Work Text:
She/her version:
The bedsprings squeaked, metal rattled, and to any onlooker not clued in, they might assume the man cuffed to the bed and blindfolded was undergoing a torture of the highest cruelty; his limbs writhing against the sheets, black coils turned to tendrils on his salty brow, groans hissed through a clenched jaw. However, they'd be mistaken. Hector was right where he wanted to be. With the person he wanted most. And they were on top of him, like a huntress savoring the last throes of her quarry, rapt with his every twist, salivating over what exquisite depravities she could extract from him next.
Her fingers, raking him over like talons, dragged the ice down his pebbled pecs, then his stomach, swirling below his navel, provoking another tender gasp from his heaving chest. He arched, skin turned gooseflesh. A hot pang rolled through her belly. Her lips curled into something wicked.
With a smile that could rend steel, though she boasted no fangs, she leaned in, whispering, "See? This is what it feels like, Hector: what you feel like to me." Her deft hands arabesqued his thigh, traveling up, up, up, a pinky catching on the hem of his boxers, threatening to invade further. And despite how she wished to plunge deep into his underwear, to feel him, febrile and velvet, pump his hardness with the same rapacious hunger compelling her to spill his belly and sink her teeth into his muscle, she held her ground, breath bated, eyes fixated on the man her heart ached for. She wanted the ache. She wanted him. But, not yet. Their game wasn't over.
Hector keened against the restraints, the bar between his plush lips muffling a shaky cry, teeth baring leather. He pretended like he wanted to get away, but his tip beaded a dark blot against the cotton. His brows wrinkled, the corners of his mouth went upturned, then quickly corrected to that helpless wince. Her laugh was all smoke and suede, without an ounce of remorse.
"Hector," her fingers edged an inch deeper below the fabric, chiding him in a sultry and low coo, "we both know how good you are with your words." Another inch. He flexed. She hummed. "But..."
She whistled cool air against his red-tipped ear. "No more words." she said, her fingers brushing his fraying curls, tucking a black loop into place. "Speak with your body, amorcito. Show me what you want."
The pretenses were gone, the inferno of his sweltering desire vaporizing them. Hector bucked his hips, seeking friction. His voice, sweet, desperate, begged unintelligibly. Her pussy throbbed. He debased himself so... easily, so willingly. She couldn't help but pant at the sight of him. Her fingers found her wetness then slipped under his boxers, all while praising that he was being so good for her, painting his hardened length with her sticky want, wrapping her fingers round him, squeezing, strangling. Her other hand spilled the burning candle's wax on his chest and he sobbed, suddenly becoming shy and facing away from her. She chuckled but didn't let up on her ruthless pace. She needed him to feel every ounce; to understand what he'd been doing to her all this time from his vents.
Her lush mouth found his nipple and she sucked, tongue laving him, teeth nibbling. The red wax hardened. His breath labored and his abdomen tensed, cock throbbing in her palm. He was close, and she knew it, so she slowed, lording her authority over his feverish state. She hoped he'd beg, shake his hips against her hand, but instead, he slobbered against the gag censoring him, attempting to say something. Concerned, she relieved him of the bar, and he sucked in a gasp.
"Is everything alright, Hector?" she asked, cupping his cheek.
He nodded. "It's just..." His head hung low, face flushing bashfully, blindfold visoring his eyes. She listened intently, suddenly full of worry.
"I—I want you, I love you, I need you. So please, kiss me. I'm so close, just, please, kiss me— "
Her mouth crashed into his, surprising him, and they sighed together. It was all breath and hunger, whimpers so saccharine she forgot she was the aggressor and he her prey, lost to the tang of him and his slippery feel. Her hand started up again, gradual, then marauding. He twisted, pressing against her eagerly. Between the squelching and tremors of longing wracking her lonely pussy, she speared her hand into his hair as if to search for more of him — for some other part of him she hadn't yet discovered. She needed him. Every mole, scar, wrinkle, it was hers. He belonged to her and she commanded so, greedily devouring his kiss-bruised lips, her hand pumping his twitching cock. Hector moaned and she worked him in earnest, guiding, loving.
At the most final moment, she pulled away, saliva trailing between them, springing his length free from the confines of his underwear, and she took his miserably erubescent head into her mouth, cheeks pitting, warmth sliding over the entirety of his cock. He winced, calling her name as his climax flooded her mouth.
At the head of the bed, Hector breathed raggedly, her drawing every last bit of him out from his half-hard cock. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and curled up next to him, a quiet adoration fuzzing her core. Discarding his blindfold and unfastening the cuffs, they looked at each other, their sex-mussed hair, their sweaty bodies, their glazed eyes, and they laughed. She tucked her head against his chest, on top of the wax, it smelling of jasmine, and Hector welcomed her, pulling her in, but it was clear there was something else.
She asked what he was thinking. She felt the rumble of his voice as he spoke.
"Well," his hand rubbed her shoulder, "your thighs, they're wet, and they're... touching me."
Before she could recoil, embarrassed over the state of herself, his arms caged her, strong and unrelenting. With a confidence she rarely glanced from Hector, he turned her chin up to him, both of their faces ablaze, and kissed her, holding her there, soft and delicately.
His other hand sank to the swell of her hips, tentatively as though waiting for her to stop him, but she didn't.
When she broke their embrace, she told him that she loved him, and he placed his lips on her forehead. His fingers finally met her there, brushing past a tuft of hair, then probing, curious and feeling rough against her drenched sex.
"After all this time, you have no idea what hearing you say that means to me. Please, let me show you."
He/him version:
The bedsprings squeaked, metal rattled, and to any onlooker not clued in, they might assume the man cuffed to the bed and blindfolded was undergoing a torture of the highest cruelty; his limbs writhing against the sheets, black coils turned to tendrils on his salty brow, groans hissed through a clenched jaw. However, they'd be mistaken. Hector was right where he wanted to be. With the person he wanted most. And they were on top of him, like a hunter savoring the last throes of his quarry, rapt with his every twist, salivating over what exquisite depravities he could extract from him next.
His fingers, raking Hector over like talons, dragged the ice down his pebbled pecs, then his stomach, swirling below his navel, provoking another tender gasp from his heaving chest. He arched, skin turned gooseflesh. A hot pang rolled over his groin. His lips curled into something wicked.
With a smile that could rend steel, though he boasted no fangs, he leaned in, whispering, "See? This is what it feels like, Hector: what you feel like to me." His deft hands arabesqued Hector's thigh, traveling up, up, up, a pinky catching on the hem of his boxers, threatening to invade further. And despite how he wished to plunge deep into his underwear, to feel him, febrile and velvet, pump his hardness with the same rapacious hunger compelling him to spill his belly and sink his teeth into his muscle, he held his ground, breath bated, eyes fixated on the man his heart ached for. He wanted the ache. He wanted him. But, not yet. Their game wasn't over.
Hector keened against the restraints, the bar between his plush lips muffling a shaky cry, teeth baring leather. He pretended like he wanted to get away, but his tip beaded a dark blot against the cotton. Hector's brows wrinkled, the corners of his mouth went upturned, then quickly corrected to that helpless wince. His partner's laugh was all smoke and suede, without an ounce of remorse.
"Hector," his fingers edged an inch deeper below the fabric, chiding him in a sultry and low coo, "we both know how good you are with your words." Another inch. Hector flexed. He hummed. "But..."
He whistled cool air against his red-tipped ear. "No more words." he said, his fingers brushing his fraying curls, tucking a black loop into place. "Speak with your body, amorcito. Show me what you want."
The pretenses were gone, the inferno of Hector's sweltering desire vaporizing them. He bucked his hips, seeking friction. His voice, sweet, desperate, begged unintelligibly. Seeing Hector like this, his own cock ached. He debased himself so... easily, so willingly. His lover couldn't help but pant at the sight of him. He took his fingers into his mouth then slipped under Hector's boxers, all while praising that he was being so good for him, painting his hardened length with his sticky spit, it mixing with Hector's dribbling want, wrapping his fingers round him, squeezing, strangling. His other hand spilled the burning candle's wax on Hector's chest and he sobbed, suddenly becoming shy and facing away from him. He chuckled but didn't let up on his ruthless pace. He needed him to feel every ounce; to understand what he'd been doing to him all this time from his vents.
His lush mouth found his nipple and he sucked, tongue laving him, teeth nibbling. The red wax hardened. Hector's breath labored and his abdomen tensed, cock throbbing in his palm. He was close, and his lover knew it, so he slowed, lording his authority over his feverish state. He hoped Hector would beg, shake his hips against his hand, but instead, he slobbered against the gag censoring him, attempting to say something. Concerned, he relieved him of the bar, and he sucked in a gasp.
"Is everything alright, Hector?" he asked, cupping his cheek.
Hector nodded. "It's just..." His head hung low, face flushing bashfully, blindfold visoring his eyes. He listened intently, suddenly full of worry.
"I—I want you, I love you, I need you. So please, kiss me. I'm so close, just, please, kiss me— "
His mouth crashed into his, surprising Hector, and they sighed together. It was all breath and hunger, whimpers so saccharine he forgot he was the aggressor and Hector his prey, lost to the tang of him and his slippery feel. His hand started up again, gradual, then marauding. Hector twisted, pressing against him eagerly. Between the squelching and blood rushing to his own lonely cock, he speared his hand into Hector's hair as if to search for more of him — for some other part he hadn't yet discovered. He needed him. Every mole, scar, wrinkle, it was his. Hector belonged to him and he commanded so, greedily devouring his kiss-bruised lips, his hand pumping Hector's twitching cock. He moaned and he worked him in earnest, guiding, loving.
At the most final moment, he pulled away, saliva trailing between them, springing Hector's length free from the confines of his underwear, and he took his miserably erubescent head into his mouth, cheeks pitting, warmth sliding over the entirety of his cock. Hector winced, calling his name as his climax flooded his mouth.
At the head of the bed, Hector breathed raggedly, his partner drawing every last bit of him out from his half-hard cock. When he finished, he wiped his mouth and curled up next to him, a quiet adoration fuzzing his core. Discarding Hector's blindfold and unfastening the cuffs, they looked at each other, their sex-mussed hair, their sweaty bodies, their glazed eyes, and they laughed. He tucked his head against Hector's chest, on top of the wax, it smelling of jasmine, and he welcomed him, pulling him in, but it was clear there was something else.
He asked what Hector was thinking. He felt the rumble of his voice as Hector spoke.
"Well," his hand rubbed his shoulder, "it's... poking my leg. And it feels so... hot."
Before he could recoil, embarrassed over the state of himself, Hector's arms caged him, strong and unrelenting. With a confidence he rarely glanced from Hector, he turned his chin up to him, both of their faces ablaze, and kissed him, holding him there, soft and delicately.
Hector's other hand sank to the swell of his hips, tentatively as though waiting for him to stop him, but he didn't.
When Hector's lover broke their embrace, he told Hector that he loved him, and Hector placed his lips on his forehead. His fingers finally met him there, brushing past a tuft of hair, then probing, curious and feeling rough against his burning sex.
"After all this time, you have no idea what hearing you say that means to me. Please, let me show you."
They/them version:
The bedsprings squeaked, metal rattled, and to any onlooker not clued in, they might assume the man cuffed to the bed and blindfolded was undergoing a torture of the highest cruelty; his limbs writhing against the sheets, black coils turned to tendrils on his salty brow, groans hissed through a clenched jaw. However, they'd be mistaken. Hector was right where he wanted to be. With the person he wanted most. And they were on top of him, like a hunter savoring the last throes of their quarry, rapt with his every twist, salivating over what exquisite depravities they could extract from him next.
Their fingers, raking him over like talons, dragged the ice down his pebbled pecs, then his stomach, swirling below his navel, provoking another tender gasp from his heaving chest. He arched, skin turned gooseflesh. A hot pang rolled through their belly. Their lips curled into something wicked.
With a smile that could rend steel, though they boasted no fangs, they leaned in, whispering, "See? This is what it feels like, Hector: what you feel like to me." Their deft hands arabesqued his thigh, traveling up, up, up, a pinky catching on the hem of his boxers, threatening to invade further. And despite how they wished to plunge deep into his underwear, to feel him, febrile and velvet, pump his hardness with the same rapacious hunger compelling them to spill his belly and sink their teeth into his muscle, they held their ground, breath bated, eyes fixated on the man their heart ached for. They wanted the ache. They wanted him. But, not yet. Their game wasn't over.
Hector keened against the restraints, the bar between his plush lips muffling a shaky cry, teeth baring leather. He pretended like he wanted to get away, but his tip beaded a dark blot against the cotton. His brows wrinkled, the corners of his mouth went upturned, then quickly corrected to that helpless wince. Their laugh was all smoke and suede, without an ounce of remorse.
"Hector," their fingers edged an inch deeper below the fabric, chiding him in a sultry and low coo, "we both know how good you are with your words." Another inch. He flexed. They hummed. "But..."
They whistled cool air against his red-tipped ear. "No more words." they said, their fingers brushing his fraying curls, tucking a black loop into place. "Speak with your body, amorcito. Show me what you want."
The pretenses were gone, the inferno of his sweltering desire vaporizing them. Hector bucked his hips, seeking friction. His voice, sweet, desperate, begged unintelligibly. Their sex throbbed. He debased himself so... easily, so willingly. They couldn't help but pant at the sight of him. They took their fingers into their mouth then slipped under his boxers, all while praising that he was being so good for them, painting his hardened length with their sticky spit, it mixing with Hector's dribbling want, wrapping their fingers round him, squeezing, strangling. Their other hand spilled the burning candle's wax on his chest and he sobbed, suddenly becoming shy and facing away from them. They chuckled but they didn't let up on their ruthless pace. They needed him to feel every ounce; to understand what he'd been doing to them all this time from his vents.
Their lush mouth found his nipple and they sucked, tongue laving him, teeth nibbling. The red wax hardened. His breath labored and his abdomen tensed, cock throbbing in their palm. He was close, and they knew it, so they slowed, lording their authority over his feverish state. They hoped he'd beg, shake his hips against their hand, but instead, he slobbered against the gag censoring him, attempting to say something. Concerned, they relieved him of the bar, and he sucked in a gasp.
"Is everything alright, Hector?" they asked, cupping his cheek.
He nodded. "It's just..." His head hung low, face flushing bashfully, blindfold visoring his eyes. They listened intently, suddenly full of worry.
"I—I want you, I love you, I need you. So please, kiss me. I'm so close, just, please, kiss me— "
Their mouth crashed into his, surprising him, and they both sighed together. It was all breath and hunger, whimpers so saccharine they forgot they were the aggressor and he their prey, lost to the tang of him and his slippery feel. Their hand started up again, gradual, then marauding. He twisted, pressing against them eagerly. Between the squelching and tremors of longing wracking their lonely sex, they speared their hand into his hair as if to search for more of him — for some other part of him they hadn't yet discovered. They needed him. Every mole, scar, wrinkle, it was theirs. He belonged to them and they commanded so, greedily devouring his kiss-bruised lips, their hand pumping his twitching cock. Hector moaned and they worked him in earnest, guiding, loving.
At the most final moment, they pulled away, saliva trailing between them, springing his length free from the confines of his underwear, and they took his miserably erubescent head into their mouth, cheeks pitting, warmth sliding over the entirety of his cock. He winced, calling their name as his climax flooded their mouth.
At the head of the bed, Hector breathed raggedly, them drawing every last bit of him out from his half-hard cock. When they finished, they wiped their mouth and curled up next to him, a quiet adoration fuzzing their core. Discarding his blindfold and unfastening the cuffs, the two of them looked at each other, their sex-mussed hair, their sweaty bodies, their glazed eyes, and laughed. They tucked their head against his chest, on top of the wax, it smelling of jasmine, and Hector welcomed them, pulling them in, but it was clear there was something else.
They asked what he was thinking. They felt the rumble of his voice as he spoke.
"Well," his hand rubbed their shoulder, "I can feel... it against me. And... it's so warm."
Before they could recoil, embarrassed over the state of themself, his arms caged them, strong and unrelenting. With a confidence they rarely glanced from Hector, he turned their chin up to him, both of their faces ablaze, and kissed them, holding them there, soft and delicately.
His other hand sank to the swell of their hips, tentatively as though waiting for them to stop him, but they didn't.
When they broke their embrace, they told him that they loved him, and he placed his lips on their forehead. His fingers finally met them there, brushing past a tuft of hair, then probing, curious and feeling rough against their aching sex.
"After all this time, you have no idea what hearing you say that means to me. Please, let me show you."