museyboxy | Thread continuations

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.

Far beyond merely reassuring him, that response heats his blood all over again, unfurling a hungry smile over his face that compels him to capture Barry's mouth in a hard kiss. Maker, he's so beautiful like this, so soft and wanting and desperate, trembling and flushed and overwhelmed. Garrett wants to see him come undone- from this, from being fucked in a way that nobody ever has.

"Oh, I love this," he confesses, breathless against Barry's lips. His hand wraps around Barry's cock again, this time at the head- softly rubbing the head where it's straining around the rod, and rubbing his thumb along the underside, where he can feel (and even see) the rod in Barry's cock. He wants to make Barry feel it- wants- he wants to hook his thumb in the ring at the end and stroke up and down, fucking the sound into Barry's cock, stroking him at the same time. The sound isn't quite thick enough to entirely block come, though Barry will be tender and sensitive after- which just means Garrett will have to make him come again. As he watches Barry's face intently, he can hardly wait. "You're so fucking pretty. You had no idea it could feel like this, did you? I wanna make you come by fucking your cock, Barry- you can do it, it's alright, you can come."

Barry manages another tiny, desperate sound, confused by the amplified sensation in his cock. He looks down and sees Garrett fucking his poor confused, delighted dick with the rod, gaping at it before dizzily closing his eyes again. It's so much, like the first time anyone found his prostate, pulling sparks of pleasure from him he'd never known possible, being touched so intimately deep inside. The metal of the rod could have made it clinical, but Garrett's calloused fingertips stroke the head of his cock, keeping it intensely personal.

Garrett, Barry mouths. His balls are drawing tight, and his heart is racing like it wants to reach the speed force. Half panicked with the pleasure that's spiraling higher, higher, too high, Barry throws his head back with a ragged, choked off scream and spills hot around the rod, coming so hard not even Silence can fully quiet the sobs of pleasure that rack him.

Sweet fucking Maker.

The way Barry pants, strains against his bonds, clearly wanting to writhe but afraid or unable to, the way he sounds - tiny sounds that barely eke from his throat, every noise or moan turned all the way down, reduced to nothing but sighs and gasping, the way he shakes and throws his head back and sweats and flushes dark- it's so searingly hot that Garrett's mouth goes completely dry, cock throbbing, cheeks flushed and warm just from the sight of it. As Barry comes Garrett pulls the sound up, knowing that removing it during orgasm can feel so good, but there's little need- the force of Barry's climax actually helps push the sound out, making it so easy for Garrett to remove the rod so Barry's spend can pulse out. He isn't sure it all got out- some of it probably backed up inside him, and it's not dangerous but it will make Barry's balls tender and sore and aching if it happened. He can't be sure, so he massages the base of Barry's cock (where he had a grip on it before, to steady it) to work him through the last pulses of climax.

"Maker's breath, that was gorgeous," he says huskily. "The Silence should be wearing off soon, love. Just breathe now."

Garrett tells him to breathe as if it's something simple, as if Barry isn't lying here in pieces, his lungs on fire with stolen screams and far too little oxygen. He gulps at the air, turning to stare at Garrett with wet, wide eyes, but they're not ready to focus yet.

Closing them, Barry returns to panting, finding a little bit more sound in each exhalation. His body is lightening, reconnecting to the speed force and rebuilding his wings, and even so he throbs in Garrett's enormous hand. "Aches," Barry breathes, the pain both an echo of too much pleasure and discomfort low in his balls, one the speed force hasn't seemed to touch, yet.

"Jesus Christ, Garrett."

Edited 2019-11-03 04:33 (UTC)

"I know," he breathes, leaning down to kiss Barry hungrily. His own cock is rock hard, mouth dry, body singing with the need to take him, to touch, to do ANYTHING to this gorgeous man who is so fucking sexy when he's falling apart.

And meanwhile, Garrett's hand moves down to his sack, to squeeze and massage and knead at them, full and swollen and tender, knowing he must be sensitive and aching.

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