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I like you quite a lot, everything you got (don’t you know?)
Assad wakes up the next morning to the sound of running water.
He opens his heavy eyes and is met with the empty side of the bed, still warm beneath his palm when he stretches a hand out to the spot. The alarm clock on the nightstand tells him that it’s just after eight-thirty, the numbers dim and struggling to appear as its batteries die. Should they tell the front desk about that?
They. It’s Eric’s room. Should Eric tell the front desk about that?
Speaking of, what is the man doing? Filling up the bathtub?
He goes to sit up and that’s when he discovers just how fucking sore he is. Assad gasps at the pain, his hips and ass aching in a way he hasn’t felt in quite a long while. It sends a rush of heat through him, memories of last night flashing through his mind like reels in a View-Master and along with them, the phantom sensation of those hands on him, of that mouth against his, of that fat cock inside him.
Consider me ruined, he’d said to the man in the dark and now, in the early morning sunlight, he knows it to be true with such certainty it makes him a little sad because what will he do when he’s no longer allowed to have this? To have him?
The water stops suddenly, followed shortly by a soft splash of water and a low groan of relief that threatens to make him hard. Assad eases himself off the bed with a grimace and walks the short distance to the bathroom where he finds Eric soaking, the water so hot he can see the steam billowing from here. His eyes are closed but one of them cracks open when Assad enters.
“Hey, mornin’, kiddo,” he greets him with a soft smile, now fully staring, green eyes roaming over every bruise and bite mark that decorates his skin. “God, aren’t you a sight to wake up to. Better than the sunrise. I wanted to stay and watch you sleep like a real creep but my old, aching body wouldn’t let me. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
Assad shakes his head, stunned silent by all the flattery and still drowsy from sleeping so hard. He takes a step towards the tub, then another, hoping his intentions are clear because he’s not ready to produce sound yet and, of course, Eric understands immediately.
“Oh, you want in here? Climb on in, babe,” the older man invites, sitting up and scooting forward so Assad can get in behind him because they’re not going to fit any other way with his long ass legs. “The water is not fine, though, it’s hot as shit, just a warning.”
And fuck, he’s not wrong. It looked hot and it feels even fucking hotter, making him hiss and groan through clenched teeth as he eases himself in behind Eric. It’s just on the cusp of unbearable but it feels absolutely amazing on his aching, battered body so he bears the burn and gets as comfortable as he can, pulling Eric back against him to lay on his chest once he’s settled, wrapping his arms around him in a sleepy hold.
It’s lovely, lounging in the blistering bath with Eric in his arms. It threatens to pull him right back down into sleep, his eyes drifting closed every couple of minutes only for him to jolt back awake once he realizes. After the third time, he hears the man laugh.
“Still worn out, huh?” he teases, sounding far too smug about it. Assad doesn’t respond because his ego doesn’t need to be any bigger, he merely smacks a kiss to the spot on Eric’s head where his hair is the thinnest, earning a scoff and another laugh.
“Yeah, okay.” Eric slides a hand up and down his shin, disturbing the hair there and then smoothing it out again. “You want to go get breakfast after this? There’s a diner a few blocks from here that has some of the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life–and that’s saying something. ‘Food’s pretty great, too. Yeah?”
“Hmm,” Assad hums, smiling into Eric’s hair. God, this man’s adorable. “Yeah, okay.”
“Ah, there he is!”
Eric cranes his neck back to look Assad in the face, smiling widely as he croons, “Good morning, beautiful boy!”
Assad laughs and laughs.
Breakfast is a lost cause by the time they manage to leave the hotel, though Assad needs coffee now more than he did when he first woke up because sex with a man in his seventies is somehow equivalent to a week’s worth of late-night rehearsals before opening night.
He’s fucking exhausted. Wore out like a well loved T-shirt but he honestly doesn’t want anything else and would gladly drag his bruised, tired body around the entire fucking city if Eric wanted because he always wants to do what Eric wants. It’s incredibly pathetic, yes, and sadly cannot be helped.
They still go to the diner, which turns out to serve breakfast all day and, in fact, does have the best coffee Assad has ever had in his entire life. The food, when it comes, is pretty great, too, just as promised. He tries to pay once they’re done but only gets as far as pulling out his wallet before Eric shuts him down with a snap of his fingers and a shake of his head.
“Are you insane?” he accuses, far too incredulous as he hands their lovely server his card just as he comes to hand them their check–their one check because the man never bothered to ask them if it would be separate. Which is…something.
“I could’ve gotten it,” Assad protests once the server leaves, trying to make it sound genuine and not as weak and breathless as he feels. “I make money, too, you know. From the job that we both work.”
“No, yeah, I know,” Eric tells him, taking the final sip of his second cup of coffee, most likely lukewarm by now. “You work a big kid job and make big kid money, I know all about it, babe.”
Assad raises his eyebrows, incredulous, disbelieving, and more than a little turned on. He struggles to find something to say in response and by the time he figures it out, the server is back, handing Eric his card and receipt and wishing them a ‘good rest of their day’ with a wink directed at the older man that Assad tries and fails not to bristle at while throwing an ugly glare towards the marks on his neck for good measure.
He warms with embarrassment (and a hint of jealousy) but Eric doesn’t even bat an eye, unbothered and uninterested.
“Ready, bun?” he asks him as he stuffs his wallet back into his jeans. Assad can only nod.
Back out on the street, it’s even hotter than before and Assad wonders just how long Eric plans to be out here, wonders where they’re going next. They walk a few blocks, passing tourists and locals alike while chatting about nothing too serious; the play Eric is writing, the book Assad is reading, and the next possible progression of Daniel and Armand’s relationship.
It’s easy, existing in Eric’s space.
He makes it easy for him and it’s something Assad is quickly becoming addicted to. So much so that he dreads the inevitable months that they’ll be apart. But he’s getting ahead of himself, with that sort of thinking. Eric said last night wouldn’t be their last but that doesn’t mean he intends to keep entertaining Assad’s silly little crush for forever. Probably just until shooting wraps and then where will that leave him? He meant it when he said Eric ruined him for anyone else. What’s he going to–
“Assad, hey, you okay?”
Eric’s voice pulls him out of his head and when he looks over at the other man, he realizes they’ve stopped walking and are now tucked underneath a bookstore’s awning so they don’t block the foot traffic. Oh, shit.
“Um, yeah, of course,” he says flippantly, trying to laugh it off despite his spiral apparently being incredibly obvious. “Why?”
The older man’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, shouting ‘are you fucking kidding me’ while Eric himself says, not unkindly, “Uh, because I asked you the same question twice and you didn’t respond? You look like you’re freaking out, what’s wrong?”
Assad thinks to confess then and admit all his stupid worries to the man–Eric just has that kind of effect on people, much like his Daniel counterpart does–but he doesn’t want to ruin their nice day out with all of his sad, clingy bullshit, so he just shakes his head.
“Nothing, Eric, sorry,” he dismisses and apologizes in the same breath. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I think I’m just tired, still. Should’ve had a second cup of coffee when you did.”
It’s clear that the older man doesn’t quite believe him but he doesn’t press the issue, even though it seems like he really wants to. He merely takes Assad’s hand in his and squeezes it briefly before he links their arms together, pulling them out from under the awning and back into the slow flow of people on the sidewalk
“Well, I’m sure we could do something about that,” Eric says lightly. “There’s a coffee shop around here somewhere, I think I saw it in the cab last night. I know you prefer the iced shit anyway.”
“This is true,” he agrees, the knot in his stomach still sitting like a stone but it doesn’t feel nearly as heavy.
He can ignore it while they roam the city until Eric’s heart is content and then he can have his breakdown once he’s alone in his own room.
They finally find that coffeeshop after crossing the street and walking in the wrong direction for ten minutes, which has them both cracking up more than is probably warranted. Assad gets a large iced latte while Eric gets a simple tea, also iced because it’s too fucking hot outside for anything but. There’s sweat beading up on both of their faces and Assad’s shirt is sticking terribly to his chest and back but it’s more than worth it for the easy joy on Eric’s face as they walk together, strolling aimlessly down the New Orleans streets while the older man talks a mile a minute about anything that comes to his mind.
The day goes on; the sun rises higher in the sky while their drinks disappear and the sweat becomes more abundant. They duck in and out of the various shops that line the streets for a brief reprieve from the heat, mainly browsing without intent although Assad does end up purchasing a giant bottle of water for them to share from a corner-store they visit and Eric just has to buy him a shirt that his eyes linger on for too long from a small clothing store they wander into because they got caught up in the crowd.
Assad protests weakly and blushes throughout the whole transaction but Eric never hears an actual no from him.
“Okay, fuck, fine,” Eric finally sighs after their drinks are long gone and the brief moments of conditioned air from the shops they browse stops being enough to combat the sweat soaking through their clothes. “Let’s go rot in the hotel room, I guess, since it’s too fucking hot for anything else.”
They’ve only been outside for maybe three hours but Assad agrees with a laugh, more than ready to escape the heat and his gross, damp clothes. He’ll probably have to shower again if he doesn’t want to stink or be uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Maybe Eric will join him, just like last night. That was nice. Soft and intimate and everything he’s been missing in his life lately.
But he’s not going to think about that right now because he said he wouldn’t. Overthinking ruins things and he doesn’t want to ruin this.
The blessedly cool air that greets them as they walk into the hotel’s lobby has them breathing out a mutual sigh of relief, the sweat on their skin now working for them instead of against them in the quest to cool them down. Being back inside makes him realize just how hot it is outside and Assad doesn’t know if he’ll ever leave the hotel again. Good thing most of his scenes are shot inside because it’d be miserable to work in this heat for too long.
“Are you hungry again yet?” Eric asks him as they get on the elevator with a couple of kids that look like they just came from the pool, the taller of which presses the button for the floor below theirs before very politely asking which floor they’re going to.
Assad responds to the boy first; “Four, please, thank you very much,” and then to Eric; “Yes, I’m starving. Should we order room service?”
“You should get a pizza,” suggests the boy’s sister, her Scooby-Doo towel wrapped around her like a hooded cloak. “It’s really good. I got pepperoni but you don’t have to have that if you don’t want it, you can have cheese instead, if you want.”
“I like pepperoni,” he replies with a kind smile and the little girl beams. “Yeah, me too! Charlie likes only cheese and Papa likes little fishes. Chardines. Dad says he likes all pizzas but I don’t think that’s true because he only ever eats the pizza Papa eats, so I think he’s a liar.”
“It’s sardines, Els,” her brother, Charlie, corrects her, “With an S, like Scooby, remember?”
“Aw, yeah, like Ssscooby!”
Both Eric and Assad laugh, then the elevator stops and the doors open with a ding. Charlie takes his little sister’s hand and together they step off the elevator, but not before ‘Els’ throws them a wild wave and a shouted, “Bye! Have fun with your pizza!”
“We will!” Assad shouts back as the doors close, waving just as enthusiastically. “Bye!”
“Sweet kids,” Eric comments casually, an amused smile on his face. Assad nods in agreement before immediately getting distracted by their distorted reflections in the elevator doors as the memory of being pressed up against them with the older man hissing threats into his ear suddenly makes itself known.
And all day it’s been like this; every shop they entered, every half-heard conversation they passed somehow managed to remind him of last night.
It made the day hotter, more miserable, made every casual brush of Eric’s hand or every lowly spoken word absolute torture. He’s been half hard all day and if his shirt weren’t just a little too long, everyone would’ve known it. Eric noticed for sure but that man just seems to know him somehow, knows the effect he has on Assad and he exploits it to the moon and back, it seems.
The walk to the room from the elevator is uneventful but as soon as the door shuts behind him, Assad’s being pushed up against it, Eric’s hands pinning him by his sweaty throat as he licks into his mouth with no finesse and a feast’s worth of desperation. Good to know he wasn’t the only one being tormented.
Eric kisses him like he’s eating him out and the thought makes his toes curl in his shoes, makes him moan and whimper, his hands coming up to clutch at his sweaty back and run through his damp hair. The older man slots a thigh between his legs and Assad starts to ride it like his life is on the line, grinding down hard but keeping it slow and fuck, does it feel good. He’s close already, can feel the heat churning in his belly as his orgasm builds and builds and–
And then Eric’s pulling back from the kiss and stilling Assad’s hips with a firm grip on his waist.
“Wha-what?” he pants, confused and desperate.
“Are you still hungry?” Eric asks him as if he wasn’t just tongue-fucking his mouth and it takes Assad a second to realize the man is serious.
He wants to say ‘no’ because it’s a ridiculous thing to bring up right now and of course he wants to cum more than he wants to eat–but that’s his dick talking and his stomach talks louder, choosing right at that moment to make its opinion known by growling ravenously because life is terribly cliche sometimes.
“So, yes?” the older man drawls, his smile soft and fond and incredibly attractive. So much so that Assad just has to kiss him. He pulls back when they’re both breathless and answers with a put upon sigh of, “Yes. Yes, I’m starving, unfortunately.”
“What sounds good? Pizza?”
He laughs against the press of Eric’s hands on his throat. “Yeah, that sounds good. Pepperoni?”
“And cheese,” Eric adds, the words placed as delicately on his cheek as the kisses he plants there.
“And ‘little fishes’?”
Eric snorts, his breath hot against Assad’s face and still smelling pleasantly of the fudge they shared earlier in the day. He pulls away after a final kiss to his temple, letting go of Assad to go call room service.
“God, no, that guy’s insane. I like pineapple just fine but fuckin’ anchovies is where I draw the line. Shit is disgusting.”
Assad follows after him, stretching out behind him on the bed where Eric’s got the hotel phone to his ear. The old man gives him a wink and slides a hand up his calf to his thigh and back again in a soothing yet arousing motion, then he starts talking.
“Hi, yeah, I met a kid in the elevator that just couldn’t stop bragging about the pizza she had last night and it made me jealous enough that I just have to have it. This is the number for that, right?”
He can’t hear what the person on the other end of the line says but Eric nods and smiles in response, so it must be. He asks a few questions about sizes and wait times, all the while his hand roams across Assad’s body; calf to thigh, stomach to chest, a ghost of a touch to his leaking cock that makes him bite back a whimper. Eric talks to the person about pizza and other foods they might have for a lot longer than Assad thinks is necessary and never once does he stop touching him, each pass of his hand along his body more rough than the last one until Assad’s reduced to a squirming, panting thing that struggles to keep quiet.
Eric gropes at his tits, pulls at his nipples, his damp shirt pushed crudely up to his sweaty pits. He pinches and palms his sides and stomach, adding laughter to the many noises he’s trying to fight back, every touch a mean violation that’s edged with pain and it’s fucking everything.
Assad thinks he could probably cum like this, just from a few rough touches and Eric’s casual disinterest. He’s already halfway there as it is.
Next, Eric pops the button on his jeans, tears the zipper down like its offended him before tugging at them like he means to rip them off of him, still talking to the front fucking desk like he isn’t molesting a man decades younger than him while he does it. Assad gets the message and lifts his hips so Eric can tug them down just enough to free his cock and then he has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from yelping when Eric squeezes him hard around the base.
“Yeah, that sounds great, Lin,” Eric says and his voice is casually kind but his eyes are dark with want as they watch Assad fall apart under his hands–well, hand. “Thank you so much for your help, I couldn’t find a menu tucked away anywhere in this place.”
A pause while ‘Lin’ talks and Eric listens, pumping his leaky cock with a tight fist and a mean smile while Assad struggles to contain himself, likely to spill any second now, whether it's a too-loud moan or a devastating orgasm or both. He only hopes Eric is off the phone by then but even as he thinks it, it seems silly to wish for.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, it wouldn’t get used much anyways,” Eric dismisses kindly, the twist of his hand at the head of Assad’s cock anything but. “We usually eat elsewhere since we’re barely here but it’s too hot to go out and the kid heard ‘pizza’ and suddenly it was all I was hearing about. You know how they can be.”
“Ugh!” Assad growls, biting down hard into the meat of his forearm to stifle his shout as he cums, waves of shame and embarrassment crashing through him as he coats Eric’s hand and himself, tears spilling from his tightly shut eyes.
And then it gets worse because Eric doesn’t stop. He laughs and it could be at something Lin said or it could be at the display Assad is making of himself, he doesn’t know, but his hand never stops moving, pulling him from one orgasm and straight into another and it feels like he's fucking dying.
“Okay, you too, Lin, thanks again. Bye-bye.”
Eric hangs up the phone, then he turns to Assad and tells him that the, “Food’ll be here in half an hour,” like he isn’t shaking and crying in his grasp. This old man is going to be the death of him and he doesn’t understand how that’s possible. Assad moves over when urged so Eric can lay down beside him, propping himself up on an elbow so he can gaze down at him, the look in his green eyes unmistakably fond and ravenously hungry.
“I’m going to see how many times I can make you cum before it gets here,” Eric informs him, because he certainly isn’t asking, and it makes Assad burn.
“Eric,” he moans and it comes out sounding like a plea for mercy–one that’s swiftly ignored when the other man laughs dismissively and keeps touching him, using his spend to slick the way as he starts stroking him again, setting a fast and punishing pace this time that has Assad sobbing.
He cums in less than a minute, dread flooding in with the heat of it because he knows that he is so, so fucked if Eric truly intends to see out this little experiment.
“Goodness, that looked like it hurt,” he hears like it’s across the room, blood rushing in his ears as he comes down. There’s a hand on his stomach smearing cum into the hair there but he couldn’t care less since it means it’s not on his spent, aching cock. “Did that hurt, kiddo? Is Daddy hurting you?”
Assad nods, gazing up at the older man with eyes blurred with tears, sniffling and trembling. Fuck, he feels like he’s losing his mind, like his brain is leaking through his ears and pooling onto the pillow beneath his head.
“Aw, I’m sorry, baby,” Eric croons with no real sympathy, his mocking tone making Assad feel hot all over. “You just make it so easy when you look as pretty as you do. You’re like a little puppy–so cute that I just wanna squeeze the fuckin’ life outta you.”
“Oh my God.”
Eric chuckles, somehow managing to make it sound like a threat. His hand slides up from Assad’s quivering, cum-sticky stomach all the way up to his throat where he presses him down and squeezes hard. Assad tries to moan but no sound can escape him. Heat flashes through him like he’s been set alight, then a surge of fear as his lungs start to seize and his vision starts to blur and his feet begin to kick out in panic without his say so–all while Eric smiles down at him, watching him closely with eyes so blown, there’s hardly any green left in them.
“Like this…” He murmurs, and if this were anyone else, Assad would genuinely think that he was about to die, crying and covered in cum and sweat.
Then he thinks that it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, really, if Eric actually did kill him like this. As long as it were his hands that did it.
But Eric lets him go and Assad gasps, choking on the air as it floods his lungs once more, his body shaking and his throat sore but he’s never felt so fucking good, never been so high (and he only smokes the good stuff, so that’s saying something). His cock is hard again between his legs, leaking everywhere and adding to the mess he’s been made into by those hands that have lived and lived and lived as Eric looks at him as if he’d love nothing more than to eat him alive.
And Assad would gladly let him, would climb willingly into the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf because he knows the beast would make it so good for him.
“See, kiddo? I just can’t help myself. You bring it out of me.”
Assad whimpers, his cock leaks a bit more heavily. He brings a trembling hand up to paw at Eric’s cheek, rough from a couple of days worth of stubble and hopes the man understands what he wants because he can’t seem to form any words, his brain syrupy slow, full of nothing but soft, warm light and Eric Eric Eric.
The older man knows, because he always somehow knows, and leans down to press his lips to his in a slow, adoring kiss that makes the warmth inside of him burn brighter. He threads a hand through grey curls and tugs, licking up the moan Eric pushes into his mouth and he loves the taste of it so much, he does it again, a little harder, and this time it earns Assad a growl and a bite to his lower lip that makes him whimper.
It’s the sound a wounded animal would make and Eric responds like the predator he plays so well; with rough hands and sharp kisses, groping and biting at him everywhere he can reach like he means to shred him apart.
Teeth in his throat, chewing bruises into his skin. Hands on his chest, clever fingers pinching and pulling at his nipples hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and make him yelp at the pain. Then the teeth replace the hands and that hurts even worse, so much so that his body starts to fight of its own accord but Eric holds him down with ease, fingers pressing bruises into his hips that Assad will prod at later to keep them around for a little longer.
Someone’s talking, he suddenly realizes, the words muffled and far away, like a too-loud TV in a neighboring room. He doesn’t know what they’re saying but they sound desperate, almost hysteric, their voice broken and shredded from constant crying and–
It’s him.
That’s his voice he hears, moaning and pleading nonsensically and crying out so wantonly that even the Devil would blush.
“Eric, Eric, Daddy, oh my God, fuck! God, oh God, fuck, please, please, please, oh my God, ow, ow, Daddy, that hurts! It hurts, it hurts, please, oh God, oh God, fuck, Daddy, fuck, harder. Bite me harder, make me bleed, ah ha, God, Eric, oh God, more, more, make it hurt more, please, I want it. I want it, Daddy, want you to hurt me, please, please—oh, oh–!”
Assad is (thankfully) shocked into silence when there’s a sudden wet heat around his cock, Eric swallowing him down to the hilt with practiced ease and he gets a distant flash of deja vu as he immediately cums hard down his throat and then he isn’t aware of anything for a while, drowning in a sea of mind-numbing pleasure before everything just–stops. Like he’s fallen asleep.
Slowly, he comes back to himself, to Eric, to the smell of hot, melted cheese and greasy pepperonis. Good; he’s fucking starving.
And comfortably warm…and naked, he now realizes, having been stripped and tucked into bed sometime while he was…asleep? Away? He doesn’t really know what happens when that happens–he just knows that it feels good, that he feels safe and wrapped in loving warmth whenever Eric brings him there.
Speaking of…
“Assad, baby…pizza’s here,” Eric murmurs against the shell of his ear, fingers brushing gently through his curls in an attempt to rouse him.
He hums in response, unable to speak just yet, his eyes blinking open to the sight of the older man leaning over him, just as he was before he passed out. Fondness paints every feature on his beautifully aged face and Assad feels his heart clench in his chest. He gives the man a sleepy smile and watches that adoration grow, Eric’s mouth stretching into a smile of his own and Assad gets to think that his old man is the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen before he’s closing the scant few inches between them to capture his mouth in a soft kiss.
“Welcome back, bun,” Eric greets when they part. “Are you hungry?”
“Mmhm,” he agrees, still feeling pleasantly warm and floaty.
“Good. Think you can sit up for me?”
Eric ordered three different kinds of pizza, it turns out; cheese, pepperoni, and jalapeno with pineapple. He also ordered drinks. Assad somehow missed all of this information when the man was on the phone but he doesn’t think the blame is all his. Or his at all. It’s hard to focus on the contents of a conversation when you’re cumming your brains out.
He tries the jalapeno pineapple one first and is surprised by how good it is. Eric shares this sentiment but only eats half of a slice for fear of heartburn later on, which Assad can understand and relate to, though not enough to deprive himself of it–some foods are just too good for that. He finishes Eric’s piece, then another, before he moves on to the plain cheese.
“Jesus, kid, slow down,” Eric tells him amusedly, just now finishing his first full piece. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Assad flushes, his mouth full. He chews, swallows, takes a sip from his Coke. “Sorry,” he says, laughing sheepishly as sets the can down and wipes his hands on a napkin. “Guess I’ve worked up an appetite.”
The older man laughs and reaches for a slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, ‘suppose four orgasms in less than thirty minutes will do that to you.”
He pauses, his fifth slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. “Four? I only remember two.”
“Yeah. You were asleep for the last two.”
Oh my God.
Of course, Assad wants to be outraged.
He wants to be disgusted and horrified and all the other things he should be when someone tells you that they touched you while you were passed out and made you cum. He wants to be…except he really doesn’t. He just knows that he should. It’s probably something that should’ve been talked about before being explored and Eric didn’t ask, never even mentioned that he was into such a thing and that’s what makes it so fucking hot.
He was vulnerable, passed out and helpless to stop him even if he wanted to and Eric took advantage of that, felt him up and made him cum again. Because he wanted to. Because he could.
Eric takes his stunned silence the wrong way and begins to falter, setting down his half-eaten slice of cheese and nervously wiping his mouth.
“Was…was that too far? I took a slightly educated swing in the dark, did I miss com-fucking-pletely? Did I just fuck everything up? I wouldn’t last in prison but I’ll let you beat me to death right here if that’s what you want.”
That makes him laugh, pulling him out of the arousing spiral of his thoughts. “I’m not going to beat you to death, Eric, what the hell?”
The older man shrugs. Assad shakes his head, exasperated and fond and stupidly turned on.
“You didn’t miss,” he assures him, finally taking a bite of his pizza, pausing to chew and swallow. “With me, Mister, you never miss.”
Eric snorts but his face flushes adorably, his ears red as he picks his slice back up. “By some fucking miracle.”
They finish eating. Assad collects all the leftover pizza into one box and Eric puts it in the mini-fridge to save for later, then he crawls back into bed at Assad’s beckoning, laying down alongside him. Assad pulls him close and lays his head on his chest, throws a leg over his hips and an arm over his round little belly, Eric’s clothed body a nice contrast to his nude one.
It’s dangerous, laying down like this. Especially after such a big lunch, both of them liable to fall asleep if they get too comfortable but Assad is too content to care. There’s nothing to do anyway–what’s a little afternoon nap?
Eric rubs a hand along his bare back, then he runs his hand through his curls and scratches at his scalp for a moment, then he’s back to rubbing and the pattern continues. It’s hypnotizing, how nice it feels. He imagines a cat must feel much the same when it’s being pet because that’s exactly what Eric’s doing; he’s petting him, firm but gentle. If he could, Assad would be purring.
His eyes slip close after a while, lulled back into sleep by the older’s soothing touch but just as it’s about to pull him under, a thought crosses his mind.
“Eric?” he murmurs, too sleepy to open his eyes.
“Hmm?” the man responds, sounding half-asleep even though he hasn’t stopped petting him, hasn’t even faltered in rhythm.
“Would you tell me about…earlier?”
“Earlier?” Eric repeats, confused, his voice a pleasant rumble beneath Assad’s ear.
It takes him a second to answer, suddenly shy for some unknowable reason.
“...When I was asleep.”
Eric sucks in a breath, then he chuckles. “Oh, you want to hear about your molestation from the dirty old man that did it?”
The words are amused and accusing all at once and it makes Assad’s pulse race.
“Yes,” he breathes, already sounding desperate and then the hand in his hair tightens and Eric is pulling his head up and back so Assad is forced to look him in the face.
“What a filthy little boy you are,” Eric says, sounding and looking nothing but pleased. “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it, kiddo. Soon as we wake up from this nap, though, because I am old and absolutely fucking beat.”
Assad laughs and it shakes the both of them. “Yeah, okay, agreed. Goodnight, Eric.”
“Goodnight, baby,” Eric returns, laughter in his voice.
They fall back into silence and Assad slowly falls back into sleep, held tightly in the older man’s arms. The last thing he’s aware of is the light press of lips to the top of his head.
It might be strange, but often, Assad dreams of Eric.
And Daniel.
Sometimes, he even dreams of an oddly familiar mixture of the two, one that he sees more and more the longer shooting goes on and the lines between themselves and their characters begin to blur.
Most of the time it’s innocent and mundane; things they’ve done before such as shopping and exploring the city together. Sometimes they read their scripts together and explore their characters instead. Sometimes, the dream isn’t even about Eric necessarily but he’s still there in a much beloved supporting role.
Other times, of course, it’s not so innocent. Eric is gorgeous in a way that makes Assad ache where it hurts the most and it would be an egregious lie to say that he’s never dreamt of him in that way before. Of course he has. He’s only human–and a weak and desperate one at that.
In this dream, he’s in Eric’s lap, riding him in a slow grind that he knows would churn his guts quite nicely if applied in the waking world. Assad wonders if he’d even be able to sit on it with how deeply it reaches inside him, now that he’s had it. It would be a lot, that’s for sure, though dream Assad takes it like it’s nothing and it’s who he aspires to be, honestly. Moans and whimpers and whines pour from his mouth as if sound is all he’s been reduced to while the old man beneath him spits filth into his ear, one hand fisted in his curls and the other pressing bruises into his hip.
“Fuck, baby boy, you feel so good,” Eric is telling him, the words a low, loving growl that makes his toes curl, his heart clench. “Hot, tight, and wet. You’re the perfect little hole for Daddy, aren’t you?”
Assad manages to nod in the man’s hold, though just barely, so he punctuates it with a whine for good measure and Eric laughs, his breath hot and pleasantly sweet against his ear. He wonders if he’d taste just as sweet if he were to kiss him right now, longs to know the answer but can’t find the words to ask for it. He whines again, louder this time, eyes rolling back as the pleasure mounts higher and higher, threatening to drop him right over the edge, the constant pressure to his prostate absolutely maddening.
“Aw, what is it, kiddo?” the older man coos, still holding him close, still guiding the lazy push and pull of his hips. “What do you need? Can you tell Daddy?”
He shakes his head. No, he cannot. All the words he’s ever learned have been wiped from his mind. All that’s left is Eric, so deep inside of him it’s as if he were always there.
Another huff of laughter against his skin, his hair, goosebumps rising along his arms.
“Oh, that’s okay. Daddy knows what you need, bun, don’t worry.”
Assad has a moment to wonder just what that is before Eric’s hand is leaving his waist and wrapping around his weeping cock, the touch like a punch to the gut as it steals his breath and makes him choke on a moan. Eric coos against his cheek as he pulls at his cock, mimicking the slow and steady rocking of his hips and it feels so fucking good, feels too good, it’s too much, oh my God, he’s not going to last, he’s—
“Oh, God, fuck, I’m cumming,” he manages to sob before he coats them both, his thighs tightening around Eric’s hips and his nails digging into the soft skin of his back as he trembles and whines, and fuck, it hurts to cum on his cock like this but Assad wants to do it again and again and again until he’s too sore to bear it anymore and then he wants to do it again and again and then–
And then, suddenly, he’s waking up.
For a brief moment, he’s confused as to why, but it quickly becomes apparent when Eric scissors his fingers apart inside of him.
“Fuck,” he gasps, now fully awake. “Fuck, Eric, oh my God. What the fuck?”
“What?” The older man asks innocently, as if he’s done nothing at all. “You were the one that was getting all worked up in your sleep, grinding on my thigh and whining like a little puppy. Just thought I’d help you out, is all.”
He whines, embarrassed, his hips moving against said thigh of their own accord and, of course, he’s hard and leaking everywhere, just like the dog Eric said he was. He’s probably been like this since he started dreaming. Did Eric sleep with him at all or is Assad the old one here? How long did he lie there and let him hump him before he put his fingers in him?
Assad would love to ask these questions but he can’t focus on anything other than the thick, barely wet stretch of Eric’s fingers in his hole, clearly working him up to a third one. Hopefully, it’s so he can take his cock because that’s what he wants more than anything right now. Especially after that dream.
“What were you dreaming about?” Eric asks him because he can read his fucking mind apparently, that third digit flirting with the rim of his stuffed hole. “Must’ve been something real good to make you so desperate, yeah?”
He whines, nodding against Eric’s chest while he tries to fuck himself back on his fingers. “Y-yeah, yeah,” Assad pants, “it was good, fuck. We, um, we were in my apartment. I think. And I–oh, oh, and I was riding you. On my couch, fuck, Eric, oh my God.”
Eric laughs, delighted and amused. “Is that it? That’s all it took to get your little cock hard and leaking all over me?”
“Yes,” he moans, rutting desperately against the man’s thigh and aching for the stretch of that third finger. Of that fucking cock Eric has selfishly been keeping to himself. “I want to take you as deep as you can go. ‘Want you to stuff me so full that there’s nothing inside of me but you.”
“Jesus, kid,” the other man huffs, sounding just as breathless as Assad feels. “Well, what a crazy fucking coincidence because that’s exactly what’s about to happen. It’s like you can dream of the future.”
Assad laughs and it’s a bit hysterical sounding because it’s suddenly all too much and he needs Eric in him like now now now now.
“God, fuck, okay, Eric, please! Please stop fucking teasing me and prepare me properly or I swear I’ll get someone else to do it.”
The words are growled out before he can think or stop them and wow, okay, why would he say that? Why would he say that?
Both of them go still, Assad’s desperate panting and the far-away bustle of the streets below the only noise in the room with them.
“Um…”
And then suddenly, he’s empty and the room is blurring around him and, fuck, Eric moves fast when he wants to because just like that, he’s seated in the older man’s lap with a hand around his throat and Eric does not look happy. His face is flat but his eyes are alight with a wild kind of rage Assad’s only ever seen in Daniel’s gaze and it makes his cock kick and weep where it’s crushed between them.
“What the fuck did you just say to me.”
The words are cold, flat, barely there–and despite this, Eric’s breath is a warm, loving caress as it brushes across his face. Assad whimpers, swallowing against the firm press of the palm on his throat, his nails nervously scratching at the cotton over Eric’s sternum where his hands have been pinned between their chests.
He should apologize and he’s going to apologize because there’s no one else but Eric he could possibly want right now and forever and–
“The boys seemed pretty interested last night,” he hears himself say, like someone else is speaking for him, like he’s fucking possessed. “Maybe I’ll give Jacob a call. Or Sam. They’re probably together right now anyways, it’d be so easy for me to take them bo–”
Crack!
Assad hears the impact of the slap before he’s even aware of Eric moving. And then he feels the pain of it, more heat than sting surprisingly but it does hurt and it only makes him wetter, makes him throb with need and why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?
“I oughta beat your fuckin’ ass,” Eric grits through clenched teeth, his spare hand searching for something Assad can’t see until he manages to find it–the little bottle of lube from last night that got discarded in the sheets at some point, which he opens and nearly upends entirely into his palm in his haste to coat his fingers. He swipes them across Assad’s hole, getting him wet, and then he starts pushing them in.
All three of them. All at once.
“Oh, fuck, fuck!” Assad yelps, trying to pull away from the intrusion but Eric’s hold on him is too tight and he only succeeds in pushing them deeper inside. It’s soaking wet but it’s a hell of a stretch, his whole body shaking as Eric roughly stuffs him full and fingers him open.
“No, actually–I oughta let you make that call,” Eric continues, still sounding incredibly pissed despite the breathlessness to his voice. “Let you go to those boys and get your holes spitroasted so you can realize that no one is ever gonna be able to fuck you the way that your old man can.”
And, oh, he likes the way that sounds as it rolls off Eric’s tongue. Your old man. “Daddy, please,” he sobs, twisting and jerking within the grasp of Eric’s hold just to feel the arm around his back tighten and crush him further against that solid, scorching chest. “Please, I’m so—”
“Oh, don’t you dare,” he’s warned with a sharp hiss and a brutal jab to his prostate that makes him jerk and whine. “You don’t get to tell me you’re sorry when you did that shit on purpose, you little fuckin’ brat.”
He can’t really argue with that logic but he can whine about it, so he does, loud and pitiful like the dog he is until Eric tears his fingers from his already sore hole so he can get his cock out and slick it up with what remains of the lube–which isn’t a lot. It’s just barely enough to wet the whole length of it and Assad realizes then that it’s going to be absolute torture to take the man’s cock like this but he wants it so bad, he’s shaking.
“I’d let ‘em, you know,” Eric tells him almost casually as he lifts him up so he can rub the leaking head of his dick against his hole, which clenches and spasms around nothing in response, eager to be filled. “I’d let ‘em fill you from both ends and fuck you stupid until their loads were spilling out of you and you were nothing more than a limp little fuckdoll between them. I’m sure they’d love that.”
Assad knows he certainly would. Can picture it so vividly it’s like it’s already happened–Jacob using his hole while Sam makes him gag on his cock and then when they both cum, they switch. And it goes on like that, over and over and over again, until Assad’s all used up and spent, unable to make so much as a sound, let alone move, so they’d have to shove him around themselves like he really was some lifeless thing to fuck and breed and nothing else.
It’s such a deliciously gripping image that Assad almost misses it when Eric starts to push into him.
Almost because there’s no way that anyone wouldn’t notice a soda can being slowly inserted into their minimally prepped asshole.
“Oh my God,” he moans, the words a little slurred as the stretch of it threatens to push his brain out through his ears. “Eric, fuck, oh my God. It’s too much, it’s too much, I can’t–”
“Oh, you can and you will, babe,” the older man interrupts, the laughter in his voice and the smile on his face both incredibly mean. “It’s a dream come true, remember? What kind of a father would I be if I didn’t help my little boy achieve his dreams, huh?”
That makes Assad gasp, scandalized and horrified and more than a little ashamed of how it makes his cock throb and spurt even more precum that he can feel dripping down the length of him like a broken faucet.
The instinct to recoil comes a little later than it should and when he gives into it (because it’s what he should do, right?), it does nothing for him, pinned as he is to Eric’s chest. Only serves to impale him further on the thick cock threatening to split him in half while earning him a mean, mocking laugh from the man it’s attached to.
And it’s not even halfway in yet. Jesus, how did he ever take it the first time? Like this, it feels impossible, feels as though it’ll never fit, not without doing some serious damage–and why does that thought only make it hotter?
“Eric, Eric, fuck, I can’t,” he pants desperately, the panic in his voice only a little real as his squirming turns earnest and his sobbing grows louder when it does absolutely fuck all. Why is this senior citizen so fucking strong? “Eric, please, you’re going to fucking break me, it’s too big, it’s too much, I can’t take it like this, please!”
“But you are taking it, kiddo, you’re taking it so well, look at you,” Eric soothes, loosening his hold on him in favor of running an encouraging hand along his back. It would be the perfect time for him to fight, but Assad is so consumed by the burning stretch of his aching hole that he forgets to entirely. “You’re doing so good, baby, taking Daddy’s cock like a big boy. It’s gonna feel so good once it’s all inside, just wait. Just a little more, kid, you got it, it’s okay.”
It’s an eternally slow process; every single inch feels like it’s going to be the one that tears him apart and he can’t stop making noise, whimpers and whines and sobs and pleas falling from his lips as he’s filled, filled, filled. Eric talks to him the whole time and he doesn’t hear a single word of it, can only hear the pleasant, calming hum of his voice and just when he thinks he might actually die, his hips are flush with Eric’s.
Just like that, he’s taken it all, with no room inside of him to spare.
He laughs then, breathless and giddy because he did it
He’s drenched in sweat and stuffed so full that it makes him feel a little queasy but he fucking did it. He’s actually kind of proud of himself, even if it’s a strange thing to be proud of. And Daddy’s proud of him, too, it sounds like–at least, that’s one of the first words Assad hears as he comes back to himself.
“—proud of you, kiddo, look at you, you did it,” Eric is praising him, his large, warm hands running all along his damp, trembling body in soothing passes; back to sides, then stomach to thighs and back again. It helps to take the focus off of his burning, stretched-out hole and the heavy weight of the cock in his guts. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Took it all, just like I knew you could. Such a good boy, Assad, you did so good. Daddy’ll make it feel good for you, too, don’t you worry.”
It already does, Assad wants to tell him, the burning, aching stretch of his hole turning into something that feels so terribly good but he can’t make his mouth work just yet, it seems. Instead, he presses a whimpering kiss to the point where Eric’s pulse races and hopes the older man understands.
“Oh, my sweet boy,” the older man murmurs and the tone of his voice makes Assad’s heart clench in his chest; soft and gentle. Loving, if he’s willing to delude himself (he is). And just for him. “Daddy’s got you, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m gonna start moving you now, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good.”
Eric’s hands slide down to his hips, his fingers digging into his skin as he grips him tight and lifts him up like it’s nothing, just by a couple of inches or so and then he pulls him back down, all in one smooth motion. Assad gasps because even that feels like a lot with how fucked-out he already is, his insides sore and bruised, struggling to adapt to the length stuffed inside of him.
"I know, kiddo, I know," Eric coos at him, fingers kneading at the meat of his hips. "You can take it, you're okay. You're okay."
He lifts him again, a few more inches this time and when he drops him back down, Assad can't contain the noise he lets out; a deep, breathless moan that sounds pained and overwhelmed, like he's just been stabbed in the gut.
"Oh my God…" he whimpers into Eric's skin, almost disbelieving because he didn't know it was going to feel like this. Like he's taking his cock for the first time all over again, marveling at the stretch of it, how full it fills him.
Eric chuckles. "Goodness, you're acting like Daddy's never touched you like this before. And I know that's not right."
Assad whines, petulant, embarrassed. "You're so much deeper like this, Daddy," he explains, grinding his hips on his own just to feel the way Eric's cock rubs against everything. "I feel so full, it's so much. Gonna mess me all up inside."
"That's what you wanted, isn't it? For Daddy to stuff you so full that there's nothing inside of you but me?"
He can only nod dumbly. His head—his whole body—feels heavy, as if there were sandbags tied to his feet, pulling him down deeper and deeper into the depths and Assad doesn't care how far he sinks because he knows that Eric would never let him drown.
Though, if this is how he went, he wouldn't be mad about it.
Eric picks his head up off of his shoulder with handful of his curls, making Assad moan lightly as the older man nods along mockingly. "Yeah? So, be a good boy and take it, sweetheart, you can do it. Doesn't it feel so good, being full of nothing but your Daddy?"
When Assad merely nods again, Eric tuts at him. "Use your words, baby," he tells him.
"Yes, Daddy, it feels so good," Assad whines, the words slurred enough to run together. He rolls his hips for emphasis and the hard, unforgiving drag of Eric's cockhead against his prostate has his eyes rolling right along with them. He's so close to cumming already. If he could feel anything other than Eric, he'd be embarrassed.
"Good, baby, that's good," Eric murmurs against Assad's jaw, lips brushing the heated skin there so delicately that it sends shivers up Assad's back, a bruising grip on his hip urging him to keep moving. "Just like that, yeah? Just like that, you're doing so well, kiddo."
Eric trails a line of sweet, wet kisses from his jawline to his collarbone and then he follows the line right back up, only this time, there's teeth in Assad's throat that bite down with such force that he fears the skin might tear beneath them. Assad has to grind his teeth just to keep from screaming out in pleasured pain and even then, the noises that do escape are more than loud enough to be heard next door. Eric laughs at him and it tickles his throat where it's held tightly between his teeth.
Assad doesn't protest the treatment, doesn't try to pull away or fight because he knows he wouldn't get anywhere and why would he want to anyways, when it hurts this fucking good? He'd let Eric tear him to pieces if it's what the older man wanted. He moans and sobs through the clench of his teeth as Eric attempts to cannibalize him, the skin hot and throbbing where he's been chewed on and he swears he can feel each individual indent of those teeth pressed into his skin if he focuses hard enough. It makes his hole clench hard around Eric's cock, which makes Eric bite down harder and now he is screaming, loud and sharp and real, wow, fuck, Eric's just made him actually scream, fucking hell—
Eric yanks his head back and swallows the rest of the noise down in a brutal kiss but someone surely heard that. It was too loud and they're practically surrounded by people in this hotel, in this city. They can only hope that no one cares enough to send someone to investigate it. Until then…
"Shh, shh, shh," Eric urges in a whisper against his lips, sounding breathlessly, beautifully wrecked as Assad starts to roll his hips a little faster. "You scream like that and everyone will think we're in here shooting snuff."
The word, the idea, zings through Assad like a bolt of lightning, setting him alight with a horrific desire that he isn't sure how to feel about.
Eric he would never and he would never let him, of course…
But the idea is…something.
His cock kicks between them as he moans into Eric's mouth, spitting precum all over the both of them and it's obscene how wet he is, he almost can't believe it, it's everywhere. It's dripped down his balls and pooled in a sticky puddle where he's stretched around the cock inside him, creating a disgustingly wet noise that makes him go hot all over and it soaks the wiry grey hairs at the base of Eric's cock, matting them down to his soft skin.
"Oh, you like it a little fucked, huh?" His old man chuckles, the words pressed into the side of Assad's mouth. "I'm into that. I could make you beg for your life right now, if you wanted, kiddo—if I wanted you to."
Assad gasps and Eric kisses him again, licking into his mouth like he wants to devour him, that slick, talented tongue following the same steady grind Assad set with his hips and it has him shaking in Eric's hold. He's not going to last much longer but he doesn't want to cum because he knows it's going to be intense. It's going to fucking break him and he's almost scared.
"I'm a good actor, so I could make it feel real," the older man continues when he pulls away, brushing Assad's sweaty curls back off his forehead. "I could make you believe I really wanted you dead and then I'd make you beg me for it. And you would, because after what I'd done to you, you'd want death more than anything."
"Eric, fuck, oh my God," Assad moans, wishing the words sounded more horrified than they do. "Oh my God, that's—that's—fuck, don't—"
"What, baby, you don't like that?" Eric asks like he already knows the answer. When Assad shakes his head, Eric laughs at him, low and cruel.
"Biggest fucking lie ever told. Look at you, you're literally fucking drooling for it. Your drippy little cock's soaking us both and you can't even form a sentence but you're still trying to act like you're not a depraved little slut that would let some old man drag a blade across his throat if he thought it would make him cum hard enough."
"No, no," Assad gasps in protest but it's entirely undermined by his orgasm suddenly crashing into him like a derailed train.
It's just as intense as he feared; his body seizes then shakes apart, light flashes behind his eyes as they roll back and he's sure he's screaming again but he can't hear himself, can't hear anything actually, struck deaf and blind by what must be pure ecstasy and then he's gone gone gone.
When he comes to, he's still in Eric's lap, still impaled on his still hard cock.
There's a hand stroking along his back, the glide aided by his sweat-slick skin, and another carding through the curls at the nape of his neck, also damp with sweat.
Everything is damp, actually, with sweat or cum or tears.
"Oh my God," Assad croaks, surprised he was even able to form words at all. He tries to pick his head up from where it apparently dropped down onto Eric's shoulder and finds that he just can't.
Eric merely hums in response, though he's clearly amused. Assad can't wait for the equal opportunity to wear his old ass out. See how he funny he thinks it is then.
"What was that?" the older man asks in a murmur because apparently he'd been speaking out loud.
"Nothing," he says quickly, forcing his heavy head up so he can kiss him, slow, deep, and filthy. Eric moans into his mouth and the sound makes Assad whimper in response, his spent cock twitching painfully and pitifully between his legs as Eric kneads at his ass and teases his aching hole where it's stretched around his thick cock.
They don't part until their lungs are begging for air and by that time, they're both coated in spit down to their chins and Assad's poor, aching cock is half hard and dribbling all over Eric's soft belly, who chuckles and wraps a hand around him when he notices, making Assad groan and squirm in his lap.
"You really want more, babe?" He asks him, his voice low and teasingly disbelieving as he slowly strokes him to full hardness. It makes Assad flush hot with shame. "I make you cum to the thought of me killing you and still you want more? What a sick little kid you are."
"Eric," Assad gasps, clutching the fabric of Eric's shirt in his fists and pulling as if he could tear it right off of him. "Please. Please."
He doesn't even know what he's begging for. He just wants it. Whatever Eric has, he wants it.
The older man shushes him, letting go of Assad's cock in favor of stroking comfortingly along his belly with a sticky, wet hand. "I got you, kiddo, it's okay," he murmurs. "Daddy's got you, he'll give you just what you need. Here, let's lay you down, yeah? Get you comfortable for story time."
Story time? Assad thinks to himself as Eric gets his legs under him and gently tips him back until he's laying amongst the plush blankets, cock still firmly sheathed inside him. Eric settles atop him, pressing him flush against the bed with his weight until there's not a single millimeter of space between them, which makes Assad moan happily. Eric smiles down at him in response, their faces so close that their noses brush and the younger can't help but steal a little kiss.
"Now," Eric whispers when they part, sounding as if he's about to share a secret, "I believe someone wanted to hear about what happened to them when they were asleep. Was that you?"
Assad huffs out a quiet laugh, then nods. "Yes, Daddy, that's me."
"I thought so. We'll start from the beginning, of course. Daddy ordered pizza and played with you while he was on the phone, yeah? Made you feel so good."
He nods attentively and the story continues. "Then Daddy got off the phone and did it all over again. Made you feel so good, all you could do was cry and beg. Does that sound about right?"
"Yes, Daddy," Assad breathes, bringing his long lets up to wrap them around the older man's waist, wanting him closer, closer. "Made me feel so good, I had to go to sleep. It was too much."
"That's right, baby. And you know what Daddy did while you were asleep?"
Assad shakes his head, eyes wide and hands trembling as he kneads at Eric's shoulders.
"Well," his Daddy starts, punctuating the word with a quick kiss to the tip of Assad's nose, "at first, all I did was watch you sleep. You look so precious when you sleep, kiddo, you're like my own little Sleeping Beauty."
This makes him giggle, makes his cock kick where it's sandwiched between their bellies and Eric smiles wide in response.
"But then I noticed how messy you were so I thought I would make you more comfortable by taking off your dirty clothes and then once I did that…I just had to touch you again. I couldn't help myself…"
It's here that the older man starts to move, pulling his hips back just a bit before he pushes back in, starting up a slow, deep rhythm that grinds the head of his cock against Assad's prostate, lighting him up and making him shake that much harder. He moans and it's a tortured, desperate sound that Eric gently hushes before he continues on with his story.
"You're so pretty, baby, prettiest thing I've ever seen. I don't think I could keep my hands off of you if I tried, even if there was a gun to my head. I'd just ask to touch you one last time before it went off."
"Daddy," he whines, only to be quieted again.
"Shh, baby, don't you want to hear the story?" Eric asks him softly, raising his brow just a bit to scold him and Assad feels like he's on fire all over again, burning, burning, burning beneath this lovely man. He doesn't start talking again until Assad nods with a pitiful sniffle.
"You're okay, kid, you're doing so good for Daddy," he assures him, threading a hand through Assad's sweaty curls to grip them in a loose fist that the younger is sure is meant to ground them both. "So good for Daddy that even in your sleep, you're a good little boy. I started playing with your spent little cock again and you just spread your legs for me and kept right on snoring your cute little snores. I must've really worn you out, huh? Didn't even wake up when I made you cum again, just made these adorable little noises while you made another sticky mess all over your soft little belly."
He's about to make another sticky mess all over them both, Assad thinks deliriously, the constant stimulation to both his trapped cock and oversensitive prostate quickly becoming too much to bear—as is story time.
He didn't think that being used in his sleep would be so fucking hot, nor did he think that a retelling of said event would make him feel like he was losing his mind. Assad whimpers out another tortured sound and tightens his limbs around the man further, effectively squeezing Eric in his hold like some great serpent but he doesn't seem to mind in the least bit, merely tucks his face into Assad's throat and continues his story in whispered words that sound slightly strained like he's holding himself back.
"I was going to clean you up after that, I swear," Eric pants, hot breath ghosting along Assad's throat and making him shiver. "'I shouldn't have done that in the first place', I thought, but when I took my hands off of you, you whined. Whined like you wanted my touch even though you were deep asleep and I just can't say no to you, kid, I can't. I don't have it in me. I want to give you anything and everything you want and if you want your Daddy to touch you while you sleep, well, that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Assad cannot stop crying, cannot stop making noise. Whimpers and whines and pained little moans pour from him like an upturned pitcher as tears spill from his eyes and run down his face. If Eric weren't atop him crushing him into the mattress, he's sure that he would shatter apart, he's shaking so hard.
And still, the story continues.
"So I did it again. I touched you all over and then I gathered up the mess on your belly and coated my fingers with it so I could play with your tight, little hole, too. And you really loved that. You squirmed and you moaned and your cock even got hard again and I hadn't even put them in you yet. Once I did, though, I thought for sure you were going to wake up because you got so noisy, baby, it's like I had you on my cock. But you were still asleep. I almost couldn't believe it, I thought you were playing a prank on me."
A teary laugh bubbles out of Assad at that, nestled in between his gasping moans and high-pitched whines. It makes Eric laugh in kind and the sound is breathless and moaned and it makes his breath catching and then, suddenly, without warning, he's cumming. Hot spend splashes up between their stomachs but Assad can barely feel it over the intensity of the orgasm itself and it's a wonder he can still even cum at this point. He can't tell if he's making any noise or not because his ears are stuffed with cotton, it seems.
He loses time for a moment, for an eternity, and then he opens his eyes to see Eric's gorgeous, sweaty, blushing face peering down at him with amusement, with wonder, with adoration. And he's still moving inside of him, still fucking him with that same deep, slow, maddening pace. It's so much and yet somehow, it's not enough. It can never be enough when it comes to his Daddy. To Eric.
"Thought I put you to sleep again, kid," Eric tells him with humor in his voice. "I was about to pat myself on the back, I haven't done that to someone in years."
It takes Assad a second to find his voice to respond and when he does, it's a raspy, barely-there thing. He must've been making some sort of noise while he came, then.
"I think it was a near thing," he jokes weakly. "You would've been two for two. And insufferable about it, surely."
The older man grins wide and wicked, ear to ear. "Yeah, probably. Knocking you out with my dick not once but twice? It'd be all you'd hear about for a week."
Assad laughs fully then and Eric swallows the sound up with a kiss that's more tongue and teeth than anything else. When he pulls back, he bites Assad in the cheek playfully before he whispers, "Now it's my turn," into the skin there as if it were a threat.
And it is, because he has only a second to muster a small noise of confusion before Eric's putting a large hand over his mouth and holding him down with it.
Then he starts to move again, only this time, it's far from the slow grind that managed to wreck Assad so thoroughly before. It's a hard, fast, punishing pace that would drive Assad right off the end of the bed if he weren't pinned so perfectly and it's only now that he understands why Eric covered his mouth—if he hadn't, they'd surely have the police called on them because Assad can't stop screaming and it's a bit surreal to hear himself so positively ruined.
Sharp, desperate, helpless cries are forced out of him with every hard thrust and even with his mouth covered, he's sure the neighbors can hear, is sure passersby on the street below are looking up at their opened window with curiosity or disgust or maybe even interest before they continue on home or to their next tourist spot and it makes him burn with shame even as his cock tries and (thankfully) fails to get hard again at the thought.
"Almost there, baby, almost there," Eric promises breathlessly, just as Assad starts to fear that the man might force another orgasm out of his sore, spent body.
It only takes a few more violent thrusts before Eric's flooding his insides with a deep, rumbling groan that sounds almost pained, adding to the scorching heat racing through him. Assad squeals happily beneath the heavy press of that hand, thinking he could stay here forever if it were an option, filled to the brim with Eric. With his Daddy.
Eric removes his hand from his mouth and immediately replaces it with his own mouth, devouring Assad with a deep, lazy kiss. He brings his shaking hands up to cup the older's sweaty face, unwilling to let him go just yet. When he pulls back, Eric peers down at him with such a look of adoration that Assad quite literally feels his heart skip a beat behind his ribcage.
"God, kid, I—" he starts to say, only to stop as suddenly as he began, a flash of what looks like genuine fear running across his face.
"You what?" Assad questions softly, confused and also terrified for some strange reason.
But Eric just shakes his head.
"Nothin'. I just—can't believe you're real sometimes. You're perfect."
He scoffs dismissively, disbelieving despite the heat in his face from the words. He knows it's not what the man meant—or wanted—to say but he doesn't push it, just pulls him back in for another kiss, softer this time.
It takes them a while to pry themselves apart, neither of them willing or wanting to. They shower together and it's purely for the sake of washing all the bodily fluids from themselves but their hands linger and wonder over each other's skin because they just can't seem to help it.
When they crawl into bed together, the sun has just started to set. They've missed dinner and he's sure to be starving by the time they wake next but the only thing Assad feels hungry for right now is the sturdy beat of Eric's heart beneath his ear.
But just as they both get settled in bed, Eric's phone rings, breaking up soft contentment that had filled the room.
The both of them groan in sync and Eric paws at the bedside table until he can grab the offender and answer it with a gravely, "Hello?"
"Hey!" Assad can hear Jacob greet jovially on the other end of the line. "Sam and I were gonna venture out tonight, maybe visit another club or something. Do you guys feel like to joining us?"
Eric squints down at him, his glasses discarded for now on the nightstand. Assad peers up at him, waiting for his response, waiting to follow his lead.
"Nah," Eric tells him, a soft smile gracing his lovely face. "We're right where we want to be."