He raised his arms to hold on to the headboard, just now realizing how a few knots around his wrist had limited his movements. In this position, with his legs spread open, he was as exposed as ever, but he didn’t care. Tonight, Marc owned all of him.
“Fuck,” the bassist breathed out, caressing his abdomen and chest. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
Squeezing another scoop of lube on his palm, he glided further down until he reached his ass. They stared deep into each other’s eyes as he massaged the rim with deft fingers while stroking his cock, dragging out the pleasure before he slowly dipped in. Chris gasped, heartbeats turning erratic when a second digit unhurriedly slid past the ring of muscle, too.
After being denied an orgasm twice in less than an hour, all the nerves in his body were hyperaware of his surroundings. And right now, he could feel everything. The way Marc was touching him, fucking him, claiming him. Anticipation sizzled in his veins, and he lost himself in his touch.
Chris thought he’d gotten used to the sensation, but then Marc tightened the grip on his cock and rubbed his prostate in that vibrating motion that always had him melting within seconds. The guitarist groaned, arching off the bed.
“Zimmer…” His voice came out cracked with a dash of vexation. “If you don’t slide your dick in right now, I’m gonna be the one fucking you. I’m more than ready...” He panted. “Can’t take it anymore. Just fuck me.”
With nothing more than their sharp breaths and the steady pattering of rain on the window breaking the silence in the room, Marc withdrew his fingers. His hands caressed Chris from his knees up to his ribs. He leaned down and planted the most tender kiss on his pec.
“Get on all fours.”
The bassist wasn’t extremely talkative when they fucked, but he wasn’t exactly shy either. However, the way he drawled his words, with calculated precision, pulled the strings in Chris’s head.
“Do you remember the high you experience when I choke you?” the bassist asked him while massaging his asscheeks.
“Yes.” They didn’t always go on full-berserk, unhinged mode when they fucked, but that shit was better than any drug he’d tried.
“Wanna try something more?”
Chris shivered inside as he looked at him over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“If you trust me, I think I could hurt you good enough to clear your mind.”
Chris had been hesitant to tell Marc about his self-destructive tendencies, but in moments like this, he was glad he’d stopped being a coward for one night and let him in.
“Do it.”
“If you need a break or to stop, you know the words,” Marc reminded him. “Though you won’t need it now. I know you can take this.”
A rough hand connected with Chris’s ass.
“Fuck!” he cried.
“You good?” Marc checked on him, rubbing a soothing palm over his tender flesh.
“Yeah.” Chris panted as he raised his arms, holding on to the headboard again. It’d give him more leverage. “It was just unexpected. Do it again.”
And he did.
The guitarist’s pulse skyrocketed, stirring sweltering emotions within. All sorts of knots twisted in his stomach as he waited for the next smack. And the next. Never knowing where the bassist would exactly hit.
Ironic how being in such a vulnerable position made him feel so empowered. He was submitting to Marc, yes, but after a brief battle of power at the beginning of this journey, Chris had chosen to be here, on the receiving end of this symbiotic relationship. He loved the way it sated his darkest desires, the way it destroyed and restored, the way he took as much as he gave, offering his friend full trust.
They were in this bubble of sweet torment for a few more minutes. Chris absorbed everything the bassist did, indulging in the encouraging words he delivered every time he hurt him.
Once he was done, he gave his left asscheek a not-so-gentle nip and wrapped a hand around his throat. “Fuck, baby…” Marc inhaled sharply, biting his earlobe. “Your skin is a deep shade of red, my fucking palm stings, and you’re leaking. Talk about enjoying pain.”
“I-I’ve been on the edge for way too long.” Chris panted, dizziness already creeping in.
“Good.” The bassist kissed his shoulder. “Lie on your back again.”
With his legs slightly apart, Marc sat on his heels, hungry gaze locked on the guitarist’s as he coated his dick with lube and stroked himself. It was such an erotic vision Chris couldn’t peel his eyes off of him. An array of asynchrony and fire.
Before he had time to breathe in the delicious haze slipping into his lungs, Marc flipped him around.
