It was Sören's first time sleeping over at Anthony's house. He hadn't quite known what to expect, since they were in that weird transitional stage of doing things "just friends" didn't do, like flirting shamelessly and talking about kink, but weren't officially in a relationship - Sören had feelings, but he also had a lot of relationship baggage, and so did Anthony, and they were both neurodivergent to further complicate matters of trying to figure things out and define them.
So Sören tried not to have expectations, and just enjoy Anthony's company. But as they cuddled on the couch watching cartoons, it was hard not to be aroused by the proximity of his crush's body... and the THC gummies they ate earlier that evening were further lowering his inhibitions. Sören still behaved himself - he was a gentleman even if he had a filthy mind and a mouth like a sailor - but by the time it got late enough that they needed to think about going to bed, he was hard and wet and aching for relief.
Sören went to the bathroom to get changed into a T-shirt and pajama pants for bed, and he came out to Anthony's bedroom, lingering at the doorway. "Well, um. Jæja. Goodnight."
Anthony was sitting in bed, hair rumpled, wearing glasses, reading a book of Walt Whitman's poetry, looking nerdy, adorable and sexy. He looked up from his book. "Night. You need anything?"
Sören couldn't believe he was saying this, but he was buzzed and had no brain-to-mouth filter. "You." Then he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling like he'd put one of those feet in his mouth. "Ah."
"Er."
"Um."
"Uh."
Sören looked off to the side, and so did Anthony, and then their eyes met, and Sören cracked up laughing, knowing how ridiculous this was. "I'm sorry. I... I wanted to cuddle some more..." He wanted to do more than cuddle, but he didn't want Anthony to feel pressured at all. "But, ah..."
"I usually read before bed," Anthony said. "Force of habit, one of those routines -"
"Jæja, I have those too, I get it. I. Um. I..." Sören's face burned, wanting to sink into one of the floorboards and die. "I. Ah. I'll... I'll let you read, I'm sorry. Goodnight."
"Night."
"Night."
"Night."
"Night."
"Night."
"Night..." Sören was just about to take his leave to the guest room.
Anthony put his book down for a moment. "Sören, wait. I... I have an idea."
"Oh?"
Anthony coughed. He got up, went across his bedroom to the closet, and came back with a scarf. "You brought your vibe with you?" Anthony and Sören had discussed enough TMI over the last few months that Anthony knew masturbation was one of Sören's pre-sleep routines.
Sören looked off to the side again, his heart beating faster. "Um, yeah."
Anthony smirked. "Go get it."
It was a remote-controlled, hands-free vibe, one part went inside him and the other part fit against his t-dick. Sören went across the hall to his messenger bag, fished it out, and came back, feeling like an eager puppy playing fetch. Anthony gestured to the chair across from his bed. "Sit."
Sören put his hand down his pants to get the vibe situated, and then Anthony tied Sören's wrists together with the scarf. "You remember our safeword?"
In one of their first conversations about kink, Anthony had accidentally called a Wartenberg wheel a "Waldenbooks wheel" and Sören had roasted him about it. Then they had half-jokingly said if they ever went there, their safeword would be... "Waldenbooks."
Anthony patted Sören on the head. "Good." With a grin, Anthony took the remote control, and climbed back in bed.
Anthony resumed reading his book of Walt Whitman poetry, feigning disinterest while Sören just sat and watched him read, wrists bound, the vibe purring away at its lowest setting - not enough to make Sören come, only frustrate him and build the tension and arousal even stronger.
Even though Sören wasn't capable of coming with the vibe set that low - even as slick and aching as he was - Anthony still said, in a bored tone of voice, "You better not come without my permission, slut."
Sören bit his lip and whimpered, his cunt throbbing. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair - just that little act of domination made him want to climb the wall if he'd been capable of climbing.
It didn't help that Sören thought Anthony's intellect was the hottest thing about him, he had a kink for how much Anthony devoured books, he thought Anthony looked ridiculously sexy in his glasses...
...and they were finally, actually doing something kinky instead of just talking about it. This was a test of submission, of trust, of surrender. For Sören it was an act of devotion, watching the man he'd fallen for with worshipful eyes, staring at him adoringly, like he was looking at a work of art. Anthony's mind was beautiful to him, and regardless of what Anthony felt or didn't feel, Sören felt honored to just be in his orbit. It was a privilege to sit here and obey.
An agonizing privilege. Sören had never been so sexually frustrated in his life, and he wasn't even sure Anthony was going to let him come.
He felt so needy, being like this, so shameless. Somehow that made him want it all the more, feeling wanton and sluttish, the deliciousness of wanting again after trauma had closed him off for years, not wanting to be touched by any of his partners.
This was different. Sören trusted him. He was sitting here tied up and Anthony could come over and hurt him and instead, Anthony was just reading his book.
The vibe had a battery life of one hour, and it died with forty-five minutes on the clock. That was still long enough to feel like an eternity. Sören let out a shuddery sigh when the vibe stopped buzzing - his boxer-briefs under his pajama bottoms were soaked, and his thighs were quivering.
Anthony looked up and put his book down. He sniffed the air. "Awww, you poor thing, are you horny?"
Sören cocked his head and smirked. "Is fire hot? Does a bear shit in the woods?"
Anthony laughed - Sören's breath caught at the way his face lit up - and then Anthony made a "come here" gesture and patted the space next to him in bed. "C'mere, brat."
Sören tried to get up, which was easier said than done with his hands bound. After a few false starts he managed to make it over and climbed on next to Anthony.
Anthony pulled down the covers - he was rock-hard in his boxers, and Sören gasped, surprised - Anthony had put on a good show of ignoring him - and he smiled so hard his face hurt, delighted. "Wow."
Anthony reached down and freed his cock. Sören moaned appreciatively at the sight of it. Then he let out a little cry as Anthony grabbed a handful of his curls and pulled him in. "Be a good boy and take care of me, and I'll let you come."
This was his hottest fantasy brought to life. Sören usually didn't play with dildos when he masturbated - he was too dysphoric for penetration - but in recent weeks he'd bought one to practice sucking on, thinking about Anthony's cock. Now he got to have the real thing. Their eyes met as Sören took Anthony's cock in his mouth. He sucked slowly at first, teasing Anthony back, reveling in the way Anthony groaned with pleasure. Then he sucked harder, faster, bobbing his head, putting his skills to work, and Anthony tugged at Sören's curls, moaning, the look of lust on his face driving Sören out of his mind with desire.
When Sören felt Anthony getting closer, he had to tease some more, like the brat he was. He took Anthony's cock out of his mouth and just licked at it, tongue laving up and down, back and forth, licking at the sensitive slit, licking around and around the head... then long, slow teasing licks down the shaft and back up, tongue sliding ever so slowly. His tongue brushed the slit slowly, and slowly swirled around the head, down the shaft again, back up, slowly... slowly.
Anthony growled, pulled Sören's curls, and shoved his cock back in Sören's mouth. Sören's cunt twinged, almost coming from being manhandled. He sucked for all he was worth, greedy for it, until Anthony was shaking, breathing harder in shuddery gasps. "Almost there."
"Mmmmhmmm. Mmmmmm."
Anthony pulled his cock out of Sören's mouth - he knew from their conversations Sören had a thing for facials - and a few strokes of his cock later, he came all over Sören's face and Sören giggled happily, even as his cunt felt like it was on fire and his heart pounded, desperate for relief. Anthony coming on his face almost triggered his own release... so close yet so far.
Anthony sat there for a moment, catching his breath, a look of euphoria on his face that melted Sören's heart. Then he fondly skritched Sören's head like he was a cat. "Good slut."
Sören bit his lip, elated by those words. Anthony calling him a slut made him even needier for relief.
Anthony untied Sören's wrists. "Lay here and make yourself come for me."
When Sören masturbated it usually took a long time - even before he transitioned, he was always confused by other AFAB people coming quickly and having multiple orgasms; he edged himself, building and building the tension to one intense, mind-blowing orgasm. But this time he was so pent up from the vibe teasing him for close to an hour, and then sucking Anthony's gorgeous cock, that soon he was right there, pawing himself furiously, bucking against his hand, panting, and when Anthony reached down to swat his ass, it set Sören off, coming with a little cry, gushing on his hand.
Anthony took Sören's hand and sucked Sören's juices from his fingers. "You taste good."
"I eat pineapple." Then Sören facepalmed, feeling like an idiot, but Anthony chuckled and tousled Sören's curls affectionately. He held out his arms and Sören snuggled up to him. Being held and pet was as good as the orgasm itself, if not better. This time Sören sucked on Anthony's fingers, finding it soothing. His toes curled like a cat kneading, deeply content.
This had changed everything, but Sören didn't want to talk about labels, or think about it. They were what they were. Sören enjoyed the silence, the moment of peace in Anthony's arms, resting. The world was a shitshow, but he felt safe, here. It was enough.