Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s not even supposed to be sexual, exactly. Not that it was a rule, it wasn’t, but it was really more… practice?

They were dipping their toe into doing scenes. Trent enjoyed the idea of exploring submission with Ted, letting Ted take charge, tell him what to do. And in turn, Ted seemed interested in hesitantly exploring—taking. Taking and having. Control, pleasure, Trent.

But all that was rather intimidating, so they were starting somewhat small. Trent, kneeling—on a cushion—with his arms folded behind his back, tied somewhat loosely together. He could get out of it if he tried—they’d even practiced—and they weren’t tight in the slightest.

Nonetheless, he felt… caught. Kneeling, bound, awaiting Ted’s touches, Ted’s guidance. And that’s all it is, really. Touches. Little and simple commands, easily followed. Not even taking clothes off. This is only about touching, with a hint of obedience.

Ted stands over him, strokes his hair, pets him, and Trent feels warm and a little tingly, just kneeling there, enjoying the affection. Enjoying Ted standing over him like this. Ted’s oddly quiet, though he occasionally makes little comments—soft you’re so handsome, honey and good, you’re doing so good.

He steps closer, tucking Trent’s head against his thighs—forehead resting against Ted—and keeps combing through his hair. Trent just… breathes. Feels kind of light and airy. It’s a nice feeling.

Eventually Ted just—sinks to his knees, too, facing Trent, and cups his face. Thumbs over his cheekbones. It’s not hard to melt—probably giving Ted the most pathetically smitten puppy grin ever. Ted beams back, and leans in and kisses him softly. He doesn’t deepen it, doesn’t linger, just gives Trent a little kiss on the lips before pulling back again.

“Close your eyes, honey,” Ted says, soft and firm, and Trent barely hesitates before slipping his eyes shut.

After a long moment of waiting, breath caught, he feels warm hands gently touch his waist, then settle there. Rubbing gently up and down. Ted progresses slowly like this, touching his hips, sliding up and around to his back, and back down.

It’s like—he’s exploring, curious, intent on gently touching every inch of Trent’s body. Exploring with warm hands, petting thighs and caressing over his belly and cupping his jaw, dragging a thumb over his bottom lip and making him suck in a quivering breath, ghosting hands over his sides and making him twitch a little, like he’s ticklish. It’s not as if Ted’s never seen him naked before—they’ve had sex before, for one—and yet Ted seems fully content to run fascinated hands over every little thing, slipping under clothes just to feel bare skin. He coaxes Trent out of his shirt and kisses at his chest, but pays no extra attention to his nipples, makes no effort to turn it more… traditionally sexual. Just touches him, kisses him gently.

It feels like it goes on for hours. Just—touching. Occasionally Ted murmurs something—usually warm praise, and he must notice how it makes Trent shiver a little, pleased, because he starts doing it more, sometimes even whispering in Trent’s ear just to make him bite back a noise. He wasn’t told to be quiet, but he wasn’t told to speak, either, and just—just sitting here and taking it, letting Ted touch him all over… it’s so good.

He hasn’t opened his eyes, either, just sitting there, waiting for the next touch and never knowing where it’ll come from. Feeling relaxed enough—it’s only Ted, after all, he’s more than safe—to not jump when it happens, but relax.

He feels kind of—warm and tingly and fuzzy-headed, kneeling, shirtless and blind, letting Ted touch him everywhere, practically jumping to obey any gentle command—just to tip his head to the side, or lift his arms, or sit back, leaning on his arms, and spread his legs (and Ted still doesn’t fuck him, not that Trent doesn’t enjoy the way Ted crawls up between his legs and on top of him and kisses his shoulder, his neck, hand sliding up his waist to the sides of his ribs).

Ted slips arms around him, grabs his ass and squeezes slowly, palms him, then tells him to wrap his legs around Ted and put arms over his shoulders and hold on. He obeys, and Ted moves his arms and hoists Trent up into his arms—Trent yelps a little but clings, and Ted grunts with the effort but carries him to the couch and practically collapses back, Trent now in his lap.

Trent’s eyes had popped open on instinct, so he gets a moment of drinking in Ted’s warm, enraptured eyes on him before he remembers himself and closes his eyes again.

“Oh, honey,” Ted says, “You can open your eyes now, if you like.”

He pets Trent’s back, and Trent slowly opens his eyes again, blinking a little at the light.

And they just—keep going. It should be boring, maybe, but Trent’s completely caught up in Ted’s hands gently exploring him, in warm praise and soft words, in bare skin and slightly calloused palms… It’s hard to focus on anything but Ted, and the pleasant heat suffusing through him, fuzzy and building.

He feels—he feels good. Partly just—his head feels pleasantly empty, fuzzy. No worries, no annoying thoughts, just… Ted’s touching him, telling him he’s being good. And partly just…

Everything. Ted’s touching him, touching him all over, gently tugging him around and guiding him, standing over him or manhandling Trent into his lap, giving him these little kisses that are driving him a little crazy… Trent’s squirming a little in his lap, too fuzzy and melted to really make sense of it all, or really bother to try—he didn’t think he could really say much if he tried, but luckily he doesn’t need to, not with Ted taking care of him.

Ted’s nails drag firmly over the nape of his neck, over and over, pleasant and grounding scritching—he’d been experimenting more with his nails, scritching at his scalp, dragging them lightly over his back in patterns, even tracing over his cunt through his clothed just to feel Trent squirm. Just light patterns, no more exploratory or intentional than any other touch.

And he’s still in Ted’s lap, arms still bound, balance relying almost entirely on Ted catching him, on leaning forwards, and the off-balance and relying-on-Ted feeling only has him feeling more of that shivery pleasure. Undressed and rumpled and bound, squirming helplessly in Ted’s lap…

Trent’s hazily blinking at nothing over Ted’s shoulder now, lips slightly parted and staying that way. That tingly heat is building, and he hadn’t realized just how much until—he’s—he’s trembling a little, and he clings to Ted a little tighter, wiggles his hips a little to see if there’s resistance—there isn’t, so he does it again, relishes the slight friction even through layers of fabric…

It feels so good, and the praise and affection are just frying his brain, and Ted’s so close, Trent’s in his lap, grinding down slowly, hips moving in tiny circles—he shouldn’t, some vague part of him panics slightly but it’s swallowed whole by the pure, intense pleasure licking hot between his legs, up his spine, as he grinds cautiously on Ted’s thigh.

And Ted isn’t denying him, isn’t forcing his hips still—not that Trent would mind, the idea of Ted’s hands pinning him—so he keeps going, can’t help himself, and Ted’s murmuring something in his ear but he can’t hear it over the rushing; his eyes feel hot and teary and the pleasure, he doesn’t know how he could have missed how fucking wet he is, hot and tense and throbbing between his legs, god—

It doesn’t hit him all at once. Ted just keeps letting Trent grind pathetically in his lap, arms still trapped behind his back—loose, he could undo it but he doesn’t, just lets himself tug uselessly on them instead—and the closer he gets, the more he forgets to restrain himself, until he’s practically humping Ted’s leg, biting his lip and burying his head in Ted’s shoulder and making helplessly pleasured little noises. He’s so wet, it feels so good, and Ted’s still touching him, he must know Trent’s being bad, taking more than he’s given, but Ted just—keeps touching, keeps making encouraging noises, rubs his back like Trent’s not leaking all over his thigh, making a mess, soaking his own underwear—

Trent’s orgasm builds slow, hot and filthy and dragged out of him at a leisurely pace. It’s mortifying, whimpering through a slow, sticky, intense orgasm in Ted’s lap, cunt hot and drooling in his thoroughly ruined underwear. Ted hushes him quietly, strokes through his hair as he pants into Ted’s shoulder. His face is hot, but that tingling warmth had spread to the tips of his fingers and toes, lingering in his whole body, any tension he had in him has been steamrollered rather thoroughly out. He’s leaning entirely into Ted now, bound arms limp behind him.

Despite that, a large part of him wants to hide his face, apologize, but Ted just strokes his hair. That’s what he’s doing when Trent comes back online—stroking Trent’s hair, soothing, like he’d just. pet Trent through his orgasm, held him as he was trembling and grinding his hips down in tiny circles.

“Fuck,” Trent gasps into his shoulder, one of the only words he’s said since they started, and Ted gives this warm little chuckle. Which should feel condescending but instead makes Trent’s already soaked cunt clench. He loosens his bonds, arms aching just a little right along with his thighs from all the moving and holding himself in place.

“Don’t you worry,” Ted says, sounding amused. “I just want you to enjoy yourself, okay, honey?”

Trent takes in a shaky breath, but he loosens his binds entirely, letting his arms out, and drapes himself over Ted for a moment, arms free. He lets himself relax again, lets himself just… enjoy it. The orgasm had taken the edge off, but he suspects Ted could do that again, if he wanted.

Make Trent come almost completely untouched—well, not untouched, rather thoroughly touched, actually, but not. Well, not in the traditionally sexually stimulating way.

Just words and petting and that—that subtle dominance, he supposes. Trent being partially undressed and Ted completely dressed, Trent kneeling and Ted standing, Trent following and Ted guiding. Trent bound, and Ted free.

Trent was sensitive, but he hadn’t realized—hadn’t realized it would be that easy. It was mortifying, embarrassing, but at the same time… since it was only Ted… it was a bit hot, too. Maybe a lot hot, actually.

(Ted could take him apart so easily. Imagine if they went deeper with this…)

They sit there for a while, Trent panting and a bit overheated in his lap, and Ted petting his back. The fuzziness is clearing a bit—not snapped in half by his embarrassment, but certainly blown away at least a little.

“I’m—sorry,” he says anyway, finally, barely managing to make his hoarse voice work. This hadn’t been—it wasn’t what they’d planned, it wasn’t…

“Aw, honey,” says Ted, “don’t be. I coulda told you to stop if I wanted.” His eyes take a more mischievous glint, and lower, he says, “anyway, you think I didn’t notice when you started to get worked up?” He hooks a finger under Trent’s chin and tips his head up, teasing, and continues, “Honey, you were squirming like I had your vibrator on a sweet spot, and I could feel all that heat coming from ya, right on my lap—and you blush when you’re really sensitive, you know that? It’s cute. I could tell where you were goin’ before you did, I think, but hey.” He kisses Trent just once, quick and soft, and says with a softer grin, “I like spoilin’ you. Kinda the point, isn’t it?”

“Spoiling me wasn’t the point,” Trent points out, despite the fuzzy, shyly pleased feeling in his chest.

“No,” agrees Ted, surprisingly easily. “Doing what I want with you was.”

Well, that shut Trent up, sending a little shock through him, too. Ted grins at him—right. Trent’s still in his lap. Ted can feel when he gets aroused.

Ted gives him another little kiss, and says, “Scene over, then?”

Trent kisses him, too, hand cupping his face, and says, “I suppose.”

The touching and orders and binds were, anyway, it seemed. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t... have regular sex, did it?

This in mind, Trent hesitantly grinds down again. He’s still—embarrassingly, messily wet, but. he thinks…

Sure enough, when he angles his hips right, he can feel… Ted. Ted’s, well, big. So when he’s aroused, nice and gorgeously hard, Trent can very much feel it. He’d been more on Ted’s thigh, before, too busy grinding mindlessly with fuzzy thoughts barely stringing together filling his focus.

Now, though, slowly gaining more focus, it’s not hard to change the angle of his hips and intentionally grind down on Ted’s shaft. Ted inhales sharply, and Trent kisses him, and then says slyly, almost into his lips, “Doesn’t mean we have to stop everything.”

The fact that Ted is hard, too, worked up, that he’d like that… it’s more flattering and more reassuring than Trent expected.

Ted wraps arms around his waist and kisses back, and when they break apart, breathes, “Oh, well. If you insist.”

And he has no idea if Ted’s going to split Trent’s sated and drooling-wet cunt open—having Ted ride him or flipping him round to stuff him full like that—or if Trent will suck him off or if they’ll simply stay like this, grinding and kissing, or what else. But he’s looking forward to finding out, because scene or not, any intimacy with Ted is always bound to feel wonderful.