rivers_bend

Title: Is that a squirrel in your pocket?
Pairing: Adam/Tommy
Words: 1000
Rating: NC17
The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used in this story, and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened, nor ever would.
Enticements/Warnings: genital pain play
Summary: It's not like anything Tommy's ever done to himself, nothing like pulling and twisting with his fingers, binding them with his briefs, even sitting just the right wrong way on the arm of the couch.



"Could those jeans be any tighter?" Adam says, and Tommy laughs, because Adam is laced into leather pants so tight you can practically see where his manscaping starts, and Tommy's jeans are just his jeans, falling off his ass like always.

But then Adam's snugged up behind him, tipping him back, slipping his hand down under Tommy's waist band, palm hot on Tommy's dick, lifting it up against his belly, fingers sliding down to tease and prod at Tommy's nuts. And really, no fucking way could Tommy do the same to Adam, so clearly his jeans could be tighter.

"Guess they--" Tommy starts, but Adam's got his hand out of Tommy's pants now, fingers curled in Tommy's belt instead, and he lifts, up and back, and fuck fuck fuck, bastard hadn't been groping, he'd been fucking adjusting, settling Tommy's balls either side of the seam, lining Tommy up for this.

"How 'bout now?" Adam whispers right in his ear. "Could they be tighter, baby?"

Tommy wants to ask Adam what he thinks he's doing, because that is probably what you're supposed to do when someone is trying to crush your nuts, and he's never told anyone about this. About how he likes it. But Adam fucking notices everything, and if he thought Tommy was a freak he wouldn't be doing this, so Tommy lets himself nod against Adam's chest.

"Thought so," Adam says, low, lifting Tommy's jeans higher, higher still when Tommy's knees go soft against the pressure.

It's not like anything Tommy's ever done to himself, nothing like pulling and twisting with his fingers, binding them with his briefs, even sitting just the right wrong way on the arm of the couch. He kind of can't believe he's never thought of using his jeans like this, but maybe part (most) of what makes it so good is that Adam's in charge. That Tommy's not in control of the pressure, can't be sure what's going to happen next.

"Tell me if I need to stop," Adam says, and Tommy shakes his head, desperate, before he thinks maybe that looks like he won't say, and then he nods, just as frantically. Adam tugs a little, jostling everything before going back to the steady pressure he was using. "Oh, baby. I thought-- I mean, I knew you-- but you really like this, don't you?"

"Yes, fuck. Harder. I can take--"

Adam jerks hard, up and back so Tommy's trapped against his chest, forced up on his toes, his now-hard dick straining his zipper. And his nuts, split by the denim seam, so tight against his body, just starting to hurt in the perfect way that always makes him want more. He covers Adam's hands with his own, for balance mostly, but Adam reads what Tommy wants in the clutch of his fingers and lifts him even higher, almost off his feet completely. It makes Tommy's legs twitch, his head roll, and he's clinging to Adam now, hardly breathing.

"Can you come like this, do you think?" Adam asks, breath hot on Tommy's neck. "What do you need?"

"Need--" Tommy squirms in Adam's arms, grinding his junk against the denim binding him, wishing maybe his cockhead was against the sharp zipper, not cushioned by his briefs. "Don't stop," he gasps, carefully letting go of Adam's right hand, wriggling his thumb under the waistband and belt digging into his belly until he can get the edge of his thumbnail riding his piss slit. He jerks hard at the sensation, and he's so fucking close, just--

"Jesus," Adam breathes, and bites Tommy's neck, right where it curves into shoulder, worrying the skin between his teeth, flicking the fold of it with his tongue like it's Tommy's nipple, like a clit, and Tommy sags, all his weight hanging on the crotch of his jeans, that one last ounce of pressure tipping him over the edge, leaving him gasping, shaking in Adam's arms.

It isn't until Adam lowers him to the floor, easing fabric down out of the clench of his thighs, that Tommy realizes they're still in the foyer, haven't even taken off their jackets after Sutan's party. He's glad for the warmth, shivering violently as his legs meet the cold tiles, teeth chattering until Adam gets under him, bundles him onto his lap, holds him close.

"You okay?" Adam smooths Tommy's hair off his face.

Tucking his hands into Adam's jacket, his face into Adam's neck, Tommy nods. Too soon for talking.

Adam must be uncomfortable as hell, but he doesn't complain when it takes Tommy more than a few minutes to feel like he can move again, seems reluctant to let Tommy up even after Tommy suggests moving to the sofa. But Tommy proves he can stand on his own and even make it down the three shallow stairs to the plushly carpeted living room, so Adam follows, settles on the couch, knees spread in invitation for Tommy to cuddle back on his lap.

Before Tommy can sit, though, Adam tries to talk about what just happened, and Tommy kneels between his feet instead, pulls out his dick. Just because he can talk now, doesn't mean he wants to. So he likes his nuts hurt. In his experience it's not something most guys want to hear about in any detail, and surely the point is obviously Adam knows somehow--pays more attention than Tommy thought to what Tommy's up to between his legs while Adam's fucking him, probably--and maybe sometimes they can do it now, and whatever. Adam's hard, not gonna turn down a blow job, especially not with Tommy eager, hungry, moaning at the feel of Adam's hands in his hair.

He doesn't need to know half Tommy's moans are for the ache in his nuts when he sits back on his heels, gets his boot in just the right spot. Or at least, Tommy doesn't have to tell him.