FIC: Star Trek RPS -- Cocksucker
Title: Cocksucker
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto (with Chris/OMCs + surprise guest star!)
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 1,150
Disclaimer: I don’t know them and this probably did not happen. Probably.
Summary: For this prompt at the kink meme - Chris Pine's cocksucker lips attract a lot of attention. They always have. That's always what men what from him, his blue eyes staring up at them while he works his mouth over their dicks, and when he's done he gets a handjob or a raging set of blue balls and he's sent on his way. It's miserable and it makes him feel cheap, worthless, angsty as all fuck. I need: 5 guys who had Chris suck their dicks, and 1 guy who made love to him.
A/N: [Aragorn] A day may come when I write a fic that does not end in marshmallows and wildflowers and rainbow-farting unicorns. BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY! [/Aragorn] Originally posted at the kink meme, cleaned up and reposted here.
One
The first time, he’s just curious. Because, really, what is college for, and this is Berkeley, right? So when a guy at a theater party leans into his space and whispers, “Fuck, those lips were made for sucking cock,” he decides to give it a go. How bad can it be?
He fucking hates it.
The guy - Taylor? Tyler? Chris forgets pretty soon after - is gorgeous to look at, but he turns into an ear-grabbing, wild-thrusting, filth-talking asshole the second Chris gets his lips around the guy’s dick. He seems to completely disregard Chris’ inconvenient need for oxygen and gives no warning at all when he comes, and just laughs when Chris gags and spits violently into the hem of his own shirt.
“I knew it,” Taylor/Tyler says as he tucks himself back into his pants.
Two
The second time, he’s asked around enough to know that his first time was a disaster, so he resolves to give it another chance. He picks the guy this time, a stereotypical frat boy business major with a trust fund and an ego to rival Chris’ own.
This time, Chris shoves Brad onto the bed and yanks his designer slacks down before the guy can even ask for it. Chris is on him in a second, pinning his hips down with bruising hands before dragging his tongue up the vein on the underside of his cock, teasing the slit, sucking hard and fast and angry.
It’s not great. The guy wears too much cologne and whines when he comes and it tastes fucking disgusting. The handjob Chris gets afterward is perfunctory and almost not worth it.
But the thrill Chris gets from the act has little to do with pleasure. When he’s got Trust Fund Brad held down on the bed, writhing and whining and begging for his mouth, it doesn’t matter that he’s some flaky-ass English major. It doesn’t matter that this guy will probably call him a faggot in front of his frat brothers if they run into each other again. It doesn’t even matter that he’s Robert Pine’s son and supposed to live up to the family legacy or whatever.
What matters is that, in that moment, he is more powerful than any man alive.
Three... And More
By now he’s used to the taste, the smell, the raw feeling in his throat. And when he hears “those lips were made for sucking cock,” he just smiles - a slow, knowing grin that quirks up a little higher on the left side of his mouth and infallibly leaves the speaker a little breathless and a lot aroused.
Chris can pretty much have his pick now. He tends to like the arrogant type, the big manly men who will defend their heterosexuality even as Chris is sucking away, turning their bones to jelly. But he doesn’t let it get boring. Sometimes he picks the lonely, artsy kid in the back of the bar who’s struggling to get up the courage to even approach Chris. He likes those guys, too; they’re sweet and grateful, even if they don’t know how to reciprocate.
He’s long gotten over the need for reciprocation - it sort of ruins the whole effect, in fact. No, Chris much prefers just standing up when it’s over (fully clothed, as always), dropping a cool one-liner, and walking out the door
And if he ends up jerking off roughly in the shower afterward before crawling into bed to curl up with his knees against his chest, well, at least no one else has to see him like that.
Another One
“Been wanting to do this forever,” Chris says, kneeling in front of the big man and slowly licking his lips.
“You sure about this?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because I’m not really- Y’know-“
Chris chuckles. “You don’t even have to be gay - even bisexual - to appreciate a good blowjob. And I am very, very good.” He unbuckles the man’s belt, undoes the front of his jeans and takes his time doing so, never breaking eye contact. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that a fantastic blowjob begins long before his lips get involved.
But once his lips do get involved, this man doesn’t stand a chance. He’s got one big, strong hand at the back of Chris’ head, trying hard not to force him but failing spectacularly. And Chris lets him fuck his mouth, enjoys watching and feeling the smooth push of his hips until his rhythm falters and jerks and his release hits the back of Chris’ throat.
The big man slumps down the wall to the floor, his accent becoming much more pronounced. “Fuck, Chris, I don’t know what to say.” He gestures weakly at the bulge in Chris’ own jeans. “You want me to…?”
“Don’t worry about it, Karl. And I mean it - this doesn’t change anything. Like I said, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
This One
“Chris, no. Ohhh, fuck- Not like this. Stop, please.”
Chris doesn’t listen. He’s heard endless combinations of “please” and “stop” and “no,” which coming as they do in this particular context (fully aroused male, pants down, Chris’ mouth around his cock) mean the exact opposite of what they say.
So he’s a bit surprised when the gentle hands in his hair firmly pull his head back, away from Zach’s cock. Not surprised - stunned. Not that he’s exactly running through a catalogue of past fucks in his head, but he can’t remember any guy actually pulling him off once Chris has his lips around him.
Even more surprising than that, he wants it this time. Really wants it - not for the power it gives him, but to see what Zach tastes like, for the way Zach moans deep in his chest like he can’t control the sounds he’s making.
Chris’ voice, when it comes, sounds strangely petulant. “But I- Don’t you want me to?”
Zach’s hand trembles against Chris’ cheek, but his eyes are clear and steady. “God, yes. And you can, later, I promise. But right now, I want… more.”
“More than what?” Chris asks, wanting to keel over and die at the small crack in his voice.
But Zach just smiles, pulling Chris to his feet and tenderly rubbing his thumb over the younger man’s slightly chapped lower lip. “More than your lips. More than your mouth. I want everything.”
And Chris maybe should have rolled his eyes at that and cracked a joke and gotten down on his knees and back to business. But his eyes can’t leave Zach’s and his voice doesn’t seem to want to work, and the older man takes advantage of this stillness to lean in and kiss Chris gently, almost teasingly, and so softly that when he pulls back, Chris’ lips are left tingling with need.
Zach purrs quietly against his mouth. “Damn, Chris, those lips were made for kissing.”