#forcefag

You’re over at Smurfs place after skating with him, cooling down on the couch. Pope is sprawled out on the couch watching something with you and you’re just casually laid against his back, letting him rub at your stomach. Yknow. Friend stuff.

“Don’t leave these on all day and night,” he starts, poking at your binding tape on your bare chest. “You’re gonna get marks. And take em off with oil too.” “I will I will.”

And if someone DOES ask about it (because yeah you’ve always been close, but not this close) Pope just shrugs it off and tells whoever to fuck off about it.

You’re coming inside, back drenched and shirt in hand, “I’m gettin’ in the shower, hot as balls out there and I close tonight.” You face Pope as you walk backwards into Smurfs place, and you see the look on his face as he walks slowly with you, coming to a stop behind the couch. “Kay. You want a ride to work too or what?”

“Yeah, I can crash at yours again.” You shrug with a dopey smile, walking your way to the bathroom, knowing he’s staring at you. Watching your hips sway as you ruffle your hair, his lip tucked between his teeth as he catches his breath.

Craig eyes you and him before it’s just Craig and Pope in the living room, and it’s getting harder and harder to deny whatever the hell you two got goin’ on. And Darren sees it too, sharing a look with Craig. “Is..somethin’ up with you two?” He asks when Pope comes around with a water bottle. “Who, him? Nah, why?” “I-I dunno. You just look at him weird. Touchy feely n stuff.”

“He’s my boy, I touch him all the time.” Pope would say with a shrug. “Yeah but..I mean it’s no worries. You just get weird with him.” Darren shakes his head, not wanting to seem accusatory. And when Pope realizes what they mean he rolls his eyes, a lazy smirk on his face. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Mind your own damn business, yeah?” He exits the room, and the boys are left with the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

You try so hard to be a good sport, not being as touchy as he is whenever anyones around, trying to level down the small flirting as well. But Pope is a careless guy, even if someone did catch on, who’s gonna check him about it?

So there he was, slipping into the shower with you, his voice startling you, “Think they’re catching on.” He grins at how you jump back to look at him, water trickling down your face. “Yeah I’m sure when you’re coming in the shower with me!” You whisper shout, making him scoff.

“Whaat? Nothin’ wrong with sharin’ a shower. Saves on water.” He shrugs, and you roll your eyes when you turn back forward, continuing to let the water wash soap off you. He rakes his hands down your back to your hips, eying the curvature of your spine, stepping closer into the water with you.

He sighs, kissing along your neck down to your shoulders, gripping your tight and pulling you closer, smiling when he hears a faint sound come from you. “Pope, they’re right outside. Don’t make any bold moves.” You warn, even if you’re moving your head so he can have more room to suck on your skin.

“M’not doin’ anything. You’re the one being loud.” He shrugs lazily, and with that you swallow back a whimper. He takes your loofa from you, “you want help getting your back?” He asks, though not giving you much choice to answer when he trades you spots in the small room, essentially squishing you against the wall as he lathers you down.

He keeps hold of your hips telling you he’s “stopping you from moving” when in reality he’s grinding his cock against your ass. And when you squirm against his fingers, he’s all “shh I’m just helping you wash.” While bending you further and fucking three digits deeper in you.

“Cmon kid, if you don’t want ‘em to hear you better shut the fuck up.” He whispers in your ear, head cocked so he could watch the door. He’s got a hand on your throat, whispering small notes of “missed how you moan like a faggot ‘round it,” “You want me to put it in? Then shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

And you can’t deny him when he strokes you so good you think you might drool as he stretches your hole open, groaning in your ear the whole way. Pope has you by the back of your neck, bending you impossibly farther as he pounds you into the wall of the shower, your cheek against the wall as you fight yourself to stay quiet.

“Pope,” you whine, biting your lip as your stomach turns. You hear the clap of his balls against your ass, water squelching off you with the mix of his groans. “Yer’ not even trying to be quiet, p-please,” you look back at him, fingertips feeling like they’ll fuse with the linoleum.

“I know baby I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand coming to the front of your throat and pushing deeper in you. The petname coming from him lights a fire in your stomach, he’s never used it for you, especially in this sense. “You just feel so fucking good, can’t help it.” His hand fits perfectly on the curve of your ass, squeezing as he covers your mouth, fucking you with vigor as he chases his and your release.