That Magic Eight Ball
Its a call that no-one should ever get, especially when it's the middle of the night, you're already comfortable and plan on not moving until the minute before you really have to get into the shower for another long day of being chairman at ENCOM. Even as Alan blinks, his already barely-there sight straining against the bright screen to read the caller of the person on the other end. It's a name he'll always answer for, someone that no matter what time, where he is or what his doing, he'll always drop everything for Sam Flynn. When he answers with a hoarse voice, the moan from the other end is enough to wake him.
If Sam's arse has rung him again during another night of his sexual desires, there's going to be a very long torturous talk for the young man.
When Alan's about to hang up, the younger man answers, breathy, hot and embarrassed... and panicky. That's never a good sign. "Sam, calm down. Sam. Sam, just take a deep breath and tell me what's going on?"
Sam does take a breath, it's shaky and ends with a light moan again and the sound of it has Alan shifting in his bed. "Alan... c-can you... come over, I need help... please."
It may be some time since Alan's heard begging, but he swears that's what's dripping in Sam's tone. "Of course, I'll come right over." He agrees, they both know he doesn't need any more convincing than a simple phone call. And with the way Sam was speaking, the sound of his tone, he had no other choice.
He got dressed fast, finding a pair of worn-out jeans, a shirt and just a jacket before he sped walk towards his car and raced down the highway to get to Sam's grungy warehouse apartment. He may have been speeding, but it was necessary when his best friend's son needed him.
Alan parked the car once he arrived on the banks of the river, locking it with the sensor button as he walked towards the door. He fiddled around with the keys in his palm, searching through the metal for Sam's, and once he has it, the door was pushed open.
He didn't have time to blink or breathe or even close the door. Sam Flynn... was on top of his pool table... arse in the air… naked! Alan's mouth was suddenly dry and he seemed to be frozen on the spot looking at this image… this wondrous, most glorious image... Jeans were definitely not a good idea for this little visit. "Sa- Sam." He coughed.
"Alan... I... It hurts..." Sam murmured, his face buried into the green fabric of the table. And what is making the young Flynn hurt is the very obvious billiard ball clenched in his entrance, stretching him wide.
"Ah... Um, just hold still." Alan instructed, walking towards the table after closing the door and locking it again. His inner monologue was going crazy with questions like 'Could I take advantage of this situation? No of course not, what could I say if Sam struggles? Whoops, I slipped half a dozen times until I came?' But that’s not the only things that are running through his mind. He also feels guilty at that thought, shame for even thinking of such things of the man he watched grow up. "How... how did this happen?"
When he rounded the front of the table to face Sam or at least get a look at his features he could see the young man flinch at his question.
"Alan..."
Oh, god, it's a groan, why, why does he always get stuck in these situations. "If you tell me... how this happened, I could… I could help." Alan's breath is speeding on him with meaning to. He has to swallow the arousal down before he does something stupid because he knows; this particular situation is going to make him hold back all that self-control his learnt over the years of being a surrogate father.
"I... I was horny... and... none of my usual toys were working, so... I thought the... the billiard ball would work and it kind of... it kind of got stuck..." Sam explained with gasping breaths.
"How did it get stuck?" Alan asked, voice wavering. His surprised at himself that his eyes haven't looked to the straining hardness between Sam's legs.
"I... I didn't use lube--I did, but that was with the other toys, I thought I would still be able to... but it hurt so much and I clenched and now..." Sam's voice trailed off as he whimpered in pain/pleasure. "Please... please help, Alan, it's too much..."
And there's that begging sound again that has Alan wanting to rub himself against the edge of the billiard table just to relief some of the pressure his feeling. His hesitant, and when Sam moves, he sees the look in those blue eyes that are telling him to man-up. Literally. "Alan, don't get all... all you about it. Please, I need you..."
Alan's shaking his head, he can't help, there's a world of reasons why he can't help in this situation. He could be taking advantage; he could be seen as some creep who formed his best friend's son into a brilliant sex doll just for him. Sam's grabbed his hand, forcing the older man to look at him. "You won't." The Flynn’s bloodline are all psychic. "It's not like that, please, Alan... do it..."
"Okay... What do you need me to do?" Alan asked, swallowing hard, this isn't exactly the way his fantasies started, but his sure hoping it'll end the same.
"Lubricant, on the coffee table, you'll need to... use it on me."
The older man nods his head, walking to the coffee table and grabbing the bottle that was perched there. He has to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath before walking back and waiting his next instruction.
"Get on the table, behind me... open the cap and rub it along my..." Sam stops, he seems to be holding back a groan at the thought. So Alan makes an affirmative sound, going to his position and lucky his tall, he doesn't have to stretch all that much to get onto the pool table. He shifted on his knees, eyes glancing down to the billiard ball and from his close proximity he could make out the 8 of the ball. Of course Sam used the eight ball, he shouldn't be surprised. The heat from Sam's body could be felt by the small distance he had put between them, and the jacket was beginning to make him over heated. He shrugged it off, letting in fall to the ground beside Sam's clothes.
He gulped down every thought that made him think that he was still taking advantage of the younger man and popped the cap of the bottle in his hands. As he smeared his hand with the liquid, his hands shook and Sam must be able to tell, there's no impatience coming from the young man. He sucks in another breath, placing the bottle beside him and moves forward.
The first touch has Sam mewling, and beneath his touch he feels the clenched ring of muscle begin to relax. Alan's breath gets caught in his throat as he traces around the eight ball inside the young man's entrance. Delicate fingers mapping the ring that he wants to know.
He wants to know what makes Sam gasp, groan, whimper and keen. He wants to know what makes Sam writhe and beg with absolute need. His wanted to know ever since Sam's twenty-first birthday. The CalTech drop out wore a look of confidence and spoke with a world of experience and in all honesty, Alan couldn't believe how grown up his surrogate son became. He'd say it was hot if he were thirty years younger.
The eight ball was finally giving out, and with his non-slick fingers, he pulled it out. Sam hissed, his back arching downwards, sticking his arse in the air more. Alan didn’t pull his fingers away from the other man's hole, teasing slowly. It made Sam force himself back into the touch and before he could pull away, apologise for his silly teasing and go home to jerk off with guilt ridden emotions, Sam's grabbed his hand, pausing his motions.
"Alan... please... fuck me..."
"Sam, I--"
"--I want it, I've always wanted it..."
The look on Sam's face makes the ‘no’ die on his tongue before he can voice it. He frowns because he knows his best friend's son isn't going to take no for an answer. Since he was ten, no was never an answer when it was something he wanted. Alan leaned forward, falling beside Sam, with only a hand on the edge of the billiard table to hold him from falling over the edge. He doesn't wait to see what Sam's reaction is to him being this close, he just pushes forward to have his lips pressed demandingly against the young man's. And it's just as intoxicating as he thought it would be.
As he kisses Sam, his free hand is fumbling for the bottle again at the same time as one of Sam's hands are fumbling frantically with his belt buckle. Sam must realise how hard he is because there's a small groan then his deliberately moving slow. Letting the slide of his belt come out from each holster and fall carelessly to the ground. When that same hand pops the button, slides the zip down and works its way into Alan's boxers, the older man knows his screwed.
"Alan, now." Sam begs and Alan's pulling away, shifting back to his previous position. He shimmies out of his jeans and boxers and slicks himself up before lining himself up and sliding in with ease.
It doesn't matter how stretched the young man is around him, it still hits him, pleasure overriding. His surprised by Sam's groan and the first movement of hips to encourage him to move. So he starts, slow and long, each thrust in going deeper, picking up speed and hitting Sam's prostate with new found strength. He gets lost somehow, between their groans and the way Sam says his name. The way they writhe against each other, moving like they were meant to do this together and as cliché as it sounds, he thinks that last statement is true. Alan moves between Sam legs, shifting to take the young man in hand while he aims straight for his prostate. Stroking and thrusting in time until he feels Sam's body tense and shudder.
As wetness covers his hand, he lets his own orgasm take him, riding each wave until he can't hold himself up and he collapses forward. They’re both panting, riding their individual bliss. Alan shifts, falling to his back while Sam stays flat on his stomach, slowly sneaking on top of the older man.
"Please tell me that wasn't on purpose to get me here?" Alan asks after his breath has come back to him and his heart has settled back into a steady rhythm.
Sam snorts, rolling on top of the older man so he can look into those dark, familiar eyes. "Would it help that I had you in mind when I planned on using the eight ball?"
Alan paused for a moment before he nodded, what else was he meant to do? "Yeah, sure, as long as you don't plan on using any more balls that aren't mine."
Sam's mouth drops at that.
If Sam's arse has rung him again during another night of his sexual desires, there's going to be a very long torturous talk for the young man.
When Alan's about to hang up, the younger man answers, breathy, hot and embarrassed... and panicky. That's never a good sign. "Sam, calm down. Sam. Sam, just take a deep breath and tell me what's going on?"
Sam does take a breath, it's shaky and ends with a light moan again and the sound of it has Alan shifting in his bed. "Alan... c-can you... come over, I need help... please."
It may be some time since Alan's heard begging, but he swears that's what's dripping in Sam's tone. "Of course, I'll come right over." He agrees, they both know he doesn't need any more convincing than a simple phone call. And with the way Sam was speaking, the sound of his tone, he had no other choice.
He got dressed fast, finding a pair of worn-out jeans, a shirt and just a jacket before he sped walk towards his car and raced down the highway to get to Sam's grungy warehouse apartment. He may have been speeding, but it was necessary when his best friend's son needed him.
Alan parked the car once he arrived on the banks of the river, locking it with the sensor button as he walked towards the door. He fiddled around with the keys in his palm, searching through the metal for Sam's, and once he has it, the door was pushed open.
He didn't have time to blink or breathe or even close the door. Sam Flynn... was on top of his pool table... arse in the air… naked! Alan's mouth was suddenly dry and he seemed to be frozen on the spot looking at this image… this wondrous, most glorious image... Jeans were definitely not a good idea for this little visit. "Sa- Sam." He coughed.
"Alan... I... It hurts..." Sam murmured, his face buried into the green fabric of the table. And what is making the young Flynn hurt is the very obvious billiard ball clenched in his entrance, stretching him wide.
"Ah... Um, just hold still." Alan instructed, walking towards the table after closing the door and locking it again. His inner monologue was going crazy with questions like 'Could I take advantage of this situation? No of course not, what could I say if Sam struggles? Whoops, I slipped half a dozen times until I came?' But that’s not the only things that are running through his mind. He also feels guilty at that thought, shame for even thinking of such things of the man he watched grow up. "How... how did this happen?"
When he rounded the front of the table to face Sam or at least get a look at his features he could see the young man flinch at his question.
"Alan..."
Oh, god, it's a groan, why, why does he always get stuck in these situations. "If you tell me... how this happened, I could… I could help." Alan's breath is speeding on him with meaning to. He has to swallow the arousal down before he does something stupid because he knows; this particular situation is going to make him hold back all that self-control his learnt over the years of being a surrogate father.
"I... I was horny... and... none of my usual toys were working, so... I thought the... the billiard ball would work and it kind of... it kind of got stuck..." Sam explained with gasping breaths.
"How did it get stuck?" Alan asked, voice wavering. His surprised at himself that his eyes haven't looked to the straining hardness between Sam's legs.
"I... I didn't use lube--I did, but that was with the other toys, I thought I would still be able to... but it hurt so much and I clenched and now..." Sam's voice trailed off as he whimpered in pain/pleasure. "Please... please help, Alan, it's too much..."
And there's that begging sound again that has Alan wanting to rub himself against the edge of the billiard table just to relief some of the pressure his feeling. His hesitant, and when Sam moves, he sees the look in those blue eyes that are telling him to man-up. Literally. "Alan, don't get all... all you about it. Please, I need you..."
Alan's shaking his head, he can't help, there's a world of reasons why he can't help in this situation. He could be taking advantage; he could be seen as some creep who formed his best friend's son into a brilliant sex doll just for him. Sam's grabbed his hand, forcing the older man to look at him. "You won't." The Flynn’s bloodline are all psychic. "It's not like that, please, Alan... do it..."
"Okay... What do you need me to do?" Alan asked, swallowing hard, this isn't exactly the way his fantasies started, but his sure hoping it'll end the same.
"Lubricant, on the coffee table, you'll need to... use it on me."
The older man nods his head, walking to the coffee table and grabbing the bottle that was perched there. He has to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath before walking back and waiting his next instruction.
"Get on the table, behind me... open the cap and rub it along my..." Sam stops, he seems to be holding back a groan at the thought. So Alan makes an affirmative sound, going to his position and lucky his tall, he doesn't have to stretch all that much to get onto the pool table. He shifted on his knees, eyes glancing down to the billiard ball and from his close proximity he could make out the 8 of the ball. Of course Sam used the eight ball, he shouldn't be surprised. The heat from Sam's body could be felt by the small distance he had put between them, and the jacket was beginning to make him over heated. He shrugged it off, letting in fall to the ground beside Sam's clothes.
He gulped down every thought that made him think that he was still taking advantage of the younger man and popped the cap of the bottle in his hands. As he smeared his hand with the liquid, his hands shook and Sam must be able to tell, there's no impatience coming from the young man. He sucks in another breath, placing the bottle beside him and moves forward.
The first touch has Sam mewling, and beneath his touch he feels the clenched ring of muscle begin to relax. Alan's breath gets caught in his throat as he traces around the eight ball inside the young man's entrance. Delicate fingers mapping the ring that he wants to know.
He wants to know what makes Sam gasp, groan, whimper and keen. He wants to know what makes Sam writhe and beg with absolute need. His wanted to know ever since Sam's twenty-first birthday. The CalTech drop out wore a look of confidence and spoke with a world of experience and in all honesty, Alan couldn't believe how grown up his surrogate son became. He'd say it was hot if he were thirty years younger.
The eight ball was finally giving out, and with his non-slick fingers, he pulled it out. Sam hissed, his back arching downwards, sticking his arse in the air more. Alan didn’t pull his fingers away from the other man's hole, teasing slowly. It made Sam force himself back into the touch and before he could pull away, apologise for his silly teasing and go home to jerk off with guilt ridden emotions, Sam's grabbed his hand, pausing his motions.
"Alan... please... fuck me..."
"Sam, I--"
"--I want it, I've always wanted it..."
The look on Sam's face makes the ‘no’ die on his tongue before he can voice it. He frowns because he knows his best friend's son isn't going to take no for an answer. Since he was ten, no was never an answer when it was something he wanted. Alan leaned forward, falling beside Sam, with only a hand on the edge of the billiard table to hold him from falling over the edge. He doesn't wait to see what Sam's reaction is to him being this close, he just pushes forward to have his lips pressed demandingly against the young man's. And it's just as intoxicating as he thought it would be.
As he kisses Sam, his free hand is fumbling for the bottle again at the same time as one of Sam's hands are fumbling frantically with his belt buckle. Sam must realise how hard he is because there's a small groan then his deliberately moving slow. Letting the slide of his belt come out from each holster and fall carelessly to the ground. When that same hand pops the button, slides the zip down and works its way into Alan's boxers, the older man knows his screwed.
"Alan, now." Sam begs and Alan's pulling away, shifting back to his previous position. He shimmies out of his jeans and boxers and slicks himself up before lining himself up and sliding in with ease.
It doesn't matter how stretched the young man is around him, it still hits him, pleasure overriding. His surprised by Sam's groan and the first movement of hips to encourage him to move. So he starts, slow and long, each thrust in going deeper, picking up speed and hitting Sam's prostate with new found strength. He gets lost somehow, between their groans and the way Sam says his name. The way they writhe against each other, moving like they were meant to do this together and as cliché as it sounds, he thinks that last statement is true. Alan moves between Sam legs, shifting to take the young man in hand while he aims straight for his prostate. Stroking and thrusting in time until he feels Sam's body tense and shudder.
As wetness covers his hand, he lets his own orgasm take him, riding each wave until he can't hold himself up and he collapses forward. They’re both panting, riding their individual bliss. Alan shifts, falling to his back while Sam stays flat on his stomach, slowly sneaking on top of the older man.
"Please tell me that wasn't on purpose to get me here?" Alan asks after his breath has come back to him and his heart has settled back into a steady rhythm.
Sam snorts, rolling on top of the older man so he can look into those dark, familiar eyes. "Would it help that I had you in mind when I planned on using the eight ball?"
Alan paused for a moment before he nodded, what else was he meant to do? "Yeah, sure, as long as you don't plan on using any more balls that aren't mine."
Sam's mouth drops at that.