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aftg kinktober stuff but it's stupid late

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1. Deep-Throating | Inflation | Face-Sitting | Masks

In the back of Neil's mind, ever since he and Andrew had started their absolutely-totally-nothing-at-all-really, he'd started accumulating fantasies. Before, during all the years he spent on the run, he'd come to see himself as sexless, tamping down on every urge as best as he could, shoving down any temptation to daydream or fantasize.

Now, though, his brain was making up for lost time.

It seemed Neil had caught Andrew in a good place today; the other man was unusually pliable and willing, settling with his back against the wall of their dorm, letting Neil fall to his knees and hearing him out as Neil told him one of the many items on the list of things that he wanted to try.

"Josten," Andrew said, and Neil felt a twinge of pride at the realization that Andrew's voice was just a little shakier than normal, whether or not the other man would ever admit it.

Neil hummed, partly to acknowledge that he was listening, but mostly for the way Andrew groaned at the feeling of Neil's vocal chords vibrating around his cock. Andrew was quick to regain his composure, though, and he tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders before saying, "You know you don't have to even try to do this."

"I know," Neil said, taking the opportunity to pull away from Andrew and take a deep breath. "I know I don't have to do anything. I want to. If you're okay with it."

"Well," Andrew said, his head falling back to rest against the wall with a light thud. "By all means, continue."

Neil had heard somewhere--okay, he hadn't heard, he'd read, because he'd done some research, trying to offset his utter cluelessness about sex--that you could stop your gag reflex by making a fist with your thumb on the inside. It turned out to be semi-successful, allowing Neil to slide his lips just a little further down Andrew's shaft, relishing in the low, soft sounds emitting from Andrew's throat. Neil breathed through his nose as best as he could, letting Andrew fill up his throat and swallowing around him, pulling a string of choked-off curses from him. He felt one of Andrew's hands leave his shoulder and glanced up to see Andrew with his eyes closed, biting his knuckles. Spurred on by the sight, Neil clenched his fists tighter and pushed himself to take the last inch or so of Andrew's cock, rewarded with the sound of Andrew's breath leaving his lungs in one heavy rush. He gazed up again and found that Andrew, with his teeth still sunk into his own knuckles, was looking down at him, pupils blown so wide there was only a hint of hazel iris visible.

And then Neil started moving again, cheeks hollowed and lips sliding up and down the full length of Andrew's cock, fists still wound tight to keep himself from gagging as the head of Andrew's cock brushed the back of his throat over and over. Once in a while, he'd pull off almost completely, tracing his tongue around the head, teasing the slit, letting the sound of Andrew's deep breaths and drawn-out swears fill his head. "Josten," Andrew snapped, as Neil enveloped Andrew's cock in the warm heat of his throat again, tears starting to well up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm--shit--I'm close."

Neil hummed again, and Andrew cursed, and a few moments later, Andrew was coming down Neil's throat, his cock spasming against the flat of Neil's tongue as Neil swallowed what he could, letting the rest drip from the corners of his mouth and wiping it away on the back of his hand as Andrew zipped his jeans back up and slid down the wall, coming to sit on the floor across from Neil, who grinned back at him and asked, " was--"

"No," Andrew said, holding a finger to Neil's lips. "Not a fucking word, Josten."

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2. Ass Worship | Begging | Medical play | Watersports

He can't say "please"--he won't, not now, not to Andrew, he would never.

He bites down on the word before it can slip out, careful and collected, even in his current state. Foreplay becomes teasing becomes cruelty, really, and Neil knows Andrew just wants to make sure he's ready, that he won't be in pain, but with Andrew looming over him, limbs intertwined, tongue ghosting over Neil's neck, two fingers buried to the base knuckles in Neil's ass, it takes all Neil's willpower not to break down and plead.

He'll have to be more creative.

"I want you to fuck me," Neil says. He tries for sultry, but even he can hear the desperation in his own voice. "Wanna feel you inside me, filling me up, Andrew--"

Neil feels the scrape of Andrew's teeth against his neck, the harsh suction of Andrew's lips as he sucks a mark onto Neil's skin, high enough on his neck that Neil's sure the next time he walks by the rest of the Foxes, he'll see money change hands. "Don't tease me anymore, Drew, I need you--" Neil's voice cuts off again when Andrew crooks his fingers, pressing hard against Neil's prostate and making sparks explode behind Neil's eyelids. The pressure is there for a split second and then it's gone, and Neil finds his voice again, half-speaking and half-moaning into the crook of Andrew's neck as his vision whites out from the sensation alone. "Andrew, fuck, I want you so bad, want you to open me up and fill me, make me yours, Drew--"

"Fucking Christ, Josten," Andrew says. His fingers are moving a little faster now, a little more insistent, but two of Andrew's fingers can't compete with his cock and Neil needs more; he thinks he might cry if he doesn't get it. "Have you always had such a fucking mouth on you?"

"You know I have," Neil says. He gives Andrew a moment of silence, craning his head up to kiss whatever part of Andrew's neck he can reach, reveling in the shudders he can send through the other man with such a small act. As if in retaliation, Andrew presses against Neil's prostate even harder, rubbing and circling, and Neil would try to keep begging but he's lost control of his vocal tract, and the only sounds coming out now are broken moans and gasping breaths.

It's almost too much and then suddenly, it's nothing; Andrew pulls his fingers out and the sudden loss of sensation draws a whine from Neil, who scrambles up to see what's happening, to make sure Andrew's okay, but relief and anticipation overwhelm him in equal measure when he sees Andrew rolling a condom on. Andrew kneels between Neil's legs, and Neil stretches one of his legs up to hook it over Andrew's shoulder, the most coherent invitation he's capable of giving at the moment.

One light eyebrow arches, and Andrew strokes himself, slow and aimless. "Did you want something?"

Neil props himself up on his elbows. Andrew stares, nearly vacant. If he wasn't hard, Neil would think he was bored out of his mind. "I did, actually."

"Were you going to elaborate on that? I'm not a mind reader, you know."

"I want," Neil starts, curling his other leg around Andrew and digging his heels into Andrew's back, pulling him in. Andrew plays along and lurches forward, bracing his hands on either side of Neil's head and getting right in his space, nose to nose. "For you to fuck me till I can't fucking walk, and I want to feel you stretch me out and fill me up and come inside me, and I want you to not make me ask again."

Andrew hums, as if considering the option. He doesn't smile, not now and not ever, really, but he leans in closer and he starts the slow press of his cock inside Neil and he lets Neil's tongue glide hot over his neck, and Neil thinks maybe all that means just as much.

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3. Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | Knife Play

Kevin blinked. There was a sliver of sunlight filtering into the room through a small space where the curtains didn't quite come together over the window. He blinked again. There was complete darkness.

"If you need us to stop or slow down or anything, say so," Andrew said. "Understand?"

"Yes," Kevin said. His heart thrummed a lightning-fast rhythm; his whole body tingled with anticipation. He jerked his wrists against the rope binding them to the headboard, testing the restraints one last time.

"Great," Andrew said. "I'm going to put the noise-cancelling headphones on you now, and I swear to God, if your wrists so much as start to get a little sore, I want to know about it."

Kevin caught the sound of Neil's laughter, more infectious than Kevin would ever admit, before Andrew put the headphones onto him. A second later, the sound of static filled his head as white noise played through the speakers, ensuring no stray sound could slip into Kevin's ears. There would be no warnings, no hint of what to expect. He waited in the silence and the darkness for what felt like hours but was probably no more than a minute, and then he finally felt the brush of soft fingertips over his lips. Immediately, instinctively, Kevin parted his lips and the fingers slipped in, lying flat against his tongue until Kevin took the cue to suck, tongue twisting and swirling as the next sensation overtook him, the weight and heat of someone straddling his lower stomach, followed by a sharp twinge of pain as someone pinched his nipples.

Wet fingers left his mouth and dragged across his cheek, straight over the chess piece that branded him his own, wandering down to stroke the column of his neck, drawing a shudder from him. He tilted his head back, exposing as much of his throat as he could, and was rewarded with the heady feeling of a tongue licking a stripe from the hollow of his collarbone to the top of his throat, and his nipples were tweaked again, then twisted, and then blunt fingernails dug into his chest for a moment.

Kevin felt the mattress shift, bodies moving and readjusting around him before settling back into place again. His cock was painfully hard and so far completely ignored. Warm, rough palms cupped his cheeks and a moment later, someone was kissing him and Kevin was kissing back, sloppy and frantic, canting his hips up in search of some--any--sensation. Whichever man was above him--probably Neil, touchier and messier than Andrew--rolled his hips, grinding against Kevin's cock and biting Kevin's bottom lip as his mouth fell open in a moan. Neil ran his hands down Kevin's chest and rested them on his abs as they fell into a rhythm of rolling hips and slick tongues.

Then Neil was adjusting again, moving up to straddle Kevin's stomach, and the warmth of Andrew's mouth enveloped Kevin's cock to the base, making his head spin. Robbed of sight and sound, Kevin was suspended in a state of constant anticipation, heart racing in his chest and breath caught stagnant in his lungs. Andrew pulled away from him, and then Neil followed suit, and Kevin couldn't help but wonder if they were talking to each other, giving orders or planning the next move, and Kevin was almost overcome with the frustration of being left out of a conversation that involved him. But he couldn't hold on to the irritation once a hand was back on his cock, slow but firm and wonderfully slick, and then the feeling of a palm was replaced with something hotter and tighter, what could only be Neil, taking Kevin's cock in inch by inch.

Fingertips brushed over Kevin's forehead, flicking away sweat. He felt something jostling his wrists and was surprised when one of them was freed. A question escaped his mouth, but he got his answer when he felt his hand, guided by one of Andrew's, close around Andrew's cock. On top of him, Neil had taken Kevin's cock to the base, adjusting to the stretch and easing himself into it with painfully slow movement.

As Neil sped up, Kevin could feel himself getting messier, more rushed; the feeling of Neil clenching and fluttering around him made it nearly impossible for Kevin to focus on Andrew, to keep his grip tight and steady the way Andrew liked it. Down two senses, everything was more intense, every sensation heightened to the point of being nearly overwhelming. Neil shifted forward and latched his mouth onto Kevin's neck, and Andrew's hand closed over his again, stopping him. A sudden rush of panic hit him, the certainty that he'd done something horribly wrong, but then he felt fingers hooking in one corner of his mouth and he understood; he opened his mouth and felt the head of Andrew's cock resting on his outstretched tongue, throbbing as he came.

A moment later, Neil took Kevin's free hand and interlaced their fingers, tightening around his cock, and if Kevin wasn't already blindfolded he would've thought he'd blacked out from the wave of pleasure that crashed over him, leaving him boneless and breathless as Neil's release finally hit him, making him shudder and clench. Oversensitive, Kevin grit his teeth and waited for his head to stop spinning as Neil pulled away, resting his forehead against Kevin's for a brief moment before taking off the headphones. At Neil's direction, Kevin tilted his head up, blinking away the bright light that hit his eyes as Neil removed the blindfold.

Kevin turned, spotting Andrew blowing cigarette smoke out the window, and he was equal parts surprised and annoyed to find that he didn't have the energy to start an argument over it.

"Lemme just go...throw this in the laundry," Neil said, sliding off the bed with the blindfold in his hands.

"Ah, but I was going to think of a way to trick you into using it as a headband for practice," Andrew said. He ground his cigarette out on the windowsill and pulled the curtains closed again, then sat back down on the bed, resting against the headboard.

Neil wrinkled his nose at Andrew, but after he earned no response, he moved on. "You good?" Neil asked, a question for the room.

Andrew nodded, and Kevin hummed his assent, letting Neil curl up into his side with his head on his chest, breaths coming heavy and calm as Kevin drifted off.

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4. Spanking | Mirror Sex | Spit-roasting | Dacryphilia (Crying)

In the back of his mind, Neil couldn't help but wonder if this was fucked up. It shouldn't have been a turn-on, a thing that made his head spin, swimming with lust. Mostly, he just tried not to think about it. There were so many other fucked up things to unpack that, of everything, Neil figured this couldn't possibly be the worst of it.

He clenched his fists, his forearms pressed against the wall and forehead resting on the ridges of his knuckles. Kevin's hand came down again, hard and stinging, and Neil sucked in a breath between gritted teeth.

"I thought I told you to count," Kevin said.

"Fuck you," Neil said, which was only his way of telling Kevin that he wasn't taking Neil down hard enough.

And there was the twisted, fucked up crux of it, not only that Neil was submissive, that he craved the strange, calming rush of subspace, but that he wanted to be dragged into it fighting, wanted to be forced under and held there. Kevin spanked him again, rough hands coming down with all the force he could muster, over and over until Neil cried out before he could stop himself.

"That was six," Kevin said. He had the same stern, even tone he would use during practice to reprimand someone for fucking around, the voice that bit out a stream of constant critiques, that could tear Neil down to nothing and build him back up again just as easily.

"Was it? Weak."

It would start over. That's how their system worked. It would start over until Neil finally caved and counted, and it would start over every time he lost track or refused to count or otherwise stepped out of line. Kevin tangled a hand in Neil's hair and pulled his head back, leaning in to speak directly into Neil's ear. "Is there any particular reason you insist on being so fucking insubordinate at every opportunity?"

"No," Neil said, shrugging as best as he could in his awkward position. "Just having a good time."

Five more strikes; Neil felt his ass heating up, the painful sting underneath his skin. “You’re gonna bruise,” Kevin said. “Is that what you want?”

“Like you could even hit that hard.”

The sound of Kevin’s belt unbuckling made Neil’s heart speed up, anticipation setting every nerve on edge. The first strike came down without warning, and Neil sank his teeth into his own knuckles to stifle a cry. Two more blows came down before Kevin threaded his fingers through Neil’s hair and leaned in close, speaking low and quiet into Neil’s ear. “Take your fucking knuckles out of your mouth. If I wanted you quiet, I would’ve gagged you.”

Between the seventh hit and the eighth, something in him gave way and he managed a stuttered, shaky "okay," prompting Kevin to stop. "Okay?" Kevin repeated.

"I'll count. I promise. I'll count."

Kevin smacked him again, hitting the same spot across the backs of his legs that he'd been focusing on for the past four hits, probably purely out of spite. "One," Neil said, and the word barely left his mouth before Kevin continued, harder and harder as Neil counted off the next seven strikes.

Tomorrow, he would regret this, or at least the aftermath that came with it, which was mostly the involuntary wincing whenever he sat down, followed by the knowing glances from Andrew and the gleeful looks from Nicky.

By the time Neil counted nine, he was painfully hard, head buzzing with endorphins and tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as he gasped out the count.

Three more landed. They almost never set a predetermined number to stop at; it all depended on how roughly Neil needed to be handled that particular day, how far down he needed Kevin to push him. Neil stuttered out the next number, breaths labored and head dipped low. "Good boy," Kevin said. "Do you need to stop?"

Neil sniffled. He was too far gone for embarrassment or hesitation, as suggestible and pliant as he ever could be. "No," he mumbled.

"No?" Kevin rested his chin on Neil's shoulder, a brief flash of tenderness before the next onslaught.

Neil's breath came out shaky. He'd started crying; he could feel tears rolling down his scarred cheeks, but he couldn't place exactly when it had started. "I'm--I want more."

"Oh, of course, baby," Kevin said, and he stepped back to land the next blow before Neil had a chance to brace for it, dragging him deeper into subspace, pain and catharsis blending into one.

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5. Feet | Sadism/Masochism | Feederism | Shotgunning

As the night settled over Palmetto, some of the heat and humidity dissipated from the air, a scorching day turning into a tepid evening. Neil leaned against the railing of the roof, gaze fixed on the soft orange glow of his cigarette, the ash fluttering off the end and to the sidewalk below. Next to him, Andrew exhaled, smoke curling and fading as it left his mouth, and once Neil glanced Andrew's way, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the profile view of Andrew's face, the sharp curve of his cheekbone, stoic set of his jaw, lips curved around his cigarette. Andrew blew out another mouthful of smoke before speaking. "Staring," Andrew said, not even turning to look at Neil.


Andrew turned his head then, one light eyebrow quirked up, the only hint of intrigue on his otherwise expressionless face. "Did you want something?"

"Maybe I do," Neil said, shifting to close the minuscule gap between them and bumping his shoulder against Andrew's before moving away again, careful not to linger against Andrew too long, not without being asked. Casual touches were getting more and more common but still, Neil feared messing up somehow; it was better to move forward slowly than to charge ahead and make Andrew backslide. "Do you?"

Andrew hummed. His cigarette was burning down nearly to the dregs, and Neil's was already gone. Andrew took another breath and held it, leaning in toward Neil and waiting for the other man to meet him halfway. Heart already fluttering in his chest, Neil tilted toward Andrew, expecting a kiss, but Andrew stopped him with a hand on his cheek and Neil paused, confused, at least until Andrew blew smoke out against Neil's lips and Neil scrambled to breathe it in. He'd never shotgunned before, but he'd heard of it in passing; Nicky had told some story involving it at some point--Neil pushed the thought of Nicky from his head and let Andrew blow another lungful of smoke into his mouth, lips hovering just barely away from Neil's. Andrew brought his cigarette back to his mouth, turning away from Neil to breathe in the last of it before putting it out against the wall, and Neil parted his lips, anticipation tingling under his skin. He felt Andrew stop exhaling and a moment later, he asked, "Yes or no?"

"Yes," Neil said, and he'd just barely gotten the word out of his smoke-tinged mouth when Andrew pressed his lips to Neil's, quickly escalating to a clash of lips and tongues as Andrew coaxed Neil's mouth open, one hand cupping Neil's scarred cheek and the other resting on Neil's side, palm flat against his ribs.

After a moment, Andrew broke away, just barely, and spoke against Neil's lips. "Hair is fine. Or shoulders," Andrew said, before going straight back to Neil's mouth, and Neil rested one hand on Andrew's broad shoulder and twined the other in Andrew's hair, a gentle hold that he hoped would help ground the other man. Andrew murmured against Neil's mouth again. "Wanna get you off."

"I'm not stopping you."

Andrew pulled back, just enough for him to properly look Neil in the eyes, and said, "Sit down, then. Back against the wall. Don't want to be too obvious."

Neil scrambled to obey, and Andrew followed, kneeling on the ground between Neil's open legs and kissing him again as he worked Neil's pants and boxers down just far enough to get his cock out. One hand closed around Neil's dick and the other curled around the back of his neck and Neil groaned against Andrew's mouth, his hand tightening in Andrew's hair. He was sure he should have been worried about getting caught up here, but in all his time living in Fox Tower, he almost never saw anyone else on the roof. Still, Neil kept one eye on the stairwell door as Andrew rested his forehead against Neil's and picked up a near-frantic pace, skipping the build-up.

"Stop worrying about the fucking door, Josten," Andrew muttered. A shudder wracked Neil's body; he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this, Andrew's hands on him, better than his own had ever felt.

Neil moaned, his brain finding the idea of forming coherent words unimportant at the moment, and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on the moment, on the feeling of Andrew's skin on his, taking him apart. Before this, whatever this was, Neil had hardly ever even gotten himself off; it was still overwhelming sometimes, how he could feel the tension release as the rush of pleasure enveloped all of him. Neil grit Andrew's name out between his teeth, his best attempt at a warning before Andrew finished him off, kissing Neil again and cutting him off before he cried out.

For a moment, Neil just breathed, Andrew's hands resting idly on his thighs as he watched Neil come down, looking for any sign of pain or panic. Neil glanced down and started, "Can I--"


Andrew paused, considering. "Maybe later," he said, and he stood up, dusted off his knees, and pulled out another cigarette.

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6. Daddy | Corset | Cock Worship | Biting

It shouldn't have been a shock. It really, really shouldn't have been surprising in the slightest, but still, Kevin looked confused, almost put-off, and Neil backpedaled as quickly as he could. "If you don't want to, we can just move on and act like this never happened," Neil said.

"No, it's not that," Kevin said.

Neil blinked. Kevin had that guarded look in his eyes that suggested a complete lack of emotion, the familiar expression that made him look untouchable and regal and a little bit terrifying.

Neil had spent enough time around Kevin to know better.

He hadn't moved; Neil was still straddling his lap, and Kevin hadn't made any attempt to get out from under him. "I want to," Kevin said. "I just never really thought about it. I mean, I don't know. I didn't think this is how your daddy issues would manifest."

"Sleep on it, then," Neil offered, ignoring Kevin's snark, but Kevin shrugged.

"You know I'll think it to death," Kevin said. "Just try it. If I don't like it, I'll say so."

Neil nodded, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Kevin's shoulders and nuzzling his head into Kevin's neck. They'd had conversations like this plenty of times before, bringing up new ideas, things to try or scenarios to play out, but Neil had been waiting on this one for a while now, the fear of rejection always just a little too overpowering for him to move past. But between Andrew and Kevin, Neil figured the latter would be much more amenable to the idea, and he couldn't stand to put it off any longer.

Kevin ran his hands up and down Neil's back, tender at first but quickly turning rough, hands sliding lower to grab Neil's ass and dig his nails in like a claim before sliding them under Neil's shirt. "Can I take this off you?"

Neil nodded. Kevin had seen him shirtless, had seen the scars covering his skin countless times now, but still, he asked every time; he'd picked up Andrew's habits. As soon as Kevin had gotten Neil's shirt off, he slipped out of his own and pulled Neil in, chest to chest, hands groping Neil's ass and lips pressing against his, insistent. "What do you want, Neil?"

"Whatever you wanna give me, daddy."

The noise Kevin made was more guttural than usual, closer to a growl than anything else. He unwound one of Neil's arms from around his shoulders and guided Neil's hand to his lap, where Neil could feel him hard and straining through his jeans. "Get me off with that pretty little mouth of yours and I'll give you whatever you want. How's that sound?"

Incorrigible as Neil could be on the field, in front of the press, literally anywhere, really, he couldn't find it in himself to play hard to get here; he'd already started wrestling Kevin's pants off before Kevin had even finished talking. More eager than he'd like to admit, Neil tongued at the head of Kevin's cock, seeing how much teasing he could get away with before Kevin would start to manhandle him.

Almost none, as it turned out, and Kevin was quick to thread his fingers through Neil's hair and guide his head lower, a gentle push that prompted Neil to take him all the way. Neil rested one hand on Kevin's thigh to brace himself and palmed at his dick with the free one, only for Kevin to reprimand him with a sharp tug on his hair, pulling Neil away from his cock. Neil met Kevin's hard gaze and licked his own saliva off his lips. "You don't get anything until you get me off. Understand?"

Neil whimpered, partly from the sting in his scalp but mostly from the sound of Kevin's voice, low and stern, and the way it made heat build and curl down to his very core. "Yes," Neil said, and Kevin raised an eyebrow, the sign Neil was hoping for. Neil corrected himself. "Yes, daddy."

"Good boy," Kevin said, the harsh edges of his voice suddenly gone, replaced with a fond tone that had nearly the same effect on Neil. Kevin let go of Neil's hair, and he immediately went back to Kevin's cock, relaxing every muscle in his throat as best as he could. In an attempt to keep his hands off himself, Neil reached for Kevin's hand with his free one and Kevin took the hint, interlacing his fingers with Neil's. "Keep going, baby."

Neil traced the vein that ran along Kevin's shaft, tongue dragging from bottom to top before he slid back down, the salty tinge of precum on his tongue. Kevin squeezed Neil's hand, and Neil picked up the pace a little, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head up and down, swirling his tongue around the head when he came up and flattening it against the shaft when he slid his mouth back down to the base. Precum was coating Neil's tongue now, mingling with the saliva that had started to escape from the corners of his mouth as his throat spasmed and tightened around Kevin's cock.

“I’m gonna come,” Kevin said. He let go of Neil’s hand, letting Neil rest it on his hip instead, and cupped Neil’s cheek. Neil looked up, doing his best to meet Kevin's eyes without taking too much of Kevin's dick out of his mouth. “And I want you to swallow. Will you do that for me, baby?”

Neil hummed his affirmation, which only made Kevin’s cock twitch against his tongue. Kevin guided Neil’s head back down until his lips hit the base of his cock, holding Neil there as he came, spilling down Neil’s throat with a string of soft curses before letting Neil back up. Kevin titled Neil’s chin up and looked at him, face flushed and pupils blown wide, and pressed a kiss to Neil's slick lips before asking, "What do you want, baby?"

"You, daddy."

"I know that already," Kevin said. He ran his thumb along Neil's bottom lip, wiping away a few drops of come that Neil had missed, and slipped his thumb into Neil's mouth. "You need to be more specific."

Neil released Kevin's thumb with an obscene pop and an exaggerated moan. “Your mouth.”

“Where?” Kevin ran a hand down Neil’s chest to his cock, fingers tracing over the wet spot of precum on Neil’s boxers. His hand continued wandering, fingertips slipping under the waistband and tracing Neil’s hips for a moment before sliding down the front of Neil’s boxers, moving straight past Neil’s dick until his fingers were ghosting over Neil’s hole. “Here? What do you need?”

Kevin’s free hand pushed the waistband of Neil’s boxers down, and Neil moved quickly, stripping them off and letting Kevin get back to it, one finger still circling him. “Is this it, baby?”

Neil nodded, unable to stop the broken whine that escaped his throat, and Kevin made a noise of approval. “Lie on your stomach, baby, and I’ll give you what you need.”

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7. Praise kink | Body Swap | Aphrodisiacs | Incest

Jeremy had said it many times before and he had meant it every time: he would have been perfectly content--happy, actually--to let Jean top every single time they had sex.

Stories of Jean’s background, his nightmarish time in the Nest, had slowly begun to come out, nauseating details emerging over the course of countless conversations as Jean finally started warming up to Jeremy. It all gave context to Jean’s limits; it explained why this had been such a challenge for them from the beginning. The rest of the team had a general sense that Jean’s experiences at Evermore had left him with some profound trauma, but they didn’t have the details Jeremy had; they couldn’t possibly imagine how horrific it actually was for Jean. Jeremy still struggled to wrap his head around it most days.

Sex was hard, to say the least, and for the first few months of dating, after they finally stopped mincing words and flitting around each other, Jean's triggers were a minefield that both he and Jeremy struggled to navigate.

Slowly, they figured it out, what Jean liked and disliked, what would send him spiraling into flashbacks, what would end in a breakdown. He couldn't be restrained, couldn't be gagged, couldn't be degraded; he'd had enough of all of that.

They worked up to things, patient and gentle with each other, with themselves, until finally Jean walked up to Jeremy's desk at an ungodly hour--Jeremy didn’t even realize Jean was still awake--and interrupted Jeremy’s marathon cram session by slamming a condom down next to Jeremy's laptop. “Are you in the middle of anything important?”

Jeremy blinked. Important was suddenly an extremely relative term. “Not really,” he said. “But I'd need to go prep—”

“I'm not asking you to bottom.”

The realization took a second to hit him, but once it did, it nearly barreled him over; he could feel the heat of his blush radiating off his face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jean echoed.

Jeremy stood up, closing his laptop and picking up the condom. His sweater slipped off one shoulder; he’d stolen it from Jean’s dresser and wasn’t quite broad enough to fill it out, and when he went to look at Jean, his eyes were already locked on the stretch of Jeremy’s bare collarbone, ready to devour. “I just wasn’t expecting that you’d feel up to trying yet,” Jeremy said. “I’m just surprised is all. I--Am I pushing you? Are you--”

“I’m fine,” Jean said, and the snap in his voice took Jeremy by surprise. It must have shown on his face, because Jean inhaled deeply and repeated, calmer this time, “I’m fine, really.”

Jeremy nodded. His head felt lighter than it had a minute ago; vaguely, he wondered if he had fallen asleep at his desk and slipped back into the same dreams he’d been having about Jean since the first time he stepped onto the Trojans’ court, dazed and blinking like he hadn’t seen the sun since the Ravens dug their talons into him.

“Okay,” Jeremy said. Jean stepped closer, trailing his fingers along Jeremy’s collarbone.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now,” Jean whispered. He pulled Jeremy in for a hug, Jeremy’s head against his chest; the thrum of Jean’s heartbeat filled his ears. “I want to be on top. I want to ride you.”

“Then why are we still standing around?”

Jean laughed, running crooked fingers through Jeremy’s hair before taking his hand and leading him out and down the hallway. “I’d rather be in my own dorm,” Jean explained, unlocking the door and letting Jeremy step into the familiar space, sparser and tidier than his own. “Not that I don’t like yours.”

“It’s your own space,” Jeremy said, and Jean looked up at him from where he’d sat down on his bed and started taking off his shoes. The blinds were still pulled back; Jean had left them open since he’d gotten here, letting every ray of sunlight stream in. Now, though, the only light coming from outside was the glow of the city, street lamps and lights left on in apartments across the way. “I get it.”

Jean smiled, and Jeremy sat down next to him, and a strange mix of nerves and excitement seemed to fall over them; it felt like their first time together all over again, heady anticipation mingling with anxiety, the constant fear of doing something wrong.

It had all gone fine. It always went fine or, if it didn’t, it turned out fine in the end. Jeremy cupped Jean’s cheek, the one unmarked by the Ravens, and Jean leaned into the touch, reminiscent of a cat affectionately headbutting its companion. He turned, kissing Jeremy’s palm and murmuring endearments against his skin, mon soleil and mon chéri, accent creeping back into his voice and making Jeremy’s heart race.

Maybe it was just because he was taller than Jeremy, or because he was bulkier and broader, but Jean had a way of making Jeremy feel like he was everywhere at once. They’d gone from sitting next to each other to lying side by side, Jean’s hands under Jeremy’s sweater and one thigh pressed between Jeremy’s legs, and all they were doing was making out like they’d done a hundred times before, but it never got old, it never lost its edge.

Jeremy slipped out of his stolen sweater, letting Jean take it and set it aside so it at least stood a chance of getting back into its proper spot in Jean’s dresser. Jean pulled off his own shirt, letting Jeremy trace aimlessly along the lines of his muscled torso, eyes catching on scars from inhumanities that had turned Jeremy’s stomach when Jean had recounted them, voice always flat save for the occasional tinge of indignation.

Jean found his way on top of Jeremy, kneeling as Jeremy wrapped his legs around Jean’s waist, pulling him back down and hooking a finger through one of Jean’s belt loops. “I don’t mean to rush you,” he said. His voice came out breathier than he thought it would; the feeling of Jean’s lips on his turned every exhale into a desperate gasp. “But you’re just so gorgeous and I just want to be inside you so fucking bad.”

Jean smiled; Jeremy felt Jean’s lips curve against his. He wasn’t expecting Jean to move any faster just for his own sake, but it felt like barely a minute later, Jean had gotten Jeremy out of the rest of his clothes. After stripping himself down, Jean settled back on the bed, this time straddling Jeremy’s hips, skin against skin and heat building between them, frantic. Jeremy laid a hand over Jean’s chest and felt his heartbeat, pounding like they’d just gotten off the court. “What do you need?” Jeremy asked. “To feel ready, I mean.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Jean said. He retrieved the condom from where it had gotten tangled in the sheet, waiting for an affirmation before putting it on, warm hands rolling it down the length of Jeremy’s cock. Jeremy leaned up, resting on his elbows, and tilted his head up for a kiss. “I prepped before this. I just wanted to make sure I liked it on my own.”

Jean leaned over, grabbing a bottle of lube from a drawer in his nightstand and running a slick palm up and down Jeremy’s cock, slow strokes until he drew a whimper from Jeremy. Slowly, Jean lowered himself onto Jeremy’s cock, his glacial pace both agonizing and relieving; if he’d gone any faster, Jeremy wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from moving, from thrusting his hips up into the tight heat around him. Jean flattened his palms against Jeremy’s chest, sinking down with a slow exhale, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tightly.

“Focus on me. You're almost there,” Jeremy said, and Jean’s eyes snapped open, a little glassier than normal, a little distant. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, but you feel even better than I imagined.”

Jean had stretched around him, muscles giving way easier than Jeremy had expected. “How long did you spend getting ready for me, baby?”

“Long enough to lose track,” Jean said. He was just getting used to the feeling now, resting with his hands still on Jeremy’s chest and rocking his hips slowly, testing the feeling.

Jeremy took one of Jean’s hands from his chest and brought it to his mouth, kissing Jean’s knuckles and murmuring against his skin. "You feel so good around me. You take it so well."

He could feel Jean’s muscles contract and relax, some of the tension seeming to leave him as Jeremy watched him, reverent. “I’ve been thinking about this for ages,” Jeremy said. He couldn’t stop himself from rambling; some part of him thought that Jean should know how much Jeremy wanted this, wanted him. “Being inside you, filling you up like this. You’re incredible.”

Jeremy couldn’t quite stop himself from digging his fingertips into Jean’s hips once Jean started to move, rising until only the tip of Jeremy’s cock was still inside him before sliding back down, a little tortuous but not in any way that Jeremy would complain about. “I know there’s more on your mind than that,” Jean said. His voice came out husky; he was doing it on purpose. Low and smooth, it wasn’t a voice he used often, but when he did, fuck, he could’ve gotten Jeremy to do just about anything. “Isn’t there? Tell me, amoureux.”

Jeremy’s brain lagged, coherency just a little out of reach, muddled by sensation as Jean finally started to settle into a pace that he liked, rising and falling. “I imagined you'd be on top, like this, that you'd push me down and fuck yourself on my cock, figure out what you liked and take it. You're doing so good, baby. You're so tight, you feel amazing. It's like you were made for me.” Jeremy made a vague gesture toward Jean's cock with one hand and reached for the lube with the other. “Can I?”

“Please,” Jean gasped, grabbing Jeremy’s hand and guiding it toward his cock, hard and dripping precum across his stomach. He slowed down, easing into more of grinding motion so Jeremy could get a hand around his cock more easily.

“I wish you could see yourself like this, all wound up and desperate,” Jeremy said. Jean groaned, eyelids fluttering shut as Jeremy’s hand sped up. “Next time, if you’ll let me, I want to help you prep. I want to open you up with my fingers and taste you.”

With Jean tight around him, grinding on his cock with his head thrown back, pale neck exposed and one hand resting over his own mouth to muffle his moans, Jeremy didn’t think he was going to last much longer. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to last as long as he had so far. He propped himself up on his free hand and sped up, stroking Jean faster, grip a little tighter. “Let me hear you. Please, Jean, you always make the most gorgeous sounds.”

Despite the vague look of apprehension on his face, Jean lowered his hand and Jeremy sunk back down to the bed, looking up at Jean as a low moan left his throat, the sound going straight to Jeremy’s cock. As gently as he could manage, Jeremy thrust his hips up, meeting Jean halfway, and the noise Jean made was unfamiliar to Jeremy, a keening sound shot through with desperation. Jeremy grit his teeth, determined not to come first, and asked, “Does that feel good?”

“Yes--fuck--do that again,” Jean said, each word carried by a breathy gasp.

Jeremy obliged, and soon after, Jean moved Jeremy’s hand away from his cock, taking over the motions, a sign he was getting closer. Jeremy could feel the tension building in his own body, heat coiling under his skin. “Are you gonna come for me, baby?”

Jean swore again, French this time, and managed a nod before his hand stilled and he found his release, shaking as he seemed to unravel on top of Jeremy, who finished soon after, pleasure washing over him in waves. Panting, Jean climbed off of Jeremy and collapsed next to him, waiting in silence as Jeremy got up on shaky legs to dispose of the condom. “Are you okay?”

Jean nodded, and Jeremy laid back down next to him, caressing his cheek. “You did so good,” he murmured. “Did you like it?”

“I suppose I could be convinced to do it again.”

“Mm.” Jeremy leaned in closer, curling into Jean's lean frame. “So, same time next week?”

Jean laughed and Jeremy felt the rumble of it, low and resounding, as Jean's arms wrapped around him tight.

Chapter Text

8. Blood/Gore | Prostitution/Sex Work | Fisting | Hate-fucking/Angry Sex

At the end of it all--the end of it for now, at least--Jean was still silent. He watched, a solemn figure off to the side, as Riko gestured toward him with the blade of his knife. “You might want to fix him up before practice tomorrow,” Riko said.

Jean said nothing, wary eyes watching Riko drag his knife along Neil’s ribs to wipe the blood before leaving, one last harsh glance cast back toward them. He was quiet as he unlocked the cuffs around Neil’s wrists. For a long moment, he stared ahead, eyes empty and unsettling, before he finally said, “Come on. I can’t have you tripping up tomorrow.”

“Fuck off and leave me alone,” Neil hissed. Even exhausted, his skin stinging with the cuts Riko had left, muscles sore to the point of immobility, Neil’s malice never left him.

“I don’t know how many times you need me to explain this to you, Nathaniel,” Jean said. He’d lowered his voice and switched to French, and somehow that was worse, his exasperation coming through so much clearer in his native tongue. “This isn’t an option, and I’m not going to do what Riko does. Get up before I pick you up.”

“Fucking pick me up, then. And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me that.”

“If you can’t handle this, you won’t make it to the end of your time here.”

Neil’s muttered curses didn’t deter Jean from lifting him up, one arm hooked under Neil’s knees and the other around his shoulders, and Neil felt himself go limp as a ragdoll, every muscle in his body too sore to even tense up. Jean carried him down a hallway, catching the occasional odd glance and meeting it with his own trademark animosity.

He had no idea how he did it, but somehow Neil managed to get himself out of blood-stained clothes and make it into the locker room shower without his legs buckling under him. The dorm’s communal bathrooms would have been the easier option, at least for Jean, but Riko was less likely to come here, not this late at night, not so soon after picking apart his newest prey. Inhuman as Riko was, even his bloodlust could be sated, at least for a few hours at a time. Even he needed to sleep.

The hot water against Neil’s skin only made his fresh wounds sting more. He sat on the cool tiles, too weak to stand, and barely managed to lift his arms high enough to work shampoo into his hair.

“I’d like to get some sleep tonight,” Jean said. “If you don’t mind picking up the pace a bit.”

“Oh, forgive me. I just didn’t realize your sleep deprivation was my problem.” Jean scoffed, and Neil continued, “You’re welcome to fuck off to bed anytime now. You don’t need to stay up for my sake.”

“Don’t I, though?”

Neil said nothing, too busy funneling the dregs of his energy into rinsing his hair and scrubbing the blood off his skin. He didn’t bother cataloging his injuries anymore; he was so battered at this point that he wouldn’t have been able to tell tonight’s wounds from last night’s.

Doing his best to ignore the way his entire body protested moving, Neil managed to pull on clean sweats before emerging from the shower stall--he debated a shirt, but it didn't matter anymore, it wasn't worth the energy--unable to keep the snarl off his face. Despite his injuries, he could’ve torn Riko apart with his bare hands. Jean gestured toward one of the benches in front of a row of lockers, and Neil sat down, letting Jean crouch in front of him and dab antiseptic on the cuts along his ribs. The bleeding had long since stopped; the cuts were a little shallower than they had been in the past, but there were more of them, criss-crossing over each other. Riko had cut straight across some of the dark bruises on Neil’s torso, sending waves of searing pain through every nerve in his body.

“You have three more days left,” Jean said. “At the end of all of this, you still get to leave. You have a place to run to.”

He bandaged the worst of the cuts, working fast but not particularly gently. “Three days, or three bullshit Evermore schedule days?” Neil asked, gritting the word out between his teeth, jaw clenched in pain from the sting of disinfectant on his open wounds.

“Three of our days,” Jean said. "Enjoy it while it lasts. I think that’s everything.”

Neil waited a moment, expecting Jean to stand, to distance himself and turn away like he usually did, but instead, his hand lingered on Neil’s thigh, more confusing than comforting. “I want--” Jean started, but his voice trailed off, his frustration tangible. After a moment, he switched to French again and whispered, “I want--let me do something for you. Please.”

“Wh--” Neil’s voice trailed off when Jean’s hand slid further up his thigh, realization dawning on him, somehow pushing past the exhaustion clouding his head.

“You can say no,” Jean said. “I won’t force you.”

“I’m--you don’t think you can make up for this, do you? If that’s what this is about, I’d rather you just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Do you think I feel sorry for you?” Jean’s hand tightened on Neil’s leg, fingers pressing into a bruise and making Neil wince. “I don’t even have the energy to feel sorry for myself anymore. I have no pity for either of us, and neither should you.”

“Then what do you get out of this?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t. Nothing, maybe. Something to do,” Jean said. He thought for a moment, loosening his grip on Neil’s thigh. It was still the only point of contact between them; his other hand rested on the bench, not an inch away from Neil’s, though he made no move towards it. “Don’t think for a moment that this is some kind of apology. You know goddamn well that I don’t want to be here any more than you do. Can’t you understand that?”

“Leave, then--”

“Leave and go where? You can’t possibly be so fucking dense as to need the same concept repeated to you half a dozen times.”

“You have no survival instincts,” Neil said, eyes tracking Jean’s movements as he leaned closer, standing up and looming over Neil for a moment before straddling his lap, knees bracketing Neil’s thighs. He cupped Neil’s face in both hands, a gesture that could have been tender if it had been done anywhere else by anyone else.

“You’re the one who can’t resist antagonizing Riko at every opportunity,” Jean said. “You’re the one who came here.”

For what must have been the first time in his life, whatever retort Neil had didn’t make it past his lips, replaced instead by a gasp as Jean rolled his hips against Neil’s. After everything, Neil had no idea how he was managing to get into this at all; he couldn’t figure out how he hadn’t collapsed in fatigue yet.

“I had to--”

Jean laughed, a sound of disbelief rather than amusement. “Had to?” he echoed. Neil could feel Jean’s cock hard against his, the layers of fabric between them not quite thick enough to keep Neil from noticing the way Jean twitched. The brush of Jean’s cock against Neil’s was an unfamiliar sensation, a new kind of pleasure that Neil found himself grinding back against, movements made sloppy by pain and inexperience. “That doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have.”

“It wasn’t for my own sake.”

“Oh, you poor, little fool,” Jean said. He was nose-to-nose with Neil now, the tone of frustration and displeasure in his voice at complete odds with the hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, closing the minute gap between his lips and Neil’s, and somehow Neil felt a little closer to passing out than he had at any other point that night. Jean’s lips were soft, coaxing Neil’s mouth open with a sense of urgency; he hadn’t forgotten where they were. Jean broke away for a moment, his hands still on Neil’s cheeks, the tips of his fingers twirling aimlessly in the damp strands of Neil’s hair. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Neil couldn't quite find it in himself to snap at Jean, not when the other man was shifting and grinding on top of him, not when Neil was straining through his sweats, tension curling beneath his skin. “Not even a little.”

Jean laughed, a short, barely audible sound that was more genuine than anything else Neil had heard come out of Jean’s mouth so far. “Switch with me,” Jean said, moving to sit down next to Neil. Neil whined at the sudden loss of sensation, scrambling on top of Jean faster than he thought his wrecked body would’ve let him. “I think it would be best if you set the pace.”

“Did you get tired of doing all the work?”

“You’re on top of someone and you’re still mouthing off,” Jean said, familiar tinge of irritation back in his voice. Neil steadied himself with his arms around Jean’s neck, grinding against him, dizzy with pleasure. “How does your team stand you?”

“Are you really one to talk about being fucking insufferable?” Neil mutters.

He leaned in to kiss Jean again, but was quickly rebuffed when Jean slid two fingers into his mouth instead. “I can’t believe I went this long without shutting you up,” he said, cupping his free hand around Neil’s hip and helping him fall into a harder pace, pressing them closer together as Neil moaned around his fingers despite the defiant look on his face. “You’re so lovely when you’re not running that fucking mouth of yours.”

Briefly, Neil entertained the idea of playing Jean’s game, of letting himself fall into place under Jean’s direction, but his true nature got the better of him and he bit Jean’s fingers, not enough to do damage, but enough to make it clear that if Riko couldn’t get him to shut the fuck up, Jean had a lot of nerve to even think about it. Snarling, Jean pulled his fingers out of Neil’s mouth and rutted up toward him, one hand running through Neil’s hair and angling his head back while the other rested on his lower back, keeping the rhythm that made Neil’s head go fuzzy.

After a moment, Jean released his grip on Neil’s hair and slid one hand lower to cup the back of Neil’s neck, pulling him in. Their lips clashed, not unpleasant but certainly not gentle, and Neil felt his fists curl up in the fabric of Jean's pants, seeking out anything that could ground him as Jean rolled his hips. Neil moaned, mouth falling open against Jean’s, and the low, broken sound that left Jean's lips only added to the pressure building up in the pit of Neil's stomach. Jean murmured against Neil’s skin, some inaudible words Neil didn’t quite care to hear, before he pressed his lips to Neil’s neck, mouthing over a racing pulse point.

Neil felt Jean shudder and bite out a broken merde against his throat, more of a gasp than anything else. Neil felt his hips still a second before he realized he was coming, the sudden release of a smoldering, slow-building pressure. For a second, his head was filled with static, everything in his mind coming to a stand-still as he choked back a moan. Jean’s breathing evened out, chest rising and falling heavy under Neil’s hands, as the spinning in Neil’s head slowed.

The silence didn’t even last a minute. Jean tapped on Neil’s hip and Neil took the cue to stand, powering through the quiver in his legs as Jean headed for the door, straightening out his shirt as he went. “I suggest you ride that endorphin high for as long as you can,” Jean said. “Tomorrow won’t be any easier.”

Neil staggered forward a few steps before steadying himself with a hand against the nearest wall. Jean glanced at him from the doorframe he was leaning against, typical unimpressed expression settling back onto his features. Before Neil could pass through, Jean stopped him, laying his hand flat in the middle of Neil’s chest. He leaned down, whispering in Neil’s ear, the lilt of his French made hard by the stern tone of his voice. “I would advise you not to breathe a word of that to Riko. I can more or less assure you that it wouldn’t make anything better for either of us.”

“How fucking stupid do you think I am, Moreau?”

“Oh, to be honest?”

Neil pushed past Jean, shoulder-checking him out of the way before he could continue. He thought he caught the sound of laughter, low and stifled, but the sound of a scream from somewhere else in the Nest drowned it out, and Neil had more urgent things to focus on.

Chapter Text

9. Titfucking | Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles) | Bondage | Lingerie


Jean eyed the length of rope, his expression toeing a fine line between confusion and disgust, and Jeremy had no idea how he was supposed to reel the conversation back to safer ground, besides just reiterating the same statement he’d made half a dozen times already, a clumsy attempt to drive the point home.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Jeremy said. “I won’t be upset, I promise.”

Jean was silent for a long moment, eyes fixed on the rope. Slowly, his expression changed, shifting back into something more neutral, something blanker. Jeremy wasn’t sure if that was really any better. “I’m not saying no,” Jean said. “I need time to think about it.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, nearly lightheaded from the sudden rush of relief. He’d broached the subject, like he’d promised himself he would, and it the absolute worst case scenario hadn’t transpired, like he’d convinced himself it would. “Of course. I figured you’d want time. That’s fine.”

Jean nodded. Jeremy swallowed the apologies stuck in the back of his throat, tamped down on the urge to backpedal. It was progress, more than Jeremy could’ve ever asked for.
For nearly three months, the topic went unacknowledged, a fantasy in the back of Jeremy’s mind that emerged only on nights when Jean wanted to be alone, too much to do or too much to relive. Jean let the issue simmer in complete silence as games came and went, midterms nearly succeeded in crushing Jeremy’s spirit, essays made him want to tear his hair out.

Jean waited until dead week to bring it up again, reopening the conversation by way of a text sent to Jeremy during a study session, the entire team clustered around two tables in the library. Next to Jeremy, Jean was tweaking the final draft of his term paper, looking barely a third as haggard and exhausted as the rest of the team despite suffering just as much sleep deprivation. Raven days, Jeremy guessed; Jean was used to this. Some part of Jean still lived back in the Nest, but at least that part seemed to be getting smaller.

Jeremy opened Jean’s text, only to immediately put his phone screen-down on the table after skimming over the first sentence. He could practically feel Alvarez’s amused look. Under the table, Jean rested a hand on Jeremy’s knee. “Are you alright?” he asked, his face a smug mockery of concern.

“I’m okay,” Jeremy said. “Just tired, that’s all.”

Jean glanced over at Jeremy’s laptop, eyes scanning over the near-completed assignment Jeremy had been chipping away for hours on end. “You’re almost done with that,” Jean said. “You’ll have enough time to wrap it up tomorrow, won’t you? Maybe you should go get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I--I think I could afford to at this point,” Jeremy said, closing his laptop and gathering the pens he’d scattered around the table, careful not to jostle any of the coffee cups and energy drinks lying around. “I’ll see you guys at practice tomorrow, yeah? Try not to stay up too late.”

Jean handed Jeremy a stray pen he’d overlooked and said, “I’ll walk you back. I need a break.”

Once they walked out the doors of the library, well out of earshot of their nosy teammates, Jean asked, “Did I upset you?”

“If you did, do you think I’d have left with you?”

“Fair.” Jean held his hand out and Jeremy interlaced their fingers together, his heart beating an uneven rhythm.

“I just don’t want to push you.”

“It’s been months. I’ve had time to think about it, and I liked thinking about it. I want to try.”
There were, as Jeremy thought there might be, a couple false starts--knots cutting off circulation, small waves of panic--nothing terrible. Nothing ruinous. Jeremy tested the bonds, trying to pull free from the ropes around his wrists, but his hands stayed firmly tied behind his back.

“I still--I’m still not sure what you get out of this,” Jean admitted, checking the ropes one last time to make sure they weren’t too tight before standing up and moving in front of Jeremy, leaving him on his knees and looking up at Jean, the slight frown and dark rings under his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Jeremy leaned forward, resting his head against Jean’s legs. “You know I trust you. I know you like being in charge. It just seemed like a natural progression, that’s all.”

Jean’s hand slipped under Jeremy’s chin, tilting his face up, and Jeremy met Jean’s narrowed eyes. For a moment, Jeremy debated asking to be untied; if Jean was about to open another round of kink negotiation, Jeremy would’ve preferred not to do it with his hands already tied behind his back. But all Jean said was, “You’re oversimplifying.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy admitted. He tried to shrug, but the knots looping around his chest and shoulders made the movement awkward. “I have a safeword. I’ll use it if I need to. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. Or we can stop now and not do it. I’ll live.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to stop right now,” Jean said, the look of suspicion in his eyes giving way to something closer to curiosity.

“What do you want, then?”

Jean’s hand shifted, his thumb brushing over Jeremy’s bottom lip for a moment before he said, “Open.”

Whatever lingering nerves Jeremy had in the back of his mind seemed to dissipate, all his mental energy quickly funneling into Jean, his mouth falling open and his eyes fluttering shut as Jean slipped his cock between Jeremy's pliant lips.

“You do look good like this,” Jean said, running his fingers through Jeremy’s hair with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other. His touch was gentler than normal, more careful, like he was trying to make up for the scrape of the rope against the rest of Jeremy’s skin.

Jeremy dragged the flat of his tongue along the length of Jean’s cock, taking in the faint taste of salt on Jean’s skin and the tingling feeling in his scalp from Jean playing with his hair. His own cock was hard, straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs, the only thing Jean hadn’t stripped off him. On the other hand, Jean was still fully dressed; the denim of his jeans scratched against Jeremy’s nose when he slid his mouth down to the base of Jean’s cock.

It was a more subtle type of power play, the less aggressive kind that Jean was more comfortable with, a role he could slip into much faster.

It wasn’t all that different when Jeremy broke it down in his head; he and Jean were doing the same things they usually did, except that Jeremy’s hands were bound and his chest was decorated with an intricate rope harness, and the knowledge that Jean could, in theory, do anything he wanted, could take anything he wanted, overtook Jeremy’s head, intoxicating.

Jean's fingers tightened in Jeremy's hair for a moment before relaxing again, and Jeremy followed the unspoken direction, slick lips moving up and down, pulling soft curses and guttural breaths from somewhere deep in Jean's chest.

Jeremy squirmed, reflexively trying to move his hands toward his cock, desperate to relieve the pressure, the strain of the pleasure pooling at his core, whining when he found, of course, that his hands remained firmly tied behind his back. “Oh, mon cher,” Jean murmured, pushing his cock further down Jeremy’s throat. “Do you want something?”

Jean shivered when Jeremy moaned around him, unable to express the frustration and arousal bleeding together in any other way. “Do you want to stop?” Jean asked, pulling back so Jeremy could speak coherently, giving him just enough time to gasp out a “no” before pushing back into the heat of Jeremy’s mouth, sighing as Jeremy swallowed him down.

“Do you want me to fuck you? Or do you want my mouth on your cock?” Jean paused for a moment, a hard breath out as Jeremy’s tongue traced the vein that ran along his shaft before licking away the precum beading at the head. “What do you need, amoureux?”

“Fuck me,” Jeremy answered, the moment he could talk, and Jean pulled away, unceremoniously stripping off Jeremy's boxer briefs and gesturing for him to get on the bed.

As gracefully as he could manage with the ropes around his chest and arms, Jeremy climbed up and knelt. Jean's fingertips ghosted down his back, tracing the skin in the gaps between knots as Jeremy shifted, spreading his knees wider, gasping as Jean’s fingers, slick with lube, stretched his hole. He pushed back against Jean's fingers, a little slower than he would have liked without his hands for balance. Jeremy’s cock throbbed, rigid against his stomach, and he struggled to maintain his composure as Jean’s fingers twisted and scissored inside him. He leaned forward until his cheek was pressed to the bed, pushing himself back on Jean’s fingers and mumbling incoherent pleas into the pillow under him. “Are you okay?” Jean asked, fingers stilling for a moment, then quickly picking up again at the sound of Jeremy’s protesting whine.

“You’re being a tease,” Jeremy muttered, and Jean’s laughter came from somewhere deep in his chest, the sound low and almost sultry, a self-satisfied kind of delight.

“But do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Jeremy said. “Want you to get on with it.”

Jean relented--not immediately, of course, not until he could slip a third finger into Jeremy’s hole, not until he was sure that Jeremy was actually ready, that it wouldn’t hurt--and Jeremy groaned as Jean pushed into him. One of Jean’s hands rested on Jeremy’s side, along the crease where his hip met his thigh, and held Jeremy in place. With his other hand, Jean held onto Jeremy's wrists, grabbing onto the ropes around them and keeping Jeremy from moving forward.

“Is this okay?” Jean asked, and Jeremy's frustrated pleading for Jean to get on with it was all the encouragement he needed to slip into the pace Jeremy liked, hard and deep, unerring.

Jeremy keened when Jean shifted into the right angle, the one that drove his cock into Jeremy's prostate, making stars spark in the corner of his eye. “Please,” Jeremy gasped, and Jean patted his hip, as if to calm him. “Please touch me, Jean, I'm—”

"I want to try something," Jean said. "You can say no."

Jeremy's heart thumped against his chest, the sound of his own heartbeat flooding his ear. Jean had not moved any closer. "What is it?"

"I want you to come just from this." Jean's fingers traced aimlessly along Jeremy's back, the pace of his hips slowing with them, torturous. "Untouched, mon soleil. Can you do that for me?”

The sound that escaped Jeremy's throat was almost high pitched enough to be embarrassing, and if he wasn't so far gone, it probably would've been. Jean laughed, running his hands aimlessly over Jeremy's flushed skin for a moment before repositioning him to make sure there was no way for Jeremy to grind against the mattress. Jean hummed, satisfied that Jeremy had no source of stimulation, no way to relieve the ache of pent-up pleasure, nothing to focus on but the slide of Jean's cock in and out of his tight hole and the throb of his own dick, so hard it hurt.

Jean’s grip around Jeremy’s hips tightened; he pulled Jeremy back with each thrust, burying himself as deep as he could as Jeremy cried out from the feeling, so wound up and mindlessly desperate that he was barely listening to the cascade of pleas falling from his own mouth. He strained against the ropes, settling only when Jean leaned over him, shushing him and running his fingers through his hair. Jeremy whimpered, mumbling into the mattress. "It's too much, Jean, I'm--I can't."

Jeremy’s whines were cut off when Jean tugged on his hair, pulling his head back and pressing a kiss to his neck. Every time he strained against the ropes, he was reminded of the total power Jean had over him, how Jean could walk out and leave him desperate and aching, could fuck him to exhaustion, until he was sobbing from it, could use Jeremy any way he wanted to.

“Jean, please, please, I’m--” Jeremy’s voice came out breathy, airless, and the sound of Jean’s laughter only made his heart beat faster. He could feel his cock twitching, the head smudging precum onto his stomach. He thought he was getting closer, or at least, his skin felt hotter; pleasure singed every nerve ending, setting him alight. "Please touch me."

The sudden feeling of Jean's fingers on his cock made Jeremy's head spin, but it wasn't enough; Jean dragged his fingertips along Jeremy's shaft, too much to ignore but too little to satisfy. The frustration of it brought tears to the corners of his eyes. "Like this?" Jean asked, his tone bordering on mocking.

Jean's name came out as a broken whimper, the sound so mangled it barely qualified as a word. Jean hummed, now circling one finger around the head of Jeremy's cock, feather-light. He let go of Jeremy’s hair and pushed him back down, pressing his cheek into the mattress and picking up his pace, unrelenting, and Jeremy forced himself to relax, to focus on the feeling of Jean’s cock filling him up, thrusting against the spot that made Jeremy’s head go blissfully fuzzy. He moaned and shuddered through his release, the feeling overwhelming enough to leave him panting and drained as Jean fucked him through it, finally stilling a few moments later, murmuring soft curses through his groans.

Jean didn’t wait for Jeremy to come down before starting on the ropes, deftly undoing each knot and running his fingers over Jeremy’s skin, soothing the slight burn the ropes had left in their wake. Jeremy slumped against the sheets, head still buzzing with endorphins, and hummed as Jean curled up behind him, pulling Jeremy back against him. “Do you feel okay?”

Jeremy nodded. “That was amazing,” he mumbled. “'M going to sleep.”

“We should shower.”

“Only if you carry me.”

Jean groaned, burrowing into Jeremy’s neck and pulling him closer, muttering something about tomorrow.

Chapter Text

10. Hair-pulling | Waxplay | Micro/Macro | Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic)

The first touch of Andrew’s tongue against him was always a shock to Neil’s system. It didn’t matter that he was expecting it, or that they’d done this countless times (or, more accurately, Andrew had done this countless times, but had still not taken Neil up on his offers to reciprocate). Still, the feeling knocked the wind out of him, and he sighed as the tip of Andrew’s tongue teased around his hole, hot and slow.

Andrew’s hands rested on Neil’s ass, his grip tight, rough hands keeping Neil spread open. Trapped between his stomach and the mattress, Neil’s cock was half-hard and getting stiffer by the second; every flick and lazy circle of Andrew’s tongue against his hole seemed to send new waves of blood coursing through his body. Neil ground his hips into the mattress as best as he could with Andrew’s hands holding him in place, keeping him from squirming too much.

“Andrew, fuck--I need--” Neil trailed off, choking on a moan as the tip of Andrew’s tongue slipped just inside him. He reached back, scrambling for something to hold on to, and tangled his fingers in Andrew’s hair. Not tight, not pulling, just--there. Something solid to keep him grounded.

Andrew’s breath was warm against his skin; his tongue still traced circles around the ring of muscle, loosened from the overwhelming pleasure, not quite enough but almost more than Neil could handle all at the same time.

He didn't mean to do it; his hand moved before he could stop himself, and the second his brain caught up to his body, Neil pulled his hand away from Andrew entirely, tripping over syllables in his haste to apologize.

There was no anger evident in Andrew's expression. No fear, or pain, either. His face was impassive, perfectly neutral, which wasn't really any more promising. A moment passed in silence, Andrew's hands still resting on Neil's ass, and Neil could practically see the gears turning in Andrew's head. "Do you want to stop?" Neil asked, his face now slumped into the pillow.

"No," Andrew said after a moment. "Unless you want to."

"No," Neil said. "Are—are you okay?"

"I was just thinking. Flip over."

Neil obliged, turning over onto his back and taking the opportunity to stretch out, relaxing his sore muscles as much as he could while Andrew shifted around him. "What were you thinking about?" Neil asked, as Andrew moved Neil's legs around.

"I was trying to decide if I liked that," Andrew said. He toed the line between firm and rough as he spread Neil's knees apart, exposing his hole, still wet and slick from Andrew's tongue. "And I want you to do it again. Not any harder than you did the first time. Yes or no?"

Neil nodded, murmuring a yes to bolster Andrew's confidence, and sank into the mattress as Andrew took him apart, warm tongue melting away whatever resistance was left in Neil's pleasure-slack muscles. His fingers returned to run through Andrew's hair a few times before he took hold of a handful of it, using it as leverage to guide Andrew where he wanted him to be.

Always quick on the uptake, Andrew followed Neil's gentle push, the tip of his tongue slipping in and out of Neil's hole. It was a completely different sensation from the feeling of Andrew's cock filling him up; he was overtaken by Andrew's tongue against sensitive skin, the teasing stretch of it pushing inside him. He tugged on Andrew's hair, not with any particular goal in mind, and gasped at the feeling of Andrew's tongue pushing deeper into him, fingers tightening again.

Andrew hummed, a low note of approval, and Neil used his grip on Andrew's hair to keep him in place, his tongue working him over in all the best spots. He shivered as Andrew gripped his thighs, steadying his shaking legs and holding him open as Neil kept Andrew’s mouth where he needed it to be, where the feeling of Andrew’s tongue hit him hardest. “An--Andrew,” Neil stammered. He felt precum dripping onto his stomach; he wanted to come, but not like this, not quite yet. His fingers tightened in Andrew’s hair. “Andrew--”


“Can we--will you fuck me?”

It was still unusual for Andrew to let Neil on top of him when they did this; usually, it would be Andrew pushing Neil down, his hands roaming over Neil’s chest and his eyes boring into Neil’s, or Andrew’s hands tracing the scars and muscles of Neil’s back as Neil craned his head around to see the spark of hunger in Andrew’s eyes. In any case, it took Neil by surprise when Andrew settled with his back against the headboard and pulled Neil into his lap, letting Neil’s hands rest on his shoulders. Before he could get the question out of his mouth, Andrew was already answering it. “Put your hands back.”

Andrew ignored the smug smile on Neil’s face as Neil ran his hands through Andrew’s hair for a moment before pulling, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make Andrew lean his head back, baring the pale column of his throat. Neil dragged his tongue from the dip in Andrew’s collarbone all the way up his neck as Andrew unbuttoned his jeans before grabbing the lube from the nightstand and fingering Neil open.

By the time Andrew coaxed Neil forward with a hand on his lower back, his cock was slick with lube and his neck was dotted with red and purple spots. Neil let go of Andrew’s hair as he sank down on Andrew’s cock, moaning at the stretch. The sight of Andrew looking up at him with huge pupils and Neil’s marks covering his neck was almost too much; Neil took the last couple inches of Andrew’s cock, sliding to the base and brushing his fingers through Andrew’s hair again, tugging a little harder as he began to move up and down, pulling off until the head of Andrew’s cock was stretching his rim before sliding back down.

Neil kept Andrew’s head tilted back and pressed kisses to his Adam’s apple, the light blue line of his jugular, the soft skin of his earlobe, anywhere he could reach, his hands still tangled in Andrew's hair the whole time. Andrew's hands ran up and down Neil's back a few times before settling on his hips, helping Neil keep his rhythm.

It was Andrew that broke first, with a soft gasp as Neil pulled on a fistful of his hair and pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Neil's muscles tightened around him and, by the time Andrew had come down enough to realize that one of Neil's hands wasn't in his hair anymore, Neil was already coming, his free hand wrapped around his cock. He rested his forehead on Andrew’s neck, his breaths heavy and warm against Andrew’s skin. He let go of Andrew’s hair, but the soft, tingling feeling in Andrew’s scalp lingered, ebbing away as Neil's breaths slowed to normal again. Neil slumped against Andrew, nuzzling his neck, and the feeling of Neil's fingers fiddling with the ends of his hair sent a warm shock down Andrew's spine all over again.

Chapter Text

11. Object Insertion | Sounding | Cross-dressing | Tribadism/Scissoring

By the time Kevin led Neil to the bed, one hand on the small of his back, Neil had already gotten all the real defiance out of his system.

Or, more accurately, Kevin had, raining blows down on Neil’s ass until he finally fell in line; the part of him that always itched for a fight had been quelled, at least for now.

He let Neil wait in silence for a while, kneeling on the bed with his arms folded behind his back, eyes downcast and mind buzzing with anticipation while Kevin wandered off, maybe to find something, maybe to plan something, but more likely, just to kill time until he felt like Neil had suffered enough. The sting from the earlier spanking still lingered, a constant for Neil to focus on, to revel in.

When Kevin returned, he went straight to the dresser, where a nearly empty bottle of vodka sat next to a couple of shot glasses; he liked to keep his coping mechanisms well within reach. He poured the last bit of vodka into one of the glasses—it equated to just about half a shot—and pushed it aside. "If you start drinking, I'm—"

"Revoking consent," Kevin finished, voice flat. "Yes, Neil, I know. I don't need the shot, I just need the bottle."

Neil snorted. "Finally gonna break the thing over my head and fix my attitude problem for good?"

"While I can't say I haven't thought about it, that's not the plan," Kevin said. He returned to the other side of the room, setting the bottle on the nightstand and pulling lube out of the drawer. "You've been begging for my cock all goddamn week, yet you've done nothing to deserve what you want. But I know I just put you through the wringer, so I'll give you something."

"That's not gonna fit," Neil said, watching the way Kevin's eyes followed the ripple of his muscles beneath his skin, tensing and relaxing as he shifted around. His calves were starting to spark and tingle from how long he'd been kneeling.

"You have a safeword," Kevin said. Idly, he traced the tip of his finger around the rim of the bottle, and Neil's eyes tracked the motion before he could stop them. "Do you want to use it?"


"Then bend over properly," Kevin said. "I don't have all night."

Neil tilted forward, chest down and cheek pressed into the mattress, his arms still crossed behind his back. Kevin laid his palm flat against the middle of Neil's back and he took the cue to arch, his reddened ass now curved upward into the air. The light scratch of Kevin's callused hands against his still-burning skin was almost too much. He bit back a whimper, but not well enough; he could hear Kevin laugh.

"You really have been working my last nerve, you know that?" Kevin's tone was light, more casual than Neil was used to hearing him anywhere. "Why is it so hard for you to refrain from antagonizing anyone that puts a microphone in front of you?”

"'Why is it so hard for them to refrain from putting microphones in front of me? They know what’s coming to them."

One of Kevin's fingers slipped inside him, pressing deep, and Neil's breath left him in one quick rush. "You're not helping your own case, you know."

A second finger, made easy by lube and the fact that the first part of Neil's punishment had left him too drained to tense up very much. His ass and the backs of his legs were sore from the impact of Kevin's hands; his palms ached from how hard he'd been curling them into fists, fingernails biting into his own skin. He sighed as Kevin's fingers slid in as deep as they could go, the slight burn paling in comparison to the ecstasy of Kevin's fingers brushing against his prostate. It was a light touch, but it was enough to send a moan reverberating from deep in Neil's chest.

"Didn't say I was trying to."

Neil's hands clenched into tight fists and a groan escaped his lips before he could stop it. Kevin was more insistent now, his touch less gentle by the second; his fingers worked Neil over from the inside out, shook him apart, relentless.

A moment later, Neil heard Kevin speak again, the sound made fuzzy by the lingering static in Neil's head, the sensory overwhelm and the hazy feeling of subspace creeping in. "Flip over," Kevin said, and Neil obliged, whining as Kevin pulled his fingers away. At Kevin's direction, he put his arms above his head, hands crossed at the wrist, clenched into fists, nowhere for his fingernails to dig in except the skin beneath them.

With his other hand, Kevin dragged his fingers through the bit of precome that had gotten on Neil's stomach before sliding them between Neil's parted lips, leaning over to look him in the eye as he spoke. "I'm going to fuck you with that bottle," he said. Neil swirled his tongue around Kevin's fingers, tasting himself and the salt of Kevin's skin and something like mortification. "Because that's the absolute most you deserve after how insufferable you've been this week."

Kevin's fingers left Neil's mouth with a soft pop, and the feeling of cool, unyielding glass pushing into him was even more bizarre than he had imagined. He groaned, squirming under the heavy pin of Kevin's free hand in the center of his chest, and Kevin pushed the neck of the bottle deeper in. Once he'd gotten it in to the point where the neck began to widen, he gave Neil a few seconds to adjust before pulling it partway out and sliding it back in again. It had no give; the fullness was something, but without any direct contact to his prostate, Neil was mired in frustration.

“Kevin,” Neil said, and Kevin’s eyes snapped up; he’d been fixated on the stretch of Neil’s ass around the neck of the bottle, greedy and loose. He reached up and brushed the scars on Neil’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Will you touch me? Please?"

"What do you think?"

Neil whined, high-pitched and desperate, but Kevin didn't let up; he pulled the bottle halfway out, only to thrust it deeper into him, mimicking the kind of bruising rhythm Neil would have loved if it were Kevin fucking him. He would’ve settled for Kevin’s hand around his cock or his fingers filling him up; he would’ve gladly taken something, anything, so long as it was Kevin, so long as there was an end to the rigid glass pushing inside him, stretching him out.

Kevin pressed on, inexorable as ever, ignoring Neil’s whimpers and pleas for something more. Everything that usually would have made him cave after a few tries was ineffective now; he had every intention of punishing Neil, who was still grappling with the realization that he wasn’t really supposed to enjoy this all that much.

He straddled the line between too much and too little; the feeling of the bottle stretching his muscles slack was too overwhelming to ignore, but it fell short of what he needed to come. Still, eventually, the pleasure pooled and eddied through his body, the intensity growing with every stroke of slick glass. He could feel himself arching, his head craning back into the pillow as he angled his hips up, trying to meet Kevin halfway, trying to gain some iota of control. Kevin caught on fast, though, and within moments he was pressing Neil's hips down into the bed, one hand on his hipbone to keep him still.

"Take it." The words came out like a growl, though it was impossible to tell if it was more from anger or arousal. Either way, it was a command, and with how deep into subspace Kevin had dragged him, Neil was inclined to follow it. "Take what I'm giving you."

With his movement restricted and his arms still resting above his head, Neil had nowhere to go, no way to escape the feeling or to get more of it. Frustration and arousal mingled together, balling up in the pit of his stomach until he finally fell apart, no longer aware of the moans and pleas escaping his lips as Kevin's pace bordered on brutal, the bottle slamming into him and sliding out slowly, so Neil could feel every inch of the stretch before it unceremoniously hit home again.

The sudden warmth of Kevin’s hand shifting away from his hip and wrapping around his dripping cock left him breathless for a moment; he struggled to regain his footing as Kevin’s grip tightened, trying to wriggle his way out of Kevin's hold.

"If you move your hips again, I'll stop everything," Kevin said. "I'll leave you like this for a while, and once you've calmed down, we'll start over. Tell me you understand."

"I—I understand," Neil said, struggling to articulate the words between gasps. "I under—fuck—I understand."

Satisfied, Kevin stopped moving the bottle, leaving it inside Neil to keep him filled and stretched out as he moved his left hand to Neil's cock, picking up a somewhat smoother pace and using his right to keep Neil pinned at the hip.

His orgasm hit him hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs for a minute; the fact that Kevin was still stroking his oversensitive cock didn't make it any easier for him to catch his breath. Panting, he waited out the spasms as his own cum collected on his stomach, wincing when he felt the glass finally slide out of him in one smooth motion.

"How do you feel?" Kevin asked, getting up to toss the bottle out before returning to Neil's side, running his fingers through Neil's hair in the most tender kind of aftercare he could offer.

"Good," Neil mumbled, relaxing into Kevin's touch and sinking into the mattress, all the tension drained out of him. "Tired."

"But are you sorry?" Kevin asked.

Neil hummed, considering. "Not really," he said. "Guess we have to start over."

Chapter Text

12. Licking | Pet Play | Rimming/Analingus | Costume

From the beginning, it was clear that reciprocation was never an expectation Andrew held for Neil. It had taken months for the thought to become even vaguely appealing to him; Neil was sure Andrew could have gone on indefinitely getting him off, taking him apart, listening to the moans fall low and primal from his lips.

It was just—Neil wanted to reciprocate; he'd told Andrew a hundred times, he didn't feel pressured, he knew he wasn't obligated, he wouldn't have asked if he didn't want to try.

He still remembered the first time Andrew had rimmed him, the shiver of pleasure that tore its way up his spine when the tip of Andrew's tongue pressed against his hole. He wasn't sure back then what he was expecting, but there was no way he could have anticipated what it would feel like, how quickly Andrew could have him shaking, how loud and how desperate he would be. At the time, he'd been too overcome by the feeling of Andrew's tongue fucking into him to even be embarrassed by the broken moans and whimpers escaping his lips.

Andrew's self control never slipped like that; beyond some shaky breaths or guttural moans when he was just about to come, Andrew kept his even, stoic manner to Neil's growing shamelessness.

At least, until—

Neil ran his hands along Andrew's sides, trying to ease him into it. Andrew was watching him through hooded eyes, head turned so he could track Neil's movements while he was lying flat on his stomach. Neil's hands slid lower down Andrew's body and Andrew lifted his hips up in response, knees inching just a tiny bit further apart.

He dragged his tongue in circles around Andrew's hole, featherlight, and felt the goosebumps rising on Andrew's skin; his hands were still resting around Andrew's hips.

Andrew's breath hitched when Neil pressed harder, the tip of his tongue pushing into his hole, just barely breaching the tight muscle before darting out again. He waited, going back to the soft, light circles he'd done before, giving Andrew a moment to decide if he wanted anything more than that. Neil got his answer quickly, by way of Andrew grabbing a handful of his hair and using it to guide Neil forward, groaning when Neil's tongue pushed back into him. He could feel Andrew adjusting to it, his muscles getting a little less tense with every stroke of Neil's tongue inside his hole.

Beneath him, Andrew shifted, moving his hips downward, but it wasn't until he heard a sharp, breathy gasp that it all clicked in Neil's head. The sound faded to a low groan, a rumble of pleasure that echoed in Neil's head. When he glanced up, he could see Andrew's hands clenching around fistfuls of sheets. He'd never seen Andrew so debauched, had never heard him make so much noise; the realization that Andrew was rutting against the mattress only emboldened him.

"I can do that for you, you know," Neil said, pulling away from Andrew for a moment. "Yes or no?"

Andrew opened his eyes, a look of embarrassment flashing across his face for a moment, like he'd just realized then how far gone he really was. It vanished just as quickly as it came, and Andrew's face settled back into its familiar stoniness. "Yes," Andrew said, shifting so his hips were off the mattress.

Andrew rested on his forearms and arched his back, and Neil ran his fingers along the curve of his spine, a split second of reverence before he slid his hand along Andrew's stomach, taking hold of his cock and feeling him shudder. Neil went straight back to where he'd been before, tongue laving over Andrew's hole, his free hand on the small of Andrew's back. He kept a slow, steady rhythm, and Andrew's cock twitched in his hand, hard and hot with fast-rushing blood.

Neil's tongue pushed further into Andrew's hole, deeper, and it wasn't long before Andrew moved Neil's hand off his cock to take over for him. Neil cupped his now-free hand around Andrew's hip, a gentle touch next to the rough, frantic way Andrew was working himself over the edge. The dregs of stoicism he'd been clinging to were finally starting to slip away; Neil heard Andrew gasp before saying, his voice a raspy whisper, "Keep doing that."

Andrew was getting closer; Neil could tell by his quickening breath, the twitch of his hole around his tongue, the way he spread his knees a little wider, urging Neil to keep going as he chased his own release.

Between Andrew's sharp, shuddering breaths, Neil's name rolled off his tongue soft and low, spurring him on as he fucked Andrew open with his tongue. Andrew retook his hold on Neil's hair, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make Neil realize he was close. Barely a moment later, Andrew was coming, spilling onto the sheets as he groaned out Neil's name, relaxing his grip on Neil's hair as he started to come down.

For a moment, Neil waited, moving to Andrew's side as Andrew rolled onto his back, resting his hands on his chest and gesturing for Neil to come closer. Neil inched forward, concerned until Andrew propped himself up on his elbow and wrapped a hand around the back of Neil's neck. With the other, he dragged a finger along the waistband of Neil's boxers. "Yes or no?" he asked, even though they both already knew the answer.