#marnthews

“Jesus,” Auston mutters as he tilts Mitch’s head up and looks at the laceration from more angles than Mitch thinks is strictly necessary. It’s giving off “photographer for Vogue” vibes, while he models his big, stupid, stitches for Auston. 

“S’not that bad,” he says, trying to bat Auston’s hand away. 

“Your face literally has stitches in it,” Auston replies, sounding about as impressed as Mitch thought he’d be (which is: not at all). 

“Yeah but it’s fine,” Mitch tries again, squirming to get out of Auston’s hold. 

“Sit still,” Auston growls and, well fuck if Mitch doesn’t go a little boneless. The response is built into him, he can’t help it. He’s fucking Pavlov’s dog or whatever, okay? 

“What are you, a doctor or somethin’? C’mon, Tone,” Mitch pleads, fidgeting again. “Knock it off.”

“Stop being stubborn,” Auston chides. “I’m getting you some ice.”

“Auston, it’s fine.”

Auston raises an eyebrow at the use of his full first name, since Mitch hasn’t called him that in literally forever. 

“Honest,” Mitch vows, making an exaggerated cross over his heart. “Can’t even feel it.”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause they shot you up with fucking lidocaine!”

“Okay, and?! It’s perfect! It means I can still suck your dick toni—” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence, what the fuck Mitch. We are not.”

Mitch pouts, which he thinks shows off just how perfectly fine his jaw is. “Please?” 

Auston opens his mouth and — 

Mitch tries his best to smother his creeping grin, tries to keep looking innocent and pouty because Auston’s such a sucker for begging. Or pouting. Or just, in general, dominating someone who’s submitting so willingly.

(Which he is).

(So, so willingly).

“Please? Miss your cock,” Mitch whispers, slowly sliding off the couch to settle on his knees.

“Mitch…” 

Auston’s warning tone is definitely lacking its usual baritone, so Mitch keeps going. His hands slide up the fucking tree trunks that Auston calls thighs, and digs his fingers into the muscle, moaning already. Auston’s body is such a fucking gift. He can’t believe he gets to indulge in it everyday. 

“Yes?” Mitch asks, feigning innocence, giving his best doe eyes. Settling in comfortably, he runs his palms along the inside of Auston’s thighs, gently prying them apart. 

A shiver runs up his spine when Auston’s legs fall open for him — he knows he couldn’t move Auston one goddamn inch if he tried. This is Auston letting him. 

Auston letting him tug those shorts and briefs down, letting him nuzzle his face against Auston’s cock.

“Fuck,” is all Auston can say. But the way he says it — like it’s his last dying breath, like it’s the only word he knows, like he can’t possibly say anything else to get the point across? 

Fuck is right. 

Auston’s dick is beautiful and Mitch knows that most people don’t describe dicks as pretty or beautiful, but they’ve never seen Auston’s. It’s as thick as the fucking rest of him. Solid. Hefty. He loves when it’s nestled in the crevice between Auston’s groin and thigh as much as when it stands tall and proud like it is now. 

“Hell yes,” he says more to himself than Auston, taking the cock in his hand and giving it a few small strokes before licking up the entire length of it. He swipes his tongue back and forth as he makes his way from base to tip, spreading his spit as he goes. 

“Fuck, Mitch, I — are you sure?” Auston asks, his voice getting more and more breathless as Mitch continues. 

“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Mitch says flippantly before going back to enjoying himself. He lets his tongue circle around the head of Auston’s cock, his hand gently pulling the foreskin back. 

“Shit,” Auston breathes out. Mitch watches Auston’s abs contract, watches the way his forearm muscles twitch with the effort of staying at his side. If he wasn’t already sucking dick, his mouth would be watering. 

The next time he dips his tongue in, softly prodding at the slit, he can taste the slight bitterness of Auston’s precome building up and he can’t help but stick his free hand down his pants. He’s so fucking hard — has been ever since Auston first grabbed his face, first dug his fingers into the space under his chin just close enough to the injury to make it throb. Just like his cock. 

He keeps his mouth open, tongue pressed down by the weight of Auston’s cock. Does his wound twinge a bit? Sure, maybe. But does he fucking love that sweet little sharp graze of pain? Yes. Very yes. Now he just has to make Auston keep going.  

–

Mitch looks like a fucking dream, and Auston hates how much he loves it. He doesn’t like seeing Mitch hurt. He doesn’t. 

But — 

Sometimes, when Mitch is bratty enough, when Mitch pushes Auston’s patience and gets spanked for it, Auston can’t help admiring the blossoming of blood and the way Mitch’s ass feels hot. Like a pile of cinder waiting for Auston’s hand to strike again and bring the flame back to life. 

Sometimes, when Mitch asks, Auston’s open palm will connect with Mitch’s cheek and Mitch turns the same shade of pink it gets when Auston whispers in his ear during a game. Telling him all the things Auston’s going to do once the game is over.

Sometimes, when they’re so goddamn impatient and they can’t wait to get home, they just have to hope the water from the shower is enough. Or Mitch will spit on Auston’s cock and Auston will spit on Mitch’s hole and then Auston has to keep a hand clamped over Mitch’s mouth anyway. Not that he wants to. The noise Mitch makes when it’s almost too much to handle is exquisite. A stifled screech that sounds like it’s tearing his throat up, a noise that should make Auston stop and ask if Mitch is okay, but instead he just drives in harder. 

So yeah, sometimes, Auston just can’t help the fact that Mitch looks so good when he’s in pain, sounds so good when he’s hurting.

Like right now, when he can tell that Mitch is straining even more than usual, that his jaw is open wide and willing, it’s so hot — but he can’t stop looking at the stitches as they get tugged and pulled. 

“Mitch, baby, you — stop, you gotta stop,” he tries, even though his hips traitorously thrust towards that tight, sweet warmth. 

“Nnnnngg,” Mitch groans, his throat constricting around Auston’s cock. It’s even worse with Mitch’s body bouncing lightly with his own masturbating. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Auston exhales, stretching it out for as long as Mitch takes to seal his lips around the base of his cock and pull off slowly. 

“Cmon,” Mitch rasps. “Don’t lie to me, I know you want it, and I want it, so what’s the problem?”

“Your stitches, you fucking ass, that’s the problem.” Frustrated by Mitch’s defiance, he pokes at Mitch’s cheek above the injury, hoping to emphasize his point. 

Instead, Mitch moans and it’s not just a moan, like “mmm that’s yummy”, it’s a moan. Like “fuck, that’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted and I will die right here on the spot if I don’t have more”. One of those. 

It’s fucking filthy. 

And then Mitch tries to swallow Auston’s dick whole.

“You — fucking slut,” Auston grumbles, hand tangling in Mitch’s short hair. Fine. That’s how Mitch wants it? Fine. 

“Mmmhmmmm,” Mitch hums, the vibration travelling up Auston’s entire cock. 

Auston tugs Mitch’s head down further, gagging him just like Auston knows he wants. “What’s the matter? Suddenly can’t handle it after you fuckin’ beg for it?”

Mitch’s moans reach a new octave, like he’s enjoying it. Because he is. And Auston can’t have that, can he now? 

He brings his other hand to Mitch’s neck, thumb pressed against the racing pulse, pressed against his own cock buried in Mitch’s throat. 

And now Mitch starts to lose it a bit — the tears that have been building finally spilling out the corner of his eyes, the smug look shattering.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Auston goads, snapping his hips up, keeping Mitch firmly in place. “Jesus, Mitchy, you’re making a fucking mess.” 

It’s a combination of drool and precome, with Mitch’s jaw a little slack, his choking and coughing forcing spittle to leak from the corners of his mouth. He watches Mitch’s normally clear blue eyes grow dark and glassy, and he can’t hold himself back either. Mitch’s mouth feels far too good, like it was made specifically as a place for Auston to dump his come. 

“Fucking come, then,” Auston orders, his thumb sliding up Mitch’s neck to the delicate patch of stitches. The lidocaine has probably worn off by now, at least a little bit, so Auston presses just below it.

When Mitch whimpers loudly, Auston keeps going. He cups Mitch’s face in his large hands, smears the drool with his palms and the tears with his thumbs. 

And then he fucks Mitch’s mouth like his life depends on it. It’s so goddamm wet. Every time he thrusts up, the slap of his balls against Mitch’s chin is loud and lewd, joining the sounds of Mitch’s gurgles every time he hits the back of Mitch’s throat. 

He can feel Mitch’s orgasm through his own cock — the squirming, the tightening of Mitch’s throat, the hot exhale through Mitch’s nose that warms the spot right below his treasure trail. 

His palms are so warm and so wet. Heated by Mitch’s cheek, dampened by more tears and now a little blood. 

He comes down Mitch’s inviting throat, thighs tensed so hard he might’ve cracked Mitch’s skull if his own hands weren’t placed where they are. “Fuck, take it —”

Mitch hollows his cheeks and takes like he’s told. He swallows and bobs his head slowly, rubbing into Auston’s hands. 

When he finally pulls off, the last of spit and come dribbles down and starts cooling against Auston’s balls while he looks down at Mitch. 

He should feel guiltier about the small bit of blood smeared across one side of Mitch’s face, but the stitches are still in tact and Mitch looks like he’s fucking soaring. 

Shaking his head with a small smile, he tugs Mitch up into lap. “You’re fucking nuts,” he mutters. 

“Mm, you love it,” Mitch says, curling up like a cat in Auston’s arms.