kinky Trickyfish for Heather
Aug. 29th, 2002 02:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymSo, Heather wanted to a Chris-fists-Lance...which honestly, I wasn't sure I could do. I kinda see Chris as the fistee. AnyWAY *g* Here's a snippet.
Warning for kink: of the fisting type :-) You've been warned. If it squicks you and you read it anyway, don't fuss about it.
Enjoy, hon!
There's something about seeing Lance like this; Chris isn't sure he'll ever NOT react to it. Laid out like a feast for him, limbs spread, all four, making him look like Jesus on the cross, with his fingers grabbing and pulling at the bedclothes, pleasure written in every taut line of his body.
"Can you take another?" He asks softly, not wanting to break the silence. It's a strange silent-but-not thing, the only sounds being Lance's moans and grunts, and the wet, slick sound of Chris' fingers moving in and out. It's erotic in the extreme, and he doesn't want to break that. Lance is rocking back against him, against the three fingers already buried deep inside him.
"Yes...god, yes. Please, Chris--" He strains, pushes up onto his knees, chest still flush against the bed. Chris is pretty sure he's never seen anything as beautiful as this man, open and begging, wanting anything he can -- will -- give him.
"Gotcha covered, baby." The bottle of lube is half-full now; it was full when they started. He drizzles more onto his hand, then his fingers, easing the first three out before tucking the fourth one in with them.
Lance moans, a low, deep growl of sound, and pushes backward, and Chris watches in fascination as he opens, taking all four fingers to the third knuckle. Swallows them hungrily, greedily. Chris swallows and rubs himself through his pants, aroused and aching just from watching. He wants to do so much more; wants to crawl deep inside Lance, where his fingers are buried...crawl inside and be sounded by the tight, so tight heat, be cradled and caressed by the silky, slick walls holding onto his fingers.
"You're so sexy," he whispers, leaning in to nuzzle the backs of Lance's legs. Long expanse of pale, pale flesh, with a light dusting of hair, though not so much here, on the backs of his thighs. He nips once, twice, then sucks where he bit, hearing the raw sound Lance makes, feeling it vibrate through him and lodge in his gut. "Lance—fuck." He fucks his fingers a little faster, twisting and wiggling them, rubbing upward over that special spot, shuddering when Lance bucks backward.
"GOD, Chris—" The words are broken into harsh breaths, and Chris sees Lance twisting the bedspread in his fists, fingers white and red where he's clenching so hard. "For the love of—god, please, more, please…"
"More? You sure?" He slows the thrusts, moving his fingers gently, rubbing at the smooth walls.
"*Yes*. God." Lance hisses the words, then pumps downward, humping the bed, only to push up and back against Chris' fingers. "Chris, c'mon…."
"'Kay—hang on," Chris reaches for the lube again, trying not to shake too badly. This is so hot. He's so hot. And Lance…Christ, he's fucking on *fire*. Chris stares at the long, clean line of his back, bowed where he was rubbing backward, a faint sheen of sweat glistening against the pale skin. He wants to—lick. Bite. Both. Wants to leave red marks up and down, to shine against the whiteness.
And he wants to watch Lance's body open up further, to take him inside and hold him there.
He slides his fingers out slowly, listening to the hoarse, shivery words and sounds Lance mumbles. Nothing in particular, mostly noises, but they wrap all around Chris, licking at his arousal, pushing it higher. Lance is making those noises because of *him*. Because of what he, Chris, is doing to him. And it it's so hot, turning him on so badly.
"C'mon, please—" Lance's hips are still moving slowly, a gentle fucking motion, and his words are interspersed with gulps of air, rendering his voice even deeper, huskier than usual. "Need it…so hot…"
"Yeah. Fuck, you are." Chris smoothes his free hand over the rounded curve of Lance's ass, then reaches for the lube. It's slick and smooth on his fingers; makes them shine and glisten. He rubs them together, drizzles more over Lance's ass, smoothing it into his skin briefly, liking the shine. It makes him want to lean over and just—devour him.
He licks over the loosened, slick opening, making a face at the taste of the lube, but. Lance. Quivering beneath Chris' tongue, begging with his body. Wanting more. He licks once more, then pulls back to rub slick fingers where his tongue has been, smiling when Lance whimpers.
"*Please*. Stop teasing, Chris—"
"Not teasing, dude." Chris settles a steadying hand on one thigh, noting the muscles there are hard and tight, with a faint tremor working through Lance's body into his hand. He rubs gently, then harder, biting his lip when Lance pushes backward, meeting his touches, groaning softly. Chris slides his fingers inside that incredible heat and shudders, feels Lance shudder in tandem with him. "God, you should see this--*so* fucking hot, Lance."
"Feels like it…please…more." Lance wiggles his ass and Chris groans, thrusts three fingers into him, then back out, increasing the pace again until Lance is clenching and grabbing at the sheets once more. When he's sweating and panting, Chris folds his thumb against his palm before pressing inward again, slowly, but not too slowly. Make him hot, not hurt him.
Lance growls; it's a raw, hot sound that seems to Chris like it's being pulled from his throat. He works his hand slowly, wiggling and shifting it, working slowly inside the smooth, silky heat. It's hard to concentrate, to remember to go slow, when he wants to slam inside, crawl up in there, deep as he can go. Another raw sound, and Lance stiffens, breathes ragged and deep, and Chris freezes in place, waiting 'til Lance relaxes again, back still bowed, fingers scrabbling at the linens.
"Okay?"
"Yes. God. Don't *stop*, don't—" The last words are practically howled, and Chris laughs, growls, something; his own type of raw sound. More lube, and he's pressing deeper, harder, eyes slitted in concentration, his cock about to bust out of his pants, he's so turned on.
"Not stopping, Christ, Lance." And he's not. Lance snarls something at him, then whimpers, and it's the widest part of his hand, and oh, god, he's opening for Chris' hand, taking it, and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, watching himself slide deeper inside. Lance is bucking backward now, groaning, panting, working his hips into a fucking rhythm. Chris shifts his hand slowly, opening it, then curling it into a fist, pumping slowly, then faster, and Lance goes apeshit.
He doesn't want to go too hard, or fast, but Lance is moving, shifting, fucking himself back and forth now, and Chris' hand is curled, moving, and he's fucking *surrounding*, past his wrist, halfway to his fucking elbow, by tight, slick heat that normally only his cock feels. And it's different, but so damn hot, and he's rubbing himself through his pants, stroking over the damp spot that's appeared, and he can't take his eyes off Lance. Can't take his eyes off how sexy this is, how he's just wild, taking it, wanting more, body slick and sheened with sweat, with lube, muscles straining.
He curls his fist tighter and moves his arm faster, growling a little when Lance groans and arches back to meet him, loud, wet sounds echoing all around them. He reaches around with his free hand and takes Lance's dick in hand, strokes it slowly, then in the same rhythm he's fucking him with, and Christ it's almost more than he can stand, fisting him and jacking him.
Everything slows into slow motion, then freezes when Lance shudders and stiffens, rocking up fully onto his hands and knees, head dropping as a low, hoarse keening noise rolls up around them. Chris shakes and strokes Lance faster, doing nothing more than that, and shifting his fist around, and he's expecting it, but not ready, when Lance slams himself backward, coming hot and sticky all over Chris' fingers, the tight, deep muscles Chris is stroking tightening around his hand, wrist, arm, locking him deep inside. Lance is rocking back and forth, swearing and groaning, his voice high and cracked, then dropping to a thundering rumble. He's not saying anything, just noises, but it's too much for Chris; he lets go of Lance's cock and rubs himself frantically, not needing more than a stroke or two before he's shaking and trembling, coming in his pants.
When he can breathe again, Chris turns his fist slowly and eases outward, stopping three different times to stroke Lance's thighs and back as he comes again and again, dry orgasms; his body so stimulated he's just pushed over the edge by any movement.
"God." Lance gasps, still shaking, moaning when Chris turns his hand, sliding out the way he went in: slowly, thumb tucked under. "Just—god. I can't. Oh, god. Chris."
"Shhh." He leans in and drops a kiss at the base of Lance's spine, muttering something soft and nonsensical as he slips his hand completely out, reaching for a towel to wipe off on. Lance collapses on the bed, shaking, and Chris doesn't know if he's laughing, crying, coming again, what. "Lance. Lance."
"'M okay," he whispers, voice hoarse. "Okay. Yes. I just—god." He shivers again and Chris shifts to pull him into his arms, holding him tight and stroking his back while Lance trembles, letting Lance know he's safe, right here.
Later, when he's rested, come down off the high, they can talk. And Chris can tell Lance how hot it was…and how, if Lance wants it again, he's so ready and willing.
For now, he'll just hold Lance. Because of everything, that's the best.
~finis~
Warning for kink: of the fisting type :-) You've been warned. If it squicks you and you read it anyway, don't fuss about it.
Enjoy, hon!
There's something about seeing Lance like this; Chris isn't sure he'll ever NOT react to it. Laid out like a feast for him, limbs spread, all four, making him look like Jesus on the cross, with his fingers grabbing and pulling at the bedclothes, pleasure written in every taut line of his body.
"Can you take another?" He asks softly, not wanting to break the silence. It's a strange silent-but-not thing, the only sounds being Lance's moans and grunts, and the wet, slick sound of Chris' fingers moving in and out. It's erotic in the extreme, and he doesn't want to break that. Lance is rocking back against him, against the three fingers already buried deep inside him.
"Yes...god, yes. Please, Chris--" He strains, pushes up onto his knees, chest still flush against the bed. Chris is pretty sure he's never seen anything as beautiful as this man, open and begging, wanting anything he can -- will -- give him.
"Gotcha covered, baby." The bottle of lube is half-full now; it was full when they started. He drizzles more onto his hand, then his fingers, easing the first three out before tucking the fourth one in with them.
Lance moans, a low, deep growl of sound, and pushes backward, and Chris watches in fascination as he opens, taking all four fingers to the third knuckle. Swallows them hungrily, greedily. Chris swallows and rubs himself through his pants, aroused and aching just from watching. He wants to do so much more; wants to crawl deep inside Lance, where his fingers are buried...crawl inside and be sounded by the tight, so tight heat, be cradled and caressed by the silky, slick walls holding onto his fingers.
"You're so sexy," he whispers, leaning in to nuzzle the backs of Lance's legs. Long expanse of pale, pale flesh, with a light dusting of hair, though not so much here, on the backs of his thighs. He nips once, twice, then sucks where he bit, hearing the raw sound Lance makes, feeling it vibrate through him and lodge in his gut. "Lance—fuck." He fucks his fingers a little faster, twisting and wiggling them, rubbing upward over that special spot, shuddering when Lance bucks backward.
"GOD, Chris—" The words are broken into harsh breaths, and Chris sees Lance twisting the bedspread in his fists, fingers white and red where he's clenching so hard. "For the love of—god, please, more, please…"
"More? You sure?" He slows the thrusts, moving his fingers gently, rubbing at the smooth walls.
"*Yes*. God." Lance hisses the words, then pumps downward, humping the bed, only to push up and back against Chris' fingers. "Chris, c'mon…."
"'Kay—hang on," Chris reaches for the lube again, trying not to shake too badly. This is so hot. He's so hot. And Lance…Christ, he's fucking on *fire*. Chris stares at the long, clean line of his back, bowed where he was rubbing backward, a faint sheen of sweat glistening against the pale skin. He wants to—lick. Bite. Both. Wants to leave red marks up and down, to shine against the whiteness.
And he wants to watch Lance's body open up further, to take him inside and hold him there.
He slides his fingers out slowly, listening to the hoarse, shivery words and sounds Lance mumbles. Nothing in particular, mostly noises, but they wrap all around Chris, licking at his arousal, pushing it higher. Lance is making those noises because of *him*. Because of what he, Chris, is doing to him. And it it's so hot, turning him on so badly.
"C'mon, please—" Lance's hips are still moving slowly, a gentle fucking motion, and his words are interspersed with gulps of air, rendering his voice even deeper, huskier than usual. "Need it…so hot…"
"Yeah. Fuck, you are." Chris smoothes his free hand over the rounded curve of Lance's ass, then reaches for the lube. It's slick and smooth on his fingers; makes them shine and glisten. He rubs them together, drizzles more over Lance's ass, smoothing it into his skin briefly, liking the shine. It makes him want to lean over and just—devour him.
He licks over the loosened, slick opening, making a face at the taste of the lube, but. Lance. Quivering beneath Chris' tongue, begging with his body. Wanting more. He licks once more, then pulls back to rub slick fingers where his tongue has been, smiling when Lance whimpers.
"*Please*. Stop teasing, Chris—"
"Not teasing, dude." Chris settles a steadying hand on one thigh, noting the muscles there are hard and tight, with a faint tremor working through Lance's body into his hand. He rubs gently, then harder, biting his lip when Lance pushes backward, meeting his touches, groaning softly. Chris slides his fingers inside that incredible heat and shudders, feels Lance shudder in tandem with him. "God, you should see this--*so* fucking hot, Lance."
"Feels like it…please…more." Lance wiggles his ass and Chris groans, thrusts three fingers into him, then back out, increasing the pace again until Lance is clenching and grabbing at the sheets once more. When he's sweating and panting, Chris folds his thumb against his palm before pressing inward again, slowly, but not too slowly. Make him hot, not hurt him.
Lance growls; it's a raw, hot sound that seems to Chris like it's being pulled from his throat. He works his hand slowly, wiggling and shifting it, working slowly inside the smooth, silky heat. It's hard to concentrate, to remember to go slow, when he wants to slam inside, crawl up in there, deep as he can go. Another raw sound, and Lance stiffens, breathes ragged and deep, and Chris freezes in place, waiting 'til Lance relaxes again, back still bowed, fingers scrabbling at the linens.
"Okay?"
"Yes. God. Don't *stop*, don't—" The last words are practically howled, and Chris laughs, growls, something; his own type of raw sound. More lube, and he's pressing deeper, harder, eyes slitted in concentration, his cock about to bust out of his pants, he's so turned on.
"Not stopping, Christ, Lance." And he's not. Lance snarls something at him, then whimpers, and it's the widest part of his hand, and oh, god, he's opening for Chris' hand, taking it, and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, watching himself slide deeper inside. Lance is bucking backward now, groaning, panting, working his hips into a fucking rhythm. Chris shifts his hand slowly, opening it, then curling it into a fist, pumping slowly, then faster, and Lance goes apeshit.
He doesn't want to go too hard, or fast, but Lance is moving, shifting, fucking himself back and forth now, and Chris' hand is curled, moving, and he's fucking *surrounding*, past his wrist, halfway to his fucking elbow, by tight, slick heat that normally only his cock feels. And it's different, but so damn hot, and he's rubbing himself through his pants, stroking over the damp spot that's appeared, and he can't take his eyes off Lance. Can't take his eyes off how sexy this is, how he's just wild, taking it, wanting more, body slick and sheened with sweat, with lube, muscles straining.
He curls his fist tighter and moves his arm faster, growling a little when Lance groans and arches back to meet him, loud, wet sounds echoing all around them. He reaches around with his free hand and takes Lance's dick in hand, strokes it slowly, then in the same rhythm he's fucking him with, and Christ it's almost more than he can stand, fisting him and jacking him.
Everything slows into slow motion, then freezes when Lance shudders and stiffens, rocking up fully onto his hands and knees, head dropping as a low, hoarse keening noise rolls up around them. Chris shakes and strokes Lance faster, doing nothing more than that, and shifting his fist around, and he's expecting it, but not ready, when Lance slams himself backward, coming hot and sticky all over Chris' fingers, the tight, deep muscles Chris is stroking tightening around his hand, wrist, arm, locking him deep inside. Lance is rocking back and forth, swearing and groaning, his voice high and cracked, then dropping to a thundering rumble. He's not saying anything, just noises, but it's too much for Chris; he lets go of Lance's cock and rubs himself frantically, not needing more than a stroke or two before he's shaking and trembling, coming in his pants.
When he can breathe again, Chris turns his fist slowly and eases outward, stopping three different times to stroke Lance's thighs and back as he comes again and again, dry orgasms; his body so stimulated he's just pushed over the edge by any movement.
"God." Lance gasps, still shaking, moaning when Chris turns his hand, sliding out the way he went in: slowly, thumb tucked under. "Just—god. I can't. Oh, god. Chris."
"Shhh." He leans in and drops a kiss at the base of Lance's spine, muttering something soft and nonsensical as he slips his hand completely out, reaching for a towel to wipe off on. Lance collapses on the bed, shaking, and Chris doesn't know if he's laughing, crying, coming again, what. "Lance. Lance."
"'M okay," he whispers, voice hoarse. "Okay. Yes. I just—god." He shivers again and Chris shifts to pull him into his arms, holding him tight and stroking his back while Lance trembles, letting Lance know he's safe, right here.
Later, when he's rested, come down off the high, they can talk. And Chris can tell Lance how hot it was…and how, if Lance wants it again, he's so ready and willing.
For now, he'll just hold Lance. Because of everything, that's the best.
~finis~
