Filled - and I do adore you for coming up with this.
anonymous
March 28 2010, 16:59:11 UTC
The fact of the matter is, this infuriates him. The fact that Nate can simply flick his jaw and make him shut his eyes, breathing going shallow. He hates the fact that Nate's fingers on his neck are enough to distract him from the football match on tv, the fact that Nate's hand on his knee in a public restaurant can make him forget what the fuck he's ordering.
Nate Fick has always, always made him crazy. Even before, when he was himself, Nate could make him hard with a kiss, make him come with that glorious, purely offensive mouth within minutes.
Nate's always had power over him.
But it's different now, it's worse, as if having a pair of breasts and a pussy (cunt, as Nate likes to call it, in their bed, his teeth wrapped squarely around one nipple) has knocked Brad's brain out of its chosen axis. He's lost his control and he can't get it back, he can't let Nate play with him for more than a few seconds before he goes mindless, begging without remorse, without shame. He knows, without Nate saying anything that he likes it, loves it even, the fact that Brad falls apart so easily, so loudly.
He gets wet when Nate has his arm wrapped around him, he doesn't even fight it, doesn't say that he isn't Nate's girlfriend because if he lets Nate put his arm around him, at some point Nate's fingers will creep under (or over) his shirt and that's what he's waiting for, stiff and half mad, for Nate's thumb to graze a nipple, for Nate's palms around one breast while the other hand slips inside his shorts. He wants to be fingered in front of the tv, he wants Nate to pull off his shorts and bend him across the couch armrest, tongue inside him. He loves (and hates) all the women who taught Nate this, who taught Nate how to be quick and relentless until Brad's crying out, until Brad's mouth is drenched with blood from how hard he's biting away.
He wants to be turned around and pushed on his stomach, Nate's cock inside him, no lube and preamble necessary because Brad's always wet for him, yes sirree. He's pretty sure it doesn't surprise Nate anymore.
He can't say no when Nate keeps him in bed on days when the beach is the only place he wants to be. He can't say no when Nate's tongue is inside him for what feels like hours (is hours), he can't say no when Nate's exhausted himself and takes out plastic, he can't say no when Nate keeps him on the edge for 35 torturous minutes, listening to Brad beg like a whore, wild and crazy, his fingers flying to finish himself off and Nate's pale, long fingers, trapping his wrists, Nate's teeth at his ear.
He could before, he's fairly certain. The days are starting to blur to the point that he doesn't remember himself, and he certainly doesn't remember what it was like to be the one in control, calling the shots and making Nate scream night after night. He knows he can still do it. At the back of his mind, he can catalogue the women he's been with and he knows he can do it, he's sure of it.
Nate Fick has always, always made him crazy. Even before, when he was himself, Nate could make him hard with a kiss, make him come with that glorious, purely offensive mouth within minutes.
Nate's always had power over him.
But it's different now, it's worse, as if having a pair of breasts and a pussy (cunt, as Nate likes to call it, in their bed, his teeth wrapped squarely around one nipple) has knocked Brad's brain out of its chosen axis. He's lost his control and he can't get it back, he can't let Nate play with him for more than a few seconds before he goes mindless, begging without remorse, without shame. He knows, without Nate saying anything that he likes it, loves it even, the fact that Brad falls apart so easily, so loudly.
He gets wet when Nate has his arm wrapped around him, he doesn't even fight it, doesn't say that he isn't Nate's girlfriend because if he lets Nate put his arm around him, at some point Nate's fingers will creep under (or over) his shirt and that's what he's waiting for, stiff and half mad, for Nate's thumb to graze a nipple, for Nate's palms around one breast while the other hand slips inside his shorts. He wants to be fingered in front of the tv, he wants Nate to pull off his shorts and bend him across the couch armrest, tongue inside him. He loves (and hates) all the women who taught Nate this, who taught Nate how to be quick and relentless until Brad's crying out, until Brad's mouth is drenched with blood from how hard he's biting away.
He wants to be turned around and pushed on his stomach, Nate's cock inside him, no lube and preamble necessary because Brad's always wet for him, yes sirree. He's pretty sure it doesn't surprise Nate anymore.
He can't say no when Nate keeps him in bed on days when the beach is the only place he wants to be. He can't say no when Nate's tongue is inside him for what feels like hours (is hours), he can't say no when Nate's exhausted himself and takes out plastic, he can't say no when Nate keeps him on the edge for 35 torturous minutes, listening to Brad beg like a whore, wild and crazy, his fingers flying to finish himself off and Nate's pale, long fingers, trapping his wrists, Nate's teeth at his ear.
He could before, he's fairly certain. The days are starting to blur to the point that he doesn't remember himself, and he certainly doesn't remember what it was like to be the one in control, calling the shots and making Nate scream night after night. He knows he can still do it. At the back of his mind, he can catalogue the women he's been with and he knows he can do it, he's sure of it.
He just isn't sure he wants to.
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That is so utterly fucking HOT. How did I not know I needed more of this in my life until now?
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:D
I want more writers to fill this prompt. Can you imagine all the fantastic always-a-girl Brad fic? I would die from joy.
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Very, very hot. Daaaaaamn. Me likey it. ;)
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So fucking hot that I am speechless.
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