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Dune Your Dad

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Timothée would always remember three things about Norway.

1. Just how beautiful the countryside was. Between the rolling green hills, the alpine mountains, and the dazzling blue waters, he’d found himself eagerly awaited moments alone when he was allowed to just explore, filling his camera roll with hundreds and hundreds of beautiful shots of Stadlandet and the coast.
2. Just how freezing it was. It’d only taken him a few hours to realize just how woefully underprepared he’d come, even though he’d done plenty of research about the country beforehand. He thought his dozens of sweaters and leggings worn under his jeans would be enough, but no; and after checking into their hotel, he’d made a rush for the nearby shopping district to buy a large wool coat that kept him warm all the way through.
3. And third, he’d learned just how amazing Oscar Isaac was at fucking.

What had begun as a night meant to bring the cast together in the dining room of their hotel had ended with Timmy in Oscar’s room, bent over the couch with all nine inches of Oscar’s girthy cock stuffed inside of him.

And it simply spiraled from there, becoming an automatic response for Timothée. Every single night, when filming was done, and dinner had been eaten—with the cast and crew more often than not— Timothée found himself outside Oscar’s door. Or, in cases of Timothée and Oscar arriving at the hotel together, Timothée was led to Oscar’s hotel room, as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Tonight, it would be no different.

Well, there were parts of tonight that were going to be different.

Oscar had placed an order online some days before, and that morning, it had been delivered to Timothée’s door with a simple note that Oscar had left to be delivered inside the package.

Wear this all day. Do not take it out for any reason.

And don’t you dare cum.


The message had been enough for Timothée’s cock to strain his pants, but what lay in the box had him hard as a brick.

It was silver, with one bulbous end that caused goosebumps to run up Timothée’s arms because he knew which end was expected to fit inside him, the other end flared, simple. Of course, he’d seen a buttplug before. In sex shops, and there’d this one girl he’d slept with in college who wore one over to his apartment one night.

But he’d never worn one himself.

Never bent himself over on his king-sized bed, pants pulled down to his knees, the hole that Oscar’s cock had done a number on over the last two weeks loose and slick, Timothée slowly fingering himself open, hard while he slid the plug in.

But there was a first time for everything.

He’d worn it all day, just as he’d been ordered, stifling his moans when he sat down in the car that drove him to set or in the chairs left in the tents they used during their off time. He’d been nervous that the wardrobe department might notice the bulge at the front and back of his underwear as he was fitted into Paul’s clothing. If there was a fourth point on his aforementioned list, Timmy might mention how he’d discovered just how submissive he liked being. Taking orders from Oscar, no matter the setting, sexual or not. He figured that might be something to explore in therapy but decided against it.

Timothée felt like Oscar’s eyes were on him at all times, he’d glance up and see that hungry gaze focused on him, those brown eyes dark, Oscar licking at his lips like he was starved for Timothée.

Finally, around noon, they’d settled in for a lunch break.

And Oscar found him.

“Are you wearing it?” Oscar asked in a low voice.

“Yes.” Timothée breathed softly.

Oscar looked around, biting the inside of his cheek, making sure they were alone, away from the gaze of their fellow cast and crew members.

And slowly, Timothée felt Oscar pull the back of his shirt tail loose, sliding his hands into the tight black costume pants, searching. Timothée’s breath hitched as Oscar pushed the end of the plug deeper. He wanted to let out a moan, the erection that had pained him most of the day straining against the tights. It had already been impossible dealing with it while getting dressed, the only way to hide the bulge being the black coat that Paul was so fond of while on his home planet.

“Oscar,” Timothée whispered.

“That’s not my name, princess.”

Timmy whined at the pet name.

One more discovery.

And another?

“Daddy… please.”

“‘Please’ what, baby girl?”

‘Please what’ indeed. It wasn’t as if Timothée could ask to drop trou here and now and beg for Oscar to replace the butt plug with his cock, but where would that lead? To the cast and crew watching as Timothée was plowed to what felt like death? All thoughts in his head fading save for how amazing Oscar’s cock felt in his hole. Perhaps even Timothée’s dreams of Jason joining them, stuffing the cock the internet had assured him must be impressive down Timothée’s throat before it stuffed his hole.

Perhaps even alongside Oscars?

Of course, Timmy had already known he was a slut before being cast in Dune. He’d known it since college when he gained the freedom to pass himself around from dorm room to dorm room. Pleasing his male and female classmates alike. But back then, he’d always been on top, and had never had thoughts of being so submissive and breedable.

But Oscar had awakened something in him.

Something that Timothée never wished to repress ever again.

“What do you want, baby girl?” Oscar growled.

“I want your cock.”

“Right here? Are you that much of a slut?”

“Daddy…” Timothée whined as the plug was pushed deeper. He wondered if the flared end might slip past his hole, wedge itself deeper inside him. Oscar’s cock had certainly left him gaping enough on some occasions.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Oscar purred. “I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

Oscar’s hand slipped away, and with another look around to make sure they were alone, he slipped his dirty finger into Timmy’s mouth.

“Taste yourself, slut.”

Timothée obeyed.

Just like he’d been conditioned to.

It had only taken a few days for Timothée to fill the submissive role that Oscar wanted him in. If Oscar ordered something of Timothée, he was sure to do it. Whether Timothée was admitting to Oscar that he’d neglected to eat during their busy schedule, and Oscar then forced him to eat; or it was Oscar demanding that Timothée get on his knees to clean his cock, ass high in the air, prepared to take every inch, Timothée obeyed.

Just as he did now.

The stale lube was bitter on his tongue, but there was no denying how alluring the taste of himself on Oscar’s fingers was. He felt himself become harder, as if that were even possible, as Oscar slipped each finger out of Timothée’s mouth, one by one.

“Good girl,” Oscar said lowly.

And with that, he walked away, rejoining the cast and crew as if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes with his fingers inside Timothée.

For the rest of the day, Timothée had to be extra cautious with where he sat, careful of how deep the plug found itself. He was just grateful that there were no stunts planned for the day. No practice fights, no choreography, just dinner scenes, moments shared between Paul and his parents, Jason embracing Timothée as he came back from a mission. They wrapped well into the night, making sure key establishing shots were captured. As the clock ticked and Timothée’s hole began to ache in earnest, he found himself eager to get back to the hotel room, ready to spend all night with Oscar’s cock inside him.

And finally, the time came.

But not before Oscar continued to torture Timothée in the backseat of the black SUV that took them from the hotel to the set and back again each day.

“My little slut ready for this cock?” Oscar whispered.

Timmy’s eyes searched for the driver in the rearview mirror, but his gaze was thankfully focused on the road ahead, his conversation with a DP seated in the front seat distracting the both of them from hearing what was going on.

“Daddy,” Timothée whined.

“I’ve been hard for you all day,” he continued. “Going to fuck you until you’re good and pregnant.”

Timothée’s eyes drifted to Oscar’s crotch where his erection was obvious and aching. “Mhmm,” Timothée bit his bottom lip.

“I think I want to eat that sweet pussy first, how do you feel about that.”

“Please,” Timothée whispered.

“Please what, pretty girl?”

“I want your cock.”

“Patience.” Oscar pulled away, laughing softly as if Timothée had told him a joke meant for just the two of them; and while the driver stole a glance, Oscar slipped a hand down the back of Timothée’s pants, the darkness hiding his voyeuristic act as his fingers found the plug again, pulling it out as much as the angle would allow before pressing it back in.

Timothée’s breath hitched again and again as Oscar tortured him.

And the worst part?

Timothée would never do a thing about it. He knew that Oscar loved the thrill, the chance of being caught, and Timothée found himself appreciating the delight alongside him. But just as he’d grown fond of this deviant version of Oscar; he’d also found himself craving the softer side, the nights that Oscar allowed Timothée to curl up next him, both men waking up wrapped around each other, Oscar slipping his cock back inside Timothée more often than not for some half-awake morning sex that felt like proper love making. Timothée had learned the two versions of Oscar swiftly, and he’d certainly become fond of both.

Of course, he’d never say as much to Oscar. Oscar was married, and while he had assured Timothée that he and his wife had an understanding about hooking up with co-stars, an admission of love would complicate things.

Besides, Timothée’s love of Oscar wasn’t anything romantic.

That was what he told himself at least.

It was carnal, pure adrenaline and lust and passion.

The perfect cocktail.

And if Oscar had been insatiable in the SUV, he was purely starving in the elevator.

Timothée watched the elevator climb with each floor, he found himself drowning in anticipation, wanting nothing more than to feel Oscar inside of him, his lips burned raw by Oscar’s thick beard as they kissed, tongues swallowing each other. Oscar’s hands found their way into Timothée’s soft chocolate hair, his fist the only thing in the world that could pull Timothée away from those sweet kisses.

“Suck me off.” Oscar growled through his teeth.

“What?”

Oscar didn’t give the verbal order again, he simply reached past Timothée, stopping the elevator with a single button press.

“What are you—” Timothée didn’t get to complete his thought, not before Oscar found the back of Timothée’s head once again, fist knotting into Timothée’s curls as he forced the boy down to his knees.

“I told you to suck me off, slut. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Oscar’s cock was already straining against the jeans that he’d worn to set that day, eager to be free as Timmy unbuttoned the pants and tugged them down Oscar’s thick thighs. There was no underwear to catch Oscar’s cock, it simply flopped out of the denim, smacking Timothée in the face as it was finally able to breathe, precum staining Timmy’s cheek and beading at the cockhead.

“Commando?” Timothée looked up at Oscar.

“Did I say that you could talk?” Oscar growled again. “Suck my cock.”

Timothée wanted to protest. Sure, it wasn’t as if anyone could just walk in on them, they wouldn’t find Timothée in this vulnerable position without the both of them feeling the lurch of the elevator moving, but there would be no denying the smell of sex in the air, the drool on Timothée’s chin, their labored breathing as they tried to hide their misdeeds.

But Timothée didn’t have a choice.

Of course, in reality he did. Oscar would never force him to do something he found uncomfortable, they’d established a word, a single word that would pull the both of them out of this act of theirs, with promises of Oscar wrapping himself around Timothée as they came down from their high.

Timothée could use that word now.

He didn’t want to, though.

He wanted to suck Oscar’s cock.

He wanted to feel that thrill of nearly being caught.

His jaw stretched around the thick meat, pushing down further and further, gaining room for an inch every time his head was shoved down by Oscar’s tight grip. Timothée choked for a bit, sputtering drool as he took in as much air as he could through his nose. But he wasn’t in control.

Not now.

Not ever.

When Oscar decided that his cock had been exposed to the cool elevator air long enough, he shoved Timothée back onto the girth.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

Timothée couldn’t answer, couldn’t even nod his head while Oscar’s grip tightened.

He’d relinquished himself to this moment, to Oscar’s control, the same exact way he did every time they fucked. Timothée was a toy for Oscar to use, a sleeve to warm his cock, a repository for Oscar’s seed.

A princess.

A baby girl.

A whore.

A slut.

And that was what Timothée wanted.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Oscar breathed as his hips stuttered out of rhythm. Timmy knew this sign well, Oscar was close.

Timothée was grateful that despite the man’s forty-two years, he still found himself as virile as a twenty-year old, able to spend all night wearing out Timothée’s hole, stretching him, filling him with cum, able to recover in half an hour or less, fucking him through the night so they would both climb out of bed the following morning still exhausted. Timothée kept his jaw relaxed, savoring in the way his throat stretched to accommodate Oscar’s length, he could taste the bitterness of the precum as it spread about his tongue, the un-showered scent of Oscar’s pubes after a long day of being trapped in a suit that caused him to sweat so.

He wanted Oscar to cum. He wanted to taste that sweet resentment, he wanted to carry more of Oscar inside of him.

He wanted this.

Then the elevator moved.

Timothée tried his best to stand up quickly, but Oscar’s hold was tight, unyielding.

“Uh-uh, you want to get up, you make me cum.”

The cock stuffed down Timothée’s throat kept him from pleading with Oscar, but the look in his eyes said enough.

“No. I cum, and you can stand up. You’d better work fast; this elevator isn’t that slow.”

Timothée rushed, Oscar relinquishing just enough control back to him so that Timmy could determine his own speed. This was all a part of the game to Oscar, it was as if the man completely lacked shame, as if he wouldn’t also be on the trending on Twitter, on front page of every tabloid that reported that Timothée Chalamet had been found on his knees, pleasuring a man in public. Perhaps he just didn’t care, or maybe he got off on it.

“Better hurry,” Oscar grunted. “We’re getting close to the lobby.”

Timothée breathed in Oscar’s scent as he sped up.

Oscar’s hand tightened again, his hips moving involuntarily as he grew closer and closer to orgasming.

“Fuck, I’m cumming baby,” Oscar sputtered. “I’m coming, baby girl.”

Timothée moaned, the vibrations of his throat driving Oscar further up the wall.

“You gonna drink my cum, baby girl? Drink it all up?”

And with precious seconds to spare, Timothée was pressed against Oscar’s pubes once again, breathing in the acrid scent as Oscar emptied himself down Timothée’s throat. Timothée could have gagged at the rush being poured into him, but he kept his resolve, and swallowed absolutely everything that Oscar had to give him.

Otherwise, his daddy might be disappointed in him.

When Oscar’s grip relaxed, they moved faster than they ever had. Timothée wiping at his mouth as Oscar buttoning his pants again. There’d be no denying the redness of Timothée’s cheeks, the way they were both out of breath, the smell of sex and shame and heat that filled the elevator. Timothée only hoped that they would still get away with their misdeed.

He relaxed a bit when the door opened and Jason Momoa stood there, grinning when he saw the two men. His long hair was draped around his shoulders, his black coat only seeming to make his body look even larger, and his beard had grown in nicely from the scene’s he’d filmed without it. Timothée always preferred Jason with the beard, Oscar too.

Both men were handsome on their own of course, pure sex on two legs, gorgeous bodies that Timothée had images of pulled up on his phone’s incognito mode at that very moment. But with the beards added to the equation, Timothée felt like putty in their hands.

For Oscar, it had worked flawlessly.

And Timothée hoped that the same would be said with Jason before filming on Dune had wrapped.

“My boys!” Jason grinned, greeting them both. “Were you two headed down?”

“No, no. Elevator messed up.” Oscar lied all too easily. “Taking us all over the place.”

“And you,” Jason patted Timothée on the shoulder so hard that it knocked Timothée off balance. “How was filming?”

“Good, cold,” Timothée teased.

“Oh, you’re telling me. I’m not used to it yet. I’ve gone through ten packs of those hand warmer things.”

“Big babies.” Oscar shook his head.

“Please, you’re from Guatemala, I see you shaking in the corner.”

Oscar pushed against Jason’s chest, not that it did much to move the mountain of a man. Timothée liked watching the two play with each other though. This softer version of Oscar, the Oscar who played around, who made jokes, who lowered his walls to let others in.

He liked that Oscar a lot.

Almost as much as he liked the Oscar who pushed him down in an elevator and forced his cock down his throat; the Oscar who had bent him over every piece of furniture in their hotel room; who had played videos of the two of them fucking, making Timothée watch himself on the screen while Oscar plugged him with his girth in real life; the same Oscar who had pushed Timothée to his knees in the large shower of their hotel bathroom and emptied his bladder into Timothée’s mouth, forcing him to swallow every drop.

He loved both these Oscars.

But that was a conversation for another day.

Maybe.

If Timothée ever found himself with the courage.

The elevator opened up a floor before Timothée and Oscar’s, Jason stepping closer to the exit. He said his goodbyes to the two of them, holding the door open with a strong hand.

“See you two tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Timothée said.

Oscar simply offered a wave.

“Oh, Timmy.” Jason stepped closer to the young man, and slowly but surely, he brought a hand to Timothée’s cheek, his thumb tracing Timothée’s mouth. For a moment, Timothée almost expected a kiss, that was what it seemed like Jason was preparing for, but then Jason opened his mouth to speak. “You’ve got Oscar’s cum on your chin.”

Jason wiped it away, pressing his thumb into Timothée’s mouth to clean it off.

Timothée couldn’t stop the whine that slipped from his lips as the much, much bigger man seemed to steal control from him in an instant.

Timothée looked towards Oscar, finding the man enjoying the scene that played out in front of him with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

“If I had more time, I’d come to your room and fuck you so hard you’d forget your own name,” Jason whispered. “But I’ve already got plans.”

“Jason—”

“Keep your mouth shut, slut.” Jason gave Timothée a light slap on the cheek. “The cum might slip out.”

Timothée whined at the abuse.

“I knew you were a whore. Knew it from the moment I saw you.” Jason grinned wickedly, like he wanted to devour Timothée right that very second. And Timothée wouldn’t have fought for a second. If Jason and Oscar wanted to throw him onto the hallway floor and ravage him for the entire hotel to see, he wouldn’t complain, he would simply accept his new role as their shared hole, a tool for their pleasure.

“Oscar’s told me about everything he’s done to you.” Jason snarled. “How he’s fucked you every night since you got to this country, how you drank his piss. How he’s plugged you so full of cum it’s a miracle you aren’t pregnant yet.”

“You should join us next time,” Oscar stepped in closer.

“Oh, you won’t be able to stop me, Oz.” Jason left Timothée with another smack, this one harder, leaving his cheek tinged pink. “You’re lucky you’re needed on set tomorrow. We’ll have to wait for a day when you won’t need to walk.”

“Mhmm…” Timothée whined.

“What do you call Oscar?” Jason asked, his hand drifting slowly to the back on Timothée’s head, grabbing on to the waves with a delicate grip, massaging the young man softly. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Tell him,” Oscar prompted. “You can speak.”

“Daddy.” Timothée said as Jason’s gaze found him.

“Mhmm,” Jason hummed. “Well, you can call me sir.”

“Yes sir,” Timothée fell into his role effortlessly.

“Good girl.” Jason gave Timothée one last smack and slipped out of the elevator just as the door was ready to close. “Next time.” Jason said a little louder, and his laugh echoed off the walls. “Next time!”

Oscar wasted no time stepping in. “You’re a real slut, huh?” Oscar’s hand took Timothée by the jaw, pulling his gaze upward.

“Yes, daddy.”

“You want Jason to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to fuck you while you suck his cock?”

“Yes.”

“You want us to slide both our cocks into that loose pink pussy of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Oscar smiled. He leaned over, pressing the elevator button once again. “Next time. Jason’s a man of his word.”

Oscar leaned in closer.

"And he’s going to ruin you.”

Timothée swallowed as the elevator started to move again, the doors sliding open once more to let them out onto their floor.

“But tonight, you’re all mine.” Oscar pushed Timmy to walk in front of him, leaving Timothée with a hard smack on his ass.

Timothée yelped. If he didn’t know better, he’d be sure that Oscar was trying to hit the plug dead center.

The two men walked next to each other, Oscar pulling the key card out of his wallet and unlocking the door to his room. The studio had given the cast and crew the entire top three floors of the hotel, the topmost floor reserved for Timothée, Oscar, Rebecca, Josh. Charlotte, and the others whose characters would appear on the watery home world of the Atreides family.

Oscar’s room was more familiar to Timothée than his own; the nice, heated hardwood floors, the large king-size bed, the full living room and kitchen, and the floor to ceiling windows that made up the far wall. Timothée had spent his fair share of time pressed against those windows, silently worrying that any fishermen on the water might be able to spy him being fucked into next week.

“On the bed, clothes off. But keep your underwear on.”

“Okay,” Timothée said, slipping off his hoodie.

“What was that?”

“I um… yes, daddy,” Timothée recovered.

“Good girl.” Oscar walked towards the open bar. Timothée could hear the clinking of glass, the pouring of whiskey. Neither Timothée nor Oscar were big fans of drinking or alcohol beyond single glasses of wine at dinner.

No, both back home and in Norway both men were fond of cannabis, the both of them managing to sneak their own stashes into the country thanks to the private plane that had brought them here; but Oscar had grown to be a fan of the particular whiskey served at the hotel, distilled in the very town that they were staying in. Timothée had to admit he was a fan as well, the smokey taste combined with hints of honey and what Timmy could swear was lavender.
It was phenomenal.

And Timothée hoped that Oscar was pouring him a glass as well.

He made himself comfortable on the bed, he hadn’t been given a position to wait in like normal, so he’d decided to lay down on his side, pillow propping him up with his waist twisted. This was the perfect angle for Oscar, with Timothée’s spine curved in a way to accentuate the peach of his ass. Timothée even pulled the waistband of his underwear up tighter around his waist so that it would push the cheeks up.

It would drive Oscar crazy, and Timothée couldn’t wait.

He heard Oscar’s footsteps approaching, the heat of the room warming his cold skin.

Timothée took in the image of the man who’d changed his life, who’d help him become the sex crazed slut Timothée knew he couldn’t come back from being.

Oscar paused in the doorway, barn doors spread open, carrying two glasses of the whiskey in his hands. But more importantly, he was naked. Timothée admired the sharp angles of Oscar’s body, his plump breasts, the hair sprinkled along his pectorals that trailed down his stomach to the large bush of pubes that
Timothée had found himself buried in not ten minutes before. And his impressive cock, half-hard now even after the orgasm minutes ago.

“You look stunning,” Oscar whispered.

“You do too.”

The warm orange light painted Timothée’s skin, the black of his underwear contrasting against his pale skin, Oscar took in the position of the boy, the slope of his ass, the way that Timothée’s legs seem elongated. Oscar could picture them wrapped around his waist, refusing to let him pull out as he came inside Timothée.

He couldn’t wait to ruin this boy all over again. He’d spent weeks wrecking Timothée from the inside out, and he hoped to keep doing so long after filming had wrapped.

But for now, and every night he spent with Timothée, he wanted to give the boy his full and undivided attention.

Oscar sipped his whiskey, handing Timothée his own glass.

“Did you like wearing the plug all day?” Oscar asked.

“I liked it, yeah.”

“You’d tell me if you didn’t, right?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Oscar came closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. “And Jason, you’d be interested in bringing him in?”

“Lisa wouldn’t mind?” Timothée asked.

Oscar shook his head. “He’s got a situation a lot like mine. It’s a lot of long weeks away from home. She encourages him to find other holes to fill.” Oscar let a low laugh slip while his lips pressed to the whiskey glass. “He’s more of a whore than you are, he just prefers stuffing holes over getting stuffed.”

"You like filling my holes.” Timothée bit at his bottom lip, able to read the change in demeanor as Oscar stepped back in front of the bed.

Timothée could see the way Oscar’s cock twitched, the thrill in Oscar’s brown eyes, that lust, that hunger for Timothée.

“Put that down.” Oscar nodded to the glass.

Timothée took the chance to down the rest of the drink, savoring in the flavor before he set the glass on the nightstand.

“Now… come here.” Oscar grabbed onto Timothée’s ankles, pulling him down the bed. Timothée laughed as they met, his hands finding Oscar’s bearded jaw, pressing him close together.

Oscar’s kisses were harsh, sensual, the taste of the whiskey light on his tongue, the faint hint of cinnamon candy complimenting it. Timothée buried his fingers in the salt and pepper beard, remembering how he’d watch it grow over the months in the Dune group chats that had kept the actors connected through while pre-production worked their magic, scouted locations, finished script rewrites.

Timothée had played himself to every single picture of Oscar as he posted the growth updates, watching as the stubble turned to a fine beard, only growing longer and bushier.

Just the way he liked his beards.

Timothée’s skin felt rubbed raw when he finally came up for air, his hairless chest heaving. Oscar kept going though, biting at Timothée’s neck, careful not to leave marks anywhere that might be visible, eventually pulling down Timothée’s underwear with his teeth. But that left the rest of Timothée’s body ripe for the picking.

Oscar kept going lower, coming back up every now and then to devour Timothée’s tongue before he latched his teeth onto Timothée’s nipples, his teeth closing around one while his fingers played with the other.

“Daddy—” Timothée whined, his gasps escaping into the hotel room.

He’d been hard most of the day, his cock eager for a release; and he felt so sensitive that he feared Oscar’s breath alone might cause him to cum. Timothée’s back arched at the sensation, his hole willing the plug to go deeper as it clenched in pleasure.

“Daddy, please.”

“Please what, baby girl?”

“Please,” was the only word Timothée could manage.

“You’ve been so needy today, princess. I’m not sure if you deserve my cock.”

“No, daddy… please!” Timothée said almost too eagerly. As if Oscar needed further proof of how much of a slut the boy underneath him had become.

“Have you been a good girl?” Oscar asked before he bit back down on Timothée’s nipple. Both were so erect, so burned by Oscar’s beard, that it hurt Timothée, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. But it was a different kind of pain, the way the cool air stung them, it reminded Timothée of the first time he’d taken Oscar’s heavy cock.

Timothée nodded, a quiet whine barely audible from his throat.

“Tell me.”

Timothée stared at him.

“Say it,” Oscar demanded.

“I’ve been a good girl,” Timothée said softly.

“What’s that, baby?”

“I’ve been a good girl,” Timothée repeated, more confidence in his voice that time.

“That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.” Oscar stood up, his hands on Timothée’s waist as the younger man was rolled over onto his stomach. “God, look at that ass. I just want to—”

Oscar’s hand rose into the air and came down.

Hard.

Timothée yelped, nearly pulling away from Oscar, but Oscar only pulled him closer.

Oscar’s hand came up again and again, alternating which cheek he assaulted with his palm. “You like that, slut?”

Timothée whined with each spank, the sting filling his aching cock.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s right.”

Timothée’s cheeks were a bright pink, and just as Oscar’s hand came down for the last time, Timothée couldn’t help himself anymore. His back arched, and his cock shook, the cum shooting all over his stomach and the bed underneath him.

“Oh my God!” Timothée cried actual tears as the orgasm overtook him, cum seeming to trickle out of the head of his cock pitifully.

“Look at that,” Oscar stared at the boy in astonishment. “You came just from that.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Timothée’s breath heaved, he felt eager to catch his breath.

Oscar had rules about Timothée coming before he was allowed to, just as Timothée wasn’t allowed to masturbate or finger himself without Oscar’s permission. The same way that Oscar didn’t come without fucking Timothée.

But Oscar didn’t seem disappointed.

“You shouldn’t apologize, baby girl.” Oscar leaned in, brushing Timothée’s hair away from his face. Timothée’s body had gone limp, the orgasm taking every last bit of energy out of him, which meant it was all too easy for Oscar to lead him into a kiss, his tongue finding a home in Timothée’s slack jawed mouth. “That was amazing, you were a wonder to watch.”

This was another of Timothée’s craving. He wished that he could just exist as a source of pleasure for Oscar, a toy to be used, barely able to move for how exhausted Oscar’s cock would leave him, forgetting his own name as Oscar used him as much as he wanted to, being filled to the brim with Oscar’s seed until it poured out from his hole and his mouth.

Like right now, he could only lay there as Oscar manipulated his body, turning Timothée back over, pulling on his hips so that his ass was higher in the air. They probably should have been more concerned about the cum on Timothée chest that now stained the bed, but that could wait. They’d left the bed in worse shape, and Oscar left a generous tip for the maids every morning.

“I almost forgot about the plug,” Oscar laughed to himself.

If he expected a response from Timothée, he wasn’t going to get one. Timothée was awash in a ocean of pleasure, a high that none of the drugs he’d tried in college—or still partook in recreationally—could compare to.

“Look at your hole.” Oscar pulled on the plug, pushing it back in just as it threatened to slip past Timothée’s walls.

Timothée let out small, pitiful whines as it pressed deeper and deeper inside him.

“Daddy,” Timothée whined.

“I know, baby. I know.” Oscar purred. He ran a finger down the length of Timothée’s back, leaving goosebumps in his wake as all Timmy could do was lay there and take it. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. So perfect all day.”

Oscar leaned down, his erect cock slipping between Timothée’s cheeks as Oscar stole more kisses.

“You are so perfect.”

“Daddy.”

It was the only word Timothée could remember. That and—

“Please.”

“I know, I know. Here.” Oscar sat up again, this time pulling the butt plug out in earnest. Timothée groaned at the absence his hole now tried to fill, clenching around air as the sounds of lube filled the hotel room. “That’s right, push.”

Timothée did as he was told.

“Good girl. Here.” Oscar leaned down one last time. “Suck on this.”

Timothée expected fingers, but the still-warm metal of the butt plug found his lips instead. Timothée let the bitter taste of the lube coat his tongue as he sucked on the butt plug; his first thought was of a baby with a pacifier, but the moment overtook him, realizing just how intimate and yet taboo the action felt, his soft cock pulsing to life again. He suckled on it as Oscar focused his attention on Timothée’s hole once again.

And when Timothée felt the hot breath on his taint, he knew the gift he was about to receive.

Oscar’s beard burned in a way that made Timothée hard almost in an instant.

“Mhmm…” was all Timmy could make out past the plug. He just had to lay there and take it, as the sounds of Oscar devouring him from the inside out filled the room, the warm lap of Oscar’s tongue. He dove in deep, teasing at first, but Timothée’s hole had been left gaping in a way that it was easy for Oscar to slip completely inside, tasting the lube that had been inside Timothée all day, the cum left over from the night before, and the night before that night, and the morning of that same day.

He loved this, he loved tasting Timothée, he loved watching the boy shiver underneath him. Any other time he’d done this, it was the most amazing thing to watch as Timothée descended into a writhing mess, but now that Timothée found himself well past the point of no return, it was just as alluring to watch this boy unable to resist or do anything about whatever Oscar wanted to do to him.

Of course, he would do nothing without consent, but Oscar couldn’t help but imagine the things he could do to Timothée with the boy too worn to fight back. Why couldn’t he lube his fingers up, slipping one, two, four or all five inside, willing himself deeper until he was shoulder deep inside Timothée? Or what if his bladder were full and he didn’t want to take a break to go to the bathroom, he could place his aching cock inside Timothée and empty himself of his urine, filling Timothée to the brim.

And the boy wouldn’t be able to do a goddamn thing about it.

But at that moment, Oscar’s cock ached harder than it ever had before.

Oscar had been silent about his need to cum, to fill Timothée with his seed, to run his hands along Timothée’s pregnant belly. He’d nearly bent Timothée in half in front of everyone this afternoon, and even gone so far as to try and find a quiet secluded area on set where he’d be able to fuck Timothée in the midst of filming, but his search had been for naught.

That was okay to Oscar though. Well, not really, he would’ve loved to have cum much earlier in the day, but now this felt like the perfect moment.

To fill Timothée with an entire day’s worth of build up? A dream come true.

Oscar finally pulled away, the faint sound of Timothée whining like music to his ears.

He reached for the plug, pulling it out. “How are you doing?”

Timothée nodded, unable to form words. He was fully hard again, his cock straining between his legs, like a muscle overstretched.

“Words, baby girl.”

“Yes… daddy…” Timothée said softly. He raised his head; mouth open in an ‘o’ as if he were craving the plug again.

“Oh, you like this?”

Timmy nodded.

“Alright, I’ll give my baby girl what she wants.” Oscar slipped the plug back in, watching Timothée nurse on it softly. “And now, it’s time for baby girl to give daddy what he wants.”

With one more spank, Oscar parted Timothée’s cheeks, exposing the gaping hole that sat there, just waiting to be filled with something else.

“Make it wink for me, baby girl?”

Timothée strained, pushing back as best he could to make his hole close and open again.

“Good girl…”

Oscar ran a finger around the rim, letting it slip in easily. Between the lube, the plug, and Oscar’s tongue, Timothée’s hole was loose, wanting to be filled again. Oscar had no doubt that it’d take days for Timothée’s worn-out hole to recover, weeks for the puffed appearance of the muscle—gained from the abuse Oscar gave it—to go down.

He admired his work before he readied his cock, knowing that he didn’t need an ounce of lube to slip in.

“Are you ready, baby girl?”

Timothée nodded.

And without another word, Oscar gripped Timothée’s hips, and slid inside him with a single push. Timothée let out a low groan, muffled by the plug. Oscar’s force lifted him off of the bed for a precious second, the grip on his hips pulling him closer. Oscar couldn’t resist a growl either as Timothée’s body so easily accepted Oscar’s cock just as it had done every night for the last few weeks. It was easy to find a rhythm, to keep Timothée suspended and close by, the arch of his back angled so that Oscar seemed to go deeper and deeper with every single thrust. Their last few times fucking, there had been little resistance, a few inches unable to fit inside Timothée without Oscar spending the proper time fucking and pushing deeper into Timothée. And tonight, was no different, though the plug had done its work, leaving Timothée ready to accept more of Oscar’s length than normal.

Timothée whined as he felt Oscar’s pubes brush against his hole, and when he dared to look underneath himself, he swore he saw the impression of Oscar’s cock in his stomach, stuffing his gut full. Oscar found Timothée’s prostate with ease, he’d learned it’s exact spot on that first night, committing it to memory so that he could assault it.

“Fuck, you’re so good.” Oscar breathed heavy.

He was eager to cum, but his desire to please Timothée outweighed his need for release. His hands moved from Timothée’s waist, and Oscar took a few precious seconds to admire the purple bruises on Timothée’s hips before he pulled Timmy by his brown curls one more time, yanking him closer. The angle changing,
Timothée’s body opening up further, as if Oscar wasn’t already as deep inside him as possible. Timmy cried out, the plug still masking most of his noises.

“How’s that, baby girl?” Oscar grunted as he found a new rhythm, pounding into Timothée as roughly as he wanted. “Fuck, yes.”

Oscar’s hands moved from Timothée’s hair to his jaw, pulling the young man closer to him, and quietly, Oscar wondered if he could snap Timothée in half just by fucking him.

Timothée, however?

Timothée’s mind had gone blank.

He’d gone “cock-stupid” as Oscar had bragged, his mind empty save for the stimulation of Oscar’s length inside him. He even forgot about the plug for a moment, his jaw going slack, but the plug never slipping past his lips.

“You’re drooling, baby girl,” Oscar whispered. “And you're hard again.”

But Timothée didn’t hear him. He’d slipped into a space that had become familiar to him over the last few weeks, a space that filled him with a high that no drug on Earth could ever replicate. He did spare a glance down at his cock, getting the best look that Oscar trapping him at this angle would allow. His cock head was dripping with precum, bouncing with each deep thrust that Oscar managed. And his stomach was most certainly bulging, Oscar’s cock reaching deeper into him with every thrust.

Timothée was in heaven, he was blissed out.

He was a whore.

A cock-hungry whore who only wanted to be filled.

And he didn’t find a single problem with the new role that life had given him. He wasn’t sure how he was expected to go back to New York, to not have Oscar in the same room as him every night to fill him up, and he expected that random hook-ups wouldn’t deliver the same pleasure that Oscar could give him.

But filming would last for months, Oscar following him the entire way.

And until the day came for the two men to go their separate ways, Timothée would gladly let Oscar do whatever he wanted.

“I’m going to cum, baby girl.”

Timothée moaned, as if he could give Oscar another reply.

“Are you going to cum?”

Timothée couldn’t manage a response, he’d gone completely non-verbal.

“Let’s get you to cum, first.” Oscar changed his angle, focusing on Timothe’s prostate. Timothée couldn’t suppress the whines that escaped past the plug. It was an assault that Timothée wasn’t sure he could survive. Oscar’s right arm wrapped around Timothée’s neck, not totally cutting off the air flow, but just enough for Timothée to go lightheaded, forcing a euphoria Timothée had never felt before. He gripped Oscar’s arm as tightly as he could—which was to say not tightly at all—moans so loud escaping his lips that the plug finally slipped out of Timothée’s mouth.

“There they are there’s my baby girl’s cries.”

Tears welled up in the corners of Timothée’s eyes as his cock began to ache once again. And after several targeted thrusts, Timothée was cumming again, this time his release pitiful, the cum barely dribbling from his cock and falling onto the duvet.

“That’s my baby girl,” Oscar petted Timothée carefully. “I’m going to fill you up, is that what you want? You want to be pregnant with my babies?”

Timothée tried to nod, though Oscar couldn’t be sure if it was an actual reply or if Timothée had passed out from pure ecstasy.

“I’m going to fill you up; you’re going to have my babies Timothée. You want that baby girl? You want to have my babies?”

“Please…” was the only word that Timothée could manage.

“Oh, I’m going to cum… I’m going to fill you up… I’m—”

Oscar’s thrusts became heavier, with each movement of his hips he stalled, hoping to get deeper into Timothée. Deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

And then he came.

Finally.

“Fuckkkk…” Oscar growled as his cock pulsed inside of Timothée.

Timothée was checked out, he had been for a long time now; his body overstimulated and overcome, but there was no denying the familiar warmth that crept it’s way into Timothée’s body. He felt himself being filled, imagining the way that Oscar’s cum inflated his stomach as if he really were pregnant. The worst part was that those fantasies fed right into Timmy’s desires. He wanted to be a good girl for Oscar, a good little slut.

A good whore.

And he was.

Timothée couldn’t be sure if he passed out, if the bliss of being fucked into another life by Oscar, being filled with his seed, experiencing two orgasms in such quick succession after wanting nothing but release all day had, caused him to black out. He seemed to open his eyes with years passing in between. Oscar climbing next to him on the bed, pulling him close, the sound of Oscar’s elevated heartbeat in his ears, the feeling of Oscar’s soft chest against his raw cheeks.

This was another familiarity.

Oscar called it ‘aftercare.’

A basic and demanded practice that most would assume was just reserved for BDSM. Of course, what Oscar did to Timothée probably fell into the DSM categories. Timothée thought it might be awkward when Oscar pulled him close after their first encounter. He was so used to the hookup culture, him or his partner leaving as soon as the dead was done, never talking to the person ever again. But Oscar insisted.

“It’s basic manners,” he’d said. “Besides, you need time to come out of this subspace.”

“Subspace?” Timothée had inquired, but Oscar had never fully explained it to him.

Now, though, Timothée appreciated that first insistence.

Oscar rubbed circles into his shoulders, his fingers tracing the moles on Timothée’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” Oscar asked after enough time had passed for both of their breathing to become regular.

“Good,” Timothée’s voice strained as if he were going through puberty all over again, perhaps keeping the plug in his mouth for as long as he had shouldn’t be a regular thing. Another kink that should probably be examined in a therapy session, but for now, he’d be all too eager to replicate the art of suckling on the metal plug.

He felt Oscar’s hand drift, cupping the shape of his ass. “Oh,” Oscar pulled his hand away.

“What?”

“You’re leaking,” Oscar told him. “Do you want the plug?”

Timothée looked up at him and nodded, finding himself in the familiar position with his ass in the air to prevent anymore from of Oscar’s precious seed from leaking out.

“How else am I going to get pregnant if it leaks out.”

“You—” Oscar said with a quiet laugh. “are going to be the death of me.” Oscar found the plug discarded on the bed and slipped it in. He was tempted at first, to continue playing with his toy, but decided that Timothée had been through enough for the day.

Besides, there was always more fun to be had later that night.

Or with Jason.

“I think that we should take a bath,” Oscar offered.

Timothée fell back onto the bed, rolling over and pushing himself to the edge. “I think you might have to carry me,” he was only half teasing at first, but when he took his first steps he felt like a newborn calf, uneasy, his muscles still trembling from the pleasure.

“Come here,” Oscar hoisted Timothée into a bridal carry.

It took some time for the overly large tub to fill, the freestanding bath seeming more like a miniature pool than an actual bathtub. But Oscar set Timothée on the counter, laughing softly when Timothée yelped at the way the plug dug deeper into him. He kissed the young man, their tongues dancing with each other, barely stealing time to breathe. And when the water was hot enough and the water reached Oscar’s calf, he decided they could sit in the tub while it continued to fill up.

“Look at that,” Timothée said.

Their bathroom window looked out onto the ocean they’d spent so much time next to that day. But at night, the moon and stars glowed off the surface, illuminating the water.

“Hold on, I have an idea.”

Oscar climbed out of the bath dripping, careful where he stepped so he would slip. In his own discarded pants, he pulled out a lighter, one that he carried ‘for emergencies.’ He went around the bathroom, igniting all of the candles that Timothée quietly hoped were actually meant to be lit and not just there for decoration. Oscar then dimmed the lights of the bathroom, leaving the two men to bathe in the orange glow of the flames.

“Who knew you were so romantic,” Timothée teased as the lavender bath fizz began to bubble and lather around them.

Oscar let his muscles relax in the scalding hot water. “I won you over, didn’t I?”

“That was your dick more than your charisma.”

Oscar grabbed Timothée softly by the waist, pulling him into his lap where Timothée could feel his already half-hard cock between his cheeks again. “Is that so?” Oscar bit at the space between Timothée’s neck and shoulder. “Is that all I am to you? A walking prick?”

“Stop,” Timothée laughed, the nips tickling more than anything thanks to the beard. “You’ll leave marks.”

“Then everyone will know your mine.”

Timothée tried not to focus on the words too much. This would end, the move would be finished, and Oscar and Timothée would go their separate ways. Even if the sequel to Dune was greenlit and they were allowed to tell the second half of a whole, Oscar’s character died in the middle of part one, there’d be no need for him in any of the following films that Denis had planned.

“You okay?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah,” Timothée nodded slowly. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve got me hard again,” Oscar said with another soft kiss, his beard tickling Timothée’s skin.

He would miss this.

All of it. Oscar’s beard, his body, his charisma, his chest hair, how large his hands were, how broad his chest, the warm brown skin, the way that Oscar made him laugh, how soft he felt sleeping next to, how comforting those brown eyes felt. Timothée even admitted that he’d miss that cock and the way it’d redefined sex for him.

And even if was going to end, didn’t that mean he should appreciate it all the more now?

“You want to fuck me again?” Timothée turned in Oscar’s lap. “Already?”

“I want to make love to you all night.” Oscar brushed the curls away from Timothée’s eyes. “My baby girl.”

Timothée leaned in for a kiss and let himself drown in Oscar Isaac.