kink_bingo fill: Endurance (orgasm denial/control)
Title: Endurance
Genre: smutty smut
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: orgasm denial/control
Players: Sergei Fedorov/Nikolai Zherdev
Content notes: none
Neither Sergei nor Nikolai could say how long they’ve been there.
Nikolai has long since given up his thrashing, and his pleading, and his threatening of Sergei with future bodily harm. He’d stopped around his second orgasm. That was hours ago, when he’d still had some form of coherency left in his brain; when he hadn’t yet been reduced to something pliant and needy and focused only on the pleasure of Sergei’s fingers working inside of him. His limbs have long since been reduced to melted sinew and bones made of jello, his only movement now the occasional twitch of his hips when Sergei adjusts the tempo or angle of his fingertips against his prostate.
The night had started relatively mundane. They’d gotten back from the arena, their clothes had been lost somewhere on the way from the door to the bedroom, and when they finally made it into bed Sergei had pressed Nik’s wrists above his head; grabbed for the cuffs and locked him to the headboard. And it wasn’t that Nikolai minded-that was what the restraints were there for, after all-but it meant that he had no say when Sergei abruptly stopped touching him with a wicked smirk and the devil’s glee in his eyes.
He’d settled in between Nik’s legs, hand curled around his cock; stroking him in steady, even touches that were far too maddeningly slow. Nikolai had been more vocal, then: begging Sergei for faster more please Sergei please; spitting out curses and whining low and needy in his throat when his entreaties went unfulfilled.
Sergei had let him come. Eventually. He brought him to the edge and let him hang; trapped him on a plateau of need and almost-nearly-there for so long that Nikolai was sure he’d go mad. And the buildup had been so slow and the orgasm so intense that Nik had barely been coherent through the jerky aftershocks, eyes rolled into the back of his head and mouth gaping open, his entire body trembling. It took him a few moments to realize that he was still being touched; he’d raised his head with what felt like supreme effort, stared at Sergei in dawning horror, and gotten a half-lidded look in return.
Lips brushed against his ear, breath ghosting soft against his cheek, but the even stroking hadn’t stopped.
“Let’s see how much you can take.”
The swearing had started up again, then. But that proved to be a mistake as Sergei’s eyes darkened, only the quirk up of one side of his mouth serving as a warning before agile fingers slipped inside of him. That move elicited a full-body writhe, and a hoarse keening cry torn from Nik’s throat. He was still far too sensitive, far too raw, and Sergei’s nose nuzzling against his own could only distract him so much from the agonizingly pleasurable burn.
His second orgasm had been torn from his body with questing fingers and a steady hand, and at some point he’d whimpered in Sergei’s direction that if he lost use of his dick it would be Sergei’s fault, but the vaguely threatening words had only been met with a chuckle of amusement.
Things blurred together after that.
There was heat. The oxygen in the room seemed to have been sucked out of it; the sweat beading his body didn’t have nearly enough time to cool before he was panting for air again. The aching over-sensitization of his skin mingled with the jolts of heat that curled in his stomach until he wasn’t sure if he was getting off on the pain or the pleasure of it all. The entirety of his world narrowed down to his points of contact with Sergei: with the hand wrapped around his throbbing cock; with the fingers curled deep inside of him. Sergei made sure that there was a constant supply of lube keeping him slick, keeping the slide easy and slow, but it was still too much.
He’d tried to express as much, possibly between his second and third orgasm, but the words came out garbled and incoherent, his brain not working nearly well enough to process what he was trying to say.
And through it all, as he spiraled away from rational thought and onto a plane where the only reality was touch and feel, Sergei kept his gaze on Nikolai’s face. Nik would have thought-if he could have thought-that his lover would get bored, get distracted; maybe find a book to read while his fingers quirked and pressed and dragged harsh moans from his throat. Yet Sergei’s attention remained focused solely on him, the elder Russian seemingly content to watch as Nikolai came undone beneath his hands.
Nik doesn’t know how much time passes, how long it’s been since they first stumbled through the front door. He’s been too lost in feeling, too lost in the pleasure and the burn, but finally his eyes flutter open-when had he closed them? he can’t remember-and he looks at Sergei, catching his lover’s gaze.
“Please,” he whispers; voice raw, ragged. Sergei’s eyes soften and he leans down, capturing Nikolai’s lips in a lazy, sweet kiss. His touches obligingly speed up, and it’s not long before Nikolai is arching into his hand, crying out softly as he comes for a final time. He tips over the edge in a tumbling wave, riding the crest and flowing ebb until the sensations cease, leaving him lax and pliant on the bed. He’s aware of Sergei departing to the bathroom, briefly, and feels the loss of his presence keenly after so many hours spent so intimately.
But the gentle caress of a damp washcloth across his abdomen and chest is more than welcome. Nik manages to focus his hazy vision on Sergei, who smiles fondly as he wipes clean the dried sticky evidence of the night’s events from his body. That done, he reaches up, undoing the cuffs wrapped around Nikolai’s wrists; catching them as his arms fall in dead weight and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of each wrist in turn.
Belatedly, through the fog, Nikolai comes to the realization Sergei hasn’t come at all tonight. He looks up questioningly, but receives only a smile and a shake of his lover’s head. There’s something in Sergei’s eyes, as though he gained something far deeper and more meaningful through the night’s events than simply getting off would have provided. And, in truth, Nikolai is far too exhausted to offer much reciprocation even if it had been desired. So he contents himself with curling his weary body around Sergei’s, pressing his face into the crook of his lover’s neck with a quavering sigh as Sergei settles into bed next to him.
Sergei smiles, combing his fingers through his lover’s hair, and finally allows Nikolai to rest.
Genre: smutty smut
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: orgasm denial/control
Players: Sergei Fedorov/Nikolai Zherdev
Content notes: none
Neither Sergei nor Nikolai could say how long they’ve been there.
Nikolai has long since given up his thrashing, and his pleading, and his threatening of Sergei with future bodily harm. He’d stopped around his second orgasm. That was hours ago, when he’d still had some form of coherency left in his brain; when he hadn’t yet been reduced to something pliant and needy and focused only on the pleasure of Sergei’s fingers working inside of him. His limbs have long since been reduced to melted sinew and bones made of jello, his only movement now the occasional twitch of his hips when Sergei adjusts the tempo or angle of his fingertips against his prostate.
The night had started relatively mundane. They’d gotten back from the arena, their clothes had been lost somewhere on the way from the door to the bedroom, and when they finally made it into bed Sergei had pressed Nik’s wrists above his head; grabbed for the cuffs and locked him to the headboard. And it wasn’t that Nikolai minded-that was what the restraints were there for, after all-but it meant that he had no say when Sergei abruptly stopped touching him with a wicked smirk and the devil’s glee in his eyes.
He’d settled in between Nik’s legs, hand curled around his cock; stroking him in steady, even touches that were far too maddeningly slow. Nikolai had been more vocal, then: begging Sergei for faster more please Sergei please; spitting out curses and whining low and needy in his throat when his entreaties went unfulfilled.
Sergei had let him come. Eventually. He brought him to the edge and let him hang; trapped him on a plateau of need and almost-nearly-there for so long that Nikolai was sure he’d go mad. And the buildup had been so slow and the orgasm so intense that Nik had barely been coherent through the jerky aftershocks, eyes rolled into the back of his head and mouth gaping open, his entire body trembling. It took him a few moments to realize that he was still being touched; he’d raised his head with what felt like supreme effort, stared at Sergei in dawning horror, and gotten a half-lidded look in return.
Lips brushed against his ear, breath ghosting soft against his cheek, but the even stroking hadn’t stopped.
“Let’s see how much you can take.”
The swearing had started up again, then. But that proved to be a mistake as Sergei’s eyes darkened, only the quirk up of one side of his mouth serving as a warning before agile fingers slipped inside of him. That move elicited a full-body writhe, and a hoarse keening cry torn from Nik’s throat. He was still far too sensitive, far too raw, and Sergei’s nose nuzzling against his own could only distract him so much from the agonizingly pleasurable burn.
His second orgasm had been torn from his body with questing fingers and a steady hand, and at some point he’d whimpered in Sergei’s direction that if he lost use of his dick it would be Sergei’s fault, but the vaguely threatening words had only been met with a chuckle of amusement.
Things blurred together after that.
There was heat. The oxygen in the room seemed to have been sucked out of it; the sweat beading his body didn’t have nearly enough time to cool before he was panting for air again. The aching over-sensitization of his skin mingled with the jolts of heat that curled in his stomach until he wasn’t sure if he was getting off on the pain or the pleasure of it all. The entirety of his world narrowed down to his points of contact with Sergei: with the hand wrapped around his throbbing cock; with the fingers curled deep inside of him. Sergei made sure that there was a constant supply of lube keeping him slick, keeping the slide easy and slow, but it was still too much.
He’d tried to express as much, possibly between his second and third orgasm, but the words came out garbled and incoherent, his brain not working nearly well enough to process what he was trying to say.
And through it all, as he spiraled away from rational thought and onto a plane where the only reality was touch and feel, Sergei kept his gaze on Nikolai’s face. Nik would have thought-if he could have thought-that his lover would get bored, get distracted; maybe find a book to read while his fingers quirked and pressed and dragged harsh moans from his throat. Yet Sergei’s attention remained focused solely on him, the elder Russian seemingly content to watch as Nikolai came undone beneath his hands.
Nik doesn’t know how much time passes, how long it’s been since they first stumbled through the front door. He’s been too lost in feeling, too lost in the pleasure and the burn, but finally his eyes flutter open-when had he closed them? he can’t remember-and he looks at Sergei, catching his lover’s gaze.
“Please,” he whispers; voice raw, ragged. Sergei’s eyes soften and he leans down, capturing Nikolai’s lips in a lazy, sweet kiss. His touches obligingly speed up, and it’s not long before Nikolai is arching into his hand, crying out softly as he comes for a final time. He tips over the edge in a tumbling wave, riding the crest and flowing ebb until the sensations cease, leaving him lax and pliant on the bed. He’s aware of Sergei departing to the bathroom, briefly, and feels the loss of his presence keenly after so many hours spent so intimately.
But the gentle caress of a damp washcloth across his abdomen and chest is more than welcome. Nik manages to focus his hazy vision on Sergei, who smiles fondly as he wipes clean the dried sticky evidence of the night’s events from his body. That done, he reaches up, undoing the cuffs wrapped around Nikolai’s wrists; catching them as his arms fall in dead weight and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of each wrist in turn.
Belatedly, through the fog, Nikolai comes to the realization Sergei hasn’t come at all tonight. He looks up questioningly, but receives only a smile and a shake of his lover’s head. There’s something in Sergei’s eyes, as though he gained something far deeper and more meaningful through the night’s events than simply getting off would have provided. And, in truth, Nikolai is far too exhausted to offer much reciprocation even if it had been desired. So he contents himself with curling his weary body around Sergei’s, pressing his face into the crook of his lover’s neck with a quavering sigh as Sergei settles into bed next to him.
Sergei smiles, combing his fingers through his lover’s hair, and finally allows Nikolai to rest.