Author's Notes: Many, many thanks to my beta and best friend, Rena (elyxer). Also thank you J.D. Carson for your input and much-appreciated encouragement, and thank you Jake (bound_tiger) for the invaluable advice and patiently answering my many questions. You all are awesome! :))
Tight
I'm waiting on Justin and I can't believe he's been monopolizing the bathroom for almost a full hour. Not that we're in a rush, but just the idea that I'm waiting on someone to get their shit together here, at the loft, is enough to make me slightly irritated. I tell myself it doesn't matter; I'm only half-dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt, and only half finished with the take-out we'd brought back earlier. He's already wolfed his down before his disappearing act, hardly eating a thing anyway, seemingly nervous and agitated. A glance at the clock tells me it's barely after nine, much too early for Babylon even if he did hurry up. He'll just end up waiting on me. I can live with that.
I finally hear the bathroom door open and his footsteps on the stairs, but I don't turn around in his direction, not even when I hear him stop a short distance away from the kitchen area, where I'm half-perched on one of the bar stools.
"Brian? I wanted to show you this before we went out, I'm a little...umm..."
Uncertain, I think, and wonder when I've started finishing his sentences in my mind. Even the odd ones, the uncharacteristic ones. He's never uncertain about a thing...not even about me. Interesting. I turn to look at him, and before I really focus on him, I'm already doing the classic double-take.
I'm stunned, blinking as I turn around on the bar stool to get a better look...a good, long look. He's barefoot, wearing skin-tight, washed out blue jeans, an unbuttoned white shirt, and underneath that, something that looks like a leather corset. It's pulled tight, flat over his stomach and drawing his waist in slightly, it almost looks like he's been poured into it, the matte black leather creating a striking contrast to his pale skin and the stark white cotton of the shirt. His hair is tousled, and his lips are a deeper red than usual, stained with some kind of tint, and there are smudges of charcoal liner around his eyes. The blue of his irises seem to sparkle, offset by the dark, carefully smudged pencil lines that make them look elongated, smoky...and fucking hot. The whole get-up is hot...alluring and seductive. Holy shit. I can't stop staring.
"What the fuck is that?" I ask, feeling my dick twitch as it starts to swell in my jeans.
"It's for my shift at Babylon," he says. "Leather theme tonight, you know? Emmett put it together for me."
The shift at Babylon. Fucking Sap. Justin dancing on the bar. In that! Already I can't take my eyes off him.
"We thought it would be hot," he says, catching a corner of his lower lip between his teeth, but I still catch a glimpse of the smirk that was just beginning to form. He's aware that it dawns on me that he's planned it this way, but hesitates to show me any hint of smugness right now. I can't help but grin.
"Come over here and let me see it," I demand. He smiles and drops his gaze, looking almost shy. Sweet. But there's nothing shy about the way he starts to walk toward me, slowly, almost slinking like a prowling cat and putting on a show for me because he's fully aware of the impact he's creating. And fuck me if I've ever seen anything like it; the tight black corset is molded against him like a second skin, making his posture perfect and arching his back slightly. It pulls in his waist, accentuating the slight sway of his hips as he walks, not in a feminine way, but one that's almost...predatory. As much so as the slight smile curving his stained lips, the way his eyes sear into me, the smoky charcoal liner and his unblinking gaze creating an image that's cat-like and otherworldly. Brazenly alluring, sexy, shameless and downright obscene. I feel the rough denim of my jeans draw over my hips tightly and realize I'm hard as a rock just from watching him.
He stops maybe a foot in front of me and tilts his head to the side, letting his eyes flash to my face for an instant. He laughs softly, a slight wash of color that isn't artificial rising to his cheeks. I ignore it, placing both hands at the bottom of the cincher where it's molded smoothly over the top of his hips, and let them slide up to wrap around his waist. The black leather is incredibly soft, warmed by the heat of his body, and smooth, pulled so tightly it feels almost like I'm touching his bare skin. I catch the faint scent of leather as my hands move up his sides and under his shirt to brush his bare shoulders before pushing the white cotton over them and down to his elbows. Before the shirt is completely off, I grab the material and pull him close to me, drawing it taut so it traps his arms against his sides. I let my lips graze the soft skin of a shoulder and the side of his neck, flaring my nostrils to absorb as much of his scent as possible, the smell of clean skin and hair combined with the leather intoxicating, almost dizzying. I feel his soft sigh more than I hear it when my mouth caresses his ear, and I know his eyes have closed without watching his face to see it.
"Something funny?" I ask.
"No."
My teeth trap his earlobe for a second, nipping gently, and the breath that leaves him forms my name, the sound as soft as the whisper of his shirt falling to the floor when I release it, letting it slide from his arms, unnoticed.
"You laughed," I say as my hands brush over the tight leather around his midsection, feeling where the softness of the material is interrupted by metal inserts and the slight ridges of seams. Around the tightness of his waist and sweeping down his slightly arched back, the texture under my palms changing from leather to the washed-out denim covering his ass.
"I didn't."
My fingers curl inward and I let my nails run over the curve where his ass meets his legs in hard, slow strokes, blunted by the denim, more tickling than scratching. His hands wrap around my arms as if to stop me, but he curves his back at the same time, pushing into my touch, shivering.
"Liar," I whisper. "Didn't they teach you it's a sin to tell a lie?"
"They taught me that about all kinds of stuff," he answers, and I have to suppress a grin. He feels supple, pliant under the warm leather when I grab him around the waist again, pushing my fingers inward to bend him backwards slightly.
"Oh yeah?" I lean forward on the bar stool. My mouth finds a nipple, sucking softly then grazing it with my teeth. I spear the ring pierced through the other one with a fingertip and tug it outward gently, the seams of the cincher emitting soft creaks as he pulls in a deep breath.
"Oh yeah," he echoes with a sigh, letting his head fall back. The nipple in my mouth hardens and perks forward eagerly, as if reaching out for another flick of my tongue, but I give it a sharp nip instead. He sucks in his breath and lets it out again with a low moan as I go on nibbling and teasing. I slide off the bar stool, kissing my way up his chest, along his neck, his flesh hot under my lips and tongue; under the leather and under my hands, as I run them down the perfect curve of his back and ass, his hard dick pressing and sliding against my own. I want to squeeze and grab, lick and bite. Grasping a handful of hair at the nape of his neck, I pull his head back, sucking a mark onto the exposed skin while he moves against me like a wave, pushing and rubbing, hands pulling at my t-shirt, sliding underneath and over my back.
"I want to fuck you," I whisper in his ear, his hair still firmly gripped in my hand. He groans and kind of sags against me. I bring my other hand up to the side of his face, my thumb sweeping over his lips, parting them and pushing inside. He sucks on it, his tongue hot and wet, curving around my thumb, flicking, and I feel it right down to my dick as I keep whispering to him, his breath huffing over my knuckles. "I want to yank down your jeans and bend you over the table, Justin. I want to watch my hard cock slide into your tight little ass and fuck you so hard and so deep that you'll feel me for a week. That you'll still feel me when you're strutting over the Sap's bar, wearing this thing and making them hard just watching you. Watching you remember how I fucked you in it until you screamed. That's what I want."
He's moaning around my thumb, his eyes closed and his face flushed, sucking hard, a trickle of saliva running down one corner of his mouth when I pull it out. I lick it away and kiss him, my tongue sweeping the inside of his mouth, tasting him and the faint cherry flavor of the stain on his lips. On him, it tastes forbidden...wicked. I want to throw him on the table and pound the shit out of him. Letting go of his hair, I yank at the buttons of his jeans, popping them open and shoving them down over his ass to squeeze and knead the resilient flesh, still kissing him as I back him up slowly, in the direction of the table. When he feels the hard edge press against his backside, he breaks off the kiss and hoists himself up onto the tabletop like he knows he's supposed to, and once his feet are up off the floor, I strip away his jeans in one pull, letting them crumple to the floor, turned inside-out.
Dressed in nothing but the leather cincher, he watches me almost self-consciously, quietly; aware of the fact that he's more naked wearing it than not. I approach him, still fully dressed, and his hands wander to his hard cock. I don't wait to see if it's to cover or play with himself before I swat them away. He knows better than to do either. I grasp his knees and shove his legs apart roughly, leaning over him, slowly pushing him back so that he's lying flat on the table, his knees at either side of my hips. Wrapping my hands around his wrists, I raise his arms to lie over his head, holding them there firmly while I lean down to kiss him again, softly this time, lips barely touching and grazing the tip of his tongue with my own. He relaxes under me with an audible sigh, keeping his arms overhead when I let go of them, deepening the kiss, letting my hands roam over his body, reveling in the different textures of soft warm leather and even softer skin, hot to the touch, under my palms. I trace the bottom edge of the cincher, my thumbs stroking back and forth over leather and skin and back again. He moans, his warm breath sweet in my mouth, my touch making him squirm, trying to get friction against the head of his dick where it presses against my stomach, creating a damp spot on the material of my t-shirt. But I settle my weight against him to keep him still, moving my hands upwards to stroke and play with his nipples, the taut nubs pulled free of the leather by his upraised arms.
He tears his mouth from mine with a gasp. "Brian..."
"Shh..." I move lower, kissing my way down his throat and chest, the movement causing his dick to slide against my stomach, and he arches up, writhing against me.
I grab him at the waist and press him against the flat plane of the tabletop. "Settle down. You're not going anywhere."
He sighs again, but goes still when I suck a nipple into my mouth, running both hands up his arms, then down again, my fingernails scratching lightly. I let my tongue flick over the hard tips, first one, then the other, tugging and pulling at them with a soft suction before I blow on each one lightly, rolling the other between my fingers.
"Brian," he whispers, starting to wriggle again. His knees are squeezing the daylights out of my lower ribcage, and he brings his arms down, fingers twining in my hair. When I kiss him again, his lower lip feels swollen as I suck it into my mouth. I know what he wants...but he's not getting it quite yet.
The pressure his knees are causing against my sides eases up a little when my fingertips trail over his thighs and inward, and when I grasp his hard cock, his legs fall open completely. My thumb strokes slow circles over the slit and sensitive underside, gliding smoothly on the slippery pre-come collected there. He's panting against my mouth before he breaks off the kiss to let his head fall back, arching into my touch.
"Beautiful," I whisper to him. "This is exactly how I want you; dirty and hot and all spread out on top of the table for me."
"Fuck," he grits out, bracing his hands against my arms and trying to squirm upwards, but I pull away before he can navigate an inch. He follows me, though, curling half upright to fumble and tug at the button of my jeans, but I grab his hands to stop him and push him back with his arms overhead, like he should have stayed in the first place.
His breath huffs against my face. "Brian."
"You're repeating yourself."
"You're killing me."
"I can stop," I offer magnanimously. My fingertips trail over the insides of his thighs, tickling the sensitive skin there, making him spread his legs for me again so nicely.
"Don't..."
"Don't what? This?"
"Brian!"
I grin at his frustration. The flush on his face deepens slightly and he closes his eyes, letting me take him by surprise when I move down and plunge his cock into my mouth, taking him in deep. He bolts half upright with a startled sound, clutching at my arms, but I push him down again, my hands flat on his chest. I lick and tease, letting my tongue swirl around the head of his cock, flick into the slit, then across the sensitive underside, moving down the throbbing vein to his balls. I take them into my mouth one at a time, alternating between sucking and tugging gently. He breathes in shallow gasps, his chest heaving under my palms, and I hear his arms fall overhead again, smacking against the hard surface of the table. I let his cock slide into my mouth and back out again, sliding and suctioning, torturously slow. I have to grasp him around the waist again to still his wriggling and squirming. Stopping long before he wants me to, I ignore his groan of frustration, pulling his body forward a bit so that his ass is aligned with the edge of the table, the leather of the corset sliding easily on the smooth table top with a muted squeak. Reaching into my pocket, I fumble for the lube and condom packets with one hand and yank open the buttons of my jeans with the other, suppressing a sigh of relief when my aching dick is released from the narrow confinement. A glance at his face lets me catch his knowing smile when he hears the wrappers tear and the tell-tale rustle of the latex being rolled over my cock.
I lean over him again, my mouth nuzzling at his ear. He smells like heat and clean sweat. Christ...and leather. "What's the smarty-pants grin for? Hm?"
"I know you're going to fuck me," he whispers, rubbing his damp cheek against my own like an affectionate cat.
I push back one of his legs with my hand under his knee, letting it hook over my arm. Lube from the two open packets drizzles over my fingers, down the crack of his ass and I catch as much of it as I can, spreading it around his hole before it drips to the floor. It's going to make a mess on the hardwood, on the front of my jeans and the table. I don't give a shit; I need to fuck him more than I need to breathe.
"Do you, now?" I say. I grab him by the hips and twist, flipping him over onto his stomach. He sucks in his breath, startled, and grabs at the edges of the table, but I push him down firmly with a hand between his shoulder-blades, flattening his upper body against the surface.
I give his ass a hard smack, leaving a red imprint on his skin. "Dirty, nasty boy."
"Yes," he moans, and I don't know if he's agreeing with my words or responding to my finger penetrating his ass, but of course it doesn't matter, he'd comply with just about anything right now, and I'm loving it. I fuck him with my fingers, sliding in a second one, crooking both and finding the swollen gland easily, making him gasp and curve his spine when I stroke over it, bucking back against my hand.
"Keep still," I growl, and give his ass another swat. He kind of mewls, but stops wriggling, his knuckles showing faint white from clutching at the table-edge. Withdrawing my fingers, I push into him as fast as I dare to. Holy fuck, he's tight and his breath rushes out in a strangled groan that sounds almost pained, but his back dips under my hands as he pushes into the intrusion. Grasping his hips, I hold him still, moving inside him slowly, my fingers digging in to quiet his frantic attempts to thrust back and fuck himself on my dick. I will him to stop, not wanting to fucking blow in five seconds, but I can't seem to catch my breath to tell him that. I take another swipe at his ass, my hand coming down much harder this time, the imprint of my palm first white on his skin, then darkening to a bright red, and he seems to get the message. He flattens himself against the surface of the table, breathing in shallow gasps, his eyes squeezed shut, unmoving.
Mesmerized, I watch my cock slide in and out of his hole as it grips it like a wet, silken vise. My hands wander over the warm, firm flesh of his ass-cheeks, caressing the reddened spots where I'd smacked him and stroking over the leather and back again where the black corset frames his pale skin. The ties have slipped out from where he tucked them into the bottom, and I pull the long leather strings out completely, draping them over his ass; I feel them brush against my cock and tickle the skin at my hips as I stab into him. I close my eyes and shudder, trying to breathe. This isn't going to last long, I know. There's no way.
I pull out and hook my fingers into the top of the corset, pulling him upright and turning him to face me. He knows what I want when I nudge him back against the table. Hopping up, he lies flat on his back, ass aligned with the edge. I push his knees apart with my hands and press into him again, his legs drawing up to wrap around my waist, pulling me in, faster and harder.
"Oh god, Brian," he pants. His eyes are closed, the charcoal liner smudged toward his temples, and a warm flush glows on his cheeks, spreading all the way down to his chest before disappearing into the black leather of the cincher. He tilts his head back, straining downward as I grip him around the waist, slamming into him hard, feeling the tight heat of his hole clench and then relax as I move inside him, faster and harder, my hands sliding down to his ass, my fingers pressing marks into his skin and tangling with the leather ties.
His hands go to his cock, and he's moaning, jerking himself off. I feel his ass squeezing tighter, and tighter still around my dick, so tight that it almost slows me down because I think in the next second I won't be able to move at all. But I do, gasping, blood drumming in my ears, a drop or two of sweat falling from my forehead and splashing onto the black leather, creating a darker spot.
"Yes, yes, fuck me...fuck me," he huffs, just as I feel the tight constriction around my cock clench and pulse. He comes hard, crying out and curling in on himself before he flops down again, back arching, but somehow keeping it together enough to catch most of his come in his hands and off the leather.
He's still gasping , completely out of breath when I pull out, yank off the condom and move around to the head of the table. I drag him closer to the edge as he looks up at me, flushed and grinning when he realizes I'm jerking off over him. He curves his back, reaching up with his arms overhead to run his hands over my ass, pulling me closer, tilting his face back and letting his legs fall open slightly, The whole image hot, lewd and dirty, intensified by the black leather cincher and the fading, smudged stains of color on his face. I'm coming, and it's sudden and overwhelming, making me gasp and shudder with every wave that splashes come over his face. It runs down his flushed cheeks, over his lips and into his mouth, and his tongue darts out to lick it away. I'm still out of breath, seeing stars, when he flops over on his stomach, sucking and licking drops of it from the head of my dick.
"Holy shit, Justin," I whisper, almost falling forward, catching myself and leaning into him, my hand at the small of his back. He's almost purring, rubbing his face against my stomach.
He grins up at me. "Please tell me I still have time for a shower."
"I should make you go to work like that," I tell him. I can't catch my breath. Christ.
"Brian!"
I grip his chin in my fingers, raising his face up to kiss him. He tastes like come and cherries. Fuck work, I think, I want to lock him in the loft, just like this.
"Would you?" I say, teasing him. "If I told you to? Fucked into a mess, with my come all over you?"
"Oh my god," he says. Then he grins up at me, whispering, "Yeah."
I suddenly realize he might. Just because. There's no reason to lock him in anywhere, he wouldn't stay away even if I locked him out.
I laugh and give his ass a final swat. "Get to work, Sunshine. And don't come back without that corset."