fic: Honey, I Won't Beg
Title: Honey, I Won't Beg (I'll Just Take It Quick)
Rating: NC-17 like whoah.
Length: 812
Warnings: This is a slash community. :D derp
Disclaimer: For tourdefierce , because she FINISHED HER PAPERLEGENDS, WOO. \o/ She asked for Urbine fingering, and really, who would say no. Title and cuttext from Anarbor's Gypsy Woman.
--
Karl’s fingers are hot brands on Chris’ sternum but they’re hotter on his tongue. Hazel-blown-black eyes are alarmingly focused on the stretch of Chris’ mouth, but Chris can’t say much for himself, either. Karl’s own tongue is caught between his teeth, the occasional hitch of breath escaping and it’s driving Chris fucking insane, right alongside the huge palm around his cock and the fingers in his mouth. He sucks them down hard, scrapes his teeth over the knuckles and feels smug when Karl groans, shoves Chris back down against the bed and knocks his legs apart. It isn’t a struggle, not when Karl looks at him like that and pushes Chris’ knee to his chest.
The fury of bees in Chris’ stomach intensifies when Karl pauses, presses all of his hot and glorious weight into Chris until he feels the stretch in his thigh. Karl’s hair is flopping to his forehead and they’re both slick sweaty but then his lips curl over his teeth in a wolf’s grin and there’s blunt fingertips pushing in, Karl’s always pushing and pushing but Chris fucking loves it, loves being stretched open and laid bare and he just takes it. Karl kisses him sloppy and wet and filthy and their teeth get in the way and Chris tastes blood, just a little.
When he next opens his eyes, three of Karl’s fingers are inside of him and God, can I just--, he tries to say, but it’s broken by his moan, a gut-wrenching sound that tears through the otherwise silent hotel room. Karl goes unbearably slow-always pushes Chris, but everything is a slow burn that melts his bones and coils him down into a tight spiral of want.
“That’s it, love,” Karl husks, licking sweat from his upper lip. Chris throws an arm over his face and squeezes his eyes shut because it’s almost too much, even if it’s just a throwaway name. Suddenly, the fingers up his ass feel huge, splitting him open and twisting at all the right angles. Each time Karl brushes his prostate it’s sparks up his spine, pins in the arches of his feet and a delicious ache in the pit of his stomach. Chris thrashes against the sheets but there’s never the intention or the thought of getting away, he’d never go away (not even if Karl asked him to).
His dick lies forgotten against his stomach, and he knows as soon as Karl gets even close to touching it, just a thumb and forefinger around the head, maybe, he’s done for. Chris wants to thrust mindlessly onto Karl’s fingers, to push back at the thumb pressing behind his balls, shunt his hips up or something, but Karl’s other hand is so fucking huge on his abdomen, forcing him down onto the bed and it’s the hottest thing ever.
Karl’s got this grin on his face, this taffy-slow pull of lips that’s two parts sweet and one part possessive and he’s got no right to be, but Karl’s always been one to ignore ‘limitations’. Chris feels empty when Karl’s fingers leave him (“Like a whore,” Karl says, a little bit in wonder but mostly in admiration), and yeah, all right, he’s pathetic but he whines at how empty he feels, right until the moment Karl shoves in with his cock and maybe Chris sees stars.
“Yeah,” Chris says, because it’s all he can say, it’s all he can ever say, because he’ll never tell Karl ‘no’. Their toes curl into the bedsheets and sweat rolls into the dimples in their backs. Karl’s shoulders are impossible and wide beneath Chris’ hands, and his hair sticks up from where Chris’ fingers have carded through over and over. It’s really not as pretty as the movies make it seem, with their glowing skin and sweet golden lighting; Karl grunts when Chris squeezes and the bites they leave on each other are red and bruising. Chris’ stomach glistens with precome and he knows it’s a full-body flush, that his ears are prickling and there’s sweat dripping into his eyes. It’s messy and once the jizz dries it’s going to be fucking gross, but it’s fair enough a trade when Chris gets to see Karl fly apart because of him.
They lose rhythm to favor the sound of skin slapping skin, of the hotel air conditioner whirring in the dim light, and of their stilted breaths. Karl brings their hips real close and thrusts shallow, until Chris groans guttural and thick.
“Please,” Chris begs, high and strained and out of his mind with need. Karl’s nails leave angry streaks on his chest and he’s sucking a bruise Chris knows he won’t be able to hide underneath his jaw. “Please, I just-,” and Karl’s grip is vicious around his hipbones.
“No,” he growls, and Chris blacks out from the force of his orgasm.
Rating: NC-17 like whoah.
Length: 812
Warnings: This is a slash community. :D derp
Disclaimer: For tourdefierce , because she FINISHED HER PAPERLEGENDS, WOO. \o/ She asked for Urbine fingering, and really, who would say no. Title and cuttext from Anarbor's Gypsy Woman.
--
Karl’s fingers are hot brands on Chris’ sternum but they’re hotter on his tongue. Hazel-blown-black eyes are alarmingly focused on the stretch of Chris’ mouth, but Chris can’t say much for himself, either. Karl’s own tongue is caught between his teeth, the occasional hitch of breath escaping and it’s driving Chris fucking insane, right alongside the huge palm around his cock and the fingers in his mouth. He sucks them down hard, scrapes his teeth over the knuckles and feels smug when Karl groans, shoves Chris back down against the bed and knocks his legs apart. It isn’t a struggle, not when Karl looks at him like that and pushes Chris’ knee to his chest.
The fury of bees in Chris’ stomach intensifies when Karl pauses, presses all of his hot and glorious weight into Chris until he feels the stretch in his thigh. Karl’s hair is flopping to his forehead and they’re both slick sweaty but then his lips curl over his teeth in a wolf’s grin and there’s blunt fingertips pushing in, Karl’s always pushing and pushing but Chris fucking loves it, loves being stretched open and laid bare and he just takes it. Karl kisses him sloppy and wet and filthy and their teeth get in the way and Chris tastes blood, just a little.
When he next opens his eyes, three of Karl’s fingers are inside of him and God, can I just--, he tries to say, but it’s broken by his moan, a gut-wrenching sound that tears through the otherwise silent hotel room. Karl goes unbearably slow-always pushes Chris, but everything is a slow burn that melts his bones and coils him down into a tight spiral of want.
“That’s it, love,” Karl husks, licking sweat from his upper lip. Chris throws an arm over his face and squeezes his eyes shut because it’s almost too much, even if it’s just a throwaway name. Suddenly, the fingers up his ass feel huge, splitting him open and twisting at all the right angles. Each time Karl brushes his prostate it’s sparks up his spine, pins in the arches of his feet and a delicious ache in the pit of his stomach. Chris thrashes against the sheets but there’s never the intention or the thought of getting away, he’d never go away (not even if Karl asked him to).
His dick lies forgotten against his stomach, and he knows as soon as Karl gets even close to touching it, just a thumb and forefinger around the head, maybe, he’s done for. Chris wants to thrust mindlessly onto Karl’s fingers, to push back at the thumb pressing behind his balls, shunt his hips up or something, but Karl’s other hand is so fucking huge on his abdomen, forcing him down onto the bed and it’s the hottest thing ever.
Karl’s got this grin on his face, this taffy-slow pull of lips that’s two parts sweet and one part possessive and he’s got no right to be, but Karl’s always been one to ignore ‘limitations’. Chris feels empty when Karl’s fingers leave him (“Like a whore,” Karl says, a little bit in wonder but mostly in admiration), and yeah, all right, he’s pathetic but he whines at how empty he feels, right until the moment Karl shoves in with his cock and maybe Chris sees stars.
“Yeah,” Chris says, because it’s all he can say, it’s all he can ever say, because he’ll never tell Karl ‘no’. Their toes curl into the bedsheets and sweat rolls into the dimples in their backs. Karl’s shoulders are impossible and wide beneath Chris’ hands, and his hair sticks up from where Chris’ fingers have carded through over and over. It’s really not as pretty as the movies make it seem, with their glowing skin and sweet golden lighting; Karl grunts when Chris squeezes and the bites they leave on each other are red and bruising. Chris’ stomach glistens with precome and he knows it’s a full-body flush, that his ears are prickling and there’s sweat dripping into his eyes. It’s messy and once the jizz dries it’s going to be fucking gross, but it’s fair enough a trade when Chris gets to see Karl fly apart because of him.
They lose rhythm to favor the sound of skin slapping skin, of the hotel air conditioner whirring in the dim light, and of their stilted breaths. Karl brings their hips real close and thrusts shallow, until Chris groans guttural and thick.
“Please,” Chris begs, high and strained and out of his mind with need. Karl’s nails leave angry streaks on his chest and he’s sucking a bruise Chris knows he won’t be able to hide underneath his jaw. “Please, I just-,” and Karl’s grip is vicious around his hipbones.
“No,” he growls, and Chris blacks out from the force of his orgasm.