Work Text:
Jim pointed at the restraints - “wrists,” – the spreader bar - “above the knee,” - and the bed - “kneeling.”
“Oh, fine.” You kneel down on the bed and start on the restraints, feeling Jim watching you.
It’s wide-set, but when you reach for the screw to adjust it, Jim clucks his tongue. Fine. You close the other cuff around your left knee. It forces your legs wide apart; you can already feel your muscles protesting.
“This is the pinnacle of laziness, if you ask me,” you say as you tighten the strap. “Can’t even be arsed to tie me up yourself.”
“I’m saving my energy,” Jim says lazily.
You click the handcuffs closed around your wrist and grab hold of the headboard with your left hand. “Because closing a handcuff is such hard work?” You lean to the right and fasten your other hand, and give an experimental pull.
“Because the view is entertaining. Comfy?”
“Reasonably.” You look over your shoulder. “The bar’s a bit, erm, long.”
“I know,” Jim says. Not a grain of sympathy in his voice.
You face back and shift about on your knees. The mattress dips behind you, and a second later you shiver at the familiar feel of Jim’s palms on your back.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “You might as well.”
“Yeah, well, I think I can be excused for being a little nervous.”
He laughs. “Poor Seb.” His hands slide down to your arse, spreading you open. You take a deep breath.
And then his tongue drags lewd and wet down your crack.
You jerk in surprise, because – he doesn’t often does this, goes against his fastidious streak.
He laughs, breath huffing against your skin. “Surprise.”
“Jesus.” You try to get a look at him. “What’d I do to deserve this, then?”
“Does there need to be a reason? Now turn back, you’re going to strain your neck like that.”
You face the wall again. He digs his fingernails in and the mattress moves again, as if he’s settling in, getting comfy. “Er, Jim?”
“Yes?” he asks, thumb teasing against your arsehole.
“Are you, er – what are you going to…”
“Seb,” he says, lazy, amused, almost affectionate. “What makes you think I would tell you, hm?”
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” you try. The side of his fingernail is drawing slow, distracting circles, and you can feel his breath but not how close he is.
He’s just waiting.
And then, finally, he goes down on you. One long lick, a graze of teeth, his tongue carefully prodding inside…
You moan and push back.
Jim pulls away. “Shush,” he says, his breath cool against the wet skin. “Stay still.”
“But you – ”
“Seb. Do as I say.”
You take a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry.”
He goes back, gentle quick laps of his tongue, the occasional squeeze of his hands… He hasn’t even touched your cock yet, but you’re already pretty hard, getting hungry for touch.
He pulls off with a wet sound and the mattress shifts again. You sigh happily. Done teasing, then.
“Don’t sound so relieved,” Jim says, a little hoarsely. He leans briefly on your shoulder to reach the bedside table and the bottle of water standing there.
You laugh. “Nothing’s ever straightforward with you, is it?” you say, looking over your shoulder. He’s drinking, head tilted back, adam’s apple bobbing. It’s a strangely appealing sight.
He wipes his mouth. “Finally caught on to that, did you? Took you long enough.” He puts the bottle back and disappears back out of your sight.
You try to adjust your position, only to be brought up short by the spreader bar, digging painfully against the inside of your thigh. The simple feeling of it, of wanting to close your legs and being unable to, is enough to send another wave of lust through you, making your cock twitch.
Jim chuckles and runs his thumb over the underside of your cock. You jerk, curse, but he doesn’t take it any further, unfortunately. He just palms your arse again and goes back to rimming you, slow and deep and thorough.
He keeps it up for what seems like hours, only pausing occasionally to take another sip of water, until you’re squirming in your restraints. It’s maddening, an endless too-light tease, which might be fun for a couple of minutes but right now it mostly makes you want to reach back and –
He slaps your arse. “Stop wriggling.”
“Easier said than done,” you say, panting.
“Really? You’re cracking already? That was quick.”
“Oh really?” You try to look over your shoulder again. “Wanna play turnabout, see how long you last?”
He grins, showing off his teeth. “I’m nowhere done yet, sweetheart. Turn back.”
You look back at the headboard. “Remind me to – ”
And then you suddenly get pulled backwards – the spreader bar, right, Jim must have yanked it. Your toes dig into the bed, hands tightening around the headboard, anything to keep from falling down.
Jim slowly pulls the bar even further back, until your stomach muscles are trembling with the effort of keeping upright.
“Well, this is interesting,” Jim remark. He strokes your arse – muscles pulled tight there as well, of course, no way he’s going to get his tongue in there now – and gives the bar another little yank.
You cling to the headboard, feeling like your stomach is going to snap in two with the effort of it. “Jim, just, just stop fucking around, please.”
He laughs. “Why would I want to do that? You really are beautiful when you’re a bit desperate, darling.”
“A bit?” you – well, squeal, probably.
He pushes the bar forward again, enough to ease the strain but still too far away to be entirely comfortable. “Stay,” he says calmly.
You nod, head dropped forward. He lets go of the bar and puts his hand flat on your back.
“Consider this as a work-out,” he says, drawing his hand lightly down. “An alternative to bench presses. A lot more entertaining, as well.”
“For you, maybe,” you pant. His hand has reached that sensitive place at the top of your thigh, just beneath your arse, and it’s getting increasingly difficult not to just collapse.
“I was talking about me.” He slaps your arse again – rather hard, actually – and you groan at the shock of pain. It makes your leg muscle tense up, which, fuck, is probably going into cramp any second now –
But Jim is Jim, which means he’s already noticed it. He pushes the bar forward, back to its earlier position, and his hand squeezes your painful muscle.
“Better?” he asks, and it might sound a bit mocking, but it isn’t entirely fake either.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” And without any preamble his mouth goes back to your arse. You curse again, hands tightening on the headboard.
“Jim…”
“Hmm?”
“How – how long are you going to keep this up?” you pant.
“Long. Now relax.” He smoothes his hand down your thighs and up again.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Really?” And suddenly his hand closes tight around the base of your cock, and you yelp.
“God, fuck, please – ”
“Shut up.”
“I’m – ”
He tightens his fingers even further, crossing well into painful. “Shut. Up.”
You give a nod, teeth buried in your bottom lip.
“Good boy.” His grip goes a little more relaxed and the fingers of his other hand slide down your arse crack, one finger slowly wriggling its way inside. Not that it’s difficult: under the endless fucking ministrations of his tongue and mouth you’re loose, wet, more than ready to take him inside.
He lowers his head – you can feel his hot breath again – and then he drags his tongue down and his finger curls up inside of you and his hand is still around your cock and –
He draws back. “Do that again,” he says, delighted.
“Wh- what?”
“You whined.”
“I did no-jesus fucking christ don’t stop.”
He lazily pushes his fingers down inside of you. “What did I say about talking?”
You give a little sob.
“Atta boy.” He slowly twists the hand around your cock. After all that time being ignored it feels fucking divine. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction, just a tiny bit more would be enough…
But then, of course, he stops again. Entirely: he pulls both hands back, and his mouth, leaving nothing but air to touch your feverish skin.
You only just manage to bite back a desperate plea. No talking.
“Let’s make a bet, shall we?” Jim says. “If you can last another minute, you win. And if you don’t, well…”
A minute. You can do a minute, you’ve been here for ages, you can take it for that long.
“Ready to start?”
You nod, again. A bit beyond words at the moment.
“Good.”
His hand goes to your arse again, followed a second later by his tongue, licking at already over-stimulated, sensitive skin. You jerk in your restraints at the first touch, but it’s bearable, just about. Even when he slowly pushes two fingers back in, rubbing against your prostate, you can just –
And then he closes his other hand around your cock and pumps up and down, quick and hard, and that’s too much to bear and finally you come, spilling over his hand and on the sheets, trembling uncontrollably, twitching hard at every swipe of his tongue.
He pulls back when you’re finished – thank god, you wouldn’t have survived it if he kept going – and undoes the handcuffs. You collapse face-down on the bed, breathing hard. Still shaking a bit.
Jim’s weight settles on your back. The palm of his hand strokes slowly up and down your spine.
“How – how long was that, then?” you ask, after a while.
He grabs your hair and pulls your head up and back, making you arch your back. “Thirty-two seconds,” he says derisively. “Pathetic.”
You swallow. “So, er, what happens now?”
“Now, darling, we find out where your real limits are.” He lets go of your hair and gropes your arse. You drop your forehead onto the pillow and groan.
It’s going to be a rough night.