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Bart’s ears perked up when Conner’s key turned the lock. He’d already been paying minimal attention to the TV while he awaited Conner’s homecoming, and in that instant, every crumb of his attention was diverted to clocking Conner’s movements: the jingle of his keys dropped in the dish, the whisper of leather as he removed his jacket, the heavy thud of his boots being kicked off. Bart’s gut fluttered in anticipation as Conner’s steps plodded from the entrance hall to the kitchen. There was the swish of the cabinets and drawers being opened, the clink of a plate and utensils being removed, and—a tingle ran through Bart’s body—the heavy unsealing sound of the refrigerator being opened.
A taken-aback second of silence that made Bart’s heart beat faster, then a furious rustling through frigid food, the muted slam of a fridge door, and Conner stomping on socked feet until he turned the corner to the living room.
Agitation had already given him a bit of a flush. Bart didn’t turn his head from the TV, but he tracked everything in his peripheral vision. Conner’s eyes went from Bart—sunk back in the couch, a knee up and a foot pushed casually into the edge of the coffee table—to the coffee table, and the empty pie dish and dirty fork brazenly laid out atop it.
Bart was good at being irritating; when he was actively trying, he was a virtuoso.
Conner’s stormy expression turned thunderous. Bart’s dick, already hard from the waiting, throbbed.
“You ate my cheeseburger pie!?”
Bart didn’t look up. “Oh, did you want that?”
“Did I want the dish Ma specifically made for me, that I hadn’t gotten any of yet? Yes, I fucking wanted it.” Conner stepped between Bart and the TV. He was practically glowing with indignation. His clenched teeth turned the lines of his face into appealingly savage cuts.
Learning that danger was real outside of VR was the starkest life lesson Bart’d ever had to learn.
Conner was the only one who could make danger fun again.
“Well, it’s gone now. Would you mind? You’re blocking the TV,” Bart said blithely.
Conner scowled at him and stabbed the power button off.
Bart reached for the remote.
Conner shoved him belly-first into the couch and straddled his thighs. He grabbed the remote out of his hand and chucked it across the room.
Bart started to rise, and Conner put a hand on his lower back and pinned him back down. He crushed Bart into the cushions with his heavy, immovable body. No TTK—at least, not yet.
“You’re not going to apologize?” Conner growled.
Bart turned over his shoulder, as much as he was allowed to move when his chest was being crushed flat, and looked up at Conner. His eyes were dark, his head lowered, his nostrils lightly flared. He looked like a bull staring Bart down across a bullring. “You haven’t made me sorry yet.”
Conner’s mouth twisted sourly. “You think just ‘cause you’ve got a cute face and a round butt you can get away with anything.”
“Well,” Bart drawled. “You said it, not me.”
“I was looking forward to eating that,” Conner said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you ate it anyway.”
“I sure did.” Conner had him pinned by the back and the legs, but Bart could still lift the aforementioned round butt. He wriggled it at Conner. “You should discipline me with that big dick.”
Conner snorted. “Of course you think I should punish you with a reward.”
His blunt nails scraped Bart’s skin as he got a hand on Bart’s waistband. Conner roughly tugged it down his ass to discover Bart wasn’t wearing underwear—if he hadn’t known that already. Conner let out a low, contemplative hum as he squeezed the ass Bart was presenting for him. His thumb dipped into Bart’s crack and grazed Bart’s hole. Conner pressed against it, teasing Bart with the threat to push it in dry, and Bart groaned.
Conner reached behind his head, pulled his shirt off, and discarded it on the floor. All of that steely musculature was on display, though Bart could only admire a portion of it craning over his shoulder—and then not even that when Conner yanked Bart’s shirt up over his head. He pressed down on Bart’s bare back with one hand while he worked it off Bart’s arms, like he thought Bart would try to bolt if he weren’t restrained. Not a bad precaution, since Bart had done it before—but at the moment, Bart was exactly where he wanted to be. Bart had gotten enough foreplay just sitting on the couch waiting for Conner to show up.
Conner seized him by the hair and pulled his head farther back to kiss. Bart’s mouth fell open for the hot crush of it. Conner kissed Bart until Bart had lost his breath and then on beyond that, Bart’s head swimming, his mouth brutalized, his scalp stinging where Conner was holding him up by the hair.
Conner finally moved on; he left Bart to pant for breath while his mouth proceeded to Bart’s jaw and then down his neck. Bart never felt more a body than when Conner had his mouth on him. His skin came alive under Conner’s touch, prickling and thrumming beneath Conner’s plush lips and slick, velvet tongue. Bart’s spine curved up to meet him when he moved on to Bart’s shoulder. Conner’s ultimate destination was obvious, and Bart wanted to roll him all the way down his spine and—
“Ow!”
Conner’s teeth dug sharp and vicious into Bart’s shoulder. Bart reflexively jerked to dislodge him, and Conner stayed clamped down on him until he settled.
“Fuck,” Bart said when Conner finally released him. His tongue swiped out to lick over the tenderized spot. It made Bart tremble. “Shit, did you break the skin?”
Bart tried to check, but he didn’t have the vantage to see. All he succeeded in doing was pull against the fist in his hair and make his eyes water. He blinked it away. “Nah,” Conner said. He blew over the spit-wet spot and Bart shivered. “I don’t want blood in my mouth. That’s a gnarly bruise, though.”
Not for long. Bart’s body had already dumped a load of endorphins on him and was busy at work healing the soft tissue damage. Conner moved on, working his way down Bart’s spine with dragged tongue and firm presses of lips. He nipped at Bart here and there, but he didn’t bite down again until he was at the top swell of Bart’s ass. Bart let out a low, continuous groan as Conner sunk his teeth into his flesh. It was the sharp pain of teeth latching on, and then the steady radiating ache of the flesh being crushed until Conner finally let go. Bart didn’t have so long to anticipate the next bite: Conner bit him again, closer to his hole. Bart whined and squirmed underneath him. His whole body was throbbing, more reactive for the threat of pain hanging over it. The minor relief of the bites being released was only winding up his desire to be probably touched. His waistband was halfway down his dick, the elastic digging into the shaft while his exposed head rubbed into the rough fabric of the couch.
Conner’s tongue swiped over the twin bites. Bart inhaled in anticipation.
And instead of sticking his tongue inside him, Conner rolled him over. Conner peeled Bart’s sweats off his legs and tossed them on the growing discard pile. He put Bart’s legs over his shoulders and pulled his hips into the air.
Bart grinned. Facing Conner was better. He got to admire the vindictive look in his eyes and see when the hits were coming.
“So you’re gonna eat me? Like that’s also not a reward?” Bart was incapable of not goading Conner when doing so made his eyes flash and his lip curl. Conner was a punk that emulated Boy-Scout-hood. Sometimes it was just good to get him back down to a base smash-and-grab mentality.
Conner spat on his hole. Bart clenched, and Conner licked into him. Bart moaned as Conner’s supple tongue forced its way past his tight muscle and up into him. His head fell back against the cushion while Conner ate him out. His body gave way to him like melting butter. Conner made him drip with spit and shudder under his hands. His hot, robust tongue stretched Bart out as he licked him deeper. He probed at Bart with all the dexterity of a finger; the tip of his tongue teased Bart’s prostate, and Bart liquified in his hands, spreading and sinking for him.
The tongue up Bart’s ass froze.
“SHIT!”
Bart would’ve jumped off the couch and maybe through the wall if Conner hadn’t had a a lock on his legs. His big hands were wrapped around Bart’s thighs and they kept him from wrenching away from the sudden, thieving ice stuffed up his ass. Bart thrashed to get away anyway—and then it was gone, and Conner was sucking warm, soothing kisses along his inner thigh. Bart stared up at him. His thoughts seemed sluggish. Fair, when he was dealing with cold where he had not expected cold.
“Freeze-breath?” Bart said dazedly.
“Mm.” Conner pressed that potentially-lethal mouth to the curve of Bart’s ass and sucked a hot hickey. “Just enough to coat my mouth. Damn, that made you tight.”
Bart’s pulse ratcheted up several notches. Conner used that power so rarely that Bart could forget that he had it. Conner brought Bart’s hips lower. He licked up from Bart’s constricting hole to his balls.
Bart’s heart kicked into a sprint. “H-hang on…”
“Did you really think you weren’t going to get punished?” Conner rolled Bart’s balls on his tongue.
“It crossed my mind… You’re not that hard to distract.”
“You little shit.” Conner sucked Bart’s ball into his mouth. Bart flinched, but his mouth was hot, liquid, sucking. Conner’s lips pulled back—maybe a smirk, maybe a snarl—and he bit down enough for Bart’s nut to begin to flatten between his molars.
Bart twisted on the couch, half trying to wrench himself away, half trying to force himself still because he knew he couldn’t get out of that vise without a grievous injury. A high whine escaped him as that tender place was squashed.
Conner released him and Bart’s bending back slumped against the cushions with a pained moan. The resulting endorphin rush was so strong it nearly made him sick, and he trembled with it.
“Did that hurt?” Conner cooed. “Want me to ice it for you?”
“Nononon—ARGH!”
Bart hollered. Frigid air blew over Bart’s junk with every one of Conner’s exhales, but that was nothing compared to the frosted tongue. It still had all its normal flexibility, and Conner used it to swirl ice around Bart’s tight sack and dig into every sensitive crevice. Bart struggled to get away—tapping into a blind animal panic that even a childhood in VR couldn’t supersede—but he couldn’t get away. Conner’s hold on him was absolute and Bart was never more defenseless than when his feet were in the air. Conner gave him only so much slack so that he could wriggle in his hands.
His balls pulled up into his body, trying to retreat from the cold. Not that it helped any. Conner’s mouth was hard and insistent. Bart could feel the cold leeching away his speed, slowing down his ability to recover, which was the biggest mindfuck of it all. Under Conner’s mouth, Bart was just vulnerable flesh, for the first time in his life.
And then Bart passed from burning pain to pure numbness. A piteous groan escaped him when he lost the sensation. Conner’s mouth pulled away. Even his spit was frigid, and Bart whined and twitched as it dripped down into less-abused places.
“You’re numb, huh? Can you feel this?” Conner jostled Bart’s leg so that it was caught in the bend of his arm, and used the free hand to pinch Bart’s balls. Bart only felt a dull sensation. Shamefully he wanted to press into Conner’s vicious fingers because they were warm.
“No?” Conner prompted. “Tell me when you can.”
The heat spread, Bart’s body hungrily consuming Conner’s warmth—not that Conner cared if his fingers got cold. And with the heat and revived nerves came a second wave of pain. “Fuck!” Bart groaned, his hips jolting in a futile effort to buck Conner’s grip as it drew sharper and sharper.
“There you go.” Conner pinched him again with pure vindictiveness, then cupped and gently kneaded him.
Bart quivered under his hands. The pain was making his body hypersensitive to any bit of pleasure. His hips pressed up in Conner’s lightly stroking fingers, piteously begging. His cock, having shrunk away from Conner’s frigid mouth, swelled again under his hot hand. Pleasure coiled in his groin, winding tighter with every circling rub of Conner’s fingers.
Conner wrapped his hand around the root of him and held Bart’s cock upright, to his lips. Bart’s muscles tightened; his groin clenched. Fear and arousal were twins. “Oh, fuck, don’t,” Bart choked out.
Conner rubbed the tip of Bart’s cock over his bottom lip. It was hot—but that could change in an instant. Conner looked down Bart’s arched torso to study his face. Bart’s breath shallowed. Conner’s sharply slanted eyebrows and smoldering eyes and dangerous mouth all poised over his dick was a sight to behold.
“Do you wanna say sorry?”
Bart’s fingers dug in around the edge of the couch cushion, his body already locking up in anticipation of a collision. “Did you want me to lie?”
Conner licked his dick. Bart jumped and cried out, but it had been pure fear—Conner’s mouth still wasn’t cold.
“Don’t be such a wuss,” Conner said without pity. He sucked the head, rolled it with his tongue, and sank further down. Bart tensed, expecting ice, relaxed when it didn’t come, and then tensed again expecting an unexpected attack. Conner sweetly sucked him, his mouth soft and lush and yielding. The longer the blow job went on the more Bart started to sweat. The uncertainty of when the cold would come could drive him mad. His cock twitched, suspended between pleasure and anticipated pain.
When Conner pulled off, Bart’s cock was soaked with spit. Bart winced when it was exposed to the air—and shrieked when Conner deliberately blew cold air over it.
The tip of Conner’s tongue flicked out and traced icy lines over Bart’s delicate skin. Bart thrashed, but Conner was finally using his TTK. He was holding Bart in place by the base of his dick and there was nothing that Bart could do about it.
Conner flattened his tongue and dragged it all the way up Bart’s shaft. Bart shivered violently. He could feel his teeth chatter and his whole body break out in goose flesh. The cold penetrated everything, sinking into his flesh and sapping away his speed. Bart didn’t know how much abuse his thin, powerless skin could take.
Bart pushed on Conner’s head with both hands, but that didn’t budge him from his work. He lapped at Bart’s cock head, icy tongue flicking against his slit, and Bart shrieked. His legs undulated in Conner’s grip, trying to either free himself or knee Conner in the face. Conner kept licking him, unperturbed. Bart could feel the agony of cold nerves deadening in the place where he was most sensitive of all.
Conner closed his lips over Bart’s crown—“nonono, oh fuck”—and sucked—“FUCK! Fuck!”—and started to sink—“fucking SHIT fuck asshole shit-sucking sonovabitch grifing fuckingnassshit—sorry!”
Conner sat up. He put Bart in his lap, closed his big, warm hand around Bart’s sloppy dick, and gently pumped him. He coaxed blood back into Bart’s dick with one hand while he freed his cock from the confines of his jeans with the other. Bart let out a deep, shuddery, relieved breath when Conner’s feverish cock fell across his and Conner wrapped his hand around them both.
The friction and Conner’s heat quickly went to work reviving Bart. His cock thawed and he rubbed up into Conner, desperately chasing feeling while Conner pumped them together. His nerves were all coming alive again and they felt brand new, first use, like he’d never been pressed between Conner’s palm and Conner’s burning dick before. Pleasure cut sharper than ever. Bart came before he knew it was coming, a weak gush from his shrunken dick that felt so good he gasped like he was dying and his head swam. His come leaked down Conner’s thick shaft while Conner pumped him through it, drawing more out of Bart than he’d thought he’d had to give.
Conner set him down gently, then hopped up to straddle Bart’s face. He took his cock in hand—so big from this position that it blotted out everything else—and held the shaft over Bart’s face. The smear of Bart’s come was clinging to the underside.
“Clean up your mess,” Conner commanded.
Bart’s lip curled. “I hate the way my jizz tastes.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you eat a bunch of garbage.”
“I do?” Bart fluttered his eyelashes innocently. “But that pie was for you—“
Conner slapped him in the face with his dick, which felt like getting backhanded, and left his come smeared across his cheek. Conner scraped it up with the side of his thumb. “Open up, you little piggy. You’re going to eat it.”
Conner pushed his thumb into Bart’s mouth. Bart tried to spit it back out, but Conner held it in. Bart grudgingly wrapped his lips around it and sucked. The acrid flavor was unpleasant, but after he’d sucked it away, there was just the taste of Conner’s skin. A low, pleased groan rumbled out of Bart and he sucked Conner’s digit with more gusto. Conner tasted like something spicy and sweet. Bart hallowed his cheeks to draw on him more forcefully, sucking the salt from his skin. Conner popped his thumb from Bart’s mouth, and Bart whined when it was taken away from him. Conner ran the pad of his thumb over Bart’s lips, painting them with spit.
Bart sucked in a hopeful breath. “Let me suck your dick,” Bart coaxed. “Let me make it up to you, c’mon, let me suck you off, let me…”
Conner’s hand dug under Bart’s hair to cup his head. “I’m not in the mood for a dick-sucking. I’m gonna fuck your mouth.”
“Yess—ulck!” Bart was cut off by the cock shoved in his mouth. Conner held his mouth where he wanted it and pumped into it. It made Bart’s body flush with a restoring heat. Conner’s cock glided across his tongue. He was thick and pulsing with blood, swollen and ready to unload. Every little twitch and moan Bart had made had gotten him there. He only needed Bart’s mouth for somewhere to dump his come. Bart grabbed at Conner’s waistband, yanking it farther down his hips, feeling the hard muscles working to stuff Bart’s mouth with cock.
Conner hit his crest. He came in waves that filled Bart’s mouth. Every time he spilled he did it with a deep, animal-satisfied grunt.
Conner lifted his cock, dripping come and spit, from Bart’s loose mouth. He grabbed Bart around the jaw and took a minute to admire the pool of come he’d left across his tongue. Then he gave Bart a squeeze that he could feel in his bones. “Swallow it.”
That Bart had no objection to. His jizz tasted foul, but he loved the way Conner tasted; something strong and piquant that had been put over heat, like caramelized onions.
Bart’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. Conner stroked it. A smile was playing across his face; Conner got sweet and sentimental and laidback after he came. The chances of Bart getting a rise out of him now were basically nil. Conner leaned into the crease of the couch, got his pants off the rest of the way, and then pulled Bart into a snuggle. He encased Bart like an aggressive sleeping bag.
“I’m gonna leech all your energy,” Bart warned. Bart’s body was ravenous for heat, for motion, after being so recently starved, and Conner was an exceptionally scrumptious morsel of stored energy.
“Whatever. Just roll me into the sun afterward. I wanna cuddle,” Conner said, burying his face in Bart’s hair.
“Y’know, when you go soft you go really soft.”
Conner pinched him in the side. “That’s enough out of you.”
“I still wanna get fucked,” Bart complained. He’d spent the better part of an hour imagining getting dicked down until he fractured a hip.
“You can have your reward after you hand-wash that pie dish and run it back to Ma.” Conner clamped down on him before he could jump up. “After I get my cuddle.”
“Fine,” Bart sighed. “I’ll indulge you.”
Conner exhaled a laugh into his hair. “Yeah, you do that.”