Címke: bottom erwin

ackbang:

top shelf tea time for @goddamnchou. prompt: restraints

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hands up.

legs apart.

further apart.

listen to me.

i said apart.

and they fall apart even though his knees rattle like ice in a tumbler. they have so little time. it’s the first time. their first time.

i’ve never done this.

hands clamped together and held like a prayer between his legs, tied with leather straps that are meant to hold him in trees, they hold him here. before him. for the first time.

relax.

there’s a tug, a harsh tug, and he nearly loses his balance into the bench in front of him. there’s a chill on his ass as his pants are pulled down, but a warm hand comes to touch it, squeezes it tightly before a growl escapes into the room like a wolf in the woods.

do you want this?

do you?

answer me.

he’s so hard against him, his cock rubbing between his asscheeks like there’s a clit to fuck. and he moans above him through a bitten lip, and he does the same below. how long had it been? how long had he wanted this? he couldn’t remember. no. no that’s a lie. he could. yes. of course.

i’ve wanted it since you were on your knees before me.

hands pull him closer to meet with hips that are positioned so much lower than his. he’s so small. so small but commands with a voice that stands taller than both of them combined.

that long?

it’s been that long?

you filthy fuck.

maybe it had been longer. the papers on his desk. the second hand accounts of a man in the underground that flew through it as if there were a sky to be seen. he remembered. he remembered thinking: i’ll have him. oh, i’ll have him.

this is going to hurt, but we don’t have time.

do you mind?

oi.

do you even care?

i won’t say it again. keep them apart.

his wrists cut against leather as he tries to peel them away from each other. his limbs shake like his bent knees, and holy shit he’s so tight around his cock. he moans like a new trainee, whinnies like a horse newly broken. oh gods, it burns. oh gods, the stretch. oh gods, he feels so good. so fucking good. his face rests against the old oak bench, and it splinters into his face as his hand bumps against his own cock with each tentative thrust that pushes into him.

keep your mouth shut.

don’t move.

fuck, erwin.

he can’t stop the sounds that escape this throat. agitated, the thrusting stops and there’s a rustle above him. he clenches his ass around the cock inside him, and it only flares the discourse in the smaller man.

lift your head up.

now.

silky cotton presses against his tongue and it rears his head up like stallion, eyes wide and wild as hips hit the back of his ass. his teeth bite down hard on the cravat that pulls at the corners of his lips, pulls them back into a sick smile. he’s a bent mess, a tangle of limbs, a toy for his captain, and the fabric tastes like sweat and tea and it does nothing to sedate the groans that rattle through his entire body. groans that make his knees buckle down onto the bench, driving the cock deeper into him.

i’ve wanted this.

yes.

for that long too.

you.

all of you.

the grip on the cravat moves to the base of his neck, holds his head down against the bench as the thrusts come in hard long strokes. he moves his forehead against the wood, his nose scrunched, his hot breath pooling around his face until it makes him sweat. he moans to the point of a scream, and it gets stuck behind his tongue and drips out on saliva. his eyes screw shut. his cock hammers against his bound fists. he’s so full. so right. so perfect. in this moment. he wants to tell him. he wants to scream it. into the heavens that have granted them flight, he wants to keep him up there.

you’re so good.

you’re so fucking good, erwin.

the thrusts bottom out until they stop and he feels the throbbing of a spent cock inside him. he motions slowly inside him, the slickness of his come lubricating his raw hole into something more fuckable. as if he wasn’t fuckable before. teeth sink into his side, another feral growl, a desperate tug at the cravat, his captain thrusting deep into him one last time before pulling out. pieces of him drip onto the bench, pattering like the rain outside of the shed.

i’ll finish you later.

he takes his cravat back and wraps it around his neck. he tucks himself in, dignified and noble and enticing all in one. a man that commands him more than he could ever command back.

find me later.

i promise.

i’ll devour you.