As if to confirm Owen’s assertions, those domineering words make him shudder, crying out softly into Owen’s mouth at the painful touch. His free hand comes up to clench the back of the other man’s neck in a desperate vise grip, finding purchase for his body’s helpless struggles the only way he can.

“I can’t,” he whines, hips hitching violently. Maker, it’s almost starting to feel good. The slightest thread of pleasure is weaving in with the pain—but that tight grip still makes him shudder and choke, trying once more in earnest to writhe and wiggle away- even as he tries so hard to keep himself still. He feels like he’s at war with his own body. “Owen- Owen, please-”

Please what, he’s not sure. Touch him. Stop. Keep going. Leave him alone. Fuck him. Please.