At some point, Rick’s lost track of time. He has no idea how late it is, but the dungeon is filled almost to overflowing. There’s grunting and groans, wet sex-sounds, the slapping of skin and whips and paddles and who knows what else against skin. The lighting is slightly lower than in the salon, but not by much — that wouldn’t do, because there are more people here to watch than to play.
A burly young man suspended in mid-air is drawing the largest crowd. His body is bowed back into a near half-circle; strategically placed mirrors reflect skin criss-crossed with an intricate net of ropes.
Tonight’s dungeon monitor is called Ben. He’s taller even than Jon, gym-honed muscles cording his bare shoulders and chest. At any other time Rick might find him attractive; now, he has no desire to spare.
Scenes are being played at every station they pass in Ben’s wake, men with avid faces gathered around to watch. Rick recognizes no more than a very small number of people, but in a way, they all look the same — short and tall and handsome and ordinary and stocky and skinny and young and old. Leather and oiled skin and lust, all of them reduced to the most primal desires.
Someone with a hood over his head is being whipped at the post next to the elaborate bondage sling Ben leads them to. The sub’s body is jerking with every stroke; his back, buttocks and thighs are bright red and streaked with welts, but there’s no sound except muffled gasps, heavy breathing and the cracks of the whip.
“If your pet is loud, you need to gag him,” Ben tells Rick, all matter-of-fact. He doesn’t bother with overt dominance games — he doesn’t have to. This is his dungeon. He makes the rules, he has the last word, and the finality of it underlies his every motion and every word.
Gag him…?
Rick blinks at the man for a moment, and suddenly, for the space of a heartbeat, the world skews. In a sickening rush of vertigo, the men all around turn into a gallery of grotesque, threatening strangers; Rick finds himself in the middle of a performance he has no script for, pushed into a role he can’t fill.
He takes half a step back and turns, and there’s Jon.
Jon’s watching him as though he’s the only one in the room… the only one who matters. He’s flushed and black-eyed with arousal, and there’s no possible way for Rick not to touch him. So he does — puts a hand flat against his stomach, runs it up his chest and curves it around the nape of Jon’s neck, pulls him into a kiss. It’s slow and deep and perfectly, wonderfully right in a way Rick can’t remember anything having been before.
They didn’t talk about this — any of this. Rick has no idea how loud Jon is when he has sex. But it doesn’t matter; now, Rick is back in the moment, right here with Jon.
He draws back from the kiss, but stays close; hooks two fingers into Jon’s collar and tugs his head to the side. Smoothes his thumb gently over the line of his jaw and puts his lips to Jon’s ear, breathes.
“Can you be silent tonight, Jon?” It comes out more of a rasp than a purr, but when Rick traps the lobe of Jon’s ear briefly with his teeth, Jon shivers. “Do I need to gag you or can you be quiet?”
Jon swallows — Rick can feel the movement of his throat. “I can be quiet, Master,” he murmurs. He sounds breathless.
“That’s good.” And it is, because… “You know how much I like to kiss you.”
Jon turns his head to offer his mouth, and Rick takes the invitation. This… kissing Jon, knowing that Rick can kiss him like this and any other way he likes, that Rick can touch him everywhere, however he wants, that he can look at him openly as much as he wants… it’s like a drug. Like nothing else.
“You can use this equipment, if you want,” Ben says, and gestures towards a metal case that sits next to the sling on folding legs. “Leave it out after use. Any questions?”
Jon steps away to stand in front of the sling, touches it. The small smile he gives Rick over one shoulder is almost teasing.
The Gomorrah’s biggest sling is an elaborate, high-tech luxury model set in an X-shaped frame. It has little in common with the more basic versions, but last week Lieutenant Nakamura got them into a bondage supplier’s showroom after closing, and there’d been something a lot like this. More than anything, it looks like a futuristic spiderweb — a web of leather mounted on jointed, freely adjustable steel supports. It’s upright now, but it can be tilted, curved and bent almost any which way. Rick remembers perfectly.
Remembers how Jon climbed into the showroom’s spiderweb of leather and steel and twisted into impossible positions, and how much Rick wanted to touch.
He’s behind Jon almost before he knows he’s started to move, puts light hands on his waist. Jon leans back into him immediately, and then —
Ben’s raising impatient eyebrows at him. What?
Oh, right. “No questions,” he says in the man’s general direction. “We’re good.” Go away already is what he means, and the little quirk of Jon’s mouth says he caught that, whether Ben did or not.
Ben says something to Jon that Jon responds to with a “yes”, which seems to be the right answer. The monitor steps back — leaves, presumably —, and Rick turns Jon to face him, runs his hands up his chest underneath the shirt. It slips easily off Jon’s shoulders and down his arms; the whisper of fabric it makes as it falls to the ground is louder in Rick’s ears than any other sound except Jon’s breathing.
“Up,” Rick says softly.
There’s a low foothold built into the bottom of the sling. Jon steps up with easy grace and fits himself into the center of the frame. When he leans back into the supporting web the sling gives a little, cradling his back and shoulders.
Rick doesn’t think. He steps right up to Jon, pushes him further into the sling. Jon raises his arms without waiting to be prompted; Rick strokes up the well-muscled biceps and forearms, wraps his fingers around strong wrists to arrange Jon’s arms along the supports above his head, stretched to the sides with the elbows bent slightly.
There are grommets everywhere. Rick unhooks two carabiners from his belt and attaches Jon’s wrist cuffs to the bars, tugs to make sure everything is secure.
“Okay?” His voice is so low that Rick can hardly hear himself, but Jon lowers his chin in the tiniest fraction of a nod.
Yes. Yes, and Rick lets go of everything but the burning want in his gut, the feeling of Jon pressed against him — loses himself in dizzying heat.
It’s easy.
The control panel is near Jon’s knee. The frame tilts back smoothly at the push of a button, carefully honed hydraulics shifting without sound. Another button locks it in the new position, leaving Jon suspended in the web at a 30-degree angle.
Rick’s fingers are clumsy and slow; it takes him a long, fumbling moment to wrest open the button of Jon’s jeans. Jon’s watching him when he looks up, glowing with arousal… disheveled and nibbled on and debauched and irresistible.
The subtle curve of his lips isn’t pronounced enough to be called a smile, really — just a hint of warmth — but it makes this more real, somehow. Not a fantasy, not a wet dream. Really Jon.
Unlike the button, the zipper surrenders without a fight. Jon arches up a little, lifting his hips off the sling just far enough for Rick to pull down the jeans without effort. Once Rick’s tugged them to thigh-level, Jon settles back and lifts his legs instead, as naturally as though they’ve done this together before dozens of times.
Toned abs tense right in front of Rick’s face, and the only other thing Jon is wearing is chains and strips of leather. But Rick keeps his eyes on what he’s doing, concentrates on getting rid of the jeans — finally wrestles them all the way off and tosses them aside.
Then, and only then, he lets himself look.
The way Jon’s arms are stretched out displays his broad shoulders and the subtle athleticism of his chest to best advantage, and Rick marvels vaguely at his own genius as he drinks in the sight. The collar around Jon’s throat is dramatically black and harsh against all that pale skin. So is the contraption of leather and steel that encloses his erection. His hair stands up in messy, irregular spikes; he’s flushed, his breath coming fast, mouth open slightly to allow a glimpse of teeth. His eyes are heavy-lidded and hungry and locked on Rick without challenge, without demand.
He’s stunning, but Rick has always known that. That’s not what makes it hard to breathe for a second, although it’s part of it, but — it’s so much more than that. It’s that now, Rick knows about the fierceness and the strength and the sweetness, and —
The bare skin of Jon’s hips burns Rick’s palms. Jon spreads his thighs so Rick can step between them, and Rick does; slides both hands down the elegantly muscled stretch of one thigh and grasps the knee firmly, lifts it up and to the side. Jon bends his leg pliantly and holds it steady in mid-air while Rick adjusts the frame to the ideal position.
Another carabiner connects the ankle cuff to the frame’s raised lower bar, and a medium-length strap from Ben’s metal case proves ideal to frogtie Jon’s lower leg to his thigh. Not too tightly, Rick makes sure of that before he extends part of the frame slightly so he can attach this new bond to the frame, too, leaving Jon about a centimeter of play to move his leg.
Maybe it should look awkward, but it doesn’t. Not at all. They repeat the process with Jon’s right leg, and it’s even less awkward then. Then…
Then, Jon is completely exposed, spread open and held in place by bonds in black and silver at his wrists and ankles and thighs, low on slender hips, around the engorged cock rising against his stomach, around the balls underneath, caged and snugged up to the base of his erection. A single, slender strap runs down further to the butt plug buried in Jon’s opening, its flat base only partially concealed by the small leather flap holding it in.
The frame’s tilted at the ideal angle to allow complete access to Jon’s cock and balls and ass. He’s tied down, helpless, couldn’t get away if he wanted to — Rick could do anything he wanted. Anything at all.
Everything.
The wild rush of power and amazed delight and sheer lust that swamps Rick catches him entirely off guard, despite everything. It makes him dizzy, takes his breath away; makes his erection jerk almost painfully against his constricting pants and tears a groan from him.
“Try to get away,” he murmurs, hoarsely. He doesn’t know why he says it except that he’d like to see — doesn’t realize it’s a command until Jon obeys.
There’s a sharp clatter of steel against steel. Jon tenses and arches up, muscles suddenly outlined in sharp relief all along his chest and abdomen and thighs. It’s not just a token attempt, some pretty struggling with no real strength behind it; Jon goes all-out. He jerks up a fist and kicks out with his foot, gathers himself and throws serious power into a whole-body sideways twist in the leather web. The stopped force sends a shudder through Jon, but the frame doesn’t even shiver.
Rick puts his hands on the insides of Jon’s splayed thighs, high up. Jon jerks and tries to close his legs, tries to push back, away from Rick. He can’t, of course. There’s no way for him to escape.
Rick touches curious, careful fingertips to the body-warm strip of leather running down the underside of Jon’s erection, traces it all the way to the velvety pushed-up rounds of Jon’s balls… further still, while Jon twists and tries to kick out again. The effort jolts Jon’s cock in its cage and shows off the long, lean muscles in his legs, but does nothing at all to close him to Rick’s touch.
“Stop,” Rick says. Immediately, Jon relaxes back into the sling, every trace of tension and resistance melting from him in the space of a heartbeat. “See? Now you know that you’re mine to do whatever I want with.”
Jon’s panting a little with exertion, and hair has fallen into his eyes — he’s trying to blink it away. Rick leans over to brush back the offending strands. When his gaze meets Jon’s, there’s nothing he can do but lean forward even further and kiss him.
The pulse at the base of Jon’s throat beats a swift rhythm against Rick’s palm; Jon’s mouth surrenders to his easily and completely. Rick captures his tongue and strokes it with his own, and Jon’s response is instant, eager. There’s gloriously bare skin underneath Rick’s touch… firm muscles and small, hard nipples that he rubs with his fingertips, making Jon moan into the kiss.
“Whatever I want,” Rick breathes when he draws back.
Jon watches him with huge dark eyes, and then tucks his chin down into an abbreviated nod. “Whatever you want, Master,” he says softly. His voice is husky, but steady and sure, and he doesn’t look away from Rick; doesn’t look down, not even for an instant.
Rick knows exactly which of the pouches at his belt he wants. It’s only a heartbeat before another chain drops into his hand and he bends to trap Jon’s nipple with his teeth.
Slight taste of salt. Jon’s chest expands underneath him as Jon takes a deep, harsh breath. The erect nub is hot to Rick’s tongue; he closes his teeth carefully, lifts his head to scrape the tender flesh. Jon’s back arches, and he gasps out something that might almost have been a word… might almost have been Rick’s name.
The clamp sits around Jon’s reddened nipple like jewelry. Rick watches Jon’s face when he puts it on, and Jon watches him back. Rick’s fascinated by the small shudder that runs through Jon’s body when the rubber-covered steel teeth close.
“You’re,” he starts, and then stops because there are too many things he wants to say, and he isn’t sure he should be saying any of them.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he gets out at last. And that, at least, is absolutely true.
When the second clamp closes around Jon’s other nipple, Jon gives a moan in addition to the shudder, and Rick can’t take his eyes off him. He’s sweaty and disheveled, and, yes — he is beautiful. And… at least for this instant, he’s Rick’s.
Rick curves his palm around Jon’s caged erection, pulls it away from Jon’s stomach as far as the chains that bind it allow. It jerks in his hand and Jon makes another tiny, delicious moaning sound.
Blood-hot skin striped with leather… intriguing, and Rick strokes Jon from the root to the tip, slowly; again because he likes the way it feels, the way Jon’s hips rise by just the smallest fraction, not nearly enough to be called a thrust.
The head of Jon’s cock peeks from the top of the cage, a steel ring sitting just above the flared rim like exotic jewelry. It’s blood-dark and wet, and when Rick touches his thumb to it, Jon’s entire body jolts. Rick waits for a heartbeat before he does it again, rubs the soft cap with more insistence, smearing clear fluid over skin and metal.
Jon tries to hold still, but can’t. His breathing is shallow and quick; his hips make tiny, helpless, aborted movements, and Rick puts his free hand down on a hipbone to steady him.
The catches on the chain around Jon’s waist open almost to a thought. The chains and straps that hold the cage and butt plug in place detach easily from the cage itself; a tug, and the entire construction comes loose in Rick’s hands. He tosses it aside quickly, gets his hands back on Jon.
Traces the line of Jon’s bound cock downwards, smoothes over the softness and heat of his balls. Strokes along the now bare skin below to the flat base of the butt plug seated deep inside Jon’s body… the plug that’s been inside him for the entire evening, holding him open.
The protruding rubber is slippery with lube, but the sides of the plug’s base are ridged and make it easy to get a firm hold even so. Rick pulls it back slowly, slowly… watches it slide out of Jon’s body. It’s flared in the typical butt plug way, and Rick goes even slower once he’s pulled it back far enough that he can actually see the rim of Jon’s opening, glistening with lube and stretched around black rubber.
When Rick steadies himself against Jon’s leg, Jon’s thigh tenses to rock hardness under his grip before relaxing again, and the muscle of Jon’s anus pulses once, contracting against the invasive plug.
Once the plug begins to taper off, Rick stops. It’s medium-sized, not quite as thick around as Rick’s cock.
Jon’s hips jerk again when Rick reaches out to touch; his sphincter flutters against Rick’s fingertips as he strokes it, following the line of the rubber disappearing inside Jon’s body.
The half-gasp, half-moan Jon makes when Rick begins to push the plug back in sounds almost strangled. His legs shift restlessly in their bonds; if he weren’t tied down, maybe he’d be wrapping them around Rick. But then he inhales deeply, shakily, and seems to collect himself; for the space of several heartbeats, he remains silent and still, even when Rick pulls the plug almost all the way out once more and pushes it back in, slowly.
And then Rick pulls it out slow and pushes it back in hard and fast, and Jon jerks and twists and gasps, and suddenly — just like that, from one instant to the next — it’s all too much. Too much to take, way too much, and far too much to resist, because — because Jon’s incredible, irresistible, beautiful, and Jon wants this. Wants Rick.
Rick pulls the plug out and drops it, sinks two fingers into Jon instead, dipping into wet velvet heat. Jon’s gaze is fever-bright and locked on Rick; Jon’s body trembles at his touch, and when Rick pulls out to rub Jon’s stretched opening, fingering the slick muscle, Jon whimpers, and his cock twitches inside the cage.
There’s no imaginable reason not to do this. Jon wants him. Jon wants him, there’s no question about that at all, and nothing else can possibly matter.
The front of Rick’s pants tears away easily. Rick shudders at the touch of his own hand as he guides himself to Jon; the sensation of Jon’s sphincter pressing against him makes him groan, lightning shocks of sensation shooting through him. And then… oh.
Then, Jon’s body opens for him, sheathes him in tight heat as Rick pushes in, seats himself all the way inside Jon with a single quick thrust. Jon moans, eyes wide and locked on Rick’s with something almost like awe. It’s — god.
Rick can’t look away; leans forward, dragged by a force as irresistible as gravity. The kiss they fall into is slow but deep, dizzying; underneath his hand, the pulse at the base of Jon’s throat is strong and fast, beating against Rick’s palm.
Something changes, then, between one heartbeat and the next, at some point during the short space of time that they kiss. Rick can feel the difference as he pulls back — something’s shifted, or… but it doesn’t matter, not now. Not now, when Rick has Jon right there, pliant and spread open and impaled on Rick’s cock, flushed and panting… ready to be taken.
Jon meets his eyes without challenge, without anything but desire. His mouth is open slightly, soft, inviting. The sheen of sweat on his skin makes him glow golden in the dim light, like something out of legend — a creature of pure carnality and seduction. Several strands of hair are sticking to his face and neck; when Rick strokes them back, Jon turns his face into the touch.
Rick’s mouth is bone dry. He swallows and puts his head back for a second to collect himself; then, he rests his hands on Jon’s thighs — hard, lean muscle trembles slightly beneath his touch — and finally gives in to his body’s aching need to move.
He pulls back slowly, so slowly, and pushes back in only a little faster. The sensation of Jon’s body tight and hot and perfect around him thrills through him, curls around his cock and his balls and shivers outwards along every nerve of his body, and, oh, yes, just like that, just like…
For an instant of pure, rapturous pleasure, it’s almost enough. And then it’s not.
He thrusts into Jon again, presses deep and circles his hips, and Jon moans, tightening around Rick’s cock. Yes, that’s — it’s amazing, but now the hunger is growing and it’s not enough even for an instant, nowhere near enough.
Rick slides his hands along Jon’s bound legs, curls them around the insides of his knees and leans back so he can watch himself, watch his erection disappear into Jon’s body again and again. He speeds up after the first couple of thrusts; can’t stop himself and doesn’t try, because Jon’s hot and wanton and willing and twisting in his bonds — not trying to get away, not doing anything but giving himself up to the sensation… to Rick’s cock in his ass. To Rick taking him. Claiming him.
He’s so beautiful like this, stretched out and displayed, open to Rick’s gaze, Rick’s touch, Rick’s cock — Rick.
And he feels, oh god. He feels…
Rick shifts forward and grabs Jon’s hips and fucks him as hard and as fast as he wants, as hard and as fast as he can. The sound of his balls slapping against Jon and the mewling little gasps that sound like they’re being torn from Jon and the rasp of Rick’s own harsh breathing fill his world, and Jon’s so, so — Rick can hardly breathe, can’t, and there’s a second where the lust and pleasure and want raging inside him are almost too much, because with every thrust and every gasp and every spark of sensation the tension mounts higher, drawing him up tighter and tighter, desperate and urgent and now, now —
Yes.
The world explodes into fire and sheer, molten ecstasy.
Oh, god.
Rick stumbles and grabs randomly at the frame; everything is dizzy and spinning and he isn’t at all sure of his balance. He slides out of Jon’s body, cool air against overheated skin, and… Too much, or not enough. He can’t tell.
He shudders as a lingering ripple of electric rapture rips through him; just breathes, for a moment, and then opens his eyes (when did he close them?) to Jon’s gleaming skin and black eyes. Jon’s hunger.
Oh.
Rick’s orgasm is still tingling in his toes and fingers, trembling in his lungs and prickling on his lips — but looking at Jon he can feel the desperation again, gnawing at his gut like an echo.
When Rick puts a hand on Jon’s thigh, Jon moans, and a fine shiver runs through his entire body. Inside its cage, Jon’s erection is an angry, swollen red; the exposed tip is leaking a small trail of liquid onto his stomach. Rick strokes up Jon’s sides and makes him shudder, touches the head of his cock and makes him jerk convulsively in his restraints.
Jon jerks again and gives a sobbing little gasp when Rick bends down curiously to touch his tongue to the tip of his erection. The liquid tastes bitter — bitter and slightly salty; Rick flattens his tongue and licks over the cock’s head, pushes Jon’s hips down to keep him still as he runs the tip of his tongue along the warm metal ring sitting against the skin.
When Rick pulls back, Jon’s breathing is unsteady, sweat gleaming in the hollow of his throat.
The snaps at the base of the cage open easily; the entire leather and metal contraption comes readily apart, falling into a bundle of loose straps in Rick’s hands. It’s the first time Rick sees Jon’s erection with nothing in the way, and he can’t think why he didn’t take off the stupid cage long before this.
Jon’s cock lies long and absurdly elegant against his stomach, thicker than Rick expected; it curves slightly to the left. There are pressure marks along its length from the straps, and it looks almost painfully engorged. But when Rick curls a careful hand around it, Jon lifts into the touch and gives a strangled almost-whimper, and there’s nothing but pleasure in his eyes.
Close by, someone groans, dark and low.
Rick hasn’t forgotten where they are, or that there are people watching. Not exactly. It’s more that it was unimportant, and so he tuned it out — tuned them out. But now he looks and they come into focus: a cluster of men pulled up in a half-circle around the sling, open lust written on their faces. Andrew and Tony are right up front, almost close enough for Rick to touch, if he stretches out a hand. Tony’s standing behind Andrew, plastered to his back with one hand slowly moving in his pants; Andrew’s head is tipped back, mouth slack with arousal, eyes glittering with unmistakable hunger.
Rick follows Andrew’s stare to Jon… Jon spread open and exposed, aroused and unfulfilled. Jon’s anus is still stretched, gleaming; a trickle of lube and Rick’s semen runs out of the opening as Rick watches.
No wonder they’re staring. Rick’d stare too, if that was all he could do. But he can do so much more, he’s allowed — and the knowledge fills him up in an exhilarating rush that sends his heart racing and his breath catching in his throat.
He reaches out and traces a gentle touch around Jon’s opening… soft hot skin slippery with fluids, and the muscle flexes slightly under his caress. Jon’s watching him, trembles at his touch, and Rick rubs a little harder over the slick skin, fingers the entrance to Jon’s body; pushes his fingertips easily into wet heat.
There are toys of every imaginable kind in the metal case Ben set out, but… Rick doesn’t want to use any of them. It feels wrong, the idea of using rubber or anything like that on Jon now — some object, something that’s… Rick doesn’t have the words for it, but it feels wrong.
He can use his fingers, or his mouth, or both. But Andrew and the others still lurk on the corners of his vision, and… he can also use something else.
“Jon.” Rick’s voice is rough. He flicks his gaze towards the watching row of men and looks the question at Jon, and Jon doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look away from Rick at all; just dip his chin in a minute, but unmistakable nod.
Andrew jumps a little when Rick swings around and glares at him. “You,” Rick barks. “Come here.”
The lust in Andrew’s expression flares, but he doesn’t move; doesn’t do anything until Tony takes his hand out of his pants and whispers something in his ear.
Rick moves his fingers inside Jon, runs a light touch over Jon’s stomach. He doesn’t look at Tony. He doesn’t want this to be misunderstood — he’s just borrowing Andrew, to use in exactly the same way he’d use one of Ben’s toys. He isn’t lending Jon out to anyone.
Not to anyone.
A second later Andrew is there at the edge of the frame, all but vibrating with eagerness. Rick watches him stare at Jon, at Rick’s hands on Jon, in Jon; watches the hunger burn openly in his face for the instant before he lowers his gaze and stands in a properly submissive pose, head bowed.
“Take off your pants,” Rick orders.
He does, so quickly that he almost stumbles over them. For someone usually so studiedly graceful, it’s telling.
Rick lifts one hand off Jon just long enough to make a twirling gesture, and Andrew turns slowly, displaying himself. He spreads his buttocks to show that he’s wearing a butt plug, but his cock is unadorned and juts up at a sharp angle, fully erect, crown glistening with precome.
He’ll do… and he’s certainly ready and willing.
Condoms are everywhere in the Gomorrah. There’s a large handful of foil packets in the case of toys; Rick takes one and makes sure it’s intact before tossing it to Andrew. “Put this on and lube up.”
Rick doesn’t watch him do it, and neither does Jon. Jon’s still looking at Rick when he bends down for a kiss, when he pulls his fingers out of Jon’s body to rub over his stretched rim once more. Jon whimpers into his mouth; his breathing comes in harsh, fast little gasps that echo the rhythm of Rick’s fingers playing with him. He twists when Rick bites his throat, moans when Rick licks down his chest; cries out harshly when Rick’s mouth closes over one nipple clamp, when he presses his tongue to warm metal and overheated skin.
When Rick pulls back Andrew’s waiting, latex-encased erection slick with lube.
“Don’t touch him,” Rick says. He waits for Andrew’s meek nod before he steps back from the sling, surrendering the position between Jon’s legs. Andrew crosses his wrists behind his back and doesn’t move at all until Rick waves him closer.
Jon’s knee blocks Rick’s view from the side, so he takes a moment to adjust the frame, lowering Jon’s legs and changing the angle of the entire sling. Better — now he can see everything if he leans forward, can touch Jon properly too, can curl his hand around to the inside of Jon’s thigh and slide it up along his trembling abs, damp with sweat and precome. Rick doesn’t touch Jon’s cock — not now, not yet —, strokes just past it teasingly and brushes a butterfly caress over Jon’s balls before he reaches down further, to Jon’s anus clenching around his fingertips.
Andrew’s gaze follows Rick’s hand across Jon’s body with a burning laser focus, but he stands quietly, waiting for instructions. Rick approves.
“When I take my fingers away,” Rick says softly, “Push in slowly, all the way. And then stop moving.”
He nods, eyes fever-bright with lust, expression demure.
Rick takes his fingers away, lets his hand rest where Jon’s thigh meets his groin. Andrew comes forward the last half-step and briefly takes one hand from behind his back to line his cock up with Jon’s opening. He pushes in slowly, smoothly, all the way until his groin is pushed up against Jon.
Jon’s back arches in the sling; he moans, almost brokenly. His cock moves, jerks, and muscles flutter beneath Rick’s hand; Andrew gasps, but doesn’t move.
“Pull out slowly,” Rick says. “Push back in fast and hard.”
He watches the echo of it in Jon’s face, in the drugged-looking eyes locked on Rick’s. He feels it in Jon’s body underneath his hands. Jon moans, long and drawn-out, and Jon’s body rocks and tenses with sudden movement and Jon cries out once, short and harsh, rising against his bonds.
“Yes,” Rick whispers, “Yes.”
At Andrew, he barks, “Keep doing that.”
Jon’s body rocks with the rhythm of being fucked; after a moment his eyes fall almost completely shut, leaving only a sliver of darkness. Mouth open slightly, face lax with sensation, completely open — relaxed, abandoned — completely given over to need, to feeling. To Rick.
“Beautiful,” Rick murmurs, and Jon opens his heavy-lidded eyes a little wider, turns his head to meet Rick in a kiss. Rick strokes back his hair again and traces the line of his cheekbone, his jaw, his neck and collarbone, his shoulder and chest.
His fingers catch in the chain connecting the nipple clamps, and Jon groans, shudders.
Jon’s close. He’s been on the edge for — Rick doesn’t even know how long; he’s lost all sense of time.
Andrew’s gasping too, now, body taut and strain visible in his face. But his hands are locked behind his back and his rhythm is rock steady — he pulls out slowly and drives back into Jon fast, hard, and his breath gasps out on a strangled groan, and then he does it again.
“Fast and hard now,” Rick says, and Andrew moans just a little, and starts fucking Jon as hard and fast as he can without touching him.
There’s an odd, unexpected thrill to this — to watching someone else fuck Jon. When it was Rick, he couldn’t really concentrate on Jon’s reactions, not to this degree — he was too wrapped up in his own passion. But now…
Jon’s moaning, abandoned, wild. He’s close, and he’s so beautiful, and when Rick runs his hands over him he whimpers and lifts into the touch, and all the while he is rocking with the rhythm of being fucked.
When Rick releases the first nipple clamp Jon makes a sound that Rick has no word for, drawn-out and harsh and full of wild pleasure, and his cock jerks against his stomach, a spurt of liquid slicking his abs. Rick waits for the next thrust of the cock into Jon’s willing body, and when he undoes the second clamp Jon arches and mewls, helpless, and —
And Rick is rubbing himself against the side of the sling. Rick’s hard again, and he has no idea when that happened but he doesn’t care, because —
“Stop — get back.” His voice lashes out like a whip, and Andrew shudders, groans. But he stops and pulls out and that’s all Rick cares about, that he’s out of the way and Rick is the one between Jon’s legs again. Rick pushes inside Jon and immediately picks up an urgent, driving rhythm; leans forward and slides his hands up Jon’s body, pushes his palms over swollen nipples and then rubs the heels of his hands over them in small circles.
Jon’s eyes are wide and black, pupils completely blown; his cheeks are flushed with high color, his expression dazed. He looks drugged, he looks like pure sex, he looks so ravishing that Rick can’t understand why he hasn’t done this before, long ago, always —
When Rick closes a hand around Jon’s cock, it jumps in his grasp and Jon’s entire body stiffens. Rick strokes up from root to tip once, and Jon twists and moans and pulls at his bonds and stares at Rick with a feverish glitter, and when Rick strokes back down he just knows.
“Now,” Rick says, harshly. It’s a command, and Rick didn’t know he was going to speak it until he does.
Jon screams when he comes.
It’s incredible, beautiful. His body closes around Rick and he flings his head back and his hands open like he’s grasping for something, and every muscle of his body is outlined, glowing with a golden sheen. Strands of hair cling to his neck, his long throat stretched back. His cock hardens impossibly further in Rick’s grip, and then his semen slicks Rick’s fingers, and god…
Rick’s hands are shaking.
Jon melts into boneless relaxation, not moving at all except for the heaving of his chest. Rick’s still inside him, and it’s another minute or so before he can gather himself enough to pull back. Until he does, Rick isn’t sure whether he’s come again or not. Not, looks like, but Rick doesn’t care. He feels… strange. Unreal.
Jon’s looking at him, now; Rick has no name for the expression on his face. Rick looks away first. They’re not finished here — not yet. He has things left to do.
He unhooks the carabiners and unbuckles the straps holding Jon’s legs folded back. Jon doesn’t move until Rick reaches up to his wrists and tugs them down gently, not too quickly. Then Rick guides one of Jon’s legs from its perch, digs careful fingers into the muscles of his thigh, straightening it slowly. Jon stretches it out and finds the floor, shifts some weight onto it; it seems to be okay, so Rick goes on to the other leg, massaging carefully until he’s sure nothing seized up or cramped during — however long they were having sex for.
It seemed like hours… but it can’t have been that long, surely.
Jon steps forward, and Rick gathers him in, and they sink down to the floor. Jon turns his face into Rick’s shoulder, hiding it against his throat, and Rick pulls him closer still and threads his fingers through the wet hair at the back of Jon’s head.
There’s a blanket; Rick has a dim idea that someone draped it over the two of them. He doesn’t care, can’t spare attention for something so unimportant. He just drags the fabric closer around Jon and himself and strokes Jon’s shoulders until they relax, digs careful fingers into tense muscles until none of the tension from being in one position for so long remains. Until Jon is pliant and still against Rick, his breathing calm… heavy weight and long limbs and hard muscles not preventing him from fitting perfectly into the curve of Rick’s arm.
Things are happening around them, but Rick doesn’t care. All he knows is that Jon is there, and Rick feels… protective, and possessive, and… he feels…
He feels fierce, helpless, filled up, spilling over with emotions fiery and uncontrollable and tender and wild, too much for any one person to contain, and centered entirely on the man in his arms.
Yes — that’s it. That’s it, isn’t it?
“You’re mine,” Rick whispers into Jon’s hair. It sounds like a statement, but feels like a plea, just like the next thing he says. “I’ll take good care of you.”
Jon doesn’t say anything, but he pushes a little closer, and Rick doesn’t say anything more either because his throat has closed up with emotions he can’t name.
Eventually they pick themselves up and walk to the showers. Nobody bothers them or tries to speak to them. It’s like they’re in a bubble of two; sex games are being played all around, but Rick hardly notices. They pass Andrew and Tony, Andrew bent over a low stand of some kind, Tony pumping into him from behind. Rick wouldn’t have noticed them at all if Tony hadn’t waved a friendly “later” gesture at Rick as they walk by.
They claim one of the closed shower cubicles. Rick washes Jon carefully and far more thoroughly than necessary because he’s unwilling to stop touching him. When Rick works shampoo into his hair, Jon makes a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat; once Rick has rinsed out the foam, he washes Jon’s hair a second time just to hear that sound again. It really can’t be called anything but a purr.
When Jon washes Rick with equal care, Rick rediscovers his forgotten arousal and comes into Jon’s soapy hand with a speed that might be embarrassing, if Rick were capable of any additional emotions just then.
They dry off and get dressed in their street clothes and take a taxi to Rick’s place because neither of them is fit to drive. Jon sleeps curled into Rick’s body, breath warm against Rick’s throat, and when Rick wakes up in the morning, Jon is gone.