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“C’mon, sweetheart, that’s it.”
Sylvain’s voice is rough and half-broken as he murmurs gentle nonsense into Felix’s ear, lips pressing dirty affections into his skin: you’re beautiful, taking me so well, so tight for me. The headboard keeps hitting the wall, a steady repetition of squeak-thud, squeak-thud that the neighbors probably despise them for. It’s hard to care, though, when Sylvain’s fucking deep into him, filling him up to the brim before pulling out, the head of his cock dragging along all the spots that light up each nerve with electric desire.
“You like that? You’re so good, Fe, a perfect fit, made just for my cock.”
Felix buries his head in the pillow and sobs, his dick leaking all across the down comforter. Sylvain tends to err on the side of too rough when Felix has weeks like these: working late and waking early, two back-to-back cardio classes at the gym not enough to ease the high-strung stress he carries around in the set of his jaw and the line of his shoulders. It hadn’t taken long for Sylvain to learn that sometimes, the best course of action was to (quite literally) fuck the bad mood out of him.
It started as an accident, really. Sylvain had asked him what should we do for dinner? and Felix had snapped something stupid at him, stressed from work and freshly pissed off from getting off the phone with his father and hungry on top of it all. What started as a massage to just relax, I can tell you’re stressed, sweetheart had turned into Felix getting fucked harder than he ever had, drooling puddles in the sheets and reduced to an incoherent mess by the end of it.
Felix fucking loves it.
“I should keep you like this all the time. So–” Sylvain punctuates every word with a sharp thrust and an absurdly gentle kiss down his spine, “–fucking full.”
Felix moans, a broken noise he tries to bury in the cotton sheets, but Sylvain – being Sylvain – definitely notices. His thrusts start to slow, both hands wrapping around Felix’s hips to keep him from collapsing into the bed. His forearms are trembling and dripping with sweat, and he’s so fucking close he could cry, but Sylvain seems determined to tease him a little longer, drawing it out into delicious agony. When he presses a particularly smug grin against Felix’s shoulder, it’s all teeth, startling a sob from him.
“Yeah, darling? Would you like that? Keep you stuffed full of my cum, so everyone knows you're mine.” Sylvain’s hand traces up and down the outline of his thighs, gentle touches that only serve to make him squirm back against where his cock is slowly sliding out of him, needy for more. “Should I get you a nice thick plug to wear around?”
Sylvain’s hand dips down to thumb at Felix’s rim, stretched wide and swollen. Felix moans, chasing the friction, feeling heat build in his gut as Sylvain thrusts in, deep and big and so fucking full, almost painful where he presses up against his prostate.
“Keep you all stretched out and ready for me. I could fuck you anytime, all the time–”
“Fuck, yes, Sylvain–”
For some reason, that filthy combination of words is what does it: the thought of being stretched out all day, satisfied but not completely, clenching around something that isn’t quite the thickness of Sylvain but close – it becomes all too much and Felix comes with a low, raw gasp, sweaty and shivering when he collapses into the sheets.
—
It doesn’t even occur to Felix that Sylvain’s whispered suggestions that night mean anything more than his typical dirty talk until they’re out shopping the day before Sylvain’s birthday.
He asks for the same thing he’s asked for the past two years: a date day he’s in full control of, picking the activity (usually something Felix normally wouldn’t say yes to, like a musical, or even one year, the opera), and the restaurant, always prefaced with a trip to their favorite sex shop.
It’s in one of the trendier neighborhoods, cigarette butts lining the sidewalks that skirt dive bars and late-night taquerias. They usually make a day out of it: first, brunch; then, the mortifying ordeal of dragging Sylvain through aisles of skimpy leather and ridged silicone, letting him pick out a fun new toy (Sylvain’s words, not his) for the next day.
Basically, every year Sylvain’s birthday turns into Felix getting spoiled and doted upon, much to Sylvain’s absolute delight and Felix’s embarrassment. But he’s total shit at gift-giving (Annette once called him a completely lost cause when he’d shown up to last year’s white elephant party with a value-pack of plain white ankle socks), and Sylvain insisted that getting to treat him was the best present of all. So here they are, browsing through the tamest section of the store: shelves full of slender, ergonomic vibrators, ranging from twenty dollars to three-hundred.
“See anything you like?” Felix asks as they pick their way slowly through the aisle. Sylvain’s got one hand shoved in the back pocket of Felix’s jeans, tugging him closer into his side. He hums, picking up a long, tapered black plug before returning it to the shelf.
“I’ve actually been thinking,” he says, and Felix’s heart picks up a little, because now Sylvain’s giving him the look, the one that says he has a plan and he’s determined to get Felix onboard with it, “we could get you that plug we talked about last week.”
Felix personally considers it a stretch to say they’d talked about it (considering Sylvain had been balls-deep in him at the time, and he’d been, frankly, incoherent), but before he can figure out how to articulate this argument, Sylvain’s pulling him to a display that spans a dizzying range of shapes, sizes, materials and colors: pretty bejeweled metal that shines and catches in the fluorescents, sleek textured silicone, tapered to bulbous, abstract to realistic and everything in between.
“We have plenty at home,” Felix finally says. They do. It’s a little ridiculous how expansive their collection has grown over the years.
“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees. “But none that vibrate.”
Felix stares at him. Sylvain’s mouth unfurls into a devious grin.
“That vibrate?”
“Yeah, Fe, c’mere, look–” and Sylvain’s dragging him off to the side where a smaller display sits. There are only two products displayed on the backlit plexiglass: a double-pronged toy, shaped like a wishbone, and a small round puck with a handful of buttons set into it.
The toy fits perfectly in Sylvain’s hand (which is saying something, because Sylvain’s hands are, simply put, fucking massive). When he slips it into Felix’s palm, it’s smooth and heavy, the black matte surface soft against his skin. It’s not the biggest thing they’ve ever experimented with, but one of the tips is flared, thick, and a little curved – plenty big, especially if he’s going to have it in him all day – while the other end is a little shorter, arching out before tapering back in. Felix realizes it’s probably designed to secure it in place, sitting pressed up beneath his balls.
He nearly drops it when it comes to life in his hands in a burst of rapid, harsh vibrations.
“Holy shit,” Felix swears.
Sylvain laughs and sets the remote down. “What do you think?”
Felix stares at him. “About?”
“Keeping you full all day.” Sylvain says it casually, like they’re not in public and this isn’t a completely embarrassing conversation they’re having. He plucks the toy from Felix’s hand and returns it to the shelf. “You seemed to like the idea of it when I first brought it up.”
“I can’t–” God dammit, he can feel the flush spreading across his cheeks and down his chest as Sylvain pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “How would that even work? Logistically?”
“Easy,” Sylvain purrs. “I get you nice and riled up in the morning, fuck you wide open, and then–” one hand wanders down to squeeze Felix’s ass, emphasizing his point, “you wear this around for the rest of the day. I’ll have the remote in my pocket the whole time.”
Visions of trying not to cum his jeans in the middle of public flash vividly through Felix’s mind.
“No way.”
“Aw, c’mon, Fe. It’ll be fun. I’m only gonna turn twenty-nine once.” Sylvain’s voice slides from teasing to whiny as he nuzzles into Felix’s neck, turning up the charm. Felix wavers, melting into the warmth of Sylvain’s hands bringing him closer, breath ghosting hot across his ear. “If you’re good, I’ll fuck you however you want when we get home. I'll suck you off. Or you can fuck me, tie me up, make me beg. Whatever you want.”
Felix has never been immune to Sylvain’s puppy-dog eyes. This time is no exception.
When they approach the checkout counter, it’s with a discreet black box emblazoned with silver foil and a new bottle of their favorite lube. Sylvain has the audacity to grin the entire car ride home, entirely too giddy to have gotten his way.
—
The next morning, Felix wakes up to wet, ticklish warmth moving down his thighs.
“What, you couldn’t even wait until breakfast?” He snarks down at the distinctly Sylvain-shaped lump beneath the comforter, but there’s no bite to his words. Freckle-kissed hands wrap around his thighs, pinning him down, the delightful scrape of unshaved stubble a pleasant burn against his legs. Felix flips the covers off to reveal Sylvain smiling up at him with sleep-starred lashes, much too pleased with himself.
“This is my breakfast, Fe.” Sylvain shoots him a wink and licks a hot, sloppy stripe up Felix’s soft cock. Felix snorts. “And I am the birthday boy.”
Felix hums in agreement, only offering a token protest as he starts to sigh into Sylvain’s touch, fingers kneading gentle circles across his hips, pressing into a faded bruise there. “It is your birthday. Shouldn’t I be spoiling you instead?”
Now it’s Sylvain’s turn to laugh, moving back up the length of his body until he’s crowding Felix against the sheets, pressing their foreheads together. It only takes the smallest tilt of his head for Sylvain to lean in for a series of deep, slow kisses, only breaking away when they’re both breathless.
But I want to, Sylvain murmurs before he kisses his way back down. Felix lets him go without a fight, gasping into the late morning sunlight warming their skin as his tongue flicks over a nipple, tugging on unruly bedhead when he lingers too long on his belly. It’s stupid how quickly Sylvain’s mouth can get him hard and leaking, like he’s been conditioned to fall apart at just the sight of those scarlet, kiss-bitten lips trailing down his body. Sylvain swallows him down easy, his tongue stroking him to hardness. Felix relaxes into it, arching his back to thrust shallowly into the slick heat of his mouth.
It doesn’t take long for Sylvain to move on once he’s properly hard, his cock slick with precum and spit. They’ve done this enough times that Felix obediently lifts his hips high enough to slide a folded pillow beneath, sighing in contentment when Sylvain slings his thighs over his shoulders and whispers good, baby, just like that, you’re so good for me into the crease of his hip.
Sometimes Felix thinks that Sylvain could give head for hours, the way he’s perfectly content to live in the space between Felix’s legs and pull him apart with thick fingers and his clever tongue. He brings him right up to the edge expertly, years of amassed knowledge cultivating into this: flicking his tongue back and forth over his frenulum, two fingers curved up snug inside, teasing his rim, barely relieving the desire for anything truly satisfying.
Fuck, I love how you taste, Sylvain croons between wet, sloppy licks against his hole. It goes straight to Felix’s core, earnest praise and attention bubbling into fuzzy desire. You’re so tight, baby. I can’t wait to stretch you out on that new toy, keep you stuffed full of my cum all day.
And then he pulls off, an obscene strand of spit connecting the head of his cock to Sylvain’s swollen lips as he grins up.
“Fuck,” Felix gasps out.
“Should I let you come once, before we start the day?” Sylvain muses. His eyes flit away to their dresser, where the new purchases from yesterday are tucked away in the bottom drawer, properly washed and rinsed, ready to go.
“Or should I leave you like this? Would you be good for me?”
Sylvain’s fingers trace teasing patterns up the underside of Felix’s cock as he pretends to think. It sends a violent shiver up Felix’s spine as he wriggles against the sheets, arching up into his touch.
“Fuck, Sylvain, yes, come on–”
Felix’s groan of exasperation is cut off by Sylvain’s laugh. “You’ve gotta ask nicer than that, Fe.”
Sylvain’s hand forms a tight circle around the base of his dick, and Felix fights not to let his orgasm overtake him. It is Sylvain’s birthday; if he wants to hear Felix beg, then so be it. He manages to still his twitching hips, pushing his hand back through Sylvain’s hair.
His voice is still rough from sleep when he pleads, “C’mon, ’Vain. Want you in me.”
Sylvain cocks his head up at him, mouth shiny with spit and precum. Felix huffs. “Please.”
“There we go, kitten. That’s more like it.”
There’s nothing quite like Sylvain slicking himself up, folding him in half, and sliding home. It really has no right to punch the air clean from Felix’s lungs, but it does every time, the stretch and shift his body makes around Sylvain’s cock as he rocks his hips in shallow thrusts wholly overwhelming. The comforter is somewhere on the floor now, and summer sunlight splashes across them both, warming a layer of dewy sweat on their skin, setting Sylvain’s hair and lashes ablaze in vermilion.
“Wanna come,” Felix mumbles, heat-flush spreading rapidly down his chest as Sylvain picks up the pace. The angle is so ridiculously good, every nerve alight, all thoughts wiped from Felix’s mind as he arches up, belly taut, reaching for Sylvain’s thighs to pull him closer, deeper. “Let me come on your cock.”
Sylvain groans. He looks close, too: his hair is stuck to his neck, eyes blazing tourmaline lust as he gazes down at Felix, snapping his hips hard and fast. He leans in, biting sloppy marks all across Felix’s neck as one hand comes up to cradle his chin, thumb pressing into his chapped lower lip. Felix parts his lips and moans at the salty-tangy sweat flooding his senses as he wraps his mouth around Sylvain’s thumb and sucks hard, sparking molten electricity all the way down to his toes.
“Yeah, baby, come for me, c’mon–”
Felix finishes with a weak, throaty cry, slumping into the sheets as Sylvain hitches his hips up and continues to fuck into his loose, sloppy hole, chasing his own release. When he comes, it’s with a low, raw noise and a shudder, pumping deep inside, filling him up.
“Happy birthday,” Felix mumbles in a syrupy, fucked-out haze once Sylvain’s pulled his thumb from his mouth, smearing spit across his cheek. Sylvain laughs, pressing a flurry of kisses to the tip of his nose and the corners of his lips, looking absolutely delighted.
“Can I have my present now?” He asks.
“Mm.” Felix flops his arm against the sheets, watching Sylvain get to his feet (moving far too quickly for someone who just came), retrieving the plug and matching remote before climbing back into bed. Felix falls into his arms easily, curling closer, settling into the crook of Sylvain’s shoulder as he watches him cycle through the vibration settings, one at a time, checking to make sure the little light indicates fully charged. He can’t help but shiver at the implication.
“Ready, sweetheart?” Sylvain murmurs once he’s done, pressing gentle kisses across his forehead. Felix eyes the toy in his hands. It looks... larger, somehow, here than it did in the store, but he’s never been a quitter, especially when this is the one thing Sylvain asked for for his birthday. He hitches one leg up and out, folding his thigh against his stomach, and shoots a nervous glare up at Sylvain.
“Get on with it, then.”
“You have to tell me if it’s too much,” Sylvain chides gently, teething gentle kisses into the back of his thigh. “Or if you want me to stop. You have our word, yeah?”
Felix nods his assent, unable to help himself from squirming beneath Sylvain’s steady gaze. He’s never used it, not in their five years together. He’s never needed to – sometimes he thinks Sylvain knows his limits better than he does.
Satisfied, Sylvain focuses his attention back to the toy. He lubes it up liberally – Felix almost wants to say something about how he'll probably be leaking slickness all day – but then Sylvain’s pressing the rounded tip against his entrance. There’s little resistance, especially after being fucked just a few minutes prior, and it goes in easy, all the way to the flared base, Felix gasping a stuttered moan as his hips twitch and he clenches down around the unyielding stretch.
“How does it feel?”
“G-good– fuck–”
Sylvain scoots forward, stroking careful hands up Felix’s thighs. He kisses him gently, soothing him with soft touches and quiet murmurs of oh, sweetheart, you’re so hot. Look at you, you’re so good for me, do you know that? Stuffed full of my cum. Just breathe. That’s it, Fe.
Fuck. Felix groans.
“Do you want me to turn it on?” Sylvain nuzzles down his neck, leaving a smattering of clumsy, smeared kisses as he goes. He pulls away, pressing their foreheads together again. “So you can see how it feels?”
Breathless, Felix manages a smirk. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
Sylvain grins and pulls him into a hungry kiss, sloppy with spit and desire. He shifts one hand across the bed, searching blindly for where he’d left the remote, fingers fumbling while Felix trembles under him in anticipation, and–
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The rumbling vibrations quickly destroy that brief burst of cocksure confidence, effectively melting him into the bed with a broken cry. It’s so deep, the pressure on his prostate paired perfectly with where the other arm of the toy sits, pressed up beneath his balls. The vibration is a low, steady frequency – just enough to make his cock twitch against his belly, half-hard already but not enough to tip him into an orgasm.
Felix whines, hips seeking friction as he bucks into Sylvain, torn between wanting to grind down into the mattress to chase the sensation and wanting to move away and escape the sheer width. Fuck, he’s too sensitive; he’s not gonna last the morning, let alone an entire day–
He cries out when the vibrations subside, his cock hard and leaking across his stomach. Felix looks up through watery lashes to see Sylvain, smiling down at him with impossible fondness before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Felix pouts, because that usually works in getting his way, but Sylvain just shakes his head.
“We’ll have more fun later, okay? I’ve got something planned, let’s get you in the shower.”
Holy shit. Today’s gonna be a long day.
—
Sylvain wants brunch, because of course he does.
It’s a little uncomfortable at first, but Felix slowly relaxes. The car ride there is uneventful, and he shifts around once or twice when they’re settled in the tiny booth, but overall it isn’t as bad as he’d anticipated. Sylvain insists on feeding him bites of honey-drenched pancakes off his fork, but he gives him the two strips of bacon that come with, so all in all, it’s not a bad deal.
Felix has almost forgotten about the plug entirely when Sylvain leans back in the booth, draping his arm around his shoulders. Felix leans in, letting his head fall into Sylvain’s neck, comfortable and full. “What’s next?”
It’s a beautiful day, the city bathed in balmy early-summer sun. Felix thinks of how they’ve spent Sylvain’s past few birthdays: twenty-five, the spontaneous trip to Tulum they’d taken, where Felix had suffered heat rash and three dozen mosquito bites to slow dance on the beach together, tipsy off of jalapeno margaritas and the way Sylvain’s hair dried in saltwater waves, his cheeks aflame with sunburnt freckles. Twenty-six, when Sylvain had driven them to the day spa across the border, dipping from the eucalyptus steam room to hot springs to freezing waterfall, when Felix had splurged on a couple’s massage that would’ve been totally, one-hundred percent worth it, if Sylvain hadn’t gotten uncontrollably giggly halfway through.
They’ve mellowed out the past few years. Sylvain slowly picked his way through the off-Broadway playbills while Felix tried not to completely zone out through In the Heights and Wicked, the catchier songs stuck in his head for weeks after. Birthday dinners with friends slowly dwindled in size over the years as people started to trickle away from the city: Dorothea down to Hollywood to chase her dreams, Dimitri and Dedue out to a cabin in the middle of the Alaskan bush to escape city life, Ingrid off backpacking god-knows-where after she’d read some book about finding herself and expanding her horizons.
Which essentially means that they have the day completely to themselves.
Sylvain’s lips trace over Felix’s forehead. His voice is low and sugar-sweet, one hand stroking Felix’s thigh beneath the table, a hint of possession there as he tilts Felix’s head to the side, kissing down his neck. It’s borderline inappropriate, especially for a jam-packed brunch spot with a line that’s spilling out onto the sidewalk, but Felix can’t help the warm flutter of affection in his gut, pleased to be Sylvain’s and only Sylvain’s. “It’s a surprise. I’ll drive.”
—
Felix may have managed to temporarily forget about the plug for the duration of breakfast, but the minute Sylvain shuts the passenger door behind him, he’s overwhelmed by the unrelenting pulse of low vibrations shooting up his core. Sylvain takes his time walking around to the driver’s side, his grin downright devious as he slides into the seat and leans over the center console. His thumb fits easily in Felix’s mouth, holding him there, gaze bright and pleased as he flips the round remote in his other hand, turning it over in his palm like a soothing stone.
“How’s that, sweetheart?” Felix moans something garbled around his finger, a scratchy f-fuck that fills the car with Sylvain’s laughter. “What, you didn’t think I’d forget about you?” Sylvain’s other hand slides down and around his hip, palming his ass through his jeans. “About this? I saw you squirming at breakfast. How’d that feel?”
Sylvain hits a button, and the intensity changes – quicker, higher, the pad of silicone pressing against his perineum starting to vibrate now too. Felix digs his fingernails into Sylvain’s arm, his breathing (and his cock) going from zero to one-hundred in a matter of seconds.
“Hm, Fe?” Sylvain reaches around to tap his ass with two fingers. Felix jumps, hips jerking towards him, his forehead falling into Sylvain’s shoulder with a groan. They’re parked on a back street, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be seen – which, Felix thinks, is probably the whole point. “A little sensitive there, baby. Will you be good for me, or do you need to come?”
Felix struggles to find words, struggles not to chase the sensation. This new setting makes him feel so fucking full he might die, but he’s not going to tell Sylvain that – it’s clear he’s having too much fun, delighting in Felix’s squirmy arousal, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head.
“It’s your birthday, a– asshole–”
Sylvain chuckles. “So you keep reminding me.” His tone dips unbearably low, perfectly designed to send shivers up Felix’s spine. “Can you come like this? Without me even touching you?”
The button clicks again and the intensity changes: long, rolling pulses that Felix swears are going to turn him inside out, working from where the toy presses up inside him all the way to beneath his balls and back again. It’s intense and unrelenting, being massaged from the inside out like this, feeling completely split open, clenching around that silicone thickness.
He sobs a whimper into Sylvain’s shoulder, eyes glazing over. “Is– is that a – ah – challenge?”
Sylvain tilts his head to look down at him, eyes dark. “You’ve been so good for me, kitten. Don’t you want a reward?”
“Sylvain,” Felix grits out, burying his face in the safety of his neck, ignoring the way the armrests are digging into his side as he arches across the car into Sylvain’s touch. “Stop teasing.”
“We can’t have you making a mess, can we?” Sylvain hums thoughtfully, hands tracing Felix’s sides through his sweater, trailing down to where the front of his jeans is uncomfortably tented. Felix gasps a wet bite into his shoulder, uncaring of the fact that it’ll probably bruise, reveling in Sylvain’s sharp inhale as his fingers fumble with the zipper of his jeans, tugging his briefs down just enough to pull his dick out.
Sylvain doesn’t even ask if Felix wants his mouth – he just bends over across the gearshift and laps his tongue up the head while one hand cycles through the settings on the remote. The constant pressure, the pulsing vibrations, the wet heat of Sylvain’s mouth: it becomes all too much as he clenches down.
The thing with getting fucked and stretched around Sylvain’s cock is that there’s always some form of relief – whether it’s his fingers curling into Sylvain’s thighs to get him to slow down or speed up, or the warmth of Sylvain’s mouth soothing him through it with gentle kisses ringing his collarbone, or Sylvain pulling out to rest or twist into a different position.
This? This is different. The vibrations steal every coherent thought, the come-hither motion the toy makes effectively turning him into a drooling, trembling mess. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna–”
It only takes the slightest pressure from his tongue to tip Felix over the edge. Sylvain mouths all over the head of his cock, suckling him through the rolling wave of his orgasm, licking up every drop of cum before pulling off with a pop when Felix’s whimpers start up again, overstimulated almost to the point of tears.
He shudders when Sylvain presses a series of buttons and the vibrations die down. Sylvain pulls him into a kiss, deep and filthy, looking far too smug for how dazed and fucked-out Felix feels when he zips his jeans back up for him and turns to start the car.
—
The surprise, as it turns out, is fairly tame – at least for Sylvain – but it still manages to catch Felix off guard.
“A cooking class,” Felix repeats blankly, looking up at the whimsical sign tucked between Ingrid’s favorite French bakery and an ancient piroshky shop.
“A pasta making class,” Sylvain corrects him.
Felix frowns. “What’s wrong with pasta from a box?”
Sylvain laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek. “C’mon, Fe, it’ll be fun.”
The class, as it turns out, doesn’t start for another hour. Sylvain fills the time by strolling the public market hand-in-hand, stopping to sample the slices of fresh mango and plum they’re handing out at the produce stands, drooling over the display of homemade vinegar and fresh pressed olive oil.
(Felix buys him a bottle of the fig-infused oil and a bouquet of flowers, as presents, he explains, pressing them into Sylvain’s hands with zero subtlety whatsoever. Sylvain beams anyway, his smile turning devious when the vibrator flicks on for a split-second, startling a muffled moan out of Felix that he tries to pass off as clearing his throat as Sylvain smirks back at him.)
It’s small and intimate: just Felix, Sylvain, and a handful of other couples. They each gather in pairs around a workstation after they pull aprons from the row of hooks on one wall. Felix begrudgingly lets Sylvain tie the belt behind his waist, unsurprised by the way his hands linger on his lower back once he’s done.
“You look so sexy in an apron,” Sylvain murmurs into his ear, slipping a casual hand in the back pocket of his jeans. Felix scoffs, fighting to keep the smile off his face as he pulls his hair up in a messy ponytail. He’s feeling slightly better after Sylvain made a complete mess of him in the car. Some – not all – of that pressure is relieved, letting him focus on whatever pasta-making could possibly entail.
“Today,” the instructor chirps, a cheery woman with streaks of gray running through her hair and a wide smile, “we’re going to learn how to make pasta by hand!”
They start with a massive pile of flour. Felix settles for handing Sylvain eggs, watching him expertly crack them – no shells – in the little dip he’s made with his hands. He’s always liked watching Sylvain in the kitchen, humming and dancing around with a dishrag over his shoulder, an expression of content focus on his face whenever he tries a new recipe or experiments with ingredients. Sylvain asks him to add the salt and olive oil, one hand resting lightly on his lower back as he peers over his shoulder and watches.
The instructor walks among the rows of workstations, providing helpful tips as she goes. “Looking good, everyone. Now we’re going to mix to incorporate – start with a whisk, then continue with your hands. We’ll be kneading for about ten minutes, so make sure to take turns.”
Sylvain starts them off, kneading the crumbly mixture together in his hands. Felix can’t help but stare at his forearms, at the way his muscles tense and relax – there’s something so domestic about it, watching him push and pull the dough into a rounded blob, flour catching in the fine dusting of ginger hair covering sun kissed freckles.
“Like what you see?” Sylvain smirks, catching his gaze. Felix rolls his eyes, pressing up on his tiptoes to kiss a smudge of flour off his cheek.
The dough comes together (somehow), and they switch off. There’s something almost therapeutic about the consistent, rolling motions, smoothing the elasticky dough out, sprinkling flour whenever it sticks to his hands too much, as per their instructions.
“You’re awfully good at that, Fe,” Sylvain hums into his ear when he returns from washing his hands, kissing the side of his forehead and crowding him in against the counter. They’re at the last workbench in the kitchen (probably on purpose), and so Felix shouldn’t be surprised when he hears the quiet click of the remote in Sylvain’s pocket and the vibrations begin, low and rumbling through his core.
“Sylvain,” Felix hisses, glaring over his shoulder, making a futile effort to elbow him in the ribs that Sylvain easily dodges. “Do you want fettuccine or not?”
“How’s it going over here, boys?” Carla – at least, Felix thinks her name is Carla, but it’s difficult to remember when his prostate is getting fucking massaged in all the right places – pauses at their bench, peering at their lump of sticky dough.
“Great!” Sylvain gifts her one of his wide, charming smiles, caressing Felix’s ass through his jeans. The vibrations hitch up in intensity and Felix bites his lip, focusing very intently on the blobby dough he’s up to his elbows in and not his boner pressing up against the underside of the counter.
“Add a bit more flour. You want the dough to be on the drier side.” Sylvain nods, suddenly the model student he never was in college. He shoots Felix a lazy grin as she walks away, tapping the intensity up two notches.
“I can’t–” Felix grits his teeth. The dough is a lost cause, especially when he’s trying not to shake apart. He swears he can feel the lube, or maybe it’s some of Sylvain’s cum from earlier, leaking out – it should be gross, he should be disgusted by the mere concept, but all he can think of is getting fucked stupid later, his hole loose and sloppy around Sylvain’s cock.
Felix huffs and drops the dough, still sticky and too wet, on Sylvain’s side of the counter.
“Your turn, birthday boy.”
—
Felix manages not to completely fall apart during the remainder of class, but he gets pretty fucking close.
He nearly drops the flat, wide sheets of dough that come out of the pasta maker when Sylvain starts to roll out the dough, one hand on the handle while the other flips between two buttons on the remote, teasing him mercilessly with innocent smiles. When Sylvain tasks him with chopping basil for the pesto (you said this was a pasta making class, not a pasta sauce making class, Sylvain) he nearly slices his thumb open on the paring knife, distracted by the waves of pleasure pulsing through his core. When Sylvain asks him to pass the pine nuts, Felix can’t help the high whine that leaves his mouth, thankfully covered by the chatter of the other students.
And of course, Sylvain’s clearly enjoying every minute of it: sucking gentle kisses to the back of his bare neck as they wait for the dough to rest; toying through the settings, cycling through intensities and grinding inconspicuously against Felix’s ass, his own hard cock pressing hot through his jeans against him; smacking Felix’s ass with the sharp snap! of a dish towel, delighting in his furious, glassy-eyed expression.
They leave with a tupperware of their leftover pasta and instructions to keep it in the fridge until you’re ready to eat it.
The vibrator’s at it’s lowest setting as they walk to the car, turned down once the task of juggling boiling pasta and not burning the pesto and teasing Felix got to be too much. To say that he’s ready to go home would be a vast understatement: the orgasm that’s been building for the last two-and-a-half hours is starting to edge on painful, and judging by the way Sylvain keeps getting handsy while waiting at red lights, he’s not going to last too long, either.
Felix sobs when they finally make it inside their apartment and he’s immediately pressed up against the front door. He winds his arms around Sylvain’s shoulders, clutching fistfuls of his jacket, struggling not to immediately fall apart when Sylvain presses his thigh up between his own, the perfect position for Felix to grind helplessly against him. The press of his fingers across his back, down his thigh, inching towards the plug is overwhelming already, and they’ve barely made it through the door.
“Would you believe–” Sylvain pants into his ear, breathless already, “–that I haven’t even gone up to the highest setting?”
“Fuck, shit, Sylvain, you can’t just say that,” Felix hisses, so far gone, eyes going glassy and unseeing as he falls into Sylvain’s neck, clutching him close when the vibrations start to ramp up again. He can feel the smooth, warm metal of the remote in Sylvain’s hand, pressing molten copper into the small of his back. They’re both still completely dressed, and he’s already had two orgasms today, but he’s about to fall apart against the front door like a fucking teenager.
“Can you come for me? Once, like this?” Sylvain asks, a deep rumble that matches the vibrato of the plug as he cradles him in his arms, fingers searching to find the hard silicone of the plug through Felix’s jeans. He can feel the thudding beat of Sylvain’s pulse against his forehead, the heat of his flush through his jacket, the firmness of his thigh between his own legs, and he moans, low and raw and deep in his chest when Sylvain pushes up on the plug with two fingers and bumps the intensity up all in the span of a few seconds.
I’ll fuck you afterwards, love. I’ve been waiting all day for this, thinking about how good your hole is gonna feel around my cock. Thinking about my cum still inside you, filling you up. You’re probably ready for me already, aren’t you? All wet and stretched out for me, I could fuck you right now, fill you up more–
When it hits, it fucking hits – he’s overcome with complete, blinding bliss, a rolling wave that pummels his body and leaves him breathless. It’s more intense than Felix ever would’ve believed was possible, pressure building and crashing over and over again as he wails into Sylvain’s neck. Somewhere along the way Felix slumps completely into him, his body operating on the inherent trust that Sylvain will hold him up, his legs too shaky and weak to support himself. Sylvain just props him up between the door and his thigh and soothes him through it, stroking up and down his back, bringing him back down to reality with gentle, reassuring words as the vibrations slowly taper down in intensity.
Felix is still quivering through the aftershocks when Sylvain pulls back, shifting him in his arms. He just curls closer, pretty sure he’s temporarily lost some level of motor control.
“God damn, Fe,” Sylvain breathes into his neck. There’s a small, bright thread of satisfaction that curls in Felix’s gut at the way he sounds almost as wrecked as Felix feels.
“That was,” he pauses to pepper kisses across the line of Felix’s brow, punctuating each word with one. “So. Fucking. Sexy.”
Felix can’t help but laugh, limp and fucked out as he is. Sylvain’s looking at him like he’s never seen anything like it. He traces his hand across Sylvain’s jaw, slick with sweat. The plug is starting to get uncomfortable, too thick and unyielding for how overstimulated he is, but, thankfully, it’s barely pressing up on his prostate in the position he’s in. “Are you gonna let me give you your real birthday present now?”
Now it’s Sylvain’s turn to laugh, a little wild-eyed, still breathless. “Fuck, Felix, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
Sylvain helps him into the bedroom, letting Felix sling his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his hips to relieve the stretch of the plug that has him whimpering with every step they take. He wastes no time peeling Felix’s jeans and briefs off all in one fluid motion, sitting him on the edge of the bed.
“God, Fe, you’re a mess.”
Felix snorts, leaning up for a long, lingering kiss. Sylvain indulges him, soft and sweet – one hand coming up to cradle his jaw, the other stroking along his bare, wet thigh.
“What did you expect?” Felix asks softly. Sylvain moves to push him down against the covers, but Felix pushes back on his chest in resistance.
“You too,” he murmurs, sitting up to tug at the hem of Sylvain’s light sweater, fingers straying to brush over the obvious bulge in his jeans. “I wanna see you.”
Sylvain groans, low and raw, and then almost trips trying to get his pants off, struggling when they catch around his ankles. Felix laughs at his eagerness, unable to hide his delight at the sight of Sylvain rushing to get back to him.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” Sylvain breathes out, stretching out on his side to pull Felix in. His thumb traces circles across his chest, his shoulder, hooking on the curve of his hip – he pauses here, looking to Felix with almost unbearable fondness. “Are you too sensitive?”
Felix shakes his head, letting his own hands wander across the broad pillow of Sylvain’s chest, stopping to tweak a rosy, peaked nipple. “No– no, c’mere.”
His nerves burst alive with oversensitivity when he pushes Sylvain to sit up against the pillows and promptly deposits himself in his lap, but he does it anyway, savoring the awestruck look on Sylvain’s face as his hands settle, each one cupping his ass, spreading him open just the tiniest bit. Felix sits up on his knees and reaches back, doing his best not to squirm, forcing himself to breath deep as his fingers catch around the silicone nestled up beneath his balls. He eases it out gently, accompanied by a f-fuuuck punched straight from his chest.
Felix gasps wetly into Sylvain’s shoulder. He can feel himself gaping around nothing, unbearably wide from an entire day of being stretched out and teased. He shudders when one of Sylvain’s fingers move to trace a featherlight outline around the circle of his rim.
“Felix. Felix. Felix.”
Sylvain’s pupils are blown-out when Felix looks up, and even though there’s no way his body is even capable of another orgasm, he’s determined to make it as good for him as he can. He shuffles back, strokes Sylvain’s cock, and guides it in.
It’s almost horrifying how quickly he’s completely filled up, the stretch nearly nothing after today. Sylvain is warmer and thicker and longer, though, overwhelming in a different way that Felix finds he greatly prefers to the hard, unyielding stretch of silicone. They both groan, and Felix falls forward into a messy kiss, murmuring I’ve missed you against the slick heat of Sylvain’s mouth. Missed your cock, filling me up–
It’s as far as he gets before Sylvain comes with a raw shout, his hips thrusting erratically up into him. Felix moans weakly, wrapped around him, unable to do much more than hold on until his thrusts gradually subside and his soft cock slips out.
“Holy shit,” Sylvain laughs a few minutes later, still holding Felix close, a tangle of sweaty limbs.
Felix presses a tired kiss against his chest, right over his heart.
“Happy birthday.”