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"Don't you want to touch?"
Tommy sits on the floor, propped against the front of their couch with his hands tied behind him. His legs splay out over the chilly wooden slats. His dick is full and pulsing against his own thigh. And in front of him —
Evan is a vision.
Tommy's eyes linger where his fingers can't, on the black mesh-and-lace briefs that are little more than flimsy decoration pulled tight across Evan's hips. He's watched, rapt, as Evan's cock has gone from soft, nestled sweetly in the pouch the briefs provide, tucked against his balls — to heavy with arousal, the wet, dark head peeking out from his waistband.
Evan traces a finger up the side of his cock, over his happy trail and thick, hairy belly. In Tommy's peripheral vision, Evan pinches his own nipple. In the narrow ring of Tommy's focus, Evan's cock jumps, springs back against his body, a milky drop of pre-come welling at the tip.
"Well, baby? Is it your turn yet, you think?"
It's a tease — it's a game, it's the game they're playing, Tommy accepting what Evan gives him and nothing more. And yet it hurts something real inside when he says, again, "No."
Evan sighs happily. "You're right," he says, and uses his free hand to cup his sac.
Time has slipped away entirely, leaving Tommy lost in the teasing loop where Evan provides his own pleasure and denies him the privilege of the task. Desperate, roiling jealousy — Evan touches himself leisurely, but without ever savouring it the way Tommy aches to — makes Tommy's cock throb. Conversely, each consecutive denial is another shard of ice to the heart, pushing the boundaries of Tommy's self-control.
"Hm, you've been so good," Evan says. "Maybe you've earned a reward?"
It's intoned like a question. Tommy doesn't so much as twitch a muscle.
Evan chuckles. "Oh, you are good, aren't you? You're so good for me, huh?" He steps forward; Tommy automatically widens his legs, parting them smoothly as Evan moves closer and closer. He stops right before Tommy's nose. Everything in Tommy begs to sway forward; he presses back into the couch instead.
"Look at that," Evan says. He rakes his fingers through Tommy's hair front-to-back and digs his nails in on the next pass. Tommy feels his own eyelids flutter. "You're so pretty when you behave."
Tommy's cock twitches. Boiling heat drips down his spine.
Ever-so-slowly, Evan leans forward and presses his cock into Tommy's face. "Think you've earned it now?" His shaft tucks against the side of Tommy's nose. Tommy can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Answer me."
"No."
"That's right." He moans and stops moving. "You know you haven't."
The air turns hot, musky, damp. Tommy holds himself impossibly still while Evan's hand slips to the back of his head and holds him in place. "Just breathe," Evan murmurs.
At the first heavy, heady breath, Tommy relaxes, his muscles giving way like a puppet with its strings cut. All that holds him up is Evan's warm hand, cupping his skull, keeping Tommy's face pressed close to the base of his cock.
This is Tommy's favourite place to be.
He drops his jaw and breathes through his mouth. Evan shudders above him and leans even closer. "Use your tongue."
Tommy laves his tongue against the rough synthetic mesh. Behind the plasticky taste of their laundry detergent he catches a tantalizing hint of Evan's sweat, tangy and achingly familiar. Drool drips out the side of his mouth and lands on his chest.
"Good, that's good," Evan says. Tommy dares to press his tongue in hard and Evan groans, grinding forward.
"You're gonna make me feel good, right?" He shakes Tommy's head with the grip he still holds. "Right?"
Like this, Tommy can't actually speak, but he knows Evan's serious about getting an answer. "Uh-huh," he groans.
"You're gonna make me come?"
"Uh-huh."
"You're gonna let me use you?"
He shudders. "Uh-huh."
"Okay then." Evan rocks his hips forward. "Do it."
With a groan, Tommy presses even closer, licking every inch he can reach, searching for whatever he can get of what Evan's body will give him through the briefs. Eventually, though, all he can taste is his own saliva as it rapidly cools on the dark lace. He whines.
"Greedy thing," Evan murmurs. Tommy's dick aches between his legs. Evan steps back, withdrawing his hand as well, and Tommy begins to tilt forward before he catches himself. He bites his lip to keep quiet and watches Evan slip the briefs down past his knees, step out of them with one foot, and kick them away behind himself with the other. Freed, Evan's cock bobs in the air. It slips against Tommy's cheek as he steps close again, grabbing Tommy's head to hold in place.
Tommy bends his neck to suck at Evan's balls one at a time. Evan's moans are sweet in his ears just as the taste of his sweat is salty against Tommy's tongue. Pulling off, he leaves wet, sucking kisses up the base of Evan's cock, then up the thick, velvety shaft. He struggles at first to catch the head into his mouth, without being able to use his hands, but Evan either gets impatient or takes pity on him — he uses his own free hand to slot himself against Tommy's waiting tongue.
The taste of Evan's pre-come overwhelms, musk and salt dripping thickly from Evan's slit. Tommy laps it up and sucks gently at the tip. Evan's hips hitch forward, shoving in and in with rocking little thrusts.
"Yeah, yeah, good," Evan mumbles. Tommy sucks and slurps against the hot skin slipping back and forth over his tongue and Evan curses. "Fuck-"
Evan shoves his cock deeper with twitching, sensitive thrusts. Held in place, Tommy's eyes slip shut — all he can do is keep his lips rolled over his teeth, keep up the suction, and drift, relaxed, as Evan works himself into the welcome cavern of his throat. Evan tilts Tommy's head back, until it's resting on the seat of the couch behind him, leaving his neck bared and throat open, waiting to be filled.
"Fuck, that's it," Evan pants as he bottoms out.
Tommy feels so full — satisfaction swirls hot in his gut and saliva drips from his stuffed mouth. He swallows. His throat stretches and squeezes around Evan's cock. Evan gasps and frees his hand from under Tommy's head to find a grip in his hair. He holds Tommy down hard against the couch cushion; the ache in his scalp heats Tommy's blood and despite being restrained and pinned in place, Tommy feels like he's floating.
Most things settle in the periphery of his awareness: the tears streaming down his face, the moans rumbling thoughtlessly from his mouth, even the burning desperation for air that Evan only barely lets him quench before driving back in and blocking his throat again. Tommy feels mindless, disembodied — a shell for Evan to take and use.
"Yeah, yeah, fuck," Evan is muttering, "God, Tommy, you look- I-I'm gonna-"
Tommy swallows around him one more time and Evan comes with a choked moan.
He presses in close, spilling down Tommy's throat, then quickly pulling out entirely. Tommy tries to follow, but Evan keeps him held in place with the hand in his hair and shoots the rest of his load over Tommy's face. It's warm, wet. Tommy keeps his mouth hanging open, grateful to catch what he can on his tongue. His mouth waters, his throat aches, but he doesn't swallow.
"Jesus," Evan whispers. A finger presses to the corner of Tommy's lips, traces to the centre of his chin. "I should make you spit it out. Have you earned it?"
Trembling, tears prickling at his eyes once more, Tommy grunts, "Uh-uh."
The thumb on his chin pushes his mouth closed. He locks his muscles to stillness, achingly aware of how full his mouth is with Evan's come, with his own spit.
"Swallow," Evan finally commands. It's such a relief, like breaching the water's surface when he's run out of air.
"Look at me."
Tommy blinks his eyes open. Everything is blurry at first, and he blinks rapidly until the sight before him resolves into focus: Evan leaning over him, Evan inspecting him, a slow smirk crawling across Evan's face.
"Now what am I gonna do with you?" Evan asks.
Tommy waits to be told the answer.