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“Y’know, Ford said I wasn’t allowed to sleep with you.”
“Mm, is that so?”
“Says I have a type.”
“You do have a type.”
“How can I have a type if I’ve slept with half the people on campus?”
“For the most part, they’re all lanky, wear glasses, an' break social norms. And bottoms.”
“So, you’re admittin’ you are a bottom?”
“Course not. Like any good man, I’m a switch.”
“What?” Stan finally looked over at the man he was sharing an admittedly small bed with- on the top bunk, no less. Ford had class, Stan had gotten off work early- so he’d decided to distract Fiddleford from his studies. The two had been sleeping together for awhile now- once Ford had made him off limits, how could he not? The guy was attractive enough- and really good with his fingers. “Whaddya mean, you’re a switch?”
“I mean I’m a switch, Stanley, it’s pretty self-explanatory.” Fiddleford shrugged, shooting him a smirk. “Why? You interested?”
“Pfft, nah, of course not,” Stan waved a hand, turning his head so the southerner couldn’t see his blush. Kind of a moot point, considering what they’d just finished doing, but this was different. “Do I look like somebody who would be a good bottom?”
“You certainly have one.” Fiddleford chuckled, and Stan felt a long-fingered hand give his ass a squeeze. He rolled his eyes, before smirking back over at his somewhat roommate, somewhat friend with benefits. Time to cover up whatever weird stuff he was feeling, at the mention of being a bottom. It’s not because he didn’t trust anybody to not do him dirty, of course not. Certainly not because he didn’t like being vulnerable, and topping was easier. Topping was aggressive, commanding. He could do that.
“Careful. Keep on like this and you’re askin’ for a round two, Fiddlenerd.” Another squeeze, and there were the stirrings of arousal. “Alrighty, you’re askin’ for it-“
Whatever happened, happened really fast. Stan had started moving, intending to get himself on top of Fiddleford, maybe pin his arms a little. The guy seemed to love that. But instead, in the blink of an eye, Fiddleford was on top of him, straddling his thighs, hands snaking up his torso in a way that made his breath hitch. Fiddleford was smirking down at him, sandy hair messed up, glasses slightly askew- and god, did he look good.
“What’s this, then?” He managed to keep his voice even, going so far as to make it huskier than normal. His hands went to rest on Fiddleford’s hips- and once again, in the blink of an eye, the mechanic moved faster than he could process. His wrists were caught in one of Fiddleford’s hands, slowly being raised over his head, while the other cupped the back of his neck as the man leaned down, breath ghosting over his face.
“Mm, thinkin’ I could show you a thing or two about bein’ on the recievin’ end.” Holy shit, was that a purr? Despite everything- despite the fact that Stan absolutely no way liked being restrained, on the bottom, or- or anything of the sort, no way, being on the bottom meant he was exposed, vulnerable, in danger-
“Haha, nah, I-I’m good, but- but thanks for the offer, Fidds.” Stan tried to cover up his nerves like he usually did- with a grin and a laugh. But the laugh was forced, and his voice cracked. Fiddleford’s smirk turned into something softer, and that- that did weird things to whatever feeling was going on his Stan’s gut. He tested the waters, glancing up at his wrists in the mechanic’s dexterous hands, before trying to move them. No luck. Fiddleford always talked about being raised on farm, slinging hay and birthing cattle and what have you- but this strength? This was something else.
“Stan.” He dared to glance back up at the man so effortlessly restraining him, prepared to panic, but the look in his eyes, the look on Fiddleford’s face- it almost seemed to quell his fears. “What’s your favorite flower?”
Shit, there it was. His way out. Stan closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose, blowing out through his mouth. This was his chance, easy. They had three safe words. Good to go, slow down, stop. All flowers. Stan had snuck in on a botany class awhile back, had found it interesting, and figured may as well use their meaning. Fiddleford was giving him a choice. So the choice was obvious, right?
“…cornflower.” Please, be gentle.
A moment passed. Stan suddenly had a fear- what if this had been a test? What if this was supposed to be a challenge, had Fiddleford wanted Stan to overpower him? No, no that- he would’ve let his wrists free if that were the case. What if he just wasn’t strong enough? What if this was all a trick? Oh god, what was he gonna tell Ford-
Gentle lips ghosting his jawline drew Stan out of his panic, resulting in a sharp intake of air. He’d been holding his breath, hadn’t even realized it. His eyes opened, only to be met with Fiddleford’s kind hazel ones. Feeling his cheeks burn, he tried to look away- only for his chin to be caught by a hand, which gently guided him back to look at Fiddleford.
“Let me take care of you, Stan,” he murmured, and Stan bit his lip. Fidds was giving him one last out. He should take it. He wanted to take it. He wasn’t meant to be taken care of. He didn’t deserve it. And yet, he found himself giving a small nod, causing the man above him to smile.
“Good boy, Stanley.”
Oh.
Oh.
His eyes widened, and whatever heat had been in his face quickly rushed down south. A noise caught in his throat- one he wasn’t even aware he’d been capable of making. What the hell was this?
Fiddleford looked surprised too- but he recovered quickly, that kind, soft, gentle smile slowly morphing into a smirk, though the kindness remained his eyes- not without a bit of teasing, however. “You liked that, huh?”
Stan swallowed, hesitating. He’d never done this before. He could keep up the tough guy bravado- maybe even try to be bad at this, so Fidds wouldn’t try it again. Keep up the nice, safe walls he’d built up. Sex was supposed to be an escape- and usually, it was. He was able to be rough, please his partner, usually get off, and leave. But this- this was different. And…it wasn’t bad.
Finally, he gave a small, timid (though he’d deny it) nod.
“I can work with that.” Fiddleford’s smirk grew, his hand finally leaving Stan’s chin to lightly trace down his chest, leaving goosebumps where it touched. The southerner leaned down, his breath ghosting against Stan’s ear, and he shivered. “You’re so cute like this, Stanley. I didn’t realize you could be so well behaved.”
Fuck. Shit, fuck, dammit. Under normal circumstances, Stan would be protesting, telling off whomever the words were coming from. But like this? Coming from Fiddleford? Another noise emitted from his throat- what that a whine?
“Mmm, very good,” There was that fucking purr again. Stan bit his lip, almost begging himself to stay quiet. He dimly registered his hands being released, and some rustling of fabric above his head. He didn’t move them. He didn’t know why- something in him just- just made it feel like staying put was the right thing to do. A moment later, he felt fabric around his wrists. Must be one of our shirts.
Fiddleford leaned back once the fabric was around his wrists, and Stan looked up- sure enough, a green checkered button up had been gently knotted around his hands, though how Fidds had done that with one hand, he had no idea. He gave the makeshift restraints a gentle tug. It felt like if he moved enough, he could get free easily. But Fiddleford wanted his hands out of the way.
“Are you still okay?”
How could this bastard go from sexy one minute to unfairly sweet and gentle the next? Tearing his eyes from his hands and back upwards, he met Fiddleford’s, and gave another nod.
“Good boy.” Stan shuddered, hands tightly clenching the fabric that had been wrapped around them. Why did it feel so good to be called that? It should have been degrading, should have been, but wasn’t.
Now that Stan’s hands were properly(ish) restrained, Fiddleford’s were free to wander. Those long, spindly fingers of his danced across Stan’s skin, making the Jersey man squirm, the occasional noise emitting from his throat without his consent. His partner merely chuckled, beginning to slowly kiss down the side of Stan’s neck, and he shivered whenever he felt the briefest scrape of Fiddleford’s teeth.
The lips traveled down his throat to the crook of his shoulder, and apparently he was sensitive there, because with the teeth scraped a dip in his collarbone, he whimpered. Fuck, but this was embarrassing. What was he even doing? Letting Fidds touch him like this, keep his hands restrained- this wasn’t him, he was supposed to be in charge, the confident one, making others feel good-
A strangled and surprised moan ripping itself from his throat interrupted his thoughts, and Fiddleford was biting down on that area, before kissing it in apology. The man pulled away, eyes searching Stanley’s face, which had to be a bright crimson by this point. Supposedly being satisfied with what he found, the mechanic smiled before returning to his ministrations, biting down again, just a bit harder this time. It felt good.
“F-fuck,” he gasped, his body arching up into the contact- fuck, did he have no self-control? But this only seemed to spur Fiddleford on, because he kept going. The kisses and bites slowly trailed downwards, and there was no doubt in his mind that he was gonna be covered in hickeys tomorrow. Better not let Ford see him shirtless for a couple of days. He’d never hear the end of it.
Whatever Stan had been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been this. That was more obvious when he felt a gentle tug on one of his nipples, and he squeaked. Fucking. Squeaked. Without hesitation he glared at Fiddleford, who was looking up at him smugly, mouth hovering dangerously close to the sensitive buds on his chest.
“Just- just what d’you think you’re doin’ down there?” His voice, supposed to be a growl, came out much higher pitched than it was supposed to be.
“Ah, I’m only havin’ some fun, Stanley,” Fiddleford hummed, one of his hands pinching Stan’s other nipple- at least this time he had the time to bite his lip, prevent the noise from slipping out. Fiddleford frowned at this, and tutted at him. “Nuh uh, that just won’t do. It’s no fun if I can’t hear you.”
“You don’t need to- shit-“ His protest stuttered into a moan when Fiddleford ducked his head down and sucked on his nipple. It was a new sensation, for sure- an extremely nice one at that. He bit his lip hard, trying and only sort of failing to keep another moan from coming out. Moans were a sign of weakness. That’s why he only ever grunted or let out practiced sounds. Ones that showed it was enjoyable, but nothing revealing. But he’d never prepared for this. Never prepared to be on the receiving end of these kinds of ministrations, much less something so-
“Sensitive, are we?” Stan growled at him, mustering the best glare he could. But with his face undoubtedly flushed, it probably didn’t have much of an effect. “Careful, darlin’. You’re goin’ ta have me thinkin’ you’re enjoyin’ this.”
Darlin’? That did things to Stan’s groin- yet another feeling he hadn’t prepared for. A shiver ran through him, an unfortunately visible one, because Fiddleford’s smirk grew. “I’m just findin’ out all kinds of things about you today, Stanley.”
“Shut up, Fiddledork,” he retorted. Fiddleford’s eyes narrowed, and that look alone sent another shiver through him.
“Careful, Stanley.” Stan didn’t even know Fiddleford’s voice could get that low, nor how fucking hot it sounded. “You’re not the big boy in the room anymore.”
“I dunno, I’d say I’m sill pretty big.” He smirked, gaining back some confidence. This was better. Teasing with Fidds like this- it was normal, expected.
What wasn’t expected was Fiddleford’s hand wrapping around his dick and giving it a hard squeeze. His breath caught in his chest again, stuttering out into another moan. The hand began pumping, squeezing in intervals, and Stan was putty in Fiddleford’s hands.
But then it stopped. Stan whined, almost willingly this time, and heard the other man chuckle. “Now, you goin’ ta be a good boy and behave for me, darlin’?” He swallowed thickly, nodding without meeting Fiddleford’s gaze. This was…embarrassing, yeah, but also. Extremely hot. Fiddleford, gentle but commanding, teasing him, praising him.
The hand began pumping again, the lips returned to his nipple, and he was squirming. He’d thought regular sex was well and good- sometimes he’d throw in some spankings, dirty talk, call it a day. But this? This was something else. He was making way too much noise for comfort, however.
What was he doing? He had a perfectly good gag tied around his wrists.
Hoping Fidds would forgive him, he moved his hands down, biting down on the fabric just as Fiddleford swiped his thumb of the head of Stan’s cock, muffling a moan. The change in noise caused the southerner to look up, raising an eyebrow at Stan, but not saying anything. Instead, he kissed his way over to the other nipple, the one he’d been mouthing now cold and erect, causing Stan to shiver.
Despite the fact that they’d both come not even an hour ago, Stan felt the heat rising in his gut- his knees began to rise as his toes curled in the sheets, hips bucking into Fiddleford’s hand. He could feel it building, his muffled moans getting louder, his brain was fogging over-
And then all of Fiddleford’s ministrations stopped, and it was all Stan could do not to sob over the loss of contact.
He finally lifted his head to look down at Fiddleford, opening his mouth to protest- only to see the man moving downwards, spreading Stan’s thighs with his hands-
His protest died the second that tongue touched his erection. And Fiddleford didn’t stop there.
Stan watched, mesmerized, as his tongue licked up the side of his cock, and as those pink lips wrapped around his head and sucked. A loud moan bubbled past his lips, and he quickly bit down on the shirt again, but it was too late- Fiddleford was looking up at him again, those hazel eyes behind long lashes, and swirled his tongue.
If Stan had known how good getting sucked off was, maybe he would’ve let it happen a long time ago.
But now- now, he was throwing his head back, relishing in the hot, wet warmth of Fiddleford’s mouth as he began the motions of bobbing his head, hands tightly gripping Stan’s hips. God, this was- this was completely different from sex. Different than ramming someone’s ass or otherwise- but Fiddleford had the control still, not Stan. He didn’t think he could trust anyone else to do this.
The heat was building again, more whines emitting from his throat without his consent. The makeshift restraint/gag didn’t do any good against those. His hips bucked- or tried too. Once again, Fiddleford was surprisingly strong, and was just as good with his tongue as he was his fingers.
“Fidds-“ He moved his hands back over his head, hands clenching the bedsheets as he arched up. “Fidds, fuck, goddammit- please-“
The man below him made no indication of moving. The feeling built, he tried to hold it back, didn’t want to- but then he was coming, his whole body shuddering, a loud, strangled moan coming from him. Fiddleford didn’t even flinch, taking every drop, only letting Stan’s dick out of his mouth with a small, obscene pop once it started to soften.
Tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes, that orgasm had been so intense. He had no doubt what a mess he probably looked- abused nipples, quickly blossoming hickeys, and-shit, he’d drooled during that, too. His arms and legs both felt like jello- had he ever had an orgasm that strong?
He barely even noticed when Fiddleford crawled back over him, reaching up to undo his makeshift restraints. The mechanic smiled down at him, a little smug, but no mockery or ill intent in his eyes. “So? You enjoy yourself?”
Stan could only nod, shivering once more as the aftershock of his orgasm faded away. Fiddleford chuckled, shifting before settling back down next to him on the bed, arms behind his head. A few moments of silence passed.
“You make some real nice noises, Stanley.”
“…don’t get used to ‘em.”