|hellovtkt (hellovtkt) wrote,|
@ 2011-09-30 16:04:00
|Entry tags:||harry potter, jonathan dorny, jonathan/oliver, kink bingo, oliver wood|
Title: Bring It On Home
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Jonathan Dorny
Summary: Oliver likes to bring Jon down to his level.
Word count: 858
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Prompt: orgasm denial
Jonathan is panting beneath Oliver. Oliver glances up at him and barely resists smirking. His lips are wrapped around Jonathan’s cock, his hand wrapped tightly around the base, making sure that Jonathan isn’t coming any time soon. He’s kept him on edge for the better part of the last hour. He slowly lifts his mouth back up, running his tongue along the underside of Jonathan’s stiff cock. It’s a nearly violent shade of red that Oliver finds utterly addicting.
The best part, he thinks, about making Jonathan come undone is that Jonathan so rarely pretends to need this in the same way that Oliver does. It’s Oliver that has to coax Jonathan to bed while Jonathan works at his desk. It’s Oliver who has to be distracting, who has to pry Jonathan away from whatever study he’s doing, whatever potion he’s making. It’s entirely unfair. But it does lead to delicious moments like this, where Jonathan is the one beneath Oliver, forced to admit that he enjoys their sex life just as much as Oliver does.
Oliver draws back, sitting up. His lips are just a little red and swollen, and he knows Jonathan is staring at him. Oliver runs his tongue along his lower lip as he squeezes his hand around the base of Jonathan’s cock once again. Jonathan lets out a strangled moan and his hips buck wildly forward, trying to find a friction that Oliver is refusing him. Jonathan’s drenched in sweat. His face and chest are a deep red as well and Oliver can make out the indents on his lower lip from where Jonathan keeps biting it. There’s a growing bruise on the side of his mark from when Oliver bit him when they first started. It’s low enough that his robes will hide it. But Oliver will still know it’s there.
“You could just say it, Jon,” Oliver says coyly. He’s come twice already. The first time he made Jonathan just watch. He’d tied Jon up to their bed and touched himself, remaining close enough that their bodies occasionally brushed. He’d come over Jonathan’s stomach with two fingers inside of himself and stroking himself roughly in the way that they both knew he liked. Now, he’s not entirely certain that he can come a third time, but he’s more fixated on Jonathan for the time being.
He begins to run his hand slowly up and down Jonathan’s cock, running his thumb teasingly over the head. Jonathan stutters out a moan and then reaches for him again. One hand goes to his shoulder, his fingertips digging hard enough that Oliver know there will be a score of red marks there. The other hand goes to his neck. He tries to find purchase in his hair, but ends of just dragging his fingers across Oliver’s scalp. Oliver smirks; there are several advantages to keeping his hair short.
“Oliver,” Jonathan gasps out. His chest is heaving. Oliver doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing his name said like that. It’s the best sound—better than listening to the roar of the crowd during a Quidditch game, better than listening to thud of a Quaffle after he’s deflected it. “Please,” Jonathan begs, but Oliver doesn’t relent. He’s drawn a few curse words from Jonathan’s mouth, especially when he didn’t let Jonathan touch him, and he’s quite pleased with himself. He thinks he’s going to have to start doing this on a weekly basis.
“What?” Oliver asks, all pretend innocence. He leans in and licks a broad stripe over the head of Jonathan’s weeping cock. Jonathan twists beneath him and lets out a sob that makes it sound as if he’s in pain.
Oliver switches tactics again. He stretches out on top of Jonathan so that Jonathan’s cock is riding up against his hip. He keeps a firm hold on the base of Jonathan’s cock and pins one of his hips down with the other hand, making it so that Jonathan can’t move too much.
“I just want to hear you say it,” Oliver whispers into his ear. “Just once,” Oliver murmurs as he begins to lick at the shell of Jonathan’s ear, briefly slipping down so he can suck at the lobe. “Is that so hard, Jon?” He shallowly thrusts down as he says the word hard.
“I hate you,” Jonathan manages to say. His voice sounds fucked out. “Oh, Merlin, do you even know—” He halts himself, tries to thrust back up, and then lets out another strangled groan when he can’t displace Oliver’s hand.
“I want to ride your broomstick,” Jonathan finally says. “Goddammit, I want to ride your broomstick, so would you just—”
Before he’s managed to finish the next part, Oliver begins to jerk him off properly, his hand moving quickly, applying the amount of pressure he knows Jonathan loves. Jonathan moans raggedly, his hands dragging down Oliver’s back as he finally comes, spilling himself in long spurts over both of their stomachs. Oliver lets out a low laugh and tucks his face in against Jonathan’s neck. He presses a soft kiss there, able to feel Jonathan’s rapid pulse.