leashy_bebes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leashy_bebes) wrote2012-04-03 02:01 am
leashy_bebes) wrote2012-04-03 02:01 am
Entry tags:
fic: How Not To Be A Prude (1/1)
Title: How Not To Be A Prude
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Gwaine, background Elyan/Merlin
Content Notes: crossdressing (underwear – also you should see here for a NSFW visual aid if you like), really brief mention of bondage, object insertion, threesomes.
Summary: Modern AU. After a conversation with Elyan and Merlin, Gwaine teases Arthur about his prudish tendencies. Arthur decides to prove him wrong and maybe learns a thing or two about himself along the way. (Don't be fooled. Thar be porn.)
Word Count: ~2600
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas. Unbeta'd and possibly a bit rough. Basically I have missed writing porn for the sake of porn.
It is, like most catastrophes in Arthur's life, mainly Merlin's fault. More precisely it's the result of Merlin's deviant sex life with Elyan that Arthur now knows way too much about. Apparently Arthur is the only one out of the whole group of them that has anything like a sense of discretion, because the night has descended into a discussion of bondage techniques, threesomes, and glass dildos (glass, for fuck's sake. Arthur is sitting very, very still just thinking about it).
"Another round, anyone?" Arthur asks, when Elyan starts enthusing about ball gags, because Arthur has lost count of the number of times he's thought about gagging Merlin and, well. Merlin enjoying it was not exactly part of Arthur's outlook on the whole thing.
He's only been at the bar a few seconds, trying to get his head on straight when he feels a warm weight press up against his back.
"Hi," Gwaine says. He hooks his chin over Arthur's shoulder and wraps an arm around his stomach. "Thought I'd give you a hand with the drinks."
"Ta," Arthur says, patting Gwaine's hand where it's pressed against his side.
"You alright?" Gwaine asks, rubbing his bristly jaw against Arthur's throat.
"Fine," Arthur says. "Just thirsty."
"Uh-huh. You're so cute."
Arthur frowns. "What're you – "
Before he can finish his question the barmaid appears and Arthur's caught up in placing their order and then, with Gwaine's assistance, carrying it back to the others. Back at the table, everyone is now talking about cricket, and to his consternation, Arthur can imagine about three different pathways from filthy sex to the latest batting averages. His friends are a fucking terrible influence on him.
Arthur picks up his pint and tries to pretend the low lights in the pub have hidden his blush.
*
When they get back to Arthur's and fall into bed, Gwaine's the level of drunk that makes him handsy and affectionate, prone to kissing Arthur's face and mumbling sweet things into his throat. Gwaine pulls Arthur closer and kisses him, his mouth tasting like beer and smoke. Arthur curls his fingers through Gwaine's hair and down over his nape, holding him in place. Arthur lets his legs fall open wide and Gwaine settles in between them with a groan, kissing the underside of Arthur's jaw.
Arthur drags his blunt nails up over Gwaine's ribs, a deliberate tease, and Gwaine's kiss turns into a quick, sharp bite.
"Uh. Hang on," Gwaine says, reaching across Arthur for the bedside drawer.
Gwaine's made ham-fisted by drink and the lube is shockingly cold, but it still feels amazing when Gwaine gets his hand around Arthur's cock. Gwaine swallows down the low grunt Arthur makes at the contact and spreads more lube across them both before discarding the tube in favour of grinding against Arthur.
It's slick and messy, only saved from being frantic by the fact they've both had a few too many. Arthur kind of loves it like this, all wet and breathless, sweat stinging his eyes and Gwaine's mouth lighting him on fire wherever it touches.
When Arthur comes, he does so with his arms and legs wound around Gwaine, straining up against him. Gwaine mutters something warm and heartfelt against the hollow of Arthur's throat, tongue flickering out to taste his skin. His hips jackrabbit against Arthur's, sliding his cock over Arthur's flushed skin until he spends himself, mouthing at Arthur's throat and moaning low.
Gwaine settles against Arthur and makes a happy kind of noise, fumbling for his hand and squeezing it. Gwaine nudges Arthur's face around and kisses him again, slow and lazy.
"Mmm. Nice," Gwaine says, rubbing his thumb over the hammering pulse in Arthur's wrist.
"You were laughing at me earlier, weren't you?" Arthur asks.
Gwaine kisses his shoulder. "Little bit. Tiny little bit. In a nice way. It's sweet. You're just such a prude," he says, like this is a well-known fact.
"I'm a what, now?" Arthur asks, feeling like that's a little unfair since they're both still come-stained and sweaty.
"Prude," Gwaine says, sucking a mark onto Arthur's collarbone.
"I am not," Arthur says, pushing him away.
"Are," Gwaine insists. "Doesn't matter, though. Prudes are hot."
"I am not – "
Arthur wants to protest more, but Gwaine leans over him and kisses him into silence.
*
Like so many things about Gwaine, that stays with Arthur more than he'd be willing to admit. He finds himself thinking about it at odd moments, wondering if Gwaine really thinks that, and if he equates prude with boring.
It's decided not good enough, he thinks. A couple of nights later, when Gwaine is working a late shift at the hospital and so won't be putting in any unexpected appearances, Arthur gets himself settled with a glass of whisky, his laptop, and his credit card.
Prude, Arthur thinks crossly. I'll bloody show him.
The package arrives only a few days later, reassuringly plain. Arthur doesn't even open it, just stashes it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. They're going out Friday evening, nothing special, just a meal and a film, and Arthur thinks that would be a perfect time to prove to Gwaine exactly how much he is not a prude.
They're meeting at the restaurant so when Arthur gets in from work he has time for a shower and a minor mental breakdown before he finally opens the box. His breath catches in his throat in a way he can't quite understand as he picks up the – well, it helps a little if he thinks of them as shorts. Very small, very pink, satin shorts.
Arthur picks them up, a finger at each side of the waist, holding them up to look at the detail. He's weirdly aware of his pulse fluttering in his throat. Maybe this is a long way to go in the name of proving Gwaine wrong, but Arthur and Gwaine have been competing with each other since the minute they met, and Arthur has long since lost sight of what is and isn't 'too much'.
The material is cool and almost slippery under his fingers and Arthur hesitates for a moment. He has to sit down on the edge of the bed to pull them on, not because of the cut but because he can feel a tight trembling in his calves. God. He wipes his palms on his thighs, takes a couple of breaths. He's being stupid. This is just about giving Gwaine a shock, teaching him not to underestimate Arthur.
Arthur finds it surprisingly comfortable to tuck his cock and balls into the satin, likes the way it feels on his skin and the knowledge that if he gets hard, the flimsy material will hide exactly nothing. He even likes the way the colour looks against his skin. He pushes his hands through his hair and moves to stand in front of the mirror.
His breath catches again and oh, god. Like is not the word for how he feels about this. They cut across his hips, half hiding a fading bruise from Gwaine's over-zealous grip a few nights before, the delicate little bow in the centre obscene where it frames the clinging material over his cock. The softly scalloped lace on the leg trim contrasting with the sparse dark hairs on his upper thighs. Arthur swallows thickly and turns away from the mirror.
Christ, this is going to be one of those things he does to one-up Gwaine that ends up backfiring on him spectacularly, and Arthur almost gives up on the idea there and then. Something about the act of pulling his everyday clothes on over them stops him, though. It feels daring and forbidden and exciting, and Arthur is suddenly a lot more excited about movie night.
*
Dinner passes in a haze of shifting awareness: Gwaine's smile, his laugh, his ignorance of what Arthur is wearing. And that nudges up against the one thing that never slips from his mind: the caress of satin, the secret knowledge. Arthur feels giddy with it and thinks that, whatever Gwaine's reaction, he will be doing this again.
They're late to the cinema and end up seeing something far more meaningful and subtitled than the mindless action thriller they'd been planning on. The screen is almost empty and Arthur doesn't hesitate to pull Gwaine up to the back row like they're fifteen years old. The lights are barely down before Arthur curls his hand over Gwaine's thigh, his fingers digging in rhythmically.
Gwaine leans close enough for Arthur to breathe in the scent of him and whispers, "What, is this on your bucket list, or something?"
"Maybe," Arthur says in a hushed voice, and he can't wait any longer, turning his head enough to kiss Gwaine. If Gwaine's surprised, he doesn't show it, returning the kiss with slow-burning enthusiasm. Arthur half-turns in his seat, inwardly cursing the armrest between them, sliding his hand further up Gwaine's thigh. As Arthur expected, Gwaine returns the favour and by the time the opening credits are done, they're making out like kids.
Arthur riding that same high he has been all night and at the first feel of Gwaine's hand over his cock, through denim and hidden satin, he pretty much loses every coherent thought in his head. In fact, it takes him a moment to realise that Gwaine's fingers popping open the button on his jeans? Bad idea.
"Hey," Arthur says. "Hey, let's go."
"Seriously?" Gwaine whispers. "Ten minutes into the film?"
"You have any idea what's happening?" Arthur asks, gesturing to the screen. Gwaine's silence says it all. "Well, then."
*
It takes them longer to get back to Arthur's than he'd planned. Mainly because Gwaine's on him again as soon as they're in Arthur's car. It's tempting, but maybe one teen-romance-revisited cliché too far for Arthur. Besides, he wants to see every flicker of Gwaine's reaction, not just the glimpses afforded by the interior lights of the car.
"I don't know what's got into you," Gwaine says on the drive. "But for the record, I approve."
Arthur just grins and pushes a little harder on the accelerator.
As soon as they're indoors, Arthur kisses Gwaine, pressing him up against the wall to feel the heat pouring off him. Gwaine allows it for a minute or two before he pushes back against Arthur and then they're pinballing their way through the house, scrambling up the stairs. By the time they get to Arthur's room they're shirtless and Gwaine gets to his knees as Arthur slaps at the light switch.
He's just in time to see Gwaine's face change as he opens Arthur's fly. He goes from determined lust to completely blindsided in the time it takes him to get Arthur's zip down. The silence stretches on.
"Prude, huh?" Arthur asks.
Gwaine looks up at him, and his tongue drags across his lower lip. He's very deliberate as he opens Arthur's zip further, pushes the two sides of it apart so it's framing the pink satin.
"I may retract that accusation," Gwaine says, sounding breathless.
"Do you like it?"
"Do you?"
"I asked first."
Gwaine laughs, his eyes sparking up at Arthur. "Mature. And yes. Jesus. I like it."
Arthur clutches Gwaine's shoulder, nods. "Me too. God, me too."
"Arthur. Fuck," Gwaine says, the words shaking out of him. He drags Arthur's jeans down his thighs, just far enough that when he spreads his legs he's caught like that. "Christ, look at you," Gwaine murmurs, and that seems to be it as far as verbal expressions of his feelings goes. He kisses Arthur's cock through the satin, sucking at the damp patch and Arthur makes a keening noise in his throat, letting his head drop back against the wall.
Arthur groans and forces himself to look down, not wanting to miss a second of this, even if it is burning his fucking eyes with how hot it is. Gwaine's gone from kissing to just rubbing his face against Arthur like an overly affectionate cat. Arthur can feel the drag of his stubble over the satin, the occasional sharp prickle. Arthur whispers a short, doubtless blasphemous little prayer to anyone who's listening to give him the control not to come apart right now. It comes out more like shit, fuck, Jesus help me, so Arthur kind of doubts divine intervention is forthcoming.
Gwaine turns his head, sucking at Arthur's length through the satin, his tongue rubbing against the material. It drags over his cock and Arthur whines, feeling shaky and over-sensitised already. Arthur looks down to watch as Gwaine lifts his head, turning his attentions to the waistline, sucking and biting along the span of it before taking it in his teeth and pulling it down, carefully stretching it out to uncover Arthur's cock. Arthur moves to help, hands at his hips, ready to push the pants off altogether.
"No, no," Gwaine says urgently. He wants Arthur just like this apparently, spilling out over the top of his silky underwear, his cock achingly hard.
Arthur makes a truly embarrassing whimpering noise and lifts a hand to fist in his own hair, the prickle of pain bringing him back under control enough to watch as Gwaine strokes him. His thumb traces the thickest vein along the length of Arthur's shaft and Arthur's hips notch forward involuntarily. Gwaine doesn't complain, just moves to meet the movement, sucking the head of Arthur's cock in between his lips. He keeps that up long enough to have Arthur shaking, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over Arthur's slit, his hand stroking Arthur in slow, squeezing movements that feel like Gwaine's trying to milk the come right out of him.
When Arthur can't take it anymore he reaches down, tangling his fingers in Gwaine's hair. He can't help a pitiful little whine when Gwaine stops sucking on him long enough to look up. His eyes are dark and he tells Arthur, "Yeah, like that."
"Oh god," Arthur says in a small voice and he curls his fingers tighter in Gwaine's hair, the other coming down to grasp at his shoulder. Gwaine starts taking him deeper and Arthur lets out a string of choppy moans as he nudges his hips further forward, transfixed by the sight of his spit-shiny length disappearing between Gwaine's lips.
Gwaine squeezes Arthur's balls through the bunched up satin and Arthur curses, shoving deeper a little wildly. Gwaine makes a choked noise but Arthur's fairly sure he's got his free hand between his legs and anyway, all he does is screw himself deeper onto Arthur's dick. The whole thing is fast and messy and verging on rough and Arthur shouts when he comes, trying not to thrash against the wall.
When Gwaine gets up to kiss him, his mouth is wet and tastes like Arthur's come. Arthur sucks the taste off his tongue and reaches down to Gwaine's jeans only to find a damp spot and a softening cock. Arthur can't help but smirk.
"Shut up," Gwaine tells him.
"I didn't say a word."
"I'm being pre-emptive," Gwaine says, and he cuts off any attempt at a retort when he strokes his fingers over the satin where it's still stretched out of place, probably horribly creased and stained. "Fuck," Gwaine says, and there's an edge of a growl to his voice – again, Jesus – this time. "Go get on the bed, and don't even think about taking those off."
Arthur kisses him first, then does as he's told.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Gwaine, background Elyan/Merlin
Content Notes: crossdressing (underwear – also you should see here for a NSFW visual aid if you like), really brief mention of bondage, object insertion, threesomes.
Summary: Modern AU. After a conversation with Elyan and Merlin, Gwaine teases Arthur about his prudish tendencies. Arthur decides to prove him wrong and maybe learns a thing or two about himself along the way. (Don't be fooled. Thar be porn.)
Word Count: ~2600
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas. Unbeta'd and possibly a bit rough. Basically I have missed writing porn for the sake of porn.
It is, like most catastrophes in Arthur's life, mainly Merlin's fault. More precisely it's the result of Merlin's deviant sex life with Elyan that Arthur now knows way too much about. Apparently Arthur is the only one out of the whole group of them that has anything like a sense of discretion, because the night has descended into a discussion of bondage techniques, threesomes, and glass dildos (glass, for fuck's sake. Arthur is sitting very, very still just thinking about it).
"Another round, anyone?" Arthur asks, when Elyan starts enthusing about ball gags, because Arthur has lost count of the number of times he's thought about gagging Merlin and, well. Merlin enjoying it was not exactly part of Arthur's outlook on the whole thing.
He's only been at the bar a few seconds, trying to get his head on straight when he feels a warm weight press up against his back.
"Hi," Gwaine says. He hooks his chin over Arthur's shoulder and wraps an arm around his stomach. "Thought I'd give you a hand with the drinks."
"Ta," Arthur says, patting Gwaine's hand where it's pressed against his side.
"You alright?" Gwaine asks, rubbing his bristly jaw against Arthur's throat.
"Fine," Arthur says. "Just thirsty."
"Uh-huh. You're so cute."
Arthur frowns. "What're you – "
Before he can finish his question the barmaid appears and Arthur's caught up in placing their order and then, with Gwaine's assistance, carrying it back to the others. Back at the table, everyone is now talking about cricket, and to his consternation, Arthur can imagine about three different pathways from filthy sex to the latest batting averages. His friends are a fucking terrible influence on him.
Arthur picks up his pint and tries to pretend the low lights in the pub have hidden his blush.
*
When they get back to Arthur's and fall into bed, Gwaine's the level of drunk that makes him handsy and affectionate, prone to kissing Arthur's face and mumbling sweet things into his throat. Gwaine pulls Arthur closer and kisses him, his mouth tasting like beer and smoke. Arthur curls his fingers through Gwaine's hair and down over his nape, holding him in place. Arthur lets his legs fall open wide and Gwaine settles in between them with a groan, kissing the underside of Arthur's jaw.
Arthur drags his blunt nails up over Gwaine's ribs, a deliberate tease, and Gwaine's kiss turns into a quick, sharp bite.
"Uh. Hang on," Gwaine says, reaching across Arthur for the bedside drawer.
Gwaine's made ham-fisted by drink and the lube is shockingly cold, but it still feels amazing when Gwaine gets his hand around Arthur's cock. Gwaine swallows down the low grunt Arthur makes at the contact and spreads more lube across them both before discarding the tube in favour of grinding against Arthur.
It's slick and messy, only saved from being frantic by the fact they've both had a few too many. Arthur kind of loves it like this, all wet and breathless, sweat stinging his eyes and Gwaine's mouth lighting him on fire wherever it touches.
When Arthur comes, he does so with his arms and legs wound around Gwaine, straining up against him. Gwaine mutters something warm and heartfelt against the hollow of Arthur's throat, tongue flickering out to taste his skin. His hips jackrabbit against Arthur's, sliding his cock over Arthur's flushed skin until he spends himself, mouthing at Arthur's throat and moaning low.
Gwaine settles against Arthur and makes a happy kind of noise, fumbling for his hand and squeezing it. Gwaine nudges Arthur's face around and kisses him again, slow and lazy.
"Mmm. Nice," Gwaine says, rubbing his thumb over the hammering pulse in Arthur's wrist.
"You were laughing at me earlier, weren't you?" Arthur asks.
Gwaine kisses his shoulder. "Little bit. Tiny little bit. In a nice way. It's sweet. You're just such a prude," he says, like this is a well-known fact.
"I'm a what, now?" Arthur asks, feeling like that's a little unfair since they're both still come-stained and sweaty.
"Prude," Gwaine says, sucking a mark onto Arthur's collarbone.
"I am not," Arthur says, pushing him away.
"Are," Gwaine insists. "Doesn't matter, though. Prudes are hot."
"I am not – "
Arthur wants to protest more, but Gwaine leans over him and kisses him into silence.
*
Like so many things about Gwaine, that stays with Arthur more than he'd be willing to admit. He finds himself thinking about it at odd moments, wondering if Gwaine really thinks that, and if he equates prude with boring.
It's decided not good enough, he thinks. A couple of nights later, when Gwaine is working a late shift at the hospital and so won't be putting in any unexpected appearances, Arthur gets himself settled with a glass of whisky, his laptop, and his credit card.
Prude, Arthur thinks crossly. I'll bloody show him.
The package arrives only a few days later, reassuringly plain. Arthur doesn't even open it, just stashes it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. They're going out Friday evening, nothing special, just a meal and a film, and Arthur thinks that would be a perfect time to prove to Gwaine exactly how much he is not a prude.
They're meeting at the restaurant so when Arthur gets in from work he has time for a shower and a minor mental breakdown before he finally opens the box. His breath catches in his throat in a way he can't quite understand as he picks up the – well, it helps a little if he thinks of them as shorts. Very small, very pink, satin shorts.
Arthur picks them up, a finger at each side of the waist, holding them up to look at the detail. He's weirdly aware of his pulse fluttering in his throat. Maybe this is a long way to go in the name of proving Gwaine wrong, but Arthur and Gwaine have been competing with each other since the minute they met, and Arthur has long since lost sight of what is and isn't 'too much'.
The material is cool and almost slippery under his fingers and Arthur hesitates for a moment. He has to sit down on the edge of the bed to pull them on, not because of the cut but because he can feel a tight trembling in his calves. God. He wipes his palms on his thighs, takes a couple of breaths. He's being stupid. This is just about giving Gwaine a shock, teaching him not to underestimate Arthur.
Arthur finds it surprisingly comfortable to tuck his cock and balls into the satin, likes the way it feels on his skin and the knowledge that if he gets hard, the flimsy material will hide exactly nothing. He even likes the way the colour looks against his skin. He pushes his hands through his hair and moves to stand in front of the mirror.
His breath catches again and oh, god. Like is not the word for how he feels about this. They cut across his hips, half hiding a fading bruise from Gwaine's over-zealous grip a few nights before, the delicate little bow in the centre obscene where it frames the clinging material over his cock. The softly scalloped lace on the leg trim contrasting with the sparse dark hairs on his upper thighs. Arthur swallows thickly and turns away from the mirror.
Christ, this is going to be one of those things he does to one-up Gwaine that ends up backfiring on him spectacularly, and Arthur almost gives up on the idea there and then. Something about the act of pulling his everyday clothes on over them stops him, though. It feels daring and forbidden and exciting, and Arthur is suddenly a lot more excited about movie night.
*
Dinner passes in a haze of shifting awareness: Gwaine's smile, his laugh, his ignorance of what Arthur is wearing. And that nudges up against the one thing that never slips from his mind: the caress of satin, the secret knowledge. Arthur feels giddy with it and thinks that, whatever Gwaine's reaction, he will be doing this again.
They're late to the cinema and end up seeing something far more meaningful and subtitled than the mindless action thriller they'd been planning on. The screen is almost empty and Arthur doesn't hesitate to pull Gwaine up to the back row like they're fifteen years old. The lights are barely down before Arthur curls his hand over Gwaine's thigh, his fingers digging in rhythmically.
Gwaine leans close enough for Arthur to breathe in the scent of him and whispers, "What, is this on your bucket list, or something?"
"Maybe," Arthur says in a hushed voice, and he can't wait any longer, turning his head enough to kiss Gwaine. If Gwaine's surprised, he doesn't show it, returning the kiss with slow-burning enthusiasm. Arthur half-turns in his seat, inwardly cursing the armrest between them, sliding his hand further up Gwaine's thigh. As Arthur expected, Gwaine returns the favour and by the time the opening credits are done, they're making out like kids.
Arthur riding that same high he has been all night and at the first feel of Gwaine's hand over his cock, through denim and hidden satin, he pretty much loses every coherent thought in his head. In fact, it takes him a moment to realise that Gwaine's fingers popping open the button on his jeans? Bad idea.
"Hey," Arthur says. "Hey, let's go."
"Seriously?" Gwaine whispers. "Ten minutes into the film?"
"You have any idea what's happening?" Arthur asks, gesturing to the screen. Gwaine's silence says it all. "Well, then."
*
It takes them longer to get back to Arthur's than he'd planned. Mainly because Gwaine's on him again as soon as they're in Arthur's car. It's tempting, but maybe one teen-romance-revisited cliché too far for Arthur. Besides, he wants to see every flicker of Gwaine's reaction, not just the glimpses afforded by the interior lights of the car.
"I don't know what's got into you," Gwaine says on the drive. "But for the record, I approve."
Arthur just grins and pushes a little harder on the accelerator.
As soon as they're indoors, Arthur kisses Gwaine, pressing him up against the wall to feel the heat pouring off him. Gwaine allows it for a minute or two before he pushes back against Arthur and then they're pinballing their way through the house, scrambling up the stairs. By the time they get to Arthur's room they're shirtless and Gwaine gets to his knees as Arthur slaps at the light switch.
He's just in time to see Gwaine's face change as he opens Arthur's fly. He goes from determined lust to completely blindsided in the time it takes him to get Arthur's zip down. The silence stretches on.
"Prude, huh?" Arthur asks.
Gwaine looks up at him, and his tongue drags across his lower lip. He's very deliberate as he opens Arthur's zip further, pushes the two sides of it apart so it's framing the pink satin.
"I may retract that accusation," Gwaine says, sounding breathless.
"Do you like it?"
"Do you?"
"I asked first."
Gwaine laughs, his eyes sparking up at Arthur. "Mature. And yes. Jesus. I like it."
Arthur clutches Gwaine's shoulder, nods. "Me too. God, me too."
"Arthur. Fuck," Gwaine says, the words shaking out of him. He drags Arthur's jeans down his thighs, just far enough that when he spreads his legs he's caught like that. "Christ, look at you," Gwaine murmurs, and that seems to be it as far as verbal expressions of his feelings goes. He kisses Arthur's cock through the satin, sucking at the damp patch and Arthur makes a keening noise in his throat, letting his head drop back against the wall.
Arthur groans and forces himself to look down, not wanting to miss a second of this, even if it is burning his fucking eyes with how hot it is. Gwaine's gone from kissing to just rubbing his face against Arthur like an overly affectionate cat. Arthur can feel the drag of his stubble over the satin, the occasional sharp prickle. Arthur whispers a short, doubtless blasphemous little prayer to anyone who's listening to give him the control not to come apart right now. It comes out more like shit, fuck, Jesus help me, so Arthur kind of doubts divine intervention is forthcoming.
Gwaine turns his head, sucking at Arthur's length through the satin, his tongue rubbing against the material. It drags over his cock and Arthur whines, feeling shaky and over-sensitised already. Arthur looks down to watch as Gwaine lifts his head, turning his attentions to the waistline, sucking and biting along the span of it before taking it in his teeth and pulling it down, carefully stretching it out to uncover Arthur's cock. Arthur moves to help, hands at his hips, ready to push the pants off altogether.
"No, no," Gwaine says urgently. He wants Arthur just like this apparently, spilling out over the top of his silky underwear, his cock achingly hard.
Arthur makes a truly embarrassing whimpering noise and lifts a hand to fist in his own hair, the prickle of pain bringing him back under control enough to watch as Gwaine strokes him. His thumb traces the thickest vein along the length of Arthur's shaft and Arthur's hips notch forward involuntarily. Gwaine doesn't complain, just moves to meet the movement, sucking the head of Arthur's cock in between his lips. He keeps that up long enough to have Arthur shaking, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over Arthur's slit, his hand stroking Arthur in slow, squeezing movements that feel like Gwaine's trying to milk the come right out of him.
When Arthur can't take it anymore he reaches down, tangling his fingers in Gwaine's hair. He can't help a pitiful little whine when Gwaine stops sucking on him long enough to look up. His eyes are dark and he tells Arthur, "Yeah, like that."
"Oh god," Arthur says in a small voice and he curls his fingers tighter in Gwaine's hair, the other coming down to grasp at his shoulder. Gwaine starts taking him deeper and Arthur lets out a string of choppy moans as he nudges his hips further forward, transfixed by the sight of his spit-shiny length disappearing between Gwaine's lips.
Gwaine squeezes Arthur's balls through the bunched up satin and Arthur curses, shoving deeper a little wildly. Gwaine makes a choked noise but Arthur's fairly sure he's got his free hand between his legs and anyway, all he does is screw himself deeper onto Arthur's dick. The whole thing is fast and messy and verging on rough and Arthur shouts when he comes, trying not to thrash against the wall.
When Gwaine gets up to kiss him, his mouth is wet and tastes like Arthur's come. Arthur sucks the taste off his tongue and reaches down to Gwaine's jeans only to find a damp spot and a softening cock. Arthur can't help but smirk.
"Shut up," Gwaine tells him.
"I didn't say a word."
"I'm being pre-emptive," Gwaine says, and he cuts off any attempt at a retort when he strokes his fingers over the satin where it's still stretched out of place, probably horribly creased and stained. "Fuck," Gwaine says, and there's an edge of a growl to his voice – again, Jesus – this time. "Go get on the bed, and don't even think about taking those off."
Arthur kisses him first, then does as he's told.