withimpunity: Roux ([gk] its on)
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Random four AM "fisting" which I have never wrote before? SURE, WHY THE H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS NOT?

Dirty Mind, Filthy Ways
2408 words

Brad’s got Ray pinned up against the shower wall the first time he thinks about it, cock buried deep inside Ray, water long gone cold.

“You have tiny midget hands,” Brad murmurs next to his ear, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he covers Ray’s hands where they’re splayed out across the tile. “Look. They just disappear right under mine. Like baby hands.”

“You going to talk about your freaky giant hands that obviously aren’t a euphemism for other parts of your body --” Ray grunts as Brad pulls out slowly, then thrusts back into him, even deeper this time. “Or are you going to let me come some time today, you narcissistic motherfucker?”

“Well, Ray.” Brad grins, eyes fixed on the wall in front of them, Ray’s hands literally invisible beneath his own. “Those of us who have been schooled beyond the fourth grade can manage both at once.”

Ray rolls his eyes; Brad cannot see this, its just something he knows, just as he knows by the twitch in Ray’s elbow that he is close to coming all over himself. Brad pulls out.

You goat-fucking motherfucker, Brad what the f-

“Shh,” Brad says, smiling as he puts a finger to Ray’s lips, wrapping his other hand around Ray’s flushed cock. Brad watches with child-like fascination as his long fingers curl around Ray’s entire width. Watches, mouth slightly parted, as the head slides in and out of the tight fist he has made as Ray pumps his hips, desperate for the release Brad has teased him with for so long. Brad quickens his grip, notices the muscles in Ray’s stomach tighten, squeezes Ray’s cock a little bit harder. Ray’s single expletive bounces off the shower walls as his hips stutter and Brad grins as he stares down at his hand, dripping with Ray’s come.

Brad is a narcissistic cad, its true. He was born beautiful and there’s no denying it. He's still pretty sure that its odd to be suddenly fascinated with a part of your own body, though he can't help the fascination he feels now when holding simple objects in his hand. His cell phone. A salt shaker. A shot glass. Palming the back of Ray’s head while he kisses the breath out of him before leaving for work.

Mostly, he thinks about Ray.

While drying the dishes he thinks about leaving Brad-sized handprints on each of Ray’s asscheeks, bright red, like a signature.

When they wash Ray’s car together, Brad thinks about wrapping his hands around Ray’s slender waist and throwing him on the hood of the car, covering Ray’s mouth with one hand while the other jack’s him off through his shorts.

Its two weeks before Brad acts on any of them though.

Brad gets home Thursday afternoon and calls for Ray, but no one answers. He knows Ray is home because the Skyline is in the garage and there’s a bucket of hot wings from Hooters on the counter. He finally finds him in the backyard, sprawled out in a lawn chair with a cherry popsicle sliding in and out of his painted-whore lips.

“Hey baby,” Ray says, looking up at him through a pair of cheap aviators. “Didn’t hear you pull up.”

“Hey,” Brad says and kneels on the grass next to Ray’s chair, not hearing Rays tsk’s about getting grass stains on another pair of dress pants. He takes the popsicle out of Ray’s fingers and begins rubbing it all over Ray’s mouth. Then he touches his thumb to Ray’s bottom lip and tugs on the cold skin as he slips the melting popsicle back into Ray’s mouth. He can feel himself getting hard in his slacks and rubs his cock against the chair as Ray starts deep-throating the fucking thing.

“Fuck it,” Brad mutters and pulls the popsicle from Ray’s mouth, dropping it on the ground for the ants.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with th-”

Brad pushes two fingers into Ray’s mouth and Ray accepts them greedily, like he’s one step ahead of Brad, always knowing what he’s thinking, what he needs. Ray tongues each of Brad’s fingers individually, cuticle to knuckle, exploring how deep he can take them before sucking them earnestly. Brad groans and grinds the heel of his other hand against his cock, letting his eyes roam down Ray’s naked chest, the hardened tips of his nipples, the dark swirls of ink, the bulge of Ray’s hard cock underneath his swimming trunks.

Ray’s mouth stretches around another finger. Brad’s eyes roll back into his head.

“You fucking slut, how many can you fit in there, Ray?” He says, not waiting for a response to slip in another. Ray gags a little; Brad nearly comes.

There’s a wet spot seeping through Ray’s trunks and a matching one on the front of Brad’s slacks, and it suddenly occurs to Brad that they are in the backyard.

“Inside.” He says as he stands up, Ray’s cherry-tinged spit dripping from his fingers. “Now.”

They don’t make it to a bed or even the couch. Brad pushes Ray on top of the table and Ray spreads his legs so that their cocks can align. They kiss madly, grabbing and groping at each other, ripping away clothes and biting at skin, grinding and rutting like teenagers.

“Fuck. Your mouth. Goddammit Ray,” Brad stammers as the table quakes beneath their weight. “My fingers. You almost took my whole fucking hand.”

And that’s all it takes for him, just the thought of Ray’s mouth all stretched out around his hand and a little adolescent grinding, and just like that, Brad’s coming, belt loosened, shirt untucked, come bleeding through his khakis.

“Shit, Brad. The fuck’s gotten into you?” Ray asks, already peeling his trunks off to get his hand around his dick. Brad bats it away.

“Let me,” He says and gets Ray’s shorts the rest of the way off, pushes him back until he’s laying on the table, legs on either side of Brad. Brad takes Ray’s legs and pushes them up until his feet are resting on the edge of the table. He spreads Ray’s knees apart.

“Do not touch yourself,” He says, looking into Ray’s eyes as he pushes two fingers inside of him. Ray’s body opens to him willingly and Brad somehow restrains himself. Time.

He presses a kiss to the inside of Ray’s knee, slides in up to the knuckle. Twist. Crook. Push. Boom.

Ray’s back is arched, mouth wide open in a strangled, silent scream as his cock spills, pearly white come puddling on his belly.

Brad does what Brad does best. He watches, he waits. If Ray is trying to be discreet about staring at Brad’s hands while he reads the newspaper or chops up vegetables, he’s failing. Occasionally Ray gets a faraway look in his eyes and Brad has to physically put a hand on him to bring him back to the moment, eyes glazed over and lips parted, dry.

They don’t have sex for three days. Brad has training and Ray has overtime and at the end of the day they’re too tired for anything more than kisses in passing. On Saturday, they babysit for Brad’s sister. Somehow, everyone comes out of it alive.

As soon as Joanne’s car is out of the driveway, Ray’s thumbs are hooked into Brad’s jeans, dragging him down the hallway toward their bedroom.

“Something you’re trying to tell me, Ray?” Brad chuckles.

“Yes,” Ray says, stopping to shove Brad against the wall, knocking the picture of Ray doing body shots off of Brad at Walt’s bachelor party to the ground. He kisses Brad roughly, growling into Brad’s mouth, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Bed,” Brad says, somewhat out of breath from Ray’s demanding kisses. “Let’s at least make it to the bed this time.”

Ray giggles and strips out of his shirt, racing Brad to the bed. Brad shrugs out of his shirt and pushes off his shorts, then tackles Ray. For a few moments they are just boys, rolling around and throwing elbows, nipple twisters and hard slaps that bruise. Then the rolling stops and Brad has Ray pinned to the mattress, clasping Ray’s wrists together above his head, kissing Ray slow and soft as they grind together, no race to the finish, just enjoying the way they feel together.

“I fucking want you so bad, Brad,” Ray pants, all tiny pupils and flushed cheeks and all they’ve done is kiss and rut like boys.

“That so?” Brad murmurs against Ray’s skin, sucking the skin at his collarbone, watching blood vessels burst and bloom beneath the surface. In a few days time he’ll touch Ray there without thinking and Ray will wince, the skin tender, and Brad will have to go jerk off in the bathroom at T.G.I. Fridays just to make it home. “Tell me what it is you want, Ray.”

“I want...fuck,” Ray gasps as Brad scrapes his teeth over his nipple. “That’s fucking distracting, Brad. Jesus.”

“Go on, then.” Brad looks up, sits back on his knees and rests his hands on Ray’s thighs. “No more distractions.”

Ray doesn’t say anything, just reaches for Brad’s hand and pulls him forward, takes two of Brad’s fingers into his mouth. Brad’s head falls back and his cock aches. Ray’s mouth is so hot and wet and he seems to be getting them wetter and wetter...


Brad pulls his fingers out of Ray’s mouth, practically dripping with his spit, and holds Ray’s eyes as they slip inside of him, easy.

“This what you want?” Brad asks, his voice gone something dark and husky. “You want to fuck yourself on my fingers like a dirty little slut, Ray?”

“Oh fuck, Brad,” Ray gasps as Brad pushes a third finger in alongside the other two. “Fuck yeah. You know I do. You always know what I want.”

“So goddamn gorgeous,” Brad whispers, spreading Ray’s legs wide open to watch his fingers disappear into the tight ring of pink muscle, sliding all the way up to the knuckle then out again. “I wish you could see how you look.”

Ray’s whole face is flushed, a thick sweat breaking out across his forehead. “More,” he trembles, shaking, twisting the sheets in his fists. “I want m-”

“Shh,” Brad hushes him, pressing his fingers to Ray’s lips. “I know what you need. Just breathe.”

Brad reaches next to them and grabs the lube, taking his fingers out of Ray for a moment to squirt it all over his hand.

“Breathe,” he says, laying one hand over Ray’s abdomen as he pushes two fingers back inside, a third almost immediately, a fourth when Ray seems comfortably with that.

Ray’s chest is splotchy red and white patches, glistening puddles of sweat. Brad’s fingers twist inside of him, stretch him open. He can’t believe how much Ray has taken, how much he still has to take.

“Look at me, Ray. Look.” Brad growls. He holds Ray’s eyes as his fingers twist and curve and Brad’s thumb slips in; Ray cries out. Brad can’t place if the sound is pleasure or pain. Likely a mixture of both, but he can still see it in Ray, can still feel it in him. He wants this. “Doing good, Ray. So fucking good.”

Brad slides in. Farther. Deeper. His fingers and thumb come together to make a fist inside of Ray. That’s it.

“I’m all the way in,” Brad says numbly, staring at Ray’s stretched hole like he sees it, but he can’t quite believe it. “God, Ray. I mean. God.”

Ray breathes, pushes up on his elbows so he can see. He looks at Brad and gives a drunken grin. Brad surges forward and kisses him, sloppy and wet. Ray grabs the back of his head.

“You gotta make me come, Brad,” he tells him, hoarsely. “Like now.

“What do you want me to do?” Brad asks sincerely. Right now he would do anything Ray asked of him.

“Your hands,” Ray rambles, gesturing wildly as he falls back onto the pillows. “Your fucking fucking hands, everywhere. On me, put them on me. Fuck, make me come with your fucking hands, Brad. I just. I want -”

“Shh,” Brad says, wrapping his free hand around Ray’s cock, eliciting one of the deepest, guttural groans Brad’s ever heard come out of his mouth.

“N-not gonna take m-much,” Ray stammers. “Mother - Oh fuck. I’m going to come so fuckin’ hard Brad, come all over your fucking huge hands, want them all over me Brad, Brad---”

Brad feels it right before Ray comes, feels the muscles inside of Ray tighten down around him like a vice and feels the warmth of Ray’s come between his fingers as Ray creates new words to describe what he feels. Brad slowly slips his hand out of Ray as he comes down and just stares at him for a moment, covered in come and sweat and the flush of being truly fucked out.

“You. You too.” Ray says, head bobbing lazily to the side, eyes glazed over. His voice is scratchy from screaming. “Wanna watch you fuck those big, beautiful hands, Brad.”

Brad keeps his eyes locked on Ray’s as he scoops Ray’s come off his own belly and wraps his hand around his cock, using Ray’s come as lube. It doesn’t take long for Brad either, just a few strokes, a few thoughts of his hand disappearing into Ray’s hole, Ray begging for his hands, wanting them everywhere, all over him. Then he thinks back to that day in the shower, his hands dwarfing Ray’s, and that’s it. The world goes white, then black, then Ray is bitching at him to clean up his fucking mess and Brad is smiling so hard it hurts.

After getting a towel for Ray to mop himself up with, Brad collapses on the bed next to him.

“Thank you, Ray.” He says, yawning, turning on his side so Ray can be the big spoon.

“No,” Ray says, nuzzling the back of Brad’s neck. “Thank you, Brad.”
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