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“You’re doing it wrong.”
Slowly, Travis looked up from the onion he was cutting. “You think I’m making tamales wrong? Have you ever even made tamales?”
Wes huffed. “You’re cutting the onion wrong, Travis. Maybe you should just let me do this part.”
Travis hummed in thought. “Maybe you should stop being such a pain in my ass before I decide to give you a spanking and send you to bed with no tamales,” he countered.
This was met with an offended scoff. “Excuse me?” Wes’ tone danced along a razor’s edge between joking and anger, where it could go either way depending on Travis’ response.
In this case, Travis’ response was to put down the knife, a ghost of a smile dancing across his face. Quickly, before his partner could react, he reached across the distance between their bodies and smacked his ass, hard enough to hurt just a little and echo in the quiet kitchen.
Wes let out a surprised cry, and then immediately, his whole body went rigid. At first, Travis thought that he was about to receive a bitching-out of royal proportions, or maybe even get tackled to the floor like old times, but instead found himself watching in fascination as Wes’ eyes dilated and a flush spread slowly across his cheeks.
“Really?” Travis asked, one part curious, one part amused.
Wes cleared his throat and frowned, doing his best to muster a glare. “Nobody but you would ever have the absolute audacity to-”
“You wanna do this?” Travis asked, not needing to hear any complaints. “I’m cool if you don’t. I’ll just finish making these tamales. But if you want to, then you should wait for me in the living room, let me wash my hands. Your call.” With that, he turned back to the counter and resumed what he was doing, giving Wes some space to make a decision.
He heard a tense, deliberating sigh, then the soft sound of Wes’ socked footsteps slowly moving out of the kitchen. Biting his tongue and smiling, Travis turned to the sink to wash his hands and roll over in his head how he wanted this to go.
He hadn’t been sure if Wes would be willing to put aside his pretty obvious hesitance to pursue something that he had no guarantee he would actually enjoy, but Travis was going to be sure to repay that trust in a way that neither of them would soon forget.
Travis dried his hands and silently made his way to the living room, standing in the doorway. Wes was seated on the couch and hadn’t noticed him yet, and Travis could tell by the look on his face that he was counting his teeth with his tongue, a nervous habit he’d picked up while trying to swear off pen-clicking.
“You ready?” he asked, breaking the silence. Wes jumped slightly, and Travis could practically see the tension vibrating through his body. To avoid spooking him any further, he settled in on the couch and reached a hand out, rubbing soothing circles in between Wes’ shoulders.
Wes frowned. “What do you... I mean, how do you want-” He cut himself off, blushing intensely. Travis smiled and drew him in for a kiss.
“Stand up and strip for me,” he instructed softly. Wes cleared his throat and nodded.
He stood, toed off his socks, and pulled his t-shirt off over his head, then moved to take off his pajama pants. The flush on his face deepened when he saw the appraising way Travis’ eyes scanned over him, and he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, thumbs still in the waistband of his pants.
“Drop them and put yourself across my lap.” Wes swallowed hard, nodded again, and as quickly as possible, stripped his pajamas and underwear off his hips and climbed across Travis’ lap, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.
“That’s a good boy,” Travis praised, running his hands over Wes’ back and the curve of his ass. Wes’ eyes widened at the rush those words left him with, and he resolved not to examine that too closely, or at least to put it off until later.
Travis carded his left hand through Wes’ hair, getting his fingers in the soft blond locks and keeping them there. His right hand rubbed and squeezed Wes’ bare ass, and the rough warmth of his palm had Wes squirming instantly.
“How many do you want?” Travis asked, the heat in his voice and the erection pressing against Wes’ stomach belying the composure he seemed to be maintaining.
“I don’t- ten?” Wes offered, a little helplessly. “Let’s say ten.”
“I can do ten,” Travis agreed. “Count out loud for me, baby.”
Wes huffed indignantly. “I'm sorry, have you thought about this before?”
“Of course I have.” Travis laughed, easygoing. “You’ve been a pain in my ass since the day we met, and you’ve got that ass that’s just been begging for my hands on it since way before we started dating, I’ve fantasized about bending you over my lap and spanking you dozens if not hundreds of times.”
Wes scoffed, unsure if he was more angry or aroused by what he was hearing. Before he could parse it out, though, Travis was repeating in that quiet, measured voice, “I want you to count out loud for me. And when I’m done you’re going to thank me.”
Wes’ eyes widened and he swallowed. He felt Travis lift his hand and braced himself, but Travis just brought it back down gently and resumed rubbing. If he thinks I’m going to beg him to-
Before he could finish the thought, Travis abruptly raised his hand again and smacked him across the ass, way harder than before. He yelped and all but jumped out of his skin. The hand in his hair tightened its grip, reminding him, and he gasped quickly before he managed to get out, “Uh, fuck, one.”
Travis chuckled quietly. “Good boy.” Dammit, if he was going to keep saying that then Wes was going to be forced to admit that he was into it.
Another hard smack followed, and no sooner had Wes counted out the ‘two’ than a third one was hot on its heels.
By the time they reached five, Wes was arching his back and squirming, uncertain if he was trying to escape the onslaught or seek out the friction of Travis’ thigh against his hard cock, which was quickly making itself an unignorable part of the proceedings.
By seven, he was gasping for breath, and could feel himself starting to sweat.
When he finally choked out, “Ten,” Wes sagged against Travis’ lap and whimpered; nobody could accuse Travis of having made that easy for him, but he was shocked, and perhaps a little appalled, by how much he loved it. How much he was realizing he was going to be craving this again.
“There we go, you took that so well for me, sweetheart,” Travis cooed, followed by a warm chuckle. “I wonder what’s redder now, your face or your ass.” Wes growled indignantly, in spite of the way he was trying and failing to catch his breath and rein in his arousal. “What did I tell you to do when I finished?” Travis prompted, dragging his fingers through Wes’ hair again and rubbing slow, soothing circles over his ass and the backs of his thighs, which had certainly not escaped his torment.
Wes swallowed, wracking his brain for the answer and then suddenly remembering. “Thank you,” he mumbled, even as it caused him to flush even hotter with embarrassment.
Travis groaned quietly, low in his throat. “Oh, you’re welcome, baby. Come here.” He hauled Wes up by his shoulders to straddle his lap. Wes winced when he settled down onto Travis, but when he lifted up, his thighs were quaking with arousal and exertion. Travis hummed, affectionate, and guided Wes to lean against him, pressing their naked chests together and taking the pressure off his ass and thighs.
“What a good boy,” Travis murmured, and Wes was done for. He buried his face against Travis’ neck and whimpered, trembling all over now, breathing in the scent of Travis’ cologne and feeling dizzy with it.
“Please stop calling me that,” Wes pleaded desperately. “I really... I don't... it’s not right.” He pressed every inch of himself that he could to every available inch of Travis, keeping his face hidden in the crook of his partner’s neck so that he wouldn’t have to look at him.
Travis shushed him, stroking his hands over Wes’ back. “What do you mean?”
Wes swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “I... um... like it?” he offered awkwardly.
A warm breath of laughter danced across his jaw. “You’re meant to like it.”
Wes scowled. “I don’t want to,” he admitted.
He felt a smile form on Travis’ face, pressed against his shoulder. “You don’t wanna be my good boy?” Travis teased, giving Wes’ poor abused ass a rather impolite grope.
Wes growled and bit Travis’ neck a little too hard, earning a sound that was half moan and half sputtering laugh.
“Take me upstairs,” he insisted, moving to extricate himself from Travis’ lap; Travis obliged, but only long enough to get Wes on his feet. Instead of going upstairs, Travis backed Wes against the back of the couch, then whirled him around to bend over and brace his hands on the solid leather back of it.
“Nuh-uh, princess, right here,” Travis said, leaning around Wes to fish around for a bottle of lube they had apparently irresponsibly left in the couch cushions at some point. Trust Travis not to put something away where it belongs, but to know exactly where it is anyway, Wes thought ruefully.
Wes didn’t argue that he didn’t want to have sex bent over their sofa, because they would both know he was lying anyway. It drove him insane in the best way when Travis didn’t even bother to take him to bed.
“Don’t call me princess,” he said instead, low and gravelly in the best approximation of threatening that his brain could achieve when all the blood in his body was busy keeping his dick hard enough to drive nails.
“No?” Travis laughed, slicking the fingers on his right hand and then, ridiculously, reaching around to stick the bottle of lube in Wes’ mouth. “Alright, I won’t. Hold that for me, sugar-lips.”
Wes gasped in utter disbelief, holding the plastic tube angrily between his teeth.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” he demanded, although what actually came out of his mouth was mostly vowels and spit.
Still, Travis must have understood, because he was laughing as he guided two fingers into Wes’ body at once, then unceremoniously crooked them just right. Wes’ teeth clenched down on the bottle of lube in an attempt to smother a surprised moan, and he just barely had the presence of mind to stop himself short of biting into the bottle.
“Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Travis murmured; Wes could still hear the smile in his voice. Although the part of him that was holding a bottle of lube in his mouth like a pornographic suckling pig wanted to stay angry, the part of him that had two fingers up his ass and a warm hand gently stroking his thighs didn’t really have it in him.
He groaned softly and shifted his legs further apart, encouraging Travis to continue rather than nurturing his own outrage.
“You like that, baby?” Travis sped up, leaning in close enough to nip at Wes’ neck but not so close as to impede his wrist movement. “Just like that?”
Wes hummed an affirmative and canted his hips backwards with a desperate, breathy moan. “Please,” he managed around the plastic tube still held obediently between his teeth.
Travis inhaled sharply and reached around with his free hand to gently take the lube back. “Need this, sweetheart.” Wes nodded, then pressed his face against the couch and moaned helplessly. He could feel movement behind him that he could only assume, without turning to look, was Travis stepping out of his sweatpants, then kicking them out of the way. The soft click of the cap being opened signaled Travis pouring out more lube to cover his cock, and that was all the warning Wes had before it was pushing against him, splitting his body open torturously slowly.
After what seemed like hours, Travis’ hips were flush against his; he half-swallowed a startled cry when the jut of Travis’ hipbones reminded him rudely of the harsh treatment his backside had undergone just moments prior.
“Does it hurt?” Travis asked, hands gentle on the curve of Wes’ ass; they felt cool, but Wes knew in actuality his skin was just hot and flushed.
“Yeah, don’t stop,” he said, not worried about the contradiction. Travis would know what he meant, like he always did.
“Not unless you ask me to,” Travis confirmed, pulling out and thrusting back in when he was confident that Wes was ready.
“Don’t stop,” Wes repeated, although the words tangled up with a groan on their way out of his mouth.
Instead of a reply, Travis set about using his body to reassure him, increasing his pace. The sting in every slap of Travis’ hips against Wes’ ass was a delicious additional component to the already-overwhelming hurricane of pleasure.
“Tell me how you want it, sweet thing,” Travis instructed through clenched teeth, one hand on Wes’ hip and the other skimming the length of his back to tangle in his hair.
“Yes, fuck, Travis, harder.” Wes tilted his head into Travis’ grip and re-secured his grip on the back of the couch, bracing himself for Travis to eagerly oblige his request a second later.
Travis hitched the hand on Wes’ hip around to stroke him off, twisting his wrist in just the way he knew drove Wes crazy. “Not gonna last much longer, sweetheart,” he confessed, breath hot in Wes’ ear.
“Uh huh,” Wes agreed, and that was all the confirmation Travis needed.
“Yeah, baby, that’s my good boy,” he teased breathlessly; Wes must not have been kidding about how much he liked that, because it didn’t take anything else to have him coming into Travis’ hand with a dirty, low-pitched growl.
The raw need in that sound rumbling forth from Wes’ chest was what sent Travis over the edge a moment later. As soon as his vision stopped swimming with lovely stars, he lowered them to the floor on shaking legs, sprawling out on his back and tugging Wes to recline against his chest.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Travis panted into Wes’ hair. “Fucking hell.”
Wes agreed wholeheartedly, laughing through an attempt to catch his breath.
“What do you want, do you want to go lay down?” Travis’ voice was a cross between concerned and indulgent, dedicated as ever to giving Wes whatever he wanted. Wes had never had someone before Travis consistently prioritize something as trivial as his wants.
He thought for a moment. “Tamales?”
Travis laughed loud enough to startle him. “Fine, but you have to come cut the onions, I’m not listening to your bitching.”