“You know the conversation about drunken celebratory sex earlier?”
“I remember it well,” Jim said with a laugh, though an undercurrent of caution weighed it down.
“Would drunken make up sex be a suitable alternative?”
Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then dragged Mat down a little alleyway and slammed him against the wall.
It was filthy, but Mat could not make himself care about that with Jim pressed against him, sucking kisses onto Mat’s neck.
Mat’s fingers scrabbled against the uneven brickwork, trying to find purchase, before he gave up and just fisted his hands in Jim’s jacket.
He could feel the curve of Jim’s mouth as it pressed against his jugular, his pulse picking up speed. Mat gasped at the sting of teeth, closing on the patch of skin just below the corner of his jaw, possessive and hungry. The ritual of it, the power, burned along Mat’s nerves; he gasped, the sound tinged with a whimper. He had no resistance to offer, and no desire to do anything but surrender.
The bite was too soft to hurt, there was just enough pressure for Jim to assert his claim and mark the place for later.
Something tangled and heavy crawled from his heart and lodged itself in the back of his throat.
Jim’s was working the buttons of his shirt, and Mat envied him his steady hands. He made a half-hearted effort to return the favour, but found his fingers far too clumsy.
Jim’s hands were splayed on Mat’s chest, stroking gently at the soft skin. He straightened up, and kisses Mat softly on the mouth.
That was all it takes for the thing lodged in his throat, aching and sweet, to find a voice. “Please,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”
Jim smiled against his lips, kissed him once more, and murmured, “Whatever my boy wants.”
A shiver raced down Mat’s spine, and he instinctively spreads his legs a little wider.
Jim unbuckled Mat’s belt and undid his trousers. His fingers skittered along the waistband of Mat’s boxers, and he can’t help but shift his hips. Jim slid his boxers down to just past his hips. The thing in his throat made inarticulate, pleading noises, as Jim slicked up his fingers and pressed slowly inside Mat.
For what should have been a quick fuck in a filthy alley, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time preparing Mat, stretching him and stroking him, and all Mat could do was whimper and beg and arch his back hoping for more.
Time had stretched and distorted around them, because an eternity had passed by the time Jim finally worked his own trousers down and hitched Mat up so he could wrap his legs around Jim’s waist.
He braced himself against the bricks, knowing that there would bruises and broken skin tomorrow. For now, though, it was just another sensation pushing him higher and higher.
Jim wrapped his hand around Mat’s cock as he pushed in. Mat keened, low in his throat, and threw his head back. He hardly even noticed as it smacked against the wall.
The rhythm was brutal, too hard and too fast and indescribably perfect. He tried to match it, but it was all he could to cling to Jim and press messy kisses along his jaw.
Jim sucked the same spot below the corner his jaw again, and Mat felt his whole body tense. Heat and desire coiled in his belly, and oh he was right there.
“Are you ready, boy?” Jim panted, the words sliding along sweat and saliva slick skin.
He couldn’t silence the incoherent noises of need and want and please long enough to force the word ‘Yes’ that was stuck in his throat. Instead he nodded, fingers twisting tighter in the fabric of Jim’s shirt.
Jim nipped at the spot one last time. “Come for me,” he said, voice dark and demanding compliance.
Mat whimpered, and it was a small and broken sound, as the tension in his body spiralled tighter and tighter, before finally shattering in to tiny little pieces.
He was limp and pliant against Jim but for his restlessly shifting hips as Jim gave his final stuttering thrust before coming with a small sigh.
Unprompted: [RPF] Untitled, Mat/Jim, Dom!Jim verse, NC 17 - 3/4
“I remember it well,” Jim said with a laugh, though an undercurrent of caution weighed it down.
“Would drunken make up sex be a suitable alternative?”
Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then dragged Mat down a little alleyway and slammed him against the wall.
It was filthy, but Mat could not make himself care about that with Jim pressed against him, sucking kisses onto Mat’s neck.
Mat’s fingers scrabbled against the uneven brickwork, trying to find purchase, before he gave up and just fisted his hands in Jim’s jacket.
He could feel the curve of Jim’s mouth as it pressed against his jugular, his pulse picking up speed. Mat gasped at the sting of teeth, closing on the patch of skin just below the corner of his jaw, possessive and hungry. The ritual of it, the power, burned along Mat’s nerves; he gasped, the sound tinged with a whimper. He had no resistance to offer, and no desire to do anything but surrender.
The bite was too soft to hurt, there was just enough pressure for Jim to assert his claim and mark the place for later.
Something tangled and heavy crawled from his heart and lodged itself in the back of his throat.
Jim’s was working the buttons of his shirt, and Mat envied him his steady hands. He made a half-hearted effort to return the favour, but found his fingers far too clumsy.
Jim’s hands were splayed on Mat’s chest, stroking gently at the soft skin. He straightened up, and kisses Mat softly on the mouth.
That was all it takes for the thing lodged in his throat, aching and sweet, to find a voice. “Please,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”
Jim smiled against his lips, kissed him once more, and murmured, “Whatever my boy wants.”
A shiver raced down Mat’s spine, and he instinctively spreads his legs a little wider.
Jim unbuckled Mat’s belt and undid his trousers. His fingers skittered along the waistband of Mat’s boxers, and he can’t help but shift his hips. Jim slid his boxers down to just past his hips. The thing in his throat made inarticulate, pleading noises, as Jim slicked up his fingers and pressed slowly inside Mat.
For what should have been a quick fuck in a filthy alley, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time preparing Mat, stretching him and stroking him, and all Mat could do was whimper and beg and arch his back hoping for more.
Time had stretched and distorted around them, because an eternity had passed by the time Jim finally worked his own trousers down and hitched Mat up so he could wrap his legs around Jim’s waist.
He braced himself against the bricks, knowing that there would bruises and broken skin tomorrow. For now, though, it was just another sensation pushing him higher and higher.
Jim wrapped his hand around Mat’s cock as he pushed in. Mat keened, low in his throat, and threw his head back. He hardly even noticed as it smacked against the wall.
The rhythm was brutal, too hard and too fast and indescribably perfect. He tried to match it, but it was all he could to cling to Jim and press messy kisses along his jaw.
Jim sucked the same spot below the corner his jaw again, and Mat felt his whole body tense. Heat and desire coiled in his belly, and oh he was right there.
“Are you ready, boy?” Jim panted, the words sliding along sweat and saliva slick skin.
He couldn’t silence the incoherent noises of need and want and please long enough to force the word ‘Yes’ that was stuck in his throat. Instead he nodded, fingers twisting tighter in the fabric of Jim’s shirt.
Jim nipped at the spot one last time. “Come for me,” he said, voice dark and demanding compliance.
Mat whimpered, and it was a small and broken sound, as the tension in his body spiralled tighter and tighter, before finally shattering in to tiny little pieces.
He was limp and pliant against Jim but for his restlessly shifting hips as Jim gave his final stuttering thrust before coming with a small sigh.