Wanna Get Ficced?

Collared
By Perpetual Motion

He curls his index finger into the metal loop and gives it a small tug.  “Are you going to behave?”  There’s no answer, just big wide eyes and the barest of tremors.  “Are you,” and Lassiter makes sure to annunciate clearly and crisply, “going to behave?”

“Yes,” barely a whisper, but oh, the longing in it.  It hits Lassiter below the belt, and his hips cant forward without his permission. 

“Good boy.  Now sit.”  He hisses the ‘s’ and hits hard on the ‘t’ and watches the way Shawn’s eyes flutter closed while his fingers curl into his palms.  Lassiter gives another tug to the collar, harder than before, enough to make Shawn’s eyes fly open wide and just a tiny bit intimidated.  “I said sit.”

And Shawn sits, ass straight on the floor, head on Lassiter’s knee, back arching when Lassiter runs his fingers through his hair and scratches between his shoulder blades.  “Good boy.”  Shawn whimpers and Lassiter smiles and hooks his finger in the collar again.  “Want to go for a ride, boy?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then laughter from Shawn as he throws back his head and let’s loose.  “Go for a ride?  Seriously?  That’s what you’ve got?  Go for a ride?”

Lassiter smiles, just barely, the edges of his mouth quirking just beyond a straight line.  “That’s what I said,” and he gives the collar a jerk, hard enough to make Shawn pause in his laughing and suck in a hard breath.  “Unless, of course, you’d rather sit here on the floor all night and try and lick your own balls.”  He watches the change flow through Spencer, the way his head tilts down, eyes half-closed, the way he drops his shoulders forward to show submission, the way he places his palms flat on the floor and his chin on Lassiter’s knee and looks up without making eye contact.  “Good boy,” Lassiter affirms.  He pets Shawn’s hair then stands, nodding once in satisfaction when Shawn stays put.  “How do you want it?”

“Hard,” Shawn says in a bare whisper, and Lassiter enjoys the heat that shimmies up his spine.

“Get yourself into position.  I’ll be there shortly.”  Lassiter turns, the dismissal clear, and listens to Shawn get to his feet and pad down the hall.  He turns back towards the living room once he hears Shawn get on the bed.  It only takes a minute to double-check the door locks and set the alarm, but Lassiter stands at the lip of the hallway and counts slowly to one hundred, listening to all the little sounds Shawn is making in the bedroom.  He presses his hand against his crotch, rolls his hips to get the friction of his jeans and his palm on his cock and bites his lip to keep from groaning.  It’s been a full night of teasing, with Shawn bounding in the door all high energy and enthusiasm, planting himself in Lassiter’s lap like he’s always belonged there, and it’s taken every last self control trick that Lassiter knows to keep him from bending Shawn over and taking him right on the coffee table or couch or even against the door.

“Lassie!” Shawn’s voice travels down the hall.  “Here, boy!”

Lassiter pushes off the wall and stalks down the hall.  He stands in the doorway of the bedroom and looks at Shawn, sprawled on the bed, fingers curled around the headboard, collar slightly askew on his neck.  “Let’s review the rules,” Lassiter says as he unbuttons his shirt and cuffs.  “You are the dog in this scenario, Spencer, because you are loud, and noisy and sloppy and have the somewhat odd need to put your face in my crotch-“

“If you think it’s an odd need, I could always stop.  We could go play ping pong.  Maybe get a malt.”

Lassiter pretends like he hasn’t heard a word, puts his shirt in the hamper, and pops the button on his jeans.  “And if you ever again refer to me as any sort of four-legged furry creature who likes to slobber on things and hump table legs, we will never do this again.”  Lassiter climbs up on the bed, jeans unbuttoned and unzipped but still on, and slides his finger into the loop on Shawn’s collar.  “Are we clear?”

Shawn grins, all teeth, and stretches his neck.  “You are really, really hot when you’re dominant.”

“I know,” and Lassiter gives the collar a hard tug before sliding his hand down Shawn’s chest to tug at one of his nipples.  “I’m going to finish taking off my pants, and you’re going to stroke yourself for me.  And if I see the barest tremor or shiver or shake, I will make you stop.  Understood?”  The shuddery breath Shawn gives when he nods makes Lassiter’s body one giant hot spot.  “Good boy.  Now get to it.”

Lassiter climbs off the bed and watches Shawn get to work, the way his fingers wrap around his cock, the way he pulls up slowly and down slowly, the way he breathes in and out, obviously trying to keep himself steady.  Lassiter nods approval and slides a hand down his stomach and into his jeans.  Shawn told him once that the idea of Lassiter jerking off inside his jeans made him hot.  Lassiter hasn’t exploited it until now; he’s been saving it for just the right moment, and the way Shawn’s biting his lip makes the moment perfect.  He strokes himself a few times and watches the way Shawn catches the movement, the way Shawn’s hand clamps just a little harder but doesn’t lose its rhythm.  God, but Lassiter loves a challenge.  He speeds up his strokes, squeezes near the base of his cock, and breathes out, “Shawn,” as he twists his wrist.

“Lassi-“ Shawn’s voice catches, his arm twitches, and he curses as he hips come off the bed.  “No fucking fair.  You cheated.”

“Never said I couldn’t distract you.”  Lassiter takes his hand out of his jeans, crawls up the bed, and removes Shawn’s hand from his cock.  “You have to learn some control, Shawn.”

“Fuck control.”

Lassiter smiles, licks the edge of Shawn’s mouth, and wraps Shawn’s fingers around the headboard.  “Fuck you.”

“You’ve been promising that all night,” Shawn brings his hips off the bed, brushes himself against the front of Lassiter’s jeans.  “I think it’s put up or shut up time.”

“I think it’s just shut up time,” Lassiter responds, one hand covering Shawn’s mouth.  “Do you want the gag?”  Shawn nips his hand, and Lassiter presses down with his hand.  “Keep that up, it will be the gag.”

Shawn moves his head to the side, dislodging Lassiter’s hand.  “If I wear the gag, how will you hear me scream?”

Lassiter grins, pinches Shawn’s left nipple, and runs his fingers along Shawn’s cock until he groans.  “I can hear you around the gag.”

“Yeah, but it’s less fun.”

That is, Lassiter will admit to himself, very true.  He slides his hand back over Shawn’s mouth, chuckles shortly when Shawn licks his palm with the tip of his tongue, and slides himself, jeans still on, over Shawn’s groin and lower stomach.  “I suppose I could give you something to keep you occupied.”  The gleam in Shawn’s eyes speaks for him, and Lassiter gets onto his knees and maneuvers himself so that his hips are even with Shawn’s head.  “Sit up,” Shawn does so, and Lassiter angles closer.  “Take your hands from the headboard,” Shawn unwinds his fingers from the slats and places his hands against his chest.  “Push down my jeans.  I’m going to put my cock in your mouth.”

“Nugh,” Shawn manages as he grips Lassiter’s belt loops and tugs down hard.  He pulls out Lassiter’s cock, mostly careful of the zipper, and rests back against the headboard, waiting for Lassiter to come closer and position himself so that all Shawn has to do is open his mouth.

”Oh, yes,” Lassiter hisses as the head of his cock scrapes against Shawn’s soft palette.  He thrusts in slowly, smiling at the way Shawn doesn’t close his mouth.  “Suddenly, you’re a very good boy.”  Shawn’s only response is to flick his tongue on the underside of Lassiter’s cock.  “Oh,” Lassiter gasps and curves his hand around the back of Shawn’s head.  “Now suck me,” he orders, low and dirty, and groans as Shawn proceeds to do as he’s told.

It’s been a long, energetic night of teasing and goading, and Lassiter has to think of everything except the absolutely perfect feel of Shawn’s mouth on his cock so that he doesn’t come into Shawn’s mouth within the first two minutes.  He rocks his hips slowly, biting his lip when Shawn grips his ass and then slides a finger up and down his crease.  He thrusts a little harder the next time, and Shawn groans and puts more pressure on the underside of his cock with his lips.  Lassiter gets both hands in Shawn’s hair and holds him still while he thrusts.  Shawn sucks harder and slides a finger into Lassiter in a smooth motion that belies the needy, wet moans coming out of his mouth.

“Shawn,” Lassiter manages, grip tightening so that Shawn gives a small yelp.  Lassiter tries to ease off, but he’s so close, so quick, and after another two thrusts, the second of which he doesn’t think he could stop even if he’d made an effort, Lassiter pulls his cock from Shawn’s mouth.  “If you want-“ is as far as he gets before Shawn lunges forward and slides his mouth back into place.  Lassiter makes a noise that’s almost a groan, but almost a gasp, bucks hard once and comes down Shawn’s throat.  He slumps over Shawn, his hands loosening their death grip on Shawn’s hair.  “I was going to fuck you,” he says after a few moments.

Shawn’s licking his lips and grinning the widest grin Lassiter’s sure he’s ever seen.  “Yeah, well, change of plans.”

Lassiter raises an eyebrow and slides down, grabbing Shawn’s legs and straightening him along the bed.   “I see,” he says as he slides his hands up Shawn’s thighs.  He drops his left hand between Shawn’s legs, runs his fingers over Shawn’s sac, and slides a finger into Shawn as slowly as he can manage.  Shawn gasps and twists, and Lassiter presses his other hand against Shawn’s stomach.  “Be still.”

“Easy for you to say.  You got off already.”

“Had you not been so impertinent,” and Lassiter hits hard on the ‘t’ just to watch Shawn’s eyes flutter, “I’d be perfectly eager to fuck you.”  He twists the finger he has in Shawn.  They’d teased earlier, Lassiter finger-fucking Shawn with just enough lube to keep it from being dry. Shawn’s still a little slick, but Lassiter grabs the lube from the bedside table and pulls out his finger so he can slick it up.  He slicks up his second finger as well and slides them both into Shawn at the same time.  Shawn’s grunt and press down makes Lassiter smile and bend down to bite at Shawn’s chest.  “Now, Mr. Spencer, are you going to be good?”

“G-good?”  Shawn stutters, sweat starting at his hairline as Lassiter moves his fingers in and out slowly.  “You tell me.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”  Lassiter slides his fingers in as far as they’re go, watching the way it makes Shawn shiver and clench his fingers.  He starts to count in his head as he makes himself move even slower.  Shawn’s impatient at everything, but most especially sex.  He begs with an intensity Lassiter’s never seen on anyone, and it makes Lassiter heat up every time he hears it.

“Lassie,” and that’s the start of it, that almost-whine in Shawn’s voice as he glides his hips and bits his lower lip.  “Oh, god, Lassie.”  He breathes in through his nose, a harsh sound that makes Lassiter lick his lips.  “Please.”

“Please?”  Bland, like Lassiter’s got nothing but boring, boring time to kill.  He crooks his fingers, drags them down, relishes Shawn’s grunt when he hits his prostate.  “Is there something you want, Spencer?”  Slick on the ‘s’ as he rotates his fingers. 

“Fuck, Lassie.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.”

“I’m doing that,”  Lassiter smirks when Shawn’s eyes open just enough to glare at him.  “If you were more patient-“

“Fuck patient,” Shawn’s eyes open all the way, and he digs his fingers into the sheet as Lassiter scissors his fingers.  “Oh, fuck, Lassie.  Please.  Please.  Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Please, what,” hard on the ‘t’ again, “Spencer?” voice just barely a whisper, his free hand dragging up Shawn’s chest to wrap around the loop on his collar.  “What, exactly, are you asking for, Spencer?”

“I want-” Shawn grunts as Lassiter tugs his collar.  “I-oh, fuck, yes, there.”

Lassiter presses his fingers straight on Shawn’s prostate, massages with the tiniest movements.  “Here?” his voice is nothing but amusement.

“Fuck.  Yes.  Oh, fuck.  Fuck.  Lassie, let me come.  Let me come.  I want to come.”

“You want to come?”  Hard on his prostate again, Lassiter tugs the collar with his other hand, lifts Shawn’s head off the bed with the force of it.  “You want to come?”

“Yes.  Fuck.  Yes.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to come,” Lassiter’s tone is an edge away from conversational, almost waspish with the way it’s precise around his words.  “Maybe I want to sit here all night with my fingers up your ass and listen to you beg for it.  ‘Please, Lassie, please’, you’ll say.”

“Goddamnit, Carlton, just let me come.”  Shawn’s voice is a full whine now, the end of his sentence going high and thin.  “Let me come.”

Low and raw, Lassiter whispers in Shawn’s ear, “No.”  He pulls out his fingers and slides up Shawn’s body.  “Not yet.”

“Why?”  Shawn can’t seem to keep his eyes open, closing them every time he flexes his fingers.  “Carlton, please.”

Lassiter places his knees on either side of Shawn’s hips and gives a tug to the collar.  “Up,” he orders, keeping the pressure on Shawn’s neck even as Shawn hustles to rearrange himself.  Once Shawn is upright, hands pressed against Lassiter’s thighs, breath coming in short, heady gasps, Lassiter kisses him hard, biting down on Shawn’s lip and wrapping his hand around Shawn’s cock.  “Don’t come,” he says as he begins to stroke, gliding his thumb over the head of Shawn’s cock.  “Don’t come.”  Lassiter gives Shawn’s collar another hard tug when Shawn starts to keen.

“Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Carlton, please.  Fucking please.”

Lassiter lets go of the collar, reaches down, and cups Shawn’s sac, rolling it around in his hand while tightening his grip around Shawn’s cock.  “Do you want to come?”  He whispers against Shawn’s ear before biting on the lobe.

“Yes.” Shawn drags the ‘s’ into a hiss as Lassiter strokes up again.  “Fucking hell, yes.”

Lassiter pumps Shawn’s cock slowly and torturously, watches the way the muscles in his neck tense and feels Shawn’s fingernails cut into his thigh.  He presses his mouth to Shawn’s in something that’s almost a kiss.  “Come,” he breathes against Shawn’s lips. 

Shawn twitches, his fingers dig deeper, and he’s coming on Lassiter’s hand, a groan thrumming up his whole body before he slumps back into the sheets, ragged and wrung out and grinning like a maniac.

Lassiter wipes his hand on the far corner of the sheet and reaches to unhook the collar.  There are two livid red lines around Shawn’s neck, and Lassiter leans down and licks at them, humming against Shawn’s throat as he tucks his nose behind Shawn’s ear.  “Satisfied?”

“Mmm,” Shawn manages, his hands running up Lassiter’s back.  “Next time, you wear the collar.”

Lassiter presses his teeth against the soft skin just under Shawn’s ear and breathes out through his nose.  “No.”