This is the sequel to my other ItaGer fic, "Playtime," which you can find under the "My Stories" tab. You don't have to read that to understand this, but it does help!

I really appreciate reviews!

Enjoy!

One month. It has been one month, exactly (ish, Feliciano thinks, because counting down dates and days of the week, and anything to do with numbers and organization isn't his strong point, really) since Ludwig sank down on his knees before him, and asked to be tied up, and whipped, and cuffed, and gagged – one month since the best sex Feliciano has ever, ever, ever had, in his whole life, ever – one month too long to wait for it to happen again.

Ludwig wants it to happen again, Feliciano knows, and he definitelywants it to happen, and had he not known his lover as well as he does, it would have been something of a puzzle for him; why they haven't done it again yet. But Feliciano does know Ludwig; knows him as well as he knows the back of his own hand, as well as he knows pasta, as well as he knows North Italy – the rolling green hills, and the sink and sway of the Venetian gondolas, and the suck and shine of the golden beaches. And he knows that Ludwig is not frightened, or angry, at himself or at Feliciano. No; Ludwig is just...Ludwig. He is awkward, when it comes to sex, which is strange, because, a) he's very good at it, and b) he likes it, a lot. Feliciano supposes that sex is just one of those things which turns Ludwig's face scarlet. It's just – Ludwig.

They have had sex since then, of course – both of them, thank goodness, have high sex-drives (though his partner is perhaps a little better at containing his own), and it is good – sex with Ludwig is always good; after all, they've been together so long each of them knows exactly how to push the other's buttons; how to make him squirm, and moan, and spread his legs, and cry out in ecstasy...

Feliciano has to shake his head a little, as he considers this. He is, apparently, far too easily distracted. Though there's nothing wrong, he thinks cheerfully, with being distracted by images of a feral, wanton, devilishly handsome German who is ready to simultaneously mess him up and be tied to the bedposts whilst doing so. Nothing wrong with that at all.

But here is the problem: Ludwig, for all his tactical genius and organisational skills, is a surprisingly un-straightforward kind of guy. Feliciano isn't sure if "un-straightforward" is even a real word, but when it comes to describing Ludwig in relation to uncomfortable topics of conversation, it sums him up beautifully.

No...whenever he slides down onto the sofa, tucks his legs up beneath him, and slides a hand subtly, very subtly (that is the key, mon cher, Francis had told him, winking, subtlety) onto the taller man's thigh, Ludwig coughs, and blushes, and busies himself with a book, or the newspaper, or the TV remote, and sometimes even shoots away to the other side of the room because of some terrible pressing concern he absolutely must attend to at this very second.

It is, all told, a little demoralising. And besides, how on earth should he ask for the kind of sex he actually wants? "Hey, Ludi, I know last time you said you wanted to do it again, but we haven't yet, and I was wondering if tonight I could, you know – handcuff you to the bed and whip you just the way you like it?"

Ludwig's head might explode, he thinks, and giggles in spite of himself.

Whenever they do have sex, it is as ordinary as it was before the incident with the bondage tape, and the gag, and the maid's outfit (not that that is a bad thing – it's great sex, really great sex.) What makes Feliciano sigh, in all honesty, is that he has to either wait for Ludwig to initiate something – when the lights are out, so his Italian partner doesn't see the blush on his cheeks; or when he's drunk, which is always less fun; or, bright red and focusing his eyes determinedly upon the floor, muttering something along the lines of, "it has come to my attention that we haven't...ahem...in a few days, and, er –"

This is not what Feliciano wants.

Feliciano wants it to become a natural process; an utterly normal, and yet utterly wild, arousing, maddeningly hot and sensual part of their everyday lives. He wants to wake up, kiss each and every one of the red stains and bitemarks and bruises on his beloved's pale skin, laze around in bed until Ludwig jumps out and snaps at him that they're going to be late for work, eat breakfast far too quickly, shower, bumping into one another as they run in and out of the bathroom, do paperwork, meet for lunch in a cafe with soft music, holding hands under the table, attend meetings, make phonecalls, come home, walk the dogs, have dinner, watch a movie, go upstairs, tie his lover up, whip him, scratch him, ride him, fuck him, finally, finally, let him come when the sheets are twisted with sweat, hold one another close, turn out the lights, and fall asleep with their legs tangled under the blankets.

Surely, this isn't too much to ask for? (Without, of course, actually asking. Because if he does that, he knows Ludwig will turn bright red, and stutter, and edge away...)

But no matter; Feliciano has a plan. A plan that, admittedly, has not been thought through particularly thoroughly, but a plan nonetheless.

Feliciano is going to seduce Ludwig.

This is not an especially difficult task for him to undertake – he's been doing it for quite some time now. However, this particular seduction will be something a little different. He has thought about it, long and hard, and come to the conclusion that what happened last time, in Ludwig's bedroom, beside the closet, with all that bondage equipment strewn across the carpet and the cute dress about his thighs and waist, was, in fact a seduction. An accidental one; but a seduction nonetheless.

A seduction which led to the most mind-blowing, fulfilling, completely perfect perfect perfect sex he's ever had.

So doesn't it make sense for him to do a similar thing again?

Yup, he thinks, and giggles to himself, and claps his hands.

The very first thing to do, then, he decides, one day, while in the shower (all of his best ideas come to him whilst in the shower) is to sneak onto Ludwig's computer.

Ludwig has two computers; one is a laptop he takes to work with him, and is full of really boring stuff like reports and trading indexes, and it makes Feliciano want to take a nap just thinking about it. And the second one he keeps at home, and uses for watching TV shows he's missed, and looking up sports results, and watching the videos of dramatic hamsters his brother emails to him. And porn.

Well. Feliciano isn't one hundred percent sure about that last one. Maybe seventy percent.

He hopes he does watch porn on it, because Ludwig watching porn on this particular laptop is the key to his whole plan.

The only difficulty with this, though, is that Feliciano is absolutely terrible with computers. He can change the wallpaper to a picture of a cute kitty (and does, regularly, on Ludwig's work laptop, much to his partner's annoyance, though Feliciano doesn't understand why; surely everyone loves kitties?) and just about handle a Google search, but other than that, he is fairly clueless.

So he waits until a day when Ludwig has a meeting to go to; and then as soon as he is out of the door, he seizes the phone, and the laptop, and calls Kiku.

"Hello?"

"Ve, hello, Kiku!" Feliciano says cheerily, and Kiku says hello too, and is he having a pleasant day?

"Ah, si, si, I am, thank you, but I wondered if you could tell me how to find the pornography on Ludi's computer?"

There is a moment of silence, then Kiku chokes down the phoneline, "E-excuse me?"

"I need to find out what kind of pornography Ludwig likes to watch. How do I do that? The computer's on."

Kiku attempts to speak a couple of times; then heaves a heavy sigh, and says: "I don't...I'm not sure if I – I'm comfortable with this, Feliciano."

"Just tell me quickly then, ve," Feliciano says, and clicks around the screen a few times.

There is another long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Kiku exhales down the line, and says, "Feliciano. I – I don't –"

"Please!" says Feliciano, and Kiku sighs again. He is weakening, Feliciano realises, and thinks back on the military training he received from Ludwig back during the Great Wars. Once they are weakened, wear them down. "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please –"

"All right!" Kiku interrupts, sounding rather nervous and extremely harried. "All right. So...go – go to the menu...find the button that says 'My Documents.'"

"Uh – oh, ah, I see it. Should I click it?"

"Yes."

He does so. "And now there are a whole bunch of things. Hey, Kiku, this looks really boring. It looks like business stuff."

"Mmm," says Kiku. He sounds a little exasperated. "But look closely, Feliciano. Are there any folders that look strange? Any with names that don't quite make sense?"

"No," says Feliciano, and sighs. This is too much like hard work, he thinks. "Ve – isn't there an easier way of doing this, Kiku, huh?"

"Alright," says Kiku, "Go online."

"On the internet, right?"

"Yes, yes..."

Feliciano bites his bottom lip as he locates the icon for the internet. "Okay!"

"Right. Go to his history."

"Uh –"

"What browser are you using, Feliciano?"

"Um..."

"What is the internet's name?" he says, quickly.

He sounds somewhat frustrated, Feliciano thinks. It's no wonder. Computers are hard. "Well, on the, er – menu thing – it says...Google...Chrome?"

"Alright." Another heavy sigh. "There's a picture of a wrench in the top right-hand corner. Click it, and then click on the –"

"It says 'History!'" Feliciano cries. "Kiku, I did it, it says 'History!' Ve, Ludi's going to be so proud of me for figuring it out..."

"I don't doubt it."

"And now there's a long list. Oh, gosh, this is too hard for me. What now, Kiku?"

"Ah, Feliciano, I –" Kiku pauses, and Feliciano listens attentively for his next instructions. Kiku says nothing, and so he begins to click about at random once again. Then suddenly –

"Oh."

"What is it now?" Kiku says, impatiently.

"It's gone." He waits for Kiku to respond; but he says nothing, so he continues. "The lights on the computer went off. And the screen's black. Kiku, what –"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Feliciano," Kiku says all at once, "But, er, I have to go. There's an emergency. My, uh...uh...goodbye." And the line falls dead.

Feliciano flops back into the sofa, disappointed. He had been so sure that Kiku would be the one to speak to! He knows an awful lot about confusing technology after all. He purses his lips; tilts his head up, and back in thought. But then again...perhaps he doesn't need someone who's good with computers. Perhaps he needs someone who'd know lots about porn. Re-invigorated, he smiles, and jumps up, and goes to call Francis instead.

Not only is Francis a whole lot more enthusiastic about Feliciano's idea than Kiku, he's also a whole lot more helpful. He actually comes round to Ludwig's house to help him locate the hidden pornography files – and then offers to stay and "analyse" them once they have been unearthed. Feliciano thanks him graciously, but insists he will manage just fine on his own, thank you very much. Francis seems rather put-out by this, but he ruffles Feliciano's hair, and leaves, eventually, after throwing a few wistful glances in the direction of the laptop.

So Feliciano settles back in his seat, and opens up the files, and begins to watch.

And he watches. And he watches. He watches the sharp flash and the tight smack of the riding crops; the bright slick of the leather; the dull slap and squeak of belts...breath tightens, knees buckle, panting, panting, panting...and they are on their knees, on their hands and knees, moaning, gasping, mouths stretched wide, mouths bound shut, lips glistening with saliva and pearls...

And the thick, scarlet slices lacing, adorning those open backs glow from the screen, scream from the screen, and Feliciano grips the cushions tightly, digging his fingers and his nails into the fabric, and something is caught in his throat, and his breath is quickening, and oh, God, at what point did he become this aroused?

He has to pause the videos – more than once – to satisfy that base want, the primordial throb, need, demand of his tightened, sweat-slicked body. And then, shining and soft, slumped back against the cushions, he clicks "play" again, and watches once more the whipping, the binding, the caressing, the choking, the moaning, and the sounds ring in his heated ears, and the sights – the gleam of skin, the thud of black, the burning tug and squeal of the rope – fill his head, his vision, heat his body, fill him to the brim – and he sees again why Ludwig adores this so.

He hardly notices the men and the women in long leather boots, and gloves, and suspenders, whips and chains in hand – really, he only has eyes for the shivering, desperate creatures on all fours, flushed with desire, begging, pleading for more, please, mistress; more, please, master – and he wonders what it would be like to have Ludwig call him master, and all of a sudden he is accosted by an image of Ludwig, down on his knees, cheek pressed against his, Feliciano's, stocking-covered thigh, and he can feel the fast thud of Ludwig's heart, the heat of his skin, the tiny trembles ricocheting through tense, strong muscle, curled and submissive at his feet...

He slams the laptop shut, and pushes it away. He is hard, and wanting again, but he knows if he gets himself off he'll be too tired for phase two of his plan. He's already come twice today, and he isn't sure how much longer he can go. He's not particularly durable, after all; whereas Ludwig can go all night, if he wants to.

A warm sensation blooms in his stomach; and he stands up, gingerly, feeling rather sticky, and a little guilty, and a lot excited. He limps upstairs, and takes a cold shower, and then begins to prepare for the evening ahead.

And when Ludwig comes home, calling his partner's name, and walks into the sitting room, with his tie loosened and his jacket thrown over one arm, and he sees his lover, sitting on the arm of the big sofa, wearing those damn stockings, and that damn underwear he wore the time before, and not much else, holding a crop, with rope and handcuffs and a gag and lube arranged around his feet, and smirking, outright smirking, he drops his briefcase, and his mouth falls open, and his lovely blue eyes widen, and it is right about now that Feliciano realises that, for the first time in his life, he has managed to carry out a thoroughly successful campaign.

He swings his legs off the sofa; hops down, and moves across the room towards his stunned partner.

"Ludi," he says, and taps the crop against his own slender fingers, "take your clothes off and kneel down for me, please?"

And Ludwig obeys so quickly he doesn't even have time to turn red.