Oil Paint and Bite Marks
Title: Oil Paint and Bite Marks
'Verse: Brush Stokes on Your Skin
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Pairing: Webgott (David Webster/Joseph Liebgott)
Rating: NC-17 (Porn. This is nothing but porn.)
Word Count: 1,597
Summary: David Webster is a successful painter. His boyfriend, industrial sculptor Joe Liebgott, is both his muse and the worst model he's ever had.
Notes: I wrote this for Katy, aka softshinythings , who is amazing and wonderful and deserves all the Webgott fic.
“You're such a fucking bastard, Web.”
The words would have had more heat if they hadn’t been spoken, no, moaned into the side of David’s neck, even if they were accompanied by a series of sucking bites.
“Why’s that, Liebling?”
“Fuck -“
Joe’s words faltered at a particularly deep thrust from David that slammed them both into the wall behind them. He compensated by letting his fingernails bite into David’s shoulder.
“Ah, fuck, Christ, fuck you.”
Again, the venom in Joe’s voice was belied by his body as he wrapped his legs more tightly around David’s waist.
David let his lips brush against Joe’s earlobe.
“I’ve grown partial to Web, but, ah, shit, if you want to call me Christ, then by all means.”
As he spoke, David released Joe’s wrist from where he had pinned it against the wall above their heads. They both loved the feeling of the struggle of flesh and sinew, but now, David wanted to bury his hand in Joe’s hair and tug.
“Fucking, Christ, oh Jesus fuck, you motherfucker - “
Joe punctuated his words with long drags of his blunt nails down David’s back, both hands searching for purchase against sweat-soaked skin. He canted his hips forward, trying fuck down on David’s cock, trying to get more, deeper, harder. He settled for grinding his dick against the planes of David’s stomach.
“Fuck.”
Throwing his head back, past caring about the dull pain brought on by a smack against the wall, he let his mouth fall open, tongue darting out to lick at the red, kiss-slicked skin of his lips.
“Fucking Christ, Joe.”
David leaned forward, seeing a dozen places he wanted to put his mouth. He started by tasting Joe’s lips, licking up a droplet of blood where Joe had torn the skin with his teeth.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt, and I swear to God, I will kill you with a palette knife if you stop now.”
Quiet breaths of laughter fell across Joe’s collarbone as David leaned down to kiss his way across Joe’s chest and shoulders.
“You know, you never did tell me why I’m a bastard.”
Joe felt as much as heard the words spoken against his adam’s apple.
“You, harder, fuck, you’re getting paint all over the wall, for one.”
David looked at the hand braced against the wall next to Joe’s head. Bright trails of color stood out against the otherwise white wall.
“Right. Can’t have, fuck, that.”
He slipped the hand not wrapped around Joe’s waist in between the wall and Joe’s back. He was still getting paint on the wall, but fuck it, it’s not like there was any way the were getting their deposit back on this apartment, not with the way they left dents in the drywall with their bodies on a regular basis.
“I was trying to paint, but my model didn’t want to cooperate.”
Joe’s smile was filthy.
“Yeah, sorry, seems like I really put you out.”
David ran his hands over Joe’s skin, alternating between brushing his fingers across the smooth expanse of Joe’s back, letting his calluses catch against the edges of Joe’s shoulder blades, and digging into the soft skin of his ribcage, tracing edges of bone with his fingernails. He left smudges of still-wet paint wherever he touched, leaving Joe splattered with streaks of purple and red and white.
David loved the way the oil paint (“such a fucking pretentious bastard, Web, acrylic is fine, you don’t have to prove you’re good enough to work with oil”) contrasted with Joe’s skin, dancing and jumping with each flex of his muscles.
“You’re staring.”
“If you want me to tell you you’re pretty, I think that fact should be fairly evident at this point in the proceedings.”
“Over-educated jackass.”
Joe raked his fingernails down David’s back one last time before gripping his shoulders just shy of painfully tight.
“I know what it is. You still want to paint me.”
David thrust into him harder, faster.
“Oh, fuck, that’s what it is. You want to paint my mouth, all red like this? My skin, covered in sweat? How ‘bout my cock, hard for you? Is that what you want?”
“You’re rather talkative for a man being fucked into a wall.”
He fucked up into Joe as hard and fast as he could. His hold on Joe’s back tightened until it was almost bruising, and the hand on Joe’s ribcage came up to stroke across his chest.
“You, oh, fuck, asked, damn it, Web, me a question. Oh. Fuck it. Just don’t fucking stop.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Joe slid one hand up to David’s neck and tugged his head down, crashing their lips together. The kiss went on and on, all tongues and teeth and desperation. Finally, Joe pulled back.
He looked down at David’s chest and grinned.
“What?”
“Paint. All in your chest hair. That’s gonna be a bitch to get out.”
“You’ll help me.”
“Already thinking about round two?”
“I’m thinking you’re still talking too much for a man with my cock inside him.”
“Then fuck. Me. Harder.”
David growled at that, pounding into Joe’s body even harder than before.
“Like that?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Web.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Ah, Christ.”
“Is this going to be a new nickname?”
“Web, I fucking swear, if you don’t get your hand around my dick, so help me - “
David wrapped his hand around the length of Joe’s cock, timing his strokes in counter-point to his thrusts. Joe buried his face in David’s neck, biting his way along David’s throat.
Bringing his mouth up to David’s ear, he demanded, “More.”
David closed his eyes, feeling Joe’s heat around him and his hard cock in his hand. With the hand behind Joe’s back, he traced the streaks of drying paint. His other hand stroked Joe’s dick with a wicked flick of the wrist.
“Still a, fuck, bastard.”
David opened his eyes, taking in the sight of Joe’s slender, beautiful body taut with pleasure, his face still pressed against David’s skin. His face, David thought. He wanted to see Joe’s face.
“Look at me, Lieb. Look at me.”
Joe’s eyes snapped open. David never called him Lieb as a casual abbreviation of his last name, the way their friends did. No, when David called him Lieb, he meant it. Pressing his hand against the soft skin of David’s neck, he looked into David’s bright blue eyes. They seemed to burn and spark as Joe arched toward him, wrapping his arm around David’s back.
That dark, liquid look in Joe’s eyes, the slack, vulnerable expression on his face as he neared orgasm, that was what David always tried so hard to recreate. The wild beauty that was Joseph Liebgott called out to him in every way.
“Fuck, Web, I’m close, fuck.”
Without breaking eye contact, David stroked Joe’s cock faster, changed his rhythm to thrust into Joe’s ass with each up-stroke. He leaned all of his weight against Joe, feeling every inch of their bodies against each other.
“Fuck, I’m gonna, fuck, I’m so close. Web.”
He watched the sparks in Joe’s eyes, the pleasure written in the lines of his body and the curve of his mouth. He ran his tongue across Joe’s bottom lip, then drew back the slightest bit.
“Come for me, Lieb.”
He didn’t look away from the hungry, smoldering look in Joe’s eyes even when he felt hot come spill against his hand. The wrecked sound of Joe’s voice calling his name had him falling over the edge with a final thrust and a strangled moan.
“Lieb.”
They stayed there for a moment, overheated bodies wrapped around each other.
“It’s a good thing you’re a better fuck than you are a model.”
“Fuck you, I’m a sculptor, not a model. And you’re about as good of a lay as you are a painter. Take that as you will.”
“In that case, I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
“Put me down, you arrogant bastard.”
David carefully pulled out, making sure Joe had his feet steadily on the ground before he let him shift his weight but not quite letting him go.
“I don’t know. If I’m that bad of a lover, I might never get you back.”
Joe grinned and leaned into David, tilting his face up to leave a quick kiss on David’s jaw.
“You know, you really ought to have more confidence in your art at this point in your career.”
“You only say that because, as the subject of my last hundred pieces, you’re partially responsible for my success.”
“I thought I was a lousy model.”
“You are. I compensate by being an incredibly skilled artist. Which, by your reasoning, means I’m an incredibly skilled lover.”
“I thought you were going with the whole wounded, self-conscious angle, which is total bullshit, by the way.”
“Not total bullshit. It got you to let me hold you five minutes longer.”
“…you’re still a bastard.”