The Little Chain Around His Neck (RPF, John Simm/"You", NC-17)
Title: The Little Chain Around His Neck
Author: von_gelmini
Fandom: RPF
Prompt: Photodrabble
Characters: John Simm/"You" (unspecified 2nd person of unspecified gender)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1605
Warnings: RPF - don’t like, don’t read.
Prompt Photo
The Little Chain Around His Neck
You come up behind him and start kissing and nibbling on the back of his neck, starting around that chain he always wears, picking it up with your tongue and licking beneath it. You slowly work your way until you're behind his ear and start sucking on his earlobe. He leans his head back toward you and gasps from the sensation of it.
With his head back, you reach up and circle your hand around his throat -- not squeezing, just holding firm.
You walk around to the front of him, sliding your hand around to the back of his neck. You pull him down so you can kiss him.
And that is the end of you being in charge because he reaches up and grabs a handful of your hair, bending you back as he deepens the kiss, claiming your mouth. He nips at your bottom lip and despite the hurt you can't help moan. He licks the tender spot with his tongue.
"Tease," he whispers into your mouth. "That can get you in trouble."
"That's what I was hoping for," you answer, your lips twitching up into a smile beneath his.
He lets go of your hair and reaches down with both hands to cup your arse and pull you close until you are touching along the whole front of your bodies, never moving more than an inch away from your mouth.
"Yeah?" he asks, his voice a breathy rasp. "Maybe you'll get more than you bargained for."
You can't answer. Any coherent words have fled your brain. You close your eyes and moan, arching your body even tighter against his, feeling the swell of his erection pressing against you.
His hands move to your hips and he pushes with one, pulling with the other. "Turn around," he commands and you let him spin you until you're facing the kitchen table. He gives you a little shove in the middle of your back. "Bend over."
Your heart starts to beat a little faster and a touch of (thrilling) fear shudders through you as you lie there on the table waiting, wondering what he will do next. You hear him working his belt loose and then you hear the belt buckle ring as it hits the tile floor. He grabs your hips again, pulling you back away from the table a bit so he can reach beneath you and fumble around with your belt and zip, little annoyed sounds coming from him as they prove to be a bit more of a challenge than he would've liked. But it's done soon enough and you feel the cool air on your naked arse as your trousers hit the floor and your pants are pushed down around your ankles.
He leans forward and rubs his cock along the crack of your arse, giving a smug little moan of approval at the current situation -- you bent over and vulnerable, him erect and commanding.
But this encounter wasn't planned for and he pauses a second before reaching past your head to the center of the table. He takes the lid off of the butter dish and scoops up two fingers full of the soft spread.
With little preparation he pushes both slicked fingers up your arse and you can't help but cry out a bit at the sudden intrusion.
"Little tease," he taunts. "Is this..." his fingers work deep inside you "...what you were wanting?"
You groan and your arse arches up into the air of its own volition. "Yes, John," you say, panting and sucking in your lip. You hear his quiet, throaty laugh.
"What if I just left you here?" he says, holding his hand still. "I could just go upstairs and have a wank."
Now you know he's teasing. No way he'd prefer a wank in the bathroom to your ready arse. But he wants to hear you asking for it, begging for it. "Oh, don't do that," you moan, pushing yourself back onto his fingers. He lets you and they go deep inside again and feel so good. "I want you so bad, John, and my hot, needy arse is a whole lot better than your hand in the cold bathroom." His hand is holding still and you move, slowly fucking yourself on his fingers. You look over your shoulder and see that smug, squinty smirk on his face. It's working. He loves to see you turn into a total slut for him and you love the way it makes you feel when you do.
He steps forward and you feel his cock brushing against you as you slide back and forth on his fingers. With his other hand he grips your hip and holds you still. He rocks back and forth, rubbing next to his fingers, along your crack. So close! You try to roll your hips and push back but his grip tightens on your hip... there'll be bruises there in the morning. You like that idea so you close your eyes and try to do it again. His fingers are strong and easily hold you where he wants you. You're aching for it so badly that you can't help but moan his name in a beseaching cry.
His moan is almost a growl as he lets you know how much your desperation turns him on. He slips his fingers out of you and you can't help a little disappointed whimper, but it's soon turned into a sharp gasp as, with a single thrust, he penetrates you.
Almost immediately he settles into an insistant rhythm, sliding half out before burying himself inside you again. Not slow, not fast, but maddeningly steady. One hand stays on your bruised hip and with the other in the center of your back, he pins you to the table. You can't help but moan and pant, but you are trying to be quiet. Not because anyone might hear you (you're alone in the house), but because his sounds turn you on so much. He likes to think he's silent, reticent to give up any acknowledgement of the way you make him feel. But you've become an expert in him in just these past few weeks. You revel in every grunt, sucked in breath, groan, and choked back, half-uttered word.
It's driving you insane -- his persistant thrusting into you, his sounds, the feel of his hands controlling you. Much as you want to listen, to focus on feeling these things, it becomes more and more difficult as your own pleasure rises and soon you can't control your own responses anymore. You're moaning and whimpering, mumbling incoherently, trying desperately to circle your hips or move in some way that will make him change his rhythm, make him start fucking you hard. He ignores your attempts, but his little chuckle shows that he's noticing them.
"John," you cry out breathily.
"Yes?" he asks, amusement in his ragged voice.
You close your eyes and moan, clenching around his cock. "Fuck me."
"I am," he says.
Your moan turns into a pleading whimper. "John! Please? Oh god, I need you." And every fiber of your body trembles with the undeniable truth of that statement. In just a few weeks he's gone from a casual shag to something you need like air. At that realization you're suddenly afraid. Afraid you'll scare him away. Afraid you won't.
His hand strokes your back, reaching up to your neck and shoulders, soothing you. You feel him bend over you and whisper softly. "Need you, too."
His voice, those words... you can almost come just from that, but he stands up again and thrusts deep into you. "Like that?" he says, all smug and in control again. He pulls almost all the way out and slams into you, his balls smacking against you, sending a new sensation tingling, rushing through your body. "Is this what you want?"
"Yes!" you cry out as he continues his assault on your body. After so long a controlled rhythm, this wildness, this intensity feels so good. Hard and fast now he pounds into you and you can't hold back. You get louder and pant harder and can't help but move to meet him. Every thrust drives you closer, and despite being lost in your own sensations, you can hear the catch in his breaths, the sounds he so restrained before becoming deeper and more frequent.
You're not touching yourself and neither is he touching you, but that doesn't seem to matter this time. He's so deep inside you, so fiercly fucking you, that there's no resisting him as he drives forth your orgasm from you.
He bends over you again and wraps his arms underneath you, raising you off the table just a little, pulling you hard against him. Fast and shallow, staying buried inside you, he thrusts, grunting against your neck, his breath hot across the same place you were teasing on him when this all started. He thrusts hard once, twice, and holds there the third time, his body tense behind you, quavering as he spends deep inside of you.
His arms slip out from underneath you to lie against your sides and you both collapse onto the table. You're both breathing hard and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest and the pounding of his heart against your back. He feels so solid and comforting lying there. And did he say...? So what, you tell yourself. Things said in the middle of fucking never count.
But you can't get that voice of his out of your mind... 'need you too.'
Author: von_gelmini
Fandom: RPF
Prompt: Photodrabble
Characters: John Simm/"You" (unspecified 2nd person of unspecified gender)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1605
Warnings: RPF - don’t like, don’t read.
Prompt Photo
The Little Chain Around His Neck
You come up behind him and start kissing and nibbling on the back of his neck, starting around that chain he always wears, picking it up with your tongue and licking beneath it. You slowly work your way until you're behind his ear and start sucking on his earlobe. He leans his head back toward you and gasps from the sensation of it.
With his head back, you reach up and circle your hand around his throat -- not squeezing, just holding firm.
You walk around to the front of him, sliding your hand around to the back of his neck. You pull him down so you can kiss him.
And that is the end of you being in charge because he reaches up and grabs a handful of your hair, bending you back as he deepens the kiss, claiming your mouth. He nips at your bottom lip and despite the hurt you can't help moan. He licks the tender spot with his tongue.
"Tease," he whispers into your mouth. "That can get you in trouble."
"That's what I was hoping for," you answer, your lips twitching up into a smile beneath his.
He lets go of your hair and reaches down with both hands to cup your arse and pull you close until you are touching along the whole front of your bodies, never moving more than an inch away from your mouth.
"Yeah?" he asks, his voice a breathy rasp. "Maybe you'll get more than you bargained for."
You can't answer. Any coherent words have fled your brain. You close your eyes and moan, arching your body even tighter against his, feeling the swell of his erection pressing against you.
His hands move to your hips and he pushes with one, pulling with the other. "Turn around," he commands and you let him spin you until you're facing the kitchen table. He gives you a little shove in the middle of your back. "Bend over."
Your heart starts to beat a little faster and a touch of (thrilling) fear shudders through you as you lie there on the table waiting, wondering what he will do next. You hear him working his belt loose and then you hear the belt buckle ring as it hits the tile floor. He grabs your hips again, pulling you back away from the table a bit so he can reach beneath you and fumble around with your belt and zip, little annoyed sounds coming from him as they prove to be a bit more of a challenge than he would've liked. But it's done soon enough and you feel the cool air on your naked arse as your trousers hit the floor and your pants are pushed down around your ankles.
He leans forward and rubs his cock along the crack of your arse, giving a smug little moan of approval at the current situation -- you bent over and vulnerable, him erect and commanding.
But this encounter wasn't planned for and he pauses a second before reaching past your head to the center of the table. He takes the lid off of the butter dish and scoops up two fingers full of the soft spread.
With little preparation he pushes both slicked fingers up your arse and you can't help but cry out a bit at the sudden intrusion.
"Little tease," he taunts. "Is this..." his fingers work deep inside you "...what you were wanting?"
You groan and your arse arches up into the air of its own volition. "Yes, John," you say, panting and sucking in your lip. You hear his quiet, throaty laugh.
"What if I just left you here?" he says, holding his hand still. "I could just go upstairs and have a wank."
Now you know he's teasing. No way he'd prefer a wank in the bathroom to your ready arse. But he wants to hear you asking for it, begging for it. "Oh, don't do that," you moan, pushing yourself back onto his fingers. He lets you and they go deep inside again and feel so good. "I want you so bad, John, and my hot, needy arse is a whole lot better than your hand in the cold bathroom." His hand is holding still and you move, slowly fucking yourself on his fingers. You look over your shoulder and see that smug, squinty smirk on his face. It's working. He loves to see you turn into a total slut for him and you love the way it makes you feel when you do.
He steps forward and you feel his cock brushing against you as you slide back and forth on his fingers. With his other hand he grips your hip and holds you still. He rocks back and forth, rubbing next to his fingers, along your crack. So close! You try to roll your hips and push back but his grip tightens on your hip... there'll be bruises there in the morning. You like that idea so you close your eyes and try to do it again. His fingers are strong and easily hold you where he wants you. You're aching for it so badly that you can't help but moan his name in a beseaching cry.
His moan is almost a growl as he lets you know how much your desperation turns him on. He slips his fingers out of you and you can't help a little disappointed whimper, but it's soon turned into a sharp gasp as, with a single thrust, he penetrates you.
Almost immediately he settles into an insistant rhythm, sliding half out before burying himself inside you again. Not slow, not fast, but maddeningly steady. One hand stays on your bruised hip and with the other in the center of your back, he pins you to the table. You can't help but moan and pant, but you are trying to be quiet. Not because anyone might hear you (you're alone in the house), but because his sounds turn you on so much. He likes to think he's silent, reticent to give up any acknowledgement of the way you make him feel. But you've become an expert in him in just these past few weeks. You revel in every grunt, sucked in breath, groan, and choked back, half-uttered word.
It's driving you insane -- his persistant thrusting into you, his sounds, the feel of his hands controlling you. Much as you want to listen, to focus on feeling these things, it becomes more and more difficult as your own pleasure rises and soon you can't control your own responses anymore. You're moaning and whimpering, mumbling incoherently, trying desperately to circle your hips or move in some way that will make him change his rhythm, make him start fucking you hard. He ignores your attempts, but his little chuckle shows that he's noticing them.
"John," you cry out breathily.
"Yes?" he asks, amusement in his ragged voice.
You close your eyes and moan, clenching around his cock. "Fuck me."
"I am," he says.
Your moan turns into a pleading whimper. "John! Please? Oh god, I need you." And every fiber of your body trembles with the undeniable truth of that statement. In just a few weeks he's gone from a casual shag to something you need like air. At that realization you're suddenly afraid. Afraid you'll scare him away. Afraid you won't.
His hand strokes your back, reaching up to your neck and shoulders, soothing you. You feel him bend over you and whisper softly. "Need you, too."
His voice, those words... you can almost come just from that, but he stands up again and thrusts deep into you. "Like that?" he says, all smug and in control again. He pulls almost all the way out and slams into you, his balls smacking against you, sending a new sensation tingling, rushing through your body. "Is this what you want?"
"Yes!" you cry out as he continues his assault on your body. After so long a controlled rhythm, this wildness, this intensity feels so good. Hard and fast now he pounds into you and you can't hold back. You get louder and pant harder and can't help but move to meet him. Every thrust drives you closer, and despite being lost in your own sensations, you can hear the catch in his breaths, the sounds he so restrained before becoming deeper and more frequent.
You're not touching yourself and neither is he touching you, but that doesn't seem to matter this time. He's so deep inside you, so fiercly fucking you, that there's no resisting him as he drives forth your orgasm from you.
He bends over you again and wraps his arms underneath you, raising you off the table just a little, pulling you hard against him. Fast and shallow, staying buried inside you, he thrusts, grunting against your neck, his breath hot across the same place you were teasing on him when this all started. He thrusts hard once, twice, and holds there the third time, his body tense behind you, quavering as he spends deep inside of you.
His arms slip out from underneath you to lie against your sides and you both collapse onto the table. You're both breathing hard and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest and the pounding of his heart against your back. He feels so solid and comforting lying there. And did he say...? So what, you tell yourself. Things said in the middle of fucking never count.
But you can't get that voice of his out of your mind... 'need you too.'