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It’s with some effort that Feuilly manages to pin Bahorel to the wall as they enter their apartment. Feuilly is by no means small or weak, but Bahorel is massive.
A grunt echoes in the room as Bahorel collides with the wall, and he grins, teeth shining in the moonlight. “What’s your problem, Ginge?”
Feuilly doesn’t bother to dignify that with a response, just lunges forward and practically attacks Bahorel’s neck. The younger man moans, the sound rumbling in his chest and throat and traveling to Feuilly’s own mouth.
Feuilly drags his tongue along the sienna, bitten-red skin and pulls away just enough to look in Bahorel’s eyes. There’s a glint there, soft, barely noticeable, but Feuilly’s always been observant, and he knows Bahorel inside and out.
“Do you have something you wanna ask me?” He murmurs and Bahorel’s grin widens.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Feuilly rolls his eyes. “Get in the bedroom, take your clothes off, and kneel.”
“Why should I?”
Without even pausing, Feuilly reaches up and grabs the long, shaggy hair pilled on the unshaven side of Bahorel’s head. He tugs harshly and pulls Bahorel down to his height. “Do as I say or you will get nothing tonight.”
Bahorel’s eyes flick back and forth, looking at and away from Feuilly. He bites his lip and nods as much as he can. “OK,” he breathes.
Feuilly smiles and releases his hold on Bahorel and the larger man scampers down the hall to their room, already pulling his shirt over his head.
Feuilly waits for a couple minutes, stroking himself through his jeans, before he starts down the hall.
After all the times they’ve done this, he really shouldn’t be surprised when he enters the room and sees Bahorel, naked and half-hard, but standing. He’s got his fully tattooed arms crossed over his tattooed chest and a shit-eating grin curls his lips.
Feuilly sighs slowly, frowning, and leans against the doorjamb. “I told you to kneel, Bahorel.”
“I know,” Bahorel replies, biting his lip to hold back a giggle.
“So why aren’t you kneeling?”
Bahorel doesn’t say anything, just smirks and shifts his weight.
Feuilly takes advantage of this brief moment where Bahorel’s guard is down. He tackles the larger man, gets him on his back, and rests his weight on Bahorel’s powerful legs. He grips Bahorel’s wrists and pins them, one on each side of Bahorel’s head. He shoves a leg between Bahorel’s own and the rough friction of his jeans against Bahorel’s cock draws a yelp from the younger man.
Feuilly watches Bahorel’s eyes screw close as he presses his leg harder against him, using just enough pressure to make it hurt. “Are you gonna be good for me?” He pants, inches away from Bahorel’s lips.
Get offa me, fuckface,” Bahorel grits out.
“Wrong answer,” Feuilly says, releasing one of Bahorel’s wrists and fisting it in his hair. “Get up,” he demands, standing and pulling Bahorel with him.
The larger man hisses and follows Feuilly’s iron grip as he’s dragged into a kneeling position.
“Don’t move,” Feuilly growls before releasing Bahorel’s hair. He pauses, making sure Bahorel is obeying his orders, then turns and rifles through their drawers, quickly finding two neckties. Feuilly grins and turns back to Bahorel, who’s looking up at him, eyes wide and nearly black.
“I’m going to give you one last chance, Bahorel,” Feuilly murmurs as he pulls Bahorel’s arms behind his back. He quickly and securely fastens Bahorel’s wrists to his ankles, forcing his muscular body into a beautiful backwards arch. His cock, fully erect now, juts out from his hips and Feuilly can’t resist slapping it harshly.
A surprised cry erupts from Bahorel’s mouth and he struggles against his bonds. “Fuck you,” he spits as Feuilly steps back to admire his handiwork. He circles around Bahorel, watching his colorful chest heave with every breath, the way the tattoos on his arms shift as he clenches and relaxes his hands, how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, how beautiful his sienna skin, with its bruises and scars, new and old, looks in this lighting, with drops of sweat just beginning to form.
His eyes, though, Feuilly notices, are wide and just starting to glaze over. So, he moves to stand in front of Bahorel, and he slowly opens his jeans and pulls his cock out.
Bahorel’s mouth opens wide automatically, and he pouts when Feuilly doesn’t move forward, disappointment dulling the glint in his eyes. “Feuilly—“
“You haven’t earned my cock, Bahorel,” He replies, his tone casual and matter-of-fact. He curls his hand around his dick and starts stroking slowly. “You’ve been ridiculous tonight, so, we’re going to play a game.” He moves to stand right next to Bahorel’s head, just out of reach his lips. “You’re gonna watch me, and if you agree to behave before I come, then I’ll give you what you want. But if I come before you agree…” Feuilly’s strokes speed up just a little. “Then you’ll get nothing. You understand?”
Bahorel nods slowly, his eyes watching Feuilly’s hand intently. “Yes,” he rasps.
Bahorel’s eyes never stray from Feuilly’s cock; he watches every stroke, sees every minute muscle twitch, follows each drop of pre-come down the shaft. His pupils are huge, taking in every last detail. Feuilly can see the hunger there, the need in the way Bahorel watches him as if he’s the only thing in the world.
Feuilly’s own eyes are looking everywhere, all over Bahorel’s body. He watches the thick muscles all over his body move under his skin, how he trembles and jerks. He grins when he sees Bahorel’s cock twitch as pre-come leaks steadily from the head. A quick glance up at Bahorel’s eyes and Feuilly knows the younger man is close to breaking.
A few minutes later, when Feuilly can feel his orgasm just starting to build, Bahorel exhales sharply and Feuilly knows he’s won before the younger man even speaks.
Bahorel blinks slowly and when he opens his eyes, he looks not at Feuilly’s dick, but at his face. “Feuilly,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ll be good.”
A smile spreads across Feuilly’s lips and he looks down at Bahorel. His eyes have lost that glint; they’re soft now. “You’ll be good?”
Bahorel nods and swallows hard. “I promise, I’ll be good, I promise.”
Feuilly kneels down and runs a hand down Bahorel’s chest. “You want me to fuck you?”
Bahorel shudders. “Please,” he whispers, his eyes getting watery.
“Shhh,” Feuilly sooths, stroking Bahorel’s hair gently. “You’ll get what you need.”
He quickly rids himself of his clothing and unties Bahorel with nimble fingers. “Get on the bed,” He says, gently pulling Bahorel into a kiss. “On your back.”
Bahorel slowly stands and stretches, easing the tension out of his muscles before climbing onto the bed. He lies back as Feuilly grabs a bottle of lube from their bedside table and kneels between Bahorel’s slightly spread legs. He curls his hands around the backs of Bahorel’s thighs and pushes, angling the larger man’s hips up and spreading him open.
Bahorel’s hips twitch and he groans, “please, Feuilly, please I—“
His eyes are watering and every muscle in his body is tense. Feuilly slowly runs his hands along his thighs, urging the muscles to unclench. “Relax, Bahorel, you’re gonna get what you need, but you need to relax.” Feuilly picks up the bottle of lube resting on the bed next to him and coats his fingers quickly. He presses a cold digit to Bahorel’s hole, just barely pushing in.
“Please,” Bahorel pants and Feuilly slowly eases his finger into him, curling it and striking Bahorel’s prostate with no effort.
A moan rumbles in the inked barrel chest above Feuilly and he grins at the sound, glancing up to look at Bahorel. The younger man stares down at him, lips parted, eyes shining with lust and something else Feuilly can’t quite name. Feuilly moves his finger, pulling out and pushing back in as he waits for Bahorel’s body to adjust.
“You gonna cry for me tonight, ‘Rel?” Feuilly breathes, pressing his cheek against Bahorel’s thigh as he slides in a second finger. When Bahorel doesn’t answer, he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the smooth, sienna skin of his thigh.
Bahorel’s hips buck up and a ragged cry tears itself from his throat.
“I said, are you gonna cry for me?” Feuilly repeats, dragging his tongue over the bite mark.
“Fuck, yes, Feuilly, yes,” Bahorel whines, his eyes rolling back as he fucks himself on Feuilly’s hand. “More, please, more!”
The ginger haired man slides another finger in before moving to loom above Bahorel. He curls his fingers, pressing against Bahorel’s prostate steadily, drawing a series of long, broken moans from the younger man. He watches Bahorel’s eyes, shiny and desperate as they watch the fingers moving in and out of him. Feuilly slowly builds up speed until he’s fucking Bahorel, fingers slamming into the man below, making his cock leak all over his stomach.
“Feuilly, your cock, I—“ Bahorel cuts himself off with a gasp and his watery eyes slip close. Feuilly’s free hand grips Bahorel’s jaw firmly and he growls, “eyes open, look at me.”
Bahorel obeys and Feuilly’s so close to him now, he can see every last detail there, the thin ring of amber around a thick, black pupil, the tears just now starting to spill, the hurricane of emotions swirling. Feuilly pulls Bahorel into a fierce kiss, swallows the tiny moan that escapes from those cracked lips and carefully pulls his fingers out.
Bahorel whimpers, (and Feuilly might just have to tease him about that later), at the loss, and Feuilly slicks his cock as fast he can. He’s so fucking hard, and he can think of nothing better than burying himself in Bahorel’s willing body.
So he does.
He doesn’t bother with a condom, because he knows Bahorel needs to feel him, all of him, and he wants to feel all of Bahorel in return. He grabs Bahorel’s thighs again, spreading him open and pushes in one smooth thrust.
Bahorel’s hands are clutching Feuilly’s forearms, his blunt nails digging in. Feuilly moans at the bite of pain mixing with the overwhelming pleasure, and when he bottoms out inside Bahorel, he can’t think of anything that is better than this.
Bahorel’s whimpers and his desperate pleas for “more, move, God, Feuilly, move!” reach his ears and Feuilly obeys, (like he’s ever been able to say no to Bahorel), and starts thrusting, slowly, wanting this to last.
Bahorel, however, has other plans. “Fuck me,” he groans, bucking his hips and making Feuilly move inside him.
“Greedy slut,” Feuilly pants, even as he increases his pace. He pushes Bahorel’s legs out to the sides, knees bent, thighs spread open with his long, thin fingers, and strong, callused hands gripping the column of pure muscle. He knows how much Bahorel loves that, being held open, a tight grip keeping his thighs spread.
And as if on cue, Bahorel chokes on a whine and gasps, “yes, God, yes, Feuilly!” His fingers are still curled around Feuilly’s arms, clenching and releasing sporadically. His eyes, black and shining with tears, watch Feuilly’s cock pumping in and out of him, and God, Feuilly loves it when he does that.
He rewards Bahorel with a sharp thrust right to his prostate, and another, and another, and the younger man rocks his hips up almost violently, meeting Feuilly’s every thrust. He’s shaking now, trembling under Feuilly’s steady hands, his every muscle alight with pleasure. Feuilly can see that he’s close; there’s a look in his eyes, truly desperate, that Bahorel only has when he’s close to coming.
Feuilly leans forward, trapping Bahorel’s cock, between their stomachs and drags his tongue along Bahorel’s neck before scraping his teeth along the flesh and biting down. “You wanna come, ‘Rel?” he rasps, smoothing the dark brown hair from Bahorel’s face and looking down into his eyes. “You wanna cry for me?”
“Yes, please, please, let me—“
Feuilly slips a hand between their bodies to thumb at the head of Bahorel’s cock, knowing that will be enough to send him over the edge as he strikes Bahorel’s prostate with a volley of fast, rough thrusts.
Feuilly watches as Bahorel’s back arches and he throws his head back in a scream that morphs into a heavy sob. He sees the tears finally spill down Bahorel’s face as he spills between them, streaks of thick white smearing on their bellies. His body shudders as his orgasm floods his veins and his hands are clutching Feuilly’s arms, leaving the most beautiful bruises.
And when Bahorel’s eyes open as he starts coming down and he looks up at Feuilly, still crying, still sobbing and shaking, with that look in his eyes, soft and trusting and something Feuilly can’t name amongst the tears, something snaps inside him. Feuilly’s hands drag down Bahorel’s colorful chest as he comes. His hips stutter and he buries his face in Bahorel’s neck, gasping and biting the already bruised flesh. His entire body tenses, every muscle, as pleasure overcomes him and everything that isn’t Bahorel fades away.
When Feuilly comes back to himself, sprawled over Bahorel’s huge chest, the younger man’s hands splayed over his back, he smiles and glances up at Bahorel’s face.
There are still a few tears running down his cheeks, but Bahorel’s lips are curled in a light smile and his eyes, half-closed, are peaceful when he looks down at Feuilly. There’s still that unidentifiable emotion in them, but Feuilly is too exhausted and fucked out to try and analyze and decipher Bahorel any further.
So he leans up, tilts Bahorel’s head closer and draws him into a slow, deep kiss. Bahorel sighs, a small whimper falling from his throat and burrowing itself into Feuilly’s heart as Bahorel’s hands gently cup his face. And when the kiss breaks, and he takes another look at those deep, expressive eyes, Feuilly finally understands.