(no subject)
Title: Press
Fandom: Green Day
Rating: Adult. NC-17, I guess you'd say. Slight BDSM overtones, but fairly vanilla in fact.
Summary: So fucking pointless. I wrote this because I am annoyed at myself for not being able to write smut lately.
Notes: Yeah, I still can't write smut apparently.
It takes him by surprise when he's slammed against the wall, two steps into the doorway and already his mouth is being attacked. It's always taken him by surprise, the way Billie Joe can overpower him on those rare times that he tries. So much strength - and not only physical - packed into that short, sinewy form. Even after all this time it surprises him so much that, when it is exhibited, he has to take a moment to catch up from the spin it sent him into.
But of course he doesn't have time to notice that, right now. There are much more pressing matters on his mind. Like Billie Joe pressing against him, hands twisting in his hair as much as they can, the way the shorter man tilts his head to the side and slackens his jaw so that his tongue is free to explore that territory. It does so, greedily, lapping over the top of Billie's teeth and the ridges on the roof of his mouth, as his arms catch onto everything that's going on. He drops the shopping bag full of...what was it again? Not important, that's what. He lets it drop, hearing it clang against the thin hotel carpet, not even worrying for a second whether the purchase was breakable or not as his right arm encircles that thin waist, his left hand coming to rest on his tailbone.
Billie's mouth abruptly breaks away from his own, those full lips diverting to his neck instead, setting his head into a dizzy spin as they suck on the pulsepoint to the left of his throat. He groans deeply, that hand against Billie's tailbone drifting down to his ass and pressing, pressing the smaller form against his own as he wedges a knee between Billie's legs and grinds his thigh up into his crotch. Billie whines into his mouth, forcing himself down against the muscle harder, but he knows better than that.
He knows that even though he was strong enough to push the other man against the wall, bold enough to take the chance of kissing him first, that he'd never, ever get away with being concerned over his own pleasure primarily. At least, not without a severe punishment, and the last time 'severe punishment' was at hand he spent a week inside the tour bus, only allowed out for shows, only allowed to speak when it was into a microphone. He can handle whips, suspension, even being tied down and teased for hours and hours, but neglect is something he's never liked.
And that's why two seconds later he finds himself breaking away from that gorgeous mouth, dropping to his knees in front of the other man. His hands clasp themselves at the small of his back, on instinct, they have no purpose here. Instead it's his teeth that tug the leather of the man's belt free, his teeth that tug open the button of his pants and his teeth that close around the zipper key to yank it down. The other man gives an approving growl, his now free hands finding their way into Billie's hair, not to guide him, only to stroke through the messy black mass praisingly.
Billie flushes for a moment, beaming at the unspoken praise, before letting his hands come up for a brief second, only to tug the tight material off those thin hips, dragging it down pale thighs until it drops of its own accord to pool around the man's boots. He presses his tongue to the soft flesh, the dent just inside that sharp hipbone, flattening the muscle there and dragging it slowly upwards, only to divert and smooth back down towards his crotch. He can't tease too much, though, as much as he would like to spend the rest of the night tasting his skin, it's obvious by now that his duties lie elsewhere.
Hands snapping to their place behind his back once more, Billie Joe leans back long enough to flick his vibrant green eyes to the figure above him and flick his tongue across his lips, wetting them. Then he curls back in, snaking his tongue along the head of the man's cock before allowing his lips to close around it. He presses his head forward, slowly, back and forth and slickening the sensitive skin until he can force himself all the way to the end, nose buried in the coarse, dark curls. He swallows repeatedly, throat constricting and loosening around the first few inches of the man's erection, earning a deep moan and a hushed, breathless Good boy...
And then abruptly, he snaps his head back, nearly letting the organ fall from his mouth completely before darting forward again. Working up a harsh quick rhythm that sucks the air from his Dom's lungs just as he sucks fiercely on the man's cock. One of those hands falls to his shoulder, undoubtedly to help keep the man upright as a tremor fights its way from the base of his skull down to his toes. Billie Joe doesn't let up the pace for a second, refuses to give the man even a second to think, flicking his tongue against the tiny slit at the tip of his cock each time he pulls back before plunging forward again recklessly.
There's an open-mouthed moaning gasp that warns Billie of the impending orgasm, but he does not shy away, instead presses his lips to the base of the man's dick and swallows as much of him as possible, moaning against the flesh for the liquid he can feel pouring down the back of his throat. It's not the the taste that he's moaning for, or even the sensation, but the knowledge that he has done something to please the man who still stands - though on quavering legs - above him. Only when he slips his mouth back and is sure that he's teased every last drop of fluid out of him does he allow himself to lean away, close his mouth.
It takes a moment for the man to give into defeat and crumble to the floor alongside his pet, leaning heavily against the wall behind him and inhaling deep, steadying breaths. His arm curls around Billie's waist again, tugging him close to his chest, taking a few more minutes to compose himself before licking at his lips and trying to speak.
"That was...very presumptuous of you," he says, but he doesn't sound angry or even the slightest bit admonishing.
Billie Joe concedes with a short nod that he's right, it was presumptuous. He knows he's not allowed to initiate anything between them, not allowed to do anything except sit, and wait to be called on. But his Dom continues.
"I think I can let it go this time," he finishes, blinking his eyes open for a second before they fall closed as if leaded again, and murmuring under his breath. "Fuck..."
And the slave grins, pressing his nose to the hinge of the man's jaw and letting the barest snicker escape. He knows he's not allowed to do a lot of things, but he knows just as well that Mike has never been able to keep him completely under control.
Fandom: Green Day
Rating: Adult. NC-17, I guess you'd say. Slight BDSM overtones, but fairly vanilla in fact.
Summary: So fucking pointless. I wrote this because I am annoyed at myself for not being able to write smut lately.
Notes: Yeah, I still can't write smut apparently.
It takes him by surprise when he's slammed against the wall, two steps into the doorway and already his mouth is being attacked. It's always taken him by surprise, the way Billie Joe can overpower him on those rare times that he tries. So much strength - and not only physical - packed into that short, sinewy form. Even after all this time it surprises him so much that, when it is exhibited, he has to take a moment to catch up from the spin it sent him into.
But of course he doesn't have time to notice that, right now. There are much more pressing matters on his mind. Like Billie Joe pressing against him, hands twisting in his hair as much as they can, the way the shorter man tilts his head to the side and slackens his jaw so that his tongue is free to explore that territory. It does so, greedily, lapping over the top of Billie's teeth and the ridges on the roof of his mouth, as his arms catch onto everything that's going on. He drops the shopping bag full of...what was it again? Not important, that's what. He lets it drop, hearing it clang against the thin hotel carpet, not even worrying for a second whether the purchase was breakable or not as his right arm encircles that thin waist, his left hand coming to rest on his tailbone.
Billie's mouth abruptly breaks away from his own, those full lips diverting to his neck instead, setting his head into a dizzy spin as they suck on the pulsepoint to the left of his throat. He groans deeply, that hand against Billie's tailbone drifting down to his ass and pressing, pressing the smaller form against his own as he wedges a knee between Billie's legs and grinds his thigh up into his crotch. Billie whines into his mouth, forcing himself down against the muscle harder, but he knows better than that.
He knows that even though he was strong enough to push the other man against the wall, bold enough to take the chance of kissing him first, that he'd never, ever get away with being concerned over his own pleasure primarily. At least, not without a severe punishment, and the last time 'severe punishment' was at hand he spent a week inside the tour bus, only allowed out for shows, only allowed to speak when it was into a microphone. He can handle whips, suspension, even being tied down and teased for hours and hours, but neglect is something he's never liked.
And that's why two seconds later he finds himself breaking away from that gorgeous mouth, dropping to his knees in front of the other man. His hands clasp themselves at the small of his back, on instinct, they have no purpose here. Instead it's his teeth that tug the leather of the man's belt free, his teeth that tug open the button of his pants and his teeth that close around the zipper key to yank it down. The other man gives an approving growl, his now free hands finding their way into Billie's hair, not to guide him, only to stroke through the messy black mass praisingly.
Billie flushes for a moment, beaming at the unspoken praise, before letting his hands come up for a brief second, only to tug the tight material off those thin hips, dragging it down pale thighs until it drops of its own accord to pool around the man's boots. He presses his tongue to the soft flesh, the dent just inside that sharp hipbone, flattening the muscle there and dragging it slowly upwards, only to divert and smooth back down towards his crotch. He can't tease too much, though, as much as he would like to spend the rest of the night tasting his skin, it's obvious by now that his duties lie elsewhere.
Hands snapping to their place behind his back once more, Billie Joe leans back long enough to flick his vibrant green eyes to the figure above him and flick his tongue across his lips, wetting them. Then he curls back in, snaking his tongue along the head of the man's cock before allowing his lips to close around it. He presses his head forward, slowly, back and forth and slickening the sensitive skin until he can force himself all the way to the end, nose buried in the coarse, dark curls. He swallows repeatedly, throat constricting and loosening around the first few inches of the man's erection, earning a deep moan and a hushed, breathless Good boy...
And then abruptly, he snaps his head back, nearly letting the organ fall from his mouth completely before darting forward again. Working up a harsh quick rhythm that sucks the air from his Dom's lungs just as he sucks fiercely on the man's cock. One of those hands falls to his shoulder, undoubtedly to help keep the man upright as a tremor fights its way from the base of his skull down to his toes. Billie Joe doesn't let up the pace for a second, refuses to give the man even a second to think, flicking his tongue against the tiny slit at the tip of his cock each time he pulls back before plunging forward again recklessly.
There's an open-mouthed moaning gasp that warns Billie of the impending orgasm, but he does not shy away, instead presses his lips to the base of the man's dick and swallows as much of him as possible, moaning against the flesh for the liquid he can feel pouring down the back of his throat. It's not the the taste that he's moaning for, or even the sensation, but the knowledge that he has done something to please the man who still stands - though on quavering legs - above him. Only when he slips his mouth back and is sure that he's teased every last drop of fluid out of him does he allow himself to lean away, close his mouth.
It takes a moment for the man to give into defeat and crumble to the floor alongside his pet, leaning heavily against the wall behind him and inhaling deep, steadying breaths. His arm curls around Billie's waist again, tugging him close to his chest, taking a few more minutes to compose himself before licking at his lips and trying to speak.
"That was...very presumptuous of you," he says, but he doesn't sound angry or even the slightest bit admonishing.
Billie Joe concedes with a short nod that he's right, it was presumptuous. He knows he's not allowed to initiate anything between them, not allowed to do anything except sit, and wait to be called on. But his Dom continues.
"I think I can let it go this time," he finishes, blinking his eyes open for a second before they fall closed as if leaded again, and murmuring under his breath. "Fuck..."
And the slave grins, pressing his nose to the hinge of the man's jaw and letting the barest snicker escape. He knows he's not allowed to do a lot of things, but he knows just as well that Mike has never been able to keep him completely under control.