Tell Me a Story
My clothes come off, piece by piece, until I’m dressed in only my boxers. Then I slip quietly under the covers and revel in the fact that the sheets are already warm; there’s absolutely nothing like coming back from a road trip to him.
“Sean…” he murmurs sleepily, turning slightly to move closer to me. I kiss him softly on the neck and run a hand through his nappy hair.
“Hey babe, I’m home.”
“Yes, and I am glad. I had dream of you.” He turns completely over so that he is on his side, facing me, and rests a hand on my chest. I smile slightly, the warmth and weight is comforting, and I feel myself start to drift off. Before I’m fully asleep though, I feel his hand trail lower and pick at the waist of my boxers.
“Stan…” I grab his hand gently and lift it up to kiss. Hey, I can be a fucking sweetheart when I want to be. “I love you, but I’m dead tired. I just can’t.”
He sighs and looks at me with that confused, dazed expression I find so fucking adorable, although right now I wish he were happily sleeping instead of gazing at me with pouting lips. His wide eyes, his hair sticking out at all angles, it makes him seem so innocently wanting, but I know better. Behind that expression is a mind of fucking evil. He’s trying to manipulate me, the little…
The tip of his tongue flickers out just far enough to make his bottom lip shine invitingly, and I know the motion is perfectly contrived, but somehow I don’t give a damn. I kiss him anyway, darting my own tongue into his mouth, licking at his teeth, marking his mouth as mine.
I feel his hands come up, trembling at just the right amount, to clutch at my back, and I have to pull away. “Stan, really. It was a fucking long flight, I’m about to fall asleep. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Do you promise?” He sets his chin on my chest and stares up at me through dark thick lashes. So fucking beautiful.
“I promise. Now go back to sleep.”
“I can’t now, you have me woke up.” He smiles sweetly at me. “Will you tell me bedtime story, please?”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. I love him, that’s for sure, but I am so damn tired…and fuck me but one look from him makes me cave in. “Fine, but just a short one.”
“Yes that is fine.”
I stifle a yawn the best I can and lean back into my pillow, trying to get more comfortable. From my position I’m looking down at the top of his head, and I grin because I can see he’s got a bit of a cowlick. I get the urge to lick it down, and maybe lick across his neck too, but no, that’ll have to wait for another night. I wrap an arm around his shoulders and begin.
“Once upon a time there was a king. The young king was a prick and really loud, and whenever he traveled through the neighboring kingdom he liked to rag on this young guy who was called Crazy Legs.”
“Was Crazy Leg an Indian?” He asked an indignant edge in his voice.
“Sure,” I tell him, my eyelids drooping. His warmth and the sound of my own voice is making me doze off (okay let’s admit it; I don’t love to hear my own voice that much). “He was from the Duck tribe. Anyway, the king picked on him a lot because he said he didn’t like Crazy Legs.”
“And the king is a liar?”
“Are you telling the story or am I?” I laugh. He sits up slightly and pouts at me.
“You are,” he says petulantly, tracing a pattern on my chest with cooling fingers. I kiss him quickly on the nose.
“So…the king was lying though, cause the truth was that he really liked Crazy Legs. Despite the falling down and the ugly hair, he thought Crazy Legs was, well, cute. And one day Crazy Legs called him on it.”
“What happen then?” I look down and find him with his cheek pressed to my stomach; when the hell did he slide down there? He looks innocent enough, drawing with his fingers on my abs, but I’m suspicious. It takes way too much energy to pull him back up though, so I just close my eyes and go on.
“Well, Crazy Legs cornered the king at his, um, horse, yeah. And he asked the king why he wouldn’t leave him alone. Then the king finally admitted that he thought Crazy Legs was hot.”
“You think I am hot?” He chimes, kissing right under my navel. My eyes open and I frown.
“Stan-“
“Keep going?”
“Crazy Legs was very happy and he and king rode off into the sunset. The end. Now get up here.”
“You left out a part.” He peers at me and oh god it’s that fucking evil smile I see. That’s enough to make me hard, and the next thing I know my boxers are off and he’s licking at my cock and I can’t do anything except clutch at his shoulders and moan. Oh fuck me he’s spectacularly good at this. My eyes fall shut again, though this time not from tiredness.
“Right,” I sigh breathily, my voice catching, “I did leave out a part.”
And here I thought I was tired but I am straining against his hands, trying to thrust my hips up. And damn him for being stronger than he looks; he’s got me pinned to the bed and shit he’s good, his mouth wrapped around the head of my cock. My back arches as he takes me completely into his mouth, and it’s all I can do not to scream.
It’s fucking heaven when I come in his mouth, but guilt right after, because I know I really have no strength left to do anything for him. I watch sleepily as he licks up spots he missed and slides back up my body.
I kiss him as hard as I can as soon as I can and taste myself on his lips. His lips curve against mine in what I know is a satisfied smile.
“Now we sleep, yes?”
And I realize not for the first time why I always put up with any shit he does. He is a fucking dork and too milk pale, awkward on his feet and nappy haired, sweetness that hurts and so unhealthily obsessed with Fedorov, but I love him and I know he loves me when he does things like this. Fuck I am glad he is mine.
“Yeah.” He settles against me again, head on my chest, and I swear I almost hear him purr. And this time before I fall asleep, he doesn’t try to wake me, he only reminds me of one thing.
“You still owe me tomorrow.”