Note: This takes place in Hawaii, at some point between College Bound and Plebe Summer. The title is from the song Raging Fire, by Phillip Phillips. Also, very NSFW.
I came up from behind and wrapped my arms around him while he was rinsing off our supper dishes. He shot me a questioning look over his shoulder. Grinning, I slid my hand down, squeezed him gently through his jeans, and watched his fingers fumble on a cup.
“You’re going to make me break something,” he said, which was the most speech I’d gotten out of him since I came home.
“Leave them,” I replied, against the soft spot just behind his earlobe. “I have more pressing things for you.” To prove my point, I rocked my hips forward. The movement had the added bonus of thrusting him into my palm, causing a small whimper to slip between his lips.
Still, when I turned him to face me and lifted him onto the counter next to the sink, he protested. “Zain, we’re in the kitchen.”
“Well, would you look at that,” I said, glancing around wide-eyed. “I do believe you’re right!” He huffed and started to push himself forward to drop to the floor, but I stepped even closer and blocked him in with my hands on top of his. “We’ve had sex in every room of this house, babe,” I reminded him. “So what’s this about?”
Silently, he looked at me, and I read a familiar restlessness in his gaze. Ah. I let go of one of his wrists, reached to the nape of my own neck, found the chain, and lifted it over my head. My dog tags dangled from it, catching the light between us.
“Is this what you need?” I asked. His green irises followed their swing, like he was being hypnotized, and then he tipped his chin down and leaned towards me in a clear invitation. “Yeah,” I murmured as I put them on him. “Just wanted me to take some of the choices away, hmm?”
He exhaled, a little breath that sounded like relief, but didn’t say anything.
“Answer me, my boy.”
Barely audible, he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy,” I praised, and saw a tiny shudder run through him. “Now,” — I put my finger under his chin to keep his eyes up and on me — “I’m gonna make this very simple. You can come whenever you want.” He blinked. I could almost hear the question he wasn’t asking: what was the point of him wearing the tags, then? I let a bit of wickedness creep into my smile and my voice, and added, “But you have to describe what I’m doing to you, and how it’s making you feel. English or French, doesn’t matter, as long as you keep talking. If you stop, I’ll stop too. Got it?”
His throat moved as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
I traced a line from his chin down to the hem of his t-shirt, passing over the cool metal of the tags on the way, and then stopped and quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t hear words coming out of that pretty mouth of yours, my boy.”
Faltering, he started to speak. “You’re… um, you’re touching my stomach… and now you’re lifting up my shirt and- oh.”
“Go on,” I prompted, not taking my hand away, but not moving it either. His fingers flexed under my other palm, which was still pressing them against the counter, yet his free hand was motionless.
“You’re t-touching my nipple, pinching it, and… mmm…” His eyes had fallen closed.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“Sss’nice.”
I chuckled. “I’ll have to try harder. I think we can do better than ‘nice.’” Leaning forward, I pushed the fabric out of my way and replaced my fingers with my lips.
“Fuck.”
When he didn’t continue after a second, I drew back just slightly, so my breath was hitting his wet skin, and waited.
“Nooo, you were sucking my nipple. Please, sir?”
“And?”
“Merveilleux, it’s… like… oh, merci, sir… it’s like there’s a nerve going from there to my cock. Mes dieux.”
He has extremely sensitive nipples. There was a memorable session when I edged him for two hours and then, through playing with them alone, pushed him over, but today I had other plans. With one last bite, which provoked a high-pitched whine, I moved downward.
“You’re… kissing my ribcage,” he said, between quick, uneven breaths. “And my abdomen, and…” He jerked away from me. When I lifted my head, he was biting his lip.
“Your scars,” I filled in, gently. “How does it make you feel?”
“Ne pas.” He shook his head. “Elles sont laids.”
I frowned. “What was that last word?”
“…Ugly,” he admitted, avoiding eye contact.
That was what I’d suspected, yet still, my heart ached. “Habibi, no.”
“They are.”
“Look at me,” I said, and waited patiently until he obeyed before continuing. “They’re your battle scars, remember? They show how strong you are. And they’re gorgeous, just like the rest of you.”
His eyes said he wanted to believe that, but the tension in his frame was the wrong kind. I took his mouth with mine, overriding my order to speak for the moment, and kissed him, slow and easy and warm, until he relaxed. Then I stroked my fingertips over the marks again, feeling him gradually accept my touch, before I moved lower and teased him, using the lightest pressure possible. His knees opened wide. With my other hand on his ass, I encouraged the little stutters of his hips.
“What am I doing to you, my boy?”
A stifled moan was his only response. I started to take a step backward, and his hands flew to my shoulders. “No, s’il te plaît, laissez-moi.”
“Please let you what?” I asked, smiling. “You know the rules. You want to come, you have to keep talking. What am I doing?”
“St-stroking me,” he said, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Now you’re–” He looked down and then closed his eyes again, like he couldn’t bear to watch it happen. “You’re undoing my fly and… merde… pulling me out, making me harder. Oh! Baise-moi.”
“Maybe later,” I said, offhand, before I bent and licked the drop of pre-come off the tip of his cock. There was a muffled thud as he kicked his heel against the cupboard door.
“T’es sucer ma bite,” he said, a bit prematurely. I hadn’t actually started sucking yet.
“Well, I am going to be in a second,” I granted. “Tell me how it feels, or I’ll stop.”
“Unh… so good.”
To make it more challenging, I flicked and pinched his nipples simultaneously, and he writhed like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to move away or closer. Soon, his running commentary turned into a stream of syllables I didn’t recognize. I pulled off and laughed. “Are you just babbling now and hoping it sounds like French? ‘Cause that doesn’t count.”
“Salaud,” he spat, breathless.
“I’m bastarding you? I don’t think so.”
“Not my fault your French is awful.”
I grinned. “Oh, is it? So I suppose it wouldn’t mean a thing to you if I said, I don’t know, ‘je veux lécher ton foutre.’”
His eyes went unfocused, pupils blown.
“No? I must need to work on my pronunciation.” Right into his ear, I whispered, “je… veux… lécher… ton foutre. Was that better?”
He nodded.
“What did I say?”
Raggedly, he said, “You want to swallow my come.”
“Mm-hm, and I want you to keep talking while I do it. Ready?”
I watched him take a deep breath and let it out slowly before he answered.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s my boy.”
His description this time was mostly variations on the word ‘good’, interspersed with curses and whimpers as he got closer, his hips bucking and fingers clinging to the edge of the countertop. Just a bit further, I thought, ramping up the intensity.
“Oh, fuck, you’re going to make me come, sir.”
My hum of agreement was what undid him. His spine went like a strung bow and his breath caught in his throat as he reached a beautiful climax. I swallowed down everything he gave, and then licked at his foreskin a couple more times until he twitched away from me with a groan.
Straightening, I stepped closer and pulled him into a hug. He dropped his head onto my shoulder with a boneless kind of weight, still gasping for air.
“I… came… sir.”
I snorted. “You sure did. Good boy.”
We stayed there, embracing each other, awhile longer, as I ran my hand through his hair and let him find himself again. Then I said, “Wrap your legs around my waist, babe.”
He obeyed, and I carried him like that to the sofa and sat down with him straddling me. I was achingly hard — had been since I’d put him on the counter — but when he reached for the button of my fly, I caught his hand and moved it away.
“You need something too,” he objected, lifting his head up to look at me.
“Not right now,” I told him. “First, I want to hear how your day was.”
With a roll of his eyes, he started to talk.
***
Translations:
merveilleux: wonderful, marvelous
mes dieux: my gods
ne pas, elles sont laids: don’t, they’re ugly
s’il te plaît laissez-moi: please let me
merde: shit
baise-moi: fuck me
t’es sucer ma bite: you’re sucking my cock
salaud: bastard
je veux lécher ton foutre: I want to swallow your come
This was great! Thanks for the translations.
Thank you! This one was tricky to write. I’m still not 100% sure the French would come across as sexy to a native French speaker, but I did my best!