Chapter 5 #2
“Do you not want to?” Sebastian asks, then moves away so he can rummage around in Peter’s fridge.
“We just met. This is a lot is all. Halloween is six months away.” There are marks on Sebastian’s back, red marks from Peter’s fingers, and he has no idea when that happened.
“Yeah. I think there’s a fifty percent chance I’ll leave here and you’ll tell me you don’t want to see me anymore.
I don’t want that to happen,” he says, giving Peter a quick up and down leer.
“So I’m going to come in here, I’m going to utterly fuck with you and your life, and then I’ll leave, like a villainous, male Mary Poppins, and you’ll either decide you fucking love it or you won’t. ”
“Fifty percent?” Peter asks.
Sebastian shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s one percent.
Feels like too fucking much, whatever it is.
My instincts are telling me this is good.
That you want this. But we’ll see,” he says, turning back to the pan.
He frowns. “If it isn’t clear, I hope you want it.
I hope, somehow, you’re thinking this is everything you never knew you wanted. ”
“Is that… is that what you’re thinking?”
“No. I’ve known for a long time what I wanted. Years. And I know how difficult it is to find. Impossible. You think beautiful, submissive male masochistic sluts who are intelligent and easy to be around are plentiful?”
Another piece of French toast goes on a plate. “Get the bacon out of the oven,” he orders and puts in a new slice of bread.
Peter gets the bacon out using a towel. He sets it on the counter, and the grease splatters onto his arm. “Fuck,” he says, more out of reflex than actual pain.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Sebastian is suddenly there, holding his arm, getting it under the water and then grabbing an ice pack. He puts it in a towel and presses it to Peter’s arm. “Come here. Let’s get you comfortable. You have to be careful, sweetheart.”
He tries to lead Peter out of the kitchen.
“No, I want to stay with you. It’s fine.”
“It isn’t fine. Grease burns hurt. I guess I had the temperature too high. No more bacon duty for you,” he says, kissing his cheek. He’s still holding the ice pack to Peter’s arm.
It’s overwhelming.
“It wasn’t that bad. It was just surprising,” he says, wishing Sebastian was inside him. Still. Just huge and invasive and demanding all of his attention. Sebastian’s body surrounding him, covering him.
“Let me look. I’ll decide.”
Peter shows him. It’s a little pink but fine. He doesn’t think he can even feel it. But Sebastian is looking at him like Peter might lose the arm. As if Peter is really hurt, and he is going to make everything okay.
“Kiss it better?” Peter asks. His voice is fucked. It’s close to begging or something.
Sebastian meets his gaze. Too damned clever. Too smart.
“Let me look, baby doll. Let’s see. Poor you. You just need to be taken care of, don’t you? After you get hurt? Pretty baby,” he says and kisses Peter’s arm gently.
He kisses the burn, and Peter whimpers.
Sebastian kisses down his arm to his hand and then drops down to his knees, his head close to Peter’s hard cock.
It twitches, pre-come welling at the tip.
He’s hard, and he doesn’t know when that happened either.
Maybe the burn. Maybe the ice pack. He’s pretty sure Sebastian does know the exact moment Peter started to get aroused from being hurt and then coddled.
Sebastian kisses his arm again. Licks the skin, the flat of his tongue laving over the mark.
“Please? I—“
“What?” Sebastian asks, blinking up at him.
Peter shrugs. He can’t go further.
“Do you need it? Is that it? You’re too hard, and I’m right here. You’ve given me so much, and now you need it. Is that it?”
“Yeah, um, yes.”
Sebastian smiles at him, pleased. “Then I want to give it to you… Ask me,” he says firmly and waits.
Oh. But Sebastian knows? Why does he have to say it?
“I guess you don’t want it,” he says, sounding disappointed.
“Sebastian, please. I need it.” His cock throbs just from saying it. The shame of having to ask and put his desire out there, hoping Sebastian takes pity on him and lets him have pleasure.
“You do. I can see how much you need it. Sit down on the barstool and I’ll blow you.”
“But I hurt inside,” Peter says stupidly.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Sebastian says. He gets up, flips the toast, and grabs a barstool. Hard and wooden. “If you sit here, put your ass on this seat, then I’ll blow you.”
“I can’t. It’s going to hurt,” he says.
Sebastian goes back to the ground. He kisses Peter’s shaft, licks up it, and sucks on the head.
“Oh fuck. That feels incredible,” Peter gasps. He tries to press deeper into Sebastian’s mouth, but Sebastian pulls away.
“Sit down and I’ll keep going.” Peter glances at the hard surface again. “I’ll let you come. I’ll swallow you down. Take you deep into my throat.”
Peter whimpers, practically collapsing onto the stool. He yelps. He perches carefully. Sebastian is watching him hungrily. He grips his own cock through his underwear as Peter tries to get settled.
Then Sebastian sucks him into his mouth, and Peter collapses, leaning back because he needs support, agony blazing inside him in response. Every sensation contrasts with the pleasure encasing his shaft. He cries out and grabs Sebastian’s shoulder. He hurts everywhere. It’s brilliant.
“I’m going to come.”
Sebastian pulls off. “Sorry, the toast,” he says apologetically. He gets up, pats Peter’s thigh, kisses him fondly on Peter’s open mouth, and goes to the stove. Peter has a moment to breathe. His ass aches so badly. His cock is now purple, straining at how close he was.
Then Sebastian is back, swallows him down again, and Peter clenches inside, tries to get deeper into Sebastian’s mouth, wanting to be in his throat. He’s leaning forward, putting weight on his hole.
He has a moment where he thinks he might come. Or pass out. It’s unclear. Sebastian takes Peter’s hands off his thighs, prying them off and putting them in his hair.
Peter stares down at him, at Sebastian’s red lips open around him.
How hard his own cock is, how tight and fat his balls are.
He tries to spread his thighs wider, and there’s more pain radiating up through him.
He urges Sebastian deeper with a soft touch, fingers moving through the silky strands of hair.
“I have to come. Fuck, I’m so close.”
Sebastian pulls off. “Toast,” he says, and Peter can hardly let him go. Sebastian kisses him on the mouth, and Peter chases his lips, leaning forward, which hurts.
“Poor baby. You’re so hard,” he says and steps to the stove.
Peter’s cock is covered in spit, pre-come welling out of him.
His balls are pulled up tight, and he’s flush against his stomach.
He shifts on the seat and his hand finds his cock, starts to pump up and down.
He presses into the seat, rocking just a little.
The pain is so good. So fucking good now.
Sebastian is back. Kisses Peter’s parted lips. “I thought it hurt, honey? You were complaining. Now you’re acting like a slut with a big fat dildo up your ass. Do you need a cock, sweet thing?”
“No,” Peter gasps, needing to deny the shameful words. He stares at Sebastian’s red lips.
“You getting close?” Sebastian licks his lips. It’s obscene.
“Yeah. Please. Please, I need your mouth.” He puts a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, urging him down.
“Stop. Look at me,” Sebastian orders.
Peter stops. He gazes up at Sebastian, who is towering over him, only a few inches away.
“Guess what?”
“What?” Peter asks dumbly. His hand eases up and down the shaft of his own cock, needing the restriction.
“Look how hard you made me,” Sebastian says.
Peter looks. Sebastian’s cock, hard and flushed as he pulls his underwear down, the waistband resting under his fat balls, practically offering them up for Peter’s mouth.
“You come too,” he says, reaching for him.
“How do you think I should come? Just a hand job? Just a blow job?” His tone makes it damn clear that isn’t what Sebastian wants. “When my perfect slut is here with the sweetest hole? When you’re working that wood and empty inside?”
Peter knows he hasn’t misunderstood. “How?”
“You get to control it. I’d sit on the couch,” he says, the words gentle and soft. Coaxing as he touches Peter’s chest. “Whatever my good slut needs. You can take your time. But I want to come with my dick in you. If I’m going to come, then don’t you want it? You made me hard, baby.”
“Sebastian,” he pleads. “But I’m going to come.” He sounds petulant to his own ears. It’s all he can think about. He doesn’t have enough brain cells to think clearly.
“No. Not yet,” he says and stops touching Peter. Peter’s cock is straining. They both watch as a dangerous moment passes.
Peter whines and nuzzles into Sebastian's collarbone. “Fuck, I thought I was gonna—”
“Poor boy,” he says. It’s not sincere.
“You’re mean. Don’t stop,” he says, because he loves it. He knows it makes him an idiot, but he does.
“You can always say no. I’m just telling you what I want. I think you can take it. Don’t pretend you don’t want to come crying on my cock.”
Peter blushes. He can imagine it. Sebastian would be sweet to him, after. “Will you like it more that way?”
“What do you think?” He pinches Peter’s nipple hard, twists the bud. It’s painful and yet somehow fond.
It’s hard to stand up, but Peter does. Sebastian turns the stove off, grabs oil and a towel in one hand, and then he’s picking up the condom.
Peter can’t look away. As if he’s a dog and his owner has a treat or a ball in hand.
This is Peter’s chance to say no. To save himself.
“I want it,” he whispers.
“Course you do. Take my hand. Lead the way, sweetheart.”
Which is worse. He’s leading the way to his own destruction.