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“No,” Blake whined low in his throat as Matt pushed firmly inside him. His fingers curled into the arm of Matt’s couch as he bottomed out with a huff, grinding his balls against Blake’s taint. His hands were digging into Blake's hips, likely hard enough to leave bruises. Blake let out a wobbly breath, trying to keep himself together as all of the hot, solid inches invading his space slowly began to move.
—
They’d discussed the concept beforehand, of course. Preferences, hard limits, stoplights. Blake’s leg had been shaking like a leaf when he gathered the courage to bring it up, prodding the subject tentatively and gauging his reaction. Matt was such a nice, well-adjusted guy that it seemed ridiculous, but considering how often they’d been hooking up after class(and the other kinky shit he was into), he figured he might as well throw a new bone into the pot.
“How uh—extreme have you gone with someone before?” Blake asked, sitting on one of the kitchen bar stools in Matt’s swanky, midtown apartment. He was doing a bad job of appearing innocently curious.
Matt saw right through him. He leaned over the counter to get close to Blake’s face with a menacing tilt to his head. “Is there a kink you’re hiding from me?”
“Dude,” Blake grumbled, because that was the first word to come to him when none others would. “I dunno. Maybe.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
“I—“ Blake struggled to spit it out, his cheeks warming. “If I describe it to you, you’re gonna think I’m fuckin’ insane. You’re gonna think it sounds…rape-y.” Matt’s eyes widened with unmitigated shock, and Blake hastily fumbled to recover whatever respect Matt might’ve had for him. “It’s not actually, I just—that’s usually—I mean, just forget it.”
Matt propped his chin into his palm. “No, it’s okay. I don’t think you’re insane, you just caught me off guard. Describe it to me. What’s the fantasy?”
Blake breathed shortly, locking his attention onto the marble counter. He couldn’t look Matt in the eyes while he said it—couldn’t look anyone in the eyes, to be specific. He’d been harboring so much shame over the idea that it had taken years to jack off to it and feel okay after, and longer still to actually admit to the thing. Matt was only the second person to hear about it; the first was his last boyfriend, who had listened encouragingly and then politely explained that he wasn’t into that kinda thing, which had kept Blake’s self worth intact enough to try again now.
“The exact details change every time.” Blake mumbled. “But the gist of it is that I tell a guy that I want him to fuck me, and—and not stop when I resist.”
Blake paused, letting any aftershocks of that bombshell fully ring out, but Matt didn’t yell or try to throw him out of his apartment. He didn’t say anything at all: he was waiting for Blake to elaborate.
“L-like, if I struggled or told him to stop, he wouldn’t listen.” He continued clumsily. “Kinda…the ultimate power play, I guess.”
“I can see where this lines up with your other kinks.” Matt teased.
Blake lifted his eyes nervously, grazing the tops of Matt’s cheeks—not quite making eye contact. “Yeah?” That response was promising: a level of understanding that he’d previously thought impossible.
Matt shrugged easily. “Like you said, it’s a power play. Demeaning, objectifying. You love that shit.”
Blake scowled. “Dude. Come on.”
“I’m down to try it.” Matt said with a nod. “But you gotta let me ease myself into it.”
“Okay. Yeah, obviously.” Blake nodded in reply, a few too many times more than him.
Matt’s version of ‘easing into it’ was…fun, for lack of a better word. During regular hookups he was more demanding, more cruel, wordlessly reaching for a condom after they made out, instead of asking the way he normally would. It was pretty convenient since Blake had never once turned him down—like cutting out an unnecessary step in a way that made his gut twist in excitement.
He fucked him harder, too, like he didn’t care about hurting him. He was too experienced to hurt him by accident, but the brutality was delicious. His dirty talk got darker as well: stop complaining and be fuckin’ quiet when Blake moaned, as if the sound was an objection that he was ignoring. The experimentation was like foreplay, gradually winding Blake into a frenzy over the course of two weeks.
He’d told Matt in the kitchen that he’d want it to be a surprise, if Matt ever wanted to do a full scene of that kind of thing. He’d sort of expected Matt to check in with him once he’d made up his mind, but he didn’t—he’d probably observed enough of Blake’s pathetic enthusiasm to feel comfortable skipping that conversation, which made his plan land ten times as successfully.
They had their usual class together, the last of the week: Chemistry Lab, a spirited three hours huddled over beakers. Normally, they would’ve gone home together and pretended to watch a show before they dissolved into a pile of warm limbs and carnal fucking—but Matt said he was dangerously low on groceries, so they’d parted.
Two hours later, after Blake had returned to his place in East Harlem and was just polishing off his dinner with his two roommates, he’d gotten a text from Matt.
7:21pm
(attached a photo)
Dude isn’t this due on Monday?
It was a picture of Blake’s essay draft for 346, which he must have left at Matt’s place. He couldn’t remember taking it out of his bag—there would have been no reason to—but he hadn’t thought much of it.
shit
I need that
I can run it over for you
nah nah
I’ll come get it
Alr sick
Blake was probably going to end up spending most of the weekend glued to his desk chair playing Siege, so he might as well get his physical activity in now. Matt lived an awkward length from the subway, so he took the 4 train to 59th and trekked the handful of avenues to get to his building. It took about ten minutes, but since Blake always walked too fast subconsciously, even when he wasn’t in a rush, he’d worked up a slight sheen on the back of his neck by the time he rang Matt’s bell. The intercom buzzed loudly and he took the elevator up to floor 28, where he only had to knock once before the door opened.
Matt’s two cats bolted from the noise, their claws making looney-tunes-esque scratching noises against the floor. His parents weren’t home—they were rarely home, since they were quite wealthy and important and needed in all sorts of random places throughout the year. They did some kind of business in restaurants: managing, marketing, he wasn’t quite sure. He’d asked once, but as badly as he wanted to keep the information on file, the conversation had been followed by sex, and Matt had all but wiped his memory.
“Hey,” Matt smiled, “you wanna come in for a second? You look hot.”
“Yeah, sure.” Blake breathed, heeling off his sneakers and accepting the glass of water Matt poured for him. He pounded it over the kitchen sink, wiping at his neck with the back of his hand. His draft was sitting on the counter beside Matt, but he didn’t want to just grab it and dash, so he said, “How was your grocery trip?”
“Good,” Matt replied sweetly, like he was happy Blake had asked. “I got strawberries, you want some?”
“Hell yeah.”
“C’mere, sit for a minute.”
Matt retrieved a bowl of strawberries from the fridge and led him to the couch, where the cats had emerged once again, indifferent once they realized it was only Blake. Doug slinked between Blake’s legs and he leaned over to give him a scratch on the head, his other hand reaching for a strawberry.
Matt had apparently been in the middle of rolling a joint, because his grinder and papers were left out on the table. He finished the job as Blake ate and then lit it; he had a bad habit of smoking indoors, and it was against the rules of his building. He got away with it by not indulging that often, a casual pursuit when he was bored.
“You want?” He offered after taking a drag.
Since when had Blake ever said no to weed? It didn’t help that his rich friends just handed that shit out like it was candy. He didn’t think, didn’t even notice the tiny little puffs Matt was taking in comparison to his long, greedy drags. His limbs quickly grew warm and floaty, and it took demolishing the bowl of strawberries to realize how high he was.
“…The fuck?” He mumbled, swinging sleepy eyes to Matt, who was sitting a lot closer than he recalled. His fingers were slightly sticky from the juice of the strawberries rapidly drying on his skin, the sensation heightened in this state. “What was in that?”
Matt smiled even sweeter, and the cogs began to turn. He planned this. “Color?” He asked.
Blake’s brain chugged to keep up. This was a scene? They were doing a scene? Okay. Why the hell not. Blake cleared his throat. “Green, green.”
Matt abruptly shoved him into the arm of the couch, crawling over his form and sneering at him. “How’re you this fuckin’ stupid?”
Blake’s eyes widened, his gut heating. “What?”
Matt kissed him, harder and faster than typical, so much so that Blake couldn’t keep up, practically suffocating him with it. “Just letting me get you this high…it’s like you’re askin’ for it.” He said, steadily grinding into him.
“Matt…” Blake groaned, disbelief weaved into the word. Even though Matt had color-checked him, he still hadn’t expected to be having sex today, which was probably why he felt so limp and pliable. Well, that and the weed.
The roll of his pelvis was addictive to watch, practiced and graceful and setting Blake’s brain ablaze. No matter which sex act, Matt was always as elegant as a well-trained prostitute, the harsh angles in his broad shoulders and tiny waist rendering him supernaturally attractive. Blake used to be a little embarrassed about subbing since he tended to be taller than his partners, but it was impossible not to melt under his smirk and vein-threaded forearms.
“Don’t complain.” Matt warned as he suddenly flipped Blake over, propping his ass up into doggy and reaching for his belt from underneath. “If you struggle you’ll fuckin’ regret it.”
Oh. Oh, Blake realized, lagging behind. That’s what was happening. A whimper punched its way out of his throat while Matt tugged his jeans to his knees and then, with a clink of his metal belt buckle, began to get his own out of the way. He’d accepted the joint while fully cognizant of the fact that the strain could be strong (that was just a gamble he’d gotten used to taking, with many friends of differing tolerances), but the way Matt was framing it—like he’d drugged him, on purpose, was hitting all of Blake’s buttons just right.
Matt slid a finger inside of him all the way to the hilt, and Blake gasped. When had he gotten lube? Had he hidden it between the cushions before Blake came over? He really did plan all of this.
“No,” Blake whispered, slipping into character as his mind was glazed over by subspace. “No no no no no…”
Matt added a second finger before he was ready, followed soon after by a third, and the impatience of it all was so convincing. Like he didn’t give a shit if it hurt. If Blake enjoyed it. If his dick could actually fit, or if he’d have to force it in.
“You’re just suckin’ me in, bud.” Matt mocked, his fingers barely brushing past his prostate, as if it was an accident. It gave the impression that he had no intention to make Blake feel good, just working him open for his own gain. “You sure you don’t want this?”
“Matt,” His voice wavered, and Blake had to gather himself for a moment, trying to sound as believable as possible. “I—I said no. The fuck’s wrong with you??”
“Hmm,” Matt said, pretending to consider it. “Color?”
Blake shuddered. Asking didn’t break his immersion, only enhanced it, like it was another shaming piece of ammo Matt could use against him. “G-green.”
“How many times have we fucked?” Matt said, light and teasing. “Don’t you think I’m entitled to this by now?” He punctuated the question with a particularly deep jab of his fingers, forcing a moan from Blake that sounded so betrayed that he felt a jolt in his dick from it.
“I’m not—you can’t just—“
“Shut up.” Matt snapped. “I’m not asking. I’m reminding.”
That was when he’d withdrawn his fingers to push in, thick, hot, and a struggle to take with the minimal prep. He could feel his hole stretching the further he sunk, pleasure teasing the edge of pain as Matt settled at the base. The sensation was so much more intense, and Blake’s sluggish brain parsed slowly through possible reasons: the weed, the subspace, the urgency. Oh, that was it. He wasn’t wearing a condom.
Both of them were clean and Blake had never felt strongly about it one way or another, so they’d simply agreed to use them in the routine of keeping safe. They weren't exclusive anyway (although Blake hadn’t felt the need to fuck anyone else), so it made perfect sense. The choice to go without was another layer on the cake of ‘not giving a fuck about him,’ and his dick throbbed painfully beneath him.
“No,” He whined, holding onto the arm of the couch like a lifeline as Matt moved into tiny, torturous circles. The deep breath he took was supposed to stabilize him, but hearing the waver in his own lungs was only wrecking him more. He really sounded like a victim, absolutely powerless and miserable—as long as one didn’t catch sight of his twitching, leaking cock. “Q-quit…you can’t…”
Matt laughed and smacked his ass. “Yeah I can.”
Contrasting the impatience of the prep, Matt kept his thrusts slow and overwhelming, savoring Blake’s frazzled vulnerability. He was drawn so tightly it felt like he was sparking, his mental circuit boards frying one by one like a fireworks show. Each drag against his walls was keeping him there, crazed and blissed out but not enough to cum.
“No,” Blake babbled, leaving tracks in the pattern of the couch’s fabric with his fingernails. “No no no no no, please.”
“What d’you mean, no?” Matt snapped, his next thrust spearing him in a quick burst. “I can feel you clenching on me.”
Blake coughed on his own spit in the effort to swallow and a sob slipped past him, tears rapidly following—endorphins, probably.
Matt hesitated. “Color, baby?”
Blake shivered. “Green. Don’t fuckin’ stop.”
Matt picked up the pace of his movements, driving deeper with something primal and needy. “Yeah. You love this shit, hey? Love bein’ fuckin’ used, even when you don’t want it. Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Blake rasped.
A hand closed around his cock, and only a few strokes were necessary to have him cumming with a shout, so hard he saw stars. Matt bore down into him even harder, riding the waves of his orgasm like it was something he’d paid for. Of course, that was the time he decided to bully his prostate, Blake’s resulting whimpers pitching in the back of his mouth.
Matt came not long after, filling Blake’s hole from the lack of protection. It was a warm, satisfying feeling, and his muscles were totally spent despite how little he’d moved them throughout the ordeal. Matt grinded into him a few more times before pulling out, and after another moment, he returned (when did he get up?) with a paper towel to wipe both Blake’s stomach and the couch clean. Then, he helped Blake sit up, pulling up his boxers but abandoning his jeans.
“How’re you feeling?” He asked gently. “Was that okay?”
Blake blinked at him, slow and fluttered, before cuddling up next to him and tucking his head into Matt’s shoulder. “Dude,” he mumbled.
“Yeah?” Matt chuckled. “That good?”
Blake held onto him tighter.
It was more than good. It was everything he’d fantasized about turned up to the nines, with a tantalizingly unpredictable edge. The experience had concluded mere moments ago and it was already a memory he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget—he was probably going to jerk off to it the second he got home, when his poor oversensitive dick was ready for another round. Although…
“You’re staying the night?” Matt prompted, half-rhetorical question.
Blake nodded fervently.
Matt played with his hair as he came down from subspace, delicate scraping motions against his scalp. He always knew what Blake wanted and what he needed, plucking a few from each category to weave into mind-blowing sex that immensely satisfied him while leaving him desperate for more. He had a feeling that that was the real reason why he'd cried: a bone-deep relief. Matt understood him more than anyone else had even tried to.
When he was steady enough to stand, they stumbled to Matt’s bedroom and collapsed into bed. It was late by that point, his curtains already drawn and the city ambiance dampened by their height. That was always what Blake thought about first when he laid down to sleep at Matt’s place: it was so quiet, in multiple senses. Sometimes he felt a little bad for being loud, in both sexual and non-sexual contexts, but maybe that’s what Matt needed from him.
Maybe that’s why Matt was so eager to get to know him outside of class, to invite him over, to fuck him again and again. They were just friends, practically class acquaintances with the hook-ups as a bonus, but the attention and borderline devotion Matt had been displaying recently made Blake wonder if he ached for more as much as Blake did.
He wanted to say it. He settled for, “Thank you,” whispered in the dark, out of the scene, so that he’d know without a shadow of a doubt that he meant it.
“Thank you.” Matt replied.
Maybe that’s as close as they’d get for now.