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heading south (i need mouth-to-mouth)

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“So,” Devin says, watching from the doorway of their tiny bathroom as Ricky does his eyebrows. He’s leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, arms crossed over the chest of his black HIM t-shirt and a pensive expression on his face. “I was thinking maybe we could try something tonight.”

Ricky pauses, brush poised over the arch of his left brow as his gaze flicks over to meet Devin’s in the mirror, suspicion rising in his gut. He knows that look. That’s the Look. The one and only, patented, Devin Sola specialty that has one meaning and one meaning only: Brace yourself.

Respectable things do not stem from that look.

Ricky just stares at him for a long minute, trying to guess what his boyfriend could possibly be scheming this time. What he finally ends up saying is, “Oh my god, if you make me wear a butt plug to Vinny’s stupid house party I’m actually going to have to kill myself.”

Devin frowns a little. “What? No, definitely not a plug. That was a fucking disaster last time.”

“Hm.” Ricky narrows his eyes. He holds back a snippy retort about whose fault that was as he looks away and resumes finishing his makeup. “Okay,” he says cautiously. “So… what is it, then?”

Devin shrugs, “Well. I want to, like. Not let you cum.”

Once again, the suspicion raises its head. Ricky lowers the thin brush with a sigh and swivels his body to face Devin fully. “That statement heavily implies that I’m going to want to cum in the first place,” he says slowly. Devin nods. “At our best friend’s house party.” Another nod. “With literally all of our friends there.”

“Yeah,” Devin confirms, flashing that weird, charming little smile. They stand there looking at each other for a moment. “Oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Fuck,” Ricky says succinctly.

It’s decidedly not a ‘no’.

 

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It only takes a scarce hour and a half for Ricky to come to the realization that agreeing to this may have been the greatest mistake of his life.

It’s only a bit past ten-thirty right now, but Devin has made it clear from the moment they stepped in the door that he is playing this game to win. He’s been brushing past Ricky all night, murmuring weird shit into his ear with a hand curled around his waist in a way that’s both purposeful and undeniably effective. Ricky’s honestly not sure how much more of this he can take before he inevitably turns to putty on the floor. He’s trying his best to keep it together for the sake of the twenty other people in the house, but if Devin covertly gropes his ass one more time, he will not be held legally responsible for the catastrophe that follows.

Ricky’s currently standing in the corner of the living room between Ryan and Chris, an unpleasantly lukewarm cup of Coke in hand as he watches Devin talk to some older brunette lady across the room. It’s hell. He’s fidgeting and trying to pretend that he’s even remotely following the conversation, but Devin looks so good over there, comfortable and confident and sexy and Ricky just really, really wants to go over and—

Oh, god. It’s going to be a long night.

He sighs and stares into his cup of soda. As always, he and Devin are both firmly abiding by their long-standing ‘sober only’ rule when fucking around with this type of shit, so it’s safe to say neither one of them will be doing any drinking tonight.

(Still, the tiniest part of Ricky mournfully wishes he were at least a little bit buzzed right now. Maybe that would make the unrelenting half-boner situation a little more bearable.)

Five more minutes tick agonizingly by, and Chris starts talking about AFI for the third time. Devin is still talking to the woman. Ricky licks his lips and fidgets some more.

 

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In the end, they only make it to eleven thirty before Devin finally pulls Ricky aside and guides him into the tiny guest bedroom with a hand on his lower back.

Ricky’s already half-vibrating with a sense of suspense before they even get inside, a palpable sort of ’this-is-it’ kind of feeling in Devin’s touch that makes his heart jump.

The lighting isn’t great, and there’s not much in the room except for an ugly rug and a single bed where everyone’s coats are strewn, but Ricky really can’t find it in himself to care about the lack of ambiance whatsoever. All critical thought is banished from his head when Devin smoothly locks the door behind himself and says, “Knees. Now.”

There’s no further prompting needed. Ricky hits the floor like his strings have been cut, not even feeling the way his kneecaps jar against the hardwood. His stomach flutters, hands automatically moving to clasp behind his back, eyes cast somewhere in the vicinity of Devin’s ankles. He’s been waiting hours for this.

It’s like all of a sudden Ricky can’t even hear the party happening ten feet away. For all he cares, it could be on a different planet; he just tunes it out and keeps his eyes fixed on the boots in front of him, watching with rapt anticipation as they step closer. This is what matters. This is all he has to think about now.

“Good boy,” he hears Devin say, followed by a gentle hand in his hair - his voice is completely relaxed and at ease, and Jesus, that might be the worst part. “Show me you want it.” Ricky’s arms jerk feebly in response where he’s still got them held together behind his back, eyes quickly darting up at Devin in a silent question. “You can use your hands.”

It’s all the permission he needs for his hands to unclasp and fly up to Devin’s thighs, resting against the fabric of his black jeans. He blinks, sucks in a breath and shuffles forward, cheeks starting to burn, and takes the hand in his hair as a sign of encouragement as he ducks forward to nudge his nose over the fly of Devin’s pants.

“As good as rubbing your face in it,” Devin tells him. Ricky can feel his boyfriend’s arousal where the fabric is chafing against his cheek, but the composed tone of his voice doesn’t give anything away. It’s hot.

Devin’s hand tightens in the hair at the back of his head, almost painful against his scalp and Ricky’s mouth drops open in a soundless whimper, cheeks flushing violently. “Daddy,” he mumbles.

He feels almost lightheaded. They must make quite the picture together: Ricky, down on his skinny knees in some bedroom, red face planted into the crotch of his boyfriend’s jeans while Devin holds him there. He’s mortified and he’s really fucking hard and he doesn’t know what to do, but that’s okay, because he knows Devin will tell him.

“Show me you want it,” Devin repeats. It’s not really even what he’s saying, but rather how he’s saying it; without inflection, without any governing emotion or any indication that he really cares. Ricky feels his hands flex, fingertips brushing at Devin’s waistband as they tentatively drift towards the button of his jeans. He bites his lip and nuzzles his face forward further. It’s embarrassing beyond belief. He can’t get enough.

“Can I—?” Ricky asks, voice muffled and just erring on the side of shaky. “Please, daddy, I want to.”

The hand in his hair yanks him off and he yelps softly as his head is forcibly tilted back, throat bobbing as he swallows and looks up at Devin.

His expression is neutral - not angry, not visibly aroused, not anything at all; just blank. He’s looking down at Ricky like he’s about as fascinating as a bar of soap. It shouldn’t make the excitement flutter in his stomach, churning together with the humiliation until he feels like he’s floating, but it does. He’s hard as a fucking rock already.

“Please,” Ricky hears himself repeat. “Please, I want to.”

“What do you want?” Devin asks him, the hand in his hair not letting up.

“Want to—“ Ricky swallows again, neck bared as he stares up with wide, dark eyes. “Wanna suck your cock, daddy.”

Finally, a reaction; Devin’s lips twitch into the briefest flicker of a smirk before his expression smooths out again. “Yeah? You want to make me feel good, is that it?”

Ricky nods quickly, even though the motion makes the tug on his scalp increase even more. His eyes water a little with the sting. “Please.”

Devin lets him go. “Show me,” he repeats.

Immediately, Ricky is nodding and scrabbling to undo the fly in front of him, fingers fumbling over the metal fastenings in his hurry to pop the button and tug down the zip in record time. His hands are practically trembling, but more from excitement than genuine anxiety - he’s fixated on the pinpoint resolution that he wants to make this good, wants to let himself be used, wants to make Devin feel good if it’s the last thing he does.

His breath catches as he efficiently pulls Devin’s pants and underwear down to his mid-thigh, exposing the hard, flushed length of him. Ricky’s eyes flick back up for a half-second of eye contact.

“No hands,” Devin says quietly. Ricky nods and then he ducks his head and sets to work.

He doesn’t bother to tease this time. He barely takes the time to mouth over the head of Devin’s cock before immediately pressing forward, making it halfway down before he has to work to adjust to the resistance.

Ricky’s eyelashes flutter as he swallowing reflexively, breathing through his nose as he bobs his head a little, fingers tensing on Devin’s hips but not daring to actually touch. He’s a bit out of practice and he’d usually use a hand to cover the rest, but— No hands. He’ll have to make do. He pulls back a little, working his tongue around the soft, hot skin, and tries again.

“Should fuck your face,” Devin mutters once he’s made it three-quarters of the way. “Make your cute little raccoon eyes run so everyone knows what you’ve been up to.”

Ricky can’t exactly nod to show how enthusiastically he approves of that idea, so he settles for a weak moan and forces himself down further until he can’t breathe properly against the spastic flutter of his throat. He half-coughs on the precursor of a gag and then Devin taps his cheek and he pulls off with a wet sound, catching his breath and looking up. He’s already drooling a bit, spit slippery on his lips when he swallows. “Please.”

“Fucking slut,” Devin says offhandedly. He uses his left hand to grab Ricky by the hair again, the right coming down in order to drag his thumb across Ricky’s slick lower lip before pressing inside, pushing down against the soft muscle of his tongue. “Jesus. You want me to fuck your face, baby? Is that it?”

Ricky nods as best as he can, closing his mouth around Devin’s thumb. That’s exactly what he wants.

“Here’s how it’s going to go, then,” Devin instructs quietly, looking down at him with an assessing gaze. “I’m going to use you until I’m done, I’m going to come in your mouth, and then we’re going to politely excuse ourselves and drive home. You aren’t going to touch yourself until I say so. Okay?”

Ricky doesn’t wait for him to finish talking before he’s nodding again, a whimper catching in the back of his mouth. Devin withdraws his thumb and wipes it on Ricky’s flushed cheek. “Okay. Good boy. Mouth open, hands behind your back. Be quiet.”

Ricky obediently drops his jaw as his hands snap down, fingers locking together at the base of his spine, and then he waits.

The hand in his hair doesn’t let up. Devin doesn’t keep him waiting for long; he just pulls Ricky’s head where he wants it, shifts forward so he’s standing even closer then before, and then guides his cock back into Ricky’s open mouth and shoves him down hard.

Ricky’s throat protests immediately; he splutters, eyes watering as Devin pulls him all the way down, spine arching as his nose connects with Devin’s body. He gags despite himself. It can’t be more than a second before Devin really starts going, not giving him time to adjust to the pace - he’s just pulling him by the hair as fast and as hard as he wants, Ricky drooling down his chin as he instinctively tries to draw a breath that won’t come. His fingers clutch tightly against each other in order to keep his hands from reflexively separating; he knows if he lets go and brings them up, Devin will stop the scene immediately to check if he’s okay.

It only takes a few minutes of Devin using his throat before Ricky’s crying properly, but even the wetness of his cheeks hardly registers beneath the overwhelming swell of good and can’t breathe and love you daddy. He loses himself in the jagged rhythm. It’s like he’s being worshipped and used and humiliated all at once, and the feeling is fucking vertiginous. It’s perfect.

Devin is rough and calculatedly careless in his motions; enough so that Ricky can really immerse himself in the fantasy of it, despite knowing that this is really all for play - he knows he’s safe and cared for above all else, but in this moment, he can pretend he’s not. Devin’s always been a good actor like that, and an even better dominant.

He feels Devin’s right thumb roughly swipe across his cheekbone, coming away wet and smeared with a dark smudge of makeup as a result of the tears sliding down his face. “Pretty,” he remarks, still maneuvering Ricky’s head with the other arm. “Like a two-dollar whore.” The fingers not currently in his hair trail down to drift over Ricky’s cheek, tracing around his lips where they’re wrapped snug around his cock. “Such a cute little bitch with your mascara ruined, getting your face fucked while everyone’s right outside.”

Ricky shudders and lets out a weak moan. He tries to keep his throat as relaxed as possible, just letting Devin use him however he wants, but he’s still half-gagging as he attempts to breathe.

Suddenly, Devin pulls him off by the hair and he gasps a few frantic inhales, nodding quickly through the dampness of his lashes. “Good, daddy, I’m good, thank you.” There’s spit running slick and warm down the length of his chin, but he doesn’t lift a hand to wipe it away, just licks his lips and keeps his mouth open. “More, please.”

In his hair, Devin’s fist clenches harder. “Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?”

Ricky nods again. Devin doesn’t make him beg further; there’s hardly a pause before he’s yanking Ricky back down onto his cock, Ricky’s arms jerking a little where they’re still held tight behind his back.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, just does his best to keep still and counts the beats of his racing heart beneath the sound of his own odd, stifled gurgles as Devin does as he pleases. His own arousal has become a sort of muted background thrum and he lets himself drift in the moment as Devin keeps up a continuous stream of praise and degradation.

Ricky only really tunes back in when Devin twists his hair and says, “Gonna come down your throat, baby, gonna make you choke on it,” and even then, Ricky’s only thought is please.

Devin hitches Ricky’s head close, his nose pressed flush against Devin’s body until he’s gagging and choking, and then Devin finally comes with an indistinct curse, fingers gripping hard against Ricky’s scalp.

Ricky splutters worse against the feeling, half-coughing and helpless while Devin works himself through it. He’s gasping by the time Devin slows to a halt, strings of saliva and leftover come making a mess of his lower face as Devin pulls him off.

“Thank you, daddy,” Ricky rasps out.

Devin’s hand slips out of his hair and down to his jaw with a light, reassuring touch. “Okay?”

“Good,” Ricky nods quickly in confirmation.

Devin steps back and Ricky looks up at him through the makeup smearing beneath his eyes. He’s rock-hard in his jeans, spit and a little come adorning his chin as Devin zips his pants.

“C’mon,” Devin tells Ricky, reaching down to pat him on the cheek, “On your feet. We have to go say goodbye.”

He turns and walks out of the room. The door opens, the noise of the party swells, and then it closes again with a click and Ricky is left in silence. He releases his hands and takes a moment to catch his breath. He finds his arms a little achy when he shrugs his shoulders, fingers stiff from being clenched so long.

Thankfully, he has the wherewithal to clumsily wipe his face, swiping his fingers under each eye to get the worst of the ruined makeup and wetness off before getting to his feet. His knees crack as he rises and snags a familiar-looking hoodie from the pile on the bed. He was told not to touch himself, so he doesn’t even take the time to adjust the almost painful urgency of his erection, instead simply positioning the bundle of fabric in front of his crotch as he obediently follows after Devin.

Despite his sloppy attempt to clean himself up, he still undoubtedly looks supremely fucked out as he warily emerges from the room to rejoin the gathering. It doesn’t even matter that he’s holding his boyfriend’s hoodie over his boner because he himself hasn’t come yet; his face is flushed, eyes glossy and expression a little dazed in the most telltale way.

He finds Devin talking to Balz in the kitchen and makes his way over to stand beside him. He arrives just as they’re wrapping up, and Balz is laughing, saying, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. Oh, hey, Rick. You guys drive safe then, okay?”

Devin nods. “Will do. Tell Vinny we say bye.” He slips a hand around Ricky’s waist and turns his head to look at him. “What do we say, darling?”

It takes Ricky a second to register he’s being addressed, and then he blinks and robotically says, “Thank you, goodnight.”

His voice comes out rough and more spacey than he intends it to. For a very uncomfortable second of staring, Balz looks like he’s going to say something, and then he visibly changes his mind. “Okay, well,” he laughs awkwardly. “Uh. Goodnight, then. Get home safely. Don’t make Ricky drive, please.”

Devin smiles beatifically and bids him goodnight, but Balz is already edging away and then slipping out onto the back porch. “D’you think he knew?” Devin wonders aloud. The pink tinge of Ricky’s cheeks plunges sharply into scarlet.

They manage to slip out of the gathering otherwise unnoticed. Ricky barely manages to get his shoes on right, but it’s a sigh of relief when they finally escape Vinny’s house without Chris walking up to start a forty-minute conversation about the longstanding impact of religious imagery in the 80s punk scene, or something. His dick is still so relentlessly hard it’s bordering on painful, fists clenched tight in the material of the hoodie he’s using to cover himself.

Devin doesn’t remove the hand from his waist as they make their way down the front walk and across the darkened street to where the car is parked in front of an industrial-looking office building maybe thirty feet away. Ricky only stumbles a little, feeling his face heat.

“How does it feel?” Devin asks, sotto voce. “I bet you wanna come, don’t you, baby?”

The car is twenty feet away now. Ricky can do nothing but nod, biting his lip. The warmth of Devin’s hand is like torture against his side.

“I know you do,” Devin laughs softly. “You think I should let you? Make you stop and do it right here, in the middle of the road where anyone could stop and stare? Or should I make you wait until we get home, have you sit pretty in the passenger seat for a little while longer?”

Ricky whimpers, feet faltering briefly across the pavement as he tries not to curl in on himself. The car is so close, they’re right there, and--

Devin steers them right past it, leading them another ten feet alongside the brick building. Ricky feels split-second flash of helpless confusion.

“I like to watch you squirm,” Devin continues casually, his arm is a firm pressure where he’s guiding Ricky along. “I like it when I get you so desperate you can’t even speak.”

Ricky swallows around a soundless whine. He’s getting to the point where he feels he honestly might die when all of a sudden, Devin manhandles him into the mouth of an alley and pushes him up against the wall. Ricky faintly registers his shoulder blades connecting against the hard concrete, making his breath stutter. Devin leans in against Ricky’s ear and murmurs, “You wanna come?”

Ricky nods so hard his eyes practically roll back in his head.

Devin breathes the ghost of a dark, amused chuckle. He shoves his thigh between Ricky’s legs and says, “Come on, then. Do it yourself, if you want it so bad.”

His tone is casual, disinterested, and Ricky understands immediately.

He swallows thickly against a shaky whimper, head bowing into Devin’s shoulder, the humiliation twisting sick in his gut even as he experimentally ruts his hips against the unmoving expanse of Devin’s leg. His mouth drops open and a desperate sound escapes. The friction is muffled and dull underneath the layers of clothing separating them, chafing uncomfortably on his cock, but it still feels good and he’s been hard for so long and he needs it, he needs—

“That’s it,” Devin says as Ricky grinds up against him. “Humping my leg like a fucking skank.”

His tone is still completely composed, and Ricky bites his lip on a whimper. “Daddy,” he chokes out. His face is flushed with embarrassment, hot tears welling in his eyes despite himself. It’s almost overwhelming.

“You gonna cry again?” Devin asks, right into his ear, and Ricky wordlessly nods into his shoulder, clutches onto his jacket tighter as he desperately works his hips.

Devin’s still not moving, instead just simply standing there while Ricky does all the work. It’s degrading. Ricky doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life.

“Look at you,” Devin remarks quietly, indifferent. “You’re a fucking mess, Rick. Worse than a dog.”

Ricky fucking sobs into his collarbone. He hitches his hips up and down, frantically chasing his release. “Daddy,” he whimpers pathetically, throat tight.

Devin gives a soft laugh. “Yeah? You want me to touch you, whore?” he teases. “Want me to stick my hand down your pants and jerk you off? Finger you up against the wall where anyone could walk past, fuck you until you come on my cock?” He shifts in even closer, nudging his thigh snug up against Ricky’s crotch.

By this point, Ricky’s not sure he could form words if he tried. He just keens brokenly in response.

“Bet you‘d like that, wouldn’t you,” Devin keeps talking. “I’m not going to touch you, though. I wouldn’t even if you fucking begged.”

Ricky’s hips jerk sharply within the limited space and a high-pitched moan tears itself from his throat, eyes shut tight as a tear leaks out and winds its way down his nose. He’s so fucking close, if only he could—

“Pathetic little slut,” Devin murmurs. He hitches his knee up, grinds it firmly into Ricky’s dick, and Ricky cries and comes so hard in his pants that he almost passes out.

 

 

It takes a second for him to come back to himself. Once the immediate rush of the orgasm fades from the corners of his vision, he finds himself shaking a bit, knees like jelly where Devin is hugging him up against the wall.

He catches his breath for a second, twitching. Devin is saying something that he doesn’t entirely catch through the muffled feeling.

“Did you— Did I do okay?” Ricky hears himself mumble, dazed.

“Of course, baby, you did so good,” Devin says. “You were perfect. I love you.” He keeps talking, tone soft and reassuring, and Ricky nods along a little disjointedly through the swell of whatever’s rushing through his brain. He takes a few breaths, blinking and wiggling his fingers, then tunes back in to hear Devin murmur “Let’s go home, okay?”

Devin pulls back enough to smile at Ricky, thumbs gently brushing the wetness away from beneath his eyes, and Ricky’s lips twitch into a faint smile. Home - with water and a shower and pyjamas and a soft bed and Devin curled around him all night long.

It’s more than okay.

 

 

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