Paul and est_weir: After lights out.
[Backdated to July 22nd 2011]
Contains con-non-con

The sound of footsteps wakes Johnny from a light doze. His own bedroom door would've creaked open, but enough details are the same to keep him in the fantasy. The bed is on the same side of the room as his own, Ping is under his arm, and the Establishment was even able to provide a nightlight. He stays still and waits as a figure walks towards his bed, the negotiations he's made with Paul at the back of his mind now that everything's set and he can give himself over to the fantasy.

There's a lot to be said for negotiating in advance. Gets everything clear, means you can set up anything you need and in this case it means all Paul has to do is walk into the room.

He tries for quiet - closing the door behind him and walking slowly towards the bed. The overhead lights are out, one round nightlight glowing near the floor and throwing just enough light to show him the figure in the bed. All tucked in nicely, and Paul doesn't bother to change that as he sits down and puts a hand over Johnny's mouth.

Johnny makes a soft sound, looking up at Paul with wide eyes. It's not exactly role play, he's not trying to pretend it's not Paul, but the lack of light makes his features less clear and fuels the spike of adrenaline in Johnny's veins as he shifts back in the bed.

It's too dark to see much but Paul can feel the sudden tension under his hand as Johnny wakes up properly. He takes the stuffed panda from under Johnny's arm and tosses it up on the other pillow, then yanks the covers down and shoves Johnny over onto his front, hand still over his mouth.

Johnny squeaks, louder now, his heartrate increasing as he's pushed onto his front. He wiggles a bit, but it's half-hearted. His fantasies have always been more about being taken than about struggle.

Johnny isn't naked but even in the half-dark the tight black briefs highlight more than cover up, and Paul gives Johnny a sharp slap on the arse before yanking them down. Johnny's strong, in fantastic shape, but Paul has the advantage of height and weight and it's easy to hold Johnny down when he struggles, just sprawl on top of him and press down against his body. "Pretty," he growls in Johnny's ear, pushing Johnny's underwear down around his thighs.

Johnny whimpers again, feeling Paul's weight over him. That's a good thing, so he wriggles a little more just to feel it as his ass is exposed to the air.

It's easy to shove a knee between Johnny's, spread his thighs as far as possible with the underwear still on. That's enough for Paul to get a hand down and rub his thumb over Johnny's hole, nudging lightly. Johnny's slick - obviously followed instructions, good - and Paul's tempted to just pull out a condom and fuck him now, shove in and use him.

But that would be a waste, really. Johnny is still squirming under him and Paul gets a hand underneath him, wrapped roughly around his cock. "I want to feel you come for me, you little whore," he demands, images and plans settling themselves into place.

"Please," Johnny gasps, feeling a hard bolt of arousal when Paul grips him like that. "Don't hurt me."

"So come for me," Paul squeezes again, feeling Johnny's cock start to harden, "And I won't just fuck you dry." This is what Paul loves about planning, make enough plans in advance and you can do anything. He rests his weight against Johnny, presses down with a groan.

It takes Johnny's a moment to catch up with that, and when he does he responds with a muffled moan. Paul sounds serious, and though he's not actually dry, it's still the kind of talk that gets him, enough to push him further into the fantasy and start moving his hips.

Johnny's movements have him pushing back against Paul, rubbing against his cock through Paul's jeans. He's been hard since before he stepped into the room - anticipation - and he almost can't help moving with Johnny, a rough pantomime of what he has planned for later.

The movements bring a blush to Johnny's cheeks, fortunately invisible with what little light the nightlight provides. The feel of denim against his ass and the backs of his thighs, his underwear shifting where they're tugged down, has him feeling like a slut in the best kind of way. He's very much available here, and even aside from the fantasy, here he is in bed waiting for Paul. His hands press into the mattress, clutching at the sheet, one corner coming untucked.

"Yeah, that's it," Paul strokes faster now, weight still pressing Johnny down against his hand, forcing Johnny to push into it. "Little slut, come on." He's been looking forward to this, the chance to just use and take, permission and offer all wrapped up in one.

"Oh God," Johnny whimpers, the way his movements are restricted and the efficient strokes of Paul's fist pushing him quickly along. He's starting to sweat, hands clutching and releasing. "Please don't stop," he gasps, his cheeks heating even more as he admits aloud how much this is affecting him.

"God, you'd roll over for anyone, wouldn't you?" Paul tangles his free hand in Johnny's hair, yanking his head back. "Not doing this for you." Faster strokes now, short and hard and meant to force Johnny to come whether he wants it or not.

A hot wave of shame sparks through Johnny's mind, but it's not stopping him. Fucked-up though it may be in some ways, it actually eggs him on, and it's only a few more seconds before Paul's pushing him over the edge, the sharp pain in his scalp giving it that extra something. Johnny bites his lip and tries not to moan too loudly as he comes, but a desperate sound still escapes.

"Yeah..." Paul spread his own legs, forcing Johnny's further apart as he shudders. Then he brings his hand back, slick fingers dancing over Johnny's hole, pushing his own come inside him. It's dirty, probably humiliating, and Paul shoves two fingers in deep on the first thrust.

"Ohfuck," Johnny gasps, still trembling with the last of his orgasm, his cock pushing out a few more drops as Paul touches it. Though he got the basic idea of what Paul meant, it's still a shock to actually feel Paul's fingers push inside. He whimpers quietly into the pillow, slut, slut, slut reverberating in his brain.

The whimper goes straight to Paul's cock and he rubs himself shamelessly against Johnny's thigh, fingers still deep inside him. Johnny was prepped enough that Paul doesn't bother trying to stretch him open, just finger-fucking him carelessly, rubbing over Johnny's cock to collect the last drops. More for show than anything else, but it gives Paul an excuse to touch.

And from Johnny's perspective, any touching is a good thing, dirty as is. He was ready before but it still feels good, makes him more eager to have Paul fucking the thoughts right out of his head. He didn't ask for nice, and he trusts Paul enough to know that's not what he's going to get.

The condoms are close enough that Paul can grab one without moving off Johnny and he drops it on the bed, unbuttons his jeans and yanks them down. Undressing takes too long, all he needs is to get the condom on and then he's nudging the head of his cock against Johnny's hole, slick but still tight. "Don't fucking scream," he warns, working himself inside.

Johnny follows orders, but despite the lubricant he does feel that stretch acutely. Rather than screaming, he lets a high pitched groan loose into the pillow, trying to spread his legs but hampered by his underwear.

Paul ignores the groan - if he was playing nice, if this was a usual day, he'd stop and check in with Johnny. But right now Johnny gets his safeword for anything he can't take, anything up to that is fair game. So he pushes in deeper, weight pinning Johnny down in place as he forces himself inside.

For a second, it's overwhelming, and Johnny can't control the sound he's making into the pillow--something suspiciously like a squeal. He's too sensitive, it's too much... not enough to stop it, though, even though he has that word. This is exactly the kind of thing he wanted, and he's aware of that even as he lifts his head and gasps to catch his breath.

It has to hurt, Paul knows that, between the sudden stretch and just how long - or not - since Johnny came. But the sound Johnny just made wasn't anything close to a safeword and Paul snaps his hips forward, driving in the last few inches hard before holding there.

That forces another groan out of Johnny, but the pause when Paul's all the way inside gives him a chance to breathe and adjust, consciously letting some of the tension out of his fingers where they grip the sheet. He's pinned completely in place, couldn't move if he wanted to, though he does twist his head to one side, angling to try to catch a glimpse of Paul's face.

Paul catches the turn, ignores it. Any other night and he'd be trying to make this good for Johnny, try and turn him on and give back as much as Johnny is giving. Tonight he just takes, hand splayed between Johnny's shoulder blades to keep him in place, fucking into him as hard and deep as the position will allow.

"Please," Johnny whimpers, though he's not sure what he's begging for. He's sure as hell not going to come again, and this isn't about that. It's about being forced to take it whether or not it feels good, and it's obvious that Paul's getting what he wants, which is more important to the fantasy. He's surprised to realize that the whole thing has pushed him into subspace, that he doesn't have full control over the little sounds he's making or the tears pricking at his eyes. It's a little awkward, half-clothed and tangled in sheets, messy, and fucking wonderful.

Paul moves his hands down, grips Johnny's hips hard enough to bruise as he pounds into him, intent on driving more of those sounds out of Johnny. There's no hope of lasting out long this way but he doesn't need to, not now.

The longer Paul fucks him this hard, the more Johnny whimpers and squeals, all self-consciousness gone. The shame that had acted as a catalyst earlier is subsumed by the release that comes from pain and loss of control, and it doesn't really matter whether he's a slut or not. In truth, he's just happy to be so thoroughly taken.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," a few more hard thrusts and Paul is coming, fingers digging into Johnny's slender hips, cock buried inside him. He stays there a moment, just laying over Johnny and trying to catch his breath, still holding him in place.

Johnny still manages a few more little whimpers before he falls quiet, his breathing restricted somewhat by Paul's weight on top of him. Something's eased a little bit inside him by getting exactly what he wanted, no matter how extreme the fantasy is, and he makes a mental note to express his gratitude to Paul when he gets his brain back.

Paul kisses the back of Johnny's neck then moves slowly off him, one hand brushing over his back."Two minutes, I'm not going anywhere," he promises. It doesn't take that long though, and a minute later he's back on the bed, condom in the bin and warm cloth in hand, two bottles of water sitting ready on the nightstand.

Johnny's answer is a fairly indistinct mutter, but he hardly notices that Paul's gone, riding happily on endorphins and exhaustion. "You'wanna stay?" he mumbles, nudging at Paul's thigh with his cheek when he sits. "Y'should stay."

"I'm staying." That isn't up for debate as far as Paul's concerned. He's pretty sure he told Johnny that already, but he's also pretty sure Johnny couldn't spell his own name right now. He wriggles out of his jeans and tosses them on the floor, T-shirt following right after, then pulls Johnny's underwear the rest of the way off to join them. "Sleepy?"

"Mmm-hmm," Johnny agrees, smiling to himself as Paul cleans him off with the cloth and then curling up next to him. He's already half asleep. Sore in the morning, probably, but worth it.





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