Summary: Behind the scenes of New Kind of Kick.
Disclaimer: I don't own these two, no profit is being made, and no offense is intended. This is Fiction.
Author's Note: I'm a bit rusty at this, but today, the photo below inspired me. If you choose to read, thank you, so so much. :)
The room is cramped, hot, and honestly, my wrists ache, but still, I really, really shouldn't complain.
"Let me do your eyes", he'd said.
"It'll be fun", he'd said.
"I promise I'll behave," he'd said.
I, like the colossal idiot I am, believed him. Okay, that's not entirely true, I guess you could say my brain knew better than to believe him, but it wasn't my brain that was actively pulsing at the thought of his hands on my body. At that point he could have convinced me to do anything.
Should I have resisted? Maybe. I'm not on trial here.
At any rate, it's too late now, that was before all reason left me. That was a few minutes ago, before I gave him permission to put the kohl onto my eyes, before I let him bind my wrists together, and most definitely before I let him slide his free hand into my pants.
I blame the leather. All that leather.
Specifically, I blame the sight of his dick in the leather. No, scratch that, I blame the sight of him practicing grabbing his dick in the leather, I mean, HONESTLY, you should have seen him, should have seen the look on his face when he felt his own weight fill his hand.
He was impressed with himself.
Really, really impressed with himself; he fucking smirked. Yet, people say I'm the vain fucker.
You have no idea.
He jerks me slowly, agonizingly slowly, while applying makeup to my eyes just as slowly with his other hand. I whimper, the pleasure slowly building with his every motion.
"Hey. D-don't poke my eye out, Matt."
"I'll poke you later, but not in the eye, and not with this." He makes eye contact and wiggles his eyebrows comically, causing both of us to giggle at yet another Dumbfuck Bellamy Joke, but only for a moment. Just as suddenly, he presses one fingertip to my lips while he works me harder than he has yet. My eyes close, his lips are soft against my own, against my cheek, the curve of my neck. He's driving me utterly mad, I'm consumed and aching to touch him and despite all of this, two thoughts drift aimlessly into my mind:
1. Tom is going to fucking kill us if we're late.
2. The plug I'm wearing is making me super horny, like atomic-levels of horny.
Thought Number Two is chased away when he slides to his knees and swallows me deeply. I am cursing myself for consenting to him binding my wrists behind my back - I'd give anything to run my fingers through that Elvis quiff he's sporting while he's sucking me dry but hey, we don't always get what we want.
He blows me for what feels like forever - he's a master cocksucker, our Matthew - until finally he pushes me over the edge, and I swear, he's moaning as loudly as I am, if you can believe that.
Boneless doesn't begin to describe my condition. Eyes still squeezed shut, I feel myself slide from his mouth, feel him gently tuck me back into my pants, and it's only then that I open my eyes, to find him glancing curiously up at me.
"What?" I whisper, completely spent and wondering how I'm going to be able to summon the energy to shoot a fucking video now.
"You're sweating, it's all smudged."
Suddenly, he grins.
"Guess I'll have to re-apply it, yeah?"