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“Oh, God, oh God —“
“Just relax—“
“— Ben that is not going to fit in me, it’s —“
“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,” Ben huffs softly, amusement just barely winning out over frustration as he continues to — patiently! patiently — nudge the sticky head of his cock between Bryn’s nervously quaking thighs. “I wouldn’t lie to you. If I say you can handle it, trust me — you can.” He’s red enough in the face that it’s kind of comical and Bryn might be laughing about how it clashes with his mustache if he weren’t so busy trying to mentally calculate the actual diameter of the thing he’s meant to be taking up his ass in comparison to the size of his own fingers, or the cute little purple vibrator Anil had gotten him for his birthday one year.
The evening has been lovely thus far. Bryn has no reason to be so bloody tense, after dinner and drinks and three of Ben’s well-manicured fingers spreading him open, generously lubed — he should be melting into the sheets right now. He should be able to at least pretend to be cool, to be — sexy and wanton, asking for it — but, well. He’s not any of those things. He’s just… plain old neurotic Bryn Monroe.
And he’s never had a real prick in his arse, and he’s just. Going to have to resign himself to freaking out about it until the novelty wears off.
Of course, it would help if he could stop clenching so hard that Ben can’t even get it inside.
“I can’t!” Bryn squeaks, struggling to get the pitch of his voice back to something decipherable by human ears. “It’s, your, it’s too big. TARDIS rules do not apply here, Ben!”
“Just trust me,” Ben says again in vain, petting at his thigh soothingly. The clean one, thankfully. Sex is awfully messy and Bryn has trouble being careless and spontaneous the way you see people fall into bed in the movies, because all he can think about is stains and wrinkles and oh, God, I think I heard something crack. His bedroom looks admittedly more like it belongs to an intensely precocious ten-year-old than a thirty-some year old bachelor with a sexy degree; it’s crammed with comics and knick-knacks, miniatures and Magic cards, everything meticulously placed for optimal access. It is not the sort of room that you stumble around, half out of your pants, too horny to think. Thankfully Ben doesn’t seem to ever have expected that from him, and the foreplay had been a very controlled, slow-burn affair. An hour of obscenely wet kissing that Bryn suspects might have given Alex an aneurysm if he’d somehow overheard, a clever descent, Ben’s fingertips grazing just under the hem of his shirt… and then at his belt, at his zipper… Somehow they’d ended up here, both of them hard and weeping and wanting and —
And Bryn can’t fucking relax.
Good Lord, this is humiliating, isn’t it? “I swear,” he says, high-pitched with an edge of nervous laughter. The ceiling does not have any sage advice scrawled across it no matter how hard Bryn squints. Boo. “It’s not my first time — I mean — you know, you know what I mean, I’m not a complete virgin, I’ve n-never had this problem before—“
“Thinking too hard.” With a sigh, Ben leans abruptly forward to plant a little kiss on the very tip of his nose. Bryn’s face burns with the realization. “Bryn. Hey. M’not about to just ram it in there, you know, you don’t have to brace yourself this much.” His voice goes somehow huskier, drops into the register that Bryn is used to teasing him for but right now can’t muster a single joke about, because it’s gone straight to his cock. “It’ll hurt less if you just take what I give you… as I give it to you.”
Ben’s prick leaks warm and wet against his — his — oh, chrissake, his hole and the very idea of that, that warmth inside him just — just constantly dribbling , smearing all over, makes Bryn feel like he’s going to pass out. He makes a thin, embarrassing noise and throws an arm over his face… rather the way he imagines Hamid might, actually, faced with something similar. Scandalized with himself.
Wait, Hamid? Who invited Hamid?
Oh, that is not the sort of bleed he wants to have to deal with. Let’s just scrub that thought away, shall we.
Bryn has an awful feeling that he’s going to be having a hard enough time keeping his libido in check next time they’re in the studio together, he doesn’t need to be projecting quite so hard.
“This would be easier if I could just roll for it,” he says faintly, because he can’t quite banish the thought now that it’s occurred to him. Pathfinder rules are so lovely and comprehensive… There, that’s comforting, that’s… relaxing. He follows the thread, ignoring Ben’s quiet snort of incredulity. “Add my con modifier—“
“Hang on,” Ben can’t seem to help interjecting. “I dispute that, this is clearly a ride check.”
“I don’t know if dexterity is going to help me here, Ben.”
“Well you won’t know until you try, now will you?” Ben sniffs. Honestly, Bryn doesn’t know how he’s coping right now. He can practically feel the man’s pulse in his cock and they’ve been at this for nearly ten minutes now, just rubbing in gentle circles where his fingers had had no trouble plunging in not long ago. He ought to be ready to throw his hands up and leave Bryn hanging. Nothing but a tease. But he hasn’t given any indication of impatience so far, for which Bryn is silently, eternally grateful. Even if he feels bad for the way that Ben’s breath is starting to come a bit erratically. “You want me to grab some dice? Is that what we’re missing?”
Bryn bites his lip against a sarcastic retort and actually thinks about it for a second. He’s got one hand wrapped uselessly around Ben’s bicep, squeezing just for something to hold onto… something to keep him distracted, if he’s honest. “… that might help, yes.”
“Oh, my God, I’ve finally met someone who’s as big a nerd as I am.”
“Hush your mouth. I’m a much bigger nerd than you.”
“You wish.” Ben gives the softness of Bryn’s thigh one more soothing stroke before abandoning his post between his legs entirely for a brief, alarming moment of acute loss, but returns before Bryn’s hindbrain can properly begin to panic at the concept of abandonment when he’s this hard and expectant. He grips his own cock desperately, squirming in the sweat-drenched sheets. Ugh. Messy. Already so messy. But he wants it so badly. Ben is back before he knows it, depositing the nearest bag of dice directly onto Bryn’s chest, and both of them pause with the faintest sense of pleasure at the muffled clacking sound before time resumes at normal speed.
“There,” Ben says decisively, kneeling up between Bryn’s legs again and petting his still-damp fingers between his legs — as if those few seconds away might’ve caused Bryn to start sealing up all over again, tightening so impossibly that no amount of lube would ever get Ben’s cock in there. “Roll away, I’ll tell you if you succeed.”
“You’re a menace. I bet you’re an absolutely barbaric GM.” Bryn lets the banter settle into his bones, melt some of the knot in his gut. Honestly, this is Ben, what on earth does he have to be nervous about? His lips are still swollen from Ben’s singleminded devotion to teaching him the wonders of french kissing barely half an hour ago… all night Ben’s done nothing but shower him with attention, with affection. They’re friends.
And because they’re friends, Ben knows that he kind of loves this ridiculousness. Bryn opens the little drawstring pouch and obediently sifts around for a d20.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Ben purrs in that absurdly sultry voice of his, eyes tracking the movement of Bryn’s fingers with so much dark intent that Bryn finds himself fumbling about twelve times before he manages to get a hold of the damn thing. “We could have a session just us sometime. I’ll show you how dastardly I can be.”
“Is that not, essentially, what we’re doing right now? I mean—” It’s a bit tricky finding a good spot to roll a die when he’s flat on his back with his legs sprawled open like a floozy but Bryn manages to flail an arm out to drop it carefully on his bedside table, in the empty spot where he might normally keep a glass of water. He scoops it back up and peers at the number, overly pleased. “Oh! Nat 20, suck on that.”
Ben does not suck on that. Ben adjusts his grip on one of Bryn’s thighs and thrusts the tip of his cock past the first fluttering ring of muscle —and Bryn chokes.
“Oh, okay, alright, or that.”
“Critical success!” Ben crows, mouth hung open and panting, betraying his desperation even as he continues. “Would you like to roll for crit damage?”
Bryn digs his nails into Ben’s lovely lean bicep and nods frantically. “Yes, alright, yes,” he squeaks, fumbling with his die. He drops it straight on the floor.
Ben doesn’t even appear to glance over the edge of the bed as he widens his stance and forces his cock in, in, in, excruciatingly steady, head tipped back like he’s seen God — or, well. Some deity. “What do you know,” he groans. “Crit confirmed, congratulations.”
“Fuck,” Bryn whines. “Fuck. Ben. Ben.”
He can feel himself stretching wider, impossibly, accommodating — he’s never — it’s never been like this before, never been such a tantalizing give in the relentless press inside him, warm and hard in such a — human way, alive, pulsing, God he can feel it, feel Ben and without even meaning to he’s matching his ragged breaths to Ben’s, clutching him closer, trying to drag him down.
Ben’s mustache tickles his nose but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t — he isn’t even thinking about the die on the floor, which set it belonged to and if he’ll be able to retrieve it easily. Bryn’s not thinking about anything but Ben’s tongue stroking his and the soft, tight pressure of his balls when they finally squish against his — his t… his… taint.
“Should I roll for, for damage?” he hears himself whimper. Ben’s burst of laughter vibrates up his spine and Bryn arches off the mattress in a way he frankly didn’t think was possible ten minutes ago, swearing like a sailor. Ben’s name fits awfully well mixed in with the vulgarity.
“Bryn,” he manages to grit out, breath still hot on Bryn’s lips, hips pumping as slowly as he can manage. “You can have whatever you want.”
Bryn takes a shallow breath and bears down. Sparks of vivid pleasure dance behind his eyelids. His grip on Ben’s arm has gone slippery, palm so damp Ben might as well have licked it. In a stroke of uncharacteristically feral self-indulgence, Bryn releases him and seizes a fistful of his hair instead — and Ben, Ben grunts in approval, fucks into him so hard Bryn’s voice cracks on the first syllable.
“I, I want you to admit that Pathfinder is good,” he wheezes. “Do it. You know it in your heart—“ Ben laughs again, hard enough that both of them have to stop and shake for a moment as the pleasure shocks through them from the point of their connection. Ben’s prick throbs ; Bryn’s ass tightens.
“Please,” Ben begs breathlessly, and he’s shaking all over now, like a leaf. Like he’s holding back. “Mercy. Anything but that.”
Bryn gives his hair a hesitant tug just to watch his lips part again, red and wanting.
God… the things he wants to do to this man.
Oh, God, RQG is going to be such a nightmare.
“It‘s that,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut when Ben rocks in at just the right angle to graze his prostate and momentarily short circuit Bryn’s entire nervous system. “Or — roll to come.”
“What happens if I fail?”
“Then I’m going to borrow something from Anil’s room and torture you all night long.”
Ben looks far too intrigued by this, and Bryn has maybe half a moment to regret his own brashness before Ben’s gaze falls into his lap and sharpens in an instant, hand abruptly releasing his thigh and wrapping warm and tight around his neglected prick. Bryn… cannot contain his desperate panting.
“Oh, God, Ben Ben Ben Ben, yes, fuck, yes right there, yes, FASTER.”
Smugly, Ben traces the red line of his mouth with his tongue. “No, go ahead,” he says, and the sultriness is only slightly marred by the shaky breath he has to draw mid sentence. “Continue, I want to hear about this punishment.”
“Nnn,” Bryn whines, thoughts fragmenting somewhere between his brain and his mouth. He’s going to come, he’s, he can feel it in his teeth, oh— “Not — not a punishment — reward.”
“Oh, I see.” Ben is panting now, not nearly as unaffected as he would clearly like to appear. It’s just like him to get competitive in bed like this; Bryn has known what sort of player Ben is from the moment he sat down across from him in Alex’s dinky studio-bedroom the first time. It stands to reason that some part of that must be derived from his true personality, and Bryn has met the man’s brother. It runs in the family, clearly. “Going to reward me for blowing your mind? Filling you up?”
“ Jesus, Ben.”
“You love it. You want it so bad.”
Bryn isn’t sure he’s even flushed anymore, this might count as a proper fever. He drags Ben abruptly down by his hair and smashes their mouths together; their glasses click, Ben’s tooth punctures his lip, and —
He comes like a geyser over the backs of Ben’s fingers, all over his chest.
“Oh,” he says faintly, falling backwards with a sharp exhalation. His eyes have fallen shut; the world is spinning, violent and wonderful; Ben is still fucking into him, harder and faster now, like he’s desperate — like he’s staring down af Bryn, at his hand, at the mortifying mess Bryn’s made between them and it’s making him so horny he can’t even wait any longer. The sudden molten reminder of Ben’s desire shoots through him and Bryn whines in protest at his own cock as it starts to twitch again almost the moment it’s subsided.
“A five star review.” Ben bites his lip and shudders, and —
Hm.
Bryn is— is going to.. have to… assess this sensation later. It’s. So… hot. Hotter than his body… wetter, too, than he’d expected.
He can already feel Ben’s come dripping slowly from where his cock is still buried as deep as it can go inside his still-spasming bottom. Bryn makes a face and squirms, like that’s going to help. Just… testing.
Wow.
“You know what,” Ben says, dazed, as he’s collapsing forward and sprawling bonelessly on top of him. “Actually, Pathfinder’s not s’bad.” He pauses, nose pressed into Bryn’s sweat-slick neck, then adds gravely, “Don’t you go telling people that I said that.”
“You find my dice, I won’t tell a soul.”
He feels Ben’s tongue dart out for a cheeky swipe; Bryn considers it a personal victory that he doesn’t immediately swat him away.
Probably useless to care where all the fluids end up at this point, isn’t it.
“Fair enough,” Ben mumbles sleepily. “Fair enough.”