Work Text:
The delicate click of a quick-release buckle airs its promise of possession to the air.
Tyler’s fingers promptly shifting to tug at the collar, evaluating the resistance of its nylon composition. Secure, he decides, as Josh’s shoulders lurch abruptly, stature staggering beneath the unanticipated force.
“Not going anywhere,” he grins, and his crooked bottom-teeth are a fine-art exhibition—a misshapen masterpiece secured to the walls of Josh’s skull, all riddled with the attestation of his salaciousness. “Like the colour. Blue, think it suits you,” he says, and he tugs again; for good measure.
Josh offers his agreement by way of a whine, plaintive, honeyed, as the material constricts against the cartilage of his throat. His tongue tentatively abutting the seam of his lips as though begging to dangle beyond the confines of his mouth.
He is akin to the likes of a golden retriever—his wide-eyed curiosity, passively marrying his ear to his shoulder. “Blue, your colour. It’s your colour and you own me,” he murmurs.
“I own you,” Tyler asserts, fingers making haste towards the drawn-taut ridges of Josh’s abdomen. “I always have, haven’t I?” Nose nestled to his shoulder, he sinks the keen barb of his teeth into the tender bend of flesh. “Look real nice, puppy, y’look like you’re mine.”
His canines sharp, irregular, the serration of a table-knife, Tyler suckles the semblance of a bruise into his neck. Josh arching beneath the affliction of incisors as though the morsel of flesh has been mangled, thoroughly claimed.
“Know what comes next, don’t you?” Spoken beneath the searing tyrant of his bite, Josh nods, and Tyler deems the gesture insufficient. “Words, pup.”
“Yeah,” Josh heaves, compliant, a whisper—knees threatening to buckle, thoroughly aspic as they quiver. “Yes, I do.”
Placated by his partner’s obedience, Tyler wordlessly withdraws from his figure, gaze drifting its way towards the disarray of blankets, a tousled heap of duvet laying dormant atop the mattress. “Go on, then,” Tyler tells him, urges, a quirk to his brow and a curt nod of his head. “Present yourself.”
Josh scrambles to act in accordance, meticulously trained to heed to instruction. He forces the fluster of his face into the bedsheets, before hoisting his ass into the air, outright esurient.
Tyler clicks his tongue, a familiar sonority, Josh offering his hole to his auditing observation. He holds himself open, his trembling fingers, awaiting the arrival of his merited treat.
“That’s a good boy,” Tyler praises, mattress sinking as he seats himself apace, gaze locked, and face precisely parallel to Josh’s opening. “Trained you so well, haven’t I?” he hums.
He allows for the tips of his fingers to wander, revere, a tender caress drawn downwards—from the base of Josh’s spine towards the contour of his tailbone, before halting just shy of his hole. He leans closer, inches inwards, pressing an acquisitive kiss to either one of Josh’s cheeks; a gesture tender in nature, yet laden in authority.
“Tyler,” and Josh whines into the cushions, grip faltering, pitifully struggling to hold himself spread. “Fingers, need your fingers, I—Tyler, where's my treat?”
Tyler tuts. It is a sound, not a click, unreservedly disclosing his disfavour. Josh winces, recoiling as the censure strikes his eardrums, an admonition, an indication that he is testing Tyler’s patience.
“Fucking barking,” Tyler chides, before his grip ousts Josh’s own, and his digits are digging into bountiful flesh. Nails inscribing their shape into the pliant arch of Josh’s ass, all goose-flesh and sensitive, delightfully yielding, “Perverted little puppy, aren’t you?” he spits. “Can’t even wait your turn.”
In being spoken down to, Josh cock hardens instinctively, a traitorous twitch regarding the acerbity of Tyler’s tone. He is nothing more than a debauchee, a depraved delight, when all is said and done—and thoroughly titillated by the act of condescension, he nods his head, a demonstration of his degeneracy.
“I’m a pervert,” he whimpers, and Tyler grins, snide, his teeth against the small of Josh’s back. “I’m a needy, whiny puppy and I—I should wait my turn.”
Tyler clicks his tongue once more; approval. “Tell me more,” he hums, fingers sauntering, more-or-less palpating Josh’s opening. “Forgotten your place, haven’t you? Think you ought to be a little more thankful, pup.”
“I should be,” Josh quivers, the sway of his hips a bodily confession—a canine, eager, strenuously wagging its tail. “I should be, I am. Thank you, Tyler. Thank you for—mh!”
Drool is cascading in darling ribbons from the cushioned heat of Tyler’s lips, landing with languidity, like sickly-sweet bandeaus of honey, where flesh and touch indecently converge. Tyler’s fingers are never forbearing, nor kind—they haply never have been—and without so much as an uttered warning, there are two forcing their way into Josh’s assenting heat.
“I’m fucking soaked, y’know?” Tyler tells him, shifting to adhere his front to the muscled facet of Josh’s back. “Take it real easy, got such a greedy hole,” he mutters, digits curling, and cradling, and cruel as they outspread. “Just a pretty little fuck toy, huh? Doubt you even need the prep.”
Josh’s response is nothing more than a wince, a lightly garbled whine, his cock hanging heavy, thoroughly flushed between his thighs.
“Words,” Tyler warns, and his fingers are a piston. There is nothing delicate regarding his movements, a tempo meticulous, his insistence curbed only by the drawn-taut clench of Josh’s innards.
“Yeah, yes,” and Tyler’s free hand slots into his curls, strands doused in claret, a deluge of box-dye black. He tugs, and he groans, and a tertiary finger is slipping its way inwards, a stretch, searing as it enters. “There, yeah. Tyler, please. I—I’m your pretty little fuck toy, and I—I just… There, again, please.”
“That’s a good dog,” Tyler hums, utterly delighting in his partner’s plaintive yaps. “You want it bad, yeah? You want it—”
Fingers withdrawn, pressing his lips against the shell of Josh’s ear, Tyler drives his digits inwards, to the hilt. Relentless, knuckles curved with graceful precision, angled precisely to strike against the other’s tender prostate.
“—here?” he heaves, a syllable bordering a moan, breath tickling the indefinite hairs adorning Josh’s nape.
Equanimity thieved, thoughts pervaded by the onslaught of Tyler—his fingers an addition to the teeth-scape of Josh’s interior gallery—Josh emits an impetuous moan. It is low, overcome, dishevelled at best, as though the puppy has bitten off far more than he can chew.
“Oh, you do.” Equal parts deify and derision. “You’re gonna cum for me, pup. C’mon, just like this.” Tyler’s utterance is far more akin to an assertion than a request. “Such a filthy fucking thing. You’re gonna cum for me, yeah? So fucking easy, all I gotta do is touch you here—” The insistence of his fist a fracture to his phrasing, Tyler swiftly seizes hold of Josh’s pitifully neglected cock, “—all it takes, and you’re already fucking ruined for me, honey.”
“Tyler.” It is scarcely a touch, only the faintest pass of fingers—all the same, there is a tell-tale tension twining deep within his gut. His core wound taut, a desire interlaced, revolving, like the delicate intricacy of brass-work cogs. His core is a mechanical clock, and Tyler is its coupled winding key. “Tyler, Tyler, Tyler.” His abdomen quivering, a tooth-wheeled tremor pinning the firm thew of his thighs, “Cumming, m’cumming,” he shudders, and he chimes.
The puppy truly howling, an importunate string of sobs as he spills into the cradle of his partner’s benevolent palm. Tyler only continuing in his malicious ministrations as he works him through the residual convulsions of his orgasm, resolute, unwavering, until Josh’s attenuated tolerance gives way to the sharpest bark of protest.
“Too much,” he bays. “Too much, Tyler. Too much.”
“Barely even started,” Tyler sneers, although his grip is falling lax. He relinquishes his hold, reluctantly easing his fingers from the constricting bind of Josh’s opening. “C’mon.” Not a single ounce of downtime. “On your back for me, sweetheart. Gonna fall flat on your tummy, aren’t you? Your pretty, shaky thighs.”
“No, wouldn’t fall,” Josh rebukes. “I wouldn’t… No, Tyler, I—I would have held still for you,” he heaves, congenitally paltry, as Tyler eases his quivering frame onto its side, uncharacteristically forbearing. His ears pricking, his attention sharpening, gaze following the subtle snap of Tyler’s authoritative fingers—a sound softened by spit and the lingering adherence of viscous semen.
“Roll over,” Tyler tells him, and Josh’s spent cock is lightly batting at his tummy as he ultimately slumps onto the facet of his back. His paws rounded, balled fists, instinctively curled against his sternum. “That’s my pup.” Tyler coos. “Hi, honey," he reveres.
Tongue peeking just beyond the darling cushion of his lips, Josh pants, squirms, greeting his owner by way of a bark, laden in treacle, sickly-sweet, truly amenable.
“Hi,” Tyler repeats, grins, a gentle pat to his lover’s flustered cheek before he rises from the mattress, and he straightens his stature. “Gonna stay put while you wait for me?” he queries, a disparaging tilt to his head, making haste in unbuckling the adornment of his belt. “Gonna hold still n’be a good little pup?”
“Yeah.” Obedience is a language intrinsic, instinctual. To defy Tyler’s instruction would be sacrilege, Josh thinks—particularly in light of what he knows is to come. “Yes, Tyler. Yes. M’gonna hold real still.”
And Tyler lightly clicks his tongue before he promptly slips from sight.
His absence is brief, only fleeting, meagre minutes. No matter, to Josh, the anticipation of his imminent arrival feels as though it transverses an immeasurable epoch—lifetimes perhaps. Sedentary in his solitude, left to nothing but his imaginative faculty, he finds his cock beginning to twitch as he contemplates the intricacy of his partner’s unparalleled figure; the subtle incurvature of his lightly cushioned waist, and the delicate definition, tempered by time, where oblique meets hipbone, a prepossessing fullness.
By the time Tyler returns, his cock is standing rigid. His cockhead thoroughly flushed, and his slit drooling precum anew.
Much to his discomfiture, the sight of his lover does little to aid—harness drawn taut, its umbral nylon accentuating the delicate swell of his ass. His strap is an obscene protrusion, distinctively black in colour, stiff, slightly curved, a keen projection from the anchor-point of his pelvis.
“You hold still for me, puppy?” he asks as he settles.
Josh nods, the motion delightfully eager, with the obtrude of the strap lightly abutting his tender thighs. His legs are unfurling, outspread, until his hole is on display.
His throat refractory, arid as he heaves, cock weeping the lamentable woes of his impatience. "Need you,” he says, and the utterance is far more akin to a snivel. “I was good, I—I’ve been good, real good for you, right? I held still for you, Tyler and I—”
“That’s enough.”
The insistence of a knee against the flush of his erection, Josh is ultimately silenced, an unanticipated torture. The inexorable force pinning his arousal beneath its mass.
“Tyler, Tyler—”
“That’s enough,” Tyler repeats, spits, exchanging fondness for acerbity. “Fucking whining, howling. Pathetic little thing.” Fingers shifting to seize the pudge of Josh’s cheeks, jostling his skull beneath the firm grasp of his hold—thumb affronting, and hostile, and nettling his flesh. “Ease up a little, pup. Might make it worth your while.”
Emitting a whine, dismayed, unsettled, Josh nods once more—best he can manage, lips shaped by the pressure of Tyler’s unyielding grip.
“Right,” and Tyler is hoicking his spit into the well of his palm, unceremonious, as a cradled hand shifts to lubricate the stature of his strap. “Quiet, real quiet, yeah? Or does my puppy need his chew toy?”
“Chew toy, yeah. Chew toy, I need my—”
“Fuck.” Elongating the vowel, cushioned lips parted in veritable astonish, Tyler feeds his fingers into the other’s awaiting mouth. The taste of salt, and sweat, and spit wholly placating, as Josh’s head—steadily sated—besottedly lolls against his shoulder. “Pretty mouth.”
He embarks upon suckling, nibbling, tongue working languidly against the other’s pervading knuckles. He finds himself humming as his eyes tentatively flutter, Tyler nudging the firm head of the strap between his thighs.
Flush against his hole, they share a subtle, inward glance—words never a necessary benefaction shared between them—and Tyler ultimately understands what it is that Josh requires. Subjugation, he pleads for, and Tyler answers with assurance, authority, as his fingers further bend towards the heat of Josh’s throat. His cock tearing him asunder, cleaving him open, claiming his innards.
“Hah, Ty—bler” It is only one, cognisant thrust, before Tyler is fucking him into propitiating submission. Josh’s utterance slurred beneath the encroachment of his flesh, a hand promptly wielding his collar as a leverage.
Tyler lurches him upwards, inwards, closer, his fingers only plunging further still, as a deplorable gag usurps the workings of Josh’s throat, and Tyler is left to luxuriate in his abhorrent howls of distress.
“Oh, you love this, don’t you?” His nose beginning to crinkle, Tyler sneers, and his teeth are wholly exposed—exquisite, crooked, terribly twisted. “Filthy little slut, fucking love the way I take you,” he mutters, before burying his face into the narrow aperture where Josh’s collar and the supple meat of his neck gracefully converge.
“Mh—love it,” Josh struggles, words indefinite, a stammer, “Yeah, m’your—” phrasing fractured by the protesting constriction of his throat, entirely garbled and doused in his drool, “—your whore, m’your toy. Feel so—s’full.”
Fashioned for precision, a subtle, moulded curve, Tyler’s cock forcefully marries its head to its solitary target—his partner’s delicate prostate—amid each frenetic movement. It is familiar, innate, an exemplary dance brought to perfection with proficiency; Tyler, formidable, covetously purloining control, and Josh, acquiescent, all instinctually compliant.
They are seamless, complimentary halves. Two puzzle pieces, Tyler muses. Perfectly aligned. No matter the weather.
He reins in a grin, bitten, swallowed, teeth sinking into the thin flesh of his lip, as he draws his hips flush against the curve of Josh’s behind. “Take me like a whore,” he tells him, expression betraying his plentiful affection. “Such a greedy, little hole, huh? Just lettin’ me use you.”
Evidently, Tyler’s composure is downright disentangled—the sight of his partner, sprawled open, spread before him, is unreservedly perfection, nothing short of nonpareil. He is acutely aware of the gnawing thrum between his legs, dick throbbing a heartbeat beneath the slick swaddling his folds.
He withdraws his fingers from the heat of Josh’s mouth, a glistening thread, before the string of drool is snapping, beading. “You gonna cum for me again?” he queries, the momentum of his force crowding Josh’s skull against the headboard. “Gonna paw at your pretty, little cock for me, yeah? Go on, wanna see you touch yourself, Josh. Touch yourself like the bitch in heat you are.”
Josh moans, splintered, as he hastens to comply, slotting his cock between the hold of thoroughly calloused fingertips, stray driblets of precum an aid to the salacious scrape of friction. “Yeah, w’nna cum, m’gonna cum,” he babbles. “Feels good, Tyler. S’good—so good, y’fuck me so good. Yeah, y’always do, and I—fuck. Thank you, Tyler. Thank you. Thank you.”
He pumps his cock with ferocity, his fist a chokehold grip, before his secondary orgasm is bespattering his abdomen. Hips lifting, spine arching, an insurmountable tremor, Tyler unceasing in fucking him until his paper features fold, crumple—an origami crease, a wince apropos the abundant stimulation.
He quivers, heaves, once Tyler tugs free from his innards, hole pitifully clenching against the encroachment that once was. Noises dwindling to the solace of measured inhalations, curls plastered to his forehead, the stickum paste of perspiration.
It is not until his vehemence has entirely ebbed that Tyler’s tongue offers its customary click.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, fingers skimming, traces drifting, laying pledges of their mercy across his partner’s robust sternum. He teases at his nipples, all gentle as clemency, a spit-throttled index palpating grace into the peaks.
“My treat, Tyler, I—I’ve been so good for you.” His sensitivity heightened by the crescendo of his pleasure—noted by Tyler, and much to his enjoyment. “Let me make you feel good,” Josh whimpers, figure writhing, collar pitifully rattling. “Let me, Tyler. Let me.”
“Right.” Tyler remains a step ahead, easing the tender bite of nylon from his thighs, assisted further by the clutch of Josh’s errant fingertips. “Sweet puppy, so hungry. Gonna use your pretty tongue?” he mutters, strap discarded to the mattress as he ascends to slot himself against the jut of Josh’s chin.
His folds essentially glistening, dick distended by way of his insatiable arousal, Tyler sets his forceful hold into his partner’s head of hair. He offers a misshapen grin as Josh unveils his eager tongue, all readily sprawling beyond his bitten bottom-lip.
“That’s it,” he mutters, abridging distance set between them, a curt tug to Josh’s collar guiding his tongue towards his cunt. Josh radiates devotion, an earnest hunger to placate, his lips promptly enveloping the tender swell of Tyler’s growth. “Fuck, just like that. Won't last long, m’all worked up,” he heaves, resisting the pull to crumple inwards, double over. “Y’like it, pup? Y’like the taste of your treat?”
Not an inquiry so much as a cue—Tyler poses his question knowing Josh can only nod. The benign charisma of his puppy-dog glance, curls bouncing in time with his enthusiastic assent. The subsequent stroke of his tongue is insistent, an ardent swipe upwards, Tyler’s hole his point of departure. His chin laden with the shimmering damp of his slick as he furrows his nose against his delicate dick.
“There you go, honey. Such an eager little slut.” Fingers anchored, affixed, using Josh’s hair as leverage, Tyler rocks his dripping cunt into his partner’s mantled face. Josh responding by means of an esurient moan, the vibration—a tremor—rending Tyler wholly twisted, rutting his hips towards the cradle of his pleasure.
Now circumscribed by Tyler’s pliant thighs, the abundance of pudge clutching the fluster of his cheeks, Josh settles a pair of covetous hands beneath the scars inscribed into the flesh of Tyler’s chest. Grasp easing him inwards, guiding him downwards, utterly intemperate, he devours the cacophony of Tyler’s inexorable moans, hips lurching against his tongue before they twitch, and then they tremble.
“Fuck, Josh.” Spine bowing, contorting, head cast towards his shoulders. “Oh fuck, yeah, that’s—Josh, m’cumming,” Tyler groans, figure twisting as he stammers, tummy taut as he unfurls. Muscles seized by a delightful convulsion as his orgasm rips just beyond the marrow of his bone.
Josh allows him to sink against his tongue as he descends, chasing the swell of after-shock until his aspic thighs give way. Tyler tilting his hips upwards, easing backwards, hauling air, before Josh is guiding his figure towards the mattress with his gentle, steady paws—his puppy-dog devotion is enduring, long prevailing.
“Tyler,” he says, and it is all that he can manage—chin damp with the adherence of slick, and arms outstretched, now gracefully unfolding.
“Yeah,” and Tyler understands at once. He fits himself to Josh’s frame with ease, gathering his limbs into an agglutinate embrace. Drawing his head against the soft meat of his sternum, “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Bed down with me, pup.”
“Thank you,” Josh tells him, and his nose is tentatively nuzzling the crevice of Tyler’s armpit, a warm, inviting aperture. “I like my collar, Tyler. Thank you. I—I like it a whole lot.”
“Thought you might, honey.” Kissing the crown of Josh’s skull, “Think I’ll get some mitts for you next,” he muses, pauses, before a culminating thought adjoins the pre-existing notion. “You want some little ears to match?”
Josh purses his lips, as though deliberating the notion, before he offers his sheepish response: “No.”
Tyler snorts, nose crinkled, wholly smitten and enervated.
“Have a think about it, pup,” he grins. "Bed down with me, for now."