stop. look. listen.
What you need the most
There are days when Brad gets restless. When the bike doesn't help, no matter how far he takes it, when the fight or flight response tangles in itself and he's not sure which is which, when even fucking doesn't take his mind off of... everything.
Nate's good at guessing when it's one of those, when Brad's sarcastic comments are meant to sting, when he feels like pushing and pushing hard. At the beginning, Brad wasn't sure it wouldn't send Nate packing and running, running far away, but Nate is Nate and he's stubborn and doesn't know what's best for him and lets Brad push him but refuses to be pushed away and Nate stays.
He's good at knowing what Brad needs, too, and they have figured out this one a while ago, when Nate first told him off for being an idiot, pinned Brad's hands above his head and told him to fucking stay still if he didn't want to be tied down.
The way Brad's dick snapped to attention clued them in to the fact that Brad did want to be tied down, yes, please.
Now, when Brad comes back from work pissed at the world in general and the retardation of his command in particular, and heads straight for the garage, closing the door carefully to not shut it with the great force, Nate doesn't follow him. He waits, for Brad to stop tinkering with the bike's engine, or, if the day went really badly, for Brad to come back from a reckless ride.
It doesn't take him long, he knows what he's coming back to.
Nate kisses him in the bedroom's doorway, his hands on both sides of Brad's face. It's a slow kiss, almost lazy, as if they weren't both well aware where this is heading, as if the kissing part was the only thing that mattered. Brad wants to bite, drag Nate's lip between his own, maybe draw blood, but Nate keeps it sweet, almost chaste, just lips on lips and the slowest swipe of Nate's tongue, like he's savouring it.
He pulls back only when he feels Brad relax into it, when some of the tension melts away, when Brad doesn't feel like he's going to run anymore. "Good," Nate praises him softly, searches his face, his green eyes sharp and inquisitive. His thumb caresses the side of Brad's mouth and then he steps away. "Strip," he orders, matter-of-fact and business-like, almost distant even though Brad knows he could reach out and pull him close.
He doesn't because as much as he wants Nate's warmth and comfort, he needs this more. There will be time for everything else later. Now, Brad just pulls his shirt over his head, kicks off his shoes and socks, unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them. Nate doesn't bother to hide the pleasure he takes in watching Brad, his gaze travelling over the tan skin, stopping briefly on Brad's chest, his legs, his cock.
Nate's desire is palpable and Brad lets himself enjoy it for a moment, the flush on his skin and the rush of blood to his dick. And then he wills himself to stand still, hands at his sides, head bowed. It takes some effort not to clench his fists but he manages.
"Good," Nate repeats, his hand on Brad's shoulder, pressing down. "Kneel down, hands behind your back."
It doesn't come easy to Brad, the unquestioning submission. It's easier because it's Nate, he supposes, and there's nothing in the world he could deny Nate, but for the very same reason it's even harder, to depend on someone so much, to want approval so badly. Nate presses on his shoulder again, still light and undemanding but unmistakable. Brad drops to his knees and bows his head further, can see Nate's shoes and the pattern on the carpet.
"What's your safe word?" Nate asks and Brad looks up, briefly, meeting Nate's gaze.
"The same," he offers, shrugging. Nate nods and Brad looks down again.
The first time they've done this, just like this, not just something jokingly played out in bed, Nate asked the same thing. Brad just rolled his eyes. "Don't need one," he said. "I trust you."
Nate caught his chin in his fingers, made Brad look up, the only flash of anger Brad had ever seen during this. "No. Not like that," he said forcefully. "Trust isn't enough," he added and Brad wasn't quite sure what he meant by it, whether he didn't trust himself enough, or whatever he meant to say that people you trust are the ones who disappoint you the most. Brad knows that one, he's learned it the hard way.
Sometimes he thinks Nate doesn't want his trust, or rather, doesn't want it freely given in advance. He wants to earn it with every day and Brad doesn't quite know how to tell him that it's been a done deal for years, back when they were fucking their way up through the desert in piece-of-shit humvees. That Brad trusts him with his life, and, more importantly, his heart.
He thinks Nate suspects anyway.
Now, Nate steps back, Brad can hear him moving around the room but he doesn't look up, his hands still behind his back, fingers tightly clasped around his wrists. He's not sure how long it takes, his sense of time always goes fucked when they do this, measured only in frantic heartbeats he loses count of pretty quickly.
There's a draft, his left side colder than his right. The carpet is rough under his knees. Nate makes a considering sound somewhere behind him, two, maybe three steps away. The drawers, he's probably choosing the restraints. Brad's cock hardens, he wants to shift, take a better position, but he stays still and waits.
"Hold them out," Nate orders, his finger gently brushing the inside of Brad's wrist. Brad holds his hands together, waits for Nate to tie them tight. He pulls at the binding, testing it, it doesn't give an inch.
Nate falls to his knees behind him, pressed closed. He's still fully clothes, suit pants and dress shirt, tie and jacket discarded at some point. His dick is hard against Brad's ass and Brad's fingers curl with want, trapped between their bodies, moving against the material of Nate's shirt. "Stay still," Nate mutters, his lips moving against Brad's shoulder. His fingers trail Brad's skin aimlessly, like Nate's taking his time because he can, because Brad won't stop him.
Won't stop him from doing anything.
"You're beautiful like this," Nate tells him, the words muttered against the skin on Brad's neck now, Nate's tongue on his pulse point. Then his teeth, grazing lightly, and then Nate's pressing harder, leaving his mark, staking his claim. "You're mine like this," he adds and Brad breathes in, short and shallow, a hitching sound at the end. "Brad, this isn't the silent game, you can speak."
Brad breathes out. "Yours," he admits and Nate's fingers run through his hair in a gentle caress.
"That you are," he says and puts his arm around Brad, his right hand low on Brad's stomach, brushing across the trail of hair leading to Brad's dick. "It's good that you know that. Good that you come to me when you need this," he says quietly, his fingers so close to Brad's cock and yet so fucking far.
"Nate, please."
"We're getting there," Nate assures him, but his fingers don't move lower, quite the opposite, they trail across Brad's chest, thumbs flicking his niples, fingernails grazing across his stomach. Nate never lingers for long on the same spot, he moves on quickly, just when Brad starts to enjoy the sensation, moves on to another patch of Brad's skin, always the same thing, brief, on the border of pain and pleasure, driving Brad slowly insane with want.
"Nate, please," he repeats, his voice unlike his own, keening, more of a moan than a sentence. He feels Nate nod, lean in to brush his lips agains Brad's shoulder blade, a ghost of a kiss, before he presses closer and finally, finally wraps his hand around Brad's cock.
His mind goes blank for a few blissful seconds, everything Nate filling all his senses. It doesn't last for long enough, but the grip Nate has on his dick is good enough, for now, strong and gentle at the same time, jerking Brad off. "I want you to come, Brad. it will take the edge off," he mutters and Brad obediently thrusts into his hand, closing his eyes.
Nate hmms into his shoulder and then reaches between them, tugs at the restraints, bringing Brad's hands down, making him arch his back, almost painfully but not quite there. Brad groans and spills into Nate's hand, Nate stroking him through it.
"Well done," he says and lets go of Brad's dick, brings his hand up to Brad's mouth, his index finger pressing on Brad's tongue gently, rubbing across it when Brad opens his mouth obligingly. "Lick them clean for me," he whispers.
His dick twitches with interest when Brad sucks on his fingers, twirls his tongue around them. Nate relaxes into this, briefly, but then he's pulling away. "You can have this," Brad tells him pointedly and Nate is back in his range of vision, kneeling on one knee to meet Brad's eyes.
"I'll get it later," he mutters, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm assured of this."
Brad rolls his eyes at him. He feels better, not quite there yet, but Nate was right, the edge is off, his mind is no longer actively working against him, coming up with thoughts he can't push away. "Don't come whining to me when you get blue balls," he offers lightly and then looks down again, head bowed. Nate gets the shift in the mood instantly, his hand falling onto Brad's shoulder, pressing down lightly in acknowledgment.
"On the bed," he says curtly. Brad moves to his feet, balancing himself well even with his hands tied behind his back. He moves easily and efficiently, under Nate's patient gaze. The first time, he thought that maybe Nate would make him crawl, tugged him towards the bed as if he was leashed. Brad's not sure he would have minded it if Nate wanted that, but it's not what Nate does. Not about humiliation or pain, not about Nate getting to order him around. That's not what this is.
Trust, control, comfort. The way Brad's arms and legs will go numb after a while, the feeling of weightlessness and deep weariness in his bones. The way Nate touches him, possessively and reverently at the same time, giving and taking.
"How do you want me?" Brad asks when Nate doesn't volunteer any pointers. Nate smiles softly at that.
"In every way," he says plainly, making Brad's chest clench. "Right now though, on your stomach, for a while."
It's a little awkward, to move around with his hands tied, but Brad situates himself quickly, his head turned to the side, so he can look at Nate. He walks closer to the bed, watching Brad intently, like he's committing this to memory. It must be pretty full now, Brad thinks, with the way Nate always looks at him, like he can't stop, like he would be content just looking at Brad forever.
Nate unbuttons his shirt and drapes it over the back of the chair, then kicks his shoes off, bends to discard his socks. Brad waits, his breathing a little louder in his ears than it should be, heart racing in anticipation. Not many things manage to get his heart rate up but Nate yes, always. Especially like this.
Finally, Nate moves onto the bed, straddles Brad's hips, skin against skin. When he leans forward, his cock is hard against Brad's ass, brushing between his cheeks. Nate's weight isn't bothering him, he welcomes the pressure.
"I'm half tempted to fuck you like this," Nate muses out loud, rubbing himself against Brad. Brad groans, feeling his own cock take notice. He's not hard, not yet, but he feels the heat pooling down in his stomach, his blood rushing. "But I don't think it's what you need."
"Nate, whatever you..." Brad starts and Nate leans forward in an instant, presses against the back of Brad's head, pushes him further into the bed. His other hand tugs at Brad's wrists once more, to the point of low ache in Brad's joints.
"Whatever I want, isn't it?" he asks and Brad nods slightly. Nate holds him like that for a moment and only when he's confident he made the point, he lets go. "Don't forget this," he says and pulls back completely, runs his hand down Brad's tattoo, fingernails scraping the lines on Brad's skin. "And I am going to fuck you, make no mistake, but I want to take my time," he says, sliding down just a little, his palm on Brad's ass now, warm and heavy. "I want to take you apart first," he adds, pushing his finger inside Brad, just a tip. It's wet, Nate must have sucked on it, and Brad groans at the thought, at the touch.
"Fuck, yes, Nate," he says and Nate presses in harder, still just one finger, agonizingly slowly.
"You're going to have to work harder for it," he tells Brad.
He moves away briefly, picks something up. Lube, Brad thinks, the slick sound of Nate's coating his fingers before he presses against Brad's ass again, works him open slowly. Brad spreads his legs unprompted and Nate makes a quiet sound of approval. He's sitting at Brad's left now, legs bent, his knees touching Brad's side. With his other hand he brushes Brad's hair back, short as they are, threads his fingers through them in a gentle caress that's a stark contrast to the relentless way he's now fingerfucking Brad's ass.
Brad doesn't know how long that lasts, he can only move into Nate's touch, his cock hardening, brushing against the sheets with every movement. "Nate, for fuck's sake," he says finally, his voice hoarse and rough and Nate stops everything, completely still. "Please," Brad tries, and he doesn't like the begging and broken quality in his tone but this is the whole point. "Please," he repeats.
"Good," Nate mutters, his fingers in Brad's hair once again, gentle and brief. "Well done," he adds and shifts swiftly, undoing the binds on Brad's hands. His arms are completely numb now but he doesn't move them, not until Nate tells him he can.
"Turn onto your back. Hands above your head," comes the order and Brad obeys quickly, groans slightly when he moves his arms. He can't feel them very well, but what he feels, hurts a little. It's not a bad feeling at all.
Nate moves above him, securing his hands to the headboard, and then moves to tie the ropes around Brad's legs, spreading him wide, not quite to the point of discomfort but close enough for Brad to enjoy it. "I think I will fuck you now," he tells Brad and Brad licks his lips in anticipation.
"Yes," he breathes out. "Please."
Nate doesn't bother with hesitance now, Brad is wide open for him and slick with lube, pushing his ass against Nate's cock as much as the restraints allow him to move. Nate closes his eyes, stills inside of Brad for a very long moment, enjoying the sensations. Brad is riveted to the sight, Nate's face twisted in pleasure, his teeth grazing his lower lip. When Nate opens his eyes again, they're dark green, stormy, fixed on Brad's face with frightening intensity.
He begins to move, fucks into Brad, his hand closing once again on Brad's cock, his movements much less controlled now. He's close, Brad can tell, and he wants Nate to come all over him.
"If you want to come," Nate starts, like he's readng Brad's thoughts, "you're going to do it when I tell you," he says, his thumb brushing over the head of Brad's cock, spreading the leaking pre-come. He shifts and thrusts into Brad at a new angle, hitting the right spot directly, and Brad keens, his body short-circuiting with the intensity of everything. "Good," Nate mutters roughly, licks his lips. "Come," he orders, sharp and demanding, and Brad does, shooting into Nate's hand again, clenching all around Nate's dick, feeling that the wave works on Nate too, finally making him come, deep in Brad's ass.
It takes Brad a few seconds to come around, to stop feeling like everything in his body pulsates in the same loud rhythm. Seconds, maybe minutes. Nate is already undoing the knots on his hands, massaging his wrists, his thumbs brushing the vulnerable patches of skin on the insides. After a moment, Brad realises his legs are free already. Must have been more than a few seconds, then.
"You okay?" Nate asks but he doesn't seem overly concerned, he probably can see the pleased, fucked-out smile Brad can feel pressing its way onto his lips.
"I'm fantastic," he drawls and Nate smiles, brings Brad's wrist up to his lips and mouths at it, his lips wet and warm.
"True. But I always knew that," he offers, a wry smile in the corner of his mouth both mocking the cheesiness of the line and proving the truth of it.
"Come here," Brad mutters and pulls him close against his chest. It's early, but not too early to turn in, and he is fucked out and tired, the good kind of tired, and he knows the next day he will be able to feel Nate all over him, inside him, and he enjoys the hell out of that idea.
Nate kisses his way down Brad's neck. pausing at the mark he left there earlier. He whispers something against it, his lips brushing Brad's skin softly. Brad can't make out the words but he has a pretty damn good idea.
"Me too," he mutters and closes his eyes.
Nate's good at guessing when it's one of those, when Brad's sarcastic comments are meant to sting, when he feels like pushing and pushing hard. At the beginning, Brad wasn't sure it wouldn't send Nate packing and running, running far away, but Nate is Nate and he's stubborn and doesn't know what's best for him and lets Brad push him but refuses to be pushed away and Nate stays.
He's good at knowing what Brad needs, too, and they have figured out this one a while ago, when Nate first told him off for being an idiot, pinned Brad's hands above his head and told him to fucking stay still if he didn't want to be tied down.
The way Brad's dick snapped to attention clued them in to the fact that Brad did want to be tied down, yes, please.
Now, when Brad comes back from work pissed at the world in general and the retardation of his command in particular, and heads straight for the garage, closing the door carefully to not shut it with the great force, Nate doesn't follow him. He waits, for Brad to stop tinkering with the bike's engine, or, if the day went really badly, for Brad to come back from a reckless ride.
It doesn't take him long, he knows what he's coming back to.
Nate kisses him in the bedroom's doorway, his hands on both sides of Brad's face. It's a slow kiss, almost lazy, as if they weren't both well aware where this is heading, as if the kissing part was the only thing that mattered. Brad wants to bite, drag Nate's lip between his own, maybe draw blood, but Nate keeps it sweet, almost chaste, just lips on lips and the slowest swipe of Nate's tongue, like he's savouring it.
He pulls back only when he feels Brad relax into it, when some of the tension melts away, when Brad doesn't feel like he's going to run anymore. "Good," Nate praises him softly, searches his face, his green eyes sharp and inquisitive. His thumb caresses the side of Brad's mouth and then he steps away. "Strip," he orders, matter-of-fact and business-like, almost distant even though Brad knows he could reach out and pull him close.
He doesn't because as much as he wants Nate's warmth and comfort, he needs this more. There will be time for everything else later. Now, Brad just pulls his shirt over his head, kicks off his shoes and socks, unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them. Nate doesn't bother to hide the pleasure he takes in watching Brad, his gaze travelling over the tan skin, stopping briefly on Brad's chest, his legs, his cock.
Nate's desire is palpable and Brad lets himself enjoy it for a moment, the flush on his skin and the rush of blood to his dick. And then he wills himself to stand still, hands at his sides, head bowed. It takes some effort not to clench his fists but he manages.
"Good," Nate repeats, his hand on Brad's shoulder, pressing down. "Kneel down, hands behind your back."
It doesn't come easy to Brad, the unquestioning submission. It's easier because it's Nate, he supposes, and there's nothing in the world he could deny Nate, but for the very same reason it's even harder, to depend on someone so much, to want approval so badly. Nate presses on his shoulder again, still light and undemanding but unmistakable. Brad drops to his knees and bows his head further, can see Nate's shoes and the pattern on the carpet.
"What's your safe word?" Nate asks and Brad looks up, briefly, meeting Nate's gaze.
"The same," he offers, shrugging. Nate nods and Brad looks down again.
The first time they've done this, just like this, not just something jokingly played out in bed, Nate asked the same thing. Brad just rolled his eyes. "Don't need one," he said. "I trust you."
Nate caught his chin in his fingers, made Brad look up, the only flash of anger Brad had ever seen during this. "No. Not like that," he said forcefully. "Trust isn't enough," he added and Brad wasn't quite sure what he meant by it, whether he didn't trust himself enough, or whatever he meant to say that people you trust are the ones who disappoint you the most. Brad knows that one, he's learned it the hard way.
Sometimes he thinks Nate doesn't want his trust, or rather, doesn't want it freely given in advance. He wants to earn it with every day and Brad doesn't quite know how to tell him that it's been a done deal for years, back when they were fucking their way up through the desert in piece-of-shit humvees. That Brad trusts him with his life, and, more importantly, his heart.
He thinks Nate suspects anyway.
Now, Nate steps back, Brad can hear him moving around the room but he doesn't look up, his hands still behind his back, fingers tightly clasped around his wrists. He's not sure how long it takes, his sense of time always goes fucked when they do this, measured only in frantic heartbeats he loses count of pretty quickly.
There's a draft, his left side colder than his right. The carpet is rough under his knees. Nate makes a considering sound somewhere behind him, two, maybe three steps away. The drawers, he's probably choosing the restraints. Brad's cock hardens, he wants to shift, take a better position, but he stays still and waits.
"Hold them out," Nate orders, his finger gently brushing the inside of Brad's wrist. Brad holds his hands together, waits for Nate to tie them tight. He pulls at the binding, testing it, it doesn't give an inch.
Nate falls to his knees behind him, pressed closed. He's still fully clothes, suit pants and dress shirt, tie and jacket discarded at some point. His dick is hard against Brad's ass and Brad's fingers curl with want, trapped between their bodies, moving against the material of Nate's shirt. "Stay still," Nate mutters, his lips moving against Brad's shoulder. His fingers trail Brad's skin aimlessly, like Nate's taking his time because he can, because Brad won't stop him.
Won't stop him from doing anything.
"You're beautiful like this," Nate tells him, the words muttered against the skin on Brad's neck now, Nate's tongue on his pulse point. Then his teeth, grazing lightly, and then Nate's pressing harder, leaving his mark, staking his claim. "You're mine like this," he adds and Brad breathes in, short and shallow, a hitching sound at the end. "Brad, this isn't the silent game, you can speak."
Brad breathes out. "Yours," he admits and Nate's fingers run through his hair in a gentle caress.
"That you are," he says and puts his arm around Brad, his right hand low on Brad's stomach, brushing across the trail of hair leading to Brad's dick. "It's good that you know that. Good that you come to me when you need this," he says quietly, his fingers so close to Brad's cock and yet so fucking far.
"Nate, please."
"We're getting there," Nate assures him, but his fingers don't move lower, quite the opposite, they trail across Brad's chest, thumbs flicking his niples, fingernails grazing across his stomach. Nate never lingers for long on the same spot, he moves on quickly, just when Brad starts to enjoy the sensation, moves on to another patch of Brad's skin, always the same thing, brief, on the border of pain and pleasure, driving Brad slowly insane with want.
"Nate, please," he repeats, his voice unlike his own, keening, more of a moan than a sentence. He feels Nate nod, lean in to brush his lips agains Brad's shoulder blade, a ghost of a kiss, before he presses closer and finally, finally wraps his hand around Brad's cock.
His mind goes blank for a few blissful seconds, everything Nate filling all his senses. It doesn't last for long enough, but the grip Nate has on his dick is good enough, for now, strong and gentle at the same time, jerking Brad off. "I want you to come, Brad. it will take the edge off," he mutters and Brad obediently thrusts into his hand, closing his eyes.
Nate hmms into his shoulder and then reaches between them, tugs at the restraints, bringing Brad's hands down, making him arch his back, almost painfully but not quite there. Brad groans and spills into Nate's hand, Nate stroking him through it.
"Well done," he says and lets go of Brad's dick, brings his hand up to Brad's mouth, his index finger pressing on Brad's tongue gently, rubbing across it when Brad opens his mouth obligingly. "Lick them clean for me," he whispers.
His dick twitches with interest when Brad sucks on his fingers, twirls his tongue around them. Nate relaxes into this, briefly, but then he's pulling away. "You can have this," Brad tells him pointedly and Nate is back in his range of vision, kneeling on one knee to meet Brad's eyes.
"I'll get it later," he mutters, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm assured of this."
Brad rolls his eyes at him. He feels better, not quite there yet, but Nate was right, the edge is off, his mind is no longer actively working against him, coming up with thoughts he can't push away. "Don't come whining to me when you get blue balls," he offers lightly and then looks down again, head bowed. Nate gets the shift in the mood instantly, his hand falling onto Brad's shoulder, pressing down lightly in acknowledgment.
"On the bed," he says curtly. Brad moves to his feet, balancing himself well even with his hands tied behind his back. He moves easily and efficiently, under Nate's patient gaze. The first time, he thought that maybe Nate would make him crawl, tugged him towards the bed as if he was leashed. Brad's not sure he would have minded it if Nate wanted that, but it's not what Nate does. Not about humiliation or pain, not about Nate getting to order him around. That's not what this is.
Trust, control, comfort. The way Brad's arms and legs will go numb after a while, the feeling of weightlessness and deep weariness in his bones. The way Nate touches him, possessively and reverently at the same time, giving and taking.
"How do you want me?" Brad asks when Nate doesn't volunteer any pointers. Nate smiles softly at that.
"In every way," he says plainly, making Brad's chest clench. "Right now though, on your stomach, for a while."
It's a little awkward, to move around with his hands tied, but Brad situates himself quickly, his head turned to the side, so he can look at Nate. He walks closer to the bed, watching Brad intently, like he's committing this to memory. It must be pretty full now, Brad thinks, with the way Nate always looks at him, like he can't stop, like he would be content just looking at Brad forever.
Nate unbuttons his shirt and drapes it over the back of the chair, then kicks his shoes off, bends to discard his socks. Brad waits, his breathing a little louder in his ears than it should be, heart racing in anticipation. Not many things manage to get his heart rate up but Nate yes, always. Especially like this.
Finally, Nate moves onto the bed, straddles Brad's hips, skin against skin. When he leans forward, his cock is hard against Brad's ass, brushing between his cheeks. Nate's weight isn't bothering him, he welcomes the pressure.
"I'm half tempted to fuck you like this," Nate muses out loud, rubbing himself against Brad. Brad groans, feeling his own cock take notice. He's not hard, not yet, but he feels the heat pooling down in his stomach, his blood rushing. "But I don't think it's what you need."
"Nate, whatever you..." Brad starts and Nate leans forward in an instant, presses against the back of Brad's head, pushes him further into the bed. His other hand tugs at Brad's wrists once more, to the point of low ache in Brad's joints.
"Whatever I want, isn't it?" he asks and Brad nods slightly. Nate holds him like that for a moment and only when he's confident he made the point, he lets go. "Don't forget this," he says and pulls back completely, runs his hand down Brad's tattoo, fingernails scraping the lines on Brad's skin. "And I am going to fuck you, make no mistake, but I want to take my time," he says, sliding down just a little, his palm on Brad's ass now, warm and heavy. "I want to take you apart first," he adds, pushing his finger inside Brad, just a tip. It's wet, Nate must have sucked on it, and Brad groans at the thought, at the touch.
"Fuck, yes, Nate," he says and Nate presses in harder, still just one finger, agonizingly slowly.
"You're going to have to work harder for it," he tells Brad.
He moves away briefly, picks something up. Lube, Brad thinks, the slick sound of Nate's coating his fingers before he presses against Brad's ass again, works him open slowly. Brad spreads his legs unprompted and Nate makes a quiet sound of approval. He's sitting at Brad's left now, legs bent, his knees touching Brad's side. With his other hand he brushes Brad's hair back, short as they are, threads his fingers through them in a gentle caress that's a stark contrast to the relentless way he's now fingerfucking Brad's ass.
Brad doesn't know how long that lasts, he can only move into Nate's touch, his cock hardening, brushing against the sheets with every movement. "Nate, for fuck's sake," he says finally, his voice hoarse and rough and Nate stops everything, completely still. "Please," Brad tries, and he doesn't like the begging and broken quality in his tone but this is the whole point. "Please," he repeats.
"Good," Nate mutters, his fingers in Brad's hair once again, gentle and brief. "Well done," he adds and shifts swiftly, undoing the binds on Brad's hands. His arms are completely numb now but he doesn't move them, not until Nate tells him he can.
"Turn onto your back. Hands above your head," comes the order and Brad obeys quickly, groans slightly when he moves his arms. He can't feel them very well, but what he feels, hurts a little. It's not a bad feeling at all.
Nate moves above him, securing his hands to the headboard, and then moves to tie the ropes around Brad's legs, spreading him wide, not quite to the point of discomfort but close enough for Brad to enjoy it. "I think I will fuck you now," he tells Brad and Brad licks his lips in anticipation.
"Yes," he breathes out. "Please."
Nate doesn't bother with hesitance now, Brad is wide open for him and slick with lube, pushing his ass against Nate's cock as much as the restraints allow him to move. Nate closes his eyes, stills inside of Brad for a very long moment, enjoying the sensations. Brad is riveted to the sight, Nate's face twisted in pleasure, his teeth grazing his lower lip. When Nate opens his eyes again, they're dark green, stormy, fixed on Brad's face with frightening intensity.
He begins to move, fucks into Brad, his hand closing once again on Brad's cock, his movements much less controlled now. He's close, Brad can tell, and he wants Nate to come all over him.
"If you want to come," Nate starts, like he's readng Brad's thoughts, "you're going to do it when I tell you," he says, his thumb brushing over the head of Brad's cock, spreading the leaking pre-come. He shifts and thrusts into Brad at a new angle, hitting the right spot directly, and Brad keens, his body short-circuiting with the intensity of everything. "Good," Nate mutters roughly, licks his lips. "Come," he orders, sharp and demanding, and Brad does, shooting into Nate's hand again, clenching all around Nate's dick, feeling that the wave works on Nate too, finally making him come, deep in Brad's ass.
It takes Brad a few seconds to come around, to stop feeling like everything in his body pulsates in the same loud rhythm. Seconds, maybe minutes. Nate is already undoing the knots on his hands, massaging his wrists, his thumbs brushing the vulnerable patches of skin on the insides. After a moment, Brad realises his legs are free already. Must have been more than a few seconds, then.
"You okay?" Nate asks but he doesn't seem overly concerned, he probably can see the pleased, fucked-out smile Brad can feel pressing its way onto his lips.
"I'm fantastic," he drawls and Nate smiles, brings Brad's wrist up to his lips and mouths at it, his lips wet and warm.
"True. But I always knew that," he offers, a wry smile in the corner of his mouth both mocking the cheesiness of the line and proving the truth of it.
"Come here," Brad mutters and pulls him close against his chest. It's early, but not too early to turn in, and he is fucked out and tired, the good kind of tired, and he knows the next day he will be able to feel Nate all over him, inside him, and he enjoys the hell out of that idea.
Nate kisses his way down Brad's neck. pausing at the mark he left there earlier. He whispers something against it, his lips brushing Brad's skin softly. Brad can't make out the words but he has a pretty damn good idea.
"Me too," he mutters and closes his eyes.
