[ gator puts more weight onto quentin's throat, eyes searching his. back and forth, he idles, jaw clenching and twitching before he believes him. quentin's blue by the end of it, pretty and delicate, his cheek swelling. gator laughs, low, snatching his hand away. he grabs the lubricant from the nightstand, reaching over quentin's body.
no condoms, and if he comes down with a little something? then quentin's to blame. to beat. to fuck raw. that's all gator cares about; coming deep and hard, over and over, using quentin as his personal cocksleeve. he imagines several positions, all flashing behind his dangerous eyes.
warming the lubricant between his palms, he applies a generous amount to his cock, flushed and rigid. two fingers tap at quentin's hole. ]
That's it, huh? You can't deny that, now can you?
[ gator slides the very tips of his fingers inside of quentin, pumping shallow. he's tight, the lubricant slippery. ]
[ He's on the brink of consciousness when Gator finally lets go. It take a few seconds to cough his airway open again, and the oxygen hits his brain like a shot. A horrible rush, his body waking up from his elbows to his knees. Gator dips fingers inside him before he even realizes what's happening or what's being said.
[ And Quentin bucks for it.
[ The shocked noise in his throat is ragged, hole wound tight around Gator's fingers. It's not--a full orgasm, he's not coming just from--its the air getting back to him so suddenly. He's just high of getting oxygen back, and it's a jerk in his balls, a weak leak of cum that satisfies little and suggests more than he'd like. ]
Gator. [ Ekes out of him despite his best intentions. Chest heaves, elbows pinch together, face buries against his upper arm. His hips teeter and hitch back towards Gator's palm, looking for me. ] Hold--on, hold on.
Look at you, now, squirtin’ before we even start. What a fuckin’ slut.
[ he isn’t stupid, he knows that erotic asphyxiation is real - he’s done it, seen it, so he knows it’s the rush of endorphins. the spread of blood. the oxygen in the lungs. the pathetic spurt of come doesn’t impress gator, though the tight throb of quentin’s balls turns him on. he fingers quentin still, working his hole, now down to the knuckle.
he’s told to wait, quentin folding in on himself, but gator has no time for that. he grabs quentin’s arm and flings it off of his face. he then takes his chin with one lube-streaked hand, forcing eye contact. he smiles, wolfish, fingertips tapping against his quentin’s prostate. ]
You think I’m gonna feel sorry for you? Take it fuckin’ easy?
[ he laughs, low and gravel-ridden, spreading and scissoring his fingers as he begins to pound quentin with them without mercy. ]
It's a lot. [ He not a baby, he doesn't need to take forever. It's just been a while since he took it, and he's catching his breath, and he just needs to say something about the swell of sensation all over.
[ He means to explain something like that, but Gator keeps knocking the words loose with his fingers. A sharp inhale stinks like silicone, his cheek tacky with drying lube off Gator's hand. He tries to explain it all. He just ends up with: ]
Gimme another. [ His nose scrunches, teeth pinch around the knuckle of Gator's thumb when thick fingers drive hard against his prostate again. His voice catches and fizzles in his throat. ] Fuck! Another, gimme a little more, that's-- [ Good? Is it really good? ] --it, that's it, that's it.
[ gator hooks his fingers downward, rough, pounding quentin's prostate. he can feel the hard nub inside, fingertips tapping and rubbing. his cock works against quentin's as he thrusts on his abdomen, precome slick at the head. gator wants to fuck, and he wants to fuck now. adding another finger would just rip and tear what gator wants to do himself. against quentin's wishes, gator snatches his fingers out and readies his cock against his hole. with a grunt, he pushes inside slow, all the way down to the hips, their balls rubbing as he begins to thrust. ]
Fuck you.
[ he spits on quentin again, right on his face, under his chin. he ignores quentin's cock for the time being, knowing that the frustration must be too much. he doesn't give a good goddamn if quentin actually comes again or not, his thighs spreading as he digs into quentin deeper, humping his ass. ]
Oh, god. [ It hurts. It's hot and bright, and Quentin's throat and thighs both shudder as he tries--works to make it easier. His mouth hangs open, eyes open but too full of tears to see Gator glowering down at him. His hands fist in the cuffs, back arches as he bears down. ] God, jesuschrist, Gator.
[ The name is exhausted, pleading--cursing. The wad of spit hitting his chin isn't just excruciating; it's insulting. His expression twists, tears blinking out of his eyes. ]
Fuck you. [ He echoes, venomous, and scrapes the saliva up from below his lip. Lifts his head to spit it back as Gator drags, burning, out of him. ] In a rush, huh? Like a fucking--kid.
[ quentin spits back and gator can feel his insides jump with rage. he backhands quentin not once, but twice, hips still working as he grabs him by the jaw. they look into each other's eyes, and gator stares at him, dangerous. his cock is too deep, it's too hard, it's too fast and big and there's pain - but gator likes it that way. quentin's almost too tight, his hole being ripped as gator pounds into him deep. he grunts, nostrils flaring as he smells sex and lube, thumb digging into quentin's cheek. ]
You're too fuckin' tight. I'm gonna get what the fuck I want whether you fuckin' like it or not. Open - ngh. Up.
[ gator pushes his hips all the way against quentin's ass, arms scooping his legs and lifting them up. he parts his thighs, watching his cock twitch. he knows it hurts, poor thing, but until gator comes thick and deep inside - there's no mercy. no selfless pleasure. only hurt, more hurt, and the deepest violation. ]
[ Let it be said that he does his best. Gator pops his lip open on the second slap, and the blood catches in his throat when fingers screw into his cheeks, cutting them against his teeth. He suppresses the instinct to cough, because if he starts coughing, he won't be able to breathe, and he has to breathe or he's going to fucking pass out.
[ Because it hurts like a motherfucker. His voice seizes and shatters under the pressure of his sucking inhale-exhales. He's had worse. Not--not worse sex, to be clear. Even the times he hasn't wanted it, it's been fast, impersonal, easily forgotten with a little blow and effort. But he's had worse hurt, evidenced by the scars over his shoulder that glow white against the panicked, pained flush lit up across his chest.
[ So he sucks a sob back down, grinds it into a growl. Tries for a growl anyway, but it's just a ragged, fraying moan. Gator handles him higher, carves into him deeper, demands more out of him. Look at me. None of Quentin's bad nights ever wanted him torn down like this. He could just shut down until he was safe. Gator won't let him. Wants him here, god knows why, god knows how anyone could be that vindictive, but Gator wants him here. ]
Baby. [ Sputtered, dumbfounded, thighs stretched too tight to keep from shaking, unwanted arousal a painful knot in his balls, tears or sweat smearing the blood on his lip. Quentin looks at him. ] Please. Pl-ease, just. Please, just--
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no condoms, and if he comes down with a little something? then quentin's to blame. to beat. to fuck raw. that's all gator cares about; coming deep and hard, over and over, using quentin as his personal cocksleeve. he imagines several positions, all flashing behind his dangerous eyes.
warming the lubricant between his palms, he applies a generous amount to his cock, flushed and rigid. two fingers tap at quentin's hole. ]
That's it, huh? You can't deny that, now can you?
[ gator slides the very tips of his fingers inside of quentin, pumping shallow. he's tight, the lubricant slippery. ]
no subject
[ And Quentin bucks for it.
[ The shocked noise in his throat is ragged, hole wound tight around Gator's fingers. It's not--a full orgasm, he's not coming just from--its the air getting back to him so suddenly. He's just high of getting oxygen back, and it's a jerk in his balls, a weak leak of cum that satisfies little and suggests more than he'd like. ]
Gator. [ Ekes out of him despite his best intentions. Chest heaves, elbows pinch together, face buries against his upper arm. His hips teeter and hitch back towards Gator's palm, looking for me. ] Hold--on, hold on.
no subject
[ he isn’t stupid, he knows that erotic asphyxiation is real - he’s done it, seen it, so he knows it’s the rush of endorphins. the spread of blood. the oxygen in the lungs. the pathetic spurt of come doesn’t impress gator, though the tight throb of quentin’s balls turns him on. he fingers quentin still, working his hole, now down to the knuckle.
he’s told to wait, quentin folding in on himself, but gator has no time for that. he grabs quentin’s arm and flings it off of his face. he then takes his chin with one lube-streaked hand, forcing eye contact. he smiles, wolfish, fingertips tapping against his quentin’s prostate. ]
You think I’m gonna feel sorry for you? Take it fuckin’ easy?
[ he laughs, low and gravel-ridden, spreading and scissoring his fingers as he begins to pound quentin with them without mercy. ]
no subject
[ He means to explain something like that, but Gator keeps knocking the words loose with his fingers. A sharp inhale stinks like silicone, his cheek tacky with drying lube off Gator's hand. He tries to explain it all. He just ends up with: ]
Gimme another. [ His nose scrunches, teeth pinch around the knuckle of Gator's thumb when thick fingers drive hard against his prostate again. His voice catches and fizzles in his throat. ] Fuck! Another, gimme a little more, that's-- [ Good? Is it really good? ] --it, that's it, that's it.
no subject
[ gator hooks his fingers downward, rough, pounding quentin's prostate. he can feel the hard nub inside, fingertips tapping and rubbing. his cock works against quentin's as he thrusts on his abdomen, precome slick at the head. gator wants to fuck, and he wants to fuck now. adding another finger would just rip and tear what gator wants to do himself. against quentin's wishes, gator snatches his fingers out and readies his cock against his hole. with a grunt, he pushes inside slow, all the way down to the hips, their balls rubbing as he begins to thrust. ]
Fuck you.
[ he spits on quentin again, right on his face, under his chin. he ignores quentin's cock for the time being, knowing that the frustration must be too much. he doesn't give a good goddamn if quentin actually comes again or not, his thighs spreading as he digs into quentin deeper, humping his ass. ]
Goddamn, that's it - take it deep.
no subject
[ The name is exhausted, pleading--cursing. The wad of spit hitting his chin isn't just excruciating; it's insulting. His expression twists, tears blinking out of his eyes. ]
Fuck you. [ He echoes, venomous, and scrapes the saliva up from below his lip. Lifts his head to spit it back as Gator drags, burning, out of him. ] In a rush, huh? Like a fucking--kid.
no subject
You're too fuckin' tight. I'm gonna get what the fuck I want whether you fuckin' like it or not. Open - ngh. Up.
[ gator pushes his hips all the way against quentin's ass, arms scooping his legs and lifting them up. he parts his thighs, watching his cock twitch. he knows it hurts, poor thing, but until gator comes thick and deep inside - there's no mercy. no selfless pleasure. only hurt, more hurt, and the deepest violation. ]
That's it, baby. Look at me.
no subject
[ Because it hurts like a motherfucker. His voice seizes and shatters under the pressure of his sucking inhale-exhales. He's had worse. Not--not worse sex, to be clear. Even the times he hasn't wanted it, it's been fast, impersonal, easily forgotten with a little blow and effort. But he's had worse hurt, evidenced by the scars over his shoulder that glow white against the panicked, pained flush lit up across his chest.
[ So he sucks a sob back down, grinds it into a growl. Tries for a growl anyway, but it's just a ragged, fraying moan. Gator handles him higher, carves into him deeper, demands more out of him. Look at me. None of Quentin's bad nights ever wanted him torn down like this. He could just shut down until he was safe. Gator won't let him. Wants him here, god knows why, god knows how anyone could be that vindictive, but Gator wants him here. ]
Baby. [ Sputtered, dumbfounded, thighs stretched too tight to keep from shaking, unwanted arousal a painful knot in his balls, tears or sweat smearing the blood on his lip. Quentin looks at him. ] Please. Pl-ease, just. Please, just--