Title: Safe, Warm, Loved Pairing: Oliver/Marcus Kink(s): Safeword, Aftercare Other Enticements: Sex Toys, Spooning, Dick Warming Notes: I think someone said that this confused ID is actually kittyaugust (something truly odd happened there to the name on the comment!). I hope this is fluffy and sensual for you. <3 Happy DD birthday!
Marcus is gorgeous splayed out like this, a light sheen of sweat beading on his skin. His arms are stretched above his head, fingers wrapped around the slats of the bed, a Gryffindor tie wound around his wrists to hold him in place. His knees are bent, heels almost to his bum, lifting his hips from the bed. Breath makes his chest heave, shuddering out again, his cock thick and rigid, dripping from the tip.
Oliver twists the plug and pushes it past Marcus’s tight rim. He runs his hand over Marcus’s thigh, waiting for the moment when he relaxes so that Oliver can push the plug in all the way, seating it carefully. “Green?” he asks, and Marcus nods, eyes closed.
“Yeah,” Marcus grunts. “‘M’fine. Get on with it, Wood.”
Oliver coughs, and Marcus grumbles. “For that,” Oliver tells him, “we’re going with a blindfold tonight. If I can’t trust you to be respectful, I can’t trust you to keep my eyes closed.”
“Why not just fucking gag me?” Marcus mutters.
Oliver runs a finger across Marcus’s bottom lip, pressing just inside as a blindfold ties itself around Marcus’s head. “I might, later, but I want the option of what I’m going to gag you with,” he says lightly. “Besides. I want you to be loud tonight, Marc. Tell me how it feels.”
“Yes, Sir.” The words are tight, bitten off. Marcus’s hips shift, seeking friction. Oliver grants him a small touch, ghosting his fingertips over the length of Marcus’s shaft, then pulling away as soon as Marcus thrusts.
“Patience,” Oliver says. He summons the box he’d set aside in the other room, where Marcus wouldn’t see it before tonight. He reaches in, pulls out the clamps he’d selected, palming them in his right hand. With his free hand, he teases Marcus’s nipples, pinching until they’re both hard nubs, then fixes the clamps in place.
“Fuck….” Marcus whispers.
“Still good?” Oliver asks, waiting until Marcus nods.
Oliver has two strings of clips, and he places each set carefully, pinching tiny bits of skin from armpit to waist. There’s not an ounce of fat on Marcus; he’s built as a solid wall of muscle, honed from hours on the Quidditch pitch.
Marcus whines softly as the last clips are placed, his breath shallow and even. Oliver places a hand on his chest, feels the steady beat of his heart. He’s learned to read his lover, to know when Marcus has slid into that space beyond words. A low whuff of an exhale, and a lazy inhale.
Oliver pinches the skin just below Marcus’s nipple, and his hips jerk.
He’s ready.
A spell flips Marcus in place, twisting him until he’s knees down on the bed, a pillow under his shoulders for support, his arse high in the air. Marcus’s fingers flex, and he grunts as he lands, head bowed low. Oliver pauses with one hand on Marcus’s back, waits for any response, and when he gets none, he moves on.
His cat o’ nine tails lands in his hand, his fingers wrapping around the well-worn leather. Oliver runs his fingers down the strands, checks the knots at the end to make sure everything’s in good condition. He raises his arm, flicks his wrist as he swings, and snaps the cat to strike Marcus’s raised arse.
Marcus grunts, swaying with the impact, bright lines of red striping his skin.
Pairing: Oliver/Marcus
Kink(s): Safeword, Aftercare
Other Enticements: Sex Toys, Spooning, Dick Warming
Notes: I think someone said that this confused ID is actually
Marcus is gorgeous splayed out like this, a light sheen of sweat beading on his skin. His arms are stretched above his head, fingers wrapped around the slats of the bed, a Gryffindor tie wound around his wrists to hold him in place. His knees are bent, heels almost to his bum, lifting his hips from the bed. Breath makes his chest heave, shuddering out again, his cock thick and rigid, dripping from the tip.
Oliver twists the plug and pushes it past Marcus’s tight rim. He runs his hand over Marcus’s thigh, waiting for the moment when he relaxes so that Oliver can push the plug in all the way, seating it carefully. “Green?” he asks, and Marcus nods, eyes closed.
“Yeah,” Marcus grunts. “‘M’fine. Get on with it, Wood.”
Oliver coughs, and Marcus grumbles. “For that,” Oliver tells him, “we’re going with a blindfold tonight. If I can’t trust you to be respectful, I can’t trust you to keep my eyes closed.”
“Why not just fucking gag me?” Marcus mutters.
Oliver runs a finger across Marcus’s bottom lip, pressing just inside as a blindfold ties itself around Marcus’s head. “I might, later, but I want the option of what I’m going to gag you with,” he says lightly. “Besides. I want you to be loud tonight, Marc. Tell me how it feels.”
“Yes, Sir.” The words are tight, bitten off. Marcus’s hips shift, seeking friction. Oliver grants him a small touch, ghosting his fingertips over the length of Marcus’s shaft, then pulling away as soon as Marcus thrusts.
“Patience,” Oliver says. He summons the box he’d set aside in the other room, where Marcus wouldn’t see it before tonight. He reaches in, pulls out the clamps he’d selected, palming them in his right hand. With his free hand, he teases Marcus’s nipples, pinching until they’re both hard nubs, then fixes the clamps in place.
“Fuck….” Marcus whispers.
“Still good?” Oliver asks, waiting until Marcus nods.
Oliver has two strings of clips, and he places each set carefully, pinching tiny bits of skin from armpit to waist. There’s not an ounce of fat on Marcus; he’s built as a solid wall of muscle, honed from hours on the Quidditch pitch.
Marcus whines softly as the last clips are placed, his breath shallow and even. Oliver places a hand on his chest, feels the steady beat of his heart. He’s learned to read his lover, to know when Marcus has slid into that space beyond words. A low whuff of an exhale, and a lazy inhale.
Oliver pinches the skin just below Marcus’s nipple, and his hips jerk.
He’s ready.
A spell flips Marcus in place, twisting him until he’s knees down on the bed, a pillow under his shoulders for support, his arse high in the air. Marcus’s fingers flex, and he grunts as he lands, head bowed low. Oliver pauses with one hand on Marcus’s back, waits for any response, and when he gets none, he moves on.
His cat o’ nine tails lands in his hand, his fingers wrapping around the well-worn leather. Oliver runs his fingers down the strands, checks the knots at the end to make sure everything’s in good condition. He raises his arm, flicks his wrist as he swings, and snaps the cat to strike Marcus’s raised arse.
Marcus grunts, swaying with the impact, bright lines of red striping his skin.