Page 170 of Discordant Cultivation

Without warning, Vale twisted his grip in Kieran’s hair and pushed his head down, forcing his forehead to press against the hardwood floor. The position was uncomfortable, submissive, designed to make lying physically untenable.

“One more chance,” Vale said quietly. “Why are you refusing interviews?”

Kieran’s breathing quickened against the floor, panic bleeding through his careful composure. “The t-timing isn’t right? We should w-wait until after the album releases to do p-press—”

The first strike of Vale’s palm against Kieran’s bare skin made him cry out, the sound muffled by his proximity to the floor.

“That’s three deflections,” Vale said, delivering another sharp strike that left a red handprint blooming across his ass. “Each one earned. Do you want to try for four?”

Tell me the truth. Whatever it is, just give me honest words instead of these carefully constructed evasions.

“P-please,” Kieran sobbed, his whole body trembling. “I d-don’t want to—”

Another strike, harder this time, dissolving Kieran’s words into pained gasping. Vale’s hand connected with measured force, creating a rhythm that left no room for continued dishonesty.

“The truth,” Vale demanded, his free hand maintaining pressure on Kieran’s head. “Now.”

“I’m s-scared!” The words burst from Kieran between sobs, raw and desperate. “I’m scared I’ll m-mess everything up again like the last interview. I’ll have another s-seizure on camera, or I’ll say something wr-wrong, or I’ll—I’ll make you l-look bad.”

Ah. There it is.

Vale paused, his hand resting against the heated skin while he processed Kieran’s confession. “Make me look bad?”

“Everyone s-saw what happened,” Kieran continued, “They saw you have to t-take care of me, saw how much w-work I am. If I do more interviews, they’ll s-see—they’ll figure out that you’re w-wasting your time on someone who c-can’t even handle a simple conversation without f-falling apart.”

You’re trying to protect me. Protect my reputation from association with your perceived inadequacy.

Something unexpected moved through Vale’s chest—not just satisfaction at extracting truth, but genuine emotion at Kieran’s misguided attempt at protection. Even in his terror of disappointing, his primary concern was Vale’s professional image rather than his own safety or comfort.

My beautiful, broken boy. Trying to shield me from consequences of choices I made willingly.

Vale delivered another strike, feeling Kieran flinch and sob beneath him. “That’s very sweet,” he said softly. “And completely unnecessary.”

You need to understand that honesty—even painful honesty—is always preferable to protective deflection.

“I’m s-sorry,” Kieran gasped against the floor. “I’m sorry I l-lied, I’m sorry I’m n-not stronger—”

“Shh. This isn’t about strength. This is about trust. When I ask you a question, I expect honest answers. Not deflection. Not protective lies. Truth.”

Each statement accompanied another sharp strike, creating a physical rhythm to Kieran’s sobs.

Vale’s hand paused mid-strike, shifting to something gentler—his palm smoothing over the heated skin with reverent attention to the temperature difference between corrected and uncorrected areas. Kieran shuddered at the change in touch, confusion evident even through the blindfold.

“There’s something else,” Vale said, his voice dropping to conversational curiosity that felt more dangerous than anger. “The notebook. Your songwriting notebook.”

Kieran went rigid.

Interesting. Very interesting.

“There were pages,” Vale continued, “heavily scratched out when I first read through it months ago. I could only make out a few lines. Something about wanting sunlight but being acreature of night. About craving gentle touch but hungering for the bite.”

His fingers traced the curve of Kieran’s spine down to the cleft of his ass as his curiosity intensified into hunger. He slipped a finger between those flushed cheeks, teasing the tight ring of muscle there, feeling it clench instinctively under his probing. “But now those pages are gone entirely. Torn out. And you left other confessional pieces in there, didn’t you? Beautiful admissions of want and need... So whatever you removed must be something you consider too private even for me.”

What are you hiding? What words did you commit to paper that were too honest even for our ecosystem of transparency?

Vale’s arousal was undeniable now, his cock hardening against Kieran’s bound thigh, the fabric of his pants straining against him. It stemmed from the correction itself—the satisfying crack of skin on skin, the way Kieran’s body had jerked with each strike—and from the delicious mystery of Kieran’s secret. He wrapped around Kieran’s half-hard length, stroking slowly from base to tip. Each pump of his fist alternated between feather-light glides and firm squeezes that made Kieran’s hips buck.

“P-please,” Kieran gasped. “Please d-don’t keep pushing. It needs to st-stay private for a little while l-longer.”