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March moved to sit on the edge of the bed, nervously keeping his bare legs together. “Jackson… Could we turn off the lights first?”
“March,” Healy chided. “I want to see you.” March’s legs squirmed together, torn between being eager for Healy’s touch and not wanting to be seen.
“March, open your legs,” he said. It was more of a command than a request.
March shook his head.
“Really?” Healy asked, placing his hands on either side of March on the bed and slowly lowering himself down to his knees. Once settled, he put a hand on each of Holland’s thighs and gently shifted them apart. Holland shut his eyes tight but let Healy open them with little resistance. March squeaked a pathetic whine when he heard the other man hum in approval. “You’re very pretty,” he cooed, still holding his legs spread apart.
“Ngh, thanks.” Holland March had already been reduced to single syllables and he had barely even touched him yet.
Healy crept his hands up Holland’s thighs and let them settle on his hips. Holland let out a shuddering breath. Healy shifted closer and began to press kisses to his soft skin. He could feel Holland start to relax all over at the pleasure.
Holland put a hand in Jackson’s hair and absentmindedly began to pet, still refusing to look down. “So… have you-“ a sharp breath as Healy started sucking hickeys into his thighs. “Jesus- have you ever done this b- before?” Healy let March finish his sentence before licking along the soft skin at the top of his thigh, the side of his face brushing against Holland’s crotch. “Hnngh, I bet you did that to, ah, all the girls back home,” March joked.
“No, I was a selfish kid. I didn’t do this until I had to try making things work with June. She thought it was weird and we never did it again.”
“God, she’s an idiot. You should divorce her or something,” March chuckled breathlessly at his own stupid joke and, for some reason, Healy found himself laughing too.
“I like you better when you’re too horny to speak,” Healy said.
March scoffed, spreading his legs a little further like an invitation. “No, you d-“ His words devolved into a groan as Healy, never being one to rudely refuse an invitation, ran his tongue lightly over March’s folds. His hips shifted like he wanted to thrust into it but couldn’t make himself function properly enough to do it. “Fuck,” March whined.
“Yeah,” Healy agreed and licked again. “You taste good.”
“You don’t have to- to lie to me.” March blushed, finally looking down to meet Healy’s eyes.
“And you think I’d lie to you because…?”
“Shut up,” March said, lifting his hips a little off the bed to nudge against Healy’s mouth. Healy complied.
When Healy started lapping at his clit, Holland quickly realized that he was not, in fact, lying to him. Jackson Healy worked him like a man starved. He had never felt so devoured, so wanted. He could feel his body reacting, heat blooming between his legs as his own wetness mixed with Jackson’s spit. Holland was starting to feel embarrassed again. Embarrassed for wanting, embarrassed for the way his body was, embarrassed for being so far below Healy’s league in every regard.
Subconsciously, Holland started to slowly close his legs. Healy caught this immediately. He pulled away and lifted the legs to let Holland’s knees rest over his shoulders and wrapped his arms around to grasp Holland’s thighs. Holland let out a whimper at how tightly Healy was grabbing him. ‘Manhandled’ is the word that ran through his mind.
In this position, Healy could see every last effect his musings had been having on the man. March was slick and reddened, his thighs marred with light bruises. Healy wondered if it was simply the new angle or if it was March’s arousal that made his cunt look so much more open and inviting than when they started.
His broad tongue travelled lower, gently teasing his entrance. March’s legs twitched around Healy’s shoulders, unintentionally pulling him in closer. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of Holland in his mouth. Savoring in the knowledge that Holland trusted him, wanted him, the knowledge that March has gotten himself so soaked for him.
Healy let his tongue push a little harder, testing the waters. March froze up a little at the reminder of his own anatomy. “Healy,” March whispered, making the man look up from his spot between his thighs. His eyes looked starry and glazed over, like he couldn’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be. March hated to say no to him, but he really didn’t want his evening to be ruined by a dysphoric breakdown. March made a sympathetic face and shook his head. Healy’s eyes became more focused. He pulled away very slightly to speak, his lips still grazing Holland with every word. “That’s okay, March.” Each word was punctuated with a tiny kiss to March’s clit.
“H-“ he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Holland. Please. Call me Holland.”
“Of course, Holland,” Healy replied and jesus christ the way his own name felt against his skin was intoxicating. It didn’t help that Healy was a terrible tease and puffed his breath a little too hard on the H and stuck his tongue out a little too far on the L. March curled his fingers into Jackson’s hair as he whimpered.
The noise seemed to encourage Healy. He nuzzled his nose into the wet warmth between his folds and lapped cautiously with his tongue. He had no way of knowing what set off March’s dysphoria so all he could do was try everything and see how the man reacted. And knowing March, he knew he really ought to try everything.
Healy very slowly closed his mouth around Holland. Experimentally, he grazed his teeth over Holland’s clit.
Holland’s hand spasmed in Jackson’s hair as the almost-bite sent a wave of electricity through his body, down to his fingertips. “Jesus Christ,” he whined. His hand now rested loosely on top of Healy’s head.
“Too much?” Healy asked, a little more nervous than he thought he should be.
“No,” March breathed. He tightened his grip on Healy’s hair again and carelessly dragged him closer in. Healy’s nose slammed into him awkwardly, his stubble scratching against March’s thighs, his lips smushed in a way that meant he didn’t have a lot of room to work. “Holland,” he tried to mutter, but Holland just ground himself against Healy’s barely open mouth. His face was getting soaked at this point.
Healy brought his hands to pin Holland’s hips firmly to the bed. He pulled back slightly, wiped his face, and looked up at his partner. Holland was already trying to search Healy’s eyes for an explanation on the sudden stop. “Jack-” Holland started.
“You’re drowning me,” Healy interrupted with a lighthearted smirk. “I’m not Mark Spitz,” he panted, wiping at his face again.
“Oh, thank fuck.” Holland sighed in relief. “I thought you were about to stop forever. Don’t scare me like that, man,” he said, devolving into a breathy giggle.
In that moment, his head tilted back with a laugh and his legs completely relaxed around him, Jackson realized that Holland was doing devilish things to his once-sane mind. All he could notice was the way the shallow laughter racked his soft tummy. He noticed the line of hair there, leading to what he could only describe as something straight out of a modern gentleman’s magazine. His lungs be damned, he found himself wanting to dive back in.
With one hand still pinning March down, he used his other to trace down the happy trail. He used two fingers to gently spread March’s lips apart, relishing in the fact that the man didn’t flinch this time. Devilish things, Jackson Healy’s brain supplied again, this man makes him want to do terribly depraved things. He grazed his teeth across March’s hard clit, earning another whine like before.
March felt useless, like he often did but, for the first time in his life, he enjoyed the feeling. He was completely powerless, completely under his partner’s control. His body was in another man’s strong hands.
Healy closed his mouth around March’s arousal, a little bit more teeth this time. Holland tried his best not to twitch, not to waste the moment of relinquished control. Holland tried to let himself just have this one thing. It was kind of like a man getting blown, he rationalized in an attempt to keep the dysphoria at bay.
As if he had put the idea in Healy’s head himself, Healy began to treat it exactly like a blowjob. He wrapped his lips around Holland’s small bottom growth the best he could and sucked. Holland stifled a moan, not wanting to drown out the absolutely vulgar sounds Healy was making. It was sloppy and dirty and perfect.
Just when March got used to the sensation of receiving fellatio on his decidedly not phallic anatomy, Healy decided to add a little pain back in. Either Jackson was a sadist, or March was way too transparent about his masochistic interests. Regardless, it was working for him.
Healy’s hands wrapped themselves around March to claw at the man’s lower back. His nails were short and blunt and, God, how Holland wishes he wasn’t too much of a sissy to let Jackson put them to good use somewhere else. Holland often operated under the idea that if you ignore something long enough, it will go away. This has never proven to be true, but he follows the principle anyway. Ignoring his cunt has not yet turned it into a cock, and has instead made him scared of using it intimately. Next time, he told himself, next time he’s letting Healy go wherever he wants. The thought of giving Healy even more control than he’s granted already made him throb.
“Healy,” he almost sobbed when his partner’s tongue traced a circle around his clit. “S-so good.” Healy hummed and gnawed down like he was trying to leave a hickey there and March felt his whole body tighten up. He pushed his hips up and pulled Healy in closer with his legs, grinding himself into the sweet mix of pleasure and pain.
March’s moans turned into squeaks and whines with embarrassment when he felt himself release onto Healy’s face. He tried to let himself enjoy the orgasm as best he could, but he knew that it was going to take some getting used to. Luckily, they had plenty of time.
Healy pulled away again. “Jesus Christ, Holland, you’re a fountain,” he said, amazed. March’s legs shook as he peeled himself away from Healy, not wanting to suffocate him.
“Just shut up and switch places with me,” Holland muttered, trying to pretend that his whole body wasn’t still buzzing, not just with post-coital bliss, but with love. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.