Work Text:
there are fingers in his mouth, caressing his tongue, and he lets his eyes flutter shut and sucks hard and groans at how good it feels to have something in his mouth, to suck on, it's grounding. usually he hates it, getting taken from behind, because he can't predict what jake will do next if he isn't allowed to watch him but - they're on their sides, he's pulled snug to jake's torso, shuddering against the iron hold of jake's thigh wrapped around his hip. suck, suck, swallow around them. repeat. jaw relaxing. jake pressing further down his throat, as if curious how far he can go. he suppresses the briefest urge to gag, when it hits, but after that it's fine. wet firm pressure. good. dirk could do this all day. jake can tell. jake is breathing hard and heavy.
they'd been spooning. dirk had dozed off. it was later -
"what if i just jerked you off like this?" jake whispers into his ear and dirk shivers, repulsed but badly aroused, always, every time. garbled disapproving noise. plaintive. "don't wanna?"
having to relinquish the fingers. like giving up an embrace. " - no. i wanna." thick voice, needy. jake's fingertips still pressed lightly against his mouth, to feel him speak. pushing at his bottom lip. rubbing tiny shapes into it.
"how d'you want it, then, chickadee?"
slurping obscenely around jake's fingers, noisy and a bit obnoxious. sucking his own spit off, tongue trailing.
"- ... fuck me."
"... mm. can do."
"just. don't - uh."
"don't what?"
hazy mind, overwhelmed by roaming touches. like trying to focus sunlight through a jar of jam. slow. weak. irritating.
"... don't touch it." (meaning, of course, his erection.) said in a whine, a garbled sentence. turning his face towards the pillow.
"... you don't want to come?" faint concern/confusion.
incorrect. whuff of irritation, squirming. biting jake's fingertips, which have now followed his mouth.
"... no, I just. wanna see if I can."
"- without being touched." jake sounds charmed or perhaps even thrilled. hooray. the dick pressed against dirk's ass twitches with interest.
"... yeah."
"... you wanna try to cum just from being fucked?" jake drawls, sweeter than molasses. "for me?" dirk shudders, limbs trembling - he hates it, hates saying things aloud, it's almost too much, just hearing jake say it, but it ratchets up his arousal like mad anyway. itching with something that's not quite shame. not quite.
"yeah," he says, smallest voice imaginable, a hair's breadth from silence.
"... have you ever?" just as quiet. serious. grave, almost. so serious dirk wants to, like, die.
burning red embarrassment down the back of his neck, throat; face already consumed by the flush. " - well, no, but." this is the worst. "... last time, i... felt like, i could, so."
"... christ." a hard kiss to the back of dirk's head, warm and secure. grip around his body tightening until dirk can't move at all - perfect, held down like this. safety, heat. he's turning jake on. it feels so good, knowing that.
jake's hips have been absentmindedly rutting against him with no real rhythm for ages but now there's - something like a beat. a pattern, tidal and slow. trying to parse the movement, predict it, trying to stop thinking at the same time, mind skittering off the tracks. can't rock back into it. held down too well.
"you like it that much," jake murmurs. "being fucked."
the best he can manage is a dull, frustrated, moan: a stop-talking-about-it, no-keep-talking, oh-god-just-get-it-over-with moan, a raspy plaintive noise in the back of his throat, blood pounding in his ears... that's it - that's the pattern, the rhythm he was looking for, it's his own heartbeat -
"y-yeah," he hears himself whimper.
"christ."
"... yeah," repeated, dreamlike, tingling all over. "god, jake -"
touch - knuckles rubbing against the exact spot where he wants jake's dick to go. through his clothes - snarl. not enough, not enough. full body twitching. too aroused and too well-bound to struggle at all, doesn't even want to - how filthy - just needing him to stop teasing, no more -
"are you ready?"
well, yeah. always be prepared. took a shower. lubed up. ready for action. "yeah. please."
"... were you thinking about me, while you did it?"
"... of course I was." agonized defeat. "please."
"christ."
"always do," dirk murmurs. he's telling the truth. he knows if he turned his head he'd see jake's pupils blown wide. "please, jake."
jake's breathing is ragged, almost strained. "fuck."
a few moments of silence, jake's arms around him, almost too tight to breathe, panting shallow for air, it's perfect, just right, being held like this. like jake never plans to let go.
then - one fluid series of movements dirk doesn't initiate, only raptly experience.
hand tugging his shorts down over the swell of his ass - caught in front, almost uncomfortable. not gonna adjust it - his hands are glued to the headboard, like he's tied to the slats, like he can't let go until jake undoes the grip - then - the familiar pressure - jake pushing in - oh god didn't bother loosening him up, oh fuck yes it's tighter than usual, burning hot, oh, fuck, it's so -
- little noises coming from his throat. (shh, shh, jake whispers: relax, breathe. there you go.)
"wannit," dirk slurs, like he's pitching a tantrum. a meltdown of all composure - more like whining but whatever, whatever. unable to control the fidgeting, balls aching, dick so hard it hurts. "cmon. i wannit -"
rough hand squeezing the back of his neck. muscles seize in predator-alarm and then release. limp, submissive. full body tingling. a reflex. jake sitting up - weight on his neck keeping him still, dick inside him rotating - well that's just fucking obscene - free hand stripping dirk's lower body bare. not touching his boner (as requested, but he might rip a hand free and start jerking off soon because self control is evaporating) - ohhh, shit, pulling his knee up to his chest, stretching him wide. lewd. super lewd. the pose itself is erotic -
releasing his neck. jake settling down behind/above him like an anchor, and, pushing all the way in, hand like a vise on his shaking thigh, preventing him from flinching away from the intrusion - and it feels bigger at this angle, bigger than usual, pushing apart his insides, filling him up, making him quiver. can't rub against anything. no relief for the crazy pressure in his hips, the winding screw, the throb, the pulse, it's in his pulse - how the hell does jake do it - it's a little - scary -
it gets to be too much so dirk grabs jake's arm, gripping it to his chest like it's a lifejacket, begging to be held tighter. blinking. unseeing. struggling not to hyperventilate. so aroused. too turned on. it's all spiraling out of his grasp, it's a feedback loop, the pressure inside the pressure outside the face pressed to the back of his neck the unyielding hand pulling his legs apart the way his too-hard dick hurts just from tapping his stomach -
"you'll come like this or not at all," jake hisses, dark and hot and like he means it.
- oh, fuck everything -
- choke and hiccup as the wave crests and knocks into him. spurting all over his own stomach and thighs and the bedsheet and the noise coming out of his throat is like anguish, pleasure, spliced into the same audio file, too drunk on everything to care, fingernails scrabbling against the sheets, heart in his throat, biting the nearest soft thing.
"fucking hell -"
woozy. aftershocks, clenching desperately around jake in uncontrollable contractions, gasping for breath, vertigo.
sensation in fractures. duvet wet with spit, turning his head. it feels like an earthquake. the epicenter is still buried hilt deep in his ass.
dignity remaining: none.
dirk thinks at his body: you're just so easy, aren't you.
jake is very, very still. dirk is grateful for small mercies.
"- m sorry about that," he mumbles, blinking the spots from his vision, body shivering. skin rippling. electric like chasing a static spark like -
"no, it's." kisses pressed to the nape of his neck, wet and gentle. "no. don't be sorry."
mild flinching regret. "but -"
"no."
"but -"
"dirk. shush."
" - okay."
jake - slow and careful - fastens his teeth around the straining tendon in dirk's neck and bites, hard, for a long moment. he doesn't let go.
bites, for long enough that dirk groans. blood is pounding through him like a soft hammer. it hurts. it hurts and it feels so fucking good. it feels so fucking good - like being claimed, This Is Jake's, Do Not Touch, Mine. it feels so good to be prey between his jaws for once. can't squirm away with his neck in jake's teeth, feels like being wanted, wanted badly, it's probably a little sick how much this is getting him off.
"ah -" for some reason his nipples are unbearably sensitive right now - jake's fingers brush against one and he jerks, startled, but the teeth in his flesh keep him still and he whines, in protest, when jake starts feeling him up in earnest.
held. owned. possessed. can't get away from it. can't wiggle away - fingers pinch them and he yelps, and jake's jaw relaxes at his throat, teeth retreating, lips fastened, sucking and licking at the mark. (it's dirk he wants and has and is taking and will continue to take and -)
- that, too, is a bit too much to endure - hands kneading his pectoral muscles, rolling and squeezing his nipples, mouth sucking a dark bruise into dirk's throat, ass raw and still stuffed full of him -
- ohhh, fuck. now his stupid dick is perking up again.
"who's a good boy," jake whispers directly into his hair. sappy as hell. devoted.
"nnnnnngh," dirk complains, trying not to drool.
"you're so damn gone for me," jake murmurs, soft and reverent. his hands pet dirk's flanks, coax him into relaxing as jake begins to move his hips, just a little, back and forth. "... all i did was stick it in and tell you to come."
- that's not even - that's only technically true. this is some revisionist bullshit. dirk is gonna maybe argue the veracity of that claim once he finds his voice again.
"just for me," jake croons, gentle little sing-song lilt. "just because i said so."
"- f-fu-uuuck," dirk stutters when jake adjusts his angle and adds just the right amount of force to hit him dead on, mouth falling open.
bullseye.
god. fuck.
over and over. cascade.
can't focus enough to shut his mouth, can't contain the breathy panting or control the noises rising from the pit of his stomach. oh. too much. too much.
still not enough but too much, not enough - the suction on his neck over the vein, vulnerable, you could kill someone with a cut right where jake is kissing him - held open, open, getting fucked hard, pouring a little pain into the cup of bliss, and god it's so good when it hurts a little, when the pleasure has teeth. just wet enough to let him in.
dirk could do this forever, really. pinned down, helpless to resist whatever jake feels like doing, and what jake is doing is - feels - so good, complete and perfect. he wouldn't even mind - yeah. like this. face down. a pretty doll for jake to fuck. on his best behavior, getting his reward. getting rawed doggy-style and he's not even on his knees. this is so easy. he's so easy and pliant and warm and full and nothing else matters.
harder, now. getting all the air fucked out of his lungs. panting and twitching every time jake pulls out, breath leaving his lungs in a gust - gasp? - every time jake pushes back in. god. yeah. every atom in his body is burning with this.
skittering off the tracks again. oversaturated. barely even a person anymore. turning into a thing that only knows how to absorb sensation and react to being fucked. oh. what a beautiful dissolution. forget personhood. be this instead.
jake is so hot inside him. mid-gasp he thinks he'll start to melt. they'll get stuck together like this. he's going to break.
welded bodies. perfect surrender.
what a good way to die.
yeah.
what a beautiful way to die.
"- shit. dirk?"
sudden loss. emptiness - axis of the world shifting - a little chirp of surprise/protest, blinking up - fingers are brushing wetness away from his eyes. jake is...
... scanning for context clues.
an inquisitive expression is all he can manage. it's been a long ... whatever. unit of time. attempt to modulate face: look more receptive to words. (yes, jake? you have a query?)
"you all right, love?" a searching look. hands still cradling his face, thumbs brushing away stray saltwater.
still so miserably aroused god damn it. think about it.
.... nod.
"shall I stop?"
... should he? what a fascinating dilemma. it'd be nice to keep going. it'd be so good to keep going. but stopping - well, jake might want to? dirk isn't sure if he has any real opinion. his skull is full of burnt circuits and gelatin arousal. complex ideas are out of reach.
his mind got dislocated from his brain at some point, jake was doing a wonderful job of fucking his thoughts out. got to be little too much, dirk assumes.
but it's up to him?
... he would like to do something to resolve the pain/pleasure rippling through his lower body like a tightening vise. make that a priority.
it must show, because jake sighs and runs his fingers through dirk's hair, a friendly caress. a no-worries touch.
"don't worry about it, I've got you. is this position good?"
... it is. it's better. he can see jake, when he's on his back and jake's just sort of... above. it's better. yeah. sure. workable solution.
nod.
watches jake fumble out-of-visual-field with items on the nightstand and then squeeze a liberal quantity of lube into his palms. coats what must be his dick with it. plenty left over on the hand that moves between dirk's legs - slick, cool. ...ah. all right, then. he skimped on that part. maybe the friction was unpleasant for jake.
dirk didn't need this. didn't occur to him. yet - still given to him. oh well. he'll miss the biting edge of feeling, if he remembers to. jake's fingers are warm and thick and almost enough. it's brilliant how they take the edge off. it's starting to just feel good again, instead of ... raw.
"you aren't too sore?" the boy, checking in. again. ridiculous creature. lined up and ready but he isn't pushing in. perhaps he needs an invitation.
smile.
blinking up at the boy.
drags his hands up and puts them back where they belong, around the neck. now: exert the effort to pull some words out of the sleeping data stacks in back.
"I like it when you make me sore."
an amused/exasperated look. then - ahh, yes. easing his hips closer - brief pressure then gliding back inside, completing the circuit, and - dirk relaxes. full again. jake: leaning down, to kiss.
kissing is ... cooperative. dirk was forgetting. easy enough. he's present enough to suck jake's tongue between his teeth and hum. less shaky, now. more deliberate and light. perhaps the earlier tempo was too fast.
"- I don't want to hurt you," jake murmurs, between kisses. his hands are cupping dirk's jaw, littlest fingers trailing over his neck.
(dirk to himself: sigh. breathe in. breathe out. enjoy the swell of his body in yours. ignore the interruption.)
"- you were crying," jake says, and surges forward, different angle - the head of his dick is rubbing against dirk's prostate over and over and - unfair, unfair, it feels too good too good all at once, like turning the lights on -
"- it just - wasn't happy crying," jake is saying, mouthing bites/kisses to dirk's nipples, pressing him down firm and solid and, skin all over dirk's skin, hot and alive, grabbing dirk's hands and pinning them above his head on the mattress and kissing him, so much, and dirk almost feels like laughing.
everything is nice, now. it's a good buzz, like champagne bubbles rising from his bones through his blood - the way jake breathes against him, damp and warm, the heat of his body inside, it's all good, there's only the present, there's only jake taking care of - him, everything, the universe. like being carried through something dark, and jake is overflowing with light.
"- love you," dirk says, and means it in a specific but universal way, brain's dictionaries back online and spitting words out through his lungs throat mouth.
"love you," jake echoes, forehead against dirk's, eyes soft. focused on dirk.
"you always fix me," dirk breathes. arms lifting, wrapping around jake's shoulders. eyes drifting shut. all is well. "all the time. you always know what to do."
"I'm usually guessing," he hears jake say, feels his thrusts, still languid and unhurried. "... you can keep talking."
"got nothing to say," dirk mumbles. everything is comfort and nothing seems harsh at all. possibly jake wants to hear his voice. not a vast effort. "do it harder. I like it. I like limping after you fuck me."
"... why?" nonjudgemental. speeding up just a bit.
dirk can feel the heat rising in his face, tucks it into jake's shoulder. too tired to resist the need to give (to have) the right answer.
"dunno... it reminds me you were there. in me. you're so gentle. ... all the time. not much stays. but you're pretty big. so i get to keep that... the feeling. after. it's nice. keeping something."
pace increasing, gradually. a much softer crescendo than the first orgasm was. there's time to admire the finer points of pleasure. the way jake breathes differently when they fuck. the way it feels to have living human under his hands, human skin pressed against him. the smell of the flat and jake's bedroom and jake's sweat and the rain - it's raining, he can hear it now, faint but steady and harmless on the roof...
"- of me," jake vocalizes at a volume too low to catch, the ghost of a breath so tender it aches.
shifts his grip on jake's shoulders minutely. feels saltwater falling to his skin. opens his eyes. "jake -"
exploding into his vision the face of his beloved wrought with an expression of love so deep and warm it scalds, almost, the adrenaline moment that hot water feels cold, just as it strikes the skin, before the screaming of the nerves quiets into an accurate gauge of temperature on a cold winter morning standing in the shower the sea miserable and black in mountains crushing past the oil rig and he realized he was in love, that what it was like to know he'd want jake forever, the morning, that first exhilarant high, jake, radiating some crystallized and saturated copy of that morning from every pore but surpassed - his face so strongly invoking a memory of a love totally unblemished.
"... you get to keep all of me," jake repeats, just loud enough for dirk to hear, his brow unfolded his apple-of-my-eye smile wide his green fire eyes dripping oh so that's what it was he was those are happy tears yes? those are -
love you love you love you no longer able to tell if he's saying it aloud like smashing through a sheet of ice so thin it didn't hurt at all falling againand againagain againagainhow is he -
inhale jake making a low sweet noise in dirk's ear and inhale and holding him so close dirk can feel the difference between every shaking muscle in jake's body with his skin exhale tight holding him tight so close almost hard enough to hurt inhale the feeling it happen inside himinside inhale inhale inhale inhale -
"- too. so much, dirk," jake is saying, voice deep and rough vibrating through both their ribcages - dirk realizes he's gripping jake just as hard and goes limp, but jake doesn't, doesn't move at all, still pressing their bodies as close as it's physically possible for them to be. "so much."
- love you. those were his first two words, dirk knows, suddenly, the ones he was too punch-drunk to hear.
- exhale, hold, two, three, four and inhale, two three four, like jake taught him. starting to breathe normally again. good. utterly spent, weary and boneless and happy.
that's what it's called. happiness.
-
- he slept again.
groggy. in bed - jake isn't inside him anymore. faintly surprised he didn't wake up for that - jake's still there though. wrapped around him like a blanket.
jake nuzzling the side of his neck. tender - right. jake bit him there. there'll be a bruise.
dirk will pretend not to notice it and wear a shirt with a low neckline and hold his breath for the moments he catches jake looking at it, as usual.
"... good?" breath on skin. jake is nuzzling his face, almost-kissing.
"... yeah." trying not to sound shy.
"you said I fix you."
- shit. hiding his face in jake's shoulder is the only escape route. it's really ineffective. embarrassed as fuck.
"yeah."
"I'm usually just helping you do that on your own," jake says.
"bullshit," dirk answers, reflexive and immediate.
"not a bit," jake counters, just as reflexive.
"one hundred percent."
"zero."
"seriously?"
"seriously."
"... zero? really?"
"- for the love of - fine, I'll concede a fifth of a percent, if it makes you bloody pleased with yourself."
[dirk is laughing.]
a hand tousling his hair. "glad you enjoyed - all that."
"- two out of two, yeah. you're batting a pretty good average," dirk says.
jake's brow wrinkles and then he gets it and grins. "I beg to differ. in baseball there are hands on the bat. football is a far better sporting analogy."
"why?"
"no hands allowed."
"... that's called soccer, god damn it -"
[and so is jake.]
the rain stops at two in the morning, long after they've fallen asleep.