Power Placement Series: Play
Title: Play
Pairing: Reader's Choice
Rating: R
Length: oneshot
Genre: romance
Disclaimer: this work is solely mine
Summary: Control is fleeting. Sometimes it lasts for only a second.
AN: Wrote this for my Love in Classic Antiquity class. It could be any pairing you want no names are used (I feel like it fits Homin the most). Not as smutty as I wanted it to be because it was for class. I may edit it a little bit later.
I awoke to a steady stream of sunlight that had slipped through my curtains and bathed my bed in tiny floating shimmers. They danced across the bed, drawing my attention to the figure lying beside me. The cover had slipped as he slept, his upper body was exposed, the tan on his skin rivaling the golden color of the light that graced the white sheets. My eyes slipped lower taking in all that his form had to offer. One of his legs had found its way from under the cover, into the light of the morning and my admiring gaze. Never have I seen more beautiful legs than the ones that are attached to my lover. They are perfect as if sculpted by Michelangelo himself.
Muscles accentuate every part of him that my eyes touch. My gaze lingers for too long and I soon realize that the time I was supposed to be up has passed. I let my eyes trace the lines of his body before climbing out of the bed, making sure that the boy, the one that was slowly growing into a man, did not wake up as I did.
The water from the shower slowly steams up the bathroom wiping my reflection from the mirror. I step into the spray only when I can no longer see myself. I wash my body, removing all the evidence of last nights affairs because it is a necessity. That does not stop my mind from wandering to its events. It is only when the first sound slips past my lips that I notice. I had been stroking myself absentmindedly while replaying the scenes in my head.
If just the thought of him can reduce me to this, what would happen if he ever decided to test his control in this relationship? My strokes didn’t cease even though my mind had moved on to another topic, the pictures from last night had stopped. I was too close to stop now, but the motivation fueling my hand, urging me like his voice in my ear was no longer incessant. Until my mind touched again on my earlier thought. My orgasm was now here, taking me by surprise and stealing my breath, making my legs weak. I slumped against the shower wall. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for me to recuperate. I still had many things to do.
Power.
He woke up alone. In a bed devoid of his lover’s warmth and presence. He sat up pulling the sheets around him, searching for the other’s pillow. Finding some small comfort when it was pressed up against his face as he slid back down onto the bed. He was always alone when he woke up. His lover gone. He never got to say good morning or take a shower with the older man.
The idea of doing such always made him happy. They could wash off the scent from the night before and create new memories in the shower. It was the only spot of sore discontent he had with their relationship. He wanted to wake up in his lover arms. To be woken up by a kiss, soft, not lacking in passion, laced with the promise of more. A kiss that would quickly become more than just a kiss and they would fall back to the mattress doing things that his parents would deem inappropriate for a boy of his age to be doing with a man of his lover’s age.
Every morning was same. The sunlight kissed him awake. When he woke up surrounded by sheets, he felt used. He did not feel loved. How fitting he must seem in the role of a whore. Taken to bed every night and left before eyes ever opened in the morning. Every time he woke up in an empty bed he wanted to go back to his parents and leave this man. Tell them they were right and ask for forgiveness. It was only a fleeting thought. No matter what this man did, he would stay because he had a hold on him.
Power.
I worked on a few projects, sent out a couple of emails, and finished a draft. I stopped typing in the middle of a sentence when I noticed the time. Lunch. I ventured out of my office heading towards the kitchen where I knew my love and food would be waiting. It was my daily routine.
Just as I had expected, I found him there. Setting the table in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Silently making a wish that next time it would be nothing, I moved towards him. Though food kept my body vibrant he kept me alive. I would taste him first as usual. My arms wrap around him from behind. He does not turn but he acknowledges my presence with a slight graze against my hand. I spin him in my arms and when he is facing me, I take his lips. He doesn’t respond immediately and I think to pull back only to be drawn in when he takes over the kiss. As if his lack of response was a ploy to gain control. I smile into the kiss for this is why I have chosen him.
As always lunch is forgotten as we maneuver up the stairs still attached at the lips. Clothes litter the floor and leave a trail to the bedroom. The door is never open and I reach behind him to twist the knob while pushing him inside. We trip over the edge of the rug and land in a tangle of limbs in the bed. Lips never separate. The kisses become more urgent as the last articles of clothing find the floor.
I pin his arms above his head. I slow down the build up of emotion we have created so that I can look at him. He makes a noise below me, but I don’t acknowledge it. He must come at least once before I take my pleasure and give him more. I transfer both of his wrists to my left hand. I hold tight and my attack begins. There is not a place on his body that I do not touch and there is not one time that my fingers touch his body that he does not arch into it, eyes silently pleading for more. It is when my hands wrap around him that he breaks the silence. It is soft sound. Not easily heard, but I know what to listen for. That sound pushes my hand. I stroke harder, grip tightening just enough. I lose count of my strokes, too involved in the moment.
My heart is pounding in my ears and my body is aching from the need to be touched but he still has not come. His orgasm was scratching the surface but had not broken the ice. I stroke faster, pulling, tugging at him. I feel more than see his orgasm. It is hot on my hands.
The next minute finds me underneath him undergoing the same ministrations I had put him through. Except with one variation. He is slower. If I am tortoise then he is a snail. It is agonizing. I voice my displeasure with his pace but it does not increase. I try to arch only to be held down. The strokes continue. They are painfully slow, every one pulling me in. It is inevitable I guess that I missed the moment when he sped up, too focused was I on the pain of the slow pleasure. My orgasm for the second time today takes me by surprise.
He is still looming over me. Hand still stroking, it continues until I have come down from my high. He lays down beside me eventually. I can’t say how much time passes but we are in each others arms. A gentle embrace that I had not allowed myself because I knew eventually our time together would end. Our relationship would be over as soon as it was no longer acceptable and it had never really been acceptable. His parents had objected.
I am pulled from my thoughts by his voice. He leans over for a kiss. It starts how they all start soft and sweet and ends differently if only for today.
This kiss ends in a battle. We both fight for dominance in the aftermath of our coupling.
Pairing: Reader's Choice
Rating: R
Length: oneshot
Genre: romance
Disclaimer: this work is solely mine
Summary: Control is fleeting. Sometimes it lasts for only a second.
AN: Wrote this for my Love in Classic Antiquity class. It could be any pairing you want no names are used (I feel like it fits Homin the most). Not as smutty as I wanted it to be because it was for class. I may edit it a little bit later.
I awoke to a steady stream of sunlight that had slipped through my curtains and bathed my bed in tiny floating shimmers. They danced across the bed, drawing my attention to the figure lying beside me. The cover had slipped as he slept, his upper body was exposed, the tan on his skin rivaling the golden color of the light that graced the white sheets. My eyes slipped lower taking in all that his form had to offer. One of his legs had found its way from under the cover, into the light of the morning and my admiring gaze. Never have I seen more beautiful legs than the ones that are attached to my lover. They are perfect as if sculpted by Michelangelo himself.
Muscles accentuate every part of him that my eyes touch. My gaze lingers for too long and I soon realize that the time I was supposed to be up has passed. I let my eyes trace the lines of his body before climbing out of the bed, making sure that the boy, the one that was slowly growing into a man, did not wake up as I did.
The water from the shower slowly steams up the bathroom wiping my reflection from the mirror. I step into the spray only when I can no longer see myself. I wash my body, removing all the evidence of last nights affairs because it is a necessity. That does not stop my mind from wandering to its events. It is only when the first sound slips past my lips that I notice. I had been stroking myself absentmindedly while replaying the scenes in my head.
If just the thought of him can reduce me to this, what would happen if he ever decided to test his control in this relationship? My strokes didn’t cease even though my mind had moved on to another topic, the pictures from last night had stopped. I was too close to stop now, but the motivation fueling my hand, urging me like his voice in my ear was no longer incessant. Until my mind touched again on my earlier thought. My orgasm was now here, taking me by surprise and stealing my breath, making my legs weak. I slumped against the shower wall. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for me to recuperate. I still had many things to do.
Power.
He woke up alone. In a bed devoid of his lover’s warmth and presence. He sat up pulling the sheets around him, searching for the other’s pillow. Finding some small comfort when it was pressed up against his face as he slid back down onto the bed. He was always alone when he woke up. His lover gone. He never got to say good morning or take a shower with the older man.
The idea of doing such always made him happy. They could wash off the scent from the night before and create new memories in the shower. It was the only spot of sore discontent he had with their relationship. He wanted to wake up in his lover arms. To be woken up by a kiss, soft, not lacking in passion, laced with the promise of more. A kiss that would quickly become more than just a kiss and they would fall back to the mattress doing things that his parents would deem inappropriate for a boy of his age to be doing with a man of his lover’s age.
Every morning was same. The sunlight kissed him awake. When he woke up surrounded by sheets, he felt used. He did not feel loved. How fitting he must seem in the role of a whore. Taken to bed every night and left before eyes ever opened in the morning. Every time he woke up in an empty bed he wanted to go back to his parents and leave this man. Tell them they were right and ask for forgiveness. It was only a fleeting thought. No matter what this man did, he would stay because he had a hold on him.
Power.
I worked on a few projects, sent out a couple of emails, and finished a draft. I stopped typing in the middle of a sentence when I noticed the time. Lunch. I ventured out of my office heading towards the kitchen where I knew my love and food would be waiting. It was my daily routine.
Just as I had expected, I found him there. Setting the table in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Silently making a wish that next time it would be nothing, I moved towards him. Though food kept my body vibrant he kept me alive. I would taste him first as usual. My arms wrap around him from behind. He does not turn but he acknowledges my presence with a slight graze against my hand. I spin him in my arms and when he is facing me, I take his lips. He doesn’t respond immediately and I think to pull back only to be drawn in when he takes over the kiss. As if his lack of response was a ploy to gain control. I smile into the kiss for this is why I have chosen him.
As always lunch is forgotten as we maneuver up the stairs still attached at the lips. Clothes litter the floor and leave a trail to the bedroom. The door is never open and I reach behind him to twist the knob while pushing him inside. We trip over the edge of the rug and land in a tangle of limbs in the bed. Lips never separate. The kisses become more urgent as the last articles of clothing find the floor.
I pin his arms above his head. I slow down the build up of emotion we have created so that I can look at him. He makes a noise below me, but I don’t acknowledge it. He must come at least once before I take my pleasure and give him more. I transfer both of his wrists to my left hand. I hold tight and my attack begins. There is not a place on his body that I do not touch and there is not one time that my fingers touch his body that he does not arch into it, eyes silently pleading for more. It is when my hands wrap around him that he breaks the silence. It is soft sound. Not easily heard, but I know what to listen for. That sound pushes my hand. I stroke harder, grip tightening just enough. I lose count of my strokes, too involved in the moment.
My heart is pounding in my ears and my body is aching from the need to be touched but he still has not come. His orgasm was scratching the surface but had not broken the ice. I stroke faster, pulling, tugging at him. I feel more than see his orgasm. It is hot on my hands.
The next minute finds me underneath him undergoing the same ministrations I had put him through. Except with one variation. He is slower. If I am tortoise then he is a snail. It is agonizing. I voice my displeasure with his pace but it does not increase. I try to arch only to be held down. The strokes continue. They are painfully slow, every one pulling me in. It is inevitable I guess that I missed the moment when he sped up, too focused was I on the pain of the slow pleasure. My orgasm for the second time today takes me by surprise.
He is still looming over me. Hand still stroking, it continues until I have come down from my high. He lays down beside me eventually. I can’t say how much time passes but we are in each others arms. A gentle embrace that I had not allowed myself because I knew eventually our time together would end. Our relationship would be over as soon as it was no longer acceptable and it had never really been acceptable. His parents had objected.
I am pulled from my thoughts by his voice. He leans over for a kiss. It starts how they all start soft and sweet and ends differently if only for today.
This kiss ends in a battle. We both fight for dominance in the aftermath of our coupling.