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Theoretically, Ivan actually enjoyed their long road trips. Alfred was so eager to explore everything, to show off his homeland, and it was cute, sometimes, the challenges he came up with to justify vacations.
That was probably an apt description for Alfred in general. Cute.
Sometimes.
Ivan sank deeper into the hot tub, his chin bobbing in the water, his eyes nearly completely closed even as he insisted on keeping the TV on. Funny. He used to be fine with silence until he’d met Alfred. Now empty rooms demanded stimulation of some sort.
The water was hot, and the tub was almost large enough to accommodate all of Ivan’s body. He only had to scrunch his knees up just slightly to fit himself inside. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker from the Real Housewives (the petty rich people squabbles were mostly an irritant, but occasionally funny, and definitely didn’t require him to think) to the door, his relaxed smile slipping into a concerned frown as he waited for the doorknob to turn.
Maybe Alfred had lost his key. Maybe he’d forgotten which hotel they were staying at. Both had been issues in past journeys, so many hotels in so few weeks that the key cards inevitably were mixed up. He sighed to himself, glancing at the ledge of the tub. The remote was sitting there, but his phone was not. Great. He’d have to get out of this magnificent heat, wetly pad around the room until he found his phone, and hope that Alfred actually answered once he called.
Before he actually made a move to do any of that, though, the door clicked in that familiar way whenever an electric keycard was swiped. And then Alfred swooped his way into the room, Airpods lodged into his ears, halfway through singing some dirty lyric to a song Ivan didn’t particularly care for.
In one hand, Alfred clutched a Sugar Free Redbull. His other hand clasped onto a nondescript black plastic bag. He tossed the bag onto the bed, downed the remains of the Redbull, then crumbled the can and flung it towards the trash can. Ivan watched it swivel through the air, dangle over the edge of the can, then fall onto the ground.
Alfred’s shoulders slumped as he took out his Airpods, returning them to their case and setting it on the dresser, before kicking off his shoes and stomping over to the garbage he’d been unable to properly dispose of. He placed the can in the trash, folded his arms over his chest, then looked at the TV.
“Is this New Jersey or New York? Which one’s the one with the table flip?”
“That’s New Jersey,” Ivan almost pointed out that the particular scene Alfred was referencing was from years ago, completely irrelevant, but after the day he’d had, maybe piling on wasn’t the best idea. “But this is Salt Lake City.”
“Really?” Alfred squinted at the TV. “Oh, yeah, I recognize that building. We had lunch there a couple years back.” He gestured vaguely at one of the background shots.
Ivan wasn’t sure if he was being serious–they traveled often enough that it probably held some weight–but it hardly mattered. Alfred was here. His noise level was overpowering enough to not require reality TV distractions. His wet hand reached out of the tub, turning off the television after a few mashes of buttons.
Alfred swiveled around, regarding Ivan curiously. “Why don’t you have the jets on?” He gestured to the control panel. “That’s the whole point of a jacuzzi. The bubbles.”
“You would say that.” So much for not teasing Alfred. Ivan couldn’t resist the very faint smirk on his face. “I know why you’re so interested in hot tub jets.” He’d caught him often enough straddling the bubble stream to get himself off. Frankly, this was the first bath Ivan had been able to enjoy in a long time without his lover clamoring in and desperately getting himself off.
Funny. Usually by this point, Alfred would already be naked, wrestling his way into Ivan’s personal space. Ivan’s little smile slipped again. He really must be upset.
Alfred blushed a little, but he didn’t verbally acknowledge or deny the vague implications. “I’m just saying, you’re doing it wrong.” He glanced at the tub for a moment, adjusting his glasses, before swiveling around and walking over to the king sized bed. He pushed the bag he’d brought out of the way, before flopping himself onto the mattress.
“If you think I’m bathing wrong, maybe you need to teach me,” It was brazen flirtation, trying to coax Alfred over and out of whatever mood lingered under the surface. Ivan rested his elbow against the ledge of the tub, and his chin in the crux of his palm.
Alfred looked over, his gaze tracing over his body, the tip of his tongue briefly peeking out from between his lips as though he were mentally mapping Ivan’s body out orally. He blinked then, shaking his head. “No.”
Perhaps it should have been offensive, but Ivan was just confused. Alfred never said no to such offers. “You’re still upset about the restaurant,” He finally said, a matter of fact statement rather than a question.
Alfred looked away.
Last year, they’d visited every Medieval Times in the country (and Canada–they’d met up with Alfred’s brother during that particular stretch). The year before that, they’d been to every Bubba Gump’s. They’d traversed most Rainforest Cafes and Margaritavilles. They’d hit every roadside attraction, seen every niche museum, bought more snacks than a human should rightfully consume in a year and eaten them all between truck stops and gas stations.
This year, Alfred’s obsession with themed establishments had landed them on the Dick’s Last Resort pilgrimage. They’d bounced around–Gatlinburg, Indianapolis, Saginaw, Pigeon Forge.
Las Vegas, as was usually the case with these journeys, was their last stop. And they’d hit two of them in one day, eating on the Strip for lunch, then settling in on Fremont (as their hotel was also downtown) for dinner.
The entire conceit of the restaurant was that the waitstaff insulted you, assigning you little paper hats with crass epithets labeling you for the entire establishment to see. It was juvenile and crude and, frankly, after so many of the same size queen jokes, it was also plain boring.
Ivan didn’t particularly see much charm in these types of chains anyway. The food was never that good, the atmosphere was always pretty tacky and lifeless, and mascots in general were just a little unsettling. But it gave them an excuse for the roadtrips themselves, which he genuinely did enjoy, and Alfred was usually so unrelentingly cheerful that Ivan would either find himself endeared or pleasantly annoyed (if such a juxtaposition of emotions could reasonably exist).
But this trip, Ivan could tell that even Alfred was getting fed up, and that was the case prior to this evening. Not that he would admit it, adamantly babbling about how ‘fun’ and ‘quirky’ and ‘unique’ each location was. Wearing his paper hat and laughing a little too loudly at the servers and crunching on nachos.
Ivan rarely put up with the hat. He knew how to fix his face in such a way that superficially he seemed accommodating enough, while still seeming too offputting to really peer pressure. But Alfred was all about these silly games.
Which was all well and good, until their final dinner, just a few hours prior. Alfred was on his second drink (at the restaurant, not for the evening), though he’d kept trying to steal from Ivan’s cup for some reason. He had a habit of that, always seeming to want whatever Ivan ordered. It was a little bit infuriating, but only in the sense that Ivan couldn’t comprehend why he didn’t just order what he wanted for himself rather than try to impose himself on Ivan’s meal (or drink, in this case).
He’d managed to get his straw into Ivan’s cup, complaining like he always did that it was too strong (so why did he keep drinking??), when the server had returned to their table.
Frankly, Ivan didn’t even remember what was said. In all honesty, it was probably the same low level dick and fat jokes that were always tossed around. Maybe it was just a culmination of everything, three weeks of hotels and chain restaurant food and cramped car rides. Maybe Alfred just had reached his breaking point of self-imposed toxic positivity.
Whatever the case, Alfred had blubbered, throwing some money on the table to cover the tab and the tip, said he’d meet Ivan back at the hotel, and left.
Obviously Ivan had followed. It was better to do that than feel murderous towards some underpaid worker who had just been doing their job. And he’d managed to catch up to Alfred, who’d already sat himself at a slot machine, eyes still full of tears. His attempts at consoling him had only amplified Alfred’s frustration, and eventually he opted to leave him alone.
Alfred had eventually texted him with a vague command for Ivan to do something to relax, that he had an idea when he came back.
Ivan supposed that was what the bag was for.
Ivan sighed, pulling the stopper and letting the water begin to drain from the tub. He stood up, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself–or attempting to, it was too small for his broad frame–before walking over to the bed. “Alfred-”
“I’m not upset,” Alfred said. He’d laced his fingers behind his head, crossed his prosthesis over his right leg, but his shoulders were high, his muscles were tensed. All his attempts to make himself seem at ease were for nothing. Ivan could read him better than any book.
Ivan sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand against Alfred’s thigh. “Alfred,” He tried again, tone softer.
“I’m not upset!” He repeated. He dropped his hands down at his side, head flopping back against the pillows, pout on his lips. “I’m not.”
“You’re so childish.”
“Okay, fine, I’m upset. Sue me!”
Ivan leaned over him, pressing his lips against Alfred’s with more restraint than he usually afforded him. Alfred might have been teasing a fight, but Ivan suspected that wasn’t what he really wanted, or at least not what he needed. Alfred kissed back without complaint, one hand cupping the back of Ivan’s head, the other caressing his cheek. Ivan gently squeezed his thigh, pulling back from the kiss just enough to look him over, to take in the absurd prettiness of his face.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” Ivan combed his fingers through Alfred’s hair, flattening his cowlick, only to watch it stubbornly bounce back to full height after. “Do I need to remind you who you belong to, that you need not worry about the opinion of lessers?” His hand moved up Alfred’s thigh, along the fabric of his shorts, until he was resting against the button holding them closed.
Alfred glanced over at the bag, a flicker of his eyes that Ivan might not have caught were he not currently admiring the contrast between his pink cheeks and his blue irises. Ivan raised an eyebrow, as Alfred looked back at him.
“I mean, you’re sort of on the right track,” He laughed, bringing his thumb to his mouth and absently gnawing on his nail.
Ivan grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth. “What do you have in mind?”
Alfred leaned up, kiss fluttering over Ivan’s throat. He kissed his Adam’s apple, then moved his mouth to the side of his throat, kissing his pulse for a few lazy moments, before mumbling against his skin, “I’m thinking anal.”
Ivan’s heart stuttered excitedly in his chest. They’d only attempted once before, ending in frustration when Ivan just couldn’t seem to get himself to fit. And so Ivan kept his tone calm. “Do you think you’re ready for that? Last time-”
“It’ll be different this time,” Alfred didn’t just say it cockily. He said it slyly, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, crooked smile on his lips.
Ivan glanced at the bag. He must have bought supplies then. Lube, probably. Maybe a toy? “What’s different? Are we starting with plugs?” They’d talked about doing that before, working Alfred to larger and larger sizes until he was finally able to accommodate Ivan. But they’d never gotten around to it. Did they have time to adjust him in one evening?
“Damn, that’d be a good idea–but, uh, no. The main difference is…weeeeeeell I was thinking…”
“Yes?”
“I was thinking maybe I could fuck you up the ass instead.”
Ivan stared at Alfred. Alfred looked at the ceiling, smiling as though he hadn’t said something absolutely absurd. Apparently the feeling of Ivan’s staring eventually got to him though, his eyes turning to regard Ivan.
His smile was sheepish, voice apologetic. “I mean it’s just, like, I stopped at a sex store while I was wandering around after the restaurant. I was just going to get another vibrator, because I figured, you know, you can’t be that moody if you’re getting off. Isn’t that what they used to do in the old days, to treat hysteria or whatever?”
Ivan remained quiet. Partly because he was still digesting what Alfred was saying. Partly because this whole situation was asinine. Partly because it was just cute, sometimes, to make Alfred babble and trip and overexplain.
“I was just going to rub one out real quick in the bathroom or something, so I wouldn’t have to bother you, but they were having a sale on lube, and that made me think of butt stuff, and-”
“You were just going to publicly masturbate, rather than come to the room and let me take care of you?”
Alfred’s face had already been a faint pink. But it burned brilliantly at the words Ivan finally decided to speak. “It wasn’t going to be public, I was going to find one of those unisex single stall–and anyway I didn’t want to bother you!”
Alfred always chose odd times to exercise consideration for others. In what way would giving him an orgasm (or three) constitute ‘bothering’? Perhaps that was Ivan’s cue to comfort him, to reassure him that his pleasure was never a problem for him. Quite the contrary, in fact.
But instead of that, Ivan found himself tugging at Alfred’s thread of logic. “Let me see if I understand. Your initial plan, because of your emotional distress, was to buy a vibrator for yourself.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Because you didn’t want to be a bother.”
“Yeah!”
“And somehow, someway, this led to you instead deciding you want to dominate me anally.”
Alfred extended his index finger, thumb poised up in the air, as he clicked his tongue playfully to accentuate his fingergun. “Bingo, babydoll.”
Ivan kept his expression neutral, knowing if he overreacted that it would just guarantee Alfred would latch onto the petname forever. “Never call me that again,” He said in a calm voice.
Alfred sighed a little. “But anyway, yeah, that’s pretty much the extent of it. They had a lube sale. And next thing I knew, I was checking out strap-ons, and you always seem so relaxed after you completely obliterate my pussy, so I figured, you know, maybe that’s what I needed.”
Ivan watched him catch his breath post-ramble, his chest rising and falling. “You want to fuck me,” He said finally, making it infinitely more concise, “For stress relief.”
“Well, yeah.” Alfred sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “And because, you know, I love you.”
Ivan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, a bad habit that he was certain he’d only picked up recently, but seemed to be doing more and more frequently with each of Alfred’s overly earnest confessions of adoration. “There’s no need.”
“To love you?”
“To butter me up.”
“Well, I mean, there kind of is. That’s what the lube is for.”
Ivan felt the back of his neck heat up, the only real sign that he was somewhat flustered by what Alfred was proposing. “I haven’t even agreed yet.”
“Yeah, but you will. Daddy always gets what he wants.” Alfred smirked, but the look was brief, broken as he laughed softly, head ducking down a little as he peeked up at him through his glasses. “That was me being forceful. How’d that work for you?”
“I feel nothing but pity.”
“Oh come on! That was good.”
Ivan grasped Alfred by the back of the neck, guiding him forward and kissing him roughly. If he wanted forceful, he could show him what that meant first hand. Alfred’s lips parted, Ivan’s tongue entering his mouth effortlessly. Alfred whined, his whole body shivering, leaning forward even after Ivan broke the kiss, eyes still closed.
Fuck.
Ivan was seriously going to let this imbecile fuck him up the ass, wasn’t he?
He smiled fondly, stroking his hair. “Yes,” He consented softly, watching as Alfred’s eyes fluttered open once more. “You can have me. But stop calling yourself Daddy.”
“Really?” Alfred practically squealed. The fact he’d shown similar amounts of excitement when going to gift shops on this trip probably should have lowered Ivan’s level of affection, but frankly, he wouldn’t have been with Alfred if he didn’t like his excessive joy about most things.
Ivan nodded, stilling his head only enough for Alfred to eagerly kiss him again.
“Cool. Cool! This is so fucking cool! Okay, neato, I’m going to, like, get naked now.” He rolled off the bed, landing gracelessly on the carpet. “You should lay down. Get comfy.”
Ivan kept his eyes fixed on Alfred as he dropped his towel on the ground, laying himself fully on the mattress. His feet hung off the edge, too tall to properly fit even in this supposed king sized bed. But he hadn’t much time to contemplate his mild irritation at this inconvenience, as Alfred had started to shimmy out of his shirt.
Alfred balled his novelty t-shirt up into his hands, throwing it more aggressively than necessary. The lamp next to the bed bore the brunt of the impact, wobbling until Ivan reached over to steady it. Alfred shrugged a little, grinning, as he wrenched his binder off after. Ivan took in the sight of his chest, nipples hard and impossibly pink, the Pavlovian response of Ivan’s watering mouth almost immediate. Without thought, he reached between his own legs, grasping the base of his own cock, giving a few lazy strokes.
“Fuck,” Alfred’s hands had moved down to his shorts, but he hesitated, his gaze fixed on Ivan’s hand. “Fuck,” He repeated with so much longing that he almost sounded pained.
“Are you sure you don’t want me inside you tonight?” Ivan found himself speaking coyly, stopping just short of batting his eyelashes. He rubbed his thumb over his cockhead, already slick with precum. He could say more, make his tone more aggressive in a way that he knew from experience would drop Alfred to his knees. But he kept it simple for now, curious to see how Alfred’s willpower held out.
Alfred bit his bottom lip, as he shimmied out of his shorts. “I really want to fuck you, Ivan,” He said, voice wavering as Ivan began stroking himself more insistently. “...fuck, maybe I won’t even be good at it, I’m sort of just biologically made to be fucked, right?”
Ivan’s hand stopped, cock throbbing despite the pit in his stomach. “You’re going to fuck me,” He said. “You are the only man capable of making me into his bitch.”
Alfred smiled down at the ground, as he slipped down the elastic of his briefs. He caught his packer before it could fall free from it, setting it on the ground with his pants and underwear once they were removed (apparently he didn’t think throwing his rubber cock at the lamp was a good idea, for some reason). “I didn’t say I was going to make you my bitch,” He said.
“You lack imagination and experience. Clearly you must breed me.”
“Okay but why do you sound domineering even when you’re bottoming?”
Ivan dropped the huskier quality to his voice, easing into their more conversational dynamic. “Do you not like it?”
“I like it a little too much, actually, but I’m supposed to be in charge here.” He pushed his glasses up again, standing naked before the bed.
Ivan took a moment to drink in his body, aching with the urge to throw him against the bed or pin him to the wall. His lust briefly intermixed with concern as he glanced at his left leg, the space where the titanium met flesh, just below the junction of Alfred’s kneecap.
Alfred wasn’t the most adept at picking up hints. But he must have followed Ivan’s train of thought well enough to comprehend where he was about to lead them. “I’m fine, Ivan. Anyway, if it starts bothering me, you’ll just have to ride me.”
Why those were the words that flipped a switch in Ivan’s mind, he wasn’t sure. Something about the casual, throwaway nature made his cock twitch. He really was going to take his boyfriend’s cock tonight one way or another, wasn’t he?
Maybe he needed this just as much as Alfred did.
“I want to see it,” Ivan said, grabbing the blankets to resist the urge to touch himself again. He nodded towards the bag, watching as Alfred walked over to it. He pulled out a simple tube of lubricant, setting it on the bed, before pulling out the package containing his strap-on.
And then for ten fucking minutes, Alfred and Ivan struggled with the packaging, the plastic refusing to yield. They passed it back and forth, each assuring the other they’d definitely get it this time, only to struggle and grunt and growl, biting and clawing and making absolutely no headway.
“Fuck this,” Ivan snapped, getting out of bed.
Alfred stared at him, wide eyed. “Wait. Wait, we can figure something out!”
Ivan paused at the room’s closet, having opened it up to fetch his robe. He glanced at Alfred, who’d taken a seat at the foot of the bed, and realized he thought he was turning down this entire encounter.
Ivan laughed lowly. “I have a knife in the truck.”
“I’m not in the mood for knifeplay,” Alfred said grumpily, his forehead creased, his arms folded over his chest, his lower lip distended.
Ivan pulled on his robe, tying it closed around his midsection, then took the time to walk back over to Alfred. He tilted his chin up with his fingertips, planting a soft kiss to his pouting lips. “For the packaging.”
“Oh. Duh. I knew that.”
Ivan kissed him once more, lingering this time, the hand that wasn’t holding his chin up reaching down to tweak one of his nipples. He felt Alfred moan against his mouth, pulling back before he could find himself mapping out his tongue once again.
He slipped on Alfred’s sandals, too small for his feet but adequate enough for such a small journey, then headed out to the elevator. Even in his fuzzy pink robe, apparently his focused demeanor was unapproachable enough that no one tried to engage him in any small talk, despite how full the elevator was. Sometimes Ivan found it sad, how easily approachable Alfred was in every public space they found themselves in and yet how uneasy people seemed to be around him.
But right now, he just wanted to get laid. And so he paid the other patrons no mind, exiting the elevator and then the lobby, wandering around the parking garage for a few helpless moments until he located their spot, then fetched the pocket knife in the glovebox. And then he reversed all those steps, heading back up to the room.
When he went back inside, the TV was on again, playing some black and white sitcom, Alfred staring at it intently as he ate a Butterfinger. He must have gotten into their bag of travel snacks. His attention shifted to the door, smiling brightly and swallowing the bite of chocolate in his mouth.
“You’re back!” He grabbed the remote, turning off the TV, then grabbed the candy bar, looking at it thoughtfully (likely considering whether or not to take one more bite), before setting it on the countertop with their various items.
“I wasn’t gone very long.”
“Yeah well I figured I better fuel up.”
“The Redbull wasn’t enough?” Ivan stepped out of Alfred’s shoes, the tops of his feet aching from the way the straps had crushed against him from their too small size, then slipped the robe off his shoulders, hanging it carefully in the closet.
“To conquer you? Not a chance.” Alfred jumped off the bed, grabbing the package, and holding it out to Ivan. “Now free my dick already, would you?”
Ivan shook his head slightly, as he cut away the plastic, mindful not to knick the contents. He finally freed the toy, straps fluttering in all directions like an errant octopus. Ivan held it by the attached dildo. He considered the blue silicone for a moment, artificially circumcised head and hyper-detailed veins (because realism was apparently important in regards to a bright indigo prick). It was thinner than Ivan’s own cock, not nearly as long, but then most men couldn’t be so blessed.
“I know,” Alfred sighed. “It’s kind of tacky. But I didn’t want to get something too big and end up hurting you.”
“Why blue?”
“The sales guy said it would bring out my eyes.”
Ivan tried very hard not to sneer at such an idiotic line. “And that convinced you?”
“I mean, I guess so,” Alfred took it from Ivan’s hands. “Maybe don’t be so critical about my dick, dude. You’re going to give me some sort of complex.”
“It will look better when it’s on,” Ivan said reassuringly.
“It’ll look best when it’s inside you,” Alfred countered.
Ivan had thought the biggest hurdle had been climbed when they’d finally gotten through the excessive plastic packaging.
And then he found himself watching Alfred struggle to attach his new rubber cock.
Everytime he strapped one section, another seemed to be too tight, or not in the right spot, or missing an attachment. He flailed about, laughing at first, then gently cursing, then saying nothing at all as his face grew red, not in arousal or soft flustered embarrassment, but in genuine anger.
Ivan watched for perhaps longer than he should have, before he approached. His hands first moved to Alfred’s, stilling them. He kissed his forehead, and then his lips when Alfred started to protest, as his own broad hands went to work, tugging and attaching and adjusting.
With a few final tugs to the straps, Ivan finally stepped back, satisfied that it was in place at a proper height, base resting against Alfred’s cunt, straps hugging his hips in a way that slightly made his skin dent inward. It was an attractive visual, Ivan thought. Blue or not, the size and overall shape seemed to suit Alfred in a way he hadn’t quite expected.
Alfred looked like he didn’t know where to put his hands, setting them on his hips for a brief moment, then dropping them, then folding them behind his back. “Do I look okay?” he finally asked.
Ivan considered telling him he was so beautiful that sometimes he had trouble looking at him for too long, like he might blind himself on the brilliance of him. That maybe it’d be okay to go blind, if Alfred were the last thing he was able to see for the rest of his life.
Talking was inadequate to action, though. He pulled him flush against his own body, feeling the way his silicone cock bounced against his thigh in the process. He kissed him, open mouthed and famished, stifling a moan of his own as Alfred’s hand found its way around Ivan’s cock. Ivan backed up to the bed, guiding Alfred with him, as Alfred stroked him in slightly uneven bursts.
He sat on the edge of the bed, then scooted himself back, Alfred chasing after him with lips and palm and heavy, excited breath. Ivan separated from Alfred’s lips, falling back against the pillows. Alfred hovered over him, hair disheveled, glasses crooked. He released Ivan’s cock, impatiently fixing his glasses, then grabbing the lube as he straddled Ivan. Ivan lifted his hips, experimentally grinding the underside of his cock against Alfred’s.
Alfred’s eyes sparkled with fascination, giving his own hips a little roll. And certainly he couldn’t feel it the way Ivan could, but he seemed delighted from the sight alone. For a moment, they simply rutted against each other, Ivan’s breathing growing raspier, needier, until Alfred just as suddenly rolled off him, sitting beside him on the bed.
“Roll over,” Alfred said, voice low. Ivan considered him for a moment, the rarity of his seriousness, then turned his body until his stomach was against the mattress, his cock pinned uncomfortably in the process. Alfred grabbed him by the hips, redirecting him, pulling until Ivan drew himself up onto his knees, relieving the pressure against his cock, though the lewd way that gravity tugged at it might have made him blush if he were a shyer man. Ivan rested the front half of his body on his forearms, staring at the headboard of the hotel bed, hissing softly as one of Alfred’s hands caressed the swell of his ass, the other snaking between his legs to give his cock an enthusiastic squeeze.
Ivan heard the cap pop off the lube, the wet sound of Alfred filling his palm, and he turned his head, resting his cheek against the pillow, trying to catch sight of Alfred over his shoulder.
Alfred’s head was bowed, expression deeply focused. He glanced up, meeting Ivan’s eyes, and offering him a lazy smile.
“You’re so sexy, you know?”
Oh, he knew.
But even if he wanted to answer, he seemed to forget every English word he’d carefully collected over the years, as Alfred traced his index finger down the cleft of his ass, circling and teasing and downright rutting against his entrance. He could feel himself tense, though he’d yet to actually penetrate him, and forced himself to focus on his breathing, unclenching his toes and fingers.
It took everything to grasp at the only language Alfred knew fluently to get him to understand. “You don’t need to be so gentle with me,” Ivan said. “I’m not a porcelain doll.”
Alfred leaned forward, kissing Ivan’s lower back. “I know, but you’re so gorgeous like this.”
And then Alfred finally began to press his finger into him. Ivan glanced back for a few seconds longer, finding it too overstimulating, then looking forward again. His eyes closed, his mouth pressing against the fabric of the pillow.
It didn’t hurt. Alfred had used so much lube, and though his fingers weren’t necessarily small, Ivan had definitely experimented with bigger objects inside himself over the years (though less frequently now that he was regularly fucking Alfred). But it was strange, the very human sensation of his body heat, the peculiar flex of his knuckles. Alfred hesitated briefly, perhaps considering asking if Ivan was okay, before he pressed deeper, sinking in to the base of his finger. He rotated his wrist, until he started stroking inward and upward. He beckoned forth with his finger, insistent. Ivan shifted his hips just slightly, redirecting his touch in the process.
Alfred’s lips moved up Ivan’s back, tracing his spine, then seeking out his shoulder blades. He was being so gentle with him that Ivan thought he might weep. His finger drew back, withdrawing until just the tip was inside him, then moving forth once more. Ivan pressed his lips tightly together, refusing to whimper.
But fuck. It felt good. It felt good, but unfulfilling. He needed so much more.
“Alfred,” He finally said, after a few more thrusts of his single finger. “I need more,” He felt dizzy with the shame of asking for such a thing.
“It doesn’t hurt?”
“I need it,” Ivan’s throat felt dry. He was staining the duvet with precum. His thighs were threatening to cramp up from how tensely he was posed. And he needed it. He needed it now. “Don’t make me ask again,” It was meant to be commanding, but it tasted like begging.
The embarrassment only made his cock ache more.
Every movement felt so syrup slow, as Alfred slipped his finger out. Ivan tried to be patient, tried to draw on his upperhand in experience and willpower, but he whined desperately when Alfred finally was in him again, two fingers this time instead of one.
Curling and stretching, thrusting and stroking, he moved within Ivan with an explorer’s curiosity, mapping out new territory. Ivan’s ears felt muffled with how hard his heart was beating within them. He alternated between rocking his hips back against Alfred, and not so subtly trying to grind down against the bed.
Alfred’s free hand sought out his cock once more, teasing the head, tracing along the underside. It occurred to Ivan that he was purposefully being teasing, avoiding the more firm grip that would surely leave him utterly undone and ruined, but honestly he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold off much longer. Especially with the soft way Alfred kept moaning, the quiet little whimpers that kept escaping despite the fact he wasn’t the one being touched. Roar of blood in his ears or not, Ivan couldn’t ignore how gorgeous Alfred sounded in moments like this.
“Please don’t come yet,” Alfred moaned. “I need to fuck you. I need you. Fuck, Ivan, fuck--”
“Not helping,” Ivan hissed, burying his face against the pillow. If Alfred kept pleading like that, he had no hope at all. He tried to think of unsavory things, of rot and destruction, and when that didn’t help, he tried to think of boring things, of taxes and bureaucratic inefficiencies. And when that didn’t work, he just tried counting. Cold, meaningless numbers.
Alfred stretched his fingers inside of Ivan, and Ivan bit the pillow to keep from crying his name. He lost his place, and started back at 1 again.
Alfred drew back, easing a third finger into him this time as he returned, and Ivan felt so deliriously full, stretched, stuffed. He drooled against the pillow, eyes beginning to water. Alfred squeezed his hand around the base of Ivan’s cock, as though trying to physically prevent him from orgasm, keeping the pressure there. It was sort of working, except that it made Ivan hyper-aware of his arousal in a way that rendered counting in any language impossible.
“Fuck, I knew I should’ve gotten a cockring,” Alfred groaned. Ivan tried to block out his voice, the tone and the words alike, but everything about Alfred surrounded him, filled him, and he desperately scratched at the blankets to try to maintain some semblance of composure.
“Do you think…do you think you can take me?” Alfred asked.
Ivan barely waited for the last word to leave Alfred’s mouth. “Fuck me!” He said, garbled and desperate. He wasn’t sure which language he said it in, just that he needed Alfred to comprehend. He needed him. He needed him. He needed him so fucking bad.
Alfred’s fingers carefully withdrew from him and Ivan wanted to break things, he wanted to shatter the entire world, because how could anyone stand to be so empty? He felt abandoned, useless, even with Alfred’s hand still around his cock.
And then he felt the silicone cock bump against him, Alfred rotating it in teasing circles, or perhaps it was less to tantalize him and more to try to figure out how to breach something so large into Ivan’s tight body.
Fuck that.
Ivan pressed himself onto his palms, clutching at the blankets forcefully, as he pressed back against Alfred. Alfred gasped as though he were the one being fucked. Ivan felt the cock stretch him, stabbing deeper and deeper into him. The hand against Ivan’s cock loosened, Alfred’s other hand grasping Ivan’s hip. Alfred finally started to move forward, matching the rate with which Ivan pushed back, until finally he was in him completely.
They froze there, Ivan panting, forehead slick with sweat, strands of hair clinging to his face. He wished they’d chosen a different position, if only so he could properly look at Alfred. But then again, there was something thrilling about being fucked from behind, helplessly trapped by his boyfriend’s hands and cock.
It hurt, though not nearly as much as he’d anticipated. It was a warm sort of ache, radiating from inside him. His hands kneaded the blankets contently, a low whine passing from his lips.
“Ivan-”
“Fuck me,” Ivan repeated, this time certainly in English, somehow more coherent in his mind now that he actually had a cock inside him than when he was simply anticipating it. He moved his hips forward, only to roughly push them back for what little friction he was able to give to himself without Alfred’s intervention. Did he need to repeat himself? Did Alfred not believe he could take it?
Alfred finally began to move, every inch of him grinding just right within Ivan’s body. Ivan’s hands wobbled, and then the front half of his body collapsed against the bed again as Alfred thrust into him once more. Ivan limply rested his chest against the bed, trying once to pitifully push himself upright again, only for Alfred to adjust his angle, thrusting harder into him a third time.
All Ivan could really do was lay there and take it. He stared ahead in a daze, the different shades of beige of the headboard swirling before his vision. He closed his eyes again, focusing on the feeling of Alfred fucking him.
Alfred panted, inexperienced in this particular positioning and clearly not certain how to best preserve his energy, the most efficient ways to catch his breath during such intensive cardio. If Ivan were in a less lustdrunk state of mind, perhaps he would have told him to pace himself.
But fuck it, the desperate way Alfred was moving was as cute as it was deeply satisfying.
Alfred stroked Ivan, worshiping his cock with his palm and the careful curvature of his fingers. Each thrust inside him pushed Ivan closer to the edge. Ivan bit the pillow again, digging his teeth in sharply, nearly smothering himself, as he fought against it. He wanted to come, yes, but he wanted this to last longer.
Alfred’s lips kissed the back of his neck. The tenderness was more than Ivan could handle.
The pillow tore under his teeth, filling his mouth with feathers, and still not completely stifling his whining moans. Ivan came, bucking his hips back against Alfred’s thrusts repeatedly, Alfred continuing to tug at his sensitive cock through his orgasm. The last few strokes were almost painful, so much that Ivan was certain he blacked out for a good few seconds.
Finally, Alfred’s hand stilled, his hips pressed up flush against Ivan’s body, cock buried within him, designed not to soften. They could go forever, he could keep using Ivan until the end of time itself, and the realization sent shockwaves of desire through Ivan’s delirious body.
Ass in the air, mouth full of the remnants of the pillow, Ivan felt Alfred pull out of him, and like before, he felt like mourning the loss of such a feeling of fullness. He was too sensitive for more now (though part of him wished Alfred would disregard this fact and just use him for his own purposes), yet the cold of the air conditioning against his body was startling. He shivered, turning his face from the pillow and unceremoniously spitting as many feathers as he could out of his mouth. A few feathers floated through the air, a couple sticking to his sweaty face, to the saliva around the corners of his mouth. He knew he ought to wipe them away, but moving his arms seemed impossible at that moment.
At least until he heard Alfred moan again. Ivan rolled onto his back, grimacing at the faint promise of pain that went through him at the change in position. He’d be much more sore in the morning, he was certain.
And they had a 12 hour drive planned for tomorrow too. This fact should have alarmed him more, but it felt distant and floaty and vague and, more importantly, why did Alfred look so pained?
No.
Not pained.
Deeply aroused.
Ivan sat up, once again ignoring the ache that chased him. He looked down, first at the cock that had been inside him, then at his boyfriend’s body. His thighs were slick with his wetness, those same thighs grinding together pitifully. Ivan looked back up at Alfred’s face, the troubled look of shame that so often followed him whenever he was too turned on to think.
“Fuck,” Alfred gasped out, as Ivan began to unbuckle the straps. “Fuck, that was so hot. Fuck fuck fuck, you’re so sexy, I need to take care of you, are you hurt? Fuck-”
Ivan threw the strap-on once it was freed from Alfred’s body, hitting yet another lamp in the process. He ignored the way it toppled over, just as he ignored his body’s warning alarms to take it easy, that his muscles needed to rest.
Because the best thing to follow intense activity was a proper meal.
He wasn’t exactly delicate with Alfred as he hefted him from his position at the end of the bed, throwing him towards the headboard as he’d been settled earlier. Alfred collapsed against the ruined pillows, likely laying his back in Ivan’s cum in the process. His glasses had fallen off completely in the journey, Ivan smacking his hand away when he reached blindly for them.
Alfred had been kneeling on his prosthesis while he’d been fucking him. And Ivan didn’t intend on letting him out of bed for the rest of the evening anyway. It was late. And so he found himself tugging it off as well, along with the fabric covering his skin protectively underneath. He kissed him there after, Alfred’s other leg twitching against the bed.
“Sore?” Ivan asked sympathetically between kisses.
“A little,” Alfred admitted. “But mostly I feel like I’m about to flood this entire fucking room. Please–I know I just fucked you and I need to take care of you, but please, I need to come…”
Ivan grasped Alfred’s thighs, forcing them apart, before he buried his face against his cunt.
He could feel Alfred’s pulse, all the more amplified as he sucked on his clit. Tongue flat, he lapped at him, until Alfred’s hips arched off the bed desperately.
His name never sounded sweeter than when Alfred sang it. Ivan couldn’t get enough, nuzzling his nose against Alfred’s clit then and piercing his tongue inside his cunt. He wasn’t sure which was better, his scent or his taste. He grazed his teeth against him, as Alfred’s fingers desperately grasped at the back of his head, tangling in his hair.
Alfred was grinding against his face, fucking against him with desperate prayers of Ivan’s name. The neighbors almost certainly were pissed, but that only made Ivan want to coax more out of Alfred.
He didn’t last long–admittedly, he rarely did, that was part of the fun of it–squeezing his thighs against Ivan’s cheeks as he rolled his pussy against his lips and tongue and nose, desperately chasing friction even as he fluttered and pulsed and quivered with the intensity of his climax. Ivan kept licking within him, even as Alfred’s thighs went lax, even as his body began to unconsciously move away from the stimulation. It just made Ivan grasp onto him tightly, refusing to let him leave until he’d had his fill.
“Ivan,” Alfred’s voice cracked. That, and Ivan’s burning lungs, compelled him to finally pull back.
Ivan licked his lips, sitting back on his haunches for a few microseconds, before the pain in his ass and lower back forced him to move. He grunted, thinking it was a subtle enough noise that Alfred surely wouldn’t notice, as he tried to lay himself in a more comfortable position.
Alfred wobbled forward, tugging Ivan into his arms. Ivan found himself on his side, certainly preferable to laying on his back in this state, as Alfred weaved his fingers through his hair in slow, admittedly very relaxing, movements.
“Oh,” Alfred said after a moment. “Maybe I should wash my hands before touching your hair.”
Ivan snorted despite himself. “I don’t care,” He muttered. “Don’t go.” His eyes closed as Alfred returned to his gentle contact.
“They’re definitely going to charge us for that pillow,” Alfred said.
“You can pay to eat at the same restaurant 13 times in a row, but don’t want to pay for a pillow?”
“Good point. Does it hurt?”
Ivan’s brow furrowed. “The pillow?”
“You.”
“Oh. Not right now. It will tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I like it.” He was too tired to deny it. He snuggled forward, resting his head directly against Alfred’s chest, Alfred laying on his back as Ivan curled up against his side.
“Man, I don’t know what was a bigger accomplishment. Finally getting to top you, or going to every Dick’s in the country.”
Ivan didn’t quite scowl. But he did open one eye, fixing it with judgment upon Alfred. “Am I really on the same level as kitschy chain nonsense?”
Alfred made a soft humming noise, as though seriously considering it, but quickly broke the facade with a laugh. “You’re better.”
“Yes I am.”
“Though maybe we could do a little rebranding. You could use a mascot. That could really liven things up.”
Ivan groaned, eyes closed again to keep from rolling them. “I am not hearing this nonsense. Go to sleep.”
He smiled despite himself when Alfred kissed the top of his head. He wondered what their next pointless road trip challenge would be.
He just hoped they had sturdier pillows.