I lather my hands immediately, and he tenses right back up again, nervous. He opens his mouth like he’s considering arguing, or changing his mind and backtracking. Not wantingthat, I subvert his expectations and start washing his body first. I kneel and work from his ankles up to his strong thighs, between them, tease at his balls. He cusses, spreads for me, but I move on.
“Bastard,” he huffs.
“Yes,” I agree. “But I’m a bastard that gets what he wants.”
I put some shampoo in my hands and work on his scalp for a while. He loves that, his knees going weak, swaying on his feet, goosebumps breaking out on his skin even under the warm water.
“Feels good?”
“Yeah,” he sighs.
“Good,” I croon. I rinse my hands, then apply more soap. I crowd behind him, sink one hand into his hair to hold him still against the shower wall, and the other I lower to his cheeks. He gasps, jerks in my hold.
“You know the word,” I remind him. “Unless you say it, I’m going to clean you just like this. Holding you against the wall, legs spread for me, just taking it.”
Tommy chokes back a moan and hits the tiles with his fist, angry and needy at the same time, as always. “Get on with it then.”
I chuckle, teasing his crack with my touch. I lean back a little, wanting to see what I’m doing. I press gently against that small, dark furled hole. He flinches, then relaxes, choking on a whine.
“I can take it,” he growls. “Hurry up.”
Carefully, slowly, I sink just my fingertip inside his body. He scrunches his face up and fists his hands. He doesn’t seem to love it, but doesn’t seem to hate it either. I take my time, gentle and thorough. It’s achingly intimate; he’s so vulnerable, and he’s embarrassed. He seems clean enough already, but I don’t resent him for having comforting rituals. He has so much baggage around sex that it’s already difficult for him, so if he wants to feelspotless beforehand so that it’s easier, then I’ll make it happen. I don’t make him wait too long, and soon I’m rinsing his hair and body under the spray.
“All clean,” I murmur. “Good boy.”
“You don’t have to praise me every time I do something you like.” He turns to face me, lets me wash his front with my soapy hands. He lets me cup his dick, too, even though I’m not playing with it yet, just owning it.
“I can praise you as much as I want, Tommy. And I’m going to. You know why?” He blinks his wet lashes up at me, waiting for my answer while I fondle him. “Because you deserve it, and because you like it. Because I’m your Daddy and I can praise you as much as I fucking want. If I want you to lay down and listen to me call you my good, slutty sweet boy while I fuck you into the mattress, you’re just going to have to accept it. Or safe word. Your choice.”
He pants but says nothing as I finish washing him off, then give myself an efficient scrub down. If he wants clean, I’ll be clean. The kind of filth I want with Tommy has nothing to do with dirt.
I pull him with me when I leave the shower, and he follows me like he isn’t sure this is real. He stares at me, unblinking, like I’m some kind of apparition, as I pat him mostly dry. But when I shove him back onto the bed, he squawks out an alarmed ‘fuck!’ as he falls backward. His breath wooshes out of him when he hits the mattress, and he scowls up at me, more alert than before.
“What was that for?”
“I’m real, Tommy,” I remind him while I pull a bottle of lube and a condom out of my bedside drawer. “Don’t look at me like I’m not. You need me to scare you? Spank you? Embarrass you? Then I will.”
“Shit. So fucking hot.” He scoots back on the bed until he’s fully sprawled out. “Do you want me to, um, like, lead? I knowyou haven’t been with a man before. I can tell you what to do, if you need me to.”
Bashfully, he fidgets on the bed and doesn’t meet my eyes. My sweet boy is trying very hard to be good.
“I think I get the idea,” I smirk. “But I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”
“No need to be a smart ass,” he mutters. Then he stiffens with a gasp when I crawl over him. I push his arms up, nip at his inner bicep, kiss his lips, run my hands roughly down his ribs. I explore the curves of his body more intently, listening to his hums and moans and whines. I keep exploring until he’s writhing, and when I finally shove his legs apart he nods eagerly.
“Yeah, get it in me,” he pants. He looks away, patting the bed in search of the condoms, which gives me the opening I need to surprise him.
I move further south, licking at his stomach, and he clenches with a cussed exclamation. My lips tingle as I press them into the dips and valleys of his abs, tickle from his happy trail, and then I nibble on the thin, sensitive skin of his inner thighs.
His dick is mostly hard, the first dick I’ve ever had this close to my face, but I don’t hesitate at all. It doesn’t occur to me to second-guess myself or to be turned-off by the idea of a cock in my mouth. All I can think of, all I can feel, is Tommy and my desire to fully explore him, consume him. I want to dive straight into his flames, I want to pour gasoline over the both of us.
I pull his dick into my mouth and suck, looking up his body as I do so to study his reaction. He lets out a gargled noise of pleasure, his pupils blown wide and his eyes even wider.
“Y-Yo-Young-gi,” he moans, the pitch lilting up when I swallow around his tip. I can’t get him as deep as he got me, I don’t have the practice, but I’m eager to learn.
But before I can work on that, his cock starts to soften. He pants, shaking, and I look up to see that his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s white-knuckling the sheets beside him.
I pull off.
