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As You Slowly Drown

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It was the last fucking straw and he'd felt only slightly better after he’d tossed the bitch out the front door.

“Dan, they’re just actors, I have to meet them here for work! You know I’d never-”

“Fuck your work! I don’t give a shit. It’s the last fucking time you bring another one of those cunt in here again.” Even the woman who had been there only a moment before- another god awful aspiring actress- had made it obvious she wasn’t the least bit interested in the writer’s work. She had been staring openly and with interest at Thomas, leaving lingering touches on his hands and shoulders, touching what was his.

Thomas, clueless to what had triggered the violent outburst, was futilely trying to calm him down. “Dan, hold on, let’s just sit down and talk this through-”

He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to hear anymore of his pathetic excuses. He needs to remind him of his place and who he fucking belongs to.

“Come here.”

“Dan?”

“Take off your shirt and give me your hands.”

“What? Dan what are you-?”

He raises his voice almost to a shout, fed up and about ready to take what he wants if Thomas won’t come to him. “I said come the fuck over here, take your fucking shirt off and give me your fucking hands, Thomas.”

He freezes, hesitates only a second more before slowly walking forward, tugging his shirt off as he goes, until he’s nearly face to face with Dan, not meeting his cold stare. He thinks he should be more terrified than he is, definitely shouldn’t be aroused by the harsh and commanding tone. He brings his palms up, his head slightly bowed and eyes down cast, looking and feeling like a child who’s about to be punished for speaking out of turn.

Dan moves quickly, taking the final step so that he’s close enough to feel the other’s breath across his face. He ignores the supplicated hands for now and unbuckles Thomas’ belt, pulling it roughly and efficiently from the loops of his jeans. He takes hold of both his wrists and binds them with the belt, painfully tight and no room to struggle.

The sudden and uncomfortable loss of his hands sends a spike of adrenaline through his body and has Thomas growing harder by the minute and biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check.

Dan gestures toward the small sofa. “Sit.”

He follows the command, still not daring to look up as he goes toward the ragged old sofa chair in the room.

Dan’s calm if not slightly amused tone betrays the cold fury in his words. “You think I don’t know that you do this shit on purpose? Bringing all these sluts up to our apartment then flaunting them in my fucking face?”

Thomas doesn’t dare answer, knows if he tries to speak at all now he’ll be met with more aggression. As soon as he’s seated, sinking low into the old seat cushion, Dan comes to kneel over him, knees on each armrest, effectively trapping Thomas with his face in line with Dan’s crotch. He shoves his sweats and boxers down mid-thigh, taking himself in hand, languidly stroking then rubs the head of his cock on Thomas’ lower lip in slow deliberate motions.

When he speaks his voice comes out in a hiss. “You know what I think? I think you like making me jealous. You like driving me up a fucking wall. And you fucking love it when I get tired of your shit and take it out of your ass.”

His other hand runs up through the hair at the base of the man’s neck, suddenly grabbing a fistful, roughly pulling Thomas’ head back and shoving his cock deep into his open gasping mouth. Thomas stays open, can’t move or do anything but let Dan fuck his mouth and shove his face into the hairs at the base of his cock. Dan thrusts into him, feeling the head of his cock brush the back of his throat more than a few times before pulling out, letting Thomas cough, sputter, and catch his breath before bringing his head back up and diving in again. He holds the man’s head in place, a hand coming back up to grip his hair and another at his neck, feeling the rush of blood, the rapid pace of his heartbeat. When Thomas looks up at him his eyes are a swimming mess of blue, a wet sheen of tears clouding them and the sight of it makes his steady rhythm turn brutal and fast.

He catches himself though, before he ends this too quickly, slows and finally pulls out, patting Thomas on the cheek not at all gently, enough force behind it that it’s more of a slap.

“We’re not done yet. Turn over and show me that pretty little ass of yours.”

Thomas does as he’s told, dazed, shaking and somehow painfully hard despite the abuse. He hooks his elbows over the back of the couch, his bound hands uselessly pressed to his abused mouth. He bows his back out so his ass presents an enticing curve and bites at his bottom lip to keep from making any noise when he feels an uncaring hand palm him roughly through worn denim. Dan wastes no time, unbuttons his jeans, shoves them down along with his boxers around his knees and pulls them both off. He brings a hand down swiftly and the sudden sting of the slap to his ass has Thomas jerking forward, crying out as precome dribbles down his cock.

“I should just fuck you right now. You’ve been such a naughty little shit, you don’t even deserve to be opened up on my fingers.”

As he speaks Dan leans in, mouthing at the shell of his ear and leaving wet trails of precome and saliva in the dip of Thomas’ back every time he rubs against him. His hands are teasing up and down Thomas’ thighs, nails scratching red marks into the pale skin, so close but always just short of actually touching his cock.

“But I might change my mind if you start doing as you’re told.”

Thomas shivers and fights to keep focus on the intent behind the words. “What do you want me to do?”

“Beg for me like the little bitch you are. Beg me to lick you open and fuck you on my tongue. Then promise daddy you’ll be a good boy from now on.”

Thomas flushes hotly with embarrassment at the list of commands- and they are commands, his tone leaves no room for disobedience. Even still he swallows and shakes his head, struggling for any last remnants of dignity. “Please, don’t-”

Dan’s nails dig painfully into the flesh of his inner thigh. “You don’t want to be a good boy?”

The sharp sting sends a fresh surge of want through him. “No, no, I do- I do.”

So much for dignity.

Fingers trail back up between his legs and he feels them press and tease at the skin behind his balls. He hides his reddened face against his forearms as he feels the rasp of a beard and the impression of teeth move down his back. His voice comes out in a barely audible whimper. “Please…”

A hand comes around to grip him almost too tightly at the base of his dick. “Please, what?”

His breath leaves him and he moves into the hard touch until a hand in his hair pulls in warning. Air finds its way back into his lungs through labored panting and he struggles against his own humiliation to give Dan what he wants. “Please I… I’m sorry. Want- I want you to fuck me. With your tongue, a-and your cock-“

Both hands grip harder. “Are you going to be a good boy?”

He moans pitifully at the too-tight pressure. “Yes- yes I’ll be good, I promise.”

His hands are suddenly gone and without the pain, without any kind of grounding touch he feels unbearably exposed and cold.

“Please, daddy, I’ll be a good boy!”

No sooner do the words rush out of him in a needy low whine that he feels the thick, wet insistence of a tongue licking and pressing into him. Coherent thought leaves him as he tries desperately to push back on that tongue, biting the knuckles of his hand in a pitiful attempt to stifle the noise of his pleasure and frustration. The tongue thrusting into him is as relentless and forceful as the rest of the man, and just as addictive.

Dan pulls back after he’s satisfied with his work, spitting into his own hand and stroking himself.

“Yeah, I know you will.”

He spreads and holds Thomas open, spitting on the crease of his ass as he lines himself up and begins pushing the head of his cock in and bearing down on the man under him. He groans low under his breath as he inches in deeper, hands coming up to hold onto the back of the chair, until his hips meet the back of his thighs. Thomas is a trembling sweaty mess under him, silent but for the whining exhales of breath. Dan hardly gives him a moment to adjust before he’s pulling back and slamming forward again. The pace he sets is fast and selfish and the sound of skin slapping against skin becomes rhythmic and steady.

Thomas’ thighs quiver with the exertion of holding himself up on the armrests of the chair and his back tickles at the sensation of Dan’s long strands of hair brushing up and down at each thrust. The spit and precome can only do so much to ease the way for each pull and thrust of Dan’s cock in and out of him, the burn and stretch ever present but mixing with and elevating his own oncoming release.

Dan feels the way Thomas begins to shake uncontrollably around him, his voice climbing higher and breathier at each thrust. He reaches around him to tug at his cock once, twice, before Thomas shouts incoherently and comes hard against the back of the chair. Dan keeps on thrusting into him, quickly losing his rhythm as he brings an arm around Thomas’ neck and pulls him flush against him. He finishes with a nearly silent groan and a few last brutal thrusts up into Thomas’ body before he pulls out completely and stands up, taking the other man with him.

The only thing keeping Thomas from collapsing onto the floor is Dan’s arm around him. He can’t feel his hands even as Dan begins to lazily undo the makeshift belt bondage with his other hand.

“Your mine, you understand? You don’t let anyone else touch you like this, make you hurt like I do.”

He tosses the belt away, bringing his hand to Thomas’ cheek to turn him into a sloppy and biting kiss. Thomas goes along with it, still pliant and dazed from his orgasm.

Thomas knows at some point this strange and violent relationship they have- if it can be called that- is going to end bloody for both of them, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit.

So for now, he enjoys the pain and whatever else follows.