8 - upwards to infinity

[lolitics_meme]

Welcome to our eighth prompt post.

As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:

1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real

Comments

Fill 4c/10

[anonymous]

"Christ," gasped Peter, folding with his chin on his chest now that he was free to move his head. Alastair's come was matting his silky fringe; it streamed down his pointed nose and blackened lips. "I can't... I need to. Let me come."

"No. I think not." Alastair slid the blindfold from Peter's face and tittered at the sight of him, flushed and desperate. "You will come, but not 'till you beg a little prettier. What's the magic word?"

"Please!" spluttered Peter, trying to pull his head away and finding it caught firm in Alastair's hand. The taller man smirked down at him. "Please... sir... I'm begging you now. I can't touch myself like this. Will you please let me come?"

"Why didn't you just say so?" Alastair crouched down next to Peter and ran a finger from one end to the other of the bar between his legs. There was lust in his eyes as he lent towards Peter's comestained face. "Of course I'll let you come. You paper-thin little whore. Where's your pride? My cock wasn't enough for you, was it?"

"Please," Peter repeated, his voice hoarse and completely elated.

Alastair just slapped him again, the back of his large hand connecting with Peter's cheek. "Well, you took it quietly, so maybe this time..." Then both his hands were between Peter's open legs, one finding his crotch easily and the other slipping back to prize apart his buttocks. Peter moaned as one of Alastair's fingers worked its way inside him, quickly joined by another, stretching his hole painfully. Alastair's other hand worked Peter's cock, teasing him closer to the edge while yet another finger joined the first two inside him.

The noises Peter made as Alastair's fingers fucked him vigorously and stroked his aching hardness were somewhere between bliss and misery. He knew that every spasm of pleasure was a betrayal, to their partners, their families and each other. It was too late now; even as the rush came through Peter's thighs and the base of his spine, he wished he'd never talked himself into this. Come hit his legs and the floor and it was all so wrong.

And yet... and yet... Alastair's long legs fencing him in, Alastair's gruff insults and commands and hands in his hair... so wrong. And yet so irresistably right.

When Alastair kissed Peter, he could taste his own come on Peter's mouth, as well as something tangy and metallic - blood? Peter's body, locked-up as it was by his cuffs and the bar, wriggled and pressed against his broad chest. And, ugh, Peter was so perfect, soft-spoken and beautiful. But he belonged to another man.

And then his thoughts went to Fiona. She would probably be back from work by now; probably have read the note on the fridge and thought nothing of it. Suddenly Alastair jerked Peter away from him, breaking the kiss abruptly.

Peter looked, questioning, at his master's look of horror. "What is it?"

"She is," Alastair hissed. "Or rather, I am. Peter, don't you see? I'm going to have to go home now, with your name in my head and the memory of your lips around my cock. And I'm going to have to talk to Fiona like everything's normal and I'm not a complete cheating lying fucking bastard." He was genuinely panicked. "What am I going to do?"

"You'll have to lie," Peter whispered, pressing the sides of their faces together despite the painful bruise forming on his cheekbone. "We both will. I'm a politician, you're a spin doctor, for god's sake. How hard can it be?"

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"Yes." Peter hung his head. "I know. I'm sorry. But what can we do? It's done now, and we can't undo it. Would you mind taking these cuffs off, please? I'm quite uncomfortable."