FIC: Don't Say My Name - Chris Pine/Karl Urban
title: Don’t Say My Name
pairing/character(s): Chris Pine/Karl Urban
rating: NC-17
status: complete
fandom: Star Trek XI
word count: ~3,020
genre: pwp
warnings: dirty talk
summary: Chris wakes with a sore jaw, a heavy arm around his waist and little memory of the night before.
author’s notes: I’m so going to hell. This is for inell for a couple reasons: (1) to make up for writing Chris/Zach and (2) because she had a really bad day on June 17.
Don’t Say My Name
My jaw is sore. It’s the first thing I notice in the morning. The second is the heavy arm around my middle. Without opening my eyes, I run my hand over the arm, discovering it’s covered in hair.
That narrows down who I’m in bed with then, I think wildly.
There’s a grunt and a shift of weight from the body behind me and I’m suddenly pulled back like I’m a teddy bear for cuddling. Opening my eyes just allows the sun to drive shards of light into my head - fuck, what a hangover - and makes me groan.
I know exactly who it is in bed with me when the man murmurs, “Told you to drink water,” his New Zealand accent twisting the words just so and in such a way that I just want to curl inside the words and come.
Karl. I’m in bed with Karl.
Closing my eyes against the light, I turn in Karl’s arms until I’m facing him. Squinting, I open my eyes again. Now that I’m not facing the window, the light isn’t so bright. Then again, I’m eye level with Karl’s morning stubble, putting me in the mindset of dark and dangerous without any prompting and sending my libido on a fast-track to hell.
“I should let you suffer.” I feel the words rumble in Karl’s chest as much as hear them, given the position I’m in with my arms braced against the broad expanse of skin and muscle. I yawn in response, which devolves into a curse, eliciting a dark laugh from Karl. “Jaw sore?” Karl asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, not surprised to discover my voice is hoarse.
There is a whisper of stubble against the pillowcase, a shift of the mattress as Karl moves closer. I can smell Karl now, even over my own unwashed scent. There is the smell of last night’s alcohol from the party we were at, the smell of cigarette smoke from the cigarettes Karl smokes when he thinks no one is looking, and, underlying it all, the smell of sex.
I moan. I’ve got a pretty damn good idea how my jaw got so sore and why my throat is raw.
“Open your eyes.”
I’m beginning to regret ever telling anyone about how much I liked Karl’s accent because Karl is deliberately exaggerating it now. I pry my eyes open, wincing at the light. Karl shades my eyes slightly, bringing one large hand up to tangle in my hair over my ear. I bite my lower lip when he lifts an eyebrow.
“You remember anything about last night?”
I shift on the bed and bite back a moan as I brush against his cock, feeling the wet head of it brush my thigh. I don’t remember much, though I’d like to since it got me here - and I notice that my jaw is, regrettably, the only thing that’s sore. Fuck.
“No,” I rasp.
A slow smile turns his mouth. The hand in my hair curves down my jaw to cradle it, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Your pretty mouth got you in trouble.”
I involuntarily lick my lips, running my tongue over his thumb as well, tasting salt and a hint of Karl. “Trouble?” It couldn’t have been too much trouble if he’s here in bed with me. I wouldn’t exactly call that trouble, though.
With a slow slide of skin on skin, Karl pushes me onto my back. I want to make some comment - it certainly wouldn’t be a protest - but can’t find my voice. My tongue sneaks over my lips again and Karl’s smile turns into a smirk as he fully forces me onto my back, pinning me there with the weight of his body.
Somehow my hangover doesn’t seem so bad now.
He shifts his weight onto his elbows and knees, forcing my thighs further apart as he settles between them and slowly rubs our hips together. I’d barely been aware of my morning wood until now when it brushes against Karl’s hip. His cock slides roughly against the tender skin between mine and the sharp jut of my hip, oversensitizing all the nerves.
I gasp and shudder, but don’t arch, silently begging for more.
He leans down. I feel breathless, still drunk. Lips against my ear, stubble scratching my cheek, he asks, “You don’t remember the beer bottle?”
“No,” I rasp. Fuck, I wish I did remember. Note to self: never drink that much again.
He laughs, but it’s a sarcastic laugh, sharply barked, then dissolving into a rumble. “Zoe will be disappointed.” He backs away far enough to look down into my face.
What? I must look as confused as I feel because that slow grin turns his mouth again. “Zach made a remark about men sucking cock better than women.”
I close my eyes, a half-smile turning one corner of my mouth. I now vaguely recall that statement, the catcalls it engendered, Zach’s stoicness even as he blushed brightly, then Zoe protesting. It seems to me that Karl had watched the whole thing from the sidelines, leaning against the wall, eyes on me.
“I didn’t.” But I must have. My pretty mouth . . . .
He rubs against me like a cat, then drags his stubbled cheek against my own stubbled jaw, the sound like sandpaper. My hands clench in the sheets as I tremble in response. He licks a path from my ear to my mouth. “Zoe challenged any of the men,” he murmurs against my mouth. “The challenge was to - ”
“ - the beer bottle,” I interrupt. If he says fellatio or any variation of the word in that accent, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. Beneath my closed eyelids, my eyes roll back in my head.
I don’t remember the terms of the contest, but I remember meeting Karl’s eyes. When he lifted one eyebrow, very McCoy-like, and smirked, I took Zoe’s challenge. My pretty mouth indeed. I’m stupid and I’m sure I was fooling no one since half the damn time I kept looking at Karl as worked my mouth on the neck of that bottle. My only consolation was that, between Zoe and I, the only man not squirming uncomfortably by our display was Karl.
“You dragged me out of there, didn’t you?”
His laughter vibrates against me, making me shiver. I clutch the sheets more tightly, desperately fighting the urge to arch upward and rut against him. He slides one hand down my side, those rough fingers dragging against my skin, until he stops over my hip, pinning me down with not-so-gentle pressure.
“I wouldn’t say I dragged you exactly,” he says. I wish he’d kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he works the friction of our stubble together slowly, the rasp of it, the irritation of it, driving me slowly insane.
When he begins the same slow, drugging motion with his hips, it finally makes me lose my composure. I wrap my right arm around his shoulders and grip his bicep with my left hand, drawing him closer. He flexes his right hand on my hip and thrusts against me.
“You were eager to prove that bottle wasn’t the only thing you could . . . suck.” He hisses the last word directly into my ear. The only thing saving me from coming is that it wasn’t a variation on fellatio. If he said that, it would end up all over for me.
I have to lick my lips twice before I can ask, “And that’s why my jaw is sore?”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, licking down the cord of my neck. I tilt my head back obligingly, offering myself, and he bites the exposed tendon. “You were eager.” I whimper. “Twice.”
I don’t want to blush, but I can feel the telltale color rise in my cheeks. Apparently I got to fulfill that long-held fantasy, the one I’ve had about Karl’s cock in my mouth, the one I’ve had since watching old episodes of Xena, truth be told - I just don’t remember, dammit. “Third time’s the charm?”
Karl startles and pulls back, making me open my eyes to see him looking down at me with an astonished expression. The blush on my cheeks deepens, but I grin and throw caution to the wind, so to speak. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while.”
Mancrush is the only socially acceptable term I can use in interview for “the first man I fantasized about as I jerked off as a teenager.”
His hand slides from my hip to my cock. I quiver, but hold his gaze. His expression darkens - which is the only warning I get. He descends, his mouth crashing against mine, tongue driving into my mouth. His fingers stroke my cock for a moment before he adjusts his hips, aligning us and taking both of us in his hand. The fact his hand is large enough to hold both of us turns me on even more.
I grip his arm tighter, arching upward into him, wrapping a leg around his thigh and dragging my fingernails down his spine. Though we’re the same height, he’s bigger and broader than I am. I savor it. I want to linger, rubbing against him and basking.
He tangles his other hand in my hair, jerking my head back and breaking the kiss. I can only guess he discovered that kink of mine last night. “As much as I like seeing your mouth wrapped around my cock,” he murmurs, shifting to tower above me, to dominate me, “I have other things in mind.”
Swallowing, half-nervous and fully-aroused, I say, “Oh?”
Karl just grins. It’s one of those grins that should be outlawed, one that shows his teeth and dimples and highlights the absolutely devilish expression in his eyes. He slips a hand under the pillow and fishes out a bottle of lube. I blink and swallow nervously, raising my eyebrows.
When did that bottle get there? Did I fuck him last night? Did I and I don’t remember? I’m never drinking that much again if it makes me forget something like that.
He bends down, lips next to my ear. I can hear him flip the cap open, but can’t see what he’s doing. Those lips latch onto my earlobe, tugging gently, enough to catch my attention and stop my mental wanderings.
“Chris,” he murmurs, exaggerating my name with that fucking accent so it sounds like Creees. All it makes me want to do is make him talk me into coming - which wouldn’t take long at all at this point. “Breathe.”
“What?” I gasp, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath. My gasp deepens into a breathy moan when he uses two lube-covered fingers to breach me. “Oh, fuck.”
Lifting my head, I try to capture his mouth. With a smirk, he allows it, but doesn’t allow me to control the kiss at all. Once again, he controls it, pressing me back against the mattress. His free hand grips the back of my neck, positioning my head and tugging on my hair. He scissors the fingers he has inside me, making me gasp against his mouth. Taking full advantage, he drives his tongue deep. I give up the fight and roll my eyes back in my head as I clutch him with hands and legs, holding on tight. A third finger causes me to whimper.
He backs off slightly. “You all right?” My eyes slowly focus on Karl, who raises an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I answer, smiling, then shudder when he thrusts against me, rough skin against rough skin.
Karl’s breath fans across my cheek as he laughs. Holding my eyes, he pulls his fingers from me. I want to look away and savor the sensations, but can’t do either. Karl’s smile turns devilish once again as he shifts positions.
His hands on my hips make me whimper, especially when I try to thrust upward, desperate for friction, and he pins me down. As he ducks his head to suck on the skin of my neck just below my ear, he completes the downward thrust he was making, rubbing the head of his cock against my now-stretched entrance.
I shove one hand into his hair while I brace the other on the wall above my head. “Karl, please.” My voice is much breathier than I had hoped and I feel his laugh more than hear it, the rumble of his chest against mine and his hot breath against my damp skin. “Fuck me, damn you.”
“Impatient, aren’t you?” He runs his teeth over my skin again, then down my collarbone, sinking in when I tremble.
“Stop talking to me or I’ll come,” I warn. I pull my legs up, bracketing his hips with my knees, hoping he’ll take the hint. His cock is hard and weeping and he must be as on edge as I am - but better able to control himself, apparently. He’d make some crack about age if I mentioned it, the bastard.
“Ah, Chris,” he chides, pouring that fucking accent all over the words. If only an American accent of any variation did the same for him. I have to grit my teeth and try to think of something else - anything else - but my thoughts completely scatter once again when he swipes his tongue over the length of my collarbone.
“Karl,” I whine, trembling violently.
He pulls back, looking down into my face. He raises first one eyebrow, then both as he studies me. Smirking suddenly, he slithers away from me. Before I can process that, he turns me onto my stomach, sending my stomach into a flip of its own.
“Oh fuck,” I hiss, rising onto my knees. He moves into place behind me, ghosting his hands up my sides with just enough pressure to avoid tickling me though I do squirm.
“Be still,” he growls. I take a deep breath, then another, but all my shaky control goes right out the window when he drapes himself over my back and sinks his teeth into the back of my neck. My head drops as I shudder, only distantly feeling him move my hands to the railing of the headboard. “Keep your hands there.”
Yes, sir.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud until he laughs darkly. “You keep calling me sir,” he orders.
“Oh fuck,” I repeat, hands tightening around the rail.
I get only a moment’s warning before he enters me. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this - since sometime in college, actually - and it hurts. He doesn’t give me any time to adjust, though, and drives deep. I jerk my head up, narrowly missing Karl’s head. He grabs my hair, holding my head back and capturing my mouth.
Overwhelmed by sensation, my skin feels suddenly too tight. The taste of tobacco has lessened, but is still there; underneath, I can taste him. I can smell him. I can feel him.
Then he moves.
My gasp and guttural moan breaks the kiss. I feel his smile against my lips as he rolls his hips. Behind my closed eyelids, my eyes roll back in my head - yet again. My arms are shaking and I’m sweating with the effort of not coming yet.
He shifts, sliding against me, his chest against my back. When his tongue laves the bite he placed against the back of my neck, I curse and snap his name.
“Thought I told you to call me sir, Chris,” he murmurs, injecting authority into his voice. He straightens, gripping my hips tightly enough to cause bruises I won’t regret and shortens his thrusts until I can hear our skin slapping together.
There’s something to be said for British cursing, because bloody buggering hell covers my reaction much better than oh, fuck. I drop my head, panting so roughly that I’m nearly wheezing, and tighten my slippery grip on the railing.
“Please, sir,” I growl. My cock hurts, damn him. I ache.
“Please what, Chris?”
I shake my head, trying to get the sweat out of my eyes. He needs to stop curling his accent around my name like that or I’ll come no matter what. I take a deep breath and manage, “Please, sir, may I come?”
He slows his thrusts - the bastard slows down - and releases my right hip to grip my cock. “You may come when I say now.”
I grit my teeth, breath hissing. I can do this, I can. He strokes my cock in counterpoint to his thrusts and my vision grays out for a moment, leaving me shaking. He leans forward, covering my back again, changing the angle of his thrusts. Sweat drips onto my back. He brushes his stubble over the back of my shoulders, scratching my skin. I grit my teeth, determined to wait until he tells me I can come.
His voice is harsh as he thumbs the head of my cock and orders, “Now, Chris.”
My entire body tenses. All I was awaiting was permission: vision whiting out, I come over his hand, the bed, my chest. The roaring in my ears nearly drowns his grunts, but I don’t miss the sensation of him coming inside me. Trembling and moaning and shouting, we collapse onto the mattress.
I should tell him to get off me, but I can neither work up the energy, nor do I mind his weight against my back. The sticky mess of my come against my stomach is something I could do without, though. And we didn’t use a condom, so I’m a complete mess. And the scratches sting. I should be concerned. And I will be. When I have energy again.
“You look completely fucked,” Karl says, propping himself up on one elbow.
I crack open an eye. He’s grinning that devil’s grin. “You should know.”
“Ah, Chris.”
Damn him! “Stop saying my name.”
“Chris.” My cock twitches. Godammit, I’m not twenty-one any longer!
I open both eyes and glare. He raises an eyebrow invitingly. “Shower. Third time’s the charm, Karl.”
pairing/character(s): Chris Pine/Karl Urban
rating: NC-17
status: complete
fandom: Star Trek XI
word count: ~3,020
genre: pwp
warnings: dirty talk
summary: Chris wakes with a sore jaw, a heavy arm around his waist and little memory of the night before.
author’s notes: I’m so going to hell. This is for inell for a couple reasons: (1) to make up for writing Chris/Zach and (2) because she had a really bad day on June 17.
Don’t Say My Name
My jaw is sore. It’s the first thing I notice in the morning. The second is the heavy arm around my middle. Without opening my eyes, I run my hand over the arm, discovering it’s covered in hair.
That narrows down who I’m in bed with then, I think wildly.
There’s a grunt and a shift of weight from the body behind me and I’m suddenly pulled back like I’m a teddy bear for cuddling. Opening my eyes just allows the sun to drive shards of light into my head - fuck, what a hangover - and makes me groan.
I know exactly who it is in bed with me when the man murmurs, “Told you to drink water,” his New Zealand accent twisting the words just so and in such a way that I just want to curl inside the words and come.
Karl. I’m in bed with Karl.
Closing my eyes against the light, I turn in Karl’s arms until I’m facing him. Squinting, I open my eyes again. Now that I’m not facing the window, the light isn’t so bright. Then again, I’m eye level with Karl’s morning stubble, putting me in the mindset of dark and dangerous without any prompting and sending my libido on a fast-track to hell.
“I should let you suffer.” I feel the words rumble in Karl’s chest as much as hear them, given the position I’m in with my arms braced against the broad expanse of skin and muscle. I yawn in response, which devolves into a curse, eliciting a dark laugh from Karl. “Jaw sore?” Karl asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, not surprised to discover my voice is hoarse.
There is a whisper of stubble against the pillowcase, a shift of the mattress as Karl moves closer. I can smell Karl now, even over my own unwashed scent. There is the smell of last night’s alcohol from the party we were at, the smell of cigarette smoke from the cigarettes Karl smokes when he thinks no one is looking, and, underlying it all, the smell of sex.
I moan. I’ve got a pretty damn good idea how my jaw got so sore and why my throat is raw.
“Open your eyes.”
I’m beginning to regret ever telling anyone about how much I liked Karl’s accent because Karl is deliberately exaggerating it now. I pry my eyes open, wincing at the light. Karl shades my eyes slightly, bringing one large hand up to tangle in my hair over my ear. I bite my lower lip when he lifts an eyebrow.
“You remember anything about last night?”
I shift on the bed and bite back a moan as I brush against his cock, feeling the wet head of it brush my thigh. I don’t remember much, though I’d like to since it got me here - and I notice that my jaw is, regrettably, the only thing that’s sore. Fuck.
“No,” I rasp.
A slow smile turns his mouth. The hand in my hair curves down my jaw to cradle it, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Your pretty mouth got you in trouble.”
I involuntarily lick my lips, running my tongue over his thumb as well, tasting salt and a hint of Karl. “Trouble?” It couldn’t have been too much trouble if he’s here in bed with me. I wouldn’t exactly call that trouble, though.
With a slow slide of skin on skin, Karl pushes me onto my back. I want to make some comment - it certainly wouldn’t be a protest - but can’t find my voice. My tongue sneaks over my lips again and Karl’s smile turns into a smirk as he fully forces me onto my back, pinning me there with the weight of his body.
Somehow my hangover doesn’t seem so bad now.
He shifts his weight onto his elbows and knees, forcing my thighs further apart as he settles between them and slowly rubs our hips together. I’d barely been aware of my morning wood until now when it brushes against Karl’s hip. His cock slides roughly against the tender skin between mine and the sharp jut of my hip, oversensitizing all the nerves.
I gasp and shudder, but don’t arch, silently begging for more.
He leans down. I feel breathless, still drunk. Lips against my ear, stubble scratching my cheek, he asks, “You don’t remember the beer bottle?”
“No,” I rasp. Fuck, I wish I did remember. Note to self: never drink that much again.
He laughs, but it’s a sarcastic laugh, sharply barked, then dissolving into a rumble. “Zoe will be disappointed.” He backs away far enough to look down into my face.
What? I must look as confused as I feel because that slow grin turns his mouth again. “Zach made a remark about men sucking cock better than women.”
I close my eyes, a half-smile turning one corner of my mouth. I now vaguely recall that statement, the catcalls it engendered, Zach’s stoicness even as he blushed brightly, then Zoe protesting. It seems to me that Karl had watched the whole thing from the sidelines, leaning against the wall, eyes on me.
“I didn’t.” But I must have. My pretty mouth . . . .
He rubs against me like a cat, then drags his stubbled cheek against my own stubbled jaw, the sound like sandpaper. My hands clench in the sheets as I tremble in response. He licks a path from my ear to my mouth. “Zoe challenged any of the men,” he murmurs against my mouth. “The challenge was to - ”
“ - the beer bottle,” I interrupt. If he says fellatio or any variation of the word in that accent, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. Beneath my closed eyelids, my eyes roll back in my head.
I don’t remember the terms of the contest, but I remember meeting Karl’s eyes. When he lifted one eyebrow, very McCoy-like, and smirked, I took Zoe’s challenge. My pretty mouth indeed. I’m stupid and I’m sure I was fooling no one since half the damn time I kept looking at Karl as worked my mouth on the neck of that bottle. My only consolation was that, between Zoe and I, the only man not squirming uncomfortably by our display was Karl.
“You dragged me out of there, didn’t you?”
His laughter vibrates against me, making me shiver. I clutch the sheets more tightly, desperately fighting the urge to arch upward and rut against him. He slides one hand down my side, those rough fingers dragging against my skin, until he stops over my hip, pinning me down with not-so-gentle pressure.
“I wouldn’t say I dragged you exactly,” he says. I wish he’d kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he works the friction of our stubble together slowly, the rasp of it, the irritation of it, driving me slowly insane.
When he begins the same slow, drugging motion with his hips, it finally makes me lose my composure. I wrap my right arm around his shoulders and grip his bicep with my left hand, drawing him closer. He flexes his right hand on my hip and thrusts against me.
“You were eager to prove that bottle wasn’t the only thing you could . . . suck.” He hisses the last word directly into my ear. The only thing saving me from coming is that it wasn’t a variation on fellatio. If he said that, it would end up all over for me.
I have to lick my lips twice before I can ask, “And that’s why my jaw is sore?”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, licking down the cord of my neck. I tilt my head back obligingly, offering myself, and he bites the exposed tendon. “You were eager.” I whimper. “Twice.”
I don’t want to blush, but I can feel the telltale color rise in my cheeks. Apparently I got to fulfill that long-held fantasy, the one I’ve had about Karl’s cock in my mouth, the one I’ve had since watching old episodes of Xena, truth be told - I just don’t remember, dammit. “Third time’s the charm?”
Karl startles and pulls back, making me open my eyes to see him looking down at me with an astonished expression. The blush on my cheeks deepens, but I grin and throw caution to the wind, so to speak. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while.”
Mancrush is the only socially acceptable term I can use in interview for “the first man I fantasized about as I jerked off as a teenager.”
His hand slides from my hip to my cock. I quiver, but hold his gaze. His expression darkens - which is the only warning I get. He descends, his mouth crashing against mine, tongue driving into my mouth. His fingers stroke my cock for a moment before he adjusts his hips, aligning us and taking both of us in his hand. The fact his hand is large enough to hold both of us turns me on even more.
I grip his arm tighter, arching upward into him, wrapping a leg around his thigh and dragging my fingernails down his spine. Though we’re the same height, he’s bigger and broader than I am. I savor it. I want to linger, rubbing against him and basking.
He tangles his other hand in my hair, jerking my head back and breaking the kiss. I can only guess he discovered that kink of mine last night. “As much as I like seeing your mouth wrapped around my cock,” he murmurs, shifting to tower above me, to dominate me, “I have other things in mind.”
Swallowing, half-nervous and fully-aroused, I say, “Oh?”
Karl just grins. It’s one of those grins that should be outlawed, one that shows his teeth and dimples and highlights the absolutely devilish expression in his eyes. He slips a hand under the pillow and fishes out a bottle of lube. I blink and swallow nervously, raising my eyebrows.
When did that bottle get there? Did I fuck him last night? Did I and I don’t remember? I’m never drinking that much again if it makes me forget something like that.
He bends down, lips next to my ear. I can hear him flip the cap open, but can’t see what he’s doing. Those lips latch onto my earlobe, tugging gently, enough to catch my attention and stop my mental wanderings.
“Chris,” he murmurs, exaggerating my name with that fucking accent so it sounds like Creees. All it makes me want to do is make him talk me into coming - which wouldn’t take long at all at this point. “Breathe.”
“What?” I gasp, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath. My gasp deepens into a breathy moan when he uses two lube-covered fingers to breach me. “Oh, fuck.”
Lifting my head, I try to capture his mouth. With a smirk, he allows it, but doesn’t allow me to control the kiss at all. Once again, he controls it, pressing me back against the mattress. His free hand grips the back of my neck, positioning my head and tugging on my hair. He scissors the fingers he has inside me, making me gasp against his mouth. Taking full advantage, he drives his tongue deep. I give up the fight and roll my eyes back in my head as I clutch him with hands and legs, holding on tight. A third finger causes me to whimper.
He backs off slightly. “You all right?” My eyes slowly focus on Karl, who raises an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I answer, smiling, then shudder when he thrusts against me, rough skin against rough skin.
Karl’s breath fans across my cheek as he laughs. Holding my eyes, he pulls his fingers from me. I want to look away and savor the sensations, but can’t do either. Karl’s smile turns devilish once again as he shifts positions.
His hands on my hips make me whimper, especially when I try to thrust upward, desperate for friction, and he pins me down. As he ducks his head to suck on the skin of my neck just below my ear, he completes the downward thrust he was making, rubbing the head of his cock against my now-stretched entrance.
I shove one hand into his hair while I brace the other on the wall above my head. “Karl, please.” My voice is much breathier than I had hoped and I feel his laugh more than hear it, the rumble of his chest against mine and his hot breath against my damp skin. “Fuck me, damn you.”
“Impatient, aren’t you?” He runs his teeth over my skin again, then down my collarbone, sinking in when I tremble.
“Stop talking to me or I’ll come,” I warn. I pull my legs up, bracketing his hips with my knees, hoping he’ll take the hint. His cock is hard and weeping and he must be as on edge as I am - but better able to control himself, apparently. He’d make some crack about age if I mentioned it, the bastard.
“Ah, Chris,” he chides, pouring that fucking accent all over the words. If only an American accent of any variation did the same for him. I have to grit my teeth and try to think of something else - anything else - but my thoughts completely scatter once again when he swipes his tongue over the length of my collarbone.
“Karl,” I whine, trembling violently.
He pulls back, looking down into my face. He raises first one eyebrow, then both as he studies me. Smirking suddenly, he slithers away from me. Before I can process that, he turns me onto my stomach, sending my stomach into a flip of its own.
“Oh fuck,” I hiss, rising onto my knees. He moves into place behind me, ghosting his hands up my sides with just enough pressure to avoid tickling me though I do squirm.
“Be still,” he growls. I take a deep breath, then another, but all my shaky control goes right out the window when he drapes himself over my back and sinks his teeth into the back of my neck. My head drops as I shudder, only distantly feeling him move my hands to the railing of the headboard. “Keep your hands there.”
Yes, sir.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud until he laughs darkly. “You keep calling me sir,” he orders.
“Oh fuck,” I repeat, hands tightening around the rail.
I get only a moment’s warning before he enters me. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this - since sometime in college, actually - and it hurts. He doesn’t give me any time to adjust, though, and drives deep. I jerk my head up, narrowly missing Karl’s head. He grabs my hair, holding my head back and capturing my mouth.
Overwhelmed by sensation, my skin feels suddenly too tight. The taste of tobacco has lessened, but is still there; underneath, I can taste him. I can smell him. I can feel him.
Then he moves.
My gasp and guttural moan breaks the kiss. I feel his smile against my lips as he rolls his hips. Behind my closed eyelids, my eyes roll back in my head - yet again. My arms are shaking and I’m sweating with the effort of not coming yet.
He shifts, sliding against me, his chest against my back. When his tongue laves the bite he placed against the back of my neck, I curse and snap his name.
“Thought I told you to call me sir, Chris,” he murmurs, injecting authority into his voice. He straightens, gripping my hips tightly enough to cause bruises I won’t regret and shortens his thrusts until I can hear our skin slapping together.
There’s something to be said for British cursing, because bloody buggering hell covers my reaction much better than oh, fuck. I drop my head, panting so roughly that I’m nearly wheezing, and tighten my slippery grip on the railing.
“Please, sir,” I growl. My cock hurts, damn him. I ache.
“Please what, Chris?”
I shake my head, trying to get the sweat out of my eyes. He needs to stop curling his accent around my name like that or I’ll come no matter what. I take a deep breath and manage, “Please, sir, may I come?”
He slows his thrusts - the bastard slows down - and releases my right hip to grip my cock. “You may come when I say now.”
I grit my teeth, breath hissing. I can do this, I can. He strokes my cock in counterpoint to his thrusts and my vision grays out for a moment, leaving me shaking. He leans forward, covering my back again, changing the angle of his thrusts. Sweat drips onto my back. He brushes his stubble over the back of my shoulders, scratching my skin. I grit my teeth, determined to wait until he tells me I can come.
His voice is harsh as he thumbs the head of my cock and orders, “Now, Chris.”
My entire body tenses. All I was awaiting was permission: vision whiting out, I come over his hand, the bed, my chest. The roaring in my ears nearly drowns his grunts, but I don’t miss the sensation of him coming inside me. Trembling and moaning and shouting, we collapse onto the mattress.
I should tell him to get off me, but I can neither work up the energy, nor do I mind his weight against my back. The sticky mess of my come against my stomach is something I could do without, though. And we didn’t use a condom, so I’m a complete mess. And the scratches sting. I should be concerned. And I will be. When I have energy again.
“You look completely fucked,” Karl says, propping himself up on one elbow.
I crack open an eye. He’s grinning that devil’s grin. “You should know.”
“Ah, Chris.”
Damn him! “Stop saying my name.”
“Chris.” My cock twitches. Godammit, I’m not twenty-one any longer!
I open both eyes and glare. He raises an eyebrow invitingly. “Shower. Third time’s the charm, Karl.”