#treyan

Trevor really needs to stop volunteering for this supernatural shit. After nearly getting eaten—and not in the fun way—by a wendigo last leek, he should know better.

(It'll be fine, Ryan had said. It's harmless. Mostly harmless. You'll be fine. Afterwards, Ryan had interrupted Trevor's yelling to point out that, hey, he was fine. Totally and completely not eaten alive. What more did he want?)

So, okay, he does know better. And yet here he is, walking into the den of a creature they don't even have a name for yet. Maybe he's gullible, or his sense of self-preservation is totally fucked—possibly literally, if Ryan's notes about the thing are any indication.

(“If I get fucked to death, I'm coming back to haunt your ass,” he tells Ryan before heading into the cavern.

Ryan doesn't look up from his work. “Duly noted.”)

Still, at the end of the day, Ryan and the others want to know how the creature responds to humans when it’s in an “excited state,” whatever the fuck that means. This is educational.

Trevor keeps telling himself that as he delves further into the cave, his way lit by the flashlight gripped tightly in his hand. He’s grateful for the tiny communication device in his ear, the only thing connecting him back to base. They’d tried to get some kind of video recording set up as well, but everything they tried to film showed up as salt-and-pepper static on screen. Ryan had been fascinated.

Trevor’s just annoyed.

He sees a faint glow far ahead of him, knows it’s the creature based on Ryan’s notes, some bioluminescent secretion that comes from blah blah blah, Trevor had stopped paying attention at that point. He’s an engineer, not a biologist.

Which, to be honest, begs the question: Why the fuck is he the one doing this?

And, okay, Trevor knows why. It’s because Ryan’s in charge of taking observational notes for the case, and Jack and Jeremy are working a different case on the East coast, and Gavin’s in England doing who the hell knows what with Dan, and Geoff had laughed incredulously and declared himself “too old for this shit,” and Michael had seemed a little too eager, and—

Well, the options had narrowed down a lot, and Trevor was elbow-deep in a repair when he’d been asked and subsequently muttered, “Yeah, sure,” without really processing, and now here he is.

Sometimes he really regrets joining the Hunters.

Sometimes, meaning like right now, as he enters the main cave and stares up at the creature he’s only heard about until now. It’s...okay, it’s pretty horrifying, if he’s honest.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurts.

“Do you see it?” comes Ryan’s voice in his ear. He sounds way too excited. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like a huge fucking—” Trevor pauses. “Can this thing understand English?”

“I’ve looked at notes from other cases similar to this one, and results were...mostly inconclusive.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning don’t say anything stupid, just in case.”

“Right. I was gonna say, it’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Should be on America’s Next Top Model.”

He’s rewarded with a breathy chuckle, but Trevor’s too busy looking at the monster to really acknowledge it.

It’s huge, is really his first observation, a central mass that’s far bigger than he is, with countless appendages branching off from it, all shapes and sizes. It’s lit up faintly by the bioluminescent slick covering most of the...tentacles, okay, they’re tentacles, it’s a huge tentacle monster, that’s all there is to it, and Trevor had known that walking into this but it’s no less alarming.

The thing doesn’t appear to have eyes, but surely it can sense him. Still, it’s not attacking. That’s reassuring.

“Talk to me,” Ryan says.

Trevor snorts. “Um, it’s...big? Writhing around but not coming near me.”

“Get closer to it.”

“Wow, see, that is literally the last thing I would ever want to do right now. Can’t we just stare at each other awkwardly from a distance?”

“It has eyes?”

Trevor scrunches his nose. “No, not that I can tell, but… I dunno, it feels like it’s watching me.”

“Neat,” Ryan says, enthusiastic.

“You and I have very different ideas about how something can be classified as neat.”

“Trevor.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Trevor grouses. He takes a deep breath and turns off his flashlight, tucking it into the side pocket of the little backpack he’d brought along. It’s a bit darker without it, but the light coming from the creature is enough to see by, like it’s late dusk and he just has to let his eyes adjust.

He walks forward, step by slow step until he’s too apprehensive to get any closer. By then, the monster has gone mostly still, like it’s regarding him carefully.

Somehow, that’s creepier than when it was writhing around.

“I’m within...fuck, like fifteen feet of it,” Trevor says quietly.

“What’s it doing?” Ryan asks, hushed suddenly.

“Just...looking at me? I mean, it doesn’t have eyes, so I don’t know how else to— Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Ryan says, but Trevor can’t bring himself to respond.

One lone tentacle slowly moves forward, closing the distance between them, and wiggles in front of his face like it’s trying to decide how to continue. Trevor forces himself to remain still.

The tentacle waves in front of him and then seems to caress his face, a slick, slow, muscled slide against his cheek. Trevor jerks back in surprise and backpedals, only to be tripped up by another tentacle, huge and thicker around than his thigh, that knocks him off his feet.

He flinches in preparation of hitting the floor, but a few more tentacles catch him with alarming quickness, wrapping around his midsection and his limbs.

“Shit!”

“Trevor?” For once, Ryan sounds concerned. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

Trevor struggles to find his voice. “It’s— Touching me—”

Some appendage he can’t see tears his backpack from him and tosses it aside. A terrified, choked sound bubbles up in his throat, and he struggles automatically. In response, it seems, he’s wrenched upwards, suspended in midair with tentacles wrapped around him, and he writhes instinctively, desperately. It doesn’t seem to accomplish much, but he can’t help himself.

“Ryan—!”

“Breathe,” comes Ryan’s low voice, calm, steady.

The tentacles keep him there for a time, stilling almost in response to his panic, like the creature can sense it. Eventually, he manages to breathe slowly, an in-and-out rhythm that seems to help to calm himself, remind himself that he’s there willingly—he knows he’s not in any real danger, despite how foreign everything is. From the information they’ve gathered, the creature has never killed a human. The tentacles are holding him securely, but not squeezing, not moving more than the gentle pulsing they seem to be doing at all times. It’s a weird sensation, but not alarming.

He takes this moment of respite to do his best to describe to Ryan what he’s experiencing: the apparent strength of the creature (strong, if the way it can hold him still and off the ground is any indication), the way the tentacles feel on his skin (most of them are thick, a bit of give to them, and they’re slick, leaving a faint, bright trail of their secretions along his skin and clothes), the way it’s reacting to him (curiously, it seems, or at least not with hostility).

Then, all at once, the creature really comes to life.

The ends of the tentacles glide along his body like they’re exploring it, and Trevor twitches, squirms, equal parts ticklish and surprised. A couple delve under his shirt at the neck and sleeves, then seem to give up at the confining space. For a moment, Trevor relaxes, but then a particularly thick tentacle slides underneath the hem of his shirt only to tear the garment up the middle and rip it from his body.

Trevor yelps, struggling automatically.

“Trevor?” Ryan calls out, sounding worried. “Do you need me to send someone to get you out of there?”

“Nope!” The word comes out on a near-hysterical burst of laughter. The thought of someone seeing him like this is— No. Not happening. Death would be kinder. “No, no, I’m fine, it’s not hurting me.”

“What is it doing?”

Well, what the hell can Trevor say to that? Caressing my naked chest with its creepy, glowing tentacles, nbd, average Tuesday night for me. “You know what, don’t worry about it.”

One tentacle goes travelling up from his bellybutton to one of his nipples, and he jolts, back arching involuntarily. For a moment, the tentacle goes still, then flicks against his nipple again like it’s curious, like this is an experiment for the creature as much as it’s an experiment for Trevor and the others.

There’s a certain amount of intelligence to this thing that Ryan’s probably going to find fascinating but Trevor’s just finding deeply uncomfortable in the moment, especially since it won’t stop fucking touching him.

For a minute or two, the tentacles seem content only to hold him still and play with his chest, thinner appendages coming from who the hell knows where to flick and tug and pinch at his nipples. Trevor does his best not to react, to clench his jaw and hold still, but it only seems to make the creature more determined. Despite his best efforts, it’s not long before he’s writhing, breaths coming in short and hitched as he forces himself to stifle the little noises threatening to leave him and, well, he’s always known he’s had sensitive nipples; that’s often a fun, useful thing in bed, but right now Trevor’s bemoaning it.

Literally.

One thicker tentacle wraps around his chest over his nipples and pulses strongly, the sensation almost like a rhythmic sucking, and a choked moan breaks free from his throat. He arches, hips rocking, very painfully aware that his cock is stirring in his jeans.

“Trevor?”

He’s not sure how he’d forgotten Ryan was there on the comm, still listening. What are the chances that Ryan hasn’t heard the desperate noises he’s been making?

“You sound, uh. Is everything okay?”

Death. Death should come now.

“Do I sound like I’m in pain to you, Ryan?” Trevor grates out, kicking out slightly when he feels something tugging at his pant leg.

“Well, uh, no. Not exactly. It’s more like—”

“I know what you think it sounds like!” Trevor says, a little shrill.

“Right.” Ryan coughs. When he speaks again, he sounds a little more professional. “Can you give me a rundown on its reactions, its mannerisms?”

“I’m not narrating this!”

“We really need to figure out a way to get a video feed to work down there,” Ryan says thoughtfully.

“No, we don’t!” A tentacle delves underneath the hem of his right pant leg and starts winding its way up at the same time another works its way past his waistband. “Fuck. Yeah, no, we really don’t, definitely unnecessary, goddamn it.”

“What’s it doing?” Even now, Ryan can’t seem to hide his curiosity and excitement.

“Stop talking,” Trevor pleads. “Seriously, I don’t need you and your—science boner right now.”

“Science boner,” Ryan echoes.

“Shut up.”

“It’s just, it’s interesting how the only word you could come up with is ‘boner,’ considering—”

“How much do I have to pay you to stop talking.” He breaks off when he hears an ominous ripping sound, and looks down in despair. “Oh, come on!”

“What?”

“It tore my fucking pants! I paid like eighty dollars for these jeans.”

“Who the hell pays eighty dollars for jeans?”

“Bold words coming from Dad Jeans McMike.”

“They’re not dad jeans,” Ryan argues, sounding petulant.

“Whatever happened to those jeans Gavin made you buy?” It’s really, really weird to be having a totally normal conversation in these circumstances, but Trevor will take any kind of distraction he can get.

“They’re uncomfortable,” Ryan mutters. “I don’t like them.”

“You just have to get used to them,” Trevor reasons. “Seriously, it’ll be worth it; they make your ass look great.”

“What?”

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Trevor is spared from having to come up with an explanation for that, thoughts derailed when a slick tentacle of mid-thickness finds its way into his boxers and slides against his dick.

He jerks, a strangled gasp escaping him.

“Trevor?”

“If you’re about to ask me to explain in detail what’s happening, I’m gonna take a rock from this cave and use it to smash every single one of your computers.”

Ryan pauses. “Actually, now that you mention it, bringing a sample back—”

“Shut up,” Trevor snaps, but the heat of his words is lost when the tentacle wraps rather decisively around his cock. He swears, pulling futilely against the ones holding his arms still. He’s even more aware of the pulsing action of the tentacles like this, definitely a foreign sensation around his dick, but it’s not—it’s not bad, is the thing.

Ryan sounds mildly petulant. “Well, I expect a report, then, at least, when you’re—uh, finished?” Trevor lets out another moan and Ryan quiets himself almost abruptly.

Results of the creature understanding English still seem to be inconclusive, because when Trevor firmly tells the thing not to rip his boxers, it seems to pause for a moment, then tear them from waistband to hem in one sharp pull, which means it either doesn’t understand a word Trevor’s saying or it’s an ornery fucking asshole.

At that point, well, Trevor’s not going to be standing—or suspended—there totally naked with his too-trendy-for-this-situation sneakers still on (he’s in the clutches of a supernatural creature that seems hellbent on getting him off, sure, but Trevor’s got standards), so he kicks off his shoes all on his own.

With better access to him, the tentacle at his waist takes the opportunity to further its exploration, which comes in the form of stroking and pulsing and writhing around his cock with differing patterns until—until, god, Trevor’s completely hard and flushed clear down to his shoulders and gasping for breath, struggling as much as he can against the tentacles holding him.

Except now it’s not with the instinct to get away—it’s with the pure, desperate desire to end the torture and get a hand around himself so he can come.

Maybe the creature can sense his need, or maybe it’s just coincidence, but either way the tentacle around his cock starts working at him in earnest, each movement sending little choked moans tumbling from his mouth, like it’s finally figured out exactly what gets him going and now it’s using that knowledge to execute the best kind of torture upon him.

He’s right on the edge but can’t quite get there, and he can feel hot, frustrated tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Oh, fuck—fuck, fuck, please—” He breaks off with a gasp, shivering, and lets his head fall back, resigning himself to what’s happening—to the fact that he’s at the complete mercy of this creature.

“Trevor,” says Ryan again, except this time it sounds less like a concerned question and more like a reverent sigh.

And Trevor—god, he should be mortified, should be begging Ryan to turn off the communication signal and leave him to this humiliation, but somehow Ryan’s voice just serves to finally, finally push him over the edge.

He comes over his stomach with a sharp, shaky cry that verges on a sob, his back arching as his hips jerk forward. The climax is wrung out of him, the tentacle not stopping for a second as it milks him dry. Eventually, he’s writhing for a different reason, eyes screwed shut, overstimulated and struggling against the appendages holding him.

It doesn’t let up for a few moments, seconds that stretch thin and near-painful. When it does, the tentacle around his cock pulling away, he goes limp in the monster’s hold, letting the tentacles take his weight. Moaning faintly, his eyes flutter open.

For a time, he’s only aware of his own panting breaths, and the ringing in his ears, and the gentle pulsing of the tentacles still touching his skin.

For a time, he doesn’t quite recognize what the faint, short, staticy noises coming from his earpiece are.

Then his eyes widen.

“Ryan?” he says tentatively, because it—

It definitely sounds like Ryan’s getting off.

The noises stop abruptly.

“Shit,” Ryan breathes, voice embarrassed and tight and guilty, like he’s a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Shit, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

Trevor has to scramble (metaphorically, of course, because fuck knows the tentacles haven’t let go of him yet, and that’s a little concerning, a little thrilling) to calm him down.

“Whoa, hey, relax, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Ryan repeats, the response punctuated with a hysterical little laugh. “It’s— It’s a Human Resources sexual harassment lawsuit, is what it is—”

“We don’t have a Human Resources department, Ryan—”

“Either way—”

“I’m telling you it’s okay,” Trevor snaps, a little exasperated. “What, do you need me to say in detail that I’m okay with you jerking off to me getting fucked by a weird tentacle creature? Because I—” He cuts himself off when the poorly-muffled sound of Ryan moaning reaches his ears. “Oh.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says, and for once it’s Ryan who’s embarrassed and not the other way around, isn’t that nice.

And, honestly, Trevor has a lot to say about that, but the second he opens his mouth, the words he’d planned to say come out as a half-yelp, half garbled noise, because one tentacle pushes between his parted lips and two others wrench his thighs apart, exposing him completely.

He hears Ryan’s concerned question only vaguely, too preoccupied with not choking on the appendage in his mouth, but that’s not enough to distract him from the thinner tentacle winding up between his legs and ignoring his dick entirely in favor of sliding back to brush against his hole.

Trevor jerks, stiffens, and the monster seems to respond in kind; it shivers and then stills, holding him and drawing out the tentacle in his mouth but not acting any further.

“Fuck,” he manages, struggling to catch his breath.

“Are you okay?” comes Ryan’s voice, like he’s been saying it a few times. Trevor sucks in a slow, deep breath and shuts his eyes.

And he nods.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just—needed a second.”

And like that, the creature comes alive again. The tentacle prods at his mouth again and he allows it in, allows it to thrust shallowly in as he squirms, another making its way down from his shoulders to his lower back.

He knows what’s coming, but it doesn’t stop him from jolting when the thin tentacle starts to enter him. Trevor’s been fucked before, has experimented with all manner of toys, but this is—god, it’s something totally new, something that gives a little to his tight walls but doesn’t hesitate to push as soon as he’s adjusted.

So it’s careful, more of a gentle exploration than a rough intrusion, but the moment it seems to sense that he’s getting used to it, the tentacle twists inside him and forces a desperate cry out of him before starting to thrust, relentless and so deep it makes him twitch.

He doesn’t even realize he’s making gasping, desperate, punched-out noises until Ryan murmurs his name.

And the thing is— Ryan sounds wrecked, breath coming in short and strained. Trevor opens his mouth to say it’s fine, I’m fine, but what ends up coming out is a broken moan accompanied by a full-bodied shudder.

He goes lax, gives into the hold the creature has on him, and if he were a person more inclined towards a sense of self-preservation, maybe he’d be afraid.

As it is, he just rocks back against the appendage thrusting into him, his cock beginning to harden again despite all odds.

“Trevor,” comes Ryan’s voice again in his ear, but this time he sounds worried.

Trevor sucks in a shaky breath and makes a point to actually respond, the tentacle in his mouth pulling away to allow him to do so (and so maybe it is more sentient than they’d thought?).

“I’m okay,” he gasps out, arching sharply when the tentacle inside him drags over his prostate. “It’s not—hurting me—”

“It’s getting you off again,” Ryan breathes out, quiet and awed, and even with the overstimulation and chaos Trevor can think enough to hope Ryan’s got a hand around his cock.

And, Christ, speaking of which—a tentacle about the same size as the one inside him wraps around his dick and starts to work him over again. He cries out, jolting, the sensation just at the confusing edge of too much

“Tell me if you need a rescue team,” Ryan says, but again the words seem to be coming out breathless.

Trevor lets out a hysterical laugh. “I don’t,” he manages between desperate little choked sounds. “I just— Fuck, just—tell me what you’re doing. Tell me you’re not just sitting there and taking fucking—fucking notes about this.”

Ryan laughs. It’s a sweet noise, despite everything. “I,” he starts. Pauses. Trevor can hear the wet click of his throat as he swallows, tries to focus on that instead of how hard his dick is or how close he is to coming again or the rough, rhythmic thrusts the creature is keeping up.

Ryan inhales shakily.

“I’m. I’ve got my fly open, and I— God. I’m getting off, Trevor, Jesus, is that what you want to hear?”

Trevor laughs again, gasping and so, so close. “Yeah,” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “Kinda.” Every thrust into him makes him jolt, and he feels so full, it’s almost unbearable.

Ryan lets out this long, shuddery sigh. “I’m getting off,” he repeats, “and I’m—gonna come,” and that comes out on a desperate little whine.

And, “Yeah,” Trevor gasps out again, and his body’s tense and arched, every muscle tight. “Fuck, me too, me too, me—”

And he does.

He comes with his eyes screwed shut so tight he sees stars, hips jerking, any semblance of coherent speech leaving him entirely in favor of desperate, sobbing little cries. It’s so good.

It lasts too long, or not nearly long enough, but either way he goes totally limp, only vaguely aware of the tentacle inside him carefully sliding out, and the others slowly lowering him down. His ears are ringing, and when the high-pitched whine fades out, he hears Ryan gasping for breath, like—

Like he just came, too.

Trevor fully comes to on the cold rock floor of the cave. It’s not the greatest post-coital awakening he’s experienced, but he’s content regardless, the cool of the granite calming the heat of his skin.

Groaning quietly, he rubs his eyes, then stares up at the bioluminescent ceiling above him, shining like it’s full of stars.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, sitting up. He winces, sore, sweat and fucking—monster slick cooling on his skin.

“Trevor?”

“If you ask me if I’m alright,” Trevor says, struggling to his feet, “I’m gonna break your kneecaps and then stand there while you roll around in pain and ask you if you’re okay.”

There’s a pause, and then Ryan says, “Okay, but—”

“I’m fine,” Trevor says, exasperated. The creature appears to have reverted back to its docile state—whatever the hell that means. “I’m fine, but I’m leaving.” He doesn’t have it in him to stick around long enough to find out what, if anything, happens next.

“Wait,” Ryan says.

Trevor huffs, slowly gathering what remains of his clothing from the cave, trying not to get too close to the still, glowing mass of the creature lest he agitate it. “What?”

“Samples,” Ryan says promptly, like he didn’t just come to the sounds and mental images of Trevor getting fucked mere minutes ago. Professional as always. Asshole. Trevor’s definitely gonna ask him out for coffee when he gets back, but still. Asshole.

Trevor looks down at himself, arms full of clothing dirty from laying on the cave floor, skin sticky with unknown fluids from the creature, and—

“Oh, pleasedon’t,” Trevor deadpans, dropping the plastic cup he’s holding– mostly for effect – as Ryan grins at him.

“Oh, I think Iwill,” Ryan teases, andlunges for him – Trevor dashes out towards the bay doors with Ryanafter him, cameramen jumping out of the way as Trevor nearly barrelsright into the paint gun table.

“No!No!”Trevor shouts, narrowly missing Ryan’s swipe at him and trippingover himself whenhe darts around the table, a mobile camera somewhere behind them butall Trevor cares about right now is fleeing.

Trevor screamsdramatically as he disappears into the dark depths of the car park,weaving past cars and only turning around when he no longer hears anyfootsteps following him – then he starts flailing his way back,right towards the paintball target and around the back of it and –

Smack!- he rams straight into Ryan, who doesn’t hesitatebefore gripping Trevor’s arms and pressing him to the wood andplanting one right on him.

Trevorfreezes up all over andwrinkles his nose with theawful, awful dread oftasting the Vegemite, histhroat already closing up in preparation –but a few moments later he realises there’s no trace of it at all,only the soft warmth ofRyan’s lips and the sweet aftertaste of Diet coke, andRyan – Ryan, theasshole,has the gall to laughagainst his mouth when he senses Trevor realising and relaxing.

Ryanpulls away with a grin still wide on his face, panting from therunning and a flush bright on his cheeks, his fingers still wrappedaround Trevor’s arms. Trevornotices that the cameraman’s no longer with them.

“Younever ate it,” Trevor says, narrowing his eyes as Ryan’s smileonly grows wider.

“Nope,”Ryan says, shit-eating grin and all, and smushes their lips togetheronce more.

Ryan growls into Trevor's throat as he backs him into the wall, hiking up Trevor's leg over his hip and pinning him down as he marks up his neck, biting harder with every breathless moan that punches out of Trevor.

“Oh, Mr. Vagabond, please,” Trevor groans dramatically, laughing at Ryan's frustrated growl. Ryan sinks his teeth into the thin skin under Trevor's jaw and Trevor gasps, hands flying to Ryan's shoulders and clutching him closer.

“Gotta give me a name if you want me to scream something,” Trevor whispers into his ear, cocky as always and Ryan huffs into his neck.

“Ryan,” he murmurs, and cuts off Trevor's pleased giggle with another sharp nip. He snags Trevor's wrists and brings them together between them, holding tight enough the bones grind together as he kisses his way up to Trevor's mouth – Trevor hisses at the pain but doesn't try to escape, and Ryan grins as he reaches back to lift the cuffs hanging from Trevor's belt – he's not even in uniform, just carrying them around like an accessory. With a dark chuckle he suddenly snaps them around Trevor's wrists, squeezing them tight as he safely can and stepping back afterwards. Trevor slumps against the wall, his throat marked up and clothes dishevelled, and Ryan grins at his new upper hand.

Except Trevor smirks, dark eyes lifting to Ryan's and the way he pulls against the cuffs and leans back against the wall all but screams that Ryan just very much took the bait. That the handcuffs were fucking planted.

“Oh no, whatever shall you do to me, Mr. Vagabond?” Trevor asks, panting shallowly. “Seems I'm in a bit of a - “ he yanks his wrists apart again to make the chain jangle, “ - tight spot.”

Ryan scowls and Trevor grins, sharp as steel.

The cuffs clink again and Ryan surges back into Trevor's space to pin him to the wall, roughly kicking his legs open and slotting right up between them – Trevor's hard, hips jerking up reflexively as Ryan grinds against him, bites at his lip.

“So fuckin' cocky,” Ryan snarls, grabbing Trevor's wrists and pushing them over his own head so Trevor's arms rest on his shoulders, the handcuffs thumping against Ryan's back. Trevor pulls them taut and loops them around the back of Ryan's neck to pull him in for a quick kiss, humming happily when Ryan allows it.

“Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?” He asks, pretty lashes fluttering open so he can look at Ryan, something innocent in the depth of his pupils.

“Oughta fuck it right out of you,” Ryan growls, and Trevor grips onto his shoulders as Ryan bends down and curls his hands around Trevor's thighs, hauling him up off the ground.

“Oh, good,” Trevor sighs, curling his arms around Ryan's neck to ease the strain. “Thought we'd never get to the fun part.”

Ryan roughly squeezes Trevor's thighs and starts carrying him to the bedroom – Trevor helpfully lifts himself with his hold on Ryan's neck and unhelpfully rocks his crotch against Ryan, biting back a whine when Ryan crushes him to the wall again to bite over his throat, leave a sordid trail of marks that only makes Trevor grin and deliberately jangle the cuffs.

Eventually Ryan does get them to the bedroom, Trevor's arms lifting from Ryan's neck so he can lay him down and crawl over him, sliding a hand up Trevor's arm and pinning his cuffed wrists to the bed, snarling a stern Stay there as he nips at Trevor's jugular – if he presses his lips to it he can feel the hot pulse-pulse of blood.

“Bossy,” Trevor comments, laughs brightly when Ryan lifts up and shoves his wrists down again hard, pinning him with a hand flat on his chest. Ryan rises up on his knees between Trevor's splayed legs, rakes his eyes over Trevor's body as he considers him.

“Oughta find another use for that mouth,” he drawls, and Trevor's mouth opens for some surely snarky remark but Ryan slips two fingers in before he can speak, curling them into Trevor's cheek and grinning when he feels the wet touch of Trevor's tongue against his knuckles.

“Yeah, that's shut you up real good.”

With his other hand, Ryan unbuckles Trevor's belt, glances up for any signs of hesitation but Trevor sucks pointedly on his fingers and rolls his hips up so Ryan continues, yanking down his jeans and kneeing over them to let Trevor kick them off. Trevor shudders and groans around his knuckles and Ryan stuffs them further in, palms Trevor's cock for a minute before pushing his legs wide open and pulling his fingers out. They're soaked in spit, a drop of it gathering on the tips, and Ryan smirks.

“Good,” he croons, shuffling down onto his elbows between Trevor's legs and shouldering his thighs even wider. “What, no snarky comment?” He touches his cold, wet fingers to Trevor's hole, chuckles when Trevor jolts and swears breathlessly, his head tipping back.

“Shame,” Ryan says, and bites cruelly at Trevor's thigh, tearing a ragged cry out of him as the cuffs clink loudly. He rubs his fingers in slow, small circles to loosen him up – after all, he wants to ruin Trevor, not hurt him – and peppers small bites along his trembling thigh, pleased at the apparent speechlessness as he starts to twist a finger in. Trevor coughs out a moan and his dick twitches visibly against his hip – Ryan slides in until the last knuckle and switches to Trevor's other thigh to rake up purple bruises.

“Take your sweet time down there,” Trevor pants, laughing at Ryan's frustrated growl. “Not like I'm going anywhere.”

Ryan scrapes his scruff over the newest mark and moves up to press slow kisses up Trevor's cock, lying in a puddle of its own slick on his hip.

“Pathetic, honestly,” Ryan says. “Barely even touched you and you're leaking.” He wraps his other hand around Trevor, rolls his tongue over the sensitive spot on the underside of the head and blowing out over the wet spot he leaves. Trevor groans loudly – Ryan drags his nose up the soft underside and eases in a second spit-wet finger just to the first knuckle.

Ryan stills his fingers and spends a moment mouthing over Trevor's dick, tracing his tongue over the vein before he has to pull away, keeping his fingers firmly lodged inside Trevor as he reaches over to fumble lube and condoms out from the drawer, laying them between Trevor's spread legs.

He drizzles lube over his fingers and doesn't bother warming it up when he pushes into Trevor again – Trevor's next groan is near-guttural and Ryan's eyes flick up to watch Trevor's arms strain against the cuffs, testing them with loud jangling.

Now Ryan steadies Trevor's cock to sink down on it, sealing his lips around the head and hollowing his cheeks – Trevor's head lifts to see and he smiles, although it melts into a pleased oh when Ryan sucks. He stays there for a moment, gives Trevor a little breathing room, lets spit drool from his lips to coat his dick, and starts slowly bobbing as he fucks Trevor in tandem with his fingers, fucking in and hooking to find his prostate and rubbing mercilessly when he finds it. Trevor's hips buck erratically, torn between the thick press of Ryan's fingers and the wet warmth of his mouth and all it does is make Ryan choke hollowly on the head when it bumps against his throat.

Trevor moans and Ryan pops off when his thighs start shaking, letting his cock fall back onto his abdomen while he gets in another finger, spears Trevor open and twists – his dick twitches and drools against his hip, adding to the puddle, and Ryan's never seen a prettier sight. He wipes his mouth against Trevor's thigh and sinks his teeth into the soft skin, tense with muscle and arousal, nipping at it until Trevor clenches hard around his fingers.

“Havin' fun yet?” Ryan asks, his voice a touch hoarse.

“Nah, I'm bored,” Trevor lies, completely unconvincingly. “Step it up, old man.”

Ryan rakes his nails down Trevor's thigh for that one and Trevor moans low at it. God, he'd be insufferable if it wasn't for all the gorgeous noise he gives when Ryan fucks him.

“You just wanna get fucked, don'tcha?” Ryan drawls – Trevor groans and nods and Ryan grins wickedly, burying his fingers to the hilt. He slides his fingers out and Trevor whines, looking up at him with pleading eyes as Ryan crawls up to kiss him, dirty and possessive and Trevor lets him, goes slack and curls his tongue against Ryan's.

Ryan pulls back to hover above Trevor, braced on one hand as his eyes flick up to Trevor's cuffed wrists, still lying there on the bed just like he ordered.

“Good boy,” he purrs, drops a sweet kiss to his cheek as Trevor pants. “Keepin' your hands up there for me.”

“Bossy,” Trevor says again, his mouth curling into a familiar smirk. “I like it, Mr. Vagabond.”

“Thought you said you wanted a name?” Ryan replies, kissing down Trevor's neck to the collar of his shirt.

“I don't think you've earned it,” Trevor chirps, and oh, he's playing real fucking dirty, isn't he?

“Awfully cocky for someone tied up with their own cuffs.”

“What, you think I don't know how to get out of these?”

Ryan smiles despite himself and noses Trevor's collar down to bite at his collarbone, dragging his teeth over the thin skin while he roughly unzips his jeans with his free hand. He plants one last kiss to Trevor's neck and rears up onto his knees to take himself out, raking his eyes over Trevor while he pumps himself with his lube-slick hand, squeezing deliberately to make the head pop through the circle of his fingers. Trevor glances up at him with dark, mischievous eyes, slowly, suggestively licking his lips and the thought makes Ryan twitch in his hand.

Ryan smirks and takes his hand off of himself to grab a condom, ripping it open and rolling it on while Trevor watches, hands sneaking up to grip the bedposts. As he shuffles up, Ryan swipes his fingers through the puddle of pre-come on Trevor's hip, gathers up most of it and smears it over the condom – Trevor flushes and bites his lip and Ryan hikes one of his legs up over his hip.

“Good boy,” Ryan praises again when Trevor hooks his knee around Ryan. Ryan lets his other leg sprawl wide for now while he pours more lube onto himself and over Trevor's hole, pushing it in with a thumb.

A groan rumbles in Ryan's chest as he lines up and pushes in, keeps his grip loose on Trevor while Trevor silently twists his hips to tell Ryan when to change the angle, face turned to hide it in the crook of his elbow.

When he's all the way in, Ryan stops for a few moments. Trevor pants harshly into his arm and slowly, slowly, his thigh relaxes under Ryan's palm, the bunched tension in his shoulders melting away as Ryan pets over his drooling cock. Eventually he nods and Ryan leaves his dick alone to grab his hip – the first thrust makes Trevor cry out and the second makes him moan and he nods frantically when Ryan slows – with that, Ryan starts fucking him properly, pushing in slow and drawing out fast, grinding in when he's sure he's pressed up against the sweet spot.

Ryan leans over to kiss Trevor, bracing himself on a hand and wincing when their teeth clack together painfully – Trevor's hands come down, the cuffs hooking around Ryan's neck again as he clutches at his neck and cheek and steadies him for a deeper kiss, broken by their rough panting and the occasional way Ryan's thrusts shift Trevor up the bed. Trevor's nails dig into his skin and Ryan bites his lower lip to swollen before he has to pull back – Trevor releases him and holds onto the headboard again.

Trevor's groans start pitching high and tight and he rocks back into every snap of Ryan's hips as best he can, his head lolling against the pillow as his leg clamps tight to Ryan's side and his cock twitches and oh, he's close. Ryan slows his pace – to Trevor's desperate whine – and skates his fingers over Trevor's balls, pulling a little to coax out a broken moan.

Ryan smooths his hand up Trevor's other leg and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder, lazily rolling his hips in to make Trevor grunt and moan, desperately trying to fuck himself back on Ryan's dick but not with enough leverage to be successful. Still, Ryan lets him try as he rubs a teasing thumb just under Trevor's balls.

“What, can't keep it up?” Trevor spits breathlessly, closing his eyes and whining at the next slow grind of Ryan's hips. Ryan chuckles low and presses a kiss to Trevor's knee, digging his fingers into his thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Still mouthing off, huh?” Ryan rubs his cheek against Trevor's leg and decides to experiment a little while he's teasing like this. “Oughta make you suck my cock,” he drawls. Trevor curses under his breath and clenches and that confirms enough for Ryan.

“Yeah, I bet you'd like that,” he continues. “Shut you up real good, wouldn't it? Maybe if you asked I'd even choke ya, stuff your throat until all you can do is drool.”

Trevor groans.

“Look so good, you would, stretched around my dick.”

“Shit, you're filthy,” Trevor gasps, his knee curling over Ryan's shoulder.

“You complainin'?”

“Yeah, I'm complaining that you're all talk,” he retorts, shuddering when Ryan hikes his hips up a little more.

Ryan cuts off whatever Trevor was going to say next with a sharp snap of his hips, falling back into the previous rhythm that makes Trevor squeeze wonderfully tight around him. For good measure, he wraps his fingers around Trevor's dick and drags his palm over the soaked head, more slick pumping out when he fucks in particularly hard. The handcuffs jangle loudly above them as Trevor arches his back and rocks eagerly into every thrust, tendons flexing in his forearms and biceps while he holds onto the headboard, which now knocks against the wall every few seconds. Shivers run up Ryan's spine and he growls into Trevor's skin as he works Trevor over, jacking him with sloppy wet strokes and pinning him down with his other hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” Trevor spits, his thighs trembling as he gets close. A twist around the head wrenches a sharp moan from him and then he's locking up all over and coming - “Fuck, Ryan,” he moans, his voice completely shattered – shooting messy up over his shirt and dripping dirty over Ryan's fingers.

The next weak whimper of his name makes Ryan's eyes flutter shut, automatically muffling himself in Trevor's knee as he groans loudly. He forces himself to wait at least until Trevor's stopped coming, his cock twitching in Ryan's fist and his chest rising and falling erratically with his harsh panting, tiny moans slipping out on every few thrusts. He goes practically fucking boneless under Ryan and Ryan lets his leg drop back to the bed as he doubles over, burying himself in Trevor and sinking his teeth into Trevor's clothed shoulder to silence himself as he comes, hips flush to Trevor's ass and spit staining Trevor's shirt where he's lost himself to the buzz of orgasm.

Ryan groans again and Trevor's hands go to his cheeks once more, tugging him up for a sloppy, exhausted kiss, licking lazily into Ryan's slack mouth and clenching deliberately around him as he shudders.

“Fuck,” Ryan gasps. Trevor hums in response and his hands loop around Ryan's neck, the cuffs clinking loudly as he fiddles with something. Ryan doesn't much care, too busy running his hand up Trevor's thigh and sucking filthy on his tongue.

Ryan jumps when a cuff falls on the back of his neck and Trevor laughs as he drops the handcuffs by his head, grinning when Ryan glances at them.

“Clip on the inside?” He asks, already knowing the answer. Trevor smirks and pulls him back down for another fierce kiss.

This time Ryan pulls back and straightens up to pull out, gripping himself – and the condom – with one hand and gently holding Trevor still with a hand on his thigh while he slides out. Excess lube drips out after him.

He makes quick work of the condom, tying it with a wet snap and tossing it in the general direction of his bin. Trevor's legs stay splayed either side of him and Ryan takes a moment to admire the sight before him, from the marks on Trevor's throat to the purple hickeys on his inner thighs, the way his shirt sticks to his chest with sweat and the messy swoop of his hair, the satisfied, smug grin on his lips. His wrists are colouring up, purple bruises blooming over the delicate knob of bone and reddened lines bitten into the skin.

Ryan leans back over him and gathers up Trevor's wrists in one hand, rubbing his thumb over the damage to find it slight, nothing bleeding or worse, and presses a few soft kisses to the worst marks. Trevor rolls his wrists and tugs them out of Ryan's grip to stretch, his spine popping audibly as he sighs in relief.

“Well, that was fun, Mr. Vagabond,” he says simply, a spark of mirth in his eyes when he glances slyly up at Ryan.

“Guess I didn't quite fuck it all outta ya,” Ryan muses, settling on his elbows.