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xstarlesscity

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GUIDELINES:

- you can be anon, but you don't have to be anon. you take full credit for your pervy thoughts if you like, but don't feel pressured.
- one prompt per post, please.
- read over the requests and fill them with fic and art. both are encouraged!
- a post can be filled multiple times. just because someone drew it doesn't mean you can't write it, or draw it again. and again and again and again. the more the merrier.
- absolutely NO hating on other people's kinks. there is a 0% chance that writing or requesting fic or art will hurt anyone, so live and let live.
- pimp us around! most of this fandom isn't on lj, so the more this gets pimped, the more likely it is that your requests will get filled. post the banner on tumblr with a click-through link to this page!

this fandom is seriously lacking in kink.
let's get this party started.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

birkenboots.livejournal.com

Just as Guy lets out a shuddering sigh, aware that he's past the point of casual stroking and is now firmly entrenched in the need to come, a loud pair of drunken, laughing club patrons stumble into the bathroom. Guy freezes, but Thomas instantly lifts both his legs up, ensuring that only one set of feet is visible under the stall divider. Guy only has a moment to realize that the way his feet are pointed toward the toilet will look suspicious before one of the men raps on the stall door.

"Hey," the man hisses in that trying-not-to-be-loud not-really-whisper everyone seems to develop at a certain point of inebriation. "Are you getting fucked up in there? Can I buy some off you?"

"No," Guy blurts out immediately, "I'm fucking puking, leave me alone."

Thomas shoves most of one fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, his shoulders shaking violently.

"Shit, sorry, man," the drunk says. He and his friend both quiet down, as if on Guy's behalf, and soon return to the club, easing the bathroom door shut behind them.

Thomas lets out a peal of laughter, finally putting his feet back on the ground. "That was fucking priceless! 'I'm fucking puking.' Fuck..."

Unamused, Guy tucks his cock back into his underwear. "I wasn't trying to make a joke. What if we had been found out?"

Thomas shrugs, still grinning. "Then it would be the first time anyone had ever been discovered getting it on inside a club's bathroom. Our careers? Over."

Guy thumps his head back against the stall door. "Everything is such a fucking joke."

"One day I'm going to play with that."

"With what?"

"With how annoyed you get -- with the entire world -- if you can't come as soon as you feel the need." And just like that, Thomas's expression isn't funny anymore; it's shrewd and intent, and Guy has that feeling in the pit of his stomach that reminds him that he isn't his own man anymore. Maybe he hasn't been since the moment he met Thomas. It's always been more important to please Thomas than to do as he prefers himself.

Guy pulls his underwear down again. It doesn't matter anymore how much further Thomas might push him due to the initiative.

From:

birkenboots.livejournal.com

Thomas smiles, grabbing the belt loops that are now midway down Guy's thighs and tugging him close, so close Guy's knees hit the front of the toilet between Thomas's legs. "I want you to jerk off for me," he murmurs, "right here, right up close so I can see. And then I want you to come on my face."

Guy blinks down at Thomas. In all the fantasies he's had since they made their agreement, this wasn't one he considered.

"What?" Thomas says. "I'm in control, so I get what I want. This is something I want. So do it for me." His hands slide off the belt loops to grip Guy's thighs instead, squeezing slowly, firmly. "Do it."

Thomas's thumbs are digging into spots on Guy's thighs that seem hardwired to his cock. He doesn't decide to comply, but his hand is somehow on his cock and stroking anyway, inches from Thomas's face. Thomas is watching with his mouth open again, his lower lip glistening with saliva from the way his tongue laves it again and again. Guy leans just a little closer, teasing himself with the fantasy of touching his cock to that mouth, no longer thinking about the absurdity of the situation or the exposed nature of stroking himself off with Thomas watching so closely. He's doing it for Thomas. That's what matters.

Just as Guy's breath begins to hitch, Thomas grabs him by the hips and shoves him back hard against the stall door. Thomas drops to his knees with an audible crack that will doubtlessly leave bruises on his kneecaps the next morning, and then he's shoving his face under Guy's cock, muttering "do it, do it" so close that Guy can feel the breath on the underside of his cock.

Letting out a hoarse, surprised cry, Guy comes, the first jet painting the side of Thomas's face from jaw to temple. Thomas moans, arching his face up for more, mouth open, hands spasming tight against Guy's thighs. Guy watches, his orgasm utterly overshadowed by the way Thomas seems completely transported. It's all backwards, Thomas on his knees covered in come, but Guy has no more uncertainty whatsoever about whether Thomas is in control.

Guy leans back against the door, his knees starting to buckle. "Fuck," he moans, unsure whether it's the orgasm or the mindfuck that's spent him.

Thomas smiles, easing his way back up to sit on the toilet. He wipes his face clean with his fingers, sucking every fingerful of come into his mouth. "Good job."

That's all Guy can take. He sinks to his knees, undone, and Thomas places a hand at the back of Guy's head, urging his forehead down to rest on Thomas's thigh. Guy closes his eyes, waiting for the world to come back into focus, and once it does a little, he wraps both arms around Thomas's waist.

Thomas lets out a small, soft noise, one Guy knows is paired with a smile, and Guy relaxes completely. Thomas is happy. That's what matters.