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Type was officially two seconds away from killing himself and then Tharn. Possibly not in that order. He groaned, sprawling out on their tiny couch. Tucking his arms up under his head, Type stared at the ceiling, looking for answers in the bumpy popcorn paint. It had been four days since Tharn had busted his hand during band practice, ending up in the doctor’s office with a plaster cast and express instructions to not put any weight on it for two weeks. This in of itself was bad enough; Tharn’s band was down a drummer for two weeks. Type cared less about that— because it didn’t directly affect him and he was kind of an asshole— and more about what happened later when Type had dragged Tharn’s sorry ass home from getting a cast put on.
“You know what will make me feel better?” Tharn had asked the second they were in their apartment, shoving Type up against the door with his bigger body. Type’s expression, surprised and a little angry at the sudden rough treatment, had softened at Tharn’s hungry look and he had reached up to gently lay one arm over Tharn’s shoulder, tugging him closer until their lips were almost touching.
“And what’s that?” he had said, warm, sweet breath brushing against Tharn’s lips. Type knew he was good-looking. Plenty of people had told him that, some flirtatiously, some jealously, some a little angrily. And yet no one had ever made him feel as desired as Tharn had without ever even saying a word. Just looking at him with those doe eyes.
“Fucking you until you scream for me,” Tharn had said, filthy words dripping off his tongue without a single drop of shame.
“Big words, but can you really?” Tharn loved a challenge, and Type was nothing if not challenging.
And that was roughly when everything had gone downhill real quick because when Tharn had turned and shoved Type down on the couch and climbed between his legs, his weight came down harshly on his wrist. He had let out a sound similar to a cat being run over and promptly fell on top of Type. Type, now squashed under 150 pounds of man, had gone quite rapidly from horny to wondering how many puppies he had kicked in a past life to deserve this. Then he had reluctantly helped Tharn up off him, waving off Tharn’s apologies.
“Stop apologizing, you idiot. It’s not like you broke your hand on purpose so you wouldn’t have to fuck me.”
“I can still-” Tharn had gestured to where Type had been getting… invested in their activities.
“Forget it.”
And they had forgotten it. For four days. Four days without sex of any kind. Type was dying. When had he become such a sex demon that he was rendered incapable of doing anything out of sheer sexual frustration? He tried to find those answers in their gross ceiling paint, but the paint did not have those answers.
He was sure if he asked, Tharn would be happy to blow him, but anything other than mutual pleasure made Type uncomfortable, and he wasn’t quite ready to return that favor. It was funny; he’d had Tharn’s dick up his ass more times than he could count, but he balked at blowjobs. Type was pretty sure something was backward there.
Still. Something had to be done. Tharn’s doctor had said to keep off it for two weeks minimum, but then Tharn had gone and immediately aggravated it by attempting to dick his boyfriend down, so that time was extended. Type was absolutely positive he would fade away before Tharn’s cast came off. Then Type sat up straight. Oh, of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?
Type got up and went to take a shower. Tharn was coming back from his class soon and Type was going to be ready.
“Type? Baby?” Tharn called as he unlocked the door to their apartment with his one good hand. As it turns out, trying to get through classes with one hand was almost as annoying as everyone trying to fucking help you all the time. Tharn had a broken hand, he wasn’t a baby who needed the straw put in his juice box for him. After eight hours of this nonsense, he was ready to just fall in his lovely soft bed and maybe see if Type would let him rest his head on his tummy. Tharn loved Type’s tummy. Out of all the tummies he’d ever seen, Type’s tummy was clearly the best.
There was a clatter from the bathroom and Type’s loud voice yelled: “Stay right there!”
Tharn froze, wondering what he had done now. That thought trickled out of his ear, along with 90% of his brain when Type came shuffling out of the bathroom dressed only in a loose t-shirt and tight, tight boxer-briefs. “Uh?” was his intelligent remark as Type sidled up to him, damp hair falling in soft, dark waves across his forehead.
“How was class?” Type said, reaching up and removing Tharn’s backpack from where it was hanging off his shoulder. Tharn blinked, the question not computing. How was class? Type never asked how his classes were. Tharn wasn’t sure Type knew what classes he took.
“Goo-” his voice cracked “-good, yeah fine. Great. Great. How… how were your classes?” Type didn’t have classes today, Tharn, you big idiot. “I mean day! How was your day,” he finished lamely. Oh great, now Type was going to laugh in his face.
“My day was fine. Very… productive.” Type blinked slowly, dark eyelashes dusting against his cheeks.
Why did that sound so suggestive? Tharn was pretty sure he sounded absolutely incomprehensible and he blamed it completely on how all the blood in his body went flooding downwards the second he saw Type in those clothes.
Fortunately, just as he was about to make some comment on Type’s thighs that would have gotten him smacked, Type reached out and looped a hand around Tharn’s tie, tugging him a little closer. “Follow,” he commanded, turning on his heel and pulling Tharn behind him by his tie. Tharn managed to stop himself saying “Yes, sir.” Barely. He definitely liked where this was going. Sure enough, Type pushed him down on their fluffy bed that Tharn was no longer interested in sleeping in. The bounce jostled his arm a little bit, but Tharn couldn’t find it in himself to care if this was going where he was pretty sure this was going.
Type climbed up on the bed next to him, hitching one long, smooth leg over Tharn’s waist and straddling his hips. “So here’s what’s going to happen,” Type said, reaching up to undo Tharn’s tie. “You’re going to lay right there and be good for me, and I’m going to make you scream for once.”
“Oh, baby,” Tharn murmured, Type’s words going straight to his dick like… everything Type did. “I look forward to seeing you try.” He reached up to grasp at Type’s hip, desperate to feel the warmth of Type’s soft skin, but Type grabbed his good wrist and yanked it up above his head. Tharn startled at the sudden roughness, but he couldn’t deny it was hot seeing Type take charge like that. Sure hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me.
“And one more thing,” Type said, leaning down so he was speaking right against Tharn’s needy mouth. “No touching unless I say you can.” He pressed a quick kiss to Tharn’s lips and pulled away, ignoring Tharn’s whine. “Keep that there,” he said, letting go of Tharn’s wrist.
Tharn stretched his good hand up a little more and grabbed one of the metal bars of their headboard. He would need all the help he could get if Type was going to keep talking to him like that.
This seemed to please Type if the tiny smirk on his face was anything to go by. He got to work on Tharn’s shirt, undoing each button of his white shirt slowly, with great precision. When all the buttons were undone he whipped the shirt open but made no attempt to actually remove it. He moved to the buckle on Tharn’s belt, but at Tharn’s confused noise he glanced up and said, “To take your shirt off you’d have to move your hand, so we’ll just leave it right like this, okay?” He dragged a hand achingly slowly up Tharn’s chest, brushing against a nipple and Tharn nodded frantically. “Good.”
Type made short work of Tharn’s belt and the buttons on his pants. When he raised up off Tharn’s thighs to remove his pants, Tharn’s hips bucked, automatically seeking out Type’s warmth. Type just held a hand down on Tharn’s hips until they stilled, then pulled Tharn’s pants off, leaving him in just his boxers. Tharn’s underwear was tented already, a rapidly-spreading wet spot leaking through the light material of his underwear. Tharn’s knuckles were white where he was clutching at the metal bar. The broken hand was spread out to his side. Type thought Tharn had never looked better.
“Can you,” Tharn started to ask before cutting himself off.
“Can I?” Type prompted. “Tell me.”
“Can you take your clothes off? Please, wanna see my pretty baby,” Tharn breathed out.
Type pretended to think a moment. “Since you’ve been so good.” Type pulled his t-shirt over his head and ran his hands down his stomach. He was well-aware of Tharn’s odd obsession with his belly, the other always trying to get his hands or mouth on it in some way, shape or form. This time, Type was just choosing to use it to his advantage. Sliding his underwear down his legs, he stepped out of them and kicked them off to the side. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was well on his way there. Tharn was a different story, however, erection straining the thin fabric of his underwear in a way that looked almost painful. Type climbed up over his body again, this time sitting a little further back. The second his ass touched Tharn’s thighs Tharn moaned in what sounded like despair, hips bucking.
“Touch me, touch me, touch me,” he said, barely above a whisper. Type remembered saying those words himself not too long ago as Tharn held him against the shower wall and fucked up into him until Type was seeing stars. Now he understood why Tharn loved watching him fall apart so much. The rush of power was exhilarating, knowing that it was him that had broken Tharn down into his baser desires and that those desires were about him. No one else was making Tharn feel like this; it was all Type.
Unable to try and tease Tharn anymore, Type dragged Tharn’s underwear off and pitched them off the bed. Tharn’s cock bounced up, rubbing wetly against his stomach, and Tharn moaned out loud. Type didn’t have much experience to base his judgment off of, but he was pretty sure Tharn had the ideal dick. It was thick and not too long and curved in just the right way to rub up against all the good places in Type. And what was better was that it was all Type’s. Before his confidence could desert him, he reached out, wrapping his long fingers around the base of Tharn’s cock and stroked it up and down once. Tharn’s precum dripped down his fingers.
“Right there, baby, right there,” Tharn moaned, hips quivering with the effort it took to not fuck up into Type’s loose grip.
“Shut up,” Type said absently, still staring at his hand wrapped around Tharn’s leaking dick. He let go and brought his hand up, flicking his tongue out and tasting his fingertip. Tharn groaned and tilted his head back.
“God, baby, you’re so good to me.”
“Well, I’m about to be a lot better,” Type snapped, leaning up on his knees to stretch past Tharn’s head and shove his hand under one of their pillows. Fingers closing around the little bottle he had stuffed under there previously, he pulled it out with a tiny noise of triumph.
When Tharn saw the bottle of lube his eyes widened just a hair, his grip tightening on the headboard. “Please, please can I prep you, baby?” Tharn loved preparing Type, almost more than he loved fucking him. Type was always so soft and warm and tight around his fingers. He would finger him for hours if Type wouldn’t kick at him and tell him to get on with things.
Type was clearly thinking about it when he shifted back to straddle Tharn’s hips again. The inside of one of his pretty thighs brushed against Tharn’s dick and without thinking, Tharn let go of the headboard and grabbed at Type’s leg, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh. He realized his mistake instantly, but too little, too late.
Type’s fingers closed around the offending hand and removed it deceptively gently from his thigh. “I’ve given you everything you asked for and you can’t do this one little thing for me? What did I ask, Tharn?”
“Don’t move my hand, I’m sorry, Type. Sorry, sorry,” Tharn gasped. If Type left him high and dry for breaking his one rule, Tharn was sure he would actually burst into tears. He was so hard, Type was so hot, and how could he be expected to not touch?
Type pressed his wrist into the bed. “Hmm, I don’t think you’re actually sorry, is the thing.”
“I am, I’m sorry,” Tharn babbled. God, he wanted Type to hold his wrists down and ride him so bad it hurt.
“If you’re really sorry, I’ll give you one more chance, but you don’t get to prep me. You’re going to be good and not move a muscle, okay?” Type rolled his hips gently, thighs rubbing against Tharn’s dribbling cock.
“Thank you, thank you.” The relief was palpable in Tharn’s voice. As if Type would ever leave him hanging like that. He might have been an asshole, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole.
Type flicked the bottle of lube open and flipped it upside down, spilling a healthy amount on his fingers. He’d already done most of his prep in the shower, not that he’d ever tell Tharn that, and this was mostly for show. Sliding one finger slowly into himself, Type bit his lower lip harshly, muffling a small moan. Being fingered always felt strange but in a good way. Like how a massage hurt before everything felt really, really good. He worked a finger in and out of himself for a while before adding a second, not bothering to bite back a soft noise this time. Beneath him, Tharn looked close to begging for relief, cock red and aching against his belly. Type bit his lip again, this time to hide a smirk. Maybe next time Tharn would remember this when he was spending ages teasing Type and making him beg to be fucked stupid. Revenge was delicious.
Tharn’s thighs were shaking as he watched Type finger himself leisurely on Tharn’s lap. Before this, he would have given anything to see Type stuff fingers inside himself. Now he was too desperate to be inside Type to enjoy the show.
Above him, Type was slowly getting frustrated, annoyance flickering across his flushed face. He shoved his fingers into himself harder, but the angle wasn’t right. Tharn always found his prostate so easily with his long fingers that Type was certain he could do it on his own, but as he struggled uselessly, he started to feel embarrassed by his own cockiness. I must look so stupid, he thought, avoiding looking at Tharn’s face. He’s going to laugh in my face. But when he glanced at Tharn’s face, ready to see amusement, maybe a condescending smile, the only thing on Tharn’s face was need.
“Please, please can I touch you, baby? Please, I can make it so good for you. You know I’m always good to you,” Tharn begged, hips grinding up ever so slightly against Type’s thighs. “Wanna touch you so bad, my pretty baby.”
Oh, Type realized. He loves this.
“Yeah? Think you deserve it?” Type said, tilting his head as he slid another finger inside himself, noting how Tharn’s eyes glazed over like he was drunk. “Even though you were bad and touched when I said you couldn’t?”
Tharn groaned, biting his lower lip so hard Type though he might draw blood. Type reached out with his other hand and gently rubbed Tharn’s lip, soothing the red marks his teeth had left.
Deciding to have mercy on his poor boyfriend, Type slipped his fingers from his body, lube dripping down his thighs. Tharn’s eyes followed the wet slide of the lube running down his leg. Type wrapped his sticky fingers around Tharn’s needy cock and stroked him lightly, spreading the lube down Tharn’s whole shaft. He rubbed a thumb across the head, just to be a jerk, and Tharn breathed out so hard through his nose Type could see his whole chest shift.
“Gonna be good for me, Tharn? Gonna let me fuck myself on your cock?”
Where these filthy words were coming from, Tharn had no clue, but he never wanted Type to stop. He nodded enthusiastically. “Gonna be good, baby, I promise.”
Type wiped his sticky fingers off on their sheet and shifted forward. Positioning himself above Tharn’s cock, he slowly, slowly eased himself down, sliding an inch or so of Tharn’s length inside himself. They both moaned softly and Type’s chin dropped to his chest. He might have prepared himself well, but Tharn was still thick. He steadied his breathing and slid down just a bit more, mouth falling open and eyes fluttering shut. Now it was his turn to have shaking thighs, the effort of keeping himself still and the wildly conflicting sensations dancing up and down his spine weakening his legs until eventually Type just gave up and sat down far heavier than intended onto Tharn. He gasped and almost fell forward onto Tharn’s chest but caught himself at the last second with a palm on Tharn’s (unfairly built) chest. Who gave him the right to have a chest like that? Type thought dizzily.
Tharn, on the other hand, was not thinking about his chest. He was thinking about the fact that he was 80% sure he could hear angels singing. Or maybe that was just Type’s soft moans as he tried to steady himself on Tharn’s chest, one hand clutching the sheets next to Tharn’s waist. Tharn would never grow tired of being inside Type, of feeling his heat, of being close to him and being able to touch his face, his hair, his tummy. Every day not spent with Type, or talking to Type, or holding Type’s hand was a day wasted in Tharn’s opinion. Type was still a little prickly, a little rude, a little too willing to fight over nothing, but he was so different from the man who trashed his room and told him to get the fuck out that sometimes Tharn couldn’t believe they were the same person. To his horror, he could feel the beginnings of tears starting to well up. And of course Type noticed, because Type noticed a lot more than people gave him credit for.
“Are you crying?” he said, a lot softer than Tharn would have expected. “Oh shit, did I hurt you?”
He started to pull off Tharn, but Tharn just said “No!” almost in a panic. “No, I just- fuck, sorry.” He rolled his head to the side to hide his reddening face.
Type grabbed his chin and forced Tharn to look at him, pretty eyes narrowed like he was trying to stare into Tharn’s soul. “Hey. Talk to me. Now.” There was still a command in his voice, and Tharn found himself obeying.
“I just... I really fucking love you.” Tharn had said it before, many times, but Type still got embarrassed every time. This time proved to be no different.
“You! You asshole! I thought I hurt your dumb ass and you’re just getting sappy on me,” Type yelled, which would be a lot more intimidating if Tharn’s cock wasn’t still stuffed up his ass. “Shut the fuck up and let me ride you. Stupid.” The insults were laced with more fondness than Type would admit to, but Tharn still smiled at him like Type had offered him the world in his palms.
Type rocked his hips experimentally, slowly raising up on his knees and lowering back down. Once he found that it no longer hurt, he started getting more aggressive, bouncing on Tharn’s lap. Tharn squeezed the sheets in his hand, broken hand laying uselessly on the bed next to him and other hand still where Type had put it. Then Type pushed a hand down Tharn’s wrist, pinning it in place. His fingers curled around the delicate bones of Tharn’s wrist, squeezing just enough for Tharn to really feel it. “Good, you’re so good,” Type said, words broken but still so sweet to Tharn, who bucked his hips up, jostling Type and making him gasp loudly. “Yeah, there,” Type encouraged, coming down harder and harder on Tharn’s lap. Tharn planted a foot on the bed and started thrusting his hips up to meet Type’s bounces, shoving his cock roughly into Type. Type moaned loudly and squeezed Tharn’s wrist tighter. Sweat beaded in his hairline and a drop ran down his neck and chest.
“Can I please--” Tharn begged, fingers clenching and unclenching in Type’s grasp.
“Yeah,” Type said all in a rush, letting Tharn’s wrist go. Tharn grabbed at Type’s ass, sinking his fingers into Type’s flesh with a sigh before sliding his hand down Type’s thigh. He could feel the muscles bunching under his fingers as Type rocked on Tharn’s dick, using Tharn’s body for his own pleasure. There was something so, so unfairly hot about Type when he was feeling good, when Tharn was making him feel good. Type was beautiful, Tharn knew that from the very start, from the second he saw Type in their tiny little shared dorm. But this Type, his Type, was gorgeous. Type, with his sweaty pink face and his red, puffy mouth and his pretty fingers and his moans--all that was Tharn’s. Type was Tharn’s just like Tharn was Type’s.
“You’re so beautiful,” Tharn said, a little overwhelmed. His orgasm was already building in the bottom of his stomach, and he was so desperate for it but at the same time, he never wanted this to end.
Type shuddered as Tharn thrust up into him particularly hard. “Can you shut up,” he snapped, leaning down and lacing his fingers into Tharn’s hair and yanking him up to meet Type’s mouth. Tharn met Type’s lips eagerly, trying to pour every ounce of love he had for him into their kiss, but Type wasn’t interested in his love at that moment. Type wanted him to battle him like he always did, and Tharn took up that challenge. Type bit at his lip, fingers still tugging harshly at his hair, and Tharn made a soft noise that Type devoured. Tharn held on to Type’s hip and as Type rocked up, Tharn yanked him down and thrust up at the same time. Lights danced behind Type’s eyes as Tharn’s cock finally brushed his prostate. He moaned, high pitched and broken, and Tharn shoved his tongue in Type’s mouth.
Type eventually broke the kiss, gasping for air with his forehead pressed against Tharn’s. “Close,” he whined against Tharn’s mouth.
Determined to get Type off before him, Tharn reached up and shoved his fingers in Type’s mouth like he knew he liked. Type glared at him as he sucked on Tharn’s fingers, drool sliding down the corner of his mouth as he nibbled gently at Tharn’s fingers and fucked himself on Tharn’s cock.
“Gonna come, baby?” Tharn teased. “Gonna come for me?” He could see the signs, had gotten Type off enough to recognize when he was just a breath away from spilling all over himself.
And then Type bit his fingers. Hard. Tharn jolted at the sensation and before he knew what was happening, he was spilling inside Type, flooding his insides with come. Tharn’s head thudded back against the pillow.
Type didn’t let his fingers go but continued rocking frantically on Tharn’s lap, chasing his own release. Just as Tharn was about to tip onto the wrong side of overstimulation, Type froze and spilled all over Tharn’s stomach, getting so tight around Tharn he whimpered at the feeling. Type spat his fingers out unceremoniously. “Bastard. Shoving your fingers in my mouth.”
“You liked it,” Tharn replied tiredly. Type didn’t reply and just collapsed on Tharn’s chest, breathing heavily. He could feel Tharn’s come starting to drip out of him, but that was fifteen-minutes-from-now-Type’s problem. For now, he was content.
“So, is this a special occasion, or do you do this for everybody who breaks a hand, because I gotta say, you might have a career in nursing ahead of you: I feel way better already.”
“Can you shut the fuck up?”
BONUS:
Type sat curled up in the bathtub, phone in hand. He was ready. He had taken a shower, made sure he was clean and pleasantly smelling. He’d hidden the lube under the pillow. Everything was set. Now he just needed to make sure Tharn played along. That was where he was stuck. Tharn was very fond of folding Type in half like a pretzel, tossing a leg up over his shoulder and going to town on him. He’d also had him in the shower, the living room, the kitchen, all flat surfaces in their house, and one time, a public bathroom (Never again). But Tharn had always been the one in charge, the one calling the shots. Normally, Type was okay with that, liked the attention and being pampered. But this wouldn’t do. If Tharn tried to turn the tables on him, he could hurt himself, and Type didn’t want that.
He opened up Google on his phone. How to dominate a domineering boyfriend.