The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Good Day
So this is a totally shameless fill for 10_kink_prompts and hc_bingo. The prompts? Humiliation (h/c bingo) and hand fetishization (10 Kinks). Which means that this is SavMitch, when I totally meant for it to be J&S. Oops? lol.
Totally inspired by Imagine Your OTP again.
Today was going to be a good day.
Savin stood in front of the kitchen counter, twirling a knife between his fingers. A line of vegetables were laid out in front of him, each one carefully chosen for the dinner he meant to prepare for Jazz. It was their first night living together -- and the younger man had a meeting with NBLM. Savin should have been at the hospital, but after some shameless begging he managed to get the rest of the night off.
It didn't hurt that he said he'd work the next several nights in trauma in exchange. He wanted tonight to be special, wanted to show off a little to his boyfriend -- and not just in the bedroom.
In the three months they had been dating, Savin hadn't once gotten a chance to show off his skills in the kitchen. It seemed Jazz lived off a worse diet than he did, with the instant meals and going out to eat all the time. At least Savin could cook? Not like he ever had the time to, but still.
And that prepackaged shit that dared to call itself ramen? Well, Jazz was about to find out why Savin absolutely refused to eat it -- not when he could make ramen that tasted a million times better in about thirty minutes.
But that wasn't the real surprise he had for Jazz -- not really. Savin put the knife down and tightened the strings to his apron in the back. It was a little shorter than he thought it would be, since it covered half-way down his thighs. Then again, he was pretty tall and his torso was long. Maybe if he adjusted the straps a bit more, he --
He heard the lock on the front door open, and the jarring squeak of the door not long after that. Savin grinned to himself, glancing down at partially made dinner he now had before him. "You're home early," he said, wiping his hands on the apron as he began to stride towards the front door of the apartment.
"Bates -- what the hell are you --"
"What the fuck are you doing here, Mitchel?" Savin growled, crossing his arms over his chest.
His bare chest, minus the apron he was wearing. Which was the only thing he was wearing. His face felt hot, hotter than it had ever been before in his life, especially since all Mitchel seemed only capable of staring, his lips twisted in amusement.
"Planning to surprise Callahan in that getup, Bates?" Mitchel snickered. "What, pray tell, is supposed to be appealing about you wearing just an apron like that?"
Savin glared at him, tugging the edge of the apron further down over his legs, hoping he hadn't inadvertently flashed Mitchel earlier. "What do you want, Mitchel?" he snapped.
"I needed to speak with Callahan in private," Mitchel answered, shrugging a shoulder. His hand drifted to his tie, smoothing it out some as Mitchel’s eyes finally moved off of Savin’s body. Savin’s shoulders relaxed a little, though he kept his hands on the hem of his apron, holding it in place. “However, it’s obvious that Callahan isn’t here. Is he at a meeting with the NBLM?”
“Yes,” Savin muttered. He continued to watch Mitchel’s hands, the heat in his face finally dying away. He crossed his arms over his chest, a thought worming its way through the back of his skull. “How the hell did you get in?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Mitchel.
Mitchel held up a single key. “Callahan gave this to me months ago,” he said, smirking to himself. “I was coming to return it, as well. If I had known you were here...”
“How the hell do you have a key?” Savin demanded, snatching the key from Mitchel’s hand. He shoved it in one of the small pockets of his apron.
“Bates, as a man known for his medical prowess, surely you can figure out why for yourself?” Mitchel prompted, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t move away from Savin, either, though the two stood too close to each other for Savin’s comfort. “The same reason you have one, I’d imagine.”
“I live here now -- of course I have a key,” Savin said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Now, can you please leave? I’m trying to make dinner and --”
“I wasn’t aware you could cook,” Mitchel remarked, his smirk never leaving his face as he moved past Savin. Savin turned on his heel, careful to keep his backside out of Mitchel’s view. “Then again, it is an art that requires both your hands and your mind, so it’s not all that surprising.”
Savin just stared at Mitchel, his jaw going slack as the older man walked towards the kitchen. He tried not to think that the bastard in front of him may have lived here, too, once -- if Mitchel had, then...
He didn’t want to think about that. Definitely did not want to think of Jazz and Mitchel in bed together, or living together, or anything together. He felt his fists ball at his sides as he stalked into the kitchen after Mitchel. “What the hell are you doing, Mitchel? Leave.”
“Why should I?” Mitchel countered, raising an eyebrow yet again. “Callahan should be here shortly -- his Thursday meetings have never run long. It’s not my fault you’re continuing to embarrass yourself by insisting on wearing that frilly mess. Though I must say, that is a good look for you.”
Savin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you mocking me, asshole? Because I’m not afraid to kick your ass while wearing this,” he threatened, moving towards Mitchel.
Mitchel glanced over at him, boredom apparent in his eyes as he picked up the knife Savin had left lying on the counter. Savin’s eyes widened, unable to focus on anything else as Mitchel picked up the knife and twirled it between his fingers. “I could help you prepare this,” Mitchel offered, selecting the onion from the line up of vegetables. “As long as you put on some clothes, that is. I would prefer not to stare at your backside unless I’m taking you, myself.”
Savin’s jaw dropped again, the heat in his face returning tenfold. “You -- “ He cut himself off, almost grinding his teeth together as Mitchel’s words filtered through his brain. “You think you’d be the one to top?”
“I’m older,” Mitchel stated, as if it were that simple.
“I’m taller,” Savin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Mitchel snorted. “By maybe two inches at best,” he said, putting the knife down on the counter. He gave Savin a sly smile. “Would you like to test this theory, Bates?”
Savin’s arms tightened over his chest, his eyes unable to leave Mitchel’s hands as they began to deftly undo the knot of his tie. “You’re not suggesting we --” A lump formed in his throat, forcing him to clear it. “-- we fuck, are you?”
Those fingers never stopped their motions, pulling the tie away from Mitchel’s neck with practiced ease. Mitchel’s sly smile never faltered, not even as he approached Savin, effectively backing him against the counter. “And if I am?” Mitchel asked, leaning in close. His breath was hot against Savin’s neck, their bodies not quite touching.
“Uh -- I have a boyfriend...?” Savin mumbled, refusing to meet Mitchel’s eyes. A boyfriend who might be home any time. A boyfriend who’d probably flip his shit if he saw Savin pinned against the counter like this, Mitchel dangerously close and moving even closer.
“I think Callahan wouldn’t mind watching us, should he walk in at any time,” Mitchel breathed, his lips brushing against Savin’s neck. Savin leaned as far away from Mitchel as he could, almost sliding on top of the counter just to get away.
“You are seriously fucked up if you think I’m gonna cheat on Jazz just because you think he’d be okay with watching us fuck,” Savin muttered, pushing Mitchel away from him. He slid away from Mitchel as best he could, making sure to keep his front to the older man the whole time.
Except those hands wrapped around Savin’s wrist, preventing him from getting away. Mitchel’s strength surprised Savin as Mitchel pulled Savin back to in front of him. Mitchel’s free hand ghosted along Savin’s bare thigh and slid under the apron. “So?” Mitchel countered, smirking at Savin. “I thought you said you would top, Bates? So far I’m the only one making any advances...”
Savin grit his teeth together, wishing he didn’t feel a familiar warmth moving through his body as Mitchel’s fingers continued to drag themselves along sensitive skin. Instinctively, he spread his legs, letting Mitchel move between them. “That’s because I don’t want to make any ‘advances,’” he groaned, a quiet gasp escaping him as Mitchel kissed along his neck and shoulders. The hand that had slid under his apron now moved along Savin’s length with expert ease, teasing Savin into further hardness.
“You have yet to tell me to stop, as well,” Mitchel pointed out, continuing to stroke Savin with one hand while the other undid the strings to the apron. “You’d prefer it if I took you right here and now, wouldn’t you?”
Savin’s face flushed yet again, this time partially out of need. He resisted the urge to nod his head, instead choosing to throw his head back with a quiet moan. Of course Mitchel knew what he was doing. Of course he’d bring up the idea of fucking Savin over the kitchen counter all while those fingers roamed all over his body, Mitchel’s mouth now not too far behind it.
It was bad enough Mitchel saw him in the apron -- but now? Now it worse. Now, anything Mitchel asked for, Savin would do. His body burned with each touch and grew hotter by the minute as Savin leaned back against the counter, holding himself up. His legs shook as Mitchel’s tongue slid up the length of his cock, causing him to let out a quiet moan.
It didn’t matter that he hated the man now kneeling in front of him. Those hands and that mouth? They were amazing. Mitchel could do whatever he wanted with him, no matter how humiliating it was, as long as those fingers remained on his body and as long as that mouth continued to swallow him whole. Without thinking, Savin threaded his fingers through Mitchel’s hair, forcing the older man to take in even more of his cock.
He swore he felt Mitchel chuckle around him, heightening the sensations Mitchel continued to send through his body. Mitchel sucked harder, his mouth moving faster along Savin’s length. So close. Savin was so close already, and if Mitchel continued any longer, he’d --
Mitchel stopped, causing Savin to groan in disappointment. “Turn around,” Mitchel ordered, pushing himself off the floor. His fingers quickly undid his belt and then the zipper to his pants. Savin watched, transfixed, as Mitchel pulled himself, one hand sliding along his length.
“Savin,” Mitchel snapped. Savin gave himself a little shake, pulling his eyes away from Mitchel’s hands. “Turn around,” he repeated, this time his own voice thick with need.
Savin nodded, wordlessly turning on his heel and facing the counter. He felt Mitchel’s hands on his hips, nails biting into his skin as Mitchel spread Savin’s legs wider and bent him over the edge of the counter. Lips pressed along Savin’s shoulders and the back of his neck while Mitchel’s cock pressed against the crack of his ass. Without thinking, Savin rubbed against him, enjoying the sound of the quiet moan that escaped Mitchel’s lips.
Pain blinded him for a moment, causing Savin to grab hold of the counter and bite his lip to stifle his cry. Mitchel’s hand slid around his front and wrapped itself around Savin’s length as teeth grazed Savin’s shoulders. “Can’t you take a little pain, Savin?” Mitchel breathed against his skin as he continued to force himself inside of Savin.
Savin whimpered and nodded his head. He could. And, Christ, if Mitchel kept stroking him like that, the pain would only make him want more. “Go slow,” Savin managed, writhing as Mitchel began to pull back. The pain intensified, but he breathed through it. Allowed his body time to adjust to the girth of Mitchel’s cock and forced himself to relax.
Each roll of Mitchel’s hips went deeper and hurt a little less. Savin groaned, gasping as Mitchel thrust into him a little harder each time, causing the counter to bite into his stomach. Savin grasped the counter as best as he could, trying to steady himself enough to match Mitchel’s thrusts. The pain subsided entirely, leaving only pleasure behind and a desire for Mitchel to fuck him harder still.
Mitchel seemed to sense this as he grabbed Savin’s hips and pulled the taller man closer to him, slamming into him again and again. Their moans intermingled, growing louder and more desperate by the moment. The brush of Mitchel’s clothes against the back of his legs just turned Savin on even more.
Soon, it was almost too much. Mitchel’s hand tightened around his cock, pumping him faster. Savin’s body tensed as he cried out, finally going over the edge as Mitchel pounded into him, his rhythm never faltering. Moments later, as Savin whimpered, his whole body overstimulated from Mitchel’s continuing touch, Mitchel let out a strangled cry and shuddered to a stop, filling Savin.
The two remained as they were, panting and gasping for air. Mitchel recovered first, pulling out of Savin. Savin closed his eyes and hung his head, taking a moment to catch his breath before bending over to retrieve his apron. As he hugged it to his chest and turned to face Mitchel, Mitchel wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I assume we are to never speak of this again, Bates?” he asked as he smoothed back his hair.
“That would be preferable, yeah,” Savin muttered. “I’ll let Jazz know you stopped by.”
Mitchel nodded, looping his tie around his neck. As he passed Savin, Savin could have sworn he saw a slight smirk on Mitchel’s lips. Bastard was probably feeling smug since he had topped Savin, despite Savin’s protests to the contrary.
Savin didn’t want to think about that, though, as he headed towards the bathroom, tossing the balled up apron in his room. He needed to wash the feel of Mitchel’s hands all over him before Jazz came home.
Despite getting pounded by Mitchel, today had been a pretty good day, after all.
Totally inspired by Imagine Your OTP again.
Today was going to be a good day.
Savin stood in front of the kitchen counter, twirling a knife between his fingers. A line of vegetables were laid out in front of him, each one carefully chosen for the dinner he meant to prepare for Jazz. It was their first night living together -- and the younger man had a meeting with NBLM. Savin should have been at the hospital, but after some shameless begging he managed to get the rest of the night off.
It didn't hurt that he said he'd work the next several nights in trauma in exchange. He wanted tonight to be special, wanted to show off a little to his boyfriend -- and not just in the bedroom.
In the three months they had been dating, Savin hadn't once gotten a chance to show off his skills in the kitchen. It seemed Jazz lived off a worse diet than he did, with the instant meals and going out to eat all the time. At least Savin could cook? Not like he ever had the time to, but still.
And that prepackaged shit that dared to call itself ramen? Well, Jazz was about to find out why Savin absolutely refused to eat it -- not when he could make ramen that tasted a million times better in about thirty minutes.
But that wasn't the real surprise he had for Jazz -- not really. Savin put the knife down and tightened the strings to his apron in the back. It was a little shorter than he thought it would be, since it covered half-way down his thighs. Then again, he was pretty tall and his torso was long. Maybe if he adjusted the straps a bit more, he --
He heard the lock on the front door open, and the jarring squeak of the door not long after that. Savin grinned to himself, glancing down at partially made dinner he now had before him. "You're home early," he said, wiping his hands on the apron as he began to stride towards the front door of the apartment.
"Bates -- what the hell are you --"
"What the fuck are you doing here, Mitchel?" Savin growled, crossing his arms over his chest.
His bare chest, minus the apron he was wearing. Which was the only thing he was wearing. His face felt hot, hotter than it had ever been before in his life, especially since all Mitchel seemed only capable of staring, his lips twisted in amusement.
"Planning to surprise Callahan in that getup, Bates?" Mitchel snickered. "What, pray tell, is supposed to be appealing about you wearing just an apron like that?"
Savin glared at him, tugging the edge of the apron further down over his legs, hoping he hadn't inadvertently flashed Mitchel earlier. "What do you want, Mitchel?" he snapped.
"I needed to speak with Callahan in private," Mitchel answered, shrugging a shoulder. His hand drifted to his tie, smoothing it out some as Mitchel’s eyes finally moved off of Savin’s body. Savin’s shoulders relaxed a little, though he kept his hands on the hem of his apron, holding it in place. “However, it’s obvious that Callahan isn’t here. Is he at a meeting with the NBLM?”
“Yes,” Savin muttered. He continued to watch Mitchel’s hands, the heat in his face finally dying away. He crossed his arms over his chest, a thought worming its way through the back of his skull. “How the hell did you get in?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Mitchel.
Mitchel held up a single key. “Callahan gave this to me months ago,” he said, smirking to himself. “I was coming to return it, as well. If I had known you were here...”
“How the hell do you have a key?” Savin demanded, snatching the key from Mitchel’s hand. He shoved it in one of the small pockets of his apron.
“Bates, as a man known for his medical prowess, surely you can figure out why for yourself?” Mitchel prompted, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t move away from Savin, either, though the two stood too close to each other for Savin’s comfort. “The same reason you have one, I’d imagine.”
“I live here now -- of course I have a key,” Savin said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Now, can you please leave? I’m trying to make dinner and --”
“I wasn’t aware you could cook,” Mitchel remarked, his smirk never leaving his face as he moved past Savin. Savin turned on his heel, careful to keep his backside out of Mitchel’s view. “Then again, it is an art that requires both your hands and your mind, so it’s not all that surprising.”
Savin just stared at Mitchel, his jaw going slack as the older man walked towards the kitchen. He tried not to think that the bastard in front of him may have lived here, too, once -- if Mitchel had, then...
He didn’t want to think about that. Definitely did not want to think of Jazz and Mitchel in bed together, or living together, or anything together. He felt his fists ball at his sides as he stalked into the kitchen after Mitchel. “What the hell are you doing, Mitchel? Leave.”
“Why should I?” Mitchel countered, raising an eyebrow yet again. “Callahan should be here shortly -- his Thursday meetings have never run long. It’s not my fault you’re continuing to embarrass yourself by insisting on wearing that frilly mess. Though I must say, that is a good look for you.”
Savin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you mocking me, asshole? Because I’m not afraid to kick your ass while wearing this,” he threatened, moving towards Mitchel.
Mitchel glanced over at him, boredom apparent in his eyes as he picked up the knife Savin had left lying on the counter. Savin’s eyes widened, unable to focus on anything else as Mitchel picked up the knife and twirled it between his fingers. “I could help you prepare this,” Mitchel offered, selecting the onion from the line up of vegetables. “As long as you put on some clothes, that is. I would prefer not to stare at your backside unless I’m taking you, myself.”
Savin’s jaw dropped again, the heat in his face returning tenfold. “You -- “ He cut himself off, almost grinding his teeth together as Mitchel’s words filtered through his brain. “You think you’d be the one to top?”
“I’m older,” Mitchel stated, as if it were that simple.
“I’m taller,” Savin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Mitchel snorted. “By maybe two inches at best,” he said, putting the knife down on the counter. He gave Savin a sly smile. “Would you like to test this theory, Bates?”
Savin’s arms tightened over his chest, his eyes unable to leave Mitchel’s hands as they began to deftly undo the knot of his tie. “You’re not suggesting we --” A lump formed in his throat, forcing him to clear it. “-- we fuck, are you?”
Those fingers never stopped their motions, pulling the tie away from Mitchel’s neck with practiced ease. Mitchel’s sly smile never faltered, not even as he approached Savin, effectively backing him against the counter. “And if I am?” Mitchel asked, leaning in close. His breath was hot against Savin’s neck, their bodies not quite touching.
“Uh -- I have a boyfriend...?” Savin mumbled, refusing to meet Mitchel’s eyes. A boyfriend who might be home any time. A boyfriend who’d probably flip his shit if he saw Savin pinned against the counter like this, Mitchel dangerously close and moving even closer.
“I think Callahan wouldn’t mind watching us, should he walk in at any time,” Mitchel breathed, his lips brushing against Savin’s neck. Savin leaned as far away from Mitchel as he could, almost sliding on top of the counter just to get away.
“You are seriously fucked up if you think I’m gonna cheat on Jazz just because you think he’d be okay with watching us fuck,” Savin muttered, pushing Mitchel away from him. He slid away from Mitchel as best he could, making sure to keep his front to the older man the whole time.
Except those hands wrapped around Savin’s wrist, preventing him from getting away. Mitchel’s strength surprised Savin as Mitchel pulled Savin back to in front of him. Mitchel’s free hand ghosted along Savin’s bare thigh and slid under the apron. “So?” Mitchel countered, smirking at Savin. “I thought you said you would top, Bates? So far I’m the only one making any advances...”
Savin grit his teeth together, wishing he didn’t feel a familiar warmth moving through his body as Mitchel’s fingers continued to drag themselves along sensitive skin. Instinctively, he spread his legs, letting Mitchel move between them. “That’s because I don’t want to make any ‘advances,’” he groaned, a quiet gasp escaping him as Mitchel kissed along his neck and shoulders. The hand that had slid under his apron now moved along Savin’s length with expert ease, teasing Savin into further hardness.
“You have yet to tell me to stop, as well,” Mitchel pointed out, continuing to stroke Savin with one hand while the other undid the strings to the apron. “You’d prefer it if I took you right here and now, wouldn’t you?”
Savin’s face flushed yet again, this time partially out of need. He resisted the urge to nod his head, instead choosing to throw his head back with a quiet moan. Of course Mitchel knew what he was doing. Of course he’d bring up the idea of fucking Savin over the kitchen counter all while those fingers roamed all over his body, Mitchel’s mouth now not too far behind it.
It was bad enough Mitchel saw him in the apron -- but now? Now it worse. Now, anything Mitchel asked for, Savin would do. His body burned with each touch and grew hotter by the minute as Savin leaned back against the counter, holding himself up. His legs shook as Mitchel’s tongue slid up the length of his cock, causing him to let out a quiet moan.
It didn’t matter that he hated the man now kneeling in front of him. Those hands and that mouth? They were amazing. Mitchel could do whatever he wanted with him, no matter how humiliating it was, as long as those fingers remained on his body and as long as that mouth continued to swallow him whole. Without thinking, Savin threaded his fingers through Mitchel’s hair, forcing the older man to take in even more of his cock.
He swore he felt Mitchel chuckle around him, heightening the sensations Mitchel continued to send through his body. Mitchel sucked harder, his mouth moving faster along Savin’s length. So close. Savin was so close already, and if Mitchel continued any longer, he’d --
Mitchel stopped, causing Savin to groan in disappointment. “Turn around,” Mitchel ordered, pushing himself off the floor. His fingers quickly undid his belt and then the zipper to his pants. Savin watched, transfixed, as Mitchel pulled himself, one hand sliding along his length.
“Savin,” Mitchel snapped. Savin gave himself a little shake, pulling his eyes away from Mitchel’s hands. “Turn around,” he repeated, this time his own voice thick with need.
Savin nodded, wordlessly turning on his heel and facing the counter. He felt Mitchel’s hands on his hips, nails biting into his skin as Mitchel spread Savin’s legs wider and bent him over the edge of the counter. Lips pressed along Savin’s shoulders and the back of his neck while Mitchel’s cock pressed against the crack of his ass. Without thinking, Savin rubbed against him, enjoying the sound of the quiet moan that escaped Mitchel’s lips.
Pain blinded him for a moment, causing Savin to grab hold of the counter and bite his lip to stifle his cry. Mitchel’s hand slid around his front and wrapped itself around Savin’s length as teeth grazed Savin’s shoulders. “Can’t you take a little pain, Savin?” Mitchel breathed against his skin as he continued to force himself inside of Savin.
Savin whimpered and nodded his head. He could. And, Christ, if Mitchel kept stroking him like that, the pain would only make him want more. “Go slow,” Savin managed, writhing as Mitchel began to pull back. The pain intensified, but he breathed through it. Allowed his body time to adjust to the girth of Mitchel’s cock and forced himself to relax.
Each roll of Mitchel’s hips went deeper and hurt a little less. Savin groaned, gasping as Mitchel thrust into him a little harder each time, causing the counter to bite into his stomach. Savin grasped the counter as best as he could, trying to steady himself enough to match Mitchel’s thrusts. The pain subsided entirely, leaving only pleasure behind and a desire for Mitchel to fuck him harder still.
Mitchel seemed to sense this as he grabbed Savin’s hips and pulled the taller man closer to him, slamming into him again and again. Their moans intermingled, growing louder and more desperate by the moment. The brush of Mitchel’s clothes against the back of his legs just turned Savin on even more.
Soon, it was almost too much. Mitchel’s hand tightened around his cock, pumping him faster. Savin’s body tensed as he cried out, finally going over the edge as Mitchel pounded into him, his rhythm never faltering. Moments later, as Savin whimpered, his whole body overstimulated from Mitchel’s continuing touch, Mitchel let out a strangled cry and shuddered to a stop, filling Savin.
The two remained as they were, panting and gasping for air. Mitchel recovered first, pulling out of Savin. Savin closed his eyes and hung his head, taking a moment to catch his breath before bending over to retrieve his apron. As he hugged it to his chest and turned to face Mitchel, Mitchel wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I assume we are to never speak of this again, Bates?” he asked as he smoothed back his hair.
“That would be preferable, yeah,” Savin muttered. “I’ll let Jazz know you stopped by.”
Mitchel nodded, looping his tie around his neck. As he passed Savin, Savin could have sworn he saw a slight smirk on Mitchel’s lips. Bastard was probably feeling smug since he had topped Savin, despite Savin’s protests to the contrary.
Savin didn’t want to think about that, though, as he headed towards the bathroom, tossing the balled up apron in his room. He needed to wash the feel of Mitchel’s hands all over him before Jazz came home.
Despite getting pounded by Mitchel, today had been a pretty good day, after all.