Total Word Salad (epicallytired) wrote,
Total Word Salad
epicallytired

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Asking, My gift xchange fic

so this was posted at qaf_giftxchnge  and if you read it there and commented, cool, if not... well, now you can read it here.

feedback is importnat, it makes me remeber why i write.

warning: NC-17 (light bdsm) and as close as i'll ever get to a christmas fic.



He wants what he wants when he wants it.  I can relate.  The fun starts when what he wants is something he can’t ask for. 

It’s one of those lazy/busy Saturdays.  The kind where you don’t have anything to do specifically but a lot of shit you could do if you got off your ass.  We got off our asses.  Breakfast at the diner, (somewhere around noon).  A little back and forth with Michael and Ted.  Emmett’s in full holiday planning mode, he probably won’t have time to kill at the diner 'til after New Year’s

We shopped.  Got gifts for almost everyone on his list. A few of the people on mine.  He’s quiet.  Well, he hasn’t been.  We were talking, joking, fucking around, then we stopped into the leather store.  He’s sure that a pair of leather pants in a size zero are the perfect gift for Daphne.  I’m thinking he might be right.  He sees something he likes and he gets quiet.  I move away because if he sees me smirking, well, it’ll just…  doesn’t matter.  I think he can feel me smirking.
 
We go back to the loft and I know what he wants but I’m just not going to give it to him.  Not yet.  Let him  really want it. 

I fuck him surrounded by shopping bags and wrapping paper and four million miles of ribbon.  He’s on his back, his thighs wrapped around mine.  He’s arching up, angling to take me deeper. His skin is covered in sweat and I feel that warm tingle that tells me I’m close.  He feels it too.  He’s freakishly good at reading my body.  Probably because he has to.  Probably because I don’t talk enough but fuck that. I talk to him. He’s just paying close attention.  He stops moving.  His ass clenching on my cock.  I bite my bottom lip and he leans up and runs his tongue over the teeth marks I probably left.  That undoes me. I come just as he does. 

He sits up when I roll off of him.  He actually slides his finger through the drying come on his belly and licks it.  I want to say something but then that same finger is in my mouth and I decide not to say a word.  He grabs the nearest item with which to clean himself up.  It’s my t-shirt.  Yeah.  He wants it.  Enough to start being a brat just to get it.

I help him wrap gifts.  And by that I mean I smoke and occasionally use my foot to slide a roll of ribbon closer to him. 

He’s naked and his hand starts to get tired from the wrapping and bow making and they all look like the kind of gifts you see on TV and I kind of marvel at his need for perfection.  I kind of grimace at it too.  It gets in his way as often as it helps him.  Whatever.  The gifts are all wrapped.  Well, not ALL.  He refused to wrap the ones from me.  Says I’ll yell later that it’s lesbionic and everyone will know he wrapped them and give me shit, and then he’ll have to deal with the repercussions.

I put the small pile of gifts I’ve bought in front of him and then lay on the rug and blow him.  He wraps my presents too.  We pile them in the corner and head to the shower.

He still wants it.  I can feel it. I can tell from the way he moves but it’s just not going to happen…yet.

We dress.  He invades my stash and I raise an eyebrow.  He pushed them into my pocket and I probably chuckle a little.  He’s so fucking transparent.  Or maybe I’m really dense. Or both.

So now there’s red and green shiny squares of confetti raining down on us.  We’re dancing and he’s grinding against me.  We head to the bar. He’s rolling and he orders a beer.  He wants it.  Or he’s really stupid.  I’m going to have to go with the first.  He can’t be that stupid.  I take his beer and order him water.  He pouts. 

We’re dancing again and he’s pulled away by someone who thinks it’s okay to pull this kid away from me.  He smiles and dances with the guy and I dance with someone who’s been trying to get my attention for the last twenty minutes.  He still doesn’t have it.  I don’t really take my eyes off him.  He’s rolling, and has decided that being a brat is the way to get what he wants.  I’m not going anywhere 'til he’s back to grinding against me . 

Three songs later and he’s where I want him.  He’s babbling about something.  Telling me how very sorry he is.  I’m not listening.  He’s trying to piss me off.  That doesn’t work but he thinks it does.  Fine.  I’ll keep a few secrets for myself.

We’re in the back room and he’s moving against me and then pushing on my shoulders.  He wants me to blow him in the back room.  Yeah.  He’s wasted… he’s never been that wasted.  I shake my head and he shrugs and drops to his knees.  Even wasted, the boy knows how to suck cock.

He’s licking his lips when he stands up and leans in to kiss me.  “Take me home.”

“To Daphne’s?”

I can be a twat too.

“The loft. Take me to the loft.  Take me IN the loft.”  He giggles.  That’s not cute.

We head out into the night and he takes the keys from my hand.  “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“You’re rolling.”

“But that just means I’m hyper aware. Your senses are dulled.”

He’s wanted this all day.  He’s playing his cards right.  He’d better give me the fucking keys. “Give me my fucking keys.”

“But…”

I hold my hand out for them and he runs in the other direction. Two quick steps and I’ve caught up with him. I drag him back to the curb.  Running out into traffic on an icy night? I should have given it to him before we left.  Watching him get mangled by a Mercedes Kompressor is not my idea of a relaxing evening.  He unzips my jacket and bites my nipple through my shirt.  “I’m baaaad.”

“Yes.”

“You should…”

I raise an eyebrow.  “What?  What should I do?”

He shakes his head and gets into the passenger seat. 

I start the car and roll down my window to clear my head a little.

We’re back in the loft.  My dirty, come covered, two hundred dollar shirt, is in a pile on the floor.  I put it in the hamper before we showered.  He took it back out.  He wants me angry.  I’m not. I’m amused.  I’ll let him think I’m angry though. If that’s what he needs.

He kicks off his shoes as soon as we’re in the loft.  He starts to pull his jeans off and is bouncing around on one leg.  I shake my head and grab his arm and pull him towards the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

He wants to play.

“For what?”

He’s silent.

See, it works like this.  The first time, it was just… organic, we were playing, it happened.  He wanted it again, but didn’t know how to ask.  And now… now he doesn’t have to.  He just has to be the world’s most annoying twat for about an hour and he knows I’ll give in.  But tonight pissed me off.  I’m thinking maybe he should just ask.  Beats the hell out of killing an expensive shirt and almost killing himself.  He should just ask.  Tonight.  I might make him.

“What are you apologizing for?”  I repeat the question.  He’s biting his lip. 

“Making you angry?”  It’s a question.

“Not angry.”

“Ruining your shirt.”

“A little come can’t ruin my clothes.  Think about the costs if it did.”

“For um… trying to get you to blow me in the backroom.”

“That was you looking for something.”

He grins.  “A blowjob.”

I shake my head and move closer.  “That’s not it.” I almost singsong. 

His head drops.  His eyes study the floor.  “I…um…”

“You could have been hurt.  Don’t run around in traffic when you’re wasted.”

“What about when I’m not?”

“Don’t do it then either.”

“I just…”

“I know.”

“So you’re not mad?”

He looks disappointed.  “I’m mad enough to punish you.”

He smiles again and bites it back.  Pretends he doesn’t want it.  He’s such a lousy liar.  His body is betraying him already.  I shake my head and walk away.

He doesn’t follow.  “Justin. Come here.”

He does.  He’s still wearing his shirt.  His jeans are, I’m sure, in a ball beside the bed. He never did put on underwear after our shower.  He’s hard.  Leaking already.  I’m on the sofa; I spread my knees a little and pat my thigh.  He twists his fingers in his hands.

“You’re really mad.”

I nod.

“You’re going to… punish me?”

I nod again.

He moves forward and lays himself across my lap and I have no way to describe to you how fucking sexy it is to watch this boy, this man, just give himself up to me like this.  He wants it, and because he does, I want to give it to him.  He’s bracing himself for the first blow but I don’t start right away.

First I caress his ass lightly.  I want to make sure that every nerve ending is alive, is ready, is going to feel this.  He likes it this way.  He hates this part…and later, when we’re lying in bed and he’s pressed against my chest, he’ll admit he loves this part.

I move my other hand to his face. I push my thumb into his mouth.  He sucks hard leaving it wet.  I’m still stroking him when I push my thumb into his hole.  He gasps.  I know, rough, hard, but not surprising.  He loves this part.  He’s arching up and pushing back and I gently push him back down. I feel the initial resistance and then he gives in.

My hand is back up to his mouth; he’s sucking again, tasting himself.  He’s moaning a little and shaking a little and I bring my hand down flat against his ass.  He grunts and I do it again.  I keep the rhythm sporadic.  A few fast slaps, followed by some gentle stroking, soothing him to a false calm.  Then my hand comes down again, hard.  He moans but I don’t stop. I won’t stop.  We’re not even close to done.

He’s gasping his apologies into my thigh as he lifts his ass up towards me and spreads his knees.  He knows he’s asking for more.  He’s breaking the rules and right now, that’s okay. In a minute, he’ll be a lot more careful about the rules. In a minute he’ll know I’ll stop if he even thinks about moving without my permission.  I slap his ass three more times in quick succession and take a moment to admire the deep pink that has replaced the usual perfect pale shade. 

“Up.” it’s a command.

He’s on his knees, his hands at his sides, his eyes lowered.  I stroke a finger along a single tear line.  “Stay.”

He doesn’t move and I stand up.

I move his body, positioning him against the back of the sofa and he gasps.  He knows what’s about to happen and it doesn’t stop him from arching his back, spreading his knees.

“Don’t move.”

He won’t.  He won’t even breathe without my permission now.  He’s too fucking good at this.

I pull the strap from between the sofa pillows.  He saw me buy it when he was buying Daphne’s pants.  He just didn’t see where I put it.  It’s three wide straps. The handle is smooth.  The image of him wearing it inside him, like a tail, gets to me but I put it out of my head.  This really isn’t about me.

His fingers are gripping the back of the sofa and the first blow comes.  He exhales and I can see him trembling in his attempt not to move.

I do it again. He breathes out my name.

I keep bringing it down on his ass and the red stripes are becoming pretty pronounced.

I put it down and move closer to him.  I lean my chest against his back and move my hands to his thighs.  Wrapped around them from the front I pull them apart.  He moves with me.  Spreading himself.  I pull them wider.  Wider than he wants them to go but he won’t close them.  He’s good at this.  He loves this part.

His breathing is ragged and as I start on his thighs, moving occasionally to make sure the edges of one of the straps hits directly on his hole, his body is no longer at his command.  He moves, he writhes; he bucks and jerks when I hit his hole.  He doesn’t ask me to stop.  Soon he’s begging, but not for me to stop.  He’s close.  He wants to come.

“You’ll come when I’m inside you.”

He nods.  He’s crying.  Silent tears that look so pretty when they’re about this.  They kill me when they’re about anything else.

“Do you want more?”

He arches, pushing his ass out further in a silent response.  I do it again.  Keeping the strap moving, never hitting the same place twice.  Never letting him get accustomed to it.

He’s lost his purchase on the back of the sofa and he’s leaning across it now. I know the blood’s trying to get to his head, but his cock is still hard and leaking and I don’t stop.  He’s begging me to now but he’s not really ready.  He won’t be ready for a while. Truthfully, I’ll stop before he’s ready for me to.  This is about him, it’s for him, but I’ll be damned if I’ll really hurt him.

His thighs are red.  His ass is striped and after another several minutes of him gasping, and moaning, and begging to come I stop. 

I don’t bother to take off my jeans.  Just unzip the fly, slide on a condom.  I won’t fuck him yet.  I feel the heat through my jeans. I slide my cock between his cheeks and he pushes back.  I pull away completely and he whimpers at the lost off contact.  I see him straighten his shoulders a little.  He’s centering himself, reminding himself not to move again.  I lean back into him. My hands stroke his cock slowly.  He’s wet and gasping and my touch is way too gentle to get him off.  He wants to thrust into my hand; he wants to arch back against me.  I can feel his body trembling with the strain of not doing either. I slide into him slowly.  My hands run up his torso.  I pinch his nipples hard and bite his earlobe.  “Don’t come, Justin.” 

He shakes his head. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing that he won’t come or trying to tell me that he can’t help it.  Doesn’t matter.  I bite harder on his earlobe and whisper it again.  “Don’t come.”

He’s shaking and my hands move to his hips.  I pull out almost completely.  The head of my cock is stretching him open and the red of his tight recently punished hole is more pronounced.  I know he feels it.  There’s pain radiating from those millimeters where our bodies are connected, stretching out across his body.  I see his skin flush even darker and know he’s almost too close to control it.

I push back in, hard.  He gasps and now my hands are over his.  He can’t control it anymore. He’s pushing against me. I pull back and he follows, I thrust forward and he arches into me.  I feel him twist his fingers under mine.  He wants to reach for his own cock.  That’s why my hands are on his.  He’ll come while I’m inside him.  He’ll come without either of us touching his cock.  He knows it and the tightening of my hand over his reminds him of this.

He’s stroking me now.  Clenching those strong tight muscles along my shaft.  He’s angling his hips and gasps when I drive hard against his prostate.  He’s begging again.  I let him.  I say nothing.  The only sound I make is my breathing against his ear.  I start to move faster and he’s lost words.  He’s still begging but with gasps and thrusts. We’re both covered in sweat.  Our slick bodies working together towards a common goal.

I feel his orgasm start and as it does he clamps down almost painfully around me.  I pull all the way out and his head falls backwards.  I push back in against the spasms of his body and he fits his back against my chest.  I pull him to me and he leans his head back again. I kiss him this time.  And then I come too. 

We stay like that.  Me inside him, holding him against me.  I run my finger through the come on his belly and slide it into his mouth.  He moans against it and then grazes the pad with his teeth.  His tongue swirls and I whisper.  “Ask next time.”

“I did.”  He pants.

He’s right.  He did.  I nod against his shoulder and with my arms still wrapped around him, maneuver us 'til I’m on my back and he’s lying on top of me.  I’m still inside him, and I can tell that he’s not ready for me to pull out.

“Merry Christmas Justin.”

He leans his head back against my chest.  I kiss the back of his head.  His hair is soft and his scalp is slightly damp from sweat.  I run my palm over his forehead, moving the sweaty strands off his face for him. He’s kind of boneless at the moment.

 “Know what I want for Christmas?”

The kid’s greedy.  Have I mentioned that?’

“What?”

“More.”

I laugh.  The kid really does know how to ask.

 

 

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  • (no subject)

    I'm reviewing Top Chef Season 11 each week for Phoodie Phoodie the Philebrity.com Food Blog check it out, it's…

  • I did a new thing. It's scary, hold my hand, please.

    Philebrity.com has a red sauced stepchild called phoodie.info. My brother does a bunch of stuff on there and when I ran across Supermarket Superstar,…

  • Life goes on

    Turns out I was epically tired because I stopped sleeping 37 x an hour. So now i sleep like Darth Vadar and am tired because I adopted This little…