FIC: tie up your loose ends
title: tie up your loose ends
rating: nc-17
pairing: chris/dustin (implied mark/eduardo)
disclaimer: this is fiction. for love, not profit. don't sue, etc.
summary: for lovesletyoudown, who is flawless. porn-with-feelings, intended to be a ficlet, got wildly out of hand. featuring light bondage, excessive teasing and suit!kink, because apparently i have one now. i’m judging myself, trust me. (2,425 words)
note: i’m still editing my chris/dustin tfln fic, so here’s some unrepentant smut in the meantime. i don’t even know. have some porn.
Chris regards shareholders’ meetings as a special circle of hell reserved just for him.
They get started late and run later, which throws the whole day off because Chris schedules his life in ten-minute increments. Worse yet, he invariably gets grilled for upwards of an hour on Facebook’s latest bad press and what he’s doing about it. After this morning’s meeting, Chris thinks he might claw his eyes out if he has to hear the phrases “privacy concerns” or “Googlegate” any time in the near future.
Adding insult to injury, Mark had been no help at all. He’d spent the entire meeting coding and, judging by Eduardo’s expression, giving a handjob under the table.
The meeting ended at 2:30, meaning that Chris is half a day behind, which is why he’s still in the office at nearly midnight on a Thursday. The place is deserted: Mark never stays late when Eduardo is in town, and everyone else has been gone for hours. Everyone except Dustin, who has appeared at Chris’s desk three times in the last two hours, looking increasingly concerned, and is on his way over again.
Dustin looks good, Chris notes even through the haze of exhaustion. Like Mark, Dustin only dresses up when threatened with bodily harm, but unlike Mark, he can actually pull off a suit. This one is new, a charcoal Armani which tapers in all the right places, and Dustin’s paired it with a green silk tie which works well with his reddish hair and brings out the flecks of color in his eyes.
“Chris.” Dustin perches on the edge of Chris’s desk and gives him a stern look, which really only halfway works because it’s Dustin. “Whatever it is, it can wait till tomorrow.”
“I need to finish,” Chris insists, which, okay, he probably could put it off until morning, but he hates to leave things undone. “It won’t be too much longer, maybe another hour. You go ahead, though,” he adds, because Dustin’s got to be nearly as tired as he is. “I’ll see you at home.”
“You think I’m going to let you drive yourself home?” Dustin snorts at that. “You practically have bruises under your eyes, Christopher. People think I’m beating you.”
The thought is so ludicrous, Chris has to smile. “Dustin. No one really thinks that.”
“Maybe not,” Dustin concedes, “but still. You haven’t slept all week. You need a break, Chris.”
It’s true. Chris has been coming in early and staying late all week in preparation for the shareholders’ meeting, getting three or four hours of sleep a night. He’s done literally nothing but work, which means they also haven’t had sex all week. Dustin hasn’t mentioned that, and Chris is grateful, although he’s starting to feel a little guilty about it.
“I just…” Chris hesitates. “I really should finish this.”
“Okay.” Dustin shrugs and, inexplicably, pulls off his tie.
“Okay?” Chris repeats, suspiciously. “Okay what?”
“Okay, I asked nicely. Give me your tie.”
“What the hell?” Chris stares at him, uncomprehending.
“Your tie, Christopher. I need it.”
Chris is baffled, but too confused and definitely too tired to argue. He pulls his tie loose, hands it over and watches, mystified, as Dustin unties the knot. Then Dustin’s getting up, leaning in to kiss him, and against Chris’s mouth he says, very softly:
“Like I said, I asked nicely. Now I’m not asking.”
A tiny shiver races down Chris’s spine at the words, which turns to an all-out shudder as Dustin loops and knots the ties around Chris’s wrists with surprising expertise, tying him to the arms of his chair. The knots are just tight enough to suggest that Dustin isn’t entirely fucking around, and the thought makes Chris’s breath come a little harder, his skin prick with anticipation.
“If you want me to come home,” he chokes out, testing the restraints as Dustin abandons his mouth and begins sucking a bright mark into his throat, “don’t you think tying me to my chair is slightly counterproductive?”
Dustin actually bites him, not too hard, but it’s enough to make Chris’s head fall back slightly and his hips jerk upward. They’re both still fully dressed, though, and Dustin’s leaning over him in such a way that he can’t get any friction. “Dustin,” Chris growls, and Dustin pulls back and flashes him an unrepentantly salacious smile.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, lightly thumbing Chris’s thigh and looking infuriatingly pleased when Chris eagerly pushes up into the touch. “This is totally counterproductive.”
Chris groans as Dustin’s thumb circles close, so close, to where he’s rapidly gotten hard in his obscenely expensive pants. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Pretty sure he’s left the building,” Dustin informs him, walking his fingertips casually around Chris’s erection . “It’s just us. I hope you’re not too attached to that suit.”
“Fuck the suit.” Chris twists his hips, but Dustin’s too quick, yanking his hand away. “Dustin. Please.”
“Keep going.” Dustin traces a maddeningly slow line down the front of Chris’s still-buttoned dress shirt with one finger. “Please what?”
“Something.” Chris doesn’t have enough blood left in his brain to articulate more than that. “Anything, just-touch me, for fuck’s sake. Stop teasing.”
“I don’t know.” Dustin pulls Chris in for a kiss, one hand wrapped loosely around the back of Chris’s neck, the other toying with his belt buckle. “The whole hot-and-bothered-in-Prada thing is kind of working for me.”
“It’s Dolce and Gabb-fuck,” Chris exhales, as Dustin finally palms him lightly through his pants.
“Semantics, Christopher.” Dustin expertly unbuckles Chris’s belt and tugs his zipper down. “Either way, you’re going to be coming all over it,” he says low in Chris’s ear, and Chris shivers at that, lifts his hips to let Dustin push the pants over his thighs.
Dustin’s not through tormenting him, though; not even slightly. His fingers skim Chris’s dick through his boxers, stroking and teasing and occasionally flicking over the head, making Chris gasp. It’s just enough to drive him wild, to bring him incrementally higher and higher still, but it’s not enough to get him off and they both know it. Every time Chris half-consciously arches up, trying to get more contact, Dustin pulls away and makes him wait again, sucking down Chris’s protests with rough kisses.
Chris is damp and brightly flushed all over, restlessly straining against the ties, when Dustin finally pulls away. His eyes are dark with desire, and he drops to his knees in front of Chris, wearing an expression that plainly suggests he’s got any number of indecent acts in mind.
That’s when Chris sees it: a tiny red light flashing in the far uppermost corner of the room.
“Oh, fuck me,” he says slowly, beginning to be horrified.
“I’m getting there.” Dustin nuzzles him through the light cotton of his boxers.
“Stop it. Dustin, you idiot,” Chris hisses. “Cameras. Security cameras, all the fuck over the place.”
“Then I guess you’d better put on a good show.” Dustin shrugs, looking unbelievably nonchalant. He tugs Chris’s boxers down to his knees, and easily dodges Chris’s clumsy attempt to kick him in the head.
“Dustin. I am not Paris fucking Hilton.”
“Chris.” Dustin’s face abruptly breaks into a grin. “Relax. I hacked the feeds. They’re on a loop.”
Chris stares at him for a second, his pulse slowing as the words register. “The cameras are off?”
“We’re not making a sex tape. Not yet, anyway,” Dustin adds mischievously, his breath warm between Chris’s legs. Chris sinks back into the chair with a sigh. “Which is really too bad for the rest of the world, because you are a much better fuck than Paris Hilton.”
“Mark is going to kill you.”
“You really want to talk about Mark right now?” Dustin nips at Chris’s thigh, making him shudder helplessly and shake his head no, he does not want to talk about Mark. Or anything else.
“Did you have something else in mind?” Dustin inquires, all wide eyes and feigned innocence. Chris can’t decide whether he wants to hit him or kiss him.
“Yeah,” he says, half-strangled, “I did.”
Dustin gazes up at Chris through his lashes, plants a lingering kiss low on Chris’s hip. “Do you want me to suck you?” he asks, low in his throat, his eyes never wavering from Chris’s own as he bites his bottom lip suggestively.
“Jesus,” Chris breathes, and it’s not just the words, it’s the fact that Dustin is on his knees and looking so fucking gorgeous, so put together except for his mouth, bright red and wet from kissing.
“Say it,” Dustin insists, and Chris tries to pull himself together, to make words.
“Suck me,” is all he can manage, “please,” and Dustin makes a little murmur of approval and drops his head, licks long and slow up Chris’s dick and back down, making Chris tremble and moan beneath him.
It’s achingly slow. Over and over again, Dustin takes Chris’s length in his mouth once, twice, then pulls away, going back to slow licks and tantalizing flickers of tongue, like he’s got all night and it might take that long. Chris is close and getting unbearably closer, but Dustin knows him so well, knows every twitch and shiver, and he won’t let Chris get there. He pins Chris’s hips firmly with both hands, and picks up the pace only to pull back at exactly the moment Chris needs just a little bit more. Chris can’t do a damn thing but groan and beg and say Dustin, again and again.
Finally, when Chris feels like every nerve in his body has melded together, Dustin circles his tongue across the head of Chris’s dick and looks Chris right in the eye, and Chris nearly comes right there, except that Dustin choose that moment to pull off entirely. Then, incredibly, he stands up and takes a step back.
Chris can’t even manage a protest; he’s too far gone. He stares at Dustin, drugged with need, trying to process. “What are you-oh,” he realizes, as Dustin begins to strip off his clothes.
Chris watches, heavy-lidded. Technically unnecessary, but it is admittedly not the worst reason to stop in the middle of a blowjob. If circumstances exist under which he would object to Dustin being naked, Chris can’t possibly imagine them.
“Chris,” Dustin says, leaning down to kiss him. “Move down a little bit. Toward me, so I can-yeah.” This as Chris obediently slides forward in the chair, easing his back against the seat. He’s beyond thought, which is why what Dustin has in mind doesn’t hit him until Dustin is straddling Chris, gripping the back of the chair over Chris’s head to brace himself.
“Wait,” Chris protests, because they haven’t fucked in a week and no way in hell is spit going to be enough, “we can’t, you’re not-”
“Yeah,” Dustin tells him, “I am,” and he sinks down on Chris’s dick, just far enough that Chris can feel him, wet and open.
Chris bites back a groan. “Dustin. When the fuck did you-”
“You didn’t think I was over at my desk working all night, did you?” Dustin says playfully, though his breath hitches as he inches down a little further. “How long have you known me, Christopher?”
Chris just squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that’s hypothetical, because between Dustin and the restraints and the fact that he’s been on the edge for the better part of an hour, it’s taking everything he’s got to hold back. “I’m not going to last very long,” he warns tightly, as Dustin’s thighs finally press flush against his own.
“It’s okay.” Dustin leans down to catch Chris’s mouth in a kiss. “I’ve been thinking about this all night, it’s not going to take much.”
“Move,” Chris pleads, and Dustin does, pushing up and then back down once, and again. He’s not teasing anymore, just taking it deliciously slow, and Chris closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in their rhythm, wondering with his last conscious thought how this can be so familiar and still so good that it sort of shocks him and shakes him to the foundations all over again, each and every time.
Chris’s eyes flicker open when Dustin reaches down to touch his cheek, and he says Chris, all soft and broken right before he comes, warm and wet and the suit is ruined and Chris doesn’t care because he’s there, too, and he sort of wants to wrap up the look in Dustin’s eyes and hold on to it forever.
They end up on the floor afterward, sticky and sweaty and wrapped in each other’s arms anyway, their clothes scattered around them. Dustin looks pretty damn satisfied, although he keeps yawning, and Chris is utterly sated and beginning to be sleepy. It’s nearly two in the morning, and they should be heading home, probably.
It’s not like the floor is particularly comfortable, but somehow the idea of getting up doesn’t appeal to Chris in the slightest.
“So,” Dustin says eventually, cracking an eye open to look at Chris. “Lesson learned? Next time I say you look like hell and you need to sleep, you’ll listen instead of blatantly ignoring me?”
“Tying me up and fucking me is your idea of teaching me a lesson?” Chris runs his fingers lightly through Dustin’s hair, enjoying the freedom to do it again. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I should ignore you more often.”
“It made more sense in my head.” Dustin turns his head to kiss Chris’s fingertips, and it’s so tender that Chris’s throat tightens unexpectedly. “I mean it, though. I’m your boyfriend. I’m that person who gets to take care of you sometimes, so let me, okay?”
“This from the man who once convinced me that following up tequila pong with naked snow angels was an appropriate life choice.”
“I never said that was an appropriate life choice.” Dustin grins up at Chris, eyes bright. “I said it was going to be epic, and it was.”
“Right,” Chris snorts. “It was so epic, I screamed like a little girl and immediately threw up in the snow.”
“Then you took care of me through a three-day hangover,” Dustin reminds him.
“As if I could forget.” Chris shakes his head wryly, remembering. “How I still wanted to kiss you after three straight days of watching you vomit is totally beyond me.”
“I’m the love of your life, Christopher, that’s how.”
“Probably,” Chris agrees, and Dustin kisses him then, knowing and familiar and warm.
*