Work Text:
DANTE
Ari turns the truck off, scoots the seat back as far as it will go, and pulls me into his lap so that I’m straddling him with my back to the steering wheel. He puts his hands on my rear and pulls me tight against him and kisses me sloppily. His tongue is in my mouth and his hands are up my shirt and I grin to myself because I hadn’t known that a simple belly-rub would do this to him, and now I do. Definitely going to keep that in my back pocket.
“I need to get you inside before I spontaneously combust,” he murmurs, and then he opens his door, grasps my rear again (I love his hands there), and slides out, still holding me. I wrap my arms and legs around him and hang on tight as he kicks the door shut and carries me up to my house, kissing me the whole way. He sets me down to fumble for his key, but then he can’t seem to stop himself from kissing me long enough to put it in the lock. I laugh and pull my own out of my pocket and get the door open while he’s sucking on my neck. As he pulls me up the stairs and into my bedroom, flashing a bright smile at me as he shuts the door behind us, all I can think about is how lucky I am.
I quickly forget to think about luck, though. I quickly stop thinking at all.
*He’s got that voice going again—the sultry, purring one that makes me want to do anything he says—and he’s telling me to take off my clothes as he leans up against my closed bedroom door, gazing at me.
I obey.
I maintain eye contact with him the whole time, except for when he tears his eyes away to let them roam down my body as I slip each item off, slowly. I cannot believe how much it turns me on to be told what to do. I’ve never liked it, in any other capacity—I’ve always resisted authority, either passive-aggressively or playfully or downright angrily, depending on the circumstances. I’ve always pushed back against external control. I’ve always been the one speaking my mind, making up my own rules, ignoring extrinsic expectations.
But when Ari gets this sound in his voice and this look in his eye and starts bossing me around, I just about lose my mind. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
It’s also... relaxing, in this way. That’s a weird word for it, because I’m anything but relaxed as he advances toward me fully clothed while I stand here naked and waiting for my next instructions. I’m completely vulnerable and tense as a bowstring, thrumming with excitement. But I also feel safe in a way I’d never felt before we started doing this. My mind is always thinking, always racing, like there are several radio stations playing at once. It’s fucking exhausting, to be honest. But when Ari takes control like this, my mind finally quiets. I stop questioning everything. I stop questioning anything. I just let myself trust him and do whatever he says, and it’s this sweet kind of relief I’ve never known before.
And hot. Did I mention it’s hot? Because it’s fucking top-tier hot.
He puts his hands on my waist, slides them up and down slowly, over my ribcage and back down to my hips, looking me up and down. My cock is so hard it feels like it’s pulsing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and then he presses his mouth to my neck and I let my head fall back and gasp when he bites down. It’s a gentle bite, but it makes all the nerve endings in my body stand at attention and my hips rock forwards against him involuntarily. “Not yet, love,” he murmurs, and I groan. He pulls back and grins at me, and I want him so much I can barely contain it. When I bite my bottom lip, his eyes go dark with lust. “Get on the bed,” he commands.
I do.
He crawls on top of me, kissing my stomach, my chest, my shoulder blades, my neck. He nips my earlobe and I gasp. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like anything I’m doing, right?” He always asks, but he doesn’t sound nervous anymore; we’ve played this game (if it IS a game; I’m not convinced it is) enough times that his confidence has grown.
“I promise,” I murmur. He smiles at me and it’s such a pure smile, I want to cry. Then he kisses me, slow and deep. I fight the urge to take over the kiss; I’m a natural leader, and it’s not easy to relinquish that. But I love relinquishing it, so I make myself breathe slowly through my nose and let him lead, trying to return the kiss with only as much intensity as he’s giving me.
He pulls away and I whimper in dismay, but then I whimper in a different way because he’s ghosting his lips across my chest, hovering over one nipple for a moment, then across my collarbone, down my arm. I squirm a little because the ache inside me is overwhelming.
“Hold still,” he says, and I make myself obey. He picks up one of my hands and then he does something he’s never done before: he pulls my index finger into his mouth and sucks. I inhale sharply. I feel like his eyes are burning me, but I can’t look away from his gaze.
“Please touch me,” I whisper raggedly, and he smiles and pulls his mouth off my finger.
“I like that. I like it when you tell me what you want,” he murmurs, and he wraps a hand around me and I melt into the bed.
“I’ve always told you what I want, Ari,” I breathe, and he laughs.
“Good thing, too,” he says, stroking me with infuriating slowness and sucking my middle finger into his mouth. I exhale slowly and tilt my head back against the pillow and shut my eyes and let his touch overwhelm me. I fight the urge to buck up into his hand. I start making sounds and he says, “Shhhhh.”
“I can’t,” I breathe, and I don’t really mean to moan right then, but it happens.
His mouth pops off my finger. “Don’t make me gag you,” he growls, and my stomach drops and my eyes pop open. The grin on his face is so mischievous it makes me huff out a laugh, and he winks.
Even though he’s clearly teasing, I whisper, “I wouldn’t mind,” because it’s true. I feel my cheeks grow hot. I’ve never been someone who gets embarrassed. I’ve never been a blusher. But sometimes, this guy makes me blush. What he brings out of me makes me blush. Sometimes I think I’m almost as surprised by myself as I’ve been by him. I may have made him into someone playful, but he’s made me into someone capable of surrender. It’s fucking glorious.
He’s staring at me in awe. His hand never stops working, even as he fights a smirk. “Noted,” he murmurs, and then he says, “Fuck, you’re hot,” and he lowers his mouth to replace his hand and I gasp and bite my lip so hard I taste blood. I clap my hands over my own mouth because he’s right—my parents are right down the hall, and what he’s doing feels so good, all I want to do is scream.
He’s got to be going crazy. He’s doing all this to me and he’s still fully clothed. “Please take your clothes off, baby,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. He hums in assent but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Not yet; he waits until I’m about to spill down his throat. I whisper a warning, but he doesn’t stop until he can feel that I’m about to give up and let go. Then he slowly, agonizingly, pulls his mouth off me. I groan, and it turns into a whimper, and I realize I’m trembling all over. He climbs off the bed and smiles down at me as he pulls his clothes off, his face so full of love I think I might shatter.
ARI
There are no words for what it’s like to have Dante Quintana completely at my mercy. Trusting me so completely. Giving himself over. He gets this look in his eyes, this hopeful, relieved adoration, that just...floors me. I’m so grateful that he allows it, because we both know that at the end of the day, we play by his rules.
But sometimes his only rule is: Ari makes the rules.
I’m so here for it.
I’ve never been a person who takes anyone’s shit, but I’d also never felt heard. Not until Dante came along. I’d been mostly invisible; I’d never felt seen. Dante empowered me, showed me I was worthy of more than I’d ever believed. He was the first person who ever really listened to me, and when we do this—when he gives all the power over to me—it’s like a super-intense microcosm of that. Of how he liberated me from my own prison and gave me a voice. Of how much he believes in me.
“On the floor. On your knees,” I tell him now. I’m standing by the bed naked, my erection nearly painful in its intensity. He scrambles to obey, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from grinning like a maniac. He’s so pretty with his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes wide open and looking up at me, his hands clearly itching to touch me as he puts himself in position. I do grin, then.
“Put your hands behind your back,” I say, looking down at him. He whimpers in that way I love, his voice sounding so melodic, but he does what I say. Slowly, intentionally. Blinking up at me in the most beautiful way. It takes my breath away.
“Good,” I murmur, and even though I’m using my commanding voice, I know that he sees the love in my eyes. I can tell, because he’s looking back with the same love.
He’s also looking quite cheeky. I decide I should do something about that. I narrow my eyes and say, “Put your mouth on me.”
He does. With enthusiasm.
I put my hands into his hair and pull, and he moans in approval but doesn’t take his hands from behind his back the whole time. It’s fucking insane, how good it is. But eventually I can’t take it anymore; I need my hands on his body. I need his hands on me.
“Stop,” I say. “Get back on the bed.” He immediately pulls off, making me groan. He grins up at me, looking quite pleased with himself, and my knees almost buckle. I love him so fucking much.
I crawl onto the bed, pressing him down beneath me as I go. “Put your arms around me, sweetheart,” I whisper, and he seems to understand that I suddenly, unexpectedly, need him to just be him now. His regular, bossy, attention-seeking self. He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me, sliding one hand up to the back of my neck, and I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. When I finally slide into him, we sigh together.
I take it slow, making him claw at my back to urge me on. I go deep, eliciting sharp little gasps. “I love you, Ari,” he whispers between kisses. “I love you. I love you. I love you so much.”
I’ve never been a crier, but sometimes...sometimes...this boy brings me to tears.