rockabillyboy | (no subject)

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kavinsky

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Now that he's sure Jillie's going to be okay (Dee has been a freaking God-send), Jack feels like he's climbing out of his skin. He and Poison have basically been reduced to fucking in the shower or in the backseat of one of their cars and he finds himself in desperate need of a real work out. So he texts Kavinsky, asking for exactly what he needs, asking for something nasty and knowing that Kavinsky will understand.

A text with instructions arrives and Jack feels a little shiver of relief.

He lets himself into Kavinsky's apartment and, as instructed, strips off everything he's wearing at the door. He pads naked around the bedroom and then climbs up onto the big bed. He gets into the specified position, head down, ass up, and he starts to fuck himself slowly open with slick fingers. He's intensely, achingly aware that he didn't lock the door behind him.

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Kavinsky hummed and leaned back, admiring Jack's body even as he opened his own jeans slowly. He didn't pull them down, just wanted the slight alleviation of pressure against his cock. Instead, he reached over and grabbed a small flogger form the things he'd pulled out of the drawer. The leather bands were supple and soft. He smacked them against his palm, letting Jack hear the noise.

"Remember to tell me where you're at," he said. "I want to know how you like it. Slutty boy."

The sound of the flogger hitting Kavinsky's palm sends a heavy shiver through Jack's whole body, his fingers buried deep in his ass, his cheek against the mattress. His eyelashes flutter a little at the insult, more a pet-name than anything.

"Green light," he says. "Sir."

Kavinsky purred softly, watching the way that Jack moved against the bed. He shifted on the mattress, getting himself comfortable and at a good angle. "Take your fingers out of your ass. That's enough for right now."

Slowly, pushing his luck a little, Jack drags his fingers out of his ass. He widens his stance slightly, shuffling his knees wider, putting himself more on display before he threads his fingers behind his neck and waits.

The display of it was really lovely. Kavinsky took a moment more to admire it, waiting to see if Jack would fidget if he didn't do anything for a moment or two, if he would ask for the flogger before Kavinsky gave it to him.

Jack is well trained, though, and he holds the position that he's been put in, his fingers folded together, his cheek pressed against the sheet. He knows what he looks like, what a pretty picture he makes. He's seen the photographic evidence. He can feel himself slipping into that slightly spaced out, quiet place he gets.

He wants it so badly.

Finally, Kavinsky supposed that Jack had waited enough.

The flail made a soft woosh through the air as Kavinsky swung it. The leather slapped Jack's skin with a muted whack. Kavinsky didn't let the leather stay on Jack's skin; he followed through and pulled the flail away from his skin immediately, so all he had was the dull sting of it for a moment.

"What do you say?"

The impact of the flogger isn't so bad, a heat more than anything else, and Jack lets his breath out in a long, low sigh.

"Thank you, Sir."

Kavinsky settled in from there. The slap of the flogger was unpredictable, intermittent, but always with a follow through that meant the leather didn't linger on Jack's skin, that he got only the increasing strength of the strikes and the lingering heat afterward.

Kavinsky watched himself, watch Jack, for signs of pain or discomfort, for the flail becoming too much. A couple times he reversed direction, slapping the flail up between Jack's thighs more gently than he brought it down against his ass.

The strikes between his thighs are good, get him hot, but he finds himself wishing that everything hurt a little bit more. He needs that edge.

He thanks Kavinsky for every blow in a soft, breathy voice.

Jack's ass was red, pleasantly glowing, and Kavinsky could read the shifting need under his skin, the craving for more. Kavinsky softened the next couple blows across Jack's ass. But the next one he brought up between his thighs, over his cock and balls, was deliberately hard, the leather of the flail whistling before it struck him with a snap.

That was exactly what he needs right now, what he craves, and he's not sure that this kind of treatment, this kind of pain, is something he can go to Poison for. There's something at the heart of him that curls up guiltily at the thought of it.

His breath leaves in a soft sigh, almost a whimper.

"Thank you, Sir," he mumbles, cock twitching in thin air.

Kavinsky gave it a moment, a breath of anticipation, judging himself and that curl in Jack's shoulders that bowed him toward his middle for just a moment.

He swung the flail again, snapping the leather against Jack's crotch. Again. Again. They were close enough together now that there was no time for Jack to breathe out his thanks.

He can't even catch his breath, pain and pleasure breaking over him like waves, his hips squirming into the slap of the flail, everything stinging and aching and throbbing and its exactly what he needs just then.

"Fuck," he manages to get out, more moan than word. "Fuck. Amber, Kav. P-please."

It's not a stop, not a hard stop. He just needs a moment.

Kavinsky stopped as soon as Jack said it. He dropped the flogger onto the bed and ran his fingers gently, teasingly, over Jack's hot skin. He was pink and red, welted in places, and his cock looked good how it hung between his thighs.

He spread Jack's ass slowly and spat on his hole, but he didn't do more than that until Jack said he could.

It takes Jack a moment to settle, squirming and hurting and breathlessly, achingly turned on. He groans softly and manages to keep his hips up through sheer force of will.

"Green," he says, his voice quiet. He waits.

"That's right, baby," Kavinsky purred. His hands moved instantly, thumbs smoothing until they could tease at Jack's already stretching hole. He tugged and pressed gently until Jack was lewdly open, and then he spat again.

"Did good for such a slut," he murmured. "I think you have had earned sucking my cock. Put your fingers back in your ass. You haven't earned a plug yet."

Jack squirms at the press of Kavinky's thumbs into his asshole, putting him lewdly on display for a moment. He reaches back blindly with one hand, pressing three fingers into his ass, fucking himself with them. He's only barely slick enough. It feels so good.

Kavinsky laughed, charmed by the easy desperation of Jack's movements. He slapped his ass, just once, and then moved up toward jack's head.

Kneeling beside him, he peeled his jeans down, revealing the panties underneath, barely holding in his cock now as he got hard. He pushed his jeans down almost to his knees, and rubbed at his cock slightly as he looked at Jack.

The slap makes Jack's breath catch and he squirms, dipping low enough that his dick almost touches the sheets. He bites his lip with his teeth and then shuffles forward, his weight caught on one arm, nose and lips brushing the straining line of Kavinsky's cock through his panties.

"You like those?" Kavinsky asked as Jack got right up against him. He moved a hand, gripping Jack by the back of the neck and holding him down against his crotch for a moment. "You like looking at my cock straining these panties?"

He peeled them to the side, letting his cock out. "Maybe we should put you in 'em later. See how that red little ass looks with these panties on."

"Yes, Sir," says Jack, agreeing that he likes the panties, that Kavinsky can put him in them, whatever he wants. That's something that he and Poison have never actually done. It'd be something new. Jack groans softly, mouthing filthily against the shaft of Kavinsky's cock.

On 28 December 2016 at 08:24, mitsubishievo - DW Comment < dw_null@dreamwidth.org> wrote:

Kavinsky let Jack play and mouth at him for a moment, watching the vaguely rapturous look on his face. Finally, he shifted his fingers to fist in Jack's hair, pulling him into the position he wanted.

"Open your fucking mouth," he growled down at him. "Making me do all the work around here, lazy slut. Open."

On command, Jack opens his mouth as wide as he can make it and then slides it down onto Kavinsky's cock without waiting for further instruction, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks.