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Entry tags:
- abc kink project,
- art,
- fic,
- fma,
- yaoi
Fic - "ABC Kink - S for Sounding"
Title: ABC Kink - "S for Sounding"
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2817
Warnings: Urethra play. Fluff. Manga spoilers for chapter 38 onward.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Notes: A mangaverse, post-series AU.
for “Sounding"
When the newly appointed Fuhrer Roy Mustang took up residence in the presidential mansion, a grand old building that was every bit as elegant and ostentatious by the standards of the day as it was two hundred years before when it was built, a number of Amestrian citizens wondered how a bachelor Fuhrer would be able to manage living in such a house on his own. Their concerns were assuaged to a degree when the new Fuhrer hired one of his former subordinates as a live-in assistant, to handle all his scheduling and manage his time and his estate for him. Most people found it very sweet that the Fuhrer should be so kind to his poor subordinate, who had been so tragically crippled so young.
The squadron of maids who kept the Fuhrer’s mansion in order were especially fond of saying this. They were good girls, and they were all already halfway in love with the handsome Fuhrer for employing them and treating them as well as he did. They fell most of the rest of the way in love with him once they started work, and caught his kind words and charming smiles. The way he gave poor Mr. Havoc a job was so generous, they said, especially letting him live full-time in the beautiful mansion, with his own specially designed apartment on the lower floor. They were so distracted by this kindness and the Fuhrer’s charm that they barely even noticed how suspiciously un-lived in the Fuhrer’s master bedchamber on the second floor looked, how infrequently the giant four-poster bed’s linens needed changing, and how both pillows on the far less showy bed in Mr. Havoc’s apartment seemed to be dented on the very same nights the Fuhrer’s room seemed relatively untouched. Or, if they did notice, they were blindsided enough by Fuhrer Mustang’s charisma to make up their own, innocent explanations. Oh, he must work so hard, many of them whispered, he never seems to sleep. Poor Fuhrer Mustang.
Poor, hardworking Fuhrer Mustang had apologized to Jean when he moved him in. He would’ve liked Jean to share his bedroom, but, since for so many reasons it was impossible, he hoped Jean would understand. Jean did, and was perfectly satisfied with his apartment. After all, he’d said to Roy, the idea of sleeping and fucking in the very same bed Bradley and all his predecessors had used was really pretty gut-wrenching, if you looked at it that way. And he liked the way Roy crept down to join him in bed late at night, like some kind of ghost coming down the grand staircase in his pajamas, opening the door to the little bedroom and sliding in next to Jean, the chill of his skin giving way to Jean's warmth. Jean even liked his secretarial job; it was true, he’d never prefer answering phones to shooting guns, but if he had to answer phones, he was glad to answer Roy’s. He liked that he could be perfectly independent in his apartment, that he could easily maneuver his chair through the elaborate gardens, and most of all that, after being kept apart so long, he could see Roy pretty much whenever he wanted.
Although this week he hadn’t seen Roy at all, and he didn't like that one bit. The big house got lonely, and the maids, while sweet, were famously dull after a few days.
Mustang was away on a diplomatic trip to Ishbal. Amestris’ foreign relations were understandably in tatters, and it was one of Mustang’s priorities to begin to rectify that. This, he had pointed out to Jean soon after his appointment, when they were lying in each other’s arms and enjoying the break from all the inaugural festivities, was the only way to really ensure an end to the constant warring. The defeat of the people who had caused the conflicts in the first place was only the first of many steps; centuries of animosity couldn’t be eliminated in one fell swoop. And Jean, tired of seriousness, had agreed gushingly, kissed Roy’s mouth, told him he was brilliant, and laughed and ruffled his hair when Roy looked embarrassed.
But unfortunately, brilliant as it was, it made for a lot of travel, which made for quite a number of lonely nights. Jean had tried coming with him once or twice, but his chair made travel difficult and most hotels near impossible. In the end, he ended up staying at home, managing the absent Fuhrer's affairs in tandem with Lieutenant Fuhrer Riza Hawkeye, and kept himself fairly well occupied. But he did miss him terribly the whole while, and was fairly confident that Roy felt much the same.
It was already dark when Roy finally returned, looking dignified as ever, even hauling an amusingly bulgy suitcase along with his ceremonial sword over one shoulder and hollow-eyed with weariness. Jean greeted him with the rest of the in-house staff, friendly and professional, a warm, firm handshake their only contact. It was only when Roy succeeded in getting everyone to turn in for the night and leave him alone in his study to go over some phone messages that they had their real greeting.
Roy leaned onto the armrests of Havoc’s chair and kissed him deeply, closing the study door behind him with a kick. The soft, wet sounds of their kisses mixed with the creaking of the old mansion settling for the night. Havoc’s contented sigh washed over Roy’s lips in a slow wave of warm air, and his shoulders were cozily pressed between Roy's arms. Everything felt suddenly right and comfortable, like putting on a pair of soft, warm pajamas at the end of a very long day.
“I brought you back a present,” Roy said a few minutes later, when they’d finished their kiss and he was kneeling on the floor, resting his cheek against Jean’s thigh and having his hair stroked. “I’ll go and get it.”
“I don’t want it,” Jean smiled, “you stay where you are.”
“Such shocking ingratitude.” Roy gave Jean’s stomach an affectionate poke at the sensitive line of flesh just above where the feeling cut off. He’d become familiar enough with it over the years to know it by sight alone.
“You can give it to me later, I’m enjoying myself.”
“My knees are getting stiff; I have to get up. I’m too old for this.”
“No you aren’t.”
“I am though; don’t you see my gray?” He indicated the hair at his temple, and Jean scrubbed his fingers through it.
“Not a thread, you liar.”
Roy got up anyway, found his bag in the corner and began to rummage through it. “It’s for your desk, anyway, I might as well unpack it now before I forget.”
“What is it?” Jean wheeled himself over so Roy would sit on his lap while he rummaged. When he did, Jean peered into the suitcase’s tangled mess of files, dirty clothes, hairbrushes and the alchemic gloves he now seldom wore but always carried in reserve, and grinned. It reminded him of the way Roy’s desk drawers had always looked when they'd been at East Heaquarters,
“I’m not sure exactly. The translator couldn’t quite get it across. They were selling them in the marketplace and I liked the casting on this one. Anyway, I thought it could be a letter opener or something.”
“Next time you can just bring me cigarettes.” He licked Roy’s ear and made him squirm.
“I won’t bring you anything, if that’s how you’re going to be… here it is.” He extracted a long, skinny leather pouch and handed it over, settling back against Havoc’s chest while Havoc reached around him to open it.
When he saw what was in it he broke into laughter. Clutching it in one hand he began to poke and knead at Roy’s chest, tickling him.
“A letter opener, huh?” He nuzzled against Roy’s ear, biting the lobe, and worked a hand into the buttons of his shirt to squeeze his chest. “You kinky son of a bitch.”
Since Roy was facing away and Jean was blocking him with all his ear nibbling, it took him a minute to swivel around enough for Jean to catch the bewildered expression he wore. “Kinky? What?”
Jean held up his gift; a long, slim rod of gold, thinner than a pencil, with a tiny rounded tip at one end and a large, flat paddle handle at the other that had been elaborately carved and decorated with the geometrical patterns Ishbalans preferred. He swung it back and forth between his fingers like a pendulum, grinning, until he caught Roy’s befuddled expression.
“Don’t you know what it is?”
“I told you I didn’t." He took the present back and peered at it suspiciously. "It’s pretty enough, though, and I thought it matched your desk set, so—” He was cut off when Jean began to laugh again.
“Pretty, sure, but I can’t keep it on my desk. Oh man, Sir, your chambermaids might be naïve, but even they aren’t completely blind.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s it for?”
Jean stopped waggling his gift to give Roy a long, searching look. When he was sure Roy wasn’t just feigning his innocence, he snatched the little rod back and tapped him on the nose with it.
“As soon as you’re ready to go to bed, I’ll show you.”
“What a happy coincidence; I’m ready now.”
***
Roy was lying naked at the very edge of Jean’s bed, his legs open, head propped up on a pillow so he could watch Jean do whatever he was going to do, examining the piece he'd taken for a letter opener and wondering what the hell Jean could find so inauspicious about it. It seemed perfectly tame to him.
He could hear Jean rummaging around in his bathroom cupboard, and when he finally emerged he was holding the tube of lubrication he used with his catheter. Roy didn’t find this particularly odd; they often used his lube for purposes other than its intended one. What he did find odd, once Jean had positioned himself between Roy’s legs, propped Roy’s feet on the wheelchair armrests, and given him a series of soft, gentle kisses on his inner thigh, was the sharp pinch Jean dealt his burgeoning erection.
“Ouch,” he complained. Jean smiled up at him and snatched his present out of Roy's hand.
“Close your eyes and relax and start thinking about baseball, Sir,” Jean said. He propped one of the pillows from his bed behind his back to help him stay leaned properly forward. “You have to start soft.”
“What the hell are you going to do with that damn thing? Last time I bring you home a souvenier.” But he did what he asked, thinking instead of baseball of the finer points of the alchemic process, rattling them off over and over in his head, which was what he always did to kill unwanted erections.
While he did so, Jean began to work lube over the metal rod, checking with his fingers to make sure it was uniformly slick, warming the gold with his hand.
“I got familiar with things like this,” Jean tapped the rod’s elaborate handle against Roy’s hip bone, “when I was in the hospital. Sounds, they’re called. Ones there aren't as pretty as this one, but I recognize the shape.” He slid a glob of lubrication over Roy’s cockhead, and gave him another little pinch to help things along.
“It that what is it? Some kind of medical instrument?”
“The ones in the hospital were. But this one isn’t. Now, you be still, or this’ll hurt.”
He held Roy’s soft cock in one hand, liking the weight of it, and brushed a quick kiss over the very tip. Then he pressed the rounded tip of the sound into Roy’s urethra.
Roy gasped, and Jean murmured to hush him. He held the little handle loosely, not pressing but guiding, letting the metal’s own weight pull it down and in.
“What the hell—” Roy started, voice wavery with shock, and Jean shushed him again.
“I know what I’m doing,” he promised, “just give it a second.”
Roy opened his eyes and looked down, seeing the golden handle sink lower and lower as the sound slid into his body. The feeling was incredibly intense, the little ball of warm, slick metal making nerves he hadn’t even known existed in his body scream their presence. It reminded him of the first moments of orgasm, the semen fountaining up while the intense muscle spasms were at their sharpest, but unlike those moments, this one kept going, and got stronger and stronger instead of tapering off. His whole body broke out in a light sweat, and his legs trembled against Jean’s armrests.
“Oh…” he gasped, trying to find something coherent to say and failing. “It... it really…”
“Is it too much?” Jean asked. He peered up at Roy over the plane of his body with concerned eyes.
“Yes,” Roy gasped, “but don’t stop it.”
Smirking fit to shame Roy himself, Jean leaned forward and began to press kisses to Roy's inner thigh. He breathed deeply, taking in the musky smell, and arousal curled around his mind like a fog. Roy’s breathless whimpers sharpened it. Since he’d been hurt, sex had been different for him; it took a lot of work and luck to get everything coordinated enough for him to have orgasms like he once had and now they were very few and far between, but in a way he didn’t mind. Robbed of the finish line, it was the race itself that became the sweetest, and now every moment, sharp and sexy, stood at the forefront of his mind. Being with Roy, touching him, smelling him, making him whimper and shake and come and knowing that he was the one making all that happen left him more sated than he could ever remember being.
When the sound was fully in, the larger metal handle resting at the tip of Roy’s cock like the world’s most elaborate genital piercing, Jean began to pump him. He moved slowly, judging by the tensing of Roy’s thigh muscles when he wasn’t being quite gentle enough, until Roy was fully hard again in his hand and moaning, curling his fingers in the blanket below him. When he bent to lick the straining shaft, Roy screamed his name, and when he began to tap the sound’s handle with his tongue, the taste of metal and Roy mixing against his lips, Roy’s screams lost coherence altogether.
Roy didn’t think he’d ever felt so shockingly aware of his cock before. The little ball of metal inside him sent waves of vibration all through it as Jean tapped, and the gentle squeezing of his shaft as he was pumped pressed against the sound against the previously untouched skin within him, making the sensations coming form within his body even sharper than the ones coming from outside it. It seemed every nerve was being individually triggered. His body coiled like a spring, bound up too tight, too tense, so close...
When his orgasm came, he was so overwhelmed with sensation he grayed out for a moment, feeling nothing but an obliterating wave of pleasure that encompassed every inch of him, as if he weren't a solid body at all but some kind of marvelous liquid. Jean, on the other hand, felt hyperconscious, so connected to Roy’s movements and noises and tastes and smells that he felt as if it were he that were coming, spread out and moaning so wantonly.
When Roy could sit up again, he lifted his head with muscles that shook so hard his vision blurred. Tears from the intensity of his release were still sliding down his cheeks, but she seemed not to notice. He watched over his hitching chest as Jean slid the sound back out, its brilliant gold stained with viscous white, and whimpered with an aftershock of pleasure as Jean seized his cock tight, sliding his hand down, milking out the semen that had been blocked from leaving his body and licking it away. He collapsed back again, panting, as Jean kissed up and down his thigh, reached up, took Roy’s hand and squeezed it.
“Thanks for my present, Sir,” he whispered.
19/26
See you guys tomorrow for letter T. :)
Author/Artist:
raja815Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2817
Warnings: Urethra play. Fluff. Manga spoilers for chapter 38 onward.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Notes: A mangaverse, post-series AU.
for “Sounding"When the newly appointed Fuhrer Roy Mustang took up residence in the presidential mansion, a grand old building that was every bit as elegant and ostentatious by the standards of the day as it was two hundred years before when it was built, a number of Amestrian citizens wondered how a bachelor Fuhrer would be able to manage living in such a house on his own. Their concerns were assuaged to a degree when the new Fuhrer hired one of his former subordinates as a live-in assistant, to handle all his scheduling and manage his time and his estate for him. Most people found it very sweet that the Fuhrer should be so kind to his poor subordinate, who had been so tragically crippled so young.
The squadron of maids who kept the Fuhrer’s mansion in order were especially fond of saying this. They were good girls, and they were all already halfway in love with the handsome Fuhrer for employing them and treating them as well as he did. They fell most of the rest of the way in love with him once they started work, and caught his kind words and charming smiles. The way he gave poor Mr. Havoc a job was so generous, they said, especially letting him live full-time in the beautiful mansion, with his own specially designed apartment on the lower floor. They were so distracted by this kindness and the Fuhrer’s charm that they barely even noticed how suspiciously un-lived in the Fuhrer’s master bedchamber on the second floor looked, how infrequently the giant four-poster bed’s linens needed changing, and how both pillows on the far less showy bed in Mr. Havoc’s apartment seemed to be dented on the very same nights the Fuhrer’s room seemed relatively untouched. Or, if they did notice, they were blindsided enough by Fuhrer Mustang’s charisma to make up their own, innocent explanations. Oh, he must work so hard, many of them whispered, he never seems to sleep. Poor Fuhrer Mustang.
Poor, hardworking Fuhrer Mustang had apologized to Jean when he moved him in. He would’ve liked Jean to share his bedroom, but, since for so many reasons it was impossible, he hoped Jean would understand. Jean did, and was perfectly satisfied with his apartment. After all, he’d said to Roy, the idea of sleeping and fucking in the very same bed Bradley and all his predecessors had used was really pretty gut-wrenching, if you looked at it that way. And he liked the way Roy crept down to join him in bed late at night, like some kind of ghost coming down the grand staircase in his pajamas, opening the door to the little bedroom and sliding in next to Jean, the chill of his skin giving way to Jean's warmth. Jean even liked his secretarial job; it was true, he’d never prefer answering phones to shooting guns, but if he had to answer phones, he was glad to answer Roy’s. He liked that he could be perfectly independent in his apartment, that he could easily maneuver his chair through the elaborate gardens, and most of all that, after being kept apart so long, he could see Roy pretty much whenever he wanted.
Although this week he hadn’t seen Roy at all, and he didn't like that one bit. The big house got lonely, and the maids, while sweet, were famously dull after a few days.
Mustang was away on a diplomatic trip to Ishbal. Amestris’ foreign relations were understandably in tatters, and it was one of Mustang’s priorities to begin to rectify that. This, he had pointed out to Jean soon after his appointment, when they were lying in each other’s arms and enjoying the break from all the inaugural festivities, was the only way to really ensure an end to the constant warring. The defeat of the people who had caused the conflicts in the first place was only the first of many steps; centuries of animosity couldn’t be eliminated in one fell swoop. And Jean, tired of seriousness, had agreed gushingly, kissed Roy’s mouth, told him he was brilliant, and laughed and ruffled his hair when Roy looked embarrassed.
But unfortunately, brilliant as it was, it made for a lot of travel, which made for quite a number of lonely nights. Jean had tried coming with him once or twice, but his chair made travel difficult and most hotels near impossible. In the end, he ended up staying at home, managing the absent Fuhrer's affairs in tandem with Lieutenant Fuhrer Riza Hawkeye, and kept himself fairly well occupied. But he did miss him terribly the whole while, and was fairly confident that Roy felt much the same.
It was already dark when Roy finally returned, looking dignified as ever, even hauling an amusingly bulgy suitcase along with his ceremonial sword over one shoulder and hollow-eyed with weariness. Jean greeted him with the rest of the in-house staff, friendly and professional, a warm, firm handshake their only contact. It was only when Roy succeeded in getting everyone to turn in for the night and leave him alone in his study to go over some phone messages that they had their real greeting.
Roy leaned onto the armrests of Havoc’s chair and kissed him deeply, closing the study door behind him with a kick. The soft, wet sounds of their kisses mixed with the creaking of the old mansion settling for the night. Havoc’s contented sigh washed over Roy’s lips in a slow wave of warm air, and his shoulders were cozily pressed between Roy's arms. Everything felt suddenly right and comfortable, like putting on a pair of soft, warm pajamas at the end of a very long day.
“I brought you back a present,” Roy said a few minutes later, when they’d finished their kiss and he was kneeling on the floor, resting his cheek against Jean’s thigh and having his hair stroked. “I’ll go and get it.”
“I don’t want it,” Jean smiled, “you stay where you are.”
“Such shocking ingratitude.” Roy gave Jean’s stomach an affectionate poke at the sensitive line of flesh just above where the feeling cut off. He’d become familiar enough with it over the years to know it by sight alone.
“You can give it to me later, I’m enjoying myself.”
“My knees are getting stiff; I have to get up. I’m too old for this.”
“No you aren’t.”
“I am though; don’t you see my gray?” He indicated the hair at his temple, and Jean scrubbed his fingers through it.
“Not a thread, you liar.”
Roy got up anyway, found his bag in the corner and began to rummage through it. “It’s for your desk, anyway, I might as well unpack it now before I forget.”
“What is it?” Jean wheeled himself over so Roy would sit on his lap while he rummaged. When he did, Jean peered into the suitcase’s tangled mess of files, dirty clothes, hairbrushes and the alchemic gloves he now seldom wore but always carried in reserve, and grinned. It reminded him of the way Roy’s desk drawers had always looked when they'd been at East Heaquarters,
“I’m not sure exactly. The translator couldn’t quite get it across. They were selling them in the marketplace and I liked the casting on this one. Anyway, I thought it could be a letter opener or something.”
“Next time you can just bring me cigarettes.” He licked Roy’s ear and made him squirm.
“I won’t bring you anything, if that’s how you’re going to be… here it is.” He extracted a long, skinny leather pouch and handed it over, settling back against Havoc’s chest while Havoc reached around him to open it.
When he saw what was in it he broke into laughter. Clutching it in one hand he began to poke and knead at Roy’s chest, tickling him.
“A letter opener, huh?” He nuzzled against Roy’s ear, biting the lobe, and worked a hand into the buttons of his shirt to squeeze his chest. “You kinky son of a bitch.”
Since Roy was facing away and Jean was blocking him with all his ear nibbling, it took him a minute to swivel around enough for Jean to catch the bewildered expression he wore. “Kinky? What?”
Jean held up his gift; a long, slim rod of gold, thinner than a pencil, with a tiny rounded tip at one end and a large, flat paddle handle at the other that had been elaborately carved and decorated with the geometrical patterns Ishbalans preferred. He swung it back and forth between his fingers like a pendulum, grinning, until he caught Roy’s befuddled expression.
“Don’t you know what it is?”
“I told you I didn’t." He took the present back and peered at it suspiciously. "It’s pretty enough, though, and I thought it matched your desk set, so—” He was cut off when Jean began to laugh again.
“Pretty, sure, but I can’t keep it on my desk. Oh man, Sir, your chambermaids might be naïve, but even they aren’t completely blind.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s it for?”
Jean stopped waggling his gift to give Roy a long, searching look. When he was sure Roy wasn’t just feigning his innocence, he snatched the little rod back and tapped him on the nose with it.
“As soon as you’re ready to go to bed, I’ll show you.”
“What a happy coincidence; I’m ready now.”
Roy was lying naked at the very edge of Jean’s bed, his legs open, head propped up on a pillow so he could watch Jean do whatever he was going to do, examining the piece he'd taken for a letter opener and wondering what the hell Jean could find so inauspicious about it. It seemed perfectly tame to him.
He could hear Jean rummaging around in his bathroom cupboard, and when he finally emerged he was holding the tube of lubrication he used with his catheter. Roy didn’t find this particularly odd; they often used his lube for purposes other than its intended one. What he did find odd, once Jean had positioned himself between Roy’s legs, propped Roy’s feet on the wheelchair armrests, and given him a series of soft, gentle kisses on his inner thigh, was the sharp pinch Jean dealt his burgeoning erection.
“Ouch,” he complained. Jean smiled up at him and snatched his present out of Roy's hand.
“Close your eyes and relax and start thinking about baseball, Sir,” Jean said. He propped one of the pillows from his bed behind his back to help him stay leaned properly forward. “You have to start soft.”
“What the hell are you going to do with that damn thing? Last time I bring you home a souvenier.” But he did what he asked, thinking instead of baseball of the finer points of the alchemic process, rattling them off over and over in his head, which was what he always did to kill unwanted erections.
While he did so, Jean began to work lube over the metal rod, checking with his fingers to make sure it was uniformly slick, warming the gold with his hand.
“I got familiar with things like this,” Jean tapped the rod’s elaborate handle against Roy’s hip bone, “when I was in the hospital. Sounds, they’re called. Ones there aren't as pretty as this one, but I recognize the shape.” He slid a glob of lubrication over Roy’s cockhead, and gave him another little pinch to help things along.
“It that what is it? Some kind of medical instrument?”
“The ones in the hospital were. But this one isn’t. Now, you be still, or this’ll hurt.”
He held Roy’s soft cock in one hand, liking the weight of it, and brushed a quick kiss over the very tip. Then he pressed the rounded tip of the sound into Roy’s urethra.
Roy gasped, and Jean murmured to hush him. He held the little handle loosely, not pressing but guiding, letting the metal’s own weight pull it down and in.
“What the hell—” Roy started, voice wavery with shock, and Jean shushed him again.
“I know what I’m doing,” he promised, “just give it a second.”
Roy opened his eyes and looked down, seeing the golden handle sink lower and lower as the sound slid into his body. The feeling was incredibly intense, the little ball of warm, slick metal making nerves he hadn’t even known existed in his body scream their presence. It reminded him of the first moments of orgasm, the semen fountaining up while the intense muscle spasms were at their sharpest, but unlike those moments, this one kept going, and got stronger and stronger instead of tapering off. His whole body broke out in a light sweat, and his legs trembled against Jean’s armrests.
“Oh…” he gasped, trying to find something coherent to say and failing. “It... it really…”
“Is it too much?” Jean asked. He peered up at Roy over the plane of his body with concerned eyes.
“Yes,” Roy gasped, “but don’t stop it.”
Smirking fit to shame Roy himself, Jean leaned forward and began to press kisses to Roy's inner thigh. He breathed deeply, taking in the musky smell, and arousal curled around his mind like a fog. Roy’s breathless whimpers sharpened it. Since he’d been hurt, sex had been different for him; it took a lot of work and luck to get everything coordinated enough for him to have orgasms like he once had and now they were very few and far between, but in a way he didn’t mind. Robbed of the finish line, it was the race itself that became the sweetest, and now every moment, sharp and sexy, stood at the forefront of his mind. Being with Roy, touching him, smelling him, making him whimper and shake and come and knowing that he was the one making all that happen left him more sated than he could ever remember being.
When the sound was fully in, the larger metal handle resting at the tip of Roy’s cock like the world’s most elaborate genital piercing, Jean began to pump him. He moved slowly, judging by the tensing of Roy’s thigh muscles when he wasn’t being quite gentle enough, until Roy was fully hard again in his hand and moaning, curling his fingers in the blanket below him. When he bent to lick the straining shaft, Roy screamed his name, and when he began to tap the sound’s handle with his tongue, the taste of metal and Roy mixing against his lips, Roy’s screams lost coherence altogether.
Roy didn’t think he’d ever felt so shockingly aware of his cock before. The little ball of metal inside him sent waves of vibration all through it as Jean tapped, and the gentle squeezing of his shaft as he was pumped pressed against the sound against the previously untouched skin within him, making the sensations coming form within his body even sharper than the ones coming from outside it. It seemed every nerve was being individually triggered. His body coiled like a spring, bound up too tight, too tense, so close...
When his orgasm came, he was so overwhelmed with sensation he grayed out for a moment, feeling nothing but an obliterating wave of pleasure that encompassed every inch of him, as if he weren't a solid body at all but some kind of marvelous liquid. Jean, on the other hand, felt hyperconscious, so connected to Roy’s movements and noises and tastes and smells that he felt as if it were he that were coming, spread out and moaning so wantonly.
When Roy could sit up again, he lifted his head with muscles that shook so hard his vision blurred. Tears from the intensity of his release were still sliding down his cheeks, but she seemed not to notice. He watched over his hitching chest as Jean slid the sound back out, its brilliant gold stained with viscous white, and whimpered with an aftershock of pleasure as Jean seized his cock tight, sliding his hand down, milking out the semen that had been blocked from leaving his body and licking it away. He collapsed back again, panting, as Jean kissed up and down his thigh, reached up, took Roy’s hand and squeezed it.
“Thanks for my present, Sir,” he whispered.
19/26
See you guys tomorrow for letter T. :)