Jack Vincent (
rockabillyboy) wrote2018-04-03 06:01 pm
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Post Founder's Day
For a while now they've been laboring under the weight of their losses, and, as a result, they've been kind of careful with each other. In the cab on the way home, Jack realises that he doesn't necessarily want to be careful anymore. He leans in, pressing a sloppy kiss against the side of Poison's neck, right against his pulse. His hand slides dangerously high up his husband's thigh.
"What've you got on under these?"
"What've you got on under these?"
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It's messy and it's lovely and Jack finds himself rapt. He drags his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and snaps a photo of Poison like this, bent over with his reddened ass in the air, his mouth full of cock. He rocks his hips, nudging his cock a little deeper.
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"Fuck, Daddy," he breathes, voice wrecked. He'll be useless in the studio tomorrow, but he doesn't care. This is worth it. He gives Jack another obscene lick before taking him down again, all the way this time.
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"Get it nice and slick," says Jack, his own breath coming faster now, more ragged. "Don't wan to spend long getting you ready to fuck."
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So he lets himself get sloppy, until his mouth feels like a mess. He loves the sounds that sneak out of Jack, the way his voice changes.
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He waits until Poison's chin is slick with spit, until his cock is aching and then he pulls back, wrapping his fingers around his cock so that he can slap Poison's face with it. "How badly do you awnt to get fucked?"
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He wets his lips, ends up licking Jack as he does.
"Need you in me, Daddy. I'm dying for it."
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"Oh, come on, Poison," says Jack, pausing to strip off his shirt, shoving his jeans down and all the way off. "You can beg prettier than that, baby. I know. I've heard it."
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"Been thinking about having you in me since you touched me in the cab," he confesses. "You always feel so fucking good, Daddy. Lemme be good for you."
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Jack curls his fingers around his dick, squeezing rather than stroking, centering himself a little.
"Do you want to be tied up?"
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"You want me tied up," he counters, because it was one of the first things out of Jack's mouth when he had Poison pinned against the door.
He moves closer, wraps his hand around Jack's and just holds.
"Maybe, if I'm good enough... lemme go so I can touch you before I come?"
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Jack squeezes Poison's hand and nods.
"On your back, baby," he says. "Hands up over your head."
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Then he eases back, gets closer to the center of the bed, closer to the headboard, so that Jack won't have to work too hard to tie him up. He reaches up, stretches out, and tries to look good while he does it.
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Jack grabs one of his ties and uses it to lash Poison's wrists together over his head. He doesn't secure him to the bedframe, though. When he's done with that, he starts to peel his panties down his thighs.
"Talk dirty to me, baby."
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"I wanna feel this for days, Daddy. Every time I move I wanna remember you were here. Every time I look in a mirror." Poison lolls his head to look at Jack, taking him in.
"I thought of you when I got these. Kept twisting and turning in the mirror, and I got hard just thinking of your face when you got to see them."
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"How does it make you feel, when I have you call me daddy?" asks Jack. He discards Poison's panties over his shoulder and takes hold of him, pushing his legs up and back, spreading him open and exposing him completely.
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"God, it makes me so fucking hard," says Jack, shifting his position to sprawl between Poison's spread thighs. "Keep talking." He bends his head and presses his tongue against Poison's ass.
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"I love feeling like a mess - your mess. I want you to come in me, come on me, wherever the fuck you want to."
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Jack groans encouragement, but he doesn't lift his head, keeping his mouth right where it is, his tongue pressed against Poison, hands on his thighs to keep him spread.
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"Fuck, Jack-- Daddy-- please." His voice hiccups a bit and his thighs tighten under Jack's solid grip. He hopes he has little bruises later.
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Poison isn't the one in charge here, and Jack thinks he probably needs to be reminded of that, so he stays exactly where he is, his tongue and jaw working against Poison, the tip just pressing inside his body. He squeezes his thighs tighter.
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But his cock is aching, he swears he feels it through his whole fucking body.
"Please," he whimpers this time, more like begging for mercy than trying to make a demand. Poison doesn't even know what he's fucking asking for.
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Jack stays where he is for another long moment and then he lifts his head again, lips and chin slick, his hand still holding Poison's thighs spread. "Please what?" he says, and then he bends his head and bites the curve of Poison's ass hard enough to leave a mark. He did say he wanted to be feeling this for days.
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Unreasonably, he wants to bruise Jack, too. Maybe he'll manage to give him a hickey or two before they get out of bed.
But right now he's tied to the headboard, and Jack's at the wheel and Poison is dying for the break lines to be cut. He tries to figure out how to articulate what he wants. "More," he manages, after a moment. "I need more, Daddy."
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"Well, if you're going to ask so prettily," says Jack. He leans across Poison and grabs the lube from his side of the bed, squeezing some onto his fingers, pressing two against Poison. "I don't think you're going to ened much of this, are you, baby?"
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