* * *

He hates gags. He's been cuffed across the head and ordered to shut up too many times in his life to ever feel comfortable with those kinds of restraints. So they don't use one. It's good, because he's never been one to prefer silence over sound.

"Harper, you talk too much," is not exactly a rare comment. It's been said while laughing, and when annoyed. More often, it's with a tinge of exasperated dismissal, but that's ok, he even exasperates himself sometimes.

There are times though, that his mouth goes too far, taking him beyond the realm of exasperation, annoyance and even anger. When Dylan gets that certain look on his face, quickly controlled, when Rommie shakes her head in one way, or when Beka forgets that they're supposed to be friends and threatens to jettison him out of the nearest airlock, he knows he's pushed it too far. He needs to rein it back in.

Trouble is, when he gets on these rolls, he can't really do that. It just gets worse and worse and he needs a reminder of how exactly to shut his mouth for his own good.

He shifts a little, and the the collar tugs at his skin.

He likes the collar, it's a reminder, not really all that subtle. When he's about to speak, he swallows, it tightens minutely, and he thinks 'Do I really need to say this?'. Usually, the answer is no, but it's nice to feel the slight vibration against the thick leather when he does speak.

* * *

When he first made his approach, Tyr looked at him like he'd gone insane. "You want me to what?" The stunned look was enough to make him laugh, at least until Tyr gave him a new look, one which said 'That's enough'. Not an insult, not tinged with superiority, just a statement. Exactly what he wanted.

* * *

It's been one of those days. He's hyper, mostly because he's had nothing to do. Inactivity leaves him with too much time to think about recent events, and that makes it worse.

He'd pissed Beka off and then apparently pushed High-Guard-perfect-Dylan too far. When Trance finally firmly, but politely, told him to get out of the med bay and stay away from her for at least the next day, he knew what he needed.

So, here he is, thick collar around his neck, hands trussed behind him, half naked, and sitting on Tyr's bed. He watches, slightly wide-eyed as Tyr, arms crossed and face impassive, looks down at him.

* * *

It didn't take long for Tyr to figure it out. Sometimes Harper just needs a little reminder, a push in the direction of self-discipline.

He used to have it, way back on Earth. Self-discipline helped with survival and with making sure his personal ties were kept to a minimum. It's hard to compete with others when you care too much.

Years on the Maru helped break down that attitude. It wasn't easy living, but he had people to work *with* instead of against, people he cared about and who cared in return. He started to talk, to see how far he could push them before they would stop that caring. It was a test, and he knew it was twisted. Still though, he had to know if they would still care if he got a little cocky.

He admits it, he has trust issues.

On the Andromeda, it got even worse.

They weren't scraping out an existence the way they had on the Maru. Sure, it was no easy ride, but things were better. He liked it here even more, even if Dylan sometimes got inflexible and driven.

Was he here for the long haul, though? Or, would they one day say, "Off you go, Seamus, you're no longer needed here"?

It would be better to know that sooner, before he got too comfortable with the ship, with friends, with allies to watch his back.

So he got in these moods, every self-doubt surfacing, and he pushed. He pushed and pushed and he went too far and he needed a reminder that maybe he should just keep his mouth shut, because he wasn't doing himself any favours.

* * *

Tyr's still looking at him, and he feels his guts twist in anticipation. It's never really scary, he knows logically that Tyr would let up and and let him go if he asked for it. Emotionally, it can be kind of hard to remember that when you're being stared at with the full force of Nietzschean concentration and semi-disapproval.

And face it, Harper, there's a little anticipation on that face in front of you. He gets some kind of kick out of this too.

Sometimes Tyr is waiting for him when Harper searches him out. Today was one of those days. It's a sign that he's been especially irritating.

"You just going to stare all day?" He can't help it, he has to push this along.

Tyr crosses to the bed, reaches up and pulls Harper's head back, hair gripped tightly. His back arches, and the collar is too loose, because it just slips down a little. He wants to say "Tighten it", but then he remembers and keeps his mouth shut.

Tyr lets him go, and his back relaxes. He's untying his hands, which is kind of weird, but then it's ok, because they're simply being refastened above him. Tyr's made some modifications on the wall above his bed. Usually, the loops hold weapons, but they're multi-purpose.

The best thing about Tyr is that he gets it. If Harper can trust Tyr not to hurt him, then he should be able to trust all of them. He might get a little hurt once in a while, but that's temporary, a step towards better things.

So, he forces himself to relax, because he knows, almost, that this is going to be good, exactly what he needs, just enough.

His arms are stretched tight and it limits his movements. He smiles slightly. He's glad Tyr didn't go for the blindfold, because mostly, he likes to watch the guy move around. His pants get pulled off him, and then he's left alone, naked, while Tyr goes and showers. It's really boring and his shoulders start to hurt. He's beginning to feel slightly abandoned when Tyr returns, not quite dry, naked, and sure, he's seen it before, but he can't help but stare.

His hands are untied again, and he sighs as he's flipped over, spread open and retied in yet another different way.

Sometimes he thinks it might be nice to touch Tyr, but that's not the point of this exercise.

He listens to the rustles behind him, and starts to freak out the tiniest bit because he can't see anything. Still no blindfold, but he can't turn his head without hurting his shoulders, he's tied so weirdly. He's basically blind, looking at the dark pillow underneath his face.

Tyr has a variety of leather accoutrements -- oh, twenty thron word there, Harper -- and he keeps them in good condition. Harper is kind of hesitant to ask where he gets the raw leather in the first place.

On the other hand, he doesn't care what Tyr *does* with the leather, because it's always good, at least after a while.

He knows how to handle the stuff. As what is probably a belt thwacks across his back, Harper half-grins through the sting. Tyr never leaves marks, never draws blood. That would be going too far, pushing Harper into memories he doesn't really need to think about right now. There was no trust then, but Harper's learning to trust that Tyr's not going to fuck him up.

It's a pretty good feeling, a counterpoint to the raw, hot sting across his back as Tyr's precise, even swings do their work. It's really starting to hurt now, not enough to make him cry out, but enough that he's tensing between blows.

A few more strikes, and Tyr stops. He feels the leather being placed just below his shoulders. It's cool against his skin, and it's definitely a belt because he can feel cooler metal brushing along his right side.

He's not sure what to expect next, because Tyr likes to keep him guessing. There are a few consistencies throughout these sessions, but mostly there's change. He's surprised when hands untie him again, this time leaving his arms loose. He knows they're not done, because he doesn't *feel* done, and Tyr always seems to know when he does. It was probably those enhanced senses. He wonders if he should move, but then he realises this is part of it. He's got to just let go and trust Tyr to tell him when to move.

A big hand rests between his shoulder blades, just above the belt still lying across him. It's not holding him down, but really, he knows it is. Fingers that feel surprisingly cool trace patterns across his back and that's weird but ok.

Oh. The coolness is some kind of cream or something, it's taking away some of the sting. It's nice. He's confused though, because usually Tyr isn't quite so soothing, and he wonders why he is now. He doesn't bother wondering too hard though, because that's not the point. He just goes with it. He likes it too, unable to stop a few hip twitches that rub his increasingly interested cock against the soft material under him.

The leather slithers across his skin after a few moments, and then he jumps when he feels it slap against him again. Just a few blows this time, and then he hears a faint clatter as the belt is dropped to the ground. He's wondering what's next, when his hips are yanked up and his knees pushed under him. He feels the scrape of arm spikes against his skin as his legs are nudged wide apart. As Tyr moves closer, Harper levers himself up to lean against his forearms.

The fingers that had been on his back are now pushing into him, slick with something he's pretty sure isn't skin soother.

Tyr isn't exactly gentle, but Harper likes the rhythm he's set up. He tries to relax into it, and winces when Tyr's free hand presses hard against his raw back, reminding him not to move. It's the only sign he gets before Tyr's fingers move out of the way, he aligns himself and pushes in hard, fast.

His eyes tear because it hurts, he's not going to pretend it doesn't. Tyr's big everywhere, so yeah, it hurts. He bites his lip as Tyr moves back, then pushes in again, just as hard. He rides out the sparks of pain and tries to relax again. Tyr's hand moves from his back to his hips, and pulls him closer, this time staying still a minute. That's what he needs, and he breathes deeply, waiting, pushing through the pain.

It starts again, a rough pull out and almost too hard back in. The movements repeat, and he tastes a hint of blood in his mouth, but he's starting to get into it, starting to feel a heavy warmth that has nothing to do with pain. Tyr slows down, going deeper, starting to hit at the sweet spot, and he can't help it, he groans a little, which gets him a repeat of the motion.

His hips start to twinge, protesting at being spread so wide. He can hear Tyr breathing harder above him, and it's good. Mixed with the thrusts it almost does it for him. He pushes back a little, just enough to let Tyr know he can go back to harder movements. Just a few more, and he's almost there.

He feels hot breath on his back, followed by a warm tongue tracing his spine between his shoulders, and then Tyr's hand wraps around his cock, jerks roughly in time with the movement of his hips, and it sends him over the edge. His arms give way and he falls forwards, twitching, blissed out, vaguely aware as a sticky hand returns to his hip, pulling him closer again. Tyr jerks and stiffens momentarily after a few more thrusts, then pushes Harper flat on the bed, rolling off of him.

He lies face down on sheets that are now slightly damp all over and sticky-wet in a few spots. He's glad Tyr untied him earlier, he likes the looseness in his limbs right now. He feels great, hazily floating. The bed shifts as Tyr gets up, then shifts again sometime later when he gets back down. Fingers return briefly to his back, rubbing cream on again. No more scarring for Harper.

The soothing movements stop, but still, he doesn't move, just enjoying the afterglow. He knows he should get up, wash off. Tyr's not going to appreciate having his sheets ruined. He turns his head too look at the once again impassive Nietzschean. Dragging his voice to the surface, he grins weakly, and says, "Thanks."

Thanks to Riana for the beta read and for telling me that the characterisation was not utterly implausible. Thanks to Brandi for pointing out errors and word weirdness and assuring me that this actually works.