Chapter Text
Rating: Explicit
Category: M/M
Fandom: Gorefag, True Crime Community
Relationships: Gorefag/Musefag
Characters: Gorefag, Papafag, Nana, Musefag
Additional Tags: True Love, Anal Sex, EXCLUSIVE PICTURES FOR MY FAGGETTES ONLY!!!, Taken by the esteemed author herself, sorry I think musefag is straight, I KNOW HIM IRLLLL SO I CAN SAY THIS, anyway, long live gorefag!!
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2012-02-19 Updated: 2012-02-19 Words: 3,383 Chapters: 1/? Comments: 23 Kudos: 67 Bookmarks: 8 Hits: 1,089
adonis under the football stands, and i, dreaming
by OfficialGorefagStalker
Notes
A/N 1: ALRIGHT BITCHES IT IS YOUR QUEEN, FEEDING YOU WHAT YOU DON’T DESERVE.
A/N 2: Yes it is a real pic and yes, I really took it and yes, I am better than you, die jealous.
A/N 3: Of course Potter is straight, you dumb sluts! He’s a football lad, he wants to be Will Rooney, are you fucking stupid?? Mad Tom is certified queer tho xxx.
A/N 4: YES FOR THE LAST TIME IT REALLY IS THEM! "you can't see their faces," bitch anyone with eyes can see them, only dumb blind cunts like you who deserve to die starving can't see it's them, do not comment again or i will find you and tell your church loving mum what a slag you are on the interest, then you'll learn not to fucking lie :p
[Attached: A photo taken at sunset, showing two boys exiting the area under the ends of a football stadium. Dressed in school uniforms, they are both gazing at each other, one has his dress shirt untucked and his blazer slung over his shoulder. Facial features cannot be discerned but there is something haunting about the image.]
xxxxx
In the football stands, at the priciest and highest box, a tall figure stood up, fist raised in triumph. No one noticed, the locals were too busy celebrating, pouring out onto the field to slap backs, pump fists and lift the young men of Little Hagelton football club onto their shoulders. One person was lifted first, his back slapped the most, his smile the brightest, his aura enthralling all who witnessed him in the celebration just as his skill had in the match, when he scored goal after goal.
Mad Tom, as the village called him, lowered his arm. Unbothered by the separation, he raised his camera, capturing the moment. Tanned skin. Dimpled cheeks. Unruly hair. Green eyes that looked up and found him.
Tom’s mouth twitched upwards, he already knew, he would be celebrating properly later.
xxxxx
Later, when everyone else had gone home and the sun was extending orange fingers towards the horizon, Tom picked the locked gate and slipped into the shadowed space under the stands. A picnic blanket with accompanying basket had already been arranged on the grass. The cheerful red and white chequered pattern was as innocent as the boy Tom planned to take today.
Harry ambled in, hands in his pockets, the swagger of victory still in his hips. They settled on the blanket, close enough to touch but not yet doing so. Their eyes lingered on the other, before Harry’s joy bloomed across his face and he yanked Tom in for a hug.
“We fucking won mate!”
“Of course you did.”
Tom’s hands wandered up Harry’s back, the smell of Boots shampoo in his nose.
“Get in!”
Harry pumped his fist, smiling wide, dimples appearing on his cheeks. He had no idea how beautiful he was. Pulling back, Harry whipped off his tie and jacket, flinging them carelessly behind him. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt and tipped his head back, stretching. The sun crept through the seats above them and kissed the bob of his Adam's apple. Gorgeous. Tom wanted to bite, wanted to worry a mark there with his teeth so the group of older girls that followed Harry around and giggled at everything he said would finally shut up with their screeching.
Harry wouldn’t let him though, he was still, somehow, convinced he was straight.
Tom supposed he wasn’t totally wrong, Harry never looked at anyone else the way he looked at Tom. And Tom knew that despite a brief adolescent fumble with Weasley a few summers ago, Harry hadn’t been with anyone else.
He definitely hadn’t gone as far with Weasel as he had with Tom. Tom was the proud collector of almost all of Harry’s firsts.
And he was looking to add to that collection.
The half-dark under the football stands, with the dying sun filtering through in splinters from above, was not the romantic rose petal strewn bedroom Tom would have preferred for their first coupling. But his lovely Harry was too skittish for that. This place, hidden away from prying eyes, was liminal enough to allow them to become one.
“D’you want to?” Harry asked, gnawing at his bottom lip with his teeth. There was a familiar edge in his eyes; distance, hesitation, like he didn’t believe Tom would always want him. His gaze traced Tom’s features like a caress, and that simple admiration was enough for Tom’s breath to catch in his chest.
Tom answered the question by kissing him. Chapped lips against his soft ones, and the sweet flick of Harry’s tongue against his own. Tom’s fingers stroked gently over Harry’s nape, the groan of pleasure Harry let out swallowed greedily by his throat.
They kissed and kissed, surging against each other, Harry’s hands tugged on Tom’s jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. It slipped down Tom’s arms, tangling around his wrists, restricting his movement. Harry took control, cupping Tom’s jaw and plundering his pliant, surrendering mouth. They surged closer together, two waves merging, hips against hips, both hard and rutting shamelessly like animals.
Harry pulled back, smirking, a dimple in his cheek. Gorgeous. Stunning. The dying sun crowned him in gold. He was Tom’s god and he had no idea.
Tom escaped the confines of his jacket and pulled Harry back in. Teeth clacked together, noses bumped and Tom hissed in pleasure when Harry’s sharp canines tore through the soft skin of his lip. The taste of metal spilled into their kiss, an underserved spice to accompany Harry’s sweetness.
“Ah, shit, sorry mate,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his calloused thumb touching the wound gently.
Tom pulled it into his mouth and sucked, locking eyes with Harry, daring him to pull away. The startling green of Harry’s eyes sparkled in the light filtering down, his pupils were blown wide with arousal. The tender signs of his desire fanned the blaze in Tom’s guts; rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, shallow breaths, and that all too tempting bulge.
Long fingers found the shape and stroked the length, Harry’s answering sigh of pleasure was music in his ears. He returned the touch, gripping Tom through his slacks roughly, almost cruelly, adding an addictive edge of pain to the pleasure bolting up Tom’s length. Their mouths met again, stuck together, sharing air and saliva.
Push and pull, and Tom ended up on his back, his hand tugged away from Harry’s hardness and pinned to the picnic blanket by strong fingers. Harry liked holding him down, liked how easily he won their wrestling matches, enjoyed the fact that he was allowed as much as he could. Muscle flexed under his white button up, Tom’s other wrist was pinned beside the first, arms stretched above his head, and Harry’s cock pressed hard against his own. They ground against each other, kissing in between, sloppier as their arousal spiked.
They could both come like this, pull apart, and Tom could drive Harry home without demanding anything from Harry’s self-proclaimed “straightness”. And normally, he would. He would let Harry go, let him keep his delusions a little while longer, it didn’t hurt Tom, not really, he’d never expected to get this far, let alone any further.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and greedier. Tom had been deprived so long he was starving, it left him intent on taking Harry’s chastity for himself. Before any of the slags could get to it, some of them were conniving enough to get Harry drunk, seducing him in a moment of weakness. Tom had to claim him now, his very soul ached for it.
“Wait, wait.” Tom said, pulling away from the kiss and slowing his hips.
Harry blinked at him, thick lashes fluttering over dazzling eyes.
“Mm–Was the matter?” His nose bumped against Tom’s.
“I want to go all the way.”
Apprehension entered those beautiful eyes. Harry stilled, swallowing hard.
“Yeah? You sure?”
“Yes.” Tom had never been surer in his life.
A pink tongue swept out of Harry’s mouth and licked his succulent lips. He was nervous. Of course he was. He’d probably never even heard of anal, sheltered and precious as he was. Harry was raised for a white picket fence and missionary sex in the dark. Tom was taking him to frightening new places.
When Harry blushed, the tips of his ears turned red.
“You want me to uh, put it in?” His voice trailed off at the end, uncertain.
“Do you want me to do it instead?” Tom smiled gently, amused. Harry was so cute sometimes.
Harry spluttered, anger flashing across his face. He shut it down, brows furrowing, determination looked gorgeous on him.
“I can do it.” Harry said, voice low and raspy, the sudden command in it made Tom shiver. “Turn over.”
Harry slipped off him and Tom immediately missed the weight, but the sight of Harry spreading his legs and opening his belt buckle meant he didn’t mourn for long. Tom sat up, felt around for his jacket, checking for the tell-tale lump of the jar of Vaseline he’d filched from his father’s room. It was still there, good. The view in front of him only improved, Harry unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his hard-cut glorious body. He could be a model.
Slowly, deliberately teasing Tom, Harry opened his fly and inched down his zipper. There was a glint in his eye, almost predatory. It was really fucking hot. Tom’s mouth watered as Harry tugged down his boxers and drew out his manhood.
Setting onto his knees, Tom bowed before it, mouth dropping open. But before he could get his lips around it, Harry’s hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him short. Tom looked up through his lashes, into the glow of confidence in Harry’s face. This Harry knew how to do. He was a master at it.
He took hold of Tom’s chin with his other hand and pressed a thumb to his lower lip. “What do you say?”
“Please.” It came out needy, wanting, nearly desperate. Only Harry had that effect on him, Tom could never get enough.
“Good.” Harry growled, pleased. He pushed Tom’s head down, right where they both wanted. The musky scent of Harry’s thickening length hit Tom like crack-cocaine. It was a drug, and he was an unrepentant addict. Lips around the head and sucking, letting Harry drag him up and down the length, he loved it. The taste, the smell, the feel of it lodged in his throat, the tingling pleasure in his skull when Harry pulled him back and forth by his hair.
Tom did not gag, the reflex long worn away by the number of times they’d done this. It pleased Tom immensely, made his length throb and leak in his underwear. Harry had shaped him with his body, made him better, more pleasurable to fuck, and now Tom could take him deep in his throat, the entire length of Harry pressed inside, his eyebrows screwed up, lips bitten, cursing under his breath as Tom did for him what no one else could.
Using his hands on Harry’s hips, Tom pulled away, protesting the grip Harry had on him until he caught on and let him go. Coughing, Tom wiped spittle from his jaw, his eyes stung, his throat was wonderfully raw, and he would always swallow what Harry gave him, but he wanted it inside his other orifice.
“Oh right,” Harry petted his head in apology. He sat back, his impressive length half-hard and slick with spit, looking rather lost. Tom’s sweet, lost love. He couldn’t deny he loved it when Harry looked at him for guidance. That subtle sign of need sizzled in his belly, a pleasure deeper than sex.
“Let me get this off,” Tom murmured. He undid his own belt and fly, kicked his oxfords off into the grass, and pulled off his trousers. Pleasure thudded through his skull as Harry’s attention caught on his long, slender legs. He wasn’t iron-thighed like Harry, didn’t have every muscle group in his body defined and perfected, and lacked the dark hair on his calves that marked Harry’s approach to manhood. The silk boxers he wore were rather more effete looking than Harry’s, though his length had stained them the same.
Tom pulled off his shirt and folded it aside, then lay down, pulse fast in his throat. Harry’s eyes were on him everywhere, seeing everything. Tom refused to be nervous as he trailed his long fingers down his soft, pale stomach and over his jutting hipbones. Next to Harry, his form wasn’t quite as pleasing in the traditional sense, more androgynous than was acceptable for a boy, soft cheeked and soft skinned, but he knew Harry liked it. He could see, in the burning eyes and the twitch of Harry’s length, just how much he liked it.
The boxers came down slowly, down his hips and thighs and calves and ankles until he was completely naked under Harry’s gaze. The total exposure was both thrilling and terrifying. Tom found the Vaseline and his courage, raising his knees and spreading them, so Harry could see the cleft of his arse and the hint of his entrance. He blew out a breath, Harry’s eyes had jerked to his length when he revealed, and were now slipping lower, to that place, slightly apprehensive.
A warm hand landed on Tom’s knee, and he barely suppressed a full body jolt at the touch. God, he was already so weak for this, Harry’s hand rubbing soothingly over his skin was enough to make him drip onto his stomach.
“How are we gonna…” Tom didn’t let him finish, patting Harry’s hand with his own, the other grabbed the Vaseline.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything but put it in.” Tom removed the lid quickly, teasing Harry to hide the trembling of his own fingers. “You can do that, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” Harry groused, squeezing Tom’s calf with his other hand. “I bloody well can, you prat.”
“Then just wait.” And watch, Tom didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to.
Long fingers trailed over pale skin, then dipped into the greyish-white Vaseline pot and scooped out a generous amount. Tom knew he needed plenty, Harry was sizable. One hand lifted his cock and balls out of the way, so that Harry could see his opening properly. It was pink and tight, like a closed flowerbud. The pad of a forefinger was used to loosen it. Pushing it in, like this, with Harry watching, gaze transfixed, made it hard to breathe. He’d done this before, alone in bed, imagining this moment. His mind had failed completely to do it justice.
He was hot all over, already on the verge of panting as he pushed the finger in. He clenched down around it, practicing, training himself for Harry. It would be the best of Harry’s life, he would never look at any of those high-pitched mini-skirted harpies again. Up to the knuckle, and it hurt, burning, but Tom loved it, he was making space for Harry, a place inside of himself. Nothing could be more wonderful.
He was hot all over, already on the verge of panting as he pushed the finger in. He clenched down around it, practicing, training himself for Harry. It would be the best of Harry’s life, he would never look at any of those high-pitched mini-skirted harpies again. Up to the knuckle, and it hurt, burning, but Tom loved it, he was making space for Harry, a place inside of himself. Nothing could be more wonderful.
One finger became two and then three. Harry cursed each time he added one, he had a hand on each of Tom’s knees now, had shuffled closer between them, his hips forcing them further apart, he couldn’t stay back. It felt unbearably good to be wanted so blatantly but the stretch hurt, he was pulling himself apart, opening up. The flower bloomed slowly, and then Tom was panting, Harry’s hand slipped down his knee and onto his thigh, seeking to touch.
When he did, the pleasure was sharp, snapping through Tom almost violently, leaving him momentarily weightless, held down by Harry’s gaze alone. The beloved calloused fingertips were rough on his sensitive, trembling opening, but it pulsed for Harry, eager to be taken.
“Wow,” Harry whispered under his breath, the faint awe in his eyes made Tom’s heart swell.
Withdrawing his fingers, Tom felt the hole twitch, slick and hungry for something inside. He stretched himself open again, making an o, a sort of mouth, with the pink flesh.
“Here, put it in here.”
Harry shuffled closer, pushing Tom’s knees back until they touched his shoulders. When Harry manhandled him like this, without thinking twice about it, it always made Tom’s blood burn. He knew his cheeks were pink, but Harry’s were too. Harry's hand was around the base of his cock, his lower lip in his teeth, concentrating. He was going to put it in. He was going to fuck Tom. He was going to join them together as one for the first time.
He was going to make Tom his.
The beloved tip was an angry red from arousal, Harry settled it on Tom’s grasping opening, and still had to push hard to get it in. The head popped in and they both gasped. The heat of it, the solid press into his body, Harry’s shocked eyes, both of them trembling, all of it, whipped through Tom like a typhoon.
He barely remembered to breathe.
“Keep going, don’t stop.” His voice came out ruined with need.
“Tom,” Harry groaned, tipping forward, his hands clawing at Tom’s thighs before latching onto his hips.
“Yes love, carry on.” Harry obeyed, pressing further, splitting Tom open. It punched the breath from his lungs and tore his calm out from underneath him. Oh god, Harry was so big. A huge, silken spear driving into Tom’s guts like a weapon. Tom could not breathe, could not think. It hurt. The pain was deep and searing, a cleansing fire that rushed up Tom’s spine and into his head. Hurt little noises filled the air, and it was only when Harry touched his face that Tom realised he was making those sounds.
“Tom? Are you—“
“I’m fi—ah—hah—ine.” Tom was almost hyperventilating, squeezing tight around the intrusion, which only made it hurt more. He was clinging onto Harry for dear life, sweating, barely able to speak. It hurt so much, he was definitely being torn, but he didn’t care, he was going to take it all.
“Don’t stop,” It came out through broken gasps, “Please,” Tom begged, finding Harry’s gorgeous face torn between arousal and concern. That expression only made Tom burn hotter, Harry was so completely perfect, the sweetness of concern to accompany Tom’s pain strengthened his determination to take all of Harry. Of course it would hurt, the first time always did. Everyone knew that. Tom just didn't think it would be so hard to speak when it did.
“Please,” Tom whispered against Harry’s lips.
The concern in Harry’s eyes flowed away, replaced with desire, and that incredible stubbornness, the desire to finish, to win, that made Harry so bloody attractive.
“Ah!” Tom cried out, mouth dropping open against his will. The force and weight of Harry’s body pressed him into the ground and trapped him there. He couldn’t move away, there was no escape, nothing to do but gasp for air and take every inch of that humongous manhood within himself.
“Fuck Tom, you feel so good!” Harry shoved in again and again, forcing Tom open, spreading the burning pain up his backside. Tom could only gasp, delirious from the intensity of sensations. Spit was gathering in his open mouth, soon enough, he would be drooling on it.
“Here,” Harry took Tom’s hands in his own, tangling their fingers together, palm to palm, and pressed them beside Tom’s head. Pinned and exposed, Tom could only drown in Harry’s pleasure black glaze.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, sobbing and gasping and drooling and staring, the pain too much for him to think, but then it began to ease. Harry slid all the way in, the tip of him touching Tom’s core, sending an electric shock of pleasure up his spine. The pain began to fade, washed away by intense euphoria. Harry felt better than good, he was perfect, additive, enthralling, Tom could go one forever.
“Good now huh? “ Harry asked, snapping his hips. Tom wouldn’t ever have the stamina for that. He barely found the strength to nod. “Yeah, I can feel it, you’re getting looser.”
Getting looser, the words made Tom’s length drool and his mind dumb. He was being moulded around Harry, stretched for him, changed so Harry could fit perfectly. Tom might not have been made to take it, but his body could learn, had learned, better than anyone else. Pleasure crackled around his head, and fresh satisfaction drooled onto his belly. His entrance was on fire, but the inside felt so fucking good now, he couldn’t believe it.
“Is it good for you as well?” Tom asked, squeezing Harry’s hands.
“Yes, Tom. Yes, so, fucking, good.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust that made Tom choke, deep and hot and consuming. Harry was claiming him, owning him, marking him and Tom couldn’t be happier.
“Better than any of those slags would’ve been.”
“Yeah,” Harry’s answering grin is knowing, but he doesn’t call Tom out on it. Tom’s heart, already beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings, twists in his chest. Being known like this is doing a number on him. Being accepted by Harry, for all his faults, being wanted anyway, it’s enough to make him cry tears of joy. Harry’s seen what’s in the box, knows what they are to each other, and now Tom has him, knows him in a way no one else will.
Pushing back on the length inside him, Tom clenched down, bearing the pain so he could make Harry gasp. There wasn’t much space for him to move, but he followed Harr’s rhythm as best he could, heat wound tight inside him, something in his core loosened and melting, dripping hot wax fingers of pleasure down his legs.
Harry leaned in and kissed him, their tongues twining and caressing each other as their bodies joined over and over again. Tom wished they could stay like this, wished he could take a picture, secret proof that they belonged to each other only. None of those hussies who giggled and flipped their hair and waved at Harry would be able to take him like this, those pussies would be crying and begging for him to stop. Only Tom could have this, deserved it, owned it.
Harry, his Harry, his darling man.
Their lips parted, trailing strands of saliva, Tom searched Harry’s eyes, where the pupils were blown so wide, only a thin ring of dazzling green remained. His glasses were slipping down his nose, face red from exertion, the muscles of his body, his strength stabbing into Tom and driving them both towards their peak. Tom loved him, utterly and completely, and he no longer had the strength to keep that truth inside.
It spilled out of him, into the heavenly space of their joined bodies.
“I love you,” Tom’s voice rose at the end as Harry thrust in, his insides clenched, aching and sensitive and swirling with pleasure at the same time.
Harry paused over him, pressed deep and fulfilling, looking slightly baffled. Then his face cleared, he gave Tom a dazzling smile.
“Yeah, me too, uh, you.”
Tom’s heart swelled. His soul soared. Harry had said it, maybe not in so many words but Tom knew what he meant. Harry loved him back. Tom had never needed him to, but he had craved it, deeply, and for so long, that to have it bestowed upon him like this, made him grin like a maniac.
The emotional pleasure surged with the physical, and Tom puckered his lips so Harry would kiss him again. They kissed and made love like that, sharing air and spit and each other. Harry’s rhythm sped up, becoming rougher as his need grew. Tom’s own length was hard as nails and slapping against his stomach with each thrust, the sweet sting of pain only added to the pleasure. It rose and rose like a tsunami, gaining height as they lost themselves, and finally, as Tom squeezed muscles he didn’t know he had, flinging them off that precipice.
Orgasm crashed through them violently, a wipe out of pleasure. Tom’s body jerked and clenched and cried out without his permission. He spent himself without being touched at all, Harry lodged deep inside him, made at home in his body, brought to climax by Tom, was enough to send him off the edge himself. Warmth spilled inside him, and Tom half-wished it would take, that he would swell with child, his body marked permanently by Harry. He clenched his butt so that it wouldn’t spill as Harry pulled out and collapsed on top of him.
In the sweet afterglow, they caressed each other, warm and satisfied. Tom could not stop smiling and neither could Harry. They lie twined together on the blanket, a warm late spring breeze caressing their bared skin. Harry’s eyes glowed in the light of the dying sun, greener than green, Tom had never felt more connected, more fulfilled, than in this moment, cupping the cheek of the man who was the first and only love of his life. Another of Harry’s first, having proper sex, was now his. Harry had everything of Tom’s already, so Tom cherished every little bit of Harry he could get.
Harry kissed him again, soft and sweet, loving, and Tom knew he would die happy.