(no subject)
Title: A productive morning
Pairing: Chandler/Kent
Rating: NC-17
Summary: I am using my summer productively and staying in writing plotless porn.
Word count: 1000
Disclaimer: Whitechapel belongs to its creators, and I am but a penniless student.
When Emerson had gotten in from his morning coffee run, he hadn’t expected to be pounced on. That said, pounced on is probably the wrong word. It had been more of a steady, insistent shove, until he was flush against the wall, still trying to catch his breath that had led to this.
Behind him, Joe slips another finger into him, not stopping until he’s knuckle deep and spreading them slightly. Emerson bites his lip to silence his groan. The fingers fuck in and out a couple of times before curling, and he can’t contain his moan at that, pleasure sparking behind his eyelids.
“You’re so easy.” He hears Joe say, voice amused. Emerson tries to glare over his shoulder, but he expects the effect is lost when he feels a third finger slickly trace the edge of his hole and spread his legs a bit wider, trying to push back.
Joe’s free hand squeezes his hip in warning at that, blunt nails digging in, before skimming upwards, under Emerson’s top, and brushing his fingers across his nipples. They only make fleeting little swipes, but it’s enough to weaken his knees, leaving him torn between pushing forward against the friction, or grinding himself back against the third finger he can feel -oh, fuck- pushing into his arse.
By the time they push in all the way, Emerson can barely think he feels so full. When the fingers curl again and spread out, he keens, immediately regretting it from the way his boss snorts, nipping his shoulder.
He’d never beg to be fucked - Liar, you have before, a voice in his head says - but when Joe removes his fingers, he feels suddenly empty, and it physically aches, makes his thighs tremble. He can hear him slicking himself up, the obscene sound filling the room, and Emerson begins to grow impatient, reaching back and trying to drag him closer by the hip.
“Come on…” he mutters under his breath. He can feel the head of Joe’s cock against the cleft of his arse, and he wants to push back, to say god, just fuck me, but pride is a terrible beast. Instead, Joe takes the hand that had been pawing ineffectually at his hip, and slams it back against the wall - fuck, that shouldn’t make his cock throb- before lining himself up and pushing in, a slow, gorgeous drag until he bottoms out.
“God.” Joe says, adjusting his grasp on Emerson’s hip and pulling out as slowly as he possibly can before sliding back in, his pace maddeningly unhurried.
If it was anyone else, Emerson would think his partner was being considerate, minding not to hurt him, but because it’s Joe, he knows he’s only doing it out of gluttony, luxuriating as though he’s got all the time in the world to fuck around, quite literally.
Joe’s hand slips back up his chest and thumbs one of his nipples in hard circles, and the noise that comes out of Emerson’s mouth is most definitely not a whine. He’s not desperate; not really, he just wants to get on with it. Really.
Of course, that’s rather undermined by the fact that when Joe finally pulls away and slams back into him with force, he melts against the wall, head resting against the arm he has braced there.
“Fuck, yes.” He grits out when his lover picks up the pace, twisting his hips slightly, and god, he can hear himself whimpering. Not that he can help it, when the noises are being fucked out of him like this.
“Easy.” He hears Joe say, and he growls when Joe pulls his head back by the hair to kiss him, biting at his mouth viciously, tongue fucking into his mouth.
He pulls away, breathless and feels his cock ache, and moves to take himself in hand, but barely manages one stroke before his hand is slammed back against the wall.
He grits his teeth against the sudden swell of frustrated anger, and slams his fist weakly into the wall.
“Let me get off!” he spits, and bloody hell¸his nerves are shot to bits. He’s physically shuddering with each of Joe’s thrusts, feeling them grow erratic and wanting nothing more than to come whilst he’s still being filled.
Joe drives his hips in again, teeth set against Emerson's shoulderblade, and yes, Emerson thinks, wanting nothing more than to feel a hand close around his cock at last, to feel the hot spill of come inside hi-
At the last minute though, Joe pulls out and fuck, no, he feels empty, clenching around nothing and feeling the loss.
He hears the slick noise of Joe fisting himself from behind him, and barely has time to register it before he feels the first spurt land on the small of his back, running down his skin as it is joined by the others.
Joe falls forward against his back, breathing hard, before running a hand through the mess that Emerson can feel sliding between his cheeks, and fuck, it feels filthy and perfect, and-
“Please.” He says, startling himself. His skin feels too tight and he’s throbbing and god, he just wants to come. “Come on, please. Get me off.”
Joe snorts, though it doesn’t sound mean.
He smears his fingers through the mess, slicking them, and without preamble, shoves three fingers back in, deep enough the Emerson can feel the bones of his knuckles pressing against his rim.
He whimpers again, by now past caring, as Joe’s hand finally, finally closes around his cock, stroking once, twice, before he unravels, hips bucking through his boss’s fist before he stills, come coating his stomach, and god. He’s never felt so filthy and amazing in his life.
The fingers still within him curl again, and he twitches violently at it, too much, too soon.
Still, when he’s just had an orgasm so good he can barely stand, he can’t bring himself to care too much.