love, finally being good. Finally quiet. You gonna stop being a brat, hm? Gonna stay good for me?”