The skin of Kurt's lips have been bitten so raw he is sure he might split them if this goes on much longer. Already he feels like a spring, coiled so tight and holding so much desperate, unspent energy that he may just explode at any moment. His tail is wrapped tight around the leg of the table, gripping onto it as though it is his last tie to the material world. And next to him, acting so blissfully and belligerently unaware, the object of his torment is chattering away and conversing and joking with their friends about nothing. Warren's halo of blond curls ripple as he shakes them out of his face, wings stretched lazily out behind him in perfect nonchalance. Though as the conversation about the day's events continues around him, his eyes catch on Kurt's, and the man shoots him a positively shameless smirk. The expression is fleeting: just enough to send a fresh wave of unbearable desire down Kurt's spine and ignite a fresh fire in the pit of his stomach.
It had started innocently enough that morning. Kurt had been woken to Warren's lips playing around the sensitive spot between his ear and his jaw, thrumming into the skin and nipping and nibbling at his earlobe. It is a glorious feeling, only amplified by Warren's firm hands at his hips when he tries to rise, the angel's fingers digging into the notches above his hip bones and holding him to the bed. Warren doesn't have to do much more teasing before Kurt is hard, doing his best to return the affection he is getting despite Warren keeping him pinned relentlessly down. When Kurt finally gathers the strength and conviction to raise his hips, to try and grind himself against Warren, snaking his tail up to caress Warren's cheek, the wonderful weight of his lover's body atop his is cruelly lifted. Warren raises himself onto all fours above Kurt, teeth still sinking into his neck and making his devilish laughter hum against Kurt's skin. Not a word is said as Warren releases the mutant beneath him, but the fiendish, conspiratorial grin on his face remains as he dresses and readies for the day. Kurt whines like a petulant child, and the smile on Warren's face flares: this is exactly the reaction he had wanted.
"Warren, please, I—"
"Not yet," he interrupts, and the words are an order.
He should have known the teasing wouldn't end there. And yet, he can feel nothing but want and disappointment as he forces himself up pull on a pair of jeans and a shirt. He is bent down to pick up a belt when he feels the sting of fingers roughly grabbing a handful of his ass, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh mercilessly. His cock jumps between his legs, and instinctively he leans back into the pressure, letting out a low groan of satisfaction. Though just as suddenly as the groping had begun, it ceases, once again leaving Kurt stranded in an ocean of his own desire. He stands, sending a look in Warren's direction that is part questioning and part accusation. These games aren't uncommon between the two: Warren has always liked to tease, and Kurt is particularly vulnerable to letting Warren work him up and string him along until it almost hurt. But this, he thinks with both a sinking and a surging in his chest, this feels like it is destined to last a lot longer than their usual games. In a feeble attempt to get Warren to relent and give him some fort of release, he pushes himself into the man's chest, trying to wrap his arms around his waist. Before he can get his hands anywhere close to Warren, however, he is caught and shoved roughly against the wall, sending a jolt of deep, electric need through him and making him feel almost transparent, light as air and heavy as lead all at once. Warren's wings curl around the pair, sealing them into their own small universe, one of half-granted pleasure and the promise of wild, indulgent gratification mercilessly withheld.
"God, Warren, please, I want you," he purrs, but Warren's voice cuts him off, whispering hot against his ear.
"I know what you want," he intones, his voice husky and thick with his own indulgent arousal. Kurt trembles beneath him, aching and pouring himself into the places on his shoulders where Warren holds him against the wall of their room. "But I'm not going to give it to you. Not until I've had my fun."
"Your f—" Warren interrupts again, continues speaking as though Kurt had never opened his mouth.
"Not until I have you on your knees, asking, begging me for it. Not until you're so desperate you'll do anything to get release. Not until you're so needy, so sinful, so fucking filthy you can't stand it a single second longer."
Beneath him, Kurt makes a noise like a strangled animal, writhing and squirming in tortured ecstasy. He is rock hard now, almost painfully so, throbbing and pulsing with every beat of his heart, legs shaking and so weak that he is being held upright only by Warren's vice-like grip around his shoulders. He breathes in the warmth of Warren's closeness, his mind conjuring a thousand images, wants, fantasies, scenes he knows will never come to fruition if he does not cooperate with Warren's sadistic orders. He is so encapsulated by these thoughts that Warren has to repeat himself twice before he is heard.
"I said, are you going to behave for me?"
Frantically eager, Kurt nods his head and swallows hard, imagining the heavenly release he may get to feel at the end of the day, if he does well enough to please his lover. Warren gives a low, vaguely satisfied 'mmm,' and rewards Kurt for his compliance by allowing one hand to glide down Kurt's chest, detailing the taught, chiselled musculature down to the small of his back. Meanwhile, the other hand grasps his chin, moving it brusquely up and in to meet Warren's lips. Kurt's moans bleed into Warren's mouth, though he knows better than to thrust his tongue forward like he so badly wants to. The kiss is cut far too short for Kurt's desires, and yet he still feels grateful for this brief, brilliant reprieve from his suffering. Needless to say, it is almost impossible for him to drag himself from this state of unfulfilled desire, and even harder to force himself to leave their room and enter the normal world where he is expected to walk, talk, and work as though he isn't living in anguished denial.
That is what has led Kurt to the state he is in now—he has been battling Warren's relentless teasing all day, the errant hands whenever he gets close enough, the hungry eyes roaming his body, the gruffly whispered promises stolen in the moments they were alone or unnoticed. More than once, Kurt has been left scrambling for a way to cover the evidence of his horniness, flushed and burning hot from more than just embarrassment. Even now, sitting at a dinner table among their friends, Warren does not let up. He is speaking so casually, so normally, even as his fingers snake their way into Kurt's lap. Kurt's thighs seize, tail clenching further around the wooden table leg. Warren's fingers slide along Kurt's inner thigh, sweeping up and down the skin through the cloth of his jeans, each stroke taking him closer to Kurt's erection, straining defiantly against the denim. He struggles to stay silent, choking off the gasps and groans that threaten to spill from his lips. He has to steel himself, to do anything within his grasp to be good for Warren, to live up to the pleasure that has been promised him and that hangs so close to his reach. Each twitch and tight swallow, each stifled breath and clenched jaw brings Warren intense satisfaction, giddy with power at the knowledge that he can drive his lover so wild with desperation so easily. As effortlessly as he appears to keep up the act that nothing is awry, in truth it is getting harder and harder for him to focus on the table's conversation, his mind drifting repeatedly back to all the things he wants to do to Kurt once they are back behind closed doors.
His hands sweep close enough to Kurt's crotch that he can feel the outline of his strained erection against him, and in reply he feels his own cock stir. He is barely aware of the words leaving his lips as he informs the table that he and Kurt are leaving to "turn in early," though it is the first and only part of the conversation that Kurt registers properly, pushing his chair out so quickly and abruptly that his chair squeaks and jolts awkwardly. Too eager to bear even a second more of denial than he needs to, Kurt grabs Warren's wrist and the two disappear from the dining room, reappearing back in their room. He says nothing, staring vacantly and readily up at Warren as his tail rises to flick the lock on the door. Warren smiles, a hint of tenderness through the mischief in his expression.
"Do you have any idea how good you looked today?" he praises, a single finger tracing the sharp silhouette of Kurt's jaw. "So eager, so obedient, so desperate for every little way I teased you." Kurt says nothing in reply, breathless with the possibility of release, of perfect and magnificent relief from the fire that has been raging within him all day, from the tips of his fingers down to his toes.
He can scarcely breathe when Warren begins to drop to his knees, all the while keeping his smouldering eyes locked onto Kurt's. When Kurt hears the clink of metal and feels Warren unbuckling his belt, he almost loses his mind on the spot.
"You've been so perfect, so well behaved for me," Warren coos, still refusing to break his gaze. He tugs once, roughly, and Kurt's jeans drop to the floor. "But you've got a lot more to endure before I'm done with you."