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Trent’s on his knees, thighs spread wide, arms bound comfortably behind his back—forearms tied together, wrist to elbow.
He can’t see anything—a soft blindfold is tied over his eyes—and he feels utterly helpless.
With every breath there’s a slight tink tink as the little bells attached to the small clamps on his nipples. They’re just there to be noisy, to tell on him if he dares to move—and to tease him, of course.
He’s not naked. He’s worse than naked: his chest is bare, and he’s only wearing the ropes, the blindfold, the clamps, and a pair of dark green panties.
He’d chosen them because they were soft and he liked the color. A little thin, and comfortably snug—not tight, just clinging to his body. The waistband sits high, comfortably stretched around the curve of his stomach right around his belly button. The thin strip of cloth over his cunt is a little too narrow, and little curls of hair peek out from under it, spilling over his thighs. The fabric was thin enough that if he ran the pads of his fingers over the front of them, below his stomach and above his clit, he could feel the short hair underneath, prickling slightly.
The thin fabric also meant that as Ted touched him now, just rubbing two fingers ever-so-lightly over his clit, he could feel it. It was a warm, barely-there pressure but it was more than enough to give him a flutter, especially with the addition of the blindfold.
All his other senses felt sharper—he was hypersensitive to the pinch of the clamps and the slight weight of the bells swinging gently, to Ted’s warm breath when he leaned in, and to the fingers rubbing in gentle circles over his cunt.
Ted would venture down, running the pads of his fingers over Trent’s slick, swollen folds—through the fabric, always through the fabric, exploring every bump and swell, the crease between his lips, and never pressing further, never slipping under.
Trent was getting wet, so wet the panties were beginning to soak through and his breath was coming in shaky little gasps and his hands kept twitching in their restraints behind his back.
But Ted just kept touching him—switching to grazing with his nails, pulling a whine from Trent’s throat, and then back. Rubbing fingers on either side of his labia, just warm, soft sensation, pressure through the silky cloth, and then back to teasing his twitching folds.
Trent’s cunt pulses around nothing, biting back a moan, resisting the urge to try and move his hips into the sensation. He was supposed to sit here and take it. He was restrained for a reason. He was being good, letting Ted play with him, touch him, feel him.
The helplessness of it made Trent want to shudder happily, sag into every touch Ted gave him.
Ted’s nails run in slightly strokes over his clit, and his cunt clenches hard, hips jolting before he forces himself to be still. Ted chuckles, a low, gentle thing that rumbles through Trent’s chest.
And then he’s withdrawing and Trent wants to whine, to protest, but he’s being good, he’s being quiet, he trembles in his binds and silently begs Ted to keep touching him and—
Ted apparently hears, because the next thing Trent feels is a warm, wet mouth on him, licking through the fabric.
He lets out an undignified little yelp, but quickly adjusts, letting his head fall back as he tries to keep his upright position while still presenting himself the best he could. Trying to squirm his thighs further apart, trying to lean back without losing his balance, all while trembling with effort and pleasure as Ted dragged his tongue up Trent’s clothed cunt—all to the sound of the faint jingling of bells.
It can’t taste particularly pleasant, damp fabric, but Ted doesn’t seem to notice or care, using the curl of his tongue to flick Trent’s clit—still sensitive even with a barrier—until he’s letting out whiny, punched-out little gasps, and then hotly mouthing at his cunt again through the panties.
He nearly loses his balance, but then huge, warm hands close around his thighs, keeping him in place and helping him stay upright… holding his legs apart as Ted kept licking and kissing him through the panties, only adding to how soaked they were.
Trent’s cunt is twitching more and more as he gets closer, clit throbbing, heat building low in his belly and tugging deep in his cunt.
Ted’s tongue slips past the narrow strip of cloth covering Trent’s cunt, lapping at his slick mound, and Trent can feel Ted’s mustache on his bare flesh, can feel Ted’s nose buried in the hair there, and he wants to blush but Ted seems to have no complaints and it feels so good he could cry.
And then Ted’s nosing aside that fabric, clumsily licking under it, and the first feeling of Ted’s tongue on his bare cunt, hot and slick and perfect, is so much, so so much, and it only takes a few broad laves of Ted’s tongue on his cunt to make him break the rules.
“Fuck, please,” he moans, hips jerking, and he gets himself under control, goes still and stops talking, but it’s too late. Ted pulls back and Trent whimpers, shivering helplessly, but Ted’s hands squeeze his thighs tighter, and doesn’t take pity on him.
“Aw, sweetheart,” he says, rising to press a kiss to Trent’s cheek, and Trent leans into the touch, eager to please, and Ted lets him but doesn’t linger too long. “You know I love to hear your pretty voice, but that’s not the game we’re playin’, is it?”
Trent doesn’t dare to say please again, can’t even give him a pleading look, so he just bites his lip. His cock is still pulsing with heat, but he isn’t close enough to come like this, just kneeling here, cunt soaked and begging to be touched. He can’t even see Ted, doesn’t know how Ted’s looking at him, where he is, where his next touch will come from.
Ted suddenly grabs his chin, thumb firmly pressed under his lip and two fingers hooked under it, and forces Trent to turn his head. Trent lets out a little whine but manages to swallow back any other noise, lips parting under Ted’s thumb like an instinct.
Ted slowly swipes his thumb over Trent’s lower lip, and then says, “Hey, now—that was a question, gorgeous.”
Trent swallows, then quietly ventures, “…no?”
“No words, remember,” Ted admonishes, and he tips Trent’s head back and kisses him on the lips. Trent can’t help but relax under it, and when Ted pulls away, releasing his chin, he chases after for only a moment before remembering himself.
“Try again, darlin’,” prompts Ted. “That ain’t the game, is it?”
Trent hesitates, then shakes his head. Ted rewards him with a kiss to the cheek and two fingers dragging over his clothed cock, grinding the soft, damp fabric into his sensitive clit for only a moment before stopping again. The faint clinking of the bells feels deafening in the quiet room—and the tug on his nipples made the clinking worse.
Ted’s hands settle on his hips, open-palmed and warm, and slide up his sides. The touch is gentle, exploratory, and Trent wants to crumple like tissue paper. It feels good, Ted touching him, and he’s so goddamn sensitive.
“Good,” he murmurs, “You’re being good for me, sweetheart.”
But he doesn’t move back to Trent’s cunt, pulsing with need—he just keeps touching him with open hands, broad and warm, sliding around to his back, sweeping slowly up and down. Then down, fingertips just barely pushing under the waistband of the panties, like he might keep going, might get a handful (or two) of Trent’s ass, but then he moves again, and Trent’s left biting back another moan, cunt pulsing around nothing. He’s so, so wet, his panties are soaked through, but Ted just. keeps touching him. Touching his body, running hands over his soft stomach, up and down his sides, sweeping down to trace the ropes around his thighs.
He puts his broad, warm hands on Trent’s waist, holding him in place, and bends down to kiss at his neck. He gently prompts Trent to tilt his head back and then kisses and nips and licks there, along his jaw and then down again to the sides of his throat. He takes his time, hands petting at his waist, hot, open-mouthed kisses morphing into Ted sucking marks into his skin. Trent lets out little groans and gasps as he feels Ted licking and biting at him, lashes fluttering under the blindfold, cunt twitching and leaking. Just sitting here, helplessly letting Ted mark him up, cover him in hickeys that shout Ted’s, this man is Ted Lasso’s, he’s taken, he’s mine, all while Ted gives him steady, comforting touch is something Trent hadn’t realized he’d be so into. He likes feeling like he’s Ted’s, and he likes feeling helpless and at Ted’s mercy. So he supposes that makes sense.
Trent loses himself in it for a bit, like his whole world is narrowed down to hands on his body, a mouth at his throat marking him as Ted’s. It’s good, so good, but eventually, Ted must be done marking him up because he pulls away—first leaving wet little kisses everywhere he’d focused attention on, and then kissing down again, to his collarbones, and his hands move, too. His hands settle on Trent’s hips for a moment, thumbing at his hipbones, squeezing them, and he kisses Trent’s cheek. Trent can feel the smile pressed to his cheekbone when he twitches. He smiles back despite himself, pleased.
And then Ted moves up to cup Trent’s small tits. His hands feel huge, practically swallowing them up, and Trent’s mouth drops open, lips trembling. Ted squeezes gently, palming them, jostling the bells. He brushes his thumbs over the clamps, and an open-mouthed whine escapes Trent’s throat, spilling from his lips without his permission. But it’s not words, so Ted doesn’t stop—fondling him, and Trent’s so sensitive that this almost feels like enough. Just—Ted toying with his breasts, his clamped nipples. The sound of Ted’s breath. Imagining his enraptured stare, having his undivided attention.
He hears Ted shift and then—Ted’s kissing his up his chest, licking around one clamp as his thumb teases the other.
Trent swallows back the please that wants to burst from his lips. Ted’s always been good at pulling noises from Trent, even making him beg. Trying to stop himself, hold back, is no longer easy, second nature. It’s hard. Normally Ted likes to hear him babble, and that’s why this—the control—is hot. It’s temporary, a way Ted can be in charge, a way to make Trent work for it, and… there’s something about the fact that it used to come so easy to him, holding back his pleasure, making himself be quiet. And now it’s hard. He’s left panting, each rough exhale now with the high edge of a whine.
Ted leaves a kiss on his collarbone, and says, “God, sweetheart. You look so beautiful.”
(And he does, all flushed and gorgeous, lips parting and giving him away every time, clearly having a hard time focusing with every swing of the little bells, legs parted and silk ropes stark on his tan skin and those gorgeous little panties, dark green and trimmed with soft lace and already soaked through. He looks stunning; kissable, begging to be touched.)
Ted rubs two fingers over Trent’s clit, through the panties, touch light but fast, nails dragging over him over and over and sending tight, hot jolts of heat through his cunt. Trent twitches, wishing more than anything Ted had shoved a gag in his mouth.
Ted goes fast, warm hand slipping under his waistband and cupping his cunt. Trent gasps, but Ted’s already moving on, taking advantage of how wet he is.
Ted fingers him fast and hard, sliding two fingers into his sloppy cunt at once and immediately getting to work moving them in and out, rubbing against his sensitive rim. Trent’s clenching around them before he’s even registering what’s happening, mouth falling open as he moans.
His thumb presses ruthlessly against Trent’s clit and Trent shakes, grinding forward in a fruitless attempt to get more friction. Ted relents with the pressure the second Trent tries to move, teasing, and Trent whines with frustration.
He’s so close, he’s been so close, whole body rattled with pleasure, and he can’t move, can only sit here helpless and be touched and teased and it’s maddening.
“Aw, poor thing,” says Ted softly, and damn him he’s still fingering Trent open, still teasing him relentlessly as Trent shakes and gasps against him. “Poor, sweet thing. You’re making such a mess, you know.”
Trent lets out a little moan, breath hitching as Ted presses down on his clit again and shoves in another finger, uncaring of the awkward angle. Ted’s hand is large enough he’s stretching the soaked panties fairly far, fabric strained under his damp knuckles as he withdraws his hand. Trent wants to push his hips into it, like he could coax Ted’s fingers to stay, but he’s—he’s trying to be good. He stays still. Ted’s hand slips from his panties and he’s left soaking and bereft.
“You’ve been so good for me,” Ted tells him, low and warm. There’s a—a sort of wet sound, and Trent thinks Ted may have licked his fingers, and his cunt pulses at the thought. God, he’s so close. He’s been on the edge for so long. “I think you deserve a reward.”
There’s the slight pop—uncapping the lube?—and there’s more just. sounds, Trent can’t see what’s going on, but he knows—he knows that shaky breathing, the little moans, the soft noise of lube and flesh on flesh. Ted’s stroking himself, probably slicking himself up—god, he’s going to fuck him, isn’t he? Ted’s going to fuck him.
Between that and just—knowing Ted’s right there, just out of reach, out of sight, touching himself, looking at Trent, all bound up and blindfolded and dressed up pretty for him, and jerking himself off—it’s enough that Trent clenches around nothing, biting back more noises.
Something about that, about being—helpless and blind and just. here to be looked at, to be pretty, to be touched, that Ted’s hard and wanting just from looking at him like this, just from touching him—it’s intoxicating. How must he look, right now, flushed and bound, neck covered in hickeys, the clamps and the soaked panties and the trembling of muscles and how he just sits here obediently, ready for Ted to use—it’s mortifying and thrilling and Trent can’t help but shiver a little.
He jumps when he feels a touch, but quickly relaxes again under a soothing pass of Ted’s palm, and then Ted’s pressing close, and Trent can feel his warmth, can feel that thick, hard cock brushing against his thigh, smearing pre-cum and a little lube there, and he bites his lip again.
Ted—Ted sort of maneuvers him, manhandles him around to tilt him back, scooches closer to wrap his arms around Trent and hold him up—he’s so strong it’s not hard, and Trent feels a bit like a swooning princess, scooped up like this, which, unfortunately, he likes—and then. Then, Trent’s feeling something warm and blunt bumping against his clothed cunt. Then with more intent, prodding at the warm flesh by that thinnest strip of cloth, and then with intent, that strip is pulled aside by careful hands and Ted’s cock is being kissing the entrance of his messy cunt, sliding between slick, puffy folds and smearing pre-cum there, and then Ted is sliding into him.
Trent’s eyes roll back under the blindfold, mouth falling open and head falling back. Ted fucks into him in one smooth, slick push of his hips, that thick stretch filling him up easily. He’s so slick and dripping with heat that there’s barely any resistance at all, but Ted’s so goddamn big that it’s overwhelming anyway.
The position he’s in leaves him utterly helpless, completely reliant on Ted to hold him up, to give him what he needs. Leaning back, caught in Ted’s arms, chest puffed out and showing off the clamps on his nipples, cunt slick and open and exposed only by his panties being pulled aside.
“Fuck; Christ,” Ted groans as he slides home, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re perfect, baby. You feel so good.”
Trent’s so full. Ted’s so deep in him he feels like he’s being split in half, cunt stuffed to the brim. He can’t move, can barely even squirm, just take it.
(Ted keeps grinding into him, sticking with short, hard rolls of his hips to start with. Trent’s perfect, all hot and wet and twitchy around his length, making such pretty noises, and as much he’d like to see Trent bent over someday with the panties stretched around his thighs, those cute little bells ringing frantically—like this, strained and just pulled aside for access, letting Ted fuck him, while he was still in them? God, was it good.)
Ted starts fucking him harder, faster, and Trent shakes in his arms, clit untouched and needy. He can feel the soft fabric rubbing against it ever-so-slightly and it’s nowhere near enough.
“How—about—” Ted grunts, as he keeps fucking Trent, and those damn bells are jolting with every thrust, loud and bright, clamps still firmly attached to Trent’s nipples. “—you get—one word. Yeah? Just—one. Fuck, yes, yes—”
“Please,” is all Trent gets out, high and desperate and immediate, and Ted huffs out a laugh, voice still all rough.
“Polite,” he says, and he practically rams into Trent’s cunt—balls slapping against him with a muffled wet noise—and Trent cries out, loud and clear. Ted presses closer, shifting something in the angle and sliding against a sweet spot Trent didn’t even know he had, and another please, please, PLEASE claws its way from his throat before he can stop it.
But Ted doesn’t seem bothered, just kisses his throat—over those hickeys, god—all amused, and he keeps going, the new angle letting his body rub against Trent’s clit as he thrusts in—broad and largely ineffectual, but something, and Trent whines and shudders against him.
Ted manhandles him closer, harder, grabbing his ass and spreading him open and fucking him properly, and Trent just begs, please, please, over and over. There are tears building in his eyes.
Trent’s slick and tight and so perfect, tied up like this for Ted, so good for him, those clamps on his pretty nipples and that gorgeous pair of panties—Ted groans, pulling Trent in as close as he can while thrusting into him, and comes, filling Trent up with his cum.
Trent, feeling wet heat flood his cunt, squeezes his eyes shut, his face going hot. His clit throbs, hard, and his stuffed, sloppy cunt finally gives up. He breaks, the tingling heat swelling and swelling and swelling until it’s a hurricane, tearing through him.
He comes, comes squirting on Ted’s cock, head falling back and crying out, all hitched uh, uh, uhs as he rocks his hips desperately, grinding down into it. The damn little bells are louder than ever and his nipples ache wonderfully. He’s leaking everywhere, slick all over Ted’s thighs, even with his panties, and now this? Squirting in them, coming in his underwear?
He feels hot and shivery all over, but it feels good. He’s still full, the friction of Ted dragging in and out of him sending sparks up his spine, a few tears leaking from under the blindfold as he whimpers open-mouthed. He’s nearly sobbing with the stimulation, whole body twitching and slick cunt squeezing in tight little stutters, uncontrolled—forcing little moans from Ted and wet little gasps from his own lips. He can’t hold himself up anymore, not even a little, but Ted’s got him, pulling up closer against his (bare, broad and hairy, oh that’s nice) chest, the damn clamps rubbing almost painfully against him.
Ted pumps into him a few more times, panting, but he’s softening, and eventually he has to drag his cock from Trent’s cunt. Trent makes a ragged, teary noise as he does.
Hot cum wells up from inside him once Ted’s pulled out, leaking from his cunt in copious amounts. His cunt is—messy, slick and wet and stuffed with cum, and the panties are definitely ruined now.
Ted kisses him, and Trent can’t quite get his mouth to cooperate, uncoordinated and sloppy as he kisses back, messy and lopsided and perfect.
Ted’s hands are on him, big and warm at his lower back and the meat of his thigh. And then he pulls away, a little spit clinging between their lips before snapping.
For a moment the only sound in the room is their breathing—shaky, heavy, slowly calming. Trent’s still held close, still blindfolded, still bound, and maybe a little sore. But he’s relaxed, feeling Ted’s arms around him, Ted’s breath on his skin, Ted’s cum dribbling hot and slow from his cunt. He’s safe.
It’s kind of amazing that he can be in this position—naked, bound, nipples clamped and in fucking panties, being watched—and feel safe. Feel safe and good and sexy. A few years ago he wouldn’t have even fantasized about it.
“Think you can hold yourself up a little longer?” Ted asks him softly, and god, he sounds wrecked.
Trent nods almost desperately, quickly, eager to let Ted keep touching him even if it means straining to keep himself in the same position a little longer. Anyway, even the strain feels good—he’s being good. He’s controlling himself, exerting effort, and he’s being good for Ted.
Ted slowly, gently pulls him up and back into positions—his thighs burn a little, and his knees hurt a bit, but he’s alright—and he takes a deep breath and steadies himself as Ted slowly lets go.
He feels cold without Ted’s arms around him, but it’s worth it, because almost immediately Ted’s touching him again.
Warm hands press on either side of his neck, thumbs over his jaw, and then slip up to cup his face. Ted tilts his head back and Trent goes easily, enjoying the warmth. Ted wipes away the overstimulated tears, kissing his cheeks after.
And then he pulls away again, hands moving down between Trent’s legs.
“God, you make such a pretty little picture,” murmurs Ted, voice still all rough, fingers gently massaging his cunt through the now thoroughly drenched panties. They're a little uncomfortable, but honestly, it's so hot Trent doesn't actually care.
And Ted just—plays with him. The difference is striking, right after Ted just fucked his brains out. Trent wonders if Ted’s tucked himself away, or if he’s hanging loose; he wonders if Ted’s still soft or if his poor cock already stirring. Whether he can physically get it up yet or not, though, Ted’s clearly enraptured, full attention focused on Trent in a way that feels intense. Trent wants to squirm, both from the spotlight of Ted’s hot gaze and from the relentless, teasing touch of his fingers.
Ted just—lets Trent stay there, making quiet, desperate little noises as Ted plays with his clothed pussy a little longer. Mostly, he teases Trent’s sensitive pussy lips through the fabric, lips now puffy and swollen and messy, coated and dripping with cum and slick and only covered by the thin, utterly soaked fabric. Trent’s just so wet, so sloppy, but the way Ted’s touching him makes the embarrassment of it more of a pleased thrill.
Ted traces light circles around his oversensitive, swollen clit, then trails lower and presses his broad hand down, two fingers on either side of his labia, partially skimming to where the panties don’t cover skin, fingertips pushing through coarse curls that peek out. His thumb, broad and warm, brushes with intent higher up—Trent knows from experience Ted can feel the slight prickle of hair under the fabric, and the gesture isn’t titillating so much as it is deeply affectionate.
And Ted rubs his hand like that for a little while, not really touching anything particularly sensitive or erogenous, just… touching. Warm, pressing; gentle but firm. It feels good, less in the orgasmic way and more in an oddly comforting way. Trent hadn’t thought he needed comfort—and maybe he didn’t, he wasn’t distressed—but it felt really, really good. Being stroked, especially here, somewhere so intimate, felt nice. Without realizing, a little tension—not bad tension, or stress tension, just tension—leaked from his spine.
“Good boy,” murmurs Ted, sounding so achingly fond and warm, and Trent could melt just from that praise alone. Trent feels a soft pressure on his forehead, hears a soft little smack of lips, and smiles. Ted kissing his forehead, stroking his pussy, telling him he’s being good. It isn’t even sexy—well, no, that’s a lie, it’s extremely sexy—it’s primarily just… nice. Really nice.
“I wanna get you off again,” Ted says, voice soft, “but I dunno if it’s necessary. What do you think, sport?” A pause, and then he says, softer, “you can talk.”
“I,” Trent manages, voice soft and almost creaking. The words catch in his throat. His head feels pleasantly floaty, even though his body aches a little from being in this position so long. “I want you to. what you think is best?” His voice tilts up at the end, uncertain, like a question.
A pause, and then a faint chuckle, fond. Trent realizes he’s avoided the question—asked, almost pleaded, for Ted to take the choice away from him—but he felt helpless to say anything else. He just. he wanted Ted to play with him. Like a toy, almost; something pretty to be touched and used and kissed. He likes feeling pretty. For Ted, that is. Pretty like a man in lace and silk, safe to feel pretty and not invalidated.
Ted presses a kiss to his temple. “Do you wanna come again?” he says. “Nod yes or no.”
Trent hesitates. He’d like to—he’s wet again, worked up, shivery, and he loves Ted touching him—but he isn’t sure. He’d be okay not having another orgasm, coming down like this, to progress to just kissing and winding down and cuddling. That sounds nice, too. But he does want to come, especially if it makes Ted happy.
Slowly, Trent nods. Ted’s hand presses to the side of his throat, thumbing his jawline, fingers squeezing gently, and he presses a kiss to Trent’s hair.
“Good,” he praises. “Like this, or do you want to be untied?”
Trent would rather Ted chose for him. But then, he’d also—if he really must make a choice—like to lie down, or relax. His limbs are a little stiff, although it’s easy enough to ignore when Ted’s playing with his sensitive cock, and it’d be nice if he could relax completely. He doesn’t need the blindfold off, or even to be free and unbound. Just a change in position, maybe?
He bites his lip, unsure how to communicate that, before just settling for nodding.
“Good,” Ted says again, and he presses another kiss to Trent’s hair. His hand hasn’t moved. “Alright, one more question, sweetheart. No, scratch that, two. Can I choose what to do to you next?”
Full body shudder. Wow. Okay. Trent knew he liked that, but it still took him a little by surprise every time he felt like he was touching a live wire when Ted sweet-talked him just right. What to do to you. Fuck.
He was nodding almost frantically before he knew he was doing it.
Ted’s thumb pressed a little harder along his jaw, stroking over it a little more brusquely. Trent shivered under the touch, pliant and happy.
“God, I’m a lucky sonovabitch,” breathes Ted, clearly more to himself, and just the curse makes Trent’s cunt throb, let alone the praise.
And then, raising his voice to a normal speaking volume, he says, “Anything else you need to tell me, sweetheart?”
Trent shakes his head without thinking, then hesitates.
“It’s okay,” Ted says into his hair, encouraging.
Trent swallows, then makes himself speak. “Are you okay? You want to keep going?”
Ted pauses again, like he’s surprised, then leans down to kiss Trent’s lips, quick and soft and smiling. “Sweetheart,” he says, “I am doin’ excellent.”
After a moment, he clarifies, “I probably ain’t gonna come again unless we work at it, but honestly, I just wanna get you off again. I like making you come and touching you. That alright?”
Trent nods. He knows Ted likes giving pleasure as much as he likes receiving it. And feeling in control, feeling trusted and worthy of that trust, makes Ted feel even better.
“Anything else?” Ted asks softly.
“I don’t—it’s just the position. Could I maybe. lie back?”
“Legs hurting a little?” Ted asks, sounding sympathetic. Trent relaxed, trusting Ted got it. “Arms, too, I bet.” Another kiss, another kiss, another kiss. “I was a little worried, yeah. Alright, honey, I’ll get you sorted. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.” Another kiss, firmer, and another pass with his thumb, and then he finally pulled back.
Ted made quick, careful work of it—gently untying and unwinding the binds, kissing along the faint marks left by the ropes, and massaging the muscles with his hands.
Putting his arms in front of him again felt good, even though it made the muscles twinge. Ted pushed him back on the bed, untying his legs and leaving him on his back, legs spread and knees bent, but at a new angle. The bells ring a little as he lets Ted manhandle him around again—he should be able to tune out the noise at this point, probably, but it catches his attention every time anyway, and he kind of likes the reminder.
He was still blindfolded, and he’d let his arms lie limp on either side of his head, hands lying, open-palmed, overhead. But he’s relaxed, all tension released from his muscles, able to just lie there.
“You’re beautiful,” Ted says, pressing a kiss to his outer thigh, and then starting a trail inward, towards his cunt. “Such a handsome little thing.”
Trent’s hands aren’t bound, but he keeps his hands in place anyway, fingers twitching a little as Ted sucks a mark on his inner thigh. His thighs are still slick, but Ted doesn’t seem perturbed.
He spends a little more time kissing around where Trent wants him, and then—skips up. Kisses his soft stomach, under his breasts. Up to the inside of his arm, then the fragile skin on the inside of his wrist. His jaw, under his ear. Back down to the hollow of his throat. Trent can feel his weight shifting the mattress as he leans this way or that, propping himself up so he can lean down to kiss Trent as he pleases.
Trent relaxes again. He thinks that he wouldn’t mind coming again, but he also wouldn’t mind just staying like this. Lying back, being kissed. He’s a content, Trent-shaped puddle.
Ted leaves a kiss right over his cock, and then just below the waistband of the panties, on his stomach. Then he peels the panties off him, coaxing him into lifting his hips so he can slide them down Trent’s damp, hickey-covered thighs.
He’s gentle in lifting Trent’s legs, one at a time, to slip them over his feet and off. He must discard them, because he presses a kiss to his ankle, then moves up to his knee, then up again to Trent’s now bare and exposed cunt.
He licks up Trent’s pussy, in one, broad stripe, and Trent gasps out, “Fuck!” because he isn’t expecting it.
Ted, graciously, doesn’t chide him. He just squeezes his thigh a little as if in warning, and then keeps going. It’s not the same intense eating out from earlier, though: it’s kitten licks, slow drags of his tongue across Trent’s sloppy cunt, like he’s cleaning his own cum up. If the taste bothers him, Trent can’t hear it in how he’s moaning, a little quiet but full-throated, breathy and real.
It's kind of a marvel that Ted’s genuinely this turned on just from licking Trent open.
Trent’s getting worked up again, back arching a little as he tries not to move too much, belly tensing and untensing as Ted occasionally teases Trent’s already bullied clit with his tongue.
And then those big, wonderful hands pin his thighs firmly, holding him down, keeping him trapped exactly in place, and Trent moans, and Ted licks him more intensely. Trent can feel his mustache, feel his nose bumping against his clit, can feel just the heat and presence of Ted’s head between his legs—and then Ted carefully takes one of his slick pussy lips in his mouth, sucking and pressing his tongue against it, and Trent whimpers as Ted plays with the sensitive flesh. He feels a glance of teeth—just the slightest amount, like the same kind of pressure you get from someone dragging fingernails along your back—but it makes him spit out, “Ted—fuck—yes—”
He feels the shape of Ted’s smile, feels Ted pull away slowly—intentionally letting Trent’s labia drag ever-so-lightly between his teeth and then, with more suction, between his lips, escaping his mouth with a pop. Just as Trent begins to tremble, and Ted moves on to the other one.
Just as Trent’s beginning to get used to that—and the occasional kitten lick to his clit just to make sure he didn’t get complacent, which without fail makes him whine out Ted’s name—Ted starts gently pressing whichever lip he isn’t sucking and licking on between his thumb and forefinger, squishing and massaging in little circles and tugging gently, smearing some of the remaining slick and cum. The stimulation is gentle but it feels good, just being played with, such a sensitive part of him being touched and teased.
Ted licks him more intensely, plays with him a little longer before finally, finally focusing on his clit again. Trent’s shaking like a leaf in no time, because Ted doesn’t hold back. He licks in tight little strokes, narrowing his tongue and intentionally teasing under the hood, and Trent moans, “please, please, Ted, please—”
When Trent’s orgasm comes this time, it’s hot and tingling and good but not completely overwhelming. Instead, it washes over him like a wave, warm and rushing through his whole body, and he whimpers and goes limp and twitchy under Ted’s mouth.
Ted pulls off him and going by how the mattress shifts, sits back to look at him.
Trent just lies there, breathing shakily. God, he feels so good.
Ted leans over him and—the blindfold comes away, and Ted is smiling down at him, all warm and gorgeous and pleasantly tired.
Trent melts immediately, lifting his hands to try and draw Ted into a kiss. He hadn’t realized he’d missed seeing Ted’s face so much, but he absolutely had. Ted immediately went into it, leaning down and kissing him. He can taste his own slick and the trace saltiness of Ted’s cum.
“Fuck,” he breathes into Ted’s mouth, their foreheads pressed together, his eyes closing for a moment. And then they flutter open again and are drawn up to Ted’s, and he can’t help his breathless smile.
Ted kisses him again, just for a second, before pushing himself up and back.
“Come on,” he says. He coaxes Trent into sitting up, and then, ducking to press a kiss to the side of Trent’s throat—Trent automatically tips his head to the side and enjoys it—and then Ted surprises him by swiftly (though not roughly) unclamping one of the clamps attached to his nipples.
Trent lets out a broken, whiny little gasp as tingling pleasure edged with pain radiates outwards in one hot rush, lips falling open helplessly.
Ted cups his tit in one hand and kisses his abused nipple. When Trent doesn’t protest, just lets Ted keep going, he squeezes a little and then very, very gentle sucks on his sore nipple.
He pulls away and then, after a pause, gives the other clamp a little flick. Trent jolts as the bell jingles loudly. He hadn’t realized how sore his nipples were until he could feel the difference between one (tingly, pleasure with a sharp edge thundering out through his whole body) and the other (pinched, a tight sort of pleasure coiled in him when he focused on it).
Ted gently removes the clamp with no further fanfare, and Trent gave a little moan of relief mixed with slight disappointment. Ted got to work quickly gently squeezing and palming his chest as he soothed Trent’s pinched, red nipples with his lips and tongue.
Trent’s sure he’s flushed and wrecked but not even getting into everything else, Ted Lasso is sucking on his tit, so he thinks he kind of deserves that.
When Trent’s had enough, weakly pushing Ted off, Ted leans back and licks his lips.
“You’re gorgeous, baby,” breathes Ted, and Trent can’t help but grin back, just as breathless and eager and pleased to be here, with Ted.
“Not as gorgeous as you,” he says, and his voice is hoarse but he’s never meant anything more. His eyes rake up Ted’s body, finally able to drink in one of his favorite sights in the world.
Ted’s naked, and just—gorgeous. Sexy, hot, handsome, beautiful: you name it. His stomach and hips and arms and chest, his thighs and the hair all over him and his wonderful beautiful face, his big warm eyes, his expressive, delightful mouth. His ass, his hands, his big, gorgeous hands and his big, gorgeous cock—god, he’s just. he’s gorgeous, he really is, he’s downright fucking delicious, he’s—Trent truly can’t get enough of him. He can’t believe he's lucky enough to have this. Have him.
Ted’s actually a little flushed, cheeks red, and he says, “Y’know, Trent, when you look at me like that, I feel real good.”
“Good,” says Trent fervently. God, he wants to eat Ted alive. He wants Ted to eat him alive. “You make me feel the same way, you know. Attractive.”
It’s hard to make Trent feel beautiful, or pretty, or handsome, or gorgeous, or just—attractive at all. Desirable. Someone worth wanting. But Ted manages it effortlessly, and the idea that Trent can do the same for him—
Trent wants Ted to know exactly how attractive he is.
“Good,” echoes Ted, warm. “You are.”
“So are you,” Trent shoots back, and Ted smiles, almost sheepish but utterly sincere.
Trent’s eyes slide down, and he can see that—Ted’s hard again. Not straining, not weeping pre-cum, but definitely hard, stirred up.
Ted follows his gaze, and gives a sheepish little chuckle. “Uh, don’t worry about me, honey,” he says. “I didn’t think I’d be ready so soon, but—I’m good. That was—whew, that was perfect.”
He sounds sincere, and Trent’s pretty sure he means it. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to give Ted one more orgasm.
“Ted,” he says, and his voice has gone kind of breathy and unfocused. “Can I please make you come? Please? I wanna touch you.”
Ted swallows, eyes widening a little, and he says, like his mouth is dry, “God. I—gosh, how can I refuse a pretty request like that?”
Trent surges forward to kiss him again, and Ted immediately throws himself into kissing back, deep and hot.
Barely breaking away from the kiss, mouths still far too close, Trent half-groans half-whimpers, “Missed touching you—” and his hands are at Ted’s sides, clutching, wandering, and Ted’s arms wrap around him and keep him tight and close.
Trent loved being helpless and unable to touch, to do anything but take it. But he loves touching Ted, too, loves Ted’s body under his hands, his mouth.
“Much as I’d love to—to give you a sloppy blowjob—” gasps out Trent, “have you in my mouth—fuck—I wanna kiss you—”
He’s practically begging, as if Ted’s withholding kisses, even as he reaches down to touch Ted’s cock.
Ted kisses him, only breaking it to let out a hoarse little moan of his own as Trent’s hand curled around his shaft.
Ted’s hot and hard in his hand, twitching as Trent works him over fast. Trent strokes him, eager and sloppy and barely coordinated, but it’s Trent’s hand, and they’re pressed close again, and Ted can’t stop thinking of Trent in those clamps and panties and ropes, can’t stop think of Trent—skittish, gorgeous, careful Trent—trusting and helpless under him.
Hips moving, practically fucking into Trent’s fist, it’s not difficult to chase his orgasm over the edge.
He comes, all over Trent’s hand, Trent’s chest and stomach, a little on himself, and Trent lets out a shaky breath that’s almost a moan. Ted looks so fucking good when he comes, and as much as Trent had adored Ted finishing inside him last time, he’d missed out on that expression.
There are still little blurts of cum dripping from Trent’s pussy from Ted’s last orgasm. God, Trent is having a great night.
Ted’s breathing all shaky and kind of high, eyes fluttering, and Trent strokes him through it, enjoys the feeling of Ted’s cock in his hand, enjoys Ted close to him, enjoys making Ted come.
He would have really enjoyed getting on his knees and sloppily blowing Ted, sucking his cock, swallowing his load, but this had felt right—kissing him, melting into him, Ted’s cock in his hand and mouth on his.
“I love you,” he breathes into Ted’s mouth. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
Ted kisses him, because he can, just for a moment, then says just as breathlessly, “I love you, too, sweetheart. So fucking much.”
Trent gives a little breathless little laugh and they just—kiss for a little while. Trading kisses, arms slung around each other. They’re both worn out, both complete wrecks, messy and sloppy and sensitive and pleasantly exhausted.
They’ll need to clean up properly. They’ll probably take a quick shower together, just to get it over with, and kiss under the stream of water just because they can. Maybe Ted will finger some cum out of him, not particularly horny even if it feels good, and Trent licks the pre-cum from his tip of his cock just to be cheeky. And then they’ll towel off, comfortable being naked in each other’s presence even without sex. And Ted will kiss Trent’s hair, and Trent will kiss under Ted’s eye, high on his cheek, both of them smiling, as they work around each other. And then they’ll climb back into bed, after changing the sheets, and collapse into each other’s arms. And they’ll fall asleep just as entangled as they are now, just cuddling, hands in hair and arms around waist and face tucked into throat.
But for now, they just lazily exchange kisses, slick and slow and unhurried.
Thank you for taking care of me, Trent doesn’t say, because Ted knows. He’s not used to this level of trust; he’s never trusted anyone like he trusts Ted and he enjoys taking advantage of that, enjoys being vulnerable and helpless and loved. He’s never felt secure enough to wear something like panties and feel sexy, feel validated, feel handsome and pretty and good. He's never felt safe enough to let himself be so utterly helpless, to be put in such a potentially humiliating position and only feel thrilled. Ted loves him, Ted loves him.
Thank you for taking care of me, Ted doesn’t say, because Trent knows, too. Ted isn’t used to feeling wanted, trusted so wholly and completely, feeling in control and safe and able to take the reins and make everything go right. Trent makes him feel good, both in trusting him, melting for him (it means so much, especially from Trent, who’s had such a hard time trusting after how hard and how often he’s been burned) and in how Trent touches him, wants him, actively and desperately wants to make Ted feel good. Trent cares about his pleasure, cares about what Ted wants, cares about giving it to him, even when—especially when—that’s Trent himself, Trent’s body, Trent’s anything and everything. Trent loves him, Trent loves him.
It's just one night among many they’ve had, but as they kiss, they know there’ll be many more.