#stephtimkon

Tim awakens overtop of a plush red blanket, in a heart-shaped bed. His wrists are bound in leather cuffs chained loosely to the head of the bed. He doesn’t bother struggling, though a mixture of confusion and arousal overwhelms him. Instead, he stretches his arms and spreads his fingertips, taking all of it in.

Rose petals lay beneath him, to his sides, under his arms, beneath his legs… The dark dankness of the room he would expect to smell like the drainage in the sewers spread for miles in front of him (blocked off only by large metal gates), smells instead like vanilla and lilacs. The room is dark, but lit by candles. A music box playing an all-too familiar tune plays faintly in the background. His heart pounds in his chest and he feels like it’s about to burst. Implicitly, he knows this is all for him.

He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, until he feels two hands placed on his naked chest.

“You’re up,” says a stranger that he recognizes but can’t /remember/. His voice is low and soothing and sends tingles down Tim’s spine. He looks so strong beneath his suit. His features are chiseled beneath the mask that covers half of his face. Tim wants to see every inch of him, and his chains strain against the head of the board as he forgets them and reaches out to touch him.

“We’ve waited so long for this,” says the woman to his other side. She’s wearing the exact same mask on the opposite side, and a blood-red dress. “Are you ready?”

Tim nods harder than he’s ever nodded in his life. He’s been waiting for this, too, even if he doesn’t know these people, even if he never knew he wanted this, exactly this.

They both smile, and Tim is overcome by their approval. He’s so glad they want him, so glad he’s making them happy.

The blonde slowly crawls on to the bed, and straddles Tim’s hips. He doesn’t know when he got hard. It feels like he’s always been hard, hard his whole life, hard waiting just for this.

She’s not wearing underwear beneath her skirts, and she rubs herself against him, her thick, short curls wet with slick above her lips.

Tim moans, his eyes widening. His hands reach instinctively for her breasts but he’s held back yet again by the chains. He groans, wants to touch her, wants to /see/ her, but she only grins. She reaches beneath her, holding his cock in her hands, and begins to sink down on him, biting her lip.

He resists the faint urge to look away, feeling like he’s seen too much, like he’s not /worthy/ of what he’s seeing, and what he’s /getting/ here. His cock screams in pleasure with her warmth. She squeezes around him as she takes all of him inside him with a pant, her hands on his chest. He gasps. “Is this what you want, Tim?” He tries to speak but he doesn’t feel like he /can/. A strangled noise escapes him and he nods. He doesn’t her to feel like he’s ignoring her.

Slowly, she begins to ride him. Her pace is tantalizing and maddening. He attempts to rock against her for more friction, to get her to go faster… and her eyes turn cold. She reaches across him to rake her sharp, pointed fingernails across his chest. He hisses as the scratches form on his skin. She pinches both of his nipples hard enough to make him cry out, and then bends forward across his chest, biting into his neck and not letting go.

Tim gasps, and then gasps again as he feels a thick, slicked finger push into his entrance. He sees the man before him smirk as he thrusts another inside him, and then a third, much too roughly, much too fast. He spreads his fingers inside him and then drags them over his prostate. He already feels so /full/. He pulls his fingers out, and Tim quickly mourns the loss.

The man lifts his hips in the air, with Steph still on top of him. She stops biting him, sitting back up and getting back to her knees on top of him, and he feels as though he might break. Slowly the man pushes his oiled cock inside him, and he screams out in pain, not feeling nearly prepared for his massive length. He pushes all the way inside him until his balls slap against his cheeks, and Tim pants. He only has moments to adjust to the new sensation before Steph begins to ride him again.

“Don’t come,” she whispers. “Don’t come.”

And then, from behind her, comes out the man’s voice. “You’re /ours/ now.” The tension in his balls build, but he desperately wishes not to disappoint them.

The man slowly pulls out to slam back inside him. He wastes no time in setting up a fast and hard rhythm to the woman’s tantalizingly slow one. The man’s breath comes out in lustful grumbles and grunts. “Robin,” he whispers.

“Robin,” she says.

When the man comes, he stays impossibly hard inside him. He fucks him through his loud, earth-shattering orgasm, and he /keeps/ fucking him, hard and deep. Tim’s body is trembling now with the effort used not to come inside the woman right then and there.

The woman’s back arches as she reaches her climax. She clenches around him, sweating beading at her brow and along the outline of her mask. Her voice reverberates against the wall, and for a moment, Tim can no longer hear the music, only her voice as she comes, and it’s all he ever wants to.

“Come,” she commands. And he finally does. Hard. Hard enough that his vision blurs. Hard enough that he sees and feels sparks. Hard enough that his whole body screams and burns with pleasure.

…

Hard enough for him to /actually/ wake the fuck up, in his /stupid/ fucking apartment that he’s never, ever hated (and never will hate) ever than in this moment.

He’s stained the /real/ sheets of his /real/ bed, and he feels sticky and sweaty and gross. He’s gonna have to take a shower. A very, very cold one. He’s never having another movie night with Conner and Steph /again/. He’s never going to be able to watch Phantom of the Opera again. Jesus Christ, Tim. Get it /together/.