(no subject)

[rockabillyboy]

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.

Comments

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky didn't say anything; he shifted his hand from the back of Jack's neck to the front of his throat, cupping without pressure but with the potential for promise. His hips kept moving. He watched Jack's face. He knew this was a hard limit, but Jack had come to him to be hurt, to be pushed, to be forced around.

He'd stop, if Jack said no.

[rockabillyboy]

Kavinsky's hand slips around his throat and Jack shivers but he also finds that he's not panicking. He swallows and feels the press of Kavinsky's fingers.

"Just don't choke me out."

[mitsubishievo]

"Tap if it's too much," Kavinsky says, the last bit of soft he wants to give right now. Then, he squeezed just a moment over Jack's throat, sliding his hand down to the very base so that he was pressing his palm to Jack's collarbone. He kept fucking into him, rough, deep thrusts. He wasn't going to last long like this.

[rockabillyboy]

"Don't bruise me," says Jack, his voice a little tighter. There's a conversation that he doesn't want to have to have with Poison. "Jesus, fuck. Harder."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky slapped Jack's ass, keeping his hand still on his throat. It was more stability than anything else, a promise, a discipline that was different than having a hand in his hair.

"I'll fuck you however I want," he hissed, and then slapped him again, as hard as he could when he was buried in him.