Work Text:
John makes you talk about your feelings until you’ve told him how long you’ve been crazy about him, how every kiss he’s given you has been torture and how you never fail to check out his ass when he’s walking away from you. He grins the whole time, looking annoyingly unsurprised. Then, because you’re still his slave for a week, he tells you to go and make him a sandwich.
You know John pretty well after fake-dating him for almost a year, or maybe just real dating? You’re not really sure, but the point is that you’re well aware that while you’re currently making him lunch like a good slave, you have no idea if he has compunctions about using his victory in a sexy way.
You shouldn’t even be thinking about it, given that he’s still so new at assessing his sexuality and probably isn’t ready, but it’s giving you thrills all the way down your spine every time he tells you to do something, knowing that you agreed to obey him without question.
You’re leaving your shades on the kitchen table, but you make eye contact with Hal to express your disbelief and excitement. He uses the LEDs to make a semi-colon on one triangle and a closing parenthesis on the other. You flap your hand at him to stop him from winking before John sees and take the sandwiches to the couch.
‘I can put whatever movie I want on and you have to watch it with me,’ he announces as you hand him his plate.
‘How is that different to normal?’ you ask dryly.
‘We’re gonna watch Ghost Rider.’
You sigh and pick up your sandwich. Internally, your veins seem to be swimming with nerves at the prospect of cuddling him during a movie, despite the fact that you’ve done it countless times. It has possibility now.
He tells you about other ways he’s going to use his powers over you as he eats. Apparently you’re going to be dressed up in silly clothes, fetch him anything that he thinks of, and occasionally function as a footstool.
‘And I was thinking I could make you my sex slave too,’ he says, with exactly the same goddamn tone as everything else. You’re glad you’re between bites so you don’t actually choke to death.
‘You don’t have to charge into this,’ you say carefully.
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But it’s been ages since I got any action and I’ve thought for a while you’d be good in bed.’
‘That’s not particularly straight.’
‘Yeah. But anyway, would that be cool and fun or would that be taking advantage of the fact that you can barely say no when you’re not under competitive obligation to do as I say?’
You’re impressed. Apparently the communication train is running all honeymoon. You need to get a timetable for that bitch.
‘I think it’d be pretty fucking hot, actually,’ you say. ‘But I really don’t want you to do shit you’re not ready for because you want to continue the game.’
‘I was thinking it’d actually be a way to make sure I am comfortable with everything ‘cause I’ll be asking for it,’ he shrugs. ‘But, like, I know this isn’t the one time I will ever get where I can tell you I’m running things.’
You would like to believe that John is saying that he knows you’ll respect his boundaries. You have the feeling that he’s actually saying you’re a pushover. Unfortunately you can’t prove him wrong, because you’re too busy respecting his boundaries. You put down your plate and lean back into the couch, crossing your arms.
‘Hey, kiss me,’ he says.
‘You’re not even remotely conflicted or self conscious, are you?’
‘Not really,’ he shrugs. ‘What do we do with naughty slaves who don’t do what they’re told, do you think?’
He’s actually going to kill you. You’re going to go out through massive anime nosebleed. You decide not to find out if that’s lethal and/or just right at this moment and just do as your master (dear god) says.
You scoot close to him and cup his cheek so you can guide him in for a kiss. He makes a happy noise and pulls you closer. You kiss him again, but then pull back.
‘Why’d you stop?’ he frowns.
‘You didn’t tell me to keep going,’ you say, raising an eyebrow with a degree of sass that you’re not sure he’s going to allow. But then he visibly gets what you’re saying and grins.
‘Get on my lap,’ he says, patting his knees. You climb on placidly and wait for your next instruction. ‘Good boy,’ he says instead.
The effect that has on you is fucking embarrassing. Your eyes widen and you shiver, lips parted as you try and remember how to breathe properly. You should have known this was on the table, but even knowing it intellectually probably wouldn’t have prepared you for John, praising you like it means nothing.
He notices, would have to be blind not to probably, and cups your ass with both hands so he can drag you closer. He looks up at you with eyes that would look innocent on any other face and licks his lips.
‘Kiss me again,’ he says, his voice lower. ‘Don’t stop until I say.’
You lean down so you can obey. He wraps an arm around your waist, not releasing the hold he has on your ass with his other hand. He’s not shy with his tongue and that’s hot as hell, the chasteness of every one of your previous kisses being burnt away by new passion. The memory of every time he’s touched you shoots down your spine, how it felt every rare time one of you took it past a peck. That off-limits door you barricaded up to keep it innocent is being kicked the fuck down.
John in your bed as you’re waking up, hugging you from behind when you’re working, dripping with seawater and looking naked with contacts in place of glasses. His thumb stroking your shoulder as he cuddles you close during a movie, humming in the kitchen, catching him with closed eyes and focused brow as he moves like you taught him to with a blunt sword. His fingers in your hair chasing away your anxiety—
Your thoughts stall as his hand strokes up to the small of your back and then eases back down, fingertips under the waistband of your jeans. You press closer to him, heart racing, and kiss him deeper.
He pulls back with a murmured, ‘Let me,’ and starts kissing messily down your neck. He stops just above where your neck meets shoulder and sucks harshly. You groan quietly and his arm tightens around you. He nips you before grabbing the back of your head and pulling you back to kiss him.
Your stomach swoops as he disperses you both into the breeze, and then you’re on your back on your bed.
‘Jesus, warn a guy,’ you say, but then his mouth is back on yours and you find you don’t give a shit that he wanted you in bed as quickly as possible. The change in angle makes it very obvious that he’s as hard as you are, and apparently he’s okay with that, pressing into you even more.
‘Take your shirt off,’ he tells you, sitting up so he can get his own. You do as he says, eyes only flicking away from his bare chest to notice that he’s staring at you too.
‘What do you want your slave to do?’ you ask him, heart galloping like it’s in the third act of a really great horse movie.
John swallows and runs a hand through his hair. You prop yourself up on your forearm to feel a bit less vulnerable and he reaches out to push you onto your back again. You cannot believe how turned on you are.
‘I don’t really know how to have the gay sex,’ he says. ‘Also, I think there are some steps between kissing and that?’
‘We’ve got a whole baseball pitch, yeah.’
His eyes travel over you as if he’s going to find the answer to gay sex somewhere on your body. You look up at him and make every effort not to tremble like a virgin on their wedding night. His eyes linger on the bulge in your jeans, which you’d feel more self conscious about if he wasn’t sporting one too.
‘Wanna jerk each other off?’ he asks, meeting your eyes again with friendly curiosity.
‘I’m your slave,’ you remind him.
‘Oh yeah,’ he says. ‘Hey, you seem pretty into that.’
You nod slowly. He smiles evilly. You’re pretty into his wickedness too. He opens his palm roofwards and with a white glow he suddenly has a bottle of lube. You’re so glad he’s responsible with his universe altering powers.
‘Jerk me off, slave,’ he says, holding it out to you.
Oh shit, you’d just meant for him to say it in a more authoritative way, you didn’t realise you were sabotaging your orgasm here. Damn it, you’re still into it.
You take the lube from him and set it beside you, sitting up to get at his jeans. You’re slow and gentle as you pull them down past his ass, and you stare at his dick shamelessly as he lies down and wriggles the rest of the way out of them. Would have been smoother if he was the one on his back from the beginning. You climb on top of him, slotting your thigh just under his balls.
‘Oh,’ he says, eyes wide.
‘Is this okay?’ you ask.
‘Yeah, I’ll tell you,’ he says. ‘It’s been, like, a long time.’
You smirk at him and pour a measure of lube onto your palm. You see your wedding ring after you do this and pull it off and carefully slide it on your right hand without spilling the lube everywhere. They don’t mention this aspect of marriage, obviously because the system is rigged against lefties.
You watch his face for signs of discomfort as you lower your hand to his cock. He watches your hand as you stroke him lightly, distributing the lube. You top up again, wanting it to feel as good as humanly possible. You feel like you’re auditioning for the husband with benefits role here.
‘So do you have secret gay techniques, or?’ he asks. His voice isn’t as steady as usual and you decide that you need to make that a million times worse. Probably not by going for his taint or playing with his ass, not yet. ’Oh,’ he says as you start to speed up. ‘Oh my god, yes.’
‘We’re less than a minute in,’ you tell him.
‘It’s been over a year,’ he retorts. ‘And you’re using secret gay—fuck.’
You squeeze him again and he moans, eyes tightening behind his glasses but not closing. He seems intent on watching you, which is both flattering and kind of embarrassing in a way that winds its way back to being hot.
You lean over him, maintaining your rhythm, and catch his lips in a kiss. He moans against you and lets you lead this time. You take advantage of his distraction and slip your hand down to tease at his balls as you kiss. He clutches at your bicep and thrusts weakly into your hand as you return to his cock. You nudge his head slightly to the side so that you can kiss down his neck.
‘I … didn’t tell you to do that,’ he says shakily.
You withdraw your lips and he grabs the back of your head to keep you close to his neck.
‘Kinda gettin’ mixed messages,’ you say.
‘Keep kissing my neck,’ he groans. ‘Keep, everything. Keep doing everything.’
You set yourself to the task of giving him a hickey, lazily sucking and kissing at one spot. He starts to move his hips in time with your hand, his hand tight on your arm and his thigh shaking subtly next to yours. You lick up his neck, check that his skin is bruised red-purple under your lips, and dedicate yourself to a new spot just under his jaw.
You pull back when you feel him start to come so that you can take in his expression. He looks almost surprised as you pull him over the edge. He drops his hips and relaxes his hold on you.
‘I’m really gay,’ he says. ‘Or like, you’re just a sexy exception.’
You can’t imagine having so little self-awareness. But at least he’s clear on the liking you part. You lift your hand to your mouth and clean the spunk that spilt onto your index finger like a cat. He watches you with wide eyes.
‘Lick the rest of it off,’ he tells you wondrously.
You smirk. You definitely didn’t think losing the bet would be this good.
You lower yourself down and keep looking up at him as you lick his belly clean. His dick is no longer straining and tense with hardness, just invitingly full. A light dribble of come trails from its head to John’s abdomen, so you suck it gently. He groans and his hand twitches. You lean up on your forearm and watch as John’s eyes flick around your face as if trying to read your expression.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asks.
‘I want to take off these fuckin’ restrictive jeans,’ you say. You look back down at his dick, which you’d very much like to keep playing with, but you aren’t about to tell him that him that him taking his pleasure from you over and over while you go wanting is practically enough to make you cream your way-too-tight-to-comfortably-house-an-erection jeans.
‘Okay, you can do that,’ he says.
For a second you think he’s read your mind and he’s giving you permission to suck him off, but then you remember that you did actually ask him for something. You roll onto your back so that you can kick your jeans off and onto the floor.
‘Boxers too,’ he says.
You obey, internally telling yourself off for feeling self-conscious when he’s already naked and apparently doesn’t give a shit. There’s a tiny, irrational part of you that wonders if seeing your dick is going to push him to the limits of his still barely explored sexuality.
‘Your butt is a lot cuter when I can actually see it,’ he says, demonstrating his mastery of the back-handed compliment once again. ‘What do you think of mine?’
‘What kind of question is that,’ you groan. ‘Your ass is fantastic, and you have to know that.’
‘I like your dick too,’ he continues. ‘It suits you.’
‘Thanks?’ you say.
‘If you were gonna sex me, how would you do it?’
Your brain stalls. Like, right in the middle of traffic. You turn the mental key in the ignition of your mind and rev the engine a couple of times, but this asshole of a car does not seem to want to go anywhere. When it does finally catch, you stroke up his thigh cautiously. How have you gone from accepting a life of platonic bropanionship and sexual frustration egged on by a clueless and affectionate Egbert, to said Egbert taking you to bed and driving you out of your mind so quickly?
‘I have to assume you’re talking about me doing you in the ass,’ you say, your voice kind of strangled. He nods. ‘I’d rim you to make sure you were actually up for it, eat you out until you’re relaxed and horny as hell, then go really fuckin’ slow and jack you as I do.’
‘Not exactly, “I’d fuck you till you can’t walk,” or something,’ he says.
‘I’m thinking to the future,’ you shrug. ‘You have a good first time, I might be allowed to do it again.’
‘I knew you’d be like this,’ he says, looking amused by the fact that you actually care how he feels. He’s actually properly thought about how you’d fuck him, and hearing the evidence of that surprises you just as much as it did last time. ‘Yeah, do that,’ he says.
Would John think it was a prank to say, “Gotcha, I was straight all along,” only once your tongue was up his ass? Almost certainly. But you’re pretty sure that’s not what’s happening here.
You guide his leg over your head so that you can position yourself appropriately. You’re not rushing this, so you first lick slowly up his shaft. You look up at him to gauge his reaction. He shifts up onto his elbows so he can watch you, which makes seeing what he’s thinking easier. While not an expert at reading people, you can confidently say that he’s pretty into you continuing to lick him.
You guide the tip of his dick into your mouth and hold him still as you dip more and more on each bob to get him wet with your saliva. As you get more into blowing him, you trace your fingers over his upper thigh, his balls, his ass. He doesn’t flinch, his expression staying hungry even when your finger brushes right over his asshole. You’re growing more and more confident that he wants this.
‘Oh my god, stop teasing!’ he says.
Yeah, you probably don’t need to worry about his willingness.
‘Yes, master,’ you say, hoping to sound wry. Nope, just sounds horny. He doesn’t need to worry about your willingness either, though you doubt he had a single doubt on that front.
You wrap your fingers around his dick and lower your mouth to his hole. You lick him with the flat of your tongue, getting him wet and introducing him to the feeling. You glance up when you’ve licked him about ten times, realising that you forgot to check how he was reacting.
‘Don’t stop,’ he chokes, flat on his back now. You can just barely see his hands twisted in his hair.
You can’t help but smile with satisfaction and do as he says. You start to tease at his rim with the tip of your tongue, spreading his cheeks with the hand that’s not lazily jacking him so that you can press closer.
He swears and spreads his legs more for you when you suck his rim the first time. Spit is dripping down your chin and your out-of-practice jaw is already threatening to ache, your hand movements staggering as you struggle to multi-task, but you’re so fucking turned on.
You might feel slightly more self conscious about the quality of your work if John wasn’t gripping the sheets and moaning. He stills as you press your tongue inside him for the first time, panting faintly.
‘You okay?’ you check.
‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘just weird? Good weird, I just got distracted by how weird it was.’
‘Need a break?’
‘No, oh my god, why have you stopped, you’re the worst, I …’
He stops talking when you lick into him again, going still. You keep tonguing him as he relaxes and take your hand from his dick so you can spread him more. He rocks his hips testingly. When he does it again, more confidently, he swears when he dislodges your mouth.
‘Keep still,’ you tell him.
‘More,’ he begs. ‘Dirk I don’t give a fuck if you think I’ll, hhhh …’ You like that he loses all ability to articulate anything more complex than pleasure when you do this. ‘More, please, more, Dirk, I’m fucking ordering you.’
You take your mouth away, suck your finger briefly, and then return, pressing your finger inside as you lick at his rim. His groan of approval encourages you to gently move it, licking continuously. When he starts to rock against you again, you give him a second finger. It does not stop him from chasing the sensation.
You drag the pads of your fingers along his walls and pause when you feel the texture change.
’Fuck!’
‘Yeah, that’d be the secret gay technique,’ you drawl, pulling your face away so you can watch John and catch your breath. You start moving your fingertips in gentle circles and watch as he arches his back and swears.
You suck on a third finger and tease his rim with it when he’s too tight for it. It doesn’t take that long for him to take it as well. You jolt when the lube you’d completely forgotten about hits you on the side of the head, accompanying breeze tingling through your hair.
You ease your fingers slowly out of him and lube them up. When you replace them, they go in much smoother. Thank fuck for lube.
’Nnnn, that’s for your dick,’ John moans. ‘C’mon, fuck me. The, can’t walk kind, god, I can’t, fuck, I need it.’
He’s breathing heavy, sweating, almost completely wrecked. You wish you had the patience to keep at him even longer, but you don’t. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It takes way too long to lube yourself up.
Even with the foreplay, he’s tight as you push into him. You go slow, stroking his side gently.
’Christ, John,’ you murmur. ‘You feel so fuckin’ good, man. You’re doing awesome, I’m just gonna chill here for a sec till you tell me to move, okay?’
He nods, too overwhelmed to speak. You take deep breaths as you urge yourself to keep your cool.
‘Didn’t realise I’d want it so much,’ he says, opening his eyes. ‘You’re good at that.’
You’re kind of past the stage where you can restrain your smiles, and his words prompt a shiver right through your body. He finds your hand where it’s holding the soft skin where his ass meets thigh, and picks it up so he can thread your fingers together. You look from your hands, kind of thrown by the kind of romantic gesture you probably should have extended to him first, and meet his eyes.
His eyes crinkle and breath leaves him in what’s almost a laugh.
‘What?’ you ask.
‘Your dick is literally inside me right now,’ he says.
‘Yeah, I’m … I’m aware.’
He actually does laugh at that, then stops as it does something down there that you’re both pretty quickly occupied by.
‘Um …’ he says. ‘You should move now?’
‘Was that a question?’ you ask, not wanting him to rush himself if he’s not sure.
He looks up at you with sudden ferocity. His eyes are inescapable, and you know that no matter the circumstances you would give him anything he asked for.
‘Move. Now.’
You move. Slowly.
With each roll of your hips he squeezes your hand. You see the exact moment when it goes from pretty good to hell yes. His expression morphs, he starts out looking like he’s concentrating and then his brows angle upwards in obvious pleasure. His legs, spread and relaxed on either side of you, pick up and bracket you closer. He starts experimenting with meeting your thrusts, and when he lifts right on your deepest hit he cries out, ‘Oh, fuck.’
You start to speed up and drop his hand so you can guide him in his harmonic rhythm. He grabs you by the back of your neck and drags you down to kiss. You groan against his lips and lean into it. You can feel his erection between you, a constant reminder of his arousal as if you need it with his fingers in your hair and his soft murmurs of encouragement.
‘So good,’ he tells you, breath heavy as you move together. ‘You feel so good, oh my god, keep going.’
You’re reaching the limit of your stamina, but fuck if you’re not going to get him off again before you lose it. You lean back up so that you can stroke him, speeding up again. He grabs at his own hair now that you’ve taken yours away and squeezes his eyes shut.
‘Oh-my-god, oh my god,’ he moans.
You groan brokenly with relief when he comes, giving into the intensely good feelings and letting yourself spill deep inside him. He tugs you the rest of the way on top of him while you’re trying to recover, so you rest your weight on his chest. He wraps his arms tight around you.
‘I love you,’ he says, stroking your hair away from his face.
You shift slightly so that you can see him while still resting your head on his shoulder. He loves you. Yeah, you can see that.
‘I love you too,’ you say.
You look at each other for a while. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but your thoughts won’t even coalesce into words; you’re floating on a series of unbelievable impressions.
Eventually, of course, you have to break the mood.
‘Can’t believe you saved yourself for marriage, bro.’
‘Can’t believe you’re still my slave,’ he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. ‘I think I feel like a post-sex coffee. So glad I don’t have to get up, because I have a slave.’
You snort and push yourself up to go and do your husband’s bidding.
‘Wait,’ he says, pulling you back down. ‘In a minute, I’m still cuddling.’