fic: some non-negligible fraction of the fun, ashlee/pete, nc17
Title: Some Non-Negligible Fraction of the Fun
Pairing: Ashlee/Pete, explicitly described Ashlee/Brendon
Rating: Porn. I'm fucking serious here, guys.
Summary: "Do you have a story for me?" he asks, his voice hushed, like he's asking her to tell him a secret.
Warnings: Cuckoldry kink, femdom, and pegging! Three great tastes that taste great together!
Notes: For ailleann23. I don't even know, dude. Thanks to fictionalaspect for cheerleading and commapicking. PS: Josh, stop bitching that I never write femdom or het. 2600 words.
***
"So, you in?" Pete asks, trying to keep the eagerness out of his tone, trying to let Brendon make the choice on his own without interference.
Brendon slants a glance towards Ashlee, not even trying to hide that he's checking her out. Good, Pete thinks.
"Please?" Ash says with a sunny smile, and Brendon grins back like he can't help it.
"Okay, I'm in," he says. "Yes."
Pete is really, really fucking antsy. He's alone in the house, Bronx handed over to Travie for the night for some "serious godfather-godson bonding time, Wentz, it'll be the shit," and Ashlee is...gone, at least for now.
He paces around his empty living room, thinking about putting on something loud and fast and angry, something that will get his mind off of waiting, but he knows he won't-he wouldn't forget, and anyway the wait is half the fun.
Well, not half. But maybe a quarter. Fifteen percent. Some non-negligible fraction of the fun.
Fuck, he wishes she were home already.
Except that he knows that as soon as Brendon agreed, this stopped being about what Pete wants.
Motörhead, he thinks desperately, staring at the iPod dock sitting primly atop the home theater console. Or he could put on the Beastie Boys, the Beasties would totally work.
"Babe?" Ashlee calls from the foyer. "Pete, honey, I'm home."
"Thank fuck," Pete says fervently, and jumps up off the couch to meet her halfway between the living room and the front door. He wraps his arms around her-she's tiny, the span of her waist so small even after the baby-picks her up, and twirls her around.
She laughs, open and bright, and murmurs, "Did you miss me?" in his ear.
"I was ten seconds from putting on License to Ill and turning it up to eleven," he tells her truthfully, and she laughs.
"Poor baby," she says.
Pete sets her down again and takes a second to just look at her, at the flush of her cheeks and chest, obviously still riding high on arousal. Pete even thinks he could smell Brendon's aftershave when he picked her up, and the thought makes him want to groan and bury his face in her hair. He doesn't have to ask if she did it-if they did it-because it's obvious they did, and now, now comes the good part, the part that comprises a much larger portion of the fun than the waiting did.
Does.
Whatever.
"Do you have a story for me?" he asks, his voice hushed, like he's asking her to tell him a secret. In a way, he supposes, he is.
Ashlee grins, the expression spreading slowly across her face. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, baby, I do." She leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth and then dances away when he tries to deepen the kiss. She looks back at him over her shoulder as she saunters off in the direction of the stairs, looking back over her shoulder at him and adding, "But it's a bedtime story."
She runs when he starts chasing after her, and she might be wearing four-inch heels but she's still ten times more graceful than he's ever going to be; she easily makes the top of the stairs before he does and ducks into their bedroom, still laughing.
When Pete finally makes it to their room, he finds her sitting on the edge of the bed. Her legs cross demurely at the ankles, and her short skirt is smoothed down neatly over her thighs; she gives him a coquettish look from under her lashes and then very deliberately lifts one leg, one delicate foot effortlessly en pointe in her shoe. He takes the hint immediately and drops to his knees in front of her so he can unbuckle her shoes, first one and then the other. He curls his fingers gently around one of her bare feet.
"Story?" he asks hopefully, digging lightly into her instep in the way he knows she likes.
She hums. "We went out for dinner. Some tiny little sushi place neither of us had ever heard of."
Pete leans in and presses a kiss against the inside of her ankle. "Any good?"
"Not bad," she says, dissembling, but her breath starts coming a little shakier when he drags his lips up the smooth skin of her calf, pushing her thighs apart a little bit so he can settle between them.
"And then?" he asks the inside of her knee.
She shudders a little bit under his hands. "And then he took me home."
Pete groans, muffling the sound against her inner thigh, just above her knee. Her legs are far enough apart now that he can see that she isn't wearing anything under her skirt, and he can smell how wet she is still, the thick sweetness of her scent making his mouth water. "Tell me," he whispers against her skin.
"He kissed me as soon as he shut the door behind us," she says, her voice a little unsteady. "And he-God, Pete, the way he kisses."
"How?" he asks, kissing slowly but steadily up the inside of her thigh, hoping she'll let him taste her.
"Like he does everything else he thinks is worth doing," Ashlee says. "Like there's nothing else in the world."
Pete mms against her skin. "And then?" he prompts.
"We didn't even make it upstairs at first," she says. "We just kind-kind of fell onto the couch, and he got his hand up my skirt, started touching me through my panties."
He moans at the mental image, at the thought of his wife sprawled out on the dark leather sofa in Brendon's living room, with Brendon's hand busy between her legs. He flicks his tongue out, tasting salt and musk on her inner thigh, and God, God, he's almost close enough to put his mouth on her-and then she fists her hand in his hair and yanks his head back, smiling down at him when he moans again.
"I'm trying to tell you a story, Peter," she says, sounding fondly exasperated. "Don't you want to hear it?"
Pete whimpers, tugging against her hand in his hair. "Please," he says. "Please please please, tell me."
She lets go her firm grip in his hair and smooths down the strands, petting him gently. "Only if you're good. Can you be good?"
He nods mindlessly, rubbing his cheek against the inside of her thigh. He can still smell her, and it's still driving him insane, but he'll be good, he'll do whatever she wants him to do.
"Good," Ashlee says, and then curves her fingers around his jaw to tilt his head up, folding forward to slant their mouths together.
Pete imagines he can taste Brendon on her lips, and moans into the kiss; he feels her lips curve up against his, like she knows exactly what he's thinking. Probably she does.
She pulls back a little, still cradling his head in her hands, and then sets her forehead against his, affectionate. "Get on the bed, Pete. On your stomach."
He scrambles to obey, shucking off his clothes as he stands up and then crawling naked to the center of the bed, arranging himself on the sheets so he can rub his half-hard cock against the mattress, craving Ashlee's loud smack on his ass almost as much as he craves the friction.
"None of that," she says sternly.
Pete lays his head on his folded arms, nodding, and closes his eyes, doing his best to stay absolutely still as he listens to her moving around their room, getting ready for whatever she has planned next. He wonders what it's going to be this time.
To his right, the mattress dips with her weight, and then her skin is sliding over his, her thighs spread wide over the small of his back, her slick cunt almost burning hot where it presses against him, just above the swell of his ass. He groans again, feeling deliciously trapped; she might not weigh much, but the strength in those thighs is enough to keep him exactly where she wants him, with his dick throbbing against the sheets and no way to relieve the ache of it, totally at her mercy.
She leans down, molding herself against him-and God, she's naked, her nipples brushing against his back, her hair spilling down to tickle his neck and shoulders-and whispers hotly in his ear, "Where was I?"
Pete sucks in a breath. "Brendon. The couch."
"Mm, yeah," she says, her voice sexy and dark. "I was so wet, baby, so hot for it and we were both still dressed, just laid out on his couch and kissing while he touched me."
"Fuck, Ash," Pete grits out, and she sits back up again, hands skimming his shoulders and then sliding down to circle his wrists, tugging his arms out and back so his chest and face are pressed farther into the mattress, crossing his wrists behind his back to emphasize even more that she's the one in control here, that he's at her mercy.
"He finally got my underwear off and then he pushed one of my legs up to my chest so I was spread wide open for him. And he could have fucked me then-I was ready, I wanted it-but he asked if he could go down on me first."
Pete lets out a shuddering moan at that, tugging lightly at her grip on his wrists. "Did you let him?" he asks, breathless.
Ashlee giggles. "Fuck yes, I did. Wouldn't you?" Her voice gets sort of a dreamy quality to it. "His mouth, Pete, he was fucking made for it. And I expected him to, like, get on the floor or something, but he just folded himself up at the bottom of the couch and just-just fucking buried his face between my legs." She grinds down against him a little, and God, she's so wet that she's getting his back all slick with it.
"He made you come," Pete says, not a question, just an unbearably hot thought.
"Yes," she says. "And then-then he crawled up and kissed me and all I could taste was me, all over his mouth, all over his tongue, and it was so hot, Pete, oh my God."
Pete moans his agreement. "And then?" he presses, knowing there's more to tell, wanting to hear the rest of it.
"We went upstairs," Ashlee says. "And we finally got naked and then he pushed me down on his bed, just...like...this." She punctuates the words by sliding down his body until her thighs are set inside his, pushing his legs apart, and her hips are pressing his into the mattress. She lets go of his wrists, tapping the bones of one sharply to tell him to keep his hands precisely where they are, and then slides her hand between them to rest warm and dry against his ass. Pete cries out.
"He fucked you," he pants, pushing back into the gentle pressure of her fingers against his rim, another not-question.
"Yeah, he did," she says, "just like I'm going to fuck you."
And then-Jesus, fuck-her other hand is slipping between them, her slender fingers slick with lube so she can start working him open, and she doesn't tell him no when he keens and rocks back against her fingers, even though the movement has him grinding down against the mattress, dangerously close to coming already just from his wife's fucking filthy mouth. She gets it, though, and so she's rougher than she needs to be, fucking him open with her fingers to get him ready for the toy he knows is coming, the one he bought for her because she said I always wanted to try and he's never been able to refuse her anything.
All too soon, she's switching her fingers for her cock, the silicone seated deep inside her making her moan with him as she pushes in.
Ashlee digs her fingers into his hips and tugs him backwards, upwards, hauling him up onto his knees so she has better leverage, and he cries out at the loss of friction.
"This is how we did it," she says, breathless with exertion as she rolls her hips, fucking into him with the toy. "Except-he's got a headboard I could hold on to, so I did, just held on while he fucked me, and it was so good, Pete, so fucking good."
Pete whimpers and curls his hands around his opposite wrists, chasing that same sensation of holding onto something, trying to ground himself. But it isn't the same, isn't enough; he's caught here, caught between the bed and the relentless rhythm of Ashlee moving inside him, of her voice telling him exactly how good it felt when Brendon fucked her like this or touched her like that.
It feels like an eternity before she says, "And then he-" and reaches around to wrap her slick fingers around Pete's cock, and it only takes a few short strokes inside and out before he's sobbing out her name and coming all over the sheets.
"Oh, shit, Pete," Ashlee groans, and her weight shifts, settles against him so she's mostly just grinding against him, her parts of the toy pressing hard against her clit and her g-spot until she draws in a sharp breath and then cries out once, the tension easing out of her thighs where they're still holding Pete's open.
She leans down and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades before gently pulling out and rolling off to the side, setting her fake cock aside and then reaching up with sticky fingers to pry his hands loose from around his wrists and settle his arms at his sides again while he twitches through his comedown.
"Hey," she says softly, and he turns his head to look at her so they can smile sleepily at one another.
"Hey yourself," he says, and then strains forward to brush his mouth over hers lightly.
Ashlee makes an insistent sound into his mouth and then pushes him onto his back so she can curl up against his side, laying her head on his chest.
Pete is definitely lying in the wet spot.
"We should move," he whispers against her hair. "Clean up, maybe."
She opens one eye to look balefully at him. "I'm exhausted, Pete. And I want to cuddle."
"I want to cuddle, too!" Pete says, almost indignant. "Just, y'know, not lying in a pool of my own come."
Ashlee yawns. "Well, it's yours."
Pete yawns back, a completely involuntary response. "Know what else is mine?" he says around it.
"Lots of things," she says sleepily.
"Well, yeah, but I was going to say the guest bedroom down the hall."
"Not walking."
He rolls away from her and off the bed, taking a moment to steady himself on his feet. "'Kay," he says, and coaxes her onto her back at the edge of the bed so he can pick her up.
She rubs her cheek against his chest as he carries her and is asleep before he can even get her under the blankets in the guest room.
Pete curls himself around her and buries his face in her hair, whispering thank you thank you thank you and hoping that she'll hear it in her dreams.
"I'm in," Brendon says, "but I still don't understand why."
Pete and Ashlee look at one another and share a wicked, secretive smile.
"Because we like it."
***
Pairing: Ashlee/Pete, explicitly described Ashlee/Brendon
Rating: Porn. I'm fucking serious here, guys.
Summary: "Do you have a story for me?" he asks, his voice hushed, like he's asking her to tell him a secret.
Warnings: Cuckoldry kink, femdom, and pegging! Three great tastes that taste great together!
Notes: For ailleann23. I don't even know, dude. Thanks to fictionalaspect for cheerleading and commapicking. PS: Josh, stop bitching that I never write femdom or het. 2600 words.
***
"So, you in?" Pete asks, trying to keep the eagerness out of his tone, trying to let Brendon make the choice on his own without interference.
Brendon slants a glance towards Ashlee, not even trying to hide that he's checking her out. Good, Pete thinks.
"Please?" Ash says with a sunny smile, and Brendon grins back like he can't help it.
"Okay, I'm in," he says. "Yes."
Pete is really, really fucking antsy. He's alone in the house, Bronx handed over to Travie for the night for some "serious godfather-godson bonding time, Wentz, it'll be the shit," and Ashlee is...gone, at least for now.
He paces around his empty living room, thinking about putting on something loud and fast and angry, something that will get his mind off of waiting, but he knows he won't-he wouldn't forget, and anyway the wait is half the fun.
Well, not half. But maybe a quarter. Fifteen percent. Some non-negligible fraction of the fun.
Fuck, he wishes she were home already.
Except that he knows that as soon as Brendon agreed, this stopped being about what Pete wants.
Motörhead, he thinks desperately, staring at the iPod dock sitting primly atop the home theater console. Or he could put on the Beastie Boys, the Beasties would totally work.
"Babe?" Ashlee calls from the foyer. "Pete, honey, I'm home."
"Thank fuck," Pete says fervently, and jumps up off the couch to meet her halfway between the living room and the front door. He wraps his arms around her-she's tiny, the span of her waist so small even after the baby-picks her up, and twirls her around.
She laughs, open and bright, and murmurs, "Did you miss me?" in his ear.
"I was ten seconds from putting on License to Ill and turning it up to eleven," he tells her truthfully, and she laughs.
"Poor baby," she says.
Pete sets her down again and takes a second to just look at her, at the flush of her cheeks and chest, obviously still riding high on arousal. Pete even thinks he could smell Brendon's aftershave when he picked her up, and the thought makes him want to groan and bury his face in her hair. He doesn't have to ask if she did it-if they did it-because it's obvious they did, and now, now comes the good part, the part that comprises a much larger portion of the fun than the waiting did.
Does.
Whatever.
"Do you have a story for me?" he asks, his voice hushed, like he's asking her to tell him a secret. In a way, he supposes, he is.
Ashlee grins, the expression spreading slowly across her face. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, baby, I do." She leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth and then dances away when he tries to deepen the kiss. She looks back at him over her shoulder as she saunters off in the direction of the stairs, looking back over her shoulder at him and adding, "But it's a bedtime story."
She runs when he starts chasing after her, and she might be wearing four-inch heels but she's still ten times more graceful than he's ever going to be; she easily makes the top of the stairs before he does and ducks into their bedroom, still laughing.
When Pete finally makes it to their room, he finds her sitting on the edge of the bed. Her legs cross demurely at the ankles, and her short skirt is smoothed down neatly over her thighs; she gives him a coquettish look from under her lashes and then very deliberately lifts one leg, one delicate foot effortlessly en pointe in her shoe. He takes the hint immediately and drops to his knees in front of her so he can unbuckle her shoes, first one and then the other. He curls his fingers gently around one of her bare feet.
"Story?" he asks hopefully, digging lightly into her instep in the way he knows she likes.
She hums. "We went out for dinner. Some tiny little sushi place neither of us had ever heard of."
Pete leans in and presses a kiss against the inside of her ankle. "Any good?"
"Not bad," she says, dissembling, but her breath starts coming a little shakier when he drags his lips up the smooth skin of her calf, pushing her thighs apart a little bit so he can settle between them.
"And then?" he asks the inside of her knee.
She shudders a little bit under his hands. "And then he took me home."
Pete groans, muffling the sound against her inner thigh, just above her knee. Her legs are far enough apart now that he can see that she isn't wearing anything under her skirt, and he can smell how wet she is still, the thick sweetness of her scent making his mouth water. "Tell me," he whispers against her skin.
"He kissed me as soon as he shut the door behind us," she says, her voice a little unsteady. "And he-God, Pete, the way he kisses."
"How?" he asks, kissing slowly but steadily up the inside of her thigh, hoping she'll let him taste her.
"Like he does everything else he thinks is worth doing," Ashlee says. "Like there's nothing else in the world."
Pete mms against her skin. "And then?" he prompts.
"We didn't even make it upstairs at first," she says. "We just kind-kind of fell onto the couch, and he got his hand up my skirt, started touching me through my panties."
He moans at the mental image, at the thought of his wife sprawled out on the dark leather sofa in Brendon's living room, with Brendon's hand busy between her legs. He flicks his tongue out, tasting salt and musk on her inner thigh, and God, God, he's almost close enough to put his mouth on her-and then she fists her hand in his hair and yanks his head back, smiling down at him when he moans again.
"I'm trying to tell you a story, Peter," she says, sounding fondly exasperated. "Don't you want to hear it?"
Pete whimpers, tugging against her hand in his hair. "Please," he says. "Please please please, tell me."
She lets go her firm grip in his hair and smooths down the strands, petting him gently. "Only if you're good. Can you be good?"
He nods mindlessly, rubbing his cheek against the inside of her thigh. He can still smell her, and it's still driving him insane, but he'll be good, he'll do whatever she wants him to do.
"Good," Ashlee says, and then curves her fingers around his jaw to tilt his head up, folding forward to slant their mouths together.
Pete imagines he can taste Brendon on her lips, and moans into the kiss; he feels her lips curve up against his, like she knows exactly what he's thinking. Probably she does.
She pulls back a little, still cradling his head in her hands, and then sets her forehead against his, affectionate. "Get on the bed, Pete. On your stomach."
He scrambles to obey, shucking off his clothes as he stands up and then crawling naked to the center of the bed, arranging himself on the sheets so he can rub his half-hard cock against the mattress, craving Ashlee's loud smack on his ass almost as much as he craves the friction.
"None of that," she says sternly.
Pete lays his head on his folded arms, nodding, and closes his eyes, doing his best to stay absolutely still as he listens to her moving around their room, getting ready for whatever she has planned next. He wonders what it's going to be this time.
To his right, the mattress dips with her weight, and then her skin is sliding over his, her thighs spread wide over the small of his back, her slick cunt almost burning hot where it presses against him, just above the swell of his ass. He groans again, feeling deliciously trapped; she might not weigh much, but the strength in those thighs is enough to keep him exactly where she wants him, with his dick throbbing against the sheets and no way to relieve the ache of it, totally at her mercy.
She leans down, molding herself against him-and God, she's naked, her nipples brushing against his back, her hair spilling down to tickle his neck and shoulders-and whispers hotly in his ear, "Where was I?"
Pete sucks in a breath. "Brendon. The couch."
"Mm, yeah," she says, her voice sexy and dark. "I was so wet, baby, so hot for it and we were both still dressed, just laid out on his couch and kissing while he touched me."
"Fuck, Ash," Pete grits out, and she sits back up again, hands skimming his shoulders and then sliding down to circle his wrists, tugging his arms out and back so his chest and face are pressed farther into the mattress, crossing his wrists behind his back to emphasize even more that she's the one in control here, that he's at her mercy.
"He finally got my underwear off and then he pushed one of my legs up to my chest so I was spread wide open for him. And he could have fucked me then-I was ready, I wanted it-but he asked if he could go down on me first."
Pete lets out a shuddering moan at that, tugging lightly at her grip on his wrists. "Did you let him?" he asks, breathless.
Ashlee giggles. "Fuck yes, I did. Wouldn't you?" Her voice gets sort of a dreamy quality to it. "His mouth, Pete, he was fucking made for it. And I expected him to, like, get on the floor or something, but he just folded himself up at the bottom of the couch and just-just fucking buried his face between my legs." She grinds down against him a little, and God, she's so wet that she's getting his back all slick with it.
"He made you come," Pete says, not a question, just an unbearably hot thought.
"Yes," she says. "And then-then he crawled up and kissed me and all I could taste was me, all over his mouth, all over his tongue, and it was so hot, Pete, oh my God."
Pete moans his agreement. "And then?" he presses, knowing there's more to tell, wanting to hear the rest of it.
"We went upstairs," Ashlee says. "And we finally got naked and then he pushed me down on his bed, just...like...this." She punctuates the words by sliding down his body until her thighs are set inside his, pushing his legs apart, and her hips are pressing his into the mattress. She lets go of his wrists, tapping the bones of one sharply to tell him to keep his hands precisely where they are, and then slides her hand between them to rest warm and dry against his ass. Pete cries out.
"He fucked you," he pants, pushing back into the gentle pressure of her fingers against his rim, another not-question.
"Yeah, he did," she says, "just like I'm going to fuck you."
And then-Jesus, fuck-her other hand is slipping between them, her slender fingers slick with lube so she can start working him open, and she doesn't tell him no when he keens and rocks back against her fingers, even though the movement has him grinding down against the mattress, dangerously close to coming already just from his wife's fucking filthy mouth. She gets it, though, and so she's rougher than she needs to be, fucking him open with her fingers to get him ready for the toy he knows is coming, the one he bought for her because she said I always wanted to try and he's never been able to refuse her anything.
All too soon, she's switching her fingers for her cock, the silicone seated deep inside her making her moan with him as she pushes in.
Ashlee digs her fingers into his hips and tugs him backwards, upwards, hauling him up onto his knees so she has better leverage, and he cries out at the loss of friction.
"This is how we did it," she says, breathless with exertion as she rolls her hips, fucking into him with the toy. "Except-he's got a headboard I could hold on to, so I did, just held on while he fucked me, and it was so good, Pete, so fucking good."
Pete whimpers and curls his hands around his opposite wrists, chasing that same sensation of holding onto something, trying to ground himself. But it isn't the same, isn't enough; he's caught here, caught between the bed and the relentless rhythm of Ashlee moving inside him, of her voice telling him exactly how good it felt when Brendon fucked her like this or touched her like that.
It feels like an eternity before she says, "And then he-" and reaches around to wrap her slick fingers around Pete's cock, and it only takes a few short strokes inside and out before he's sobbing out her name and coming all over the sheets.
"Oh, shit, Pete," Ashlee groans, and her weight shifts, settles against him so she's mostly just grinding against him, her parts of the toy pressing hard against her clit and her g-spot until she draws in a sharp breath and then cries out once, the tension easing out of her thighs where they're still holding Pete's open.
She leans down and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades before gently pulling out and rolling off to the side, setting her fake cock aside and then reaching up with sticky fingers to pry his hands loose from around his wrists and settle his arms at his sides again while he twitches through his comedown.
"Hey," she says softly, and he turns his head to look at her so they can smile sleepily at one another.
"Hey yourself," he says, and then strains forward to brush his mouth over hers lightly.
Ashlee makes an insistent sound into his mouth and then pushes him onto his back so she can curl up against his side, laying her head on his chest.
Pete is definitely lying in the wet spot.
"We should move," he whispers against her hair. "Clean up, maybe."
She opens one eye to look balefully at him. "I'm exhausted, Pete. And I want to cuddle."
"I want to cuddle, too!" Pete says, almost indignant. "Just, y'know, not lying in a pool of my own come."
Ashlee yawns. "Well, it's yours."
Pete yawns back, a completely involuntary response. "Know what else is mine?" he says around it.
"Lots of things," she says sleepily.
"Well, yeah, but I was going to say the guest bedroom down the hall."
"Not walking."
He rolls away from her and off the bed, taking a moment to steady himself on his feet. "'Kay," he says, and coaxes her onto her back at the edge of the bed so he can pick her up.
She rubs her cheek against his chest as he carries her and is asleep before he can even get her under the blankets in the guest room.
Pete curls himself around her and buries his face in her hair, whispering thank you thank you thank you and hoping that she'll hear it in her dreams.
"I'm in," Brendon says, "but I still don't understand why."
Pete and Ashlee look at one another and share a wicked, secretive smile.
"Because we like it."
***