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“God, look at you, Pierre,” Lewis says, his eyes focused on the warm skin under his fingertips. “You’re so pretty, my love.”
The glint of the candlelight reflects on Pierre’s hard clit, swollen red and drenched after Lewis had spent close to an hour just running his tongue up and down Pierre’s cunt. But it still doesn’t outshine the glittering gold of the piercing on his clit. It had been one of Pierre’s birthday gifts months ago, a bit of a selfish one if Lewis is sincere. There is nothing he likes more than making his boy all pretty, marking him up, and dripping in gold. Now the little gold balls sit perfectly against Pierre’s throbbing flesh, the curved bar tucked nicely underneath his hood, ready for Lewis to play with it. To pull and roll his skin, to tuck his tongue underneath, and to play the metal until Pierre loses his voice moaning. Although, tonight he has other plans for him. He grips the sides of Pierre’s clit, hard, and starts jerking him off.
“Darling, you know what I need so I can fit my whole hand inside you,” he says, his movements punctuating each word.
Pierre moans, his hands gripping the silk sheets hard enough for his knuckles to blanch. His legs had started trembling again, only Lewis’ free hand keeping them open. He's looking at Lewis with shining eyes and shining cheeks from the tears rolling down his face. He clenchs around nothing, and grunts when Lewis flicks the piercing with his tongue.
“Use your words; what are you going to do so I can fuck you nice and thoroughly with my fist?” Lewis says, his lips fluttering against Pierre. His hand is still moving, so the piercing bumps against his plush mouth.
It took Pierre a second, a trembling exhalation, and a deep breath before he found his voice in between the cries of pleasure. “I need,” he moans. “I need to come.”
Lewis smiles and slaps Pierre’s cunt with his free hand. “That’s right, darling, I need you to cum so I can fill you up to the brim,” he keeps slapping him, soft quick taps against his fluttering hole while his other hand tugs and rubs his clit. “You asked me for this, and you know I can’t say no to you, babe, but you need to be a good boy and come for me.” He is feeling playful that night, maybe it is the citrusy scent of the candles around them, the soft silk sheets against their skin, or the way Pierre had asked for it hours before, sitting on Lewis’ lap and playing with his braids, deft fingers rubbing his scalp until he knew there was no way he wouldn’t agree.
“Can I come on your fingers, Sir?” Pierre says, his eyes focused on Lewis’. “Please.”
Lewis knows that look, he knows that Pierre is nervous. They had been working up to this for a long time, not so much physically. Pierre is used to being full, Pierre loves being full, stuffed, and filled until he can feel himself gaping, dripping, and clenching around nothing just to feel how open Lewis’ dick had left him. But there is that first-time nervousness that takes over Pierre whenever they want to try something. Lewis is ready to help him, to lead him to what he wants, to give him everything he asks for. So of course he isn't going to let him come on his fingers.
“No,” he says, and he feels how that word gets a full-body reaction from Pierre, but instead of tensing up, he relaxes completely, his head hanging back against the soft pillows, his trembling hips slowing, and his hands unclenching. “I know you can come without them, and then you’ll be able to come on my hand. You're my good boy, so you're going to come like this.”
He moves up Pierre's body, kissing his way up his happy trail, up his breastbone, and to the golden cross resting there. Of course, the piercing matches it perfectly; he had made sure of it. His lips follow the sharp edge of Pierre's jaw, soft bites timed with his moans lead him up to his lips. And he kisses him, soft and warm, pouring everything into his lips. Pierre's hand lands on his nape, making sure he can't cut the kiss short. He smiles and lets him pull on his braids, only a little nibble as a warning. He continues jerking Pierre off, dipping his fingers close to his hole but not close enough before coming back to his clit.
Then Pierre tightens his grip on Lewis’ braids, his legs shaking, the only thing keeping them open enough is Lewis' hips between them. Lewis can feel how close he is to his climax, his own hardness resting against Pierre's hip. Even through the fabric of his underwear, he can feel the fever-hot skin. So he deepens the kiss, his tongue pulling every moan and whine from Pierre's throat at the same time his fingers start moving faster.
Finally, Pierre tenses up against him, his whole body shaking with the wave of pleasure from his orgasm—the first of the night—crashing through him. Lewis keeps kissing him, his touch softening, coaxing him through it until Pierre relaxes in his arms. Whispering sweet encouragement in his ear, his words dripping down his skin like the sweetest syrup.
Lewis moves back and looks down at Pierre, taking in every detail of his form against the sheets of their bed. His flushed chest, red splotches surrounding the golden cross resting between his defined pecs, thin old scars blurred with time. The warmth from the candles makes him look like a vision, like something he shouldn't be able to touch, but there he is, sweaty under his fingertips, wet between his legs. Pierre's gaze softens as well, the nervousness in his eyes melts away with the pleasure that drags him under. He smiles and brushes Pierre's cheek with his free hand.
“That was perfect,” he says. “You did so well, darling. Are you ready to continue?”
Lewis doesn't even need to ask him to use his words. Although his gaze stays soft and slightly unfocused, Pierre answers with ease.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
Lewis kisses Pierre's cheek, a soft brush of lips while his fingers move through Pierre's folds, the gentlest of touches gathering moisture. He pushes his first finger in, Pierre's flesh fluttering around it with almost no resistance, his cunt is warm and so wet, he can already feel it dripping past the soft webbing between his fingers, down the back of his hand in glistening rivers over his tattoos. He wants to pull his hand up and feed his fingers to Pierre, brushing his open lips with his own sweet release. Instead, he pushes and prods, bending his finger against Pierre's pelvic bone, seeking the squishy resistance of his G spot. Pierre closes his eyes then, eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, their shadow stretched by the candles. Lewis wants to make him cry again and see if the tears would glitter like his jewelry, caught on his eyelashes. He pulls his finger out and pushes his forehead against Pierre's shoulder.
“You're doing amazing, Pierre,” he says, circling Pierre's entrance with two fingers.
When he pushes into him, he can feel the first hint of resistance, Pierre's hole tightening around his knuckles. He licks Pierre's neck again, his tongue retracing the dried path he had left behind on his way up until he feels him relax. He starts moving his fingers, deep strokes matching Pierre's stuttering breath. His own chest copies the stammering rhythm. He hooks his fingers behind Pierre's pelvic bone, the heel of his hand resting against his clit in a punishing thrust. Pierre mewls in his arms, and Lewis can't stop his hips from moving against him, matching the pressure of his hand. He can feel Pierre getting close to another orgasm, muscles trembling, growing even wetter under his fingers, their bodies tuned into each other's pleasure. So he pulls his fingers out. The vision of his soaked fingers makes his stomach roll in honeyed lava, sweet scalding want. All consuming.
Pierre groans and trembles, his legs tensing, knees pulling up against Lewis’ hips. Lewis shushes him, hand resting on top of his cunt, comforting, his lips glued to his neck. He moves back, using his free hand to find the tub of lube he had thrown on top of the bed earlier. It had rolled underneath one of the pillows at some point, so he has to twist around to grab it. Like everything else around them, it is fancy—completely vegan, full of skin-soothing ingredients, smooth and silky, thick butter, as the packaging claims. Pierre had bought it some time ago, one of his tasks that week was to replenish their lube reserves. He had pulled out the tube from the opaque bag, pretending to ignore the fist printed on it, telling Lewis how the sex shop employee had said it was the best they had.
Lewis tries and fails to open the tub one-handed, so he pulls his fingers away from Pierre's cunt amidst complaining moans. Pierre's eyes open, shining, blue irises swallowed up by dark pits of lust under his frown. Lewis smiles, nuzzling his shoulder while wiping his hand on the silk sheets and trying to open the tube again. He flings the lid back over his shoulder and leaves the open tube beside Pierre's hip. He dips four fingers into the soft yellow butter, it melts instantly under his warm skin, coating his fingers. He rubs it between his fingers, his thumb smoothing over the fingertips, warming it up quickly. Lewis shimmies a little lower, his covered cock dragging down Pierre's thigh and onto the sheets, the pressure making him grunt against Pierre's ribs. He stays there for a second, scraping his teeth over Pierre’s side while he lets his hips grind against the bed, granting himself a moment of relief to calm down the bubbling desperation inside him. He moves his slick hand back to Pierre’s cunt, and smiles when he hears him gasp.
“Are you ready to continue, love?” he asks, pressing three fingers to Pierre’s hole like a chaste kiss.
He feels Pierre’s full body tremble, an earthquake, tectonic plates shifting to let molten desire flow through him, his legs tensing before falling open around Lewis again. He wants to bite him, to latch on so hard he can feel every little move against his teeth, the twist of his ribs with each shaking breath. Maybe if he dug deep enough he could feel his own nerves light up with pleasure, a mirror to Pierre's. Instead, he pushes his hand harder, the tips of his fingers barely breaching Pierre’s cunt.
“Love?” He repeats, looking up at Pierre.
His face is pulled tight in a low moan, eyebrows furrowed, and lips bit. He nods.
“Yes, please,” his eyes close like he can't talk and keep his gaze focused at the same time, head thrown back when Lewis pushes against his hole again. “ Please .”
That is familiar territory—the push of three fingers against Pierre's cunt. Their usual routine to get Pierre ready for Lewis' cock when he wants it slow and easy, not hard and fast, to sting. Lewis twists his wrist slightly, squeezing his fingertips closer together, before pushing harder, Pierre's cunt opening for him. He goes in with slow, undulating movements, every push and pull dragging moans from Pierre's chest. When he gets down to the second knuckle, he stops, pulling his fingers apart very slowly, pushing against the plush walls of Pierre's hole. He can't stop looking at it—at the flushed red skin of Pierre's cunt around his fingers, at his hole squeezing him. He drags one of his fingers from his other hand through Pierre's folds, circling his clit before flicking it, then rubbing the ache of it away, drowning it out with pleasure.
“I wish you could see yourself like this,” Lewis says, pushing his fingers deeper while his other hand continued rubbing his clit, teasing the piercing. “Maybe I should be recording right now, so I could show you how you look opening up for me. So you could see how your body prepares to take my whole hand.”
Pierre's whole body shudders, his toes curling up when Lewis gets all three fingers fully in. He had thrown one of his arms across his face at some point, half covering his eyes. But Lewis can still see one of his maddeningly blue irises peeking from underneath, tears streaking his cheeks. He smiles, wicked and big before pulling his fingers out at once, dipping them back in the fisting butter. Then he pushes the tips of all four fingers inside, curling them against the walls, sliding side to side, pushing, making way for themselves. He is hot, he is wet. He is tight .
Pierre's lips part in a breathy moan, and his mouth stays open. He is drooling, the corners of his lips wet, his tongue rolling over his bottom lip, bitten red and puffy. Fighting against the desire to lick Pierre's spit directly from his lip, to dig his teeth into Pierre's lip again and again until they lined up perfectly with the marks Pierre left there himself, Lewis moves further down on the bed, his lips following the sharp cut of Pierre's hip bone down to his thigh, resting his head there, eyes on Pierre's cunt, hypnotized by the way his drenched fingers spread him open. One knuckle. Two knuckles. Pull back. Repeat.
“Goodness, Pierre, look at you,” his mouth doesn't stop, dripping praise over sweaty skin. “You’re so close to having my whole hand inside you, you're amazing, such a good boy for me.”
Lewis can feel Pierre tense around him, his hole squeezing his fingers like a vice, keeping him there, just for Lewis to push deeper when he feels him relax. He knows Pierre is getting close, again, teetering on the edge of his second orgasm. If his groans and moans weren't enough of a tell, the way his hips try to push back against Lewis' hand, the way Pierre's hand drops onto his shoulder, fingers squeezing it like white-hot fire pokers, is enough to be sure. His fingers dancing over his clit would probably be enough to push him over if it wasn't for the stretch, the relentless thrust of his hand keeping Pierre right on that limit, tethered to the edge, balancing between pleasure and pain. He keeps moving in and out of him, loud moans in harmony with the sinfully wet sounds of his fingers moving inside him until he feels Pierre open enough around them.
“Do you want to come?” He asks, curling his fingers up against Pierre's G spot, insistent while flickering his piercing with his other hand. “Are you close, baby? I think you can hold it until I have my whole hand in you, can't you love?”
He pulls his fingers almost completely out, only the tip of his middle finger resting inside Pierre's already gaping hole, curling his thumb towards his palm. He thinks his fist looks huge next to Pierre's cunt, an impossible width, especially when he starts pushing, slow and easy at first. Pierre gasps when he pushes harder, and the tip of his thumb joins the rest of his fingers inside. He pulls his fingers slowly apart, groaning at the way Pierre opens up around them.
“You're amazing, babe, you're doing so good,” he says, his mouth moving against Pierre's thigh, lips tingling with the brush of soft body hair. “I’m going to have my whole hand inside you.”
He twists his wrist, pushing at the same time, feeling Pierre's flesh opening up for him, boiling hot around his knuckles. He can feel Pierre's muscles tremble in time with his ragged breaths, a crescendo of pleasure and pressure. Lewis wants to look up at Pierre but he can't take his eyes away from his hand opening him up, hypnotized by the seam between his skin and Pierre's skin, drenched, flushed, yielding to him. Lewis’ thumb knuckle finally pushes in, pressure releasing with a loud moan from Pierre, the rest of his hand sliding in down to his wrist. Lewis feels dizzy with the sweltering warmth surrounding him, like his world tilted on its axis and started spinning faster after giving this to Pierre. There’s a before and an after he got his fist in Pierre’s cunt.
And Pierre is coming, his hole squeezing Lewis' hand, pulsing and pulling him deeper, hungry for more. His nails dig into Lewis' shoulder, and his whole body seizes up, his muscles shaking with wave after wave of pleasure. Lewis doesn't wait for his orgasm to finish before he starts pumping his hand again.
“That’s good, Pierre. I know you have another one in you, give me another,” he says, twisting his hand inside Pierre, pushing his other hand down on his pubis while his thumb rubs his clit in tight circles. “I can feel you squeezing my hand, my whole fucking hand, Pierre, god.”
Finally, he looks up, at Pierre's chest, flushed and heaving, up his tense neck and open jaw. He is crying, Pierre's cheeks almost as wet as his cunt, but his eyes stay closed, his eyebrows pulled tight. Lewis knows that if he opened them, they would be the brightest shade of blue, the shade of clear skies after a thundering summer storm. He doesn't stop his fist, pulling and pushing, wrecking Pierre's cunt, twisting so his knuckles press insistently against Pierre's G spot, turning his hand. He can feel himself move from the outside, through Pierre’s tight muscles underneath his other hand. Pierre keeps coming, shaking with his climax, his thighs squeezing Lewis' shoulders. His cum drips down Lewis' wrist.
When his body relaxes a little, the pleasure dragging him into satisfied exhaustion, Pierre pats Lewis' shoulder weakly, twice. Lewis slows down his moves then, working Pierre through the last dregs of his orgasms until the last of his trembling muscles calm down, arms relaxing on the bed.
“That was great, my love, you did so well taking all of me,” Lewis says, pulling his hand out carefully. Pierre's cunt stays open, wet, pink and gapping. “You look so pretty here, Pierre.”
He slides his hands up Pierre's thighs, leaving glistening trails on his body hair, until he can hook his thumbs into his cunt, pulling him open again, seeing the shining rivers of his release drip down his crack and onto the ruined silk. Pierre complains, a soft grunt from his raw throat. He lets go, climbing onto his knees and getting closer, sliding his legs underneath Pierre's thighs until his cock is close enough to feel Pierre's heat on it. He pulls down his underwear, just enough to pull out his hard dick, the elastic band tucked under his balls. He slides his thumb down his hard dick, pulling the skin back and pushing down, bumping the head against Pierre’s clit. A tease. He then grabs it with his drenched hand, fingers circling the base and sliding up with the help of Pierre’s release, wetting the hard, velvety skin, a moan rolling from his chest. Pierre looks up at him, eyes focused on his, his breathing softer. A tired, sated smirk on his face.
“Beautiful,” Lewis grunts, his hand moving on his dick. It isn't going to take much.
He feels the heat pooling in his spine, the trembling pleasure rising from his feet up, pressure building behind his breastbone. He is so close. So he hooks his free thumb on Pierre's cunt again, spreading him where he's still open and pink. He groans, biting his lip as he pushes his dick down again, resting the swollen red head just inside Pierre's gaping hole. His orgasm rolls over him in a crash, like a wave taking him under, almost bending him over with the force of it, tendrils of pleasure dragging him down. His cum spurts over Pierre, dripping inside his hole, painting his folds, covering the tattoos on Lewis' thumb. He lets his head fall forward, chin to chest, taking a deep breath between his moans. Pierre caresses his thigh with a soft kiss of his fingertips before letting his arm fall on the bed again, tired. Lewis chuckled, pulling away his thumb from Pierre's hole and bringing his hand up to his mouth, licking along his tattoos at the delicious mix of their cum. He sees Pierre's eyes glimmer, the heat of want taking over them again, fighting the exhaustion after his release. Lewis cleans his hand against the silk sheets haphazardly before moving carefully on the bed so he can lay next to Pierre. He kisses his shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweaty skin.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, his hand traveling back down between Pierre's legs, his touch soft that time, circling his hole. “God, you're still so open. Anything hurt?”
Pierre shakes his head but still flinches when Lewis pokes at his flesh a bit harder, dipping his fingers inside and playing with the mess that’s sliding out around his fingertips, making an even bigger mess. “It's sore,” he says, voice rough. “And sticky.”
Lewis wipes his fingers on Pierre’s thigh and stretches across the bed to grab Pierre's water bottle from their bedside table, careful not to bump him with his elbow but taking the opportunity to kiss Pierre's forehead on his way, opening the straw and bringing it carefully to his lips. “Slow, I don't want you to choke,” he keeps the bottle upright, making sure Pierre takes small sips. “How sore? In five minutes I'll be fine sore or I might need a cold compress sore.”
“I just took a whole fist up my pussy and might need a couple of hours until I stop feeling it sore,” Pierre says, snickering before twisting to snuggle closer to Lewis, tucking his nose against Lewis' collarbone. “I’m tired, Lewis, I think I’d like a nap.”
Lewis smiles, curling his free hand around Pierre until his fingers caress his jaw, careful not to tip the water bottle while he tilts his head up, and he kisses his forehead, the tip of his nose, and his lips. “That can be arranged, darling,” he says, moving slowly to free himself from Pierre, who just flops back on his back in response. “Let me get rid of this soiled sheet and clean you up. I’ll get you some fruit and your blanket, and you’ll be free to nap as much as you want. I just need you to scooch a little so that you’re not starfished on the wet spot anymore.”
He pokes at Pierre’s hip until he moves with a silent protest and a side-eye, and pulls the dirty fabric out from underneath him. He gathers it in his arms, ready to walk into their en suite to drop it and grab a warm washcloth, but before he bends down to kiss Pierre again.
“I love you, thank you so much for this,” he says, praise dripping in adoration. “You’re amazing, Pierre.”
Pierre opens up one eye, his mouth curling up. “I thought you were going to go get me some snacks so I can sleep,” he says teasingly.
Lewis chuckles, sliding one finger up Pierre’s jaw, his hand covering the side of his face until he can push his lips open with his thumb, pressing down on his tongue. “Aren’t you adorable? Be a good boy if you want to cum in the next two weeks,” he says, taking his thumb out of Pierre’s mouth and sucking it into his own mouth, before walking out of the room to get the stuff he needs.
He can hear Pierre squeal behind him, turning over to hide his face in one of the plush pillows, and he giggles on his way to the bathroom.