Work Text:
Jerry is acting weird.
Again.
It’s been three weeks of Jerry skulking about and sneaking glances at Charley whenever possible, and Charley is about to text Jerry himself by the time Jerry finally messages him again.
From: J
tonight?
Finally.
sure. now?
yeah
Alright. That settles it.
Jerry doesn’t bother wearing underwear this time, either, just gym shorts and an old tank to keep him decent between his room and Jerry’s.
The front door opens as he approaches it. Jerry pulls him in and shuts the door behind him.
Charley feels Jerry’s mouth on his before he even sees him — one blink there’s nothing, two blinks and Jerry is crushed against him and creeping his hands around Charley’s hips.
Charley almost expects him to say I missed you again, but it never comes; Jerry only kisses him until he’s breathless and pushing at his chest trying to get away for air.
Charley’s lightheaded when Jerry finally allows him to pull away and gasp for breath. His stomach swoops when Jerry scoops him up and settles him in his arms bridal style, and then he’s clinging to Jerry for his life as they make their way upstairs again.
It takes him a moment to notice, but there’s something new in the bedroom — a half-full pump bottle of liquid, sitting innocently on the nightstand.
Jerry lays Charley out on his back, as usual. His shirt comes off first, then his gym shorts, and Jerry doesn’t ask this time when he bares Charley’s skin to the cold of his room.
Jerry pulls his own shirt off, too. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans without much show of it, but judging by the bulge that spills out, Charley would say he’s not quite soft. Was he like that when Charley came to the door, or is this from the kissing?
Jerry kisses him again and Charley forgets his questions. He’s almost used to this part. It’s almost nice, even, if he shuts his eyes. He’s past pretending it’s a girl, because Jerry has just enough stubble to remind him he’s kissing a grown man.
“I want to try something new,” Jerry explains between kisses. “And you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”
Charley swallows. He doesn’t want to think about last time. Last time, when Jerry had called him out on resisting out of habit more than anything else. Last time, when Jerry made him cum so hard he cried.
“What?” Charley asks instead, because that’s neither here nor there. It’s not permission or acceptance or denial.
“You’ll like it,” Jerry purrs, “don’t worry.”
Jerry pushes at Charley’s thighs to open them. That is new, that is very new, and Charley isn’t a fan of the hungry way Jerry stares between his legs.
“Keep your leg up,” Jerry instructs, hooking his hand under one knee to bring Charley’s leg where he wants it.
Charley keeps his leg up.
Jerry reaches to the nightstand and pumps liquid onto his fingers nice and slow so Charley can watch. That's...
...Oh.
His clean hand holds Charley by his hip like a lover, gentle and kind — his thumb even softly pets at Charley’s hip bone.
“I’m going to spread you open,” Jerry informs him, in the same moment his fingers slip past Charley’s cock and lower.
“Cold,” Charley winces, and winces again when Jerry’s finger finds his hole and presses. Not enough to push in, just enough for Charley to feel and quell any doubts in his mind about Jerry’s plans.
Charley is tight. He’s tense, and nervous, and pushing back against Jerry’s finger without meaning to, but Jerry does manage to squeeze one finger into him.
It’s definitely different; Jerry’s fingers are already freezing, and the lube just makes it worse. Plus, you know, the fact that Charley’s never even touched himself like this.
“How does it feel?” Jerry asks, pressing his finger deeper before pulling back.
“Weird,” Charley mutters. The lube helps it feel less weird, but it’s still cold and uncomfortably slick.
“It’ll feel better soon,” Jerry promises, and sinks his finger in again.
Jerry keeps him like that for a while — legs spread open and everything on display while he slowly, slowly fingers him.
Eventually, Jerry pulls his finger all the way out to add more lube, and this time, when Charley feels him press again, it’s two fingertips trying to push into him.
“Don’t,” Charley gasps, despite the zing in his groin wondering what it’d feel like. “That’s too much.”
“It isn’t,” Jerry threatens and promises, laying kisses at the corner of his mouth. “You can take it.”
Charley wants to make some kind of jab about no I can’t and I’ll prove it, but Jerry’s patient prodding leaves him at a loss for words. He’s sensitive there, and even though he hasn’t gotten the second finger in yet, it’s still creeping from weird and uncomfortable to weird and good.
It seems like hours later, but Jerry finally stops kissing him and pulls back.
The next moment, a second finger is slipping in with the first and Charley gasps.
“There we go,” Jerry purrs, knuckle deep. “You’re so tight,” he breathes. “I told you you could take it.”
Charley can’t breathe. He’s too full with two fingers of a grown man stuffed into him and not moving. Jerry keeps his fingers still as he lets Charley adjust, only to twist them in him right when he thinks he’s getting used to it.
“Jerry,” Charley shudders.
“Charley,” Jerry hums back. “You’re doing good,” he assures him, kissing his mouth again. “I’m going to start moving again.”
Charley wants to beg him not to — he can’t take it. He can’t, there’s no way. And yet, when Jerry’s fingers pull back again, Charley simply bites his lip, shuts his eyes, and bears it.
“Good,” Jerry praises. His fingers slide back in and it shoves a breath out of Charley’s chest that he hadn’t realized he was holding, and now that it’s been dislodged, he’s free to lay back and pant as Jerry works.
He can’t believe he can actually take it. Jerry’s fingers feel massive inside him, and Charley feels like his whole body moves with every little thrust in and gentle slide out.
Charley knows, in theory, that men have prostates. They learned about it in health class — it produces seminal fluid to help move sperm during ejaculation. Someone had made a crude comment under their breath about ‘butt stuff’ that Charley overheard, but he never really connected the dots. He’d already forgotten about it by the time he got home and could have searched for context online.
In practice, Jerry drags his fingertips over Charley’s prostate and it makes his hips jump, thrusting into nothing and then back, harder onto Jerry’s fingers, without him meaning to.
He makes a cut-off, awful noise, high and embarrassing.
“Isn’t that better?” Jerry asks softly, his fingers lingering. “I told you you’d like it.”
Charley’s eyes water. It felt good. Really good.
Jerry does it again and Charley whimpers, torn between giving up so he can beg for it and denying that he’s feeling anything at all.
His erection has waned while he’s adjusted to Jerry’s fingers, but now his dick is very interested in what’s going on. He leaks precum up onto his hip that drips down to the sheets despite only being half hard.
“Charley,” Jerry nags. “I asked you a question.”
Jerry stops his fingers but doesn’t pull out, just leaves them knuckle-deep in Charley’s ass while he waits for an answer.
“Still feels weird,” Charley lies through his teeth.
Jerry’s other hand comes up to hold Charley’s face, Charley’s chin in the nook of his thumb and forefinger. He pushes Charley back harder into the pillows.
“You’re lying to me,” Jerry hums, leering close. “Doesn’t it feel better now?”
Jerry’s fingers curl in him again and Charley’s legs twitch up, lifting his feet from the sheets and briefly making him look like a whore. He hates that he can’t control what his body does when Jerry touches that spot, presses that button, and he hates that Jerry must know he hates it.
“I don’t know,” Charley whines, voice breaking when Jerry does it again.
Jerry’s grip on his face shifts, his thumb sliding up to Charley’s bottom lip and pressing suggestively.
“I don’t like it when you lie, Charley,” Jerry says. His thumb is slowly forcing Charley’s mouth open. “It’s not a good look on you.”
Jerry’s thumb sinks into his mouth. He doesn’t taste like anything, just cold skin slipping over his tongue and holding it in place. Charley thinks about trying to bite him, but the hand locked on his jaw would probably stop him from moving his mouth enough to really bite.
“One more try,” Jerry says, and it sounds like a threat. “Does it feel good?”
Charley doesn’t want to find out what happens if he pisses Jerry off — it’s been long enough since the last time he saw Jerry mad that he doesn’t know what to expect if he did.
He shuts his eyes, and nods. Embarrassed heat flushes his face and makes Jerry’s skin feel even colder, but he nods against the hold on his jaw and against everything in him that still wants to deny it.
“What was that?” Jerry asks innocently. “I couldn’t hear you.”
Oh, God damn him —
“Yes,” Charley struggles out, lisped from the thumb in his mouth. “It felt good.”
Jerry smirks so hard Charley wants to punch him.
“Good,” Jerry purrs. He releases his hold on Charley’s face and kisses him lightly, bare little things that might be chaste if Charley didn’t have fingers inside of him.
Jerry keeps going. Some presses he touches Charley’s prostate, some he doesn’t, but it’s all starting to feel good now. Charley’s hands clutch at the sheets below as his whole body goes warm and tingling.
As Jerry goes on, one of Charley’s hands comes up to clutch at Jerry, thread fingers through his hair and pull. Jerry doesn’t budge, but still — it gives Charley some sense of grounding to pull at him instead of just at the sheets.
Would... Would Jerry fucking him feel this good? It’d be thicker than this, and deeper, but if Jerry did this again to get him ready and stretched, it... It might feel good.
God, those are thoughts he does not need to be having right now.
Jerry adds another pump of lube and Charley can’t take it. It’s cold but it warms up fast between his heated skin and Jerry sliding his fingers faster.
He’s going to be a mess of slickness at the end of this, he distantly realizes. Will the lube stain his shorts? How much of it will he feel inside him, after Jerry’s fingers are gone?
“Jerry,” he warns.
“You gonna cum?” Jerry asks, and he laughs when Charley nods.
His fingers go harder, smashing his prostate on every thrust and leaving Charley to gasp and stutter his breath every time.
He doesn’t give Jerry another warning.
He shoots up his stomach and chest, extra messy when his hips are still jerking against Jerry’s fingers and bouncing his cock with the movements. Jerry doesn’t show any mercy, either, even holding his hips down with his other hand so he can milk Charley all the way through his orgasm until Charley is quietly gasping stop, stop.
Jerry takes one last slow, deep drag of inside him before he pulls his wet fingers out.
“Feel good?” Jerry asks as he stretches his wrist and fingers, flexing them and uncramping what’s started to cramp.
Charley can still only nod, eyes shut. His heartbeat throbs in his ears and he can barely hear Jerry over it. He doesn’t have the energy to argue or play games, he’s just... It was good.
A few more quiet moments pass, Jerry letting Charley catch his breath as he comes down from the best orgasm of his life.
“Charley,” Jerry finally breathes. “Give me your hand.”
His free hand is already guiding Charley’s hand by his wrist. Charley lets him.
Jerry places his palm over something warm. There’s cloth, and something under it...
...Oh.
“Perfect, Charley,” Jerry breathes again as he grinds into Charley’s palm. His hand masks over Charley’s to move it, fingers puppeting fingers to wrap around him through his underwear and give half a stroke.
Charley... Lets him.
He owes Jerry something, doesn’t he? After all these times that Jerry has gotten him off, and Charley hasn’t reciprocated?
Besides, this is easy — he doesn’t do anything and Jerry just grinds against him and likes it, or he squeezes Jerry’s cock of his own volition and Jerry moans.
It doesn’t take very long. Charley is worn out and rubbery, so he lets Jerry do most of the work himself. His head drifts to the side as he lays there, coming down and not jerking Jerry off, and watching it is... Interesting?
Jerry’s cock is bigger than his, but not by as much as it felt like last time. It’s not a monstrous, hulking thing, just a cock hidden behind a thin layer of underwear. It leaks at the tip and makes a wet spot, one that grows as Charley watches.
He squeezes again now to watch how Jerry reacts, and Jerry buckles forward and grinds against him so hard it almost hurts to be held there.
Charley is the last thing he groans before he’s cumming — it spills through the fabric and drips down. He expects it to burn him like acid when it touches his hand, but it’s just... Cum. Just not his.
Jerry releases his hand and Charley pulls it away to avoid getting more of a mess on it.
“You did so good,” Jerry purrs as he pants. “So good, Charley.”
His cheeks heat all over again at the praise. It’s not a big deal, even for being the first time it’s happened, but then Jerry keeps whispering so good against his lips as he kisses him, and Charley starts to believe it. He is good at this, isn’t he? Being helpless and at Jerry’s mercy like he wants him? He’s kind of got a talent for it.
Tonight, to his surprise, Jerry walks him downstairs and to the door for the first time. He opens it, like a gentleman, and Charley lets himself be gestured out until he’s standing at the entryway staring back at him.
“Goodnight, Charley,” Jerry says, and closes the door.
It’s only once he’s safely home and back in his room that he realizes: Jerry didn’t even feed from him.
All of that, the fingering and the kissing, and Jerry finally making Charley touch him, and he didn’t... He didn’t even...
What was that?