Sometimes I feel it burning
That deep and primal yearning
I feel it burn, burn, burning
I try live without it
But then I think about
Those fingertips, those fingertips, those fingertips
-"Fingertips", Poe
Sören lay there unable to sleep... too warm under the blanket he always needed to sleep with. He tried to use his usual mental scripts to help him fall asleep - visualizing "his forest", the fjord, the waterfall - and his mind kept coming back to those photos.
Anthony's face. Those beautiful eyes.
And those elegant fingers.
It was the weirdest thing to get turned on by, but Anthony had a pair of the genuinely nicest hands Sören had ever seen. Of course, Sören felt awkward getting turned on at all. You haven't even met this guy yet. He could be a serial killer.
In the dark, Sören's face was on fire. He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes as he felt his hand sliding down below the waistband of his boxer-briefs, gliding over the little hard nub of his cock and the soaking wet lips.
Oh Jesus Christ no. You can't do this. It's one thing to have a crush and be horny, but if you pop off thinking about him that makes shit Real.
And still, Sören began to rub his little cock in slow circles. Thinking about Anthony's eyes looking into his. Thinking about those hands on him... about those fingers playing with him, teasing him, feeling how slick he was.
Oh god. Don't do this. Don't get hung up. Don't make shit Real. Don't catch feelings. Do you want your stupid fucking heart broken again? Don't get your hopes up, don't get attached -
Sören rubbed harder, and bit his free hand to stifle his moan, not wanting his roommate to hear.
On their third date, Anthony had Sören wear a remote-controlled bullet vibe while they went out to coffee. He kept the setting just high enough to drive Sören mad, but low enough to keep his orgasm out of reach. The purring of the vibe got to him, but also the thrill of wearing it in public... their dirty little secret. By the time they got back to Anthony's place, Sören's boxers were drenched, and he felt like he could come right away from Anthony kissing him on their way into the bedroom.
Anthony kissed Sören's neck and Sören sucked Anthony's fingers, bringing his fantasy to life. Their eyes met and then Anthony looked down at Sören's lips wrapped around his fingers and glanced back up, and his mouth opened slightly and Sören knew what Anthony was thinking - those lips on his cock.
Sören made good on that promise, Anthony's hands tugging his hair as Sören sucked him, starving and thirsty for it, like parched land drinking up rain after a years-long drought. He reached down to touch himself, getting more and more worked up by the hot cock in his mouth and watching Anthony lose it, eyes fluttering, moaning, arched to him, gasping for breath. Just before Anthony could come, he pulled his cock out of Sören's mouth and with a few quick strokes he shot over Sören's face. "Marking my territory," Anthony said, tracing Sören's lips with his thumb, and Sören smiled as the seed dripped down his cheeks, savoring that feeling of being claimed in such a primal way.
They curled up to give Anthony a chance to recover, and Sören couldn't help playing with himself again, aching. Anthony noticed what Sören was doing and snatched his hand away. "Did I say you could touch yourself, brat?"
"No," Sören said.
"No, what?"
"No, Sir."
Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists as he rolled Sören back. The feeling of having his wrists seized, pinned down, was thrilling. He was surrendering, trusting, a balm for his soul. Anthony kissed him and Sören bucked. "Please," Sören begged. "Please. Oh god, please, please..." He felt like he was going to die if he didn't come soon.
Anthony laughed softly. "You're so cute when you beg." He grinned. "You look especially cute with my cum on your nose."
Sören bit his lip and whined.
Anthony tied Sören's wrists together, bound in front of him. After a few deep kisses, Sören felt something cold and sharp against his throat. His eyes opened wider and Anthony smirked. They'd talked about the knife ahead of time, but it still felt like a shock, that adrenaline rush like he was about to jump from a plane or deep dive. Sören's heart beat faster. This is happening.
Anthony's other hand reached between Sören's legs. He kept the knife at Sören's throat as his fingers caressed the bud of Sören's cock. "You are so fucking wet," Anthony whispered, kissing Sören's neck.
"That's you," Sören husked, meaning it. He shuddered and bit his lip, just like he had when he'd thought about those fingers touching him. Now it was real. He was letting someone else touch him, after everything. He was letting Anthony touch him, and the reality was better than the fantasy.
Anthony played with Sören, his fingers finding the rhythm on Sören's cock that made Sören rock his hips, fucking himself on Anthony's fingers, whimpering, panting, even as he tried not to thrash around lest the knife slip. Anthony kissing and licking his neck, nibbling here and there made it even better - the thought of being marked later with love bites, the evidence, drove Sören even wilder.
Anthony brought his fingers up to Sören's lips and Sören licked and sucked the juices from them, looking into Anthony's eyes. Anthony kissed him, tasting, and both men moaned as their tongues teased, before kissing harder, deeper. Anthony's hand reached back down and rubbed at Sören faster, and Sören felt the pleasure and tension building, coiling, his body aching to come but he needed just a little more, a little more, needed to keep feeling those fingers on him...
Anthony's wet fingers were in Sören's mouth again as Anthony kissed his neck. When Anthony's fingers came back down, pressing into him more firmly, rubbing faster, the knife slid up Sören's throat to his lips. Sören licked down the side of the knife, and his tongue met Anthony's, fluttering again before the knife dragged back down, biting into his skin, not enough to draw blood, just enough to pinch.
Just enough to remind him this was dangerous, that he was putting his life in someone else's hands after everything. Anthony's fingers were in his mouth again, their eyes locked, and Sören whimpered around the fingers in his mouth, thinking to himself, I am trusting you not to destroy me.
It didn't take long after that. Sören bucked as he climaxed, contracting hard, and Anthony's eyes widened and his breath hitched as he felt Sören pulsing against his hand.
Sören lay there dazed, riding the wave of euphoria and relief, feeling like his bones were melting. Then Anthony kissed him, bringing him back to himself, and Anthony whispered, "I am so hard for you." Sören gasped as he felt the head of Anthony's cock slide against his. "You want to come again?"
Sören nodded, giggling. They kissed, and Sören moaned as he felt Anthony start rubbing against him, Anthony's much larger cock on his smaller one. Sören rolled his hips, careful with the knife still at his throat. Sören sucked Anthony's fingers while Anthony kissed and licked his neck. Sören felt another orgasm build, slowly, the rubbing keeping them on edge, teasing and frustrating them, until they were both panting, trembling, mutually desperate to come, but weren't there yet, needing more.
Even if Sören hadn't been dysphoric about penetration, this was still so much hotter, pleasing his cock instead of using his hole. Sharing pleasure instead of just giving or taking. It was a slow burn and much more sensual this way but also felt more animalistic, rutting together like this... taking their time to savor yet still frenzied and urgent. The intensity built to the shatterpoint, every sensation amplified until that was all that existed, pleasure and hunger and want. Anthony wasn't inside him, but they were still fucking, like this, and Sören loved it.
Their mouths met again, kissing fiercely, then Sören was sucking Anthony's fingers. Almost there. Thinking about those lonely nights when he'd brought himself off, ashamed, not wanting to be needy. There was no shame here and now, and all that mattered was need.
They came like two stars colliding and exploding. Sören heard himself let out a broken cry and called Anthony's name, and the soft moan Anthony gave in response before their mouths crushed together was worth at least a hundred coherent words.
Anthony put the knife down, untied Sören's wrists and Sören wrapped his arms around him, the two of them clinging together, nuzzling. Anthony stroked Sören's face and hair and Sören leaned into his touch like a happy cat, then tenderly, reverently kissed his dom's hand.
"You have very talented fingers," Sören said. "And they're beautiful."
Anthony grinned. "Well, thanks."
Sören grinned back. Then he bit his lip, face on fire, not able to believe the words fumbling out of his mouth, the brain-to-mouth filter gone in the bliss of afterglow. "I thought about your hands, when, you know. Those pictures. I. Ah. I touch. Er." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, scratched his beard. "I. Um. I -"
Anthony smirked. "I know." He kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "That's why I sent them."
Sören laughed, face burning even hotter. "You teasing bastard."
"Wow, Jon Snow called me a bastard. Do I win an award?"
"Jæja, fuck you." Sören laughed so hard he snorted.
"Any time." Anthony kissed Sören's nose again.