museyboxy | Thread continuations

"Isn't there?" Barry asks, bringing up his other knee to rub against Garrett's side. Part of him wants him so badly, he always does when Garrett is close and looming so large and heavy between his legs, but another part of Barry wants to make him work for it.

"I could phase right out of these cuffs, hell, right through the floor and into the dungeon. There's always someone ready to play down there."

The thought of Barry leaving makes a growl rise, his hand leaving Barry's hair to settle around Barry's throat. Not squeezing, just... resting. A show of dominance, and a convenient way to tilt the man's head back just a little as Garrett looms over him.

"I could keep you here, boy."

Barry rarely pushes him. He rarely has to. In the right mood, Garrett needs no encouragement to dominate and to own, and it's definitely not a decision made in Barry's upstairs brain to push him now. It's just that the hand on his throat feels strangely good. Frightening and exhilarating, huge and warm and powerful. Barry doesn't doubt for a moment that he belongs to Garrett, but the reminder is thrilling.

"You can try," Barry murmurs, hips lifting despite the weight of Garrett's body, and this, too, feels good. Barry swallows, throat bobbing beneath Garrett's grip. It pushes the raw skin from Garrett's bite against that roughened, bloodwarm palm, and Barry groans.

Garrett jerks Barry's head back and throws the net of Silence over him with a squeeze of his hand. He's learned to do this subtly, without the flash and flare of battle. With no light or fanfare to accompany, it makes for a surprise that Garrett isn't sure Barry will even notice at first.

Probably. But he's not sure. He can never be sure. In his right mind, he would never do this without asking first. In his right mind, he wouldn't be smiling now, holding Barry by the throat and leaning down for a deep, filthy kiss.

Wrapped up in Garrett, soaking in his warmth, nearly breathing his air, Barry doesn't notice the change in him. Garrett seals his mouth over his and Barry sighs into the kiss, legs shifting, but only to draw Garrett deeper between them. He opens his mouth and only air comes out, but it's hardly the first time that Garrett has stolen the breath from him, but when it happens a second time, Barry's eyes widen.

He feels..wrong, and it's been long enough that Garrett told him about Silence that for a moment, real fear shines in his eyes. He hasn't been laid so low since Zoom, but the shock of adrenaline is enough to clear the fog in his mind, and the short return of coherent thought along with the gleam of victory in Garrett's eyes is enough. Oh, Barry will make him pay for this.

For now, all he can do is lie open and vulnerable to Garrett's hands, his heart racing and still so slow. "Garrett," Barry mouths, exhilarated and frightened by his own weakness, but God, so intrigued. He's never been like them before, the other, mostly ordinary humans Garrett takes to his bed. What must it be like to be so delicate and faced with this man? Barry's cock throbs, and lust claws up his spine so fiercely he manages the smallest of moans.

Garrett drinks in every second of that reaction, his pollen-altered mind finding satisfaction even in the moment of fear. It feels like ownership, like dominance- in this moment, Barry belongs to him, putting even his body and his powers in Garrett's hands. There is no part of him that Garrett doesn't control. It's thrilling, and he leans his hips down, pressing the hard line of his clothed cock against Barry's hip.

"Something the matter, love?" Maker, that ruined little moan- it goes right through him, hearing the desire in Barry forced out in such a tiny whimper. Garrett lets go of Barry's throat and wraps that huge hand around his cock, stroking slowly. "It's alright. You can tell me."

Barry still has his own meagre strength left to him, and he uses it to strain hard at his bonds, flesh bleeding white against the cuffs. Garrett's hand feels so good, somehow even larger without his powers, the pleasure he wrings from him as inescapable as any pain he might wish to inflict, and Barry shakes.

Garrett, he mouths again, knowing full well that any plea he makes will go unanswered. He could do anything to him. In their shared, altered states, Garrett probably will, and it's only the trust he has in him that keeps Barry from flying apart. Even so, anxious tears leak from the corners of his eyes, even as his hips lift, chasing more of those delicious strokes.

It's the tears that do it. Barry's eyes were damp before from pain at the cruel grip on his hair, they frequently tear up when there's a cock in his mouth, but this is different. Garrett recognizes these tears as some stressed-out mixture of anxiety, arousal, and overwhelm- and Maker, he enjoys inflicting that, but he doesn't want to actually hurt his sweet Barrybeans. So Garrett lets go of his hair at last and cups Barry's cheek, leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

It's a good kiss. Low and quiet and tender, growing into deep and heated and filthy, with a thumb stroking Barry's cheek soothingly. His hand stays slow on Barry's cock, grip nice and soft and gentle, palm rubbing over the head on every stroke. When it's time to breathe, Garrett speaks softly against those irresistible lips.

"You know, the fun part about this whole belong to me thing is that- you're mine to do with as I like, but you're also mine to take care of."

He wants Barry to know. The tanglethorn is addling him, he can feel it, but he's still in here. He's still Garrett, and Garrett loves him.

Bound and helpless as he is, Barry finds solace in the heat of Garrett's mouth, a grounding in the way he kisses him so deeply. His hand moves over Barry's cock, filling him with pleasure, but it's lost to the way Barry's heart throbs for those tender words. I love you, he wants to say, but of course he can't. All Barry can do is show him.

Garrett's mouth is so close, and Barry turns his head, presenting him with the unmarked side of his throat. I trust you, the gesture says, Take what you want, I'll give it to you.

Voice or no voice, Barry's face is an open book. In large print. With pop-up pictures. Garrett can figure him out, is the point. In the sweet way he melts, the look in his eyes, turning his head like that- Garrett kisses his neck just under his ear, unexpectedly gentle, and murmurs, "I love you too."

His hand moves from Barry's cock, sliding slowly up the man's slender form to tease at those red, sore nipples again. Rubbing slowly, just enough to cause a sweet little ache, while he presses soft, sucking kisses to Barry's throat.

Expecting another bite, Barry shudders with the gentle heat of Garrett's mouth, nerves blossoming beneath lips that press so near to his jugular. Even racing through his veins, for once Barry's pulse is slow enough to count, and he sucks in a sharp breath as Garrett's fingers return to his nipples. Without his powers, the ache there hasn't faded at all, and Barry's throat works in a silent moan. It's a reminder of just how slight he is compared to Garrett, just how entirely he is in his care. Between them, Barry's cock jerks eagerly, giving voice to the pleasure that Barry's throat cannot.

Barry's lips part in silent pleasure, and Garrett kisses them, capturing that unspoken moan like a secret. He's so, so quiet, it's almost unnerving. Of course it's expected, that's obvious, but it's such a drastic change from Barry's usual constant moans and whimpers and delicious sounds that always manage to heat Garrett's blood. The fact that nary a tiny sound has slipped out yet just means that Garrett isn't trying hard enough.

"Stay here," he tells Barry with a small, shit-eating smile. "Don't go anywhere."

He gets up to dig something out of The Box- a zippered pouch that they've never used together. From it, he pulls out a long, thin metal rod with a rounded tip and a metal ring at the end.

"Look at this," he waves it at Barry, as if the man could possibly look anywhere else. "Don't worry, there's a special lube for it."

Which he pulls from the pouch next. Without consulting Barry about any of these proceedings, Garrett kneels back on the bed, straddling Barry's knees to force his legs tightly together. Then he starts slicking up the metal rod liberally.

Barry nearly manages a sound when Garrett leaves him, at once too open, too exposed, too cold without the weight of him, but when he returns Barry very nearly wishes him gone again. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the rod, long and slim and clinical looking, so slender he can't imagine where it could possibly go, and then Garrett is slicking it with lube.

Barry's legs kick, but with Garrett astride them the movement hardly registers, and Barry kicks again. "Wh-," he finally manages to eke from his throat. He doesn't imagine that Garrett would truly hurt him, but he doesn't understand, and the long length of steel in his hands so near to Barry's naked body is terrifying.

Edited 2019-10-14 05:50 (UTC)

That indecipherable little squeak draws Garrett's attention; he sees fear in his love's eyes and reaches to stroke the man's fevered cheek.

"Haven't you heard of sounding?" he asks. "That little sex museum on Zhautas had a whole exhibit about it. I've heard it can give you the best orgasm you've ever had."

Edited 2019-10-14 05:59 (UTC)

Barry doesn't doubt it. All the best orgasms he's ever had have been wrung from him by or in Garrett's body, but how on earth is that terrifying length of steel supposed to feel good? There's only one place that it can go, and Barry's legs jerk yet again beneath Garrett's weight.

"Y-" he tries, unsure if he's even gotten out this much. Garrett's done this? He knows how, and how to make it good?

In truth, he only did it for a few minutes, on a random volunteer at a kink exhibit almost a year ago- but Barry doesn't need to know that. Instead Garrett strokes his cheek again, runs his thumb over Barry's lip, and smiles at him lovingly.

"They say if you do this deep enough, you can get right to the prostate. Makes for mind-blowing orgasms. Don't worry," he adds quickly. "That's not on the menu any time soon. Just giving you an idea of why doing this feels good- the feeling all comes from a direct line to your prostate. Do you trust me?"

Gentle, now. Gentle. Garrett could easily take what he wants, but what he wants is to own and claim every single part of Barry- to possess him utterly, but never to hurt. He wants Barry to want this. Maker, even with this mind-altering shit in his veins, Garrett loves him fiercely.

All the way to his -

Garrett thankfully pulls back on that before Barry can truly freak out about it, his breaths still too quick and fast in his chest, but Garrett's question quiets him.

Does he trust him?

Garrett is on Tanglethorn. He's himself but not quite, he's himself with urges he can't control, and yet...well, Barry's been an idiot before, it's no leap to assume he's an idiot now for trusting Garrett, but Barry doesn't think so.

Garrett's been through so much, and no small sum of it has been for the people he cares for. If, out of all of them, the friends and family and lovers and citizens in his care, Garrett loves Barry best of all, then yes, Barry trusts him. To bear that kind of love is like baring one's body to the might of the sun, to allow all his artifice to be burned away, to show Garrett what he is, to be loved by him despite all the ugliness there is to uncover.

The tension straining Barry's thighs bleeds out all at once, his legs falling as open as they can with Garrett astride them. Okay, then. Okay.

I trust you.

The silence goes on too long. The thought. Every second that Barry takes to think, something in Garrett's blood roars louder, clawing up his throat with the urge to hold him down and-

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Good." With a smile. "I know you're going to love this."

With that settled, Garrett gives Barry's hip a reassuring squeeze then returns to his work. There really can never be too much lube on this little metal rod, and once he's satisfied with how slick it is, he grasps Barry's cock at the base, using his thumb to steady it and hold it straight up.

"Alright," he mutters, holding the rounded base of the sound to the tip of Barry's cock- at the slit. It's easy enough to tease at Barry's slit, to work the gentle, rounded end in so very slowly, so very carefully, making so sure not to push or hurt. Then, with the utmost concentration and caution, he starts to very, very slow, extremely gently, ease it down. "Push" is too strong of a word for what Garrett is doing, and before long he simply hooks his finger through the ring at the end and lets gravity do the work. The thin metal rod begins to slide down farther of its own accord, and Garrett is damn near hypnotized by the sight of it disappearing into Barry's cock. "Maker, look at that."

Barry finds almost immediately that he can't watch.

The instant that too long metal rod finds his slit, Barry's eyes squeeze tightly closed, a panicked nausea overwhelming him for even the ghost of the sight. He's a forensic scientist, yes, his job at home depends on the evidence gore leaves behind, but it's never focused on himself. And behind the backs of his eyelids it's not much better. Deprived of sight, of speech, Barry feels every fraction of penetration as the rod slides deep, deeper, surely too deep?

There's no pain, somehow, but there is the unsettling sensation of being full where he's never been full before, of scraped and stimulated nerves waking up, and Barry heaves a shuddering breath. Look at that, Garrett breathes, and Barry clings to the awe in his voice. He can't look, but he can take this, he can be the thread that Garrett clings to while the Tanglethorn ravages his senses.

Maybe, he thinks, as the rod shifts so delicately, reminding Barry of the first inklings of orgasm, he might find enjoyment in it, too.

Garrett steadies the rod’s slow slide in by hooking a finger in the metal ring. It eases down gently, disappearing into Barry’s cock by degrees. He’s almost hypnotized.

“That’s it, you’re doing great,” he encourages, voice getting a little breathless. “You’re so sweet for me, love.”

Finally it sheathes inside Barry entirely, the ring resting against the tip of his cock- with only that simple circle of metal to hint at what’s going deep inside him. Garrett wraps his hand around Barry’s cock and starts to stroke slowly.

Barry's chest rumbles with a silent groan. His hips twitch with the desire to move, but with the length of steel in him it seems too perilous, every part of him on tenterhooks, and then Garrett begins to stroke him.

It's like nothing Barry's ever felt. Each slow passage of Garrett's fist makes him want to scream and buck, to whimper and strain as much towards it as away. His body awash with so many sensations it's impossible to tell good from ill, but Garrett's hand is warm and sure and steady, and Barry's flagging cock begins to fill again, so incredibly sensitive as it's stimulated from the inside out. His eyes slit open, finding Garrett's blown dark gaze, for Barry dares not look lower. A newly overwhelmed tear slides down his cheek, and then Barry is squeezing his eyes closed again, his teeth in his bottom lip as his body decides that yes, this feels good.

With one hand steadying Barry's cock, it's easy to lean over and touch his hair. It's easy to stroke his cheek and tell him he's doing just right, tell him how beautiful he is, that's right, doesn't that feel good?

It's even easier to lean down and follow that tear with his tongue, licking it in an echo of their first time together.

"I want you to tell me how it feels," Garrett laments, over Barry so he has something to look at. "Open your eyes, love. Look at me." Stroking, still, slow and tight, though not as tight as he sometimes does when teasing. Just a good, firm grip. Enough to feel the rod straightening and stiffening Barry's cock. "Does it feel good? Does it make you want to come?"

The world has narrowed to Garrett's hand around his cock, the rigid, unbending rod inside of it, and Barry opens his mouth without thinking. To answer, to plead, to moan, he doesn't know, but of course no sound comes. Instead he turns his head to stare at Garrett, his eyes crinkling with the agony of not being able to answer. Even if he could speak, Barry doesn't know what he would say. He feels good, he feels unmoored, right on the cusp of a precipice he's not sure he wants to fall from, but Garrett keeps dragging him closer.

Eyes closing again, Barry shakes his head even as his cock swells in Garrett's grip.

Garrett frowns at that answer and leans in, his grip on Barry's cock going slack except to brace it up safely. With the other he takes Barry's chin and urges his lover to look at him.

"Barry, sweetheart," he asks urgently. "Does it feel good?"

As far as he can tell, Barry shook his head no to both questions. He needs to be sure.

Even without the grip on his chin, Barry would respond to the thread of unease in Garrett's voice. He nods at him, his eyes wide, then nods even harder. It's so good that he fears what will happen if the feeling increases. How will he come with a rod in his shaft? Can he? Will it hurt?

Breaths coming fast in his chest, Barry strains towards Garrett, needing another touch, the weight of his body, anything to keep him from flying away.

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