Fic: Impalare
Title: Impalare
Author: KoreArabin
Relationship: Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, S&M, bondage, anal sex, reference to piercings and brandings
Notes: More Sebastian and Jim smut.
“Sink down on to my cock.”
“Christ, Sebby, I can’t take it all at - ah - once!”
“You can, and you will.”
Sebastian kneels at the edge of the bed, Jim’s legs draped over his shoulders, his bound ankles behind Seb’s neck. Jim’s wrists are cuffed at his sides, linked by a thick leather strap behind his back. Seb hadn’t anticipated quite how stupendously swollen his cock would be, after donning the cockring and surveying a bound Jim before him, utterly helpless and unable to stop Seb doing whatever the fuck he liked to him.
And now he wants Jim mounted on it, impaled to the hilt, his arse stretched to splitting point around him. He wants Jim moaning, writhing, bucking against him, unable to prevent his inevitable descent on to Sebastian’s length.
He wonders if Jim will cry. From pain or frustration, Seb doesn’t really care, but he knows that any tears shed by Jim in such circumstances will be genuine. Oh, yes, Jim can cry like a baby at the drop of a hat, so old ladies and men of a certain disposition will feel so sorry for the poor young man with the big brown eyes and the soft lilt to his voice. But that’s just Jim playing a part, Jim fucking with people. Jim doesn’t give a shit about nice old ladies; he blew one to kingdom come only the other day, ffs.
But with Sebastian, in the dark sexual games they play together, he’ll sob, and beg, and scream, and both of them will relish it and never even allude to it outside of their games. It’s what they do together, and there’s no shame or embarrassment or judgment.
So, now, Jim’s moaning, the muscles in his thighs and calves tensing as he tries to prevent the inevitable. Sebastian pictures Jim’s tight, rosy pink pucker, stretched out taut around his hot, thick, cock, how utterly stuffed full the smaller man must feel and, impossibly, feels himself swelling even more.
He leans forward, folding Jim almost in two, and nips at his neck, hard enough to mark immediately. Jim’ll be wearing his bruises for some days to come, marks of ownership like the rings through Jim's nipples and the brand on the inside of Sebastian’s left thigh. Jim’s eyes are closed, his brow creased with concentration or pain, or both, looking angelic as his hair curls even darker with sweat at his temples.
Sebastian growls into his lover’s ear. “I’m wearing a cockring, my love. You know what that means. I can go for hours and hours. I am going to fuck you until you beg me for mercy. And then I’ll just carry on fucking you, and I won’t stop until you’re crying, sweetheart. Until you’re a sobbing, begging wreck, and even then I may not stop, simply because I can and you can’t stop me, and I want to watch you sobbing and begging, while I decide whether you get my come up your arse or in your mouth or all over your pretty face, my darling.”
Jim gasps and moans again as his hole spasms around Sebastian’s cock. Sebastian smiles, and begins to rock his hips, gently. There’s no rush, after all.