Rev It Up!

You press your hand to his cheek in reassurance, gasping as his cock throbs hard against your far too sensitive folds, the head of it millimetres from popping inside. "Why?"

"You should not allow me to do this," he breathes, leaning into your touch like it's the only thing anchoring him to the world.

"I want this," you reassure softly, "but we can stop if you need to."

He shakes his head, long hair brushing against your temple. "I do not deserve this," he hisses, chest heaving, deep breaths forcing it to press against your body. His hips pulse slightly, pushing his tip just barely inside.

"You do," you whisper. "You deserve it more than anyone else." You drag your nails lightly down his back, from shoulder to his sharply curving waist. He writhes, back arching with a soft gasp. You tilt your hips, holding him so he can't pull away and pressing upwards, slowly starting to push him inside.

He groans and you can feel the tension in his posture, the shudder in his hips. He drops his weight onto his arms, blanketing you with heat and the softness of his skin. "You do not understand."

"I want to," you whisper against full lips, kissing him, biting at the bottom one and pulling at his waist, trying to show how much you want him.

"I do not deserve the space you allow me inside of you," he groans, finally rocking his hips forward.

You whine, nails digging into his skin, pulling him closer until he's seated as deep as he can be.

"I can feel you stretch around me," he groans, breathing rough, body weight pressing down against you. "Why do you allow me to change you?"

"It feels good when you fill me," you whisper, rocking your hips. "It feels good afterwards, when I miss you, but my body still remembers. I wish I could change you in the same way."

He whines, body pressing even closer to you, weight pushing you into the mattress. He pulls his hips back and you dig your nails into his waist, trying to leave marks you hope he'll be able to feel later as you desperately try to keep him close.

He shudders in your arms, hips bucking, cock jumping, stretching you impossibly further. "I don't deserve this," he groans by your ear, completely breathless. "But I just cannot stop."

Vincent feels good, head a bit floaty, body loose and the usual drum of negatives thoughts at the back of his mind somewhat muted. Relaxing, quiet music plays in the background, it's classically orchestral but Vincent can't really focus on it. There are too many people chatting, an indecipherable humming that drowns out everything else. Usually, Vincent would feel a little bit anxious around this many people, but he's mostly been left alone in his own corner of the room, and Reeve keeps taking the time to catch Vincent's eye to give him a soft, reassuring smile.

Reeve has been busy the whole night of course, because this is a WRO function and he's the most important attendee. He has been constantly accosted by different people, attention pulled in so many different directions, but he's still taking the time to check in with Vincent and it makes his chest feel warm.

Vincent feels out of place here and it's strange. He used to belong in this world, comfortable with high flying rich people, expensive suits and security. But now the collar of his own suit is too tight and itchy, irritating where his hair is tied back at the nape of his neck. He's trying to ignore it, to ignore the discomfort for his partner.

It might just be the alcohol or just how fucking good Reeve looks in his new, properly tailored suit, but there's a fog of arousal starting to cloud Vincent's mind, building to what soon might be an actual physical reaction with each sip of champagne. He wonders if Reeve is similarly affected. He doubts it, Reeve is used to these sorts of functions after all, but he can still hope.

Vincent stops paying attention to this surrounds, a rookie mistake at a function like this. His mind too focused on thoughts of the heat of Reeve's body pressed against his and the rasp of stubble against his throat, that he doesn't notice Reeve seeking out his gaze until the man is suddenly beside him, the soft scent of his cologne clouding Vincent's senses.

"Is everything alright, Vincent?" Reeve asks carefully. His voice is calm and measured like always but Vincent can pick up the hint of concern in his tone. Reeve reaches his hand out halfway towards Vincent's body but stops, holding back. Vincent recognises the gesture. He thinks that Vincent is overwhelmed and might not want to be touched. The thought makes Vincent's hollow heart squeeze even though there is no possible scenario where he doesn't want this man's touch.

Vincent nods in response but can immediately tell that Reeve sees right through him.

"How about we find somewhere a bit quieter?" Reeve smiles softly, still not reaching for Vincent, hovering his hand just above his back to lead him.

Vincent doesn't know the etiquette here and he's frustrated by it. All he wants to do is reach out and take Reeve's hand. He's not ashamed of their relationship and he knows Reeve isn't either. But this is an important function, and such an open display of affection could be construed as unprofessional, especially considering how important Reeve is. So Vincent does nothing and allows himself to be lead, wanting and missing human contact.

"It was getting a little bit too loud for me too," Reeve says sheepishly after leading Vincent through into a small meeting room and shutting the door behind them, drowning out most of the outside noise.

Vincent smiles softly and looks at Reeve, already lost in the care and devotion in the man's eyes. He's overcome with emotion — the alcohol probably to blame. Vincent's eyes trace the sharp curve of Reeve's jaw, and the freshly and immaculately groomed stubble of his beard, and finds that he just can't resist. Vincent kisses Reeve, bruisingly, pressing far too close like an eager teenager. He carefully pushes Reeve back against the door, protecting the back of his head with his arm as he hits the wood with a solid thud.

Reeve tastes like champagne and strawberries, sweet and fizzy and addicting. Vincent's head spins from the proximity. Reeve reacts quickly, kissing back, hand finding the back of Vincent's neck, holding him close and Vincent melts into the touch of rough stubble against his jaw.

Reeve is breathing heavily when Vincent pulls away, cheeks slightly flushed. Vincent darts his face to Reeve's neck, inhaling sharply at his skin, drawing his natural scent and cologne deep into lungs to fan his arousal. Vincent needs to make Reeve feel good. Right now. He can't wait until later.

Vincent drops to his knees, hitting the floor with a loud thud that isn't painful. He finds his prize immediately, nuzzling his cheek against the crotch of Reeve's pants in reverence. The material is soft and silky, far too thick for him to be able to feel what's underneath but Vincent doesn't care.

"Vincent?" Reeve asks with a slight confusion, out of breath, looking down at him.

"I want to make you feel good," Vincent groans, hand moving to Reeve's fly, just to make his intention perfectly clear. "I need it."

"But we're in—Vince—This is—," Reeve stammers, reaching down to press his palm against Vincent's face, cupping his cheek.

Vincent leans into the warmth of the touch, allowing it to wash over him.

"People will realise I'm missing," Reeve continues, brushing his thumb across Vincent's jaw.

Vincent's breathing shudders involuntarily, the fog of champagne and arousal amplifying his reaction to the touch.

"Oh fuck it," Reeve finishes, making up his mind. "But we need to be quick."

Vincent starts working on Reeve's fly immediately, pulling the expensive fabric apart to reveal boxers covered with a bright pattern of ridiculous dancing cactaurs. Reeve always dresses like this, with ridiculous underclothes, as his own way of rebelling against how put together and professional he needs to be at all times. Vincent has grown to love it even though the busy patterns obscure the visual of his cock.

Reeve isn't hard yet but Vincent doesn't care, licking over the outline in the fabric while the man above him shudders. Vincent wants to spend longer worshipping him, but knows that they just don't have the time. He gives one more laving lick of the head of Reeve's cock, enjoying the rasp of fabric against his tongue before pulling soft skin through the slit at the front.

Vincent doesn't waste time, sliding Reeve all the way into his mouth quickly. He's not quite hard enough yet to reach the back of Vincent's throat. Reeve's cock pulses against Vincent's lips, growing harder and longer with each rough throb. Reeve groans, hand tightening in Vincent's hair, pulling it from his ponytail. Vincent doesn't give a shit. Reeve bites down on the back of his hand to muffle his sounds as his hips start to carefully thrust into Vincent's mouth.

Vincent sinks down further, pressing his lips to coarse, dark hair, enjoying the feel of it against his skin because Vincent no longer has body hair anywhere and he misses it. He rubs Reeve's cock with his tongue, teasing the throbbing vein as its growth forces his lips slightly apart.

Vincent tastes salt on the back of his tongue, so increases his pace, hollowing out his cheeks as the head of Reeve's cock begins to sink into his throat. He relaxes into the sensation, allowing the intrusion to ground him. He no longer has a gag reflex and it feels good to give pleasure, to get lost in the mutual satisfaction of being with a person you care about deeply. He inhales Reeve's scent and presses his lips to the warmth of his skin. Reeve holds Vincent's hair, supporting him, encouraging him as Reeve's hips thrust slightly, pushing himself deeper.

Vincent bobs his head and moves his tongue, spreading saliva everywhere. Reeve's hand starts pulling at his hair, pleasure pricking at Vincent's scalp. Vincent groans around the cock in his mouth as his own starts to rise uncomfortably against his tailored paints. He pushes his hips into the sensation, grinding against air and rubbing against fabric, fanning his own arousal and using it as motivation to slide Reeve further down his throat.

Vincent doesn't need to pull back at all, he has no gag reflex and no immediate need to breathe. He's good at this, at using the broken parts of his body to give pleasure and allows himself to fall into it, allows the fog of arousal and champagne to take hold in his mind. He notes every single one of Reeve's reactions, each hitch of breath and pulse of his hips, wanting to commit them to his never ending memory.

"Vincent," Reeve moans breathlessly, hips pushing against Vincent's lips, trying to get him to pick up the pace.

Vincent hums in response and Reeve grunts as the vibrations wash over his cock. Reeve's breathing shudders and Vincent starts moving back and forth, fucking Reeve's cock into his throat. He wants to take his time and lave his tongue lovingly over the heat in his mouth, but knows he needs to be fast.

Vincent picks up the pace, swallowing and pressing harder with his tongue as Reeve's breath starts hitching rhythmically and his hands tighten in Vincent's hair.

"Vincent, Vince, Oh," Reeve moans.

Vincent knows that means he's close.

Vincent knows that he needs to not make a mess but finds himself pulling back slightly anyway. He wants to taste Reeve on his tongue instead of having him slide wastefully and tastelessly straight down his throat. Sticky salt immediately begins to coat the back of Vincent's tongue and he shudders, hips bucking until he regains his control. Vincent hollows his cheeks and purses his lips as Reeve whines, legs beginning to shake.

Vincent reaches out to grip at Reeve's hips, supporting him upright as his breathing crescendos and his hips tilt, spilling between Vincent's lips with a muffled, desperate groan.

Vincent swallows everything, enjoying the taste, allowing each rough spurt to quench his thirst. Reeve holds him close, fingers tight in Vincent's hair, gripping on for dear life as he sags back against the door, sated and shaking. Vincent pulls away with a deep pop and uses his tongue to lick up any mess remaining on Reeve's shaft as he whines with oversensitivity.

Reeve slides down the door, pants still open and cock still wet and out as he pulls Vincent closer and into a punishing kiss. Vincent shivers, groaning against Reeve's lips. Vincent wants to kiss him harder, undress him, lie underneath him while their bodies press together and their breathing mingles together. Cushion Reeve's hard body with his own on the rough carpet of his meeting room and lose himself to sensation, but it's not to be as someone calls Reeve's name loudly from outside the door.

"Fuck," Reeve hisses, pulling back from Vincent, head thudding back against the door.

Vincent helps him stand, knees now a little bit sore from kneeling on the hard floor, but he doesn't care. He tucks Reeve back into his silly underwear and pants tenderly, ensuring he's presentable enough to go outside.

"Will you be alright?" Reeve asks softly, gesturing downwards to the somewhat subtle bulge at Vincent's crotch as he gently leans up to fix Vincent's hair.

Vincent moans, exhaling deeply at the touch of strong, warm hands at the back of his neck, carefully pulling his wild hair back into some semblance of order. He nods, happy to have some more champagne, to nurse his arousal until later, to allow it to build to a crescendo that will feel so fucking good when it's eventually unleashed.

You'd been grinding yourself against his thigh at the door, working yourself up enough that by the time he'd managed to drag you into the bedroom, pulling your heated body on top of his on the bed, you'd come just from grinding on his clothed cock. You had soaked his pants, shaking and moaning while somehow managing to press the heat of your release hard enough against him that he too, had lost himself.

You've been together for long enough that he's not particularly embarrassed. You seem to enjoy his oversensitivity tremendously and your heightened excitement over his sometimes premature affections, combined with his stamina means that he has never really worked on improving himself in this regard.

You'd just moaned against him and sunk down to lick his release from dirty fabric, freeing him from his restrictive prison and taking him down your throat until he'd spilled again with a shuddering call of your name and a tangle of his fingers in the sheets.

That had gotten you going again, clothes hastily and messily discarded until you could rub the wet, leaking head of his cock roughly against where you're most sensitive, grinding on his shaft until you'd bitten down on the junction of his neck and shoulder hard with pleasure, forcing Vincent to hiss out something pathetic as his cock had traitorously spurted weakly against your skin.

You'd just rubbed his release into yourself as lubrication and then sat on his cock, enveloping him in tight heat as you shifted and shuddered around him. You've gotten off twice while he's been inside of you, he thinks, brain barely working. He can't focus and the only reason he's not completely incoherent is because of how many times he's managed to come so far.

Vincent is changing as you ride him, teeth elongating into snarling fangs before your eyes. His head twists from side to side, hair a wild, tangled mess that's quickly growing longer, while his eyes flash. Flickering between red, orange and yellow as his pupils shudder from circles to slits while you move back and forth on his cock.

There's something different about this time, you're not sure what's causing this, but you don't want to stop. You like watching him change, a physical manifestation of his desperation and need. He had been moaning your name but the sound is even sweeter now, syllables leaving his lips in a jumbled hiss, formed by a tongue that's too long and a mouth that's far too wide.

You don't stop, your arousal continuing to build. His cock pulses and throbs inside of you as you move faster, pretty sure that's actually growing larger inside of you, your body stretching to accommodate him. His hips buck up into you roughly, sharp bones pressing to your skin as he forces you to grip tightly to his heaving chest.

His pectorals widen underneath your fingers, chest barrelling as his heart beats too strongly. His lungs heave, chest expanding too much for his skin, ribs pressing outwards, bulging through his chest.

A sudden pain grips your hips and you tilt downwards as black claws prick at your skin. His grip is strong, forcing your pace, not allowing you to stop. The pain feels good, enhancing the sensation and you trust him enough to not worry about him hurting you, even when he's like this.

"Are you alright Vincent?" you ask, out of breath, trying to slow down to allow him to reply, but his claws don't relent.

He growls in response, the sound so deep and animalistic that it vibrates through your entire body, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. His head thrashes, hips pushing upwards. You bounce roughly, almost folding off him, but his pricking claws hold you down. He holds you steady, setting a brutal pace and you do your best to keep up while he hits every spot inside of you. His cock is throbbing, changing size inside of you and it's addicting, the size knocking the breath from your lungs.

His claws are starting to hurt now, pushing past the line from enticing pain to distracting. You reach down and place your hands over them. They're so much bigger than they should be, pale, veins and tendons prominent and flexing. He drags them down your hips, raking lines into your skin as you hiss, skin burning.

"Too much," you call out. His hands leave you immediately. They slap down on either side of the mattress, shredding and tearing at the sheets, ripping through them with his claws like butter. The sound only turns you on more.

You try to ride him, to pick up the pace you were at before, but his hips are bucking too much. Without his support you're almost flying off him, struggling to keep yourself upright and keep up your rhythm on his cock.

Vincent is still tearing through the sheets, he's shredded them down to the mattress now and foam flies around you. He's growling, hissing as his mouth is forced wide open around fangs that no longer fit in his mouth. Lifting up his too large hands, the black claws wicked sharp and so much longer than they were before, he presses them around your hips. He grips you carefully, skin against his huge palms, longer fingers not touching your skin.

He flips you over roughly, crawling on top of you, cock somehow not leaving your body as you grip onto him for support. He looks down at you with his changing eyes, yellow, red and slitted. Hair that is far too long and thick, ends tipped with blood red covers you, blocking out all the light. He's all you can see, your perfect ethereal and sometimes monster of a boyfriend.

His hands are by your head, claws already shredding the mattress as he pushes his hips forward. The strength in them is incredible, every part of your body oversensitive and singing for him, stretched and hot and wanting more. If this kills you, then you'll die happy.

Vincent was beautiful, trussed up in knotted, red silk. He stared up at you with complete trust in his eyes, breathing heavy with anticipation as his body had trembled with want.

The red rope was a stunning contrast to his pale skin, outlining lithe limbs and haunting scars. He shuddered, bit at his lip as you'd drawn rope tight across his chest and back, dressing him in a harness of your own creation and adoration of him. You had dragged knots over his nipples, used your mouth on them, settled the rope in position, forced them to stay hard and protruding. Lines draped over his waist and hips, restricting his movements, forcing his arms back and pushing out his chest, muscles straining. Patterns knotted over his balls, tight, holding them drawn out and in place as your rings spiraled up the shaft of his impossibly hard cock. You'd watched with a smirk as the anticipation leaking from him had stained the colour dark.

He's even more beautiful now though, mouth held open in a silent scream as wild, sweaty hair falling in a tangled mess down his back. He's strung from the ceiling, knees a whispered touch above the mattress as you fuck him completely senseless. He takes your cock like he was born for it, squeezing around you, the resistance making your hips work harder as his pleasure builds. You hold him tightly, hands on his hips as you fuck into him from behind while his torso swings from the suspension.

He's struggling to handle it as you hit his prostate, tears staining tracks down his pretty face. You yank his head back and he hisses, moaning at the strain of his bowed out chest as the angle rubs you perfectly deep inside of him. You lick the tears from his cheeks, praising him, biting at his jaw as he gives in to the pleasure. The usual spark in his eyes, that glint of worry and overthinking he always wears in his expression is gone completely, replaced by the desperation of his complete submission to you. He's yours in mind and body, every single part of him begging for you even though you've overwhelmed his conscious thoughts.