When Jack’s loud, continuous groans become choking gasps that are just short of sobs, Mark knows he’s done his job well. More than how Jack’s wrists and ankles yank at his restraints, more than how his stomach muscles hitch beneath the tackying come from two previous orgasms; more than how his head falls back against the pillows and his teary eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation; more even than how his lube-slick, red-flushed little hole desperately clutches the dildo Mark’s fucking him with: more than all of those things, it’s Jack’s voice that tells him he’s succeeding in wrecking his boyfriend exactly the way he begged for.
With Jack still primarily living in Ireland, these afternoons are agonizingly rare. It’s hard to find several uninterrupted hours even when Jack is in LA, because they both like to keep busy, and Jack’s visits always bring about a slew of new skits and collabs and projects. Mark doesn’t mind, exactly: creating content as a couple has often been just as rewarding as enjoying their sex lives. But Mark still wishes they had more time for the latter.
“So handsome,” Mark purrs, smoothing his palm over Jack’s lightly furred chest. He skims a thumb over Jack’s nipple and Jack’s whole body jumps. “So responsive,” Mark notes, chuckling, and drives the point home by just moving his hand down and barely circling the wet head of Jack’s cock with the callused pad of his thumb.
The reaction is immediate. Jack thrashes, his scream hoarse from overuse, and his dick twitches pitifully beneath Mark’s touch. Mark feels a purr sort of noise rise in his own chest and he smirks. His boy is a gorgeous mess.
The dildo is bigger than Mark is and has a number of very interesting swells to its length. It’s a vibrator so the core is rigid, but the silicone outside is surprisingly pliable, making it ideal for angling to rub Jack’s insides in constant teasing thrusts. Mark maintains a tortuously consistent fuck even as he scoots down the bed, ducking his upper body down so he can suck Jack’s oversensitive cock.
Mark bobs his head, keeping his mouth open to maximize the filthy wet sound of his quick, merciless blowjob. Jack writhes against the sheets, wailing almost constantly, never once employing his safeword or asking Mark to stop. He wants to be overwhelmed, and Mark wants to be the one responsible for inducing that bliss.
Mark pops off Jack’s dick, giving the foreskin gathered just beneath the head a quick, affectionate nip before he moves away. He drops his mouth to Jack’s thighs, pressing kisses against all his pale skin, grinning when Jack shivers and whines. “You’re perfect like this, Jack,” he murmurs, twisting the dildo in tandem with thrusting it, so Jack’s tender insides have to stretch to accommodate the varying angles. “Absolutely… perfect.”
Mark scatters kisses across Jack’s belly, avoiding the now flaking streaks of dried come. He turns his head and mouths along Jack’s tattoo, holding himself up over Jack with one hand on the bed so he can reach, and Jack’s hips arch briefly like he wants to rub himself against Mark’s larger frame.
“You don’t need to do that,” Mark says softly, not unkindly, moving to hover just over Jack’s tear-stained face. “You’ve already come twice with me barely touching you. You can’t stop now.”
Jack’s eyes are huge and pleading for a moment before he realizes it’s no use and he closes them again, nodding tightly. Mark rewards him by kissing his blush-ruddy cheeks, mouth brushing Jack’s open lips in slow, directionless nuzzles that aren’t quite kisses. Jack whimpers at the vague tickle of it, especially when Mark contrasts the sensation with ramming the dildo hard and deep, the base starting to force Jack’s asshole wider before Mark draws it back for another thrust.
“Once more now,” Mark whispers, kissing his way through Jack’s facial hair to get to his ear, “Come one more time for me.” He chuckles, low and chocolately, into Jack’s ear, lower lip brushing the vacant hole for Jack’s gauge. “I want to see you make one… more… mess on yourself.”
He lets go of the dildo, shoving his knee up between Jack’s fuzzy thighs to anchor it in place, and glides that hand up Jack’s thigh and hip. Jack sobs, twisting against his bonds, as Mark’s palm pushes over his belly and up over his ribs, kneading the scant body fat his lithe little Irishman has. He pets the underside of Jack’s arms, the jut of his hip, the rise of his adam’s apple, the rippled skin of his aureola; he touches him all over, and Jack doesn’t stop shaking.
“I know you stopped remembering to use words to thank me about an hour ago,” Mark continues, hand drifting back down, “But I want you to try very hard to say thank you when you come again.”
Jack nods quickly, but the gesture trips into a harsh arch of his head when Mark draws a fingertip up the sleek underside of Jack’s uncut cock. His teeth click together and he arches, screaming wordlessly, as his dick spits a measly bit of come, already overmilked by their earlier proceedings. Mark continues to stroke him with one finger, dragging his foreskin up and down lazily.
“Must not have been good enough for a thank you,” Mark muses, and Jack’s eyes snap open, wide with panicked apology. “That’s okay, Jack… we’ll just try that again.”
Mark kisses away Jack’s feigned protests until Jack goes slack beneath him, resigned to his blissful fate.