What’s probably the most hilarious thing about fucking Jake English on a regular basis is that he always seems surprised by the sexual shenanigans Dirk comes up with.
Surprised and pretty eager, which is unexpected and just so goddamn adorable it shouldn’t be allowed.
He approaches their sex life the same way he does everything else, with blind enthusiasm and a hell of a lot of blundering around. He’s adventurous, which is great, but at the same time, seriously fucking naïve. He doesn’t know what’s what half the time, and without fail, whenever Dirk drops a suggestion for something they can do behind closed doors, he gets treated to a fifteen minute show of English style flushing, stammering, excited chatter and conspiratorial glances. He’s never embarrassed really, just riled up.
It’s been that way from the beginning.
They start going out, or something like that, because Dirk’s got a vested interest and Jake doesn’t have a reason to say no.
When Dirk asks if he can shove his tongue down the guy’s throat, gentleman style, Jake is all for it.
“Blazes, going against all kinds of societal norms here, aren’t we?” He says, laughing, and they kiss and even though their teeth clack together in the process, they’re left breathless, wanting more.
When just kissing gets too tame, Dirk presses further. He gets his hands all over Jake’s button-down, then under it, and he’s got the boy backed against a wall, unsure of what the fuck to do with his own hands but nothing short of exhilarated to be touched so much.
“Egad, you certainly have a way of finding w-weak spots, don’t you?” He says.
Shortly after, when he gets that look like he’s done taking a back seat, is ready to have a go at driving this hormone-addled sexmobile for himself, Dirk figures it’s time to own up.
So he sits him down for a serious talk and tells him upfront that he got meteor-dropped onto the planet with some of the wrong parts, that Jake probably would have realized it already if he hadn’t been so busy falling to pieces under his admittedly godly fingers.
When Jake doesn’t seem to get it he lifts his tank top and puts the binder underneath on full display.
Jake, bless his stupid little heart, is actually more interested in his abs.
“Crikey, way to make a fella insecure! How am I supposed to compete with that?”
He reaches out to touch Dirk’s skin, feel the muscle underneath, and drags his fingers up, up, and it’s only when he hits fabric that he seems to remember what’s going on, comes out of whatever English-land trance he’s put himself in and looks equal parts confused and pleased.
“Fooled the dickens out of me, bro,” He says, and smiles in a roguish, daring sort of way.
He turns the next few minutes into an exploratory mission. Act now, think later, that’s the English way, and even after he’s kissed Dirk into an overheated mess, groped his ass with all the finesse his teenaged hands can muster, he still thinks like an adventurer, a thrill seeker. He asks endless questions, doesn’t really let Dirk answer any of them properly, but they do lay some ground rules for what kind of touching is okay, what terms are acceptable, and in the end they just make out again.
Which really, both of them are totally cool with.
Carrying that same level of cool, they work their way through a veritable stack of sexual milestones, Dirk leading the way like an ancient master of perversion, Jake following with all the wide-eyed, ruggedly handsome excitement of a young action movie hero.
Dirk gets him out of his pants way, way too easily, without even wining or dining him. Under an enormous tropical tree, something heavy with fruit and covered in wide, waxy green leaves he makes Jake squirm restlessly, pant into the humid air, say his name because his ego doesn’t mind some stroking every now and then. He convinces Jake to lick his own cum off the palm of his hand, which is probably pushing it by the unwritten terms of a teenaged boy’s guide to your first handjob, but all Jake says afterward is, “By god, Strider, damn good at this, aren’t you?”
Like it’s actually not a big deal. Like he’s done it before, the cheeky bastard. Which he probably has. Just not so much off anyone else’s hand as his own.
In the comfortable safety of a bedroom, Dirk lets him explore the kinds of touching that have been deemed acceptable. He sits back and smirks while Jake puzzles things out, expresses frustration in the funniest set of ‘hms’ and ‘gollys.’ But then he understands the puzzle and Dirk finds himself squirming, purring, working his fingers into thick, dark hair and swallowing hard with every compliment Jake murmurs against his skin.
“You are just insufferably handsome, Strider,” He says, grinning, “A positively strapping lad.”
He’s enthusiastic and adventurous and just plain open which makes him basically perfect.
Dirk’s got plans for that adventurous nature, big plans.
Slowly but surely, he puts them into action.
Jake does put up a little more resistance when Dirk introduces toys into the equation, but picking out fake phalluses in the most obnoxious shades of blue helps some. Presenting Jake with an Azure Ocean dildo makes directing him to suck it a much easier task and thank christ for that, because there’s little Dirk wants to do more than stare at Jake’s mouth while he’s getting off.
More than anything, more than his tousled hair, his bright eyes, his deliciously plush rump, Dirk is in absolute lust with Jake’s mouth. He kisses it till their lips are both sore, tastes the rough surface of his tongue, and watches Jake dig his teeth into his lower lip, settled far enough back to get a full view of his charming overbite. He sees just how hard Jake bites down to keep in a moan as he gets acquainted with the feeling of silicone inside him, the deep down shudder a pair of fingers against his prostate can produce.
He says something like, “B-by ja-jove you, ngh, f-fucking crumbs, Strider I cah-can’t, mnnn-“
Dirk imagines him with a bridle slipped between his lips and his own mouth goes dry. He hasn’t brought up any of the pony stuff yet, not directly, they’ve only just gotten through the puppet stuff and the power play and that’s really more than enough to start.
When he orders Jake out of his clothes he gets a sly smile, a snappy, half-joking, “Yes sir!”
A lot of the time they have to wrestle for control, but once Jake catches onto the fact that playing the shivering, submissive, hero-turned-fuckpuppet gets Dirk hotter than a fox in a forest fire, he starts making a show of it more often. He whimpers and clings and begs Dirk to fuck him, and when they’re lying slumped and sated in a sweaty pile afterward, he shows some restraint, only one pistol to go with his wink.
“Good show,” He says.
Good show indeed.
But it could be a better show, and Dirk tells him that. He figures they can put together a real spectacular. The Ice Capades of sex. A Ringling Brothers circus composed entirely of fucking. ‘Jake Gets Plowed’ in IMAX 3D.
Jake’s never seen a movie in an IMAX theater, or a real, public theater at all, poor guy, and Dirk promises to take him to one someday, assuming the world rebuilds itself and there isn’t a gaping crater where the Houston IMAX once stood. It can be like a date or something.
But that’s letting a metaphor run over into real life conversations and some pretty cuddly bullshit, so Dirk steers things back to the actual point he was trying to make, which is that he wants to drill Jake into the floor.
Yes, right now. No, the mongoose he’d wanted to taxidermy can wait.
They get into a play-argument, which leads to a full out play-fight, pushing and shoving, and in seconds they’re wrestling, writhing on the floor, which is exactly where Dirk wanted to be in the first place.
Jake plays the stubborn, steadfast adventurer with a slowly crumbling resolve and Dirk doesn’t play anything at all because fuck if he’s going to roleplay anything ever in his life.
But Dirk being himself works just fine when he pins Jake to the floor and grinds against him, bites at his neck and makes him moan, murmur the feeblest little, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…”
But he can, not just possibly but definitely, and when Dirk slips a hand into Jake’s shorts and teases him through his briefs, tells him he wants him on his hands and knees, all the blustering treasure hunter talk turns to breathy “Yes sir,” and “Oh please, sir.”
He’s playing it up, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less sweet to hear. When Dirk backs off to get out of his jeans, Jake wriggles out of his own clothes, tossing each piece aside haphazardly, dropping his glasses with only a little more care than anything else after they get jostled out of place and frustrate him.
He purposely waits until Dirk is naked, but for his binder. He holds out for his full attention and gets on his hands and knees, the picture of submission, but when he glances back over his shoulder he’s smirking like the king of the smug jungle.
“Ready when you are, my good man,” He says, which he thinks is cute and it sort of is.
He keeps it up while Dirk preps him, throwing around intentional whimpers and phrases like, “Ah h-horsefeathers you are a d-damn tease-“ like their his own personal, dweeby currency and he’s a fucking billionaire.
He puts the theatrics on hold long enough to listen to the very real, slightly embarrassed gasp that escapes when Dirk takes on his side of their cobalt blue double ended dildo. He offers a totally genuine, disgustingly affectionate smile at the sound, but as they get into the swing of things he sinks onto his elbows, arches his back and gets back into his role.
Dirk holds him by the hips, places a hand against the back of his head when Jake promises he won’t break if he’s rough with him. He watches Jake’s fingers tense against the floor, scoffs a laugh at his over the top plea for Dirk to fuck him harder, goes along with it anyway and absolutely loves the startled, choked noise he gets in response.
“Ngh-“ he says.
Dirk drapes himself over Jake’s back and sneaks a hand under him, getting a hold of his dick and stroking in time to his thrusts. He muffles himself against a tanned shoulder and pushes Jake toward complete incoherency, till he’s not just playing anymore and he really is gasping out desperate noises, dropping all pretenses of the charming old timey language and is left grating out a breathless, “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh f-ff-fuck-“
Jake’s voice rises in pitch, carrying him from “Sir” to “Strider” to just “Dirk,” and finally to a shout that reverberates off the metal floor.
Dirk’s efforts are rewarded with a handful of sperm, which he smears across Jake’s thigh just to be a dick.
It takes him a little longer to get off. Bodies are stupid like that sometimes. But Jake is more than willing to lend a hand, even if he is still gathering his wits.
With Jake murmuring stupid, nonsensical things in his ear it’s hard for Dirk not to get hot and bothered, impossible to repress the shiver that overwhelms him, races up his spine and makes him moan soft, low.
They’re a right fucking mess after all is said and done, but they can agree that it was a pretty fantastic show.
“A damn fine exhibition,” Jake says. He’s sprawled out on the floor, a ways away and reaching just far enough for their hands to touch.
Dirk asks if that’s what he’s into then, exhibitionism.
Jake goes all red in the face, redder considering the post-coital flush he’s already sporting.
“Well shucks, Strider,” He says, bashful, excited, blinking and half-blind because he hasn’t remembered to put his glasses back on, “Now you’ll have me wanting to try it!”
He’s eager and enthusiastic and he says shit like shucks which is fucking hilarious.
He’s pretty much perfect and all Dirk can do is lean over to kiss his bitten up, beautiful mouth, savor his taste for adventure.