surrender, cook/freddie (skins), nc-17
Title: surrender
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Cook/Freddie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Breathplay
Summary: Prompt: Breathplay, starts with a fight, one of them puts their hand on the other's throat and notices how turned on they get.
A/N: For the Skins Anonymous Kink Meme.
When Freddie finally works up the nerve to lunge at him, fists out, Cook's too quick, and in seconds he's got him pressed up against the wall, his hands clutching at the collar of Freddie's shirt.
"Get off," Freddie snarls, scowling, "fucking get off me."
Cook stares at him, twisting the thin fabric of Freddie's shirt in his fist. The adrenaline's still pumping through his veins even though they've been yelling at each other for ages now. The anticipation of when Freddie would finally start actually fighting was driving him crazy.
They've been fighting a lot lately, though they're hardly even proper fights at all. Freddie just lashes out and Cook holds him back, sometimes after taking a few punches first. Before all of this blew up, he wouldn't even have considered any of it, would've assumed Freddie was too much of a pussy to ever actually hurt him, but fuck, Freddie must like Effy a lot-Cook's got the bruises to show for it.
They've been fighting too much, really. Way too much. Cook knows it's too much because now he feels that twitch, that shift in dynamic, and he recognises it, knowing he's got the upper hand now and no fucking clue what to do with it. Freddie might be willing to throw punches but the truth is, Cook doesn't want to hurt him. Doesn't have any reason to, aside from self-defence. Sometimes he leaves, just backs Freddie up against the wall and holds him there and then bolts for the door. It makes him feel pathetic but sometimes it feels like it's his only choice.
Talking it through's not an option. At least not where Cook is concerned.
"What?" Freddie snaps, "what, what are you gonna do? You gonna kiss me again?"
Cook grips Freddie's shirt tighter. They haven't talked about that, not since it happened, and Freddie can clearly sense what the mention of it's done to Cook, can tell it's some kind of weak spot, because he juts out his chin, challenging, and goes on.
"Yeah?" he jeers. "Is that what this is about? You just want to fucking-"
"Shut up," Cook says, forcing his voice to stay steady as he twists his wrist up and brings his forearm flat and hard against Freddie's throat.
Freddie breathes in sharply and Cook feels his chest expand against his own. And just like that, he's back in control-he can see something pleading in Freddie's dark eyes, and fuck, it feels good, feels good to be back on top of the situation. He doesn't want to hurt Freddie, doesn't want to suffocate him to death, he just wants him to shut the fuck up, stop talking about that stupid fucking kiss.
He presses in closer, so close he can feel Freddie's hipbones digging into him. He pushes his arm harder against Freddie's throat, feels the Adam's apple fluttering desperately against his skin. He doesn't want to hurt him, he really doesn't, there's just something about the look on his face that's making it hard to stop. He's never seen Freddie look like that before and he can't look away.
"C-Cook," Freddie chokes out, eyes wild. He thrashes out, trying to push Cook away, but Cook's too fast, grasping Freddie's wrists tightly in one hand and forcing them upwards, holding them tightly against the wall behind.
"Yeah, you gonna shut up now then?" Cook says, voice low.
He fully intends to let Freddie go once he gets some kind of confirmation, but after the desperate nod Freddie gives him, Cook freezes. It takes a second to sink in, and then he realises, fuck, Freddie's hard against him, hard as a rock, his erection digging into Cook's thigh. The look on his face is some mixture of fear and arousal and oh God, Cook still can't take his arm away.
"Cook, get off," Freddie begs.
His voice is weak and thin and he's straining against Cook's grip. Cook gently pulls his arm back from Freddie's throat, and Freddie practically chokes on the breath he takes in, sucking air gratefully into his lungs. Cook watches, holding Freddie's arms firmly above him, feeling that pressing hardness against him.
"Fuck, Cook, get off-" Freddie starts, panicked and embarrassed, his cheeks flushing as he starts to struggle.
But Cook's stronger than him, always has been, and, still keeping Freddie's arms secured against the wall with one hand, he brings his other to his best friend's throat, gently at first, teasing with his fingers, gently pushing against the skin. Freddie's body reacts immediately, his hips bucking forwards almost of their own accord, and Cook grins, laughs even, a soft, understanding chuckle. He tightens his fingers just a little bit and watches the way Freddie struggles to take a breath this time.
"Pretty kinky, Freds," he murmurs, chuckling softly.
He leans in even closer, feels like he can now, knowing Freddie's back under his control, knowing Freddie wants this. He rubs his thumb at Freddie's throat, hard, and Freddie gasps, his head jolting back and hitting the wall. Cook grins, careful, hand closing tighter around his neck as Freddie's hips jerk forwards once again. Cook's never felt anyone this hard-he can feel the thick, firm shape of Freddie's cock through the fabric of their jeans, can feel the swelling heat of it. Fucking hell.
He loosens his grip, listening to the way Freddie immediately pants, his breathing coming short and erratic. He doesn't have a chance to protest, though Cook doubts he would want to judging by the state of his cock, before Cook's fingers are closing round his throat again, squeezing, pressing, constricting. This time the reaction he gets is even better, a hundred times better. Freddie's cheeks burn and his eyes roll back, his body going first taut, then utterly limp against Cook's. Cook lets go, completely, bringing both hands down, and Freddie splutters and coughs, inhaling desperately.
When Cook's back at his neck, with both hands this time, thumbs digging into the delicate skin, Freddie doesn't fight back, even with his arms now freed. Cook can feel Freddie's throat working, feel the gasping and quivering. Freddie's thrusting against him, erection rubbing desperately at Cook's thigh as he struggles to breathe.
Cook removes one hand, holding Freddie tightly still with the other, and reaches down between them, fumbling with Freddie's belt. The clank and scrape of the metal buckle ring out against the wheezing sound of Freddie's breathing, quickening now, and Cook finds a zipper, jerks it down, and shoves his hand into Freddie's boxers. His hand closes around Freddie's thick cock and he feels it hard and slick against his fingertips as Freddie lets out a weak moan that sounds like Cook's name.
Cook moves his fist quickly, sliding slick with pre-come over Freddie's length. He squeezes tightly near the head, and copies the movement around Freddie's throat, cutting off the groan that leaves Freddie's lips and turning it into a sharp gasp. Freddie thrusts up into Cook's curled fingers desperately, and Cook holds still, watching him. His face is flushed and his fringe clings to his sweaty forehead as he clumsily bucks his hips over and over, fucking Cook's fist as his breathing becomes ragged and short. His fingers dig into Cook's back painfully.
"Jesus, Freddie," Cook murmurs, words dragged out.
He's hard too now, erection straining in his jeans, and he struggles to unzip himself as Freddie still ruts against him, pushing his cock up against Cook's stomach and rumpling his t-shirt, shamelessly needing friction. Frustrated, Cook grips Freddie's throat tighter, and he goes limp and still, his fingers now slack on Cook's back, giving Cook the chance to shove his boxers down over his aching cock. Cook glances quickly upwards, sees Freddie's eyes dark and desperate, and he loosens his hold at the same time as he takes both of their cocks in his hand together, tugging, pulling roughly.
The relief's so good that he almost doesn't hear Freddie say, "Please, Cook," breathless and quiet, "fuck. Again."
When the words register he's quick to oblige, not thinking twice as he gives Freddie what he needs, fingers roughly taking him by the throat once again, clutching tight. Freddie takes a hurried gasp of air and chokes out, "Harder," and Cook squeezes, with both hands, one at Freddie's throat and one at Freddie's cock pressed up against his own.
Freddie comes suddenly, his body shuddering violently against Cook. Cook holds him still, his wet hand wrapping around his own cock alone now, jerking frantically as he gradually loosens his grip around Freddie's neck. Freddie's panting hard, shaking, and Cook pushes up against him, comes hard against his stomach.
He slumps against him, hand caught between their bodies, between the sticky hot fabric of their t-shirts. Freddie's still catching his breath, and Cook knows he probably doesn't need a heavy body leaning into him like this but he just can't pull away. Heart pounding, he manages to bring his head back slightly, and sees bruises already blossoming around Freddie's neck in a harsh dark shade of red.
"Fuck," says Freddie, and his voice is croaky and low.
Cook pulls back further, looks his best friend in the eye. There's something dark and needy there, still, in his dazed expression, and instantly he kisses him, lips pressing against Freddie's still-open mouth, tongue slipping in easily. He still half-expects to be pushed away but Freddie relaxes fully against him as their tongues meet.
Cook tells himself the kiss is just supposed to be reassurance, but distantly, he thinks that maybe he's always told himself that everything they do is something other than what it really is.
That thought's scary, somehow, and he stops abruptly, pulling back. His eyes dart to the door and he thinks of leaving, getting the fuck out of here and away from this. Going to fuck Effy, Pandora, anyone.
Freddie sees where he's looking and his hands clutch Cook's back tightly.
"Don't," he says, simply, his voice still hoarse.
And Cook doesn't.
End.
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Cook/Freddie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Breathplay
Summary: Prompt: Breathplay, starts with a fight, one of them puts their hand on the other's throat and notices how turned on they get.
A/N: For the Skins Anonymous Kink Meme.
When Freddie finally works up the nerve to lunge at him, fists out, Cook's too quick, and in seconds he's got him pressed up against the wall, his hands clutching at the collar of Freddie's shirt.
"Get off," Freddie snarls, scowling, "fucking get off me."
Cook stares at him, twisting the thin fabric of Freddie's shirt in his fist. The adrenaline's still pumping through his veins even though they've been yelling at each other for ages now. The anticipation of when Freddie would finally start actually fighting was driving him crazy.
They've been fighting a lot lately, though they're hardly even proper fights at all. Freddie just lashes out and Cook holds him back, sometimes after taking a few punches first. Before all of this blew up, he wouldn't even have considered any of it, would've assumed Freddie was too much of a pussy to ever actually hurt him, but fuck, Freddie must like Effy a lot-Cook's got the bruises to show for it.
They've been fighting too much, really. Way too much. Cook knows it's too much because now he feels that twitch, that shift in dynamic, and he recognises it, knowing he's got the upper hand now and no fucking clue what to do with it. Freddie might be willing to throw punches but the truth is, Cook doesn't want to hurt him. Doesn't have any reason to, aside from self-defence. Sometimes he leaves, just backs Freddie up against the wall and holds him there and then bolts for the door. It makes him feel pathetic but sometimes it feels like it's his only choice.
Talking it through's not an option. At least not where Cook is concerned.
"What?" Freddie snaps, "what, what are you gonna do? You gonna kiss me again?"
Cook grips Freddie's shirt tighter. They haven't talked about that, not since it happened, and Freddie can clearly sense what the mention of it's done to Cook, can tell it's some kind of weak spot, because he juts out his chin, challenging, and goes on.
"Yeah?" he jeers. "Is that what this is about? You just want to fucking-"
"Shut up," Cook says, forcing his voice to stay steady as he twists his wrist up and brings his forearm flat and hard against Freddie's throat.
Freddie breathes in sharply and Cook feels his chest expand against his own. And just like that, he's back in control-he can see something pleading in Freddie's dark eyes, and fuck, it feels good, feels good to be back on top of the situation. He doesn't want to hurt Freddie, doesn't want to suffocate him to death, he just wants him to shut the fuck up, stop talking about that stupid fucking kiss.
He presses in closer, so close he can feel Freddie's hipbones digging into him. He pushes his arm harder against Freddie's throat, feels the Adam's apple fluttering desperately against his skin. He doesn't want to hurt him, he really doesn't, there's just something about the look on his face that's making it hard to stop. He's never seen Freddie look like that before and he can't look away.
"C-Cook," Freddie chokes out, eyes wild. He thrashes out, trying to push Cook away, but Cook's too fast, grasping Freddie's wrists tightly in one hand and forcing them upwards, holding them tightly against the wall behind.
"Yeah, you gonna shut up now then?" Cook says, voice low.
He fully intends to let Freddie go once he gets some kind of confirmation, but after the desperate nod Freddie gives him, Cook freezes. It takes a second to sink in, and then he realises, fuck, Freddie's hard against him, hard as a rock, his erection digging into Cook's thigh. The look on his face is some mixture of fear and arousal and oh God, Cook still can't take his arm away.
"Cook, get off," Freddie begs.
His voice is weak and thin and he's straining against Cook's grip. Cook gently pulls his arm back from Freddie's throat, and Freddie practically chokes on the breath he takes in, sucking air gratefully into his lungs. Cook watches, holding Freddie's arms firmly above him, feeling that pressing hardness against him.
"Fuck, Cook, get off-" Freddie starts, panicked and embarrassed, his cheeks flushing as he starts to struggle.
But Cook's stronger than him, always has been, and, still keeping Freddie's arms secured against the wall with one hand, he brings his other to his best friend's throat, gently at first, teasing with his fingers, gently pushing against the skin. Freddie's body reacts immediately, his hips bucking forwards almost of their own accord, and Cook grins, laughs even, a soft, understanding chuckle. He tightens his fingers just a little bit and watches the way Freddie struggles to take a breath this time.
"Pretty kinky, Freds," he murmurs, chuckling softly.
He leans in even closer, feels like he can now, knowing Freddie's back under his control, knowing Freddie wants this. He rubs his thumb at Freddie's throat, hard, and Freddie gasps, his head jolting back and hitting the wall. Cook grins, careful, hand closing tighter around his neck as Freddie's hips jerk forwards once again. Cook's never felt anyone this hard-he can feel the thick, firm shape of Freddie's cock through the fabric of their jeans, can feel the swelling heat of it. Fucking hell.
He loosens his grip, listening to the way Freddie immediately pants, his breathing coming short and erratic. He doesn't have a chance to protest, though Cook doubts he would want to judging by the state of his cock, before Cook's fingers are closing round his throat again, squeezing, pressing, constricting. This time the reaction he gets is even better, a hundred times better. Freddie's cheeks burn and his eyes roll back, his body going first taut, then utterly limp against Cook's. Cook lets go, completely, bringing both hands down, and Freddie splutters and coughs, inhaling desperately.
When Cook's back at his neck, with both hands this time, thumbs digging into the delicate skin, Freddie doesn't fight back, even with his arms now freed. Cook can feel Freddie's throat working, feel the gasping and quivering. Freddie's thrusting against him, erection rubbing desperately at Cook's thigh as he struggles to breathe.
Cook removes one hand, holding Freddie tightly still with the other, and reaches down between them, fumbling with Freddie's belt. The clank and scrape of the metal buckle ring out against the wheezing sound of Freddie's breathing, quickening now, and Cook finds a zipper, jerks it down, and shoves his hand into Freddie's boxers. His hand closes around Freddie's thick cock and he feels it hard and slick against his fingertips as Freddie lets out a weak moan that sounds like Cook's name.
Cook moves his fist quickly, sliding slick with pre-come over Freddie's length. He squeezes tightly near the head, and copies the movement around Freddie's throat, cutting off the groan that leaves Freddie's lips and turning it into a sharp gasp. Freddie thrusts up into Cook's curled fingers desperately, and Cook holds still, watching him. His face is flushed and his fringe clings to his sweaty forehead as he clumsily bucks his hips over and over, fucking Cook's fist as his breathing becomes ragged and short. His fingers dig into Cook's back painfully.
"Jesus, Freddie," Cook murmurs, words dragged out.
He's hard too now, erection straining in his jeans, and he struggles to unzip himself as Freddie still ruts against him, pushing his cock up against Cook's stomach and rumpling his t-shirt, shamelessly needing friction. Frustrated, Cook grips Freddie's throat tighter, and he goes limp and still, his fingers now slack on Cook's back, giving Cook the chance to shove his boxers down over his aching cock. Cook glances quickly upwards, sees Freddie's eyes dark and desperate, and he loosens his hold at the same time as he takes both of their cocks in his hand together, tugging, pulling roughly.
The relief's so good that he almost doesn't hear Freddie say, "Please, Cook," breathless and quiet, "fuck. Again."
When the words register he's quick to oblige, not thinking twice as he gives Freddie what he needs, fingers roughly taking him by the throat once again, clutching tight. Freddie takes a hurried gasp of air and chokes out, "Harder," and Cook squeezes, with both hands, one at Freddie's throat and one at Freddie's cock pressed up against his own.
Freddie comes suddenly, his body shuddering violently against Cook. Cook holds him still, his wet hand wrapping around his own cock alone now, jerking frantically as he gradually loosens his grip around Freddie's neck. Freddie's panting hard, shaking, and Cook pushes up against him, comes hard against his stomach.
He slumps against him, hand caught between their bodies, between the sticky hot fabric of their t-shirts. Freddie's still catching his breath, and Cook knows he probably doesn't need a heavy body leaning into him like this but he just can't pull away. Heart pounding, he manages to bring his head back slightly, and sees bruises already blossoming around Freddie's neck in a harsh dark shade of red.
"Fuck," says Freddie, and his voice is croaky and low.
Cook pulls back further, looks his best friend in the eye. There's something dark and needy there, still, in his dazed expression, and instantly he kisses him, lips pressing against Freddie's still-open mouth, tongue slipping in easily. He still half-expects to be pushed away but Freddie relaxes fully against him as their tongues meet.
Cook tells himself the kiss is just supposed to be reassurance, but distantly, he thinks that maybe he's always told himself that everything they do is something other than what it really is.
That thought's scary, somehow, and he stops abruptly, pulling back. His eyes dart to the door and he thinks of leaving, getting the fuck out of here and away from this. Going to fuck Effy, Pandora, anyone.
Freddie sees where he's looking and his hands clutch Cook's back tightly.
"Don't," he says, simply, his voice still hoarse.
And Cook doesn't.
End.