by Kimyō Tabibito (奇妙 旅人)
“According to Tumblr, today’s random holiday is International Fisting Day.”
I looked over at Harper, to find him with his head cocked at his computer screen, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and a smirk that meant trouble on his lips.
I arched a brow as I looked over my laptop screen, neck-deep in the mire that was my dissertation. “There could be stranger holidays. Let me guess, you want to celebrate?” There wasn’t much Harper could suggest between us that would unsettle me, but this was a new one.
“Of course, darling.” He waggled his fingers, blunt nails flashing silver polish, in my direction and I blanched…and ignored the little spark of desire that ran down my spine. I could imagine his fingers sliding into me all too well, and it was only a little terrifying.
“Call Geoff, see if Brannon is free tonight.” I deflected his next question, which would surely be “would you celebrate with me?”, and threw a pillow at his head. I didn’t have the satisfaction of seeing it connect; Harper just batted it away.
“Lo-o-o-ore.” Harper drew out my name as he sat the computer aside and crawled across the sofa. “Are you done with this?” He tapped my computer, I nodded, because yes, I was done. The wall of text I was looking at had stopped meaning anything to me at this point. Harper took my computer, hit save, and closed the lid to set it aside.
“Darling,” he cooed again as he straddled my lap. I let him do this too because it was certainly better than staring at my research notes and translating those into words in a thesis. Harper leaned down and kissed along my jaw and to my earlobe, nipping gently. “I saw you shiver,” he whispered against my ear.
I groaned, but I didn’t say no. A simple no would have stopped Harper in his tracks. He would smile and kiss me, and that would be that. Perhaps he might offer to be fisted, but I can’t say that role would have appealed too much to me. Instead of speaking, I shifted so he could work on tugging my shirt off.
“Do you want it?” he asked, tilting my chin up and meeting my eyes. I stared at him, caught like a deer in the headlights. Harper’s fingers rested under my chin and his hands played against my chest – I hadn’t bound today – finding a nipple and pinching.
My breath hitched and I remembered the first time we’d done something like this. “Anal or oral only,” I’d told him, not ready for anything else. Not that I hadn’t trusted him, but I hadn’t been in a place where it would have been good for me. Now, though, now he had: slow and gentle, opening me, finger-fucking me until I was crying, and coming hard.
It’d been the turning point in our friendship.
We’d become some combination of friends who were also lovers. We’d bought a townhouse, moved in together; our relationship had gone from close to intimate. It wasn’t romantic – Harper was largely aromantic – but for all that, it was the most loving relationship I’d ever shared with anyone, just a different kind of love. I’d never trusted anyone like I did Harper, sharing with him my secrets, my bad habits, my self.
I let out a gasp as his fingers dug into tender skin of my chest and I snapped back to what he was asking.
“Loren?” he asked, voice soft and serious.
I couldn’t make myself speak, so I just nodded my consent. We’d been together long enough we didn’t need more.
Harper’s fingers dug in harder in skin of my chest, hurting me in just the right way to make me moan. “Good boy,” he purred. He drew his hand away from my chin and leaned in for a slow kiss. His teeth sank into my lower lip and he sucked it into his mouth, tasting and biting until I was shuddering.
“I know how much you’ve come to love my fingers inside of you,” he murmured, lips ghosting down my jaw. “You’re always so wet for me, Lore, your cock always hard when I’m fucking you. I’ve gotten up to four, it won’t be too hard to coax you open wider, slide my hand in, feel you so tight around me.”
God, Harper played dirty. Between cruel fingers kneading against sensitive skin, the gentle contrast of his lips skimming down my cheek, and his words, he was body-slamming my buttons. To be that exposed with him, all my protective walls down, and that biggest soft limit completely blown away – I felt my cock pulse in response.
“That’s it,” he said as he pulled back. “I can see how much you want to give over to me. You’re easy, Loren.” He spoke with a silky little sneer that drew another shiver out of me.
Sadistic fuck, I thought, but didn’t speak. He knew how to twist me up into knots, and I loved him for every tie. I leaned forward as he pulled away and pressed my lips against this throat, pressing reverent kisses against skin. Then his hands were off my body and he was standing and holding out a hand to help me up. It was so easy to let Harper draw me into his bedroom; I trembled as he stripped down my pants and boxers.
“If I touch you now, how wet will you be, Loren?” he asked, arching a perfect brow. I wasn’t going to get away with not answering him, not if the hard edge to his words said anything.
“Soaked,” I whispered. It didn’t take much, with Harper whispering dirty things into my ear. I shifted, feeling the slickness between my legs. I turned on for him faster than anyone else I’d ever been with, and it was glorious and embarrassing all at the same time, and I loved it. That clash of desire and shame was always hard for me to swallow down, particularly when that quiet shame was what drove my arousal to even higher levels.
Harper level a hard look at me and I swallowed. I didn’t have time to brace myself as his hand caught my cheek, sending me reeling: giving me that push out of my head I needed. I caught his predatory smile as I lifted my head back toward him, before he was crushing his lips against mine, propelling me toward the bed. I let go, allowing Harper to direct the scene, to push me where we both wanted to be.
My back hit the mattress and he held me pinned with his body as he kissed me hard, tongue sweeping into my mouth, aggressive and claiming. Harper shoved my legs open, hand coming up to stroke up toward my cock, moving easily through the slick wetness.
“Good boy, not lying to me,” he purred in that beautiful condescending tone that I loved when he went aggressively dominant with me. He caught my cock between his fingers and jerked in rough strokes until my hips were bucking up under the touches. I throbbed under his fingers. It felt like my heart had migrated between my legs, beating in tender skin.
“Wouldn’t,” I managed to gasp. “Fuck, Harper, what, oh god.” He was too good at this. I could feel the orgasm gathering, building; my thighs were shaking. It only took a few more pulls for him to bring me crashing over.
I tried to bring my legs together, oversensitive under his touch, but he pushed them open again. Small mercy: he drew his fingers away from my cock. Harper brought them to my lips and I sucked them clean, letting out keening little sounds from around the touch as I tasted the sharp saltiness.
Harper laughed and tugged his fingers back, laying them along my labia as he kissed me. I cried out into his mouth as he pressed two fingers inside, slow and easy.
“Open your legs up, nice and wide for me, Loren.” I’d let myself drop into a submissive space — a place I could let this happen and beg for more. I drew my knees up and let my thighs fall apart wide. It was always intense to expose myself, and Harper rewarded me with a gentle curl of his fingers, drawing a guttural sound from the back of my throat.
“You’re so hot and wet, you’ve opened right up for me.” Harper kept talking as he worked his fingers deep, as he worked from two to three. The stretch was a slow burn that set my nerves alight.
Some kind of agreeable sound escaped my mouth with Harper’s words and I canted my hips up as he kept fucking me, his thumb hitting my cock. “Fuck, oh my god, fuck,” I gasped and clutched at the sheets.
Harper just kept talking, his voice soft and melodic as his fingers opened me wider. At some point I heard the cap of a bottle of lube opening, a coolness against the heat between my legs. I went silent and rigid as he pushed a fourth finger in to the knuckles. “You’re so good Lore,” he whispered as he met my eyes. “So sexy like this. Fuck, Lore, I can feel your heartbeat, feel you tense and clamp around me. Let me in the last little bit, babe.”
I might have said something, but my brain short-circuited as Harper’s free hand skimmed his fingers over the top of my cock as he tucked his thumb in and pushed forward. Everything was spinning and blurring around me; nothing coherent fell from my lips. Something along the lines of: “Oh fuck god fuck fuck fuck fuck, oh my god.”
I stretched and opened. The burn and pleasure jangling out along every nerve of my body and then his hand was in me, moving in slow little twists and thrusts. My breath came in body racking sobs, but I arched up carefully as he moved his hand.
Harper kept speaking to me, soft things, tender words, praises: “Good boy,” was repeated over and over. He teased my cock, but focused more and working his hand inside of my cunt, curling his fingers into a fist. I choked and gasped; my lungs couldn’t bring in air for the longest moment of my life.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice soft and reverent. “I’ve got you Lore, let go.” His voice floated to my ears in a soft command as his fingers kept playing my cock, stroking, petting, coaxing me closer and closer to a second orgasm. I heard him make a strangled sound as I flexed around him, shattering under his hand and fingers. The world went violet behind my eyelids and a scream wrenched free as I came.
Hours could have passed for all that I was cognizant of time. I could feel Harper shaking. When I finally opened my eyes again, I could see that he was tense and hard. He had braced himself with one hand over me, the other still inside of me.
“Oh my god, Lore,” he breathed, his voice raw and his breath coming in soft little shaky puffs. He eased his hand away and I gasped as he drew back, my body shuddering in aftershocks. I tensed and then was empty and then we were both shaking.
With limbs that felt more like noodles than actual arms, I pulled Harper over me. My voice slowly came back to me as I wrapped my legs around his waist and the words that came out of my mouth shocked us both.
“Fuck me,” I whispered, my voice raw.
“Lore.” Harper shuddered. “Are you…sure?”
“Please.” I rubbed up against him, out of my mind with need. But it wasn’t any kind of flash decision. This was Harper and I didn’t need to think about him fucking me when he’d held me in his hand. I wanted this. I reached and pushed at his pants, and he helped get them down his hips and he drew back.
It took a few fumbles for him to roll the condom down over his cock and then he was pressing against me, into me, and I didn’t have a brain to think about anything else.
Long fingers wrapped around my thighs, hiking my legs high as Harper fucked me. I watched his face as much as I could, watching his eyes roll back, watching as he lapsed into incoherence.
“Loren.” His voice was strained as he slammed into me. I was going to feel every second of this in the morning, but god it was good. My hand fell to my cock, fingers pulling slowly. “Jesus,” he gasped as he thrust forward and his body shuddered in his orgasm. I pushed my legs free of his hands and hooked them around Harper, holding him in place as I came again in a smaller aftershock. We collapsed together onto the bed, Harper going soft inside of me.
“Fuck,” we both said, somewhat together.
“I no longer have bones,” I said, letting out a little keening whimper as he withdrew.
“I no longer have a brain, darling.” Harper gave me a lazy smile and got rid of the condom.
“That either.” I arched up and reached for him. Harper pulled me out of the wet spot of my own making and I curled up against his chest. “…Which I’m not sure I had before we started this, but it’s completely gone now.”
Harper laughed and kissed my forehead. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”
“It’s a good holiday,” I admitted.
“We should celebrate it more often,” Harper said as he grinned and nudged me, and I groaned.
“Just not soon, all right? I need to recover from this.”
“I think that’s fair.” Harper reached down and curled his fingers protectively against my mons.
I laughed at the gesture; it was weird, but also kind of lovely. It felt safe. “We can turn it into ‘Loren needs to stop thinking about his dissertation: the monthly holiday.'”
“International Dissertation Avoidance Day,” Harper suggested with a smirk, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.