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“That’s just my knuckle, Arthur. It barely fits, see? And you imagined I could fit anything more inside you?”
Arthur is panting, leaning back into the cradling weight of John’s hand across his shoulders, his eyes firmly closed. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, the press and drag of something inside of him, something hot, firm, and laughably small compared to other parts of John’s physiology. Also overwhelming is the contrast between John’s gentle care, the way his touch is soft yet unrelenting, and the absolute filth leaving his lips in a constant low murmur. It's like dashing on sharp rocks at the end of a fall, like -
“It's not even the whole thing. Arthur,” The hand at Arthur’s back shifts to his nape, the forefinger curling around his jaw to cup his head and softly, unrelentingly, angles his face down. “Open your eyes. You can’t see what I’m showing you.”
Heat flares across Arthur at the instruction and he exhales a long breath, steadying himself. It’s fine, it’s part of the game, he wanted to – oh. Arthur opens his eyes and tries to focus his vision on the shapes between his thighs. His glasses are slipping low but the lenses are clear and he sees his cock is wedged between his leg and his hip, the soft slope of testes and below, below–
John maintains the same pace, his long curved finger sliding again and again into Arthur’s yielding body. His skin glistens with oil and sweat and as Arthur watches the digit slide out, nearly entirely until just the firm tip of a blunted claw remains inside him, and then slowly, much slower now, presses back into Arthur, the darkened first knuckles disappearing and Arthur can feel a tremor travel up his calf. Oh, he forgot to breathe, and he gasps for air as the finger once more pulls out in the same, tireless rhythm.
“See, Arthur? Do you see what I mean?” This time John twists his finger as it slips deep, opening up more space inside Arthur and he can feel it creep further, see more of John get swallowed up, feels the knob of each knuckle against his rim, and he wants to squirm, to push back against the touch and get more, faster. At the same time the experience is so new and John’s claws are still pointed enough that Arthur feels the risk of getting hurt like an invisible bind around his limbs. John’s insistence on Arthur’s active involvement, however, is making his promise to stay still difficult.
“Oh, Arthur, but you are getting softer. Can you feel that?” John presses in, rubs a tight circle instead of pulling back and Arthur gasps, head jerking back as a jolt of sensation radiates from John’s touch. It’s good but strange, different, and Arthur is unused to the reactions he is feeling. As if his more familiar experiences were happening but mirrored? He can’t spare the brainpower to ponder because once more John strokes Arthur from within, openly observing the way Arthur’s body responds, like ripples moving through him. “At this rate you could maybe take the entire finger. A noble goal, and one I'd like to witness.” At that John thrusts a little harder, forcing a little deeper and Arthur cries out, eyes once more closing as he trembles.
John curls closer, shifting his face to rest his cheek against Arthur’s brow. His mouth is closer to Arthur’s ear, forcing him to repress another shudder when John hums consideringly, the rumble filling him almost as entirely as John’s touch. “This could work, Arthur, but it would take time. More time than we have tonight, I’m afraid.” Arthur makes a confused sound and John shushes him, giant palm holding the back of Arthur’s head. “Don’t worry, pet, I’m going to see to you. And then I’ll see to you tomorrow, and the day after that. We’ll need to practice, Arthur. You understand that, yes?”
“Wha-” Arthur feels stupid, feels light, feels as if everything has been emptied out and replaced with John John John. It feels good, amazing even, and the way John keeps talking, as if Arthur really is stupid but endearing in his ignorance, something precious to care for because he cannot be trusted to care for himself. Hot shame twists deep inside Arthur at the same time John twists his claw and a warm pulse of precum spills from Arthur’s cock. It feels so fucking good.
John’s laugh rattles right into Arthur’s skull and he can’t help his knees tightening around that giant wrist. “You do, Arthur, you know we’ll have to keep you soft, keep you full.” John’s touch goes deep, deeper than before, the muscles parting and allowing entry and there’s a sensation of something gliding, almost, something settling into place, and Arthur forgets to breathe again. The finger is all the way, the press of John's other knuckles flush with Arthur’s skin and he feels like a ringing bell, like light through a prism. John is nuzzling against Arthur’s hair, he realizes, that low voice muttering his name, praising him.
“Good, Arthur, you did so well.” Arthur is shaking, his legs and arms shivering with the tension and John’s other hand is stroking through the hair at the back of his neck, that large palm trailing warm and careful down his shoulder and spine. “You managed to take a whole finger on your first try. Such an accomplishment, you should be proud.” Sweet as they are, the words have a mocking edge and the only warning Arthur receives is the weight of John’s palm settling across his back before the finger in him pulls out shallowly and thrusts forward hard, and again, and again.
Arthur jolts back but John’s grip is ready to catch him, hold him firm, to keep him still to take what John gives him, that long inhuman finger now fucking him in earnest and Arthur is panting, spine arching, knees trying to close and John lets out a growl so deep that Arthur nearly chokes on it.
“Arthur.” That hand leaves Arthur’s back to pry Arthur’s right leg to the side, opening Arthur as he falls, no longer supported, to lay back fully. “I’ll excuse you looking away but you will not hide from me.” Exposed now, his cock feels soaked against his stomach and Arthur groans, almost embarrassed at the volume. John makes an appreciating noise and, fuck, the heat is like a haze across Arthur’s skin and vision, he's burning alive. It feels so goddamn good.
“That’s right, just like that.” John’s pace is steady but quick and hard now and Arthur is split, he is cracked open, he is trembling soft flesh and he’s never felt so small and powerless over his own pleasure like this and it's terrifying how much he likes it. He processes what John was saying before, about practice, and he imagines that becoming reality, that John would expect a regular schedule of fucking Arthur with progressively more and more until — until —
“You said,” Arthur’s voice cracks and he clears his throat to try again “You said practice.”
Another chuckle and Arthur knows that John picked up on the playacting but he follows the lead regardless. “Yes, Arthur. We’ll need to train you to be ready to take anything bigger than these. Even now I don’t think you could take a second one, do you?” And suddenly he withdraws and there’s another, there’s two fingertips teasing around Arthur’s entrance and the abrupt emptiness partnered with the shock of considering two (two! twice as much!) has Arthur choking out a frantic sound, hand shooting down to grab at John’s wrist because he is not ready, he can't and — and John is fully laughing, the fingers not pushing but instead circling, spreading warm touch as Arthur relaxes from his brief panic.
“You bastard.” His composure is returning and John chuckles again. “Utter prick.”
“Indeed.” Amusement colors John’s voice and Arthur looks up in time to catch the soft, affectionate expression John is casting down at him. Their eyes meet and somehow that is more embarrassing than everything else they are doing and Arthur glances away reflexively. John huffs in response, the sound fond, his left hand sliding up Arthur’s thigh towards his hip. “I won’t break you.”
It’s Arthur’s turn to huff. “I know you won't. It's just, instincts and all.”
“Of course.”
Fingers wrap around Arthur’s waist and tug him closer. Arthur makes an undignified grunt but relaxes, finding the prodding of John’s slick hand a pale comparison to their earlier actions. For a brief moment they vanish altogether and Arthur almost complains before noticing John reaching for more oil and anticipation shivers through him. Emboldened, he reaches out with his leg and slides it down John’s side, hooking his knee at John’s ribs. A simple action but John pauses, a break in his mask of confidence, and Arthur internally gloats.
The victory is short lived, however, as John soon straightens up and looms back over Arthur. “You asked about practice, Arthur?” And before Arthur could reply that finger is back, slippery and hot and inside, already pushing inside and in, in, oh it has to pull out before grinding further and once more Arthur is full, entirely down to the palm, words evaporating from his tongue as he gasps.
“You asked about how I intend to keep you like this, night after night, fucking my hand until I can fit two, three, all of me inside your greedy little hole? What would you like to know, Arthur?” He twists and Arthur cries out, already overwhelmed by pleasure and John's words. He can see it, could imagine a nightly routine of being opened up by John. Would he even be allowed to climax? Would the act be made pleasurable or would his role be entirely one of singular purpose? To prepare him for John’s – , for John’s –
“I know you know this much, Arthur. I know you know that I’ll be keeping you full like this for weeks before you’re ready for more. And you will be ready, Arthur.” John’s grip on Arthur’s waist shifts and circles above his knee now, holding him up and open as he is fucked on John's hand. And then John pulls Arthur forward, tilts his hips, and hot, firm skin slides over Arthur’s thigh and he struggles to look down now, to sit up enough to see between his legs where John is grinding his smooth, thick cock against him. The contrast between that monstrous prick and the finger prying Arthur open is stark and Arthur almost topples over the edge right then.
If John notices then he does not falter, finding a rhythm between fucking into Arthur on one hand and rutting his cock against Arthur’s soft inner thigh. He’s even still talking, although Arthur is ashamed to admit he missed some of the words “–and we’ll have to make sure you’re drinking more water, we’ll make certain your body will handle me. Oh, Arthur, you’ll have to be patient, but I trust you can learn to try for me. You’ll learn to do so many things for me –”
And Arthur is unable to continue listening because his orgasm hits him so suddenly, so strongly that he can feel his back bow, a moan ripped from his throat as wave after wave of convulsing pleasure rocks through him. John is cooing something unintelligible, gently fucking him through each aftershock and petting down his side as he rides it out.
Too quickly it's over. The slow removal of John's finger from Arthur, claw and all, gives him one last shiver and he’s struck with how boneless he feels. He meets John’s curious gaze and manages a smile and a clumsy flap of a hand.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, I’m–” He doesn’t finish the sentence because John is crowding close now, his now-free right arm scooping under Arthur’s left leg and lifting. With a yelp, Arthur is roughly pulled flush with John’s body and slick fingers are gliding between his thighs and, and John –
John is maneuvering himself to slot his cock between Arthur’s thighs before pressing them tightly around him, one enormous hand lightly tapping Arthur on the flank. “Keep your legs together. I know you’re tired but I want to show you what you can do for me.” And then John seems to let go of whatever scrap of composure he was holding this entire time and thrusts into the space between Arthur’s legs with such force that it rocks his smaller body hard against John's grip.
And Arthur does his best to hold on tight and watch what John has to show him.