Warnings: 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash, Smut, Profanity, Sounding.
I fucking hate you! I'm fucking limping! You're NEVER using Google again, fucker! - Punk
ps. I have an idea for next time. X
His idea turns out to be sounding. If you're honest it's something you've no real interest in doing, something you can't even begin to understand why he'd want you to do to him. The whole idea turns you off and freaks you out a little so you try to change his mind.
"I don't want to hurt you." And you have no idea how it would do anything other than hurt him.
"You won't, I trust you." He says, the look in his eyes is nothing but pure unadulterated trust.
"Yeah but I could still hurt you." You sigh and scrub your face; he looks at you, a hint of pleading in his gaze.
"I trust other people to do a lot worse to me in the ring all the time." That is true you suppose.
"That's wrestling though." You can tell this counter isn't quite as effective as you first thought, you're already picturing the dungeon room in your mind, him lying deathly still for days at time, fluid leaking out of his ears, the horrid vagueness, the headaches that lingered for months.
"Yeah and it's damn near killed me." He would have to use that against you, you're sure that's essentially cheating in this conversation. "The worst you'd do is make me piss blood for a day or two." He's smiling at you, a wry little twist of his lips.
"I don't want you pissing blood." He'd bitch and whine about it and blame you, even though it was his idea and you protested it but you can feel your resolve weakening in the face of his arguments.
"Be careful then." He laughs and his smile gets bigger, he definitely thinks he has this in the bag.
"But Punkers, I could hurt you." That's what it all comes down to really; you don't want to hurt him. Fucking him is always incredibly pleasurable for you. You'd put off taking him so many times because you were sure it wouldn't feel good for him. It had taken him fingering himself, showing you just how good something in his ass made him feel, for you to finally agree to fuck him. You're certain you don't want him to show you how good sticking something in his cock can make him feel at this stage.
"You won't, I trust you. Just think about it, okay. Google it. If you agree, I'll do anything you want." He is so cheating now and honestly, you're pretty sure you could talk him into most things, it's talking him out of them you have trouble with, apparently.
"Anything?" It's always worth goading him a little, see how much he'll offer before you try and shut this down again.
"Anything." He smiles and takes a step back from you, pressing a little box into your hand. "I'd even dress up as a schoolgirl and let you spank me, if that's what you wanted." There's a lazy grin on his lips, he clearly thinks he's getting his own way with this. You open the box and stare; little glistening steel rods lie in it. You pick the smallest one up; he's looking at you with an odd expression. "Just think about it, okay?" You frown, he really does seem keen to try this out, fuck he's even bought the damn things.
You spend a few days researching, reading, watching, even joining a forum and asking embarrassing questions. The more you find out the less you want to try this, it'll hurt him pretty much no matter what you do, even if you somehow manage to pull off inserting the damn things into him without perforating his urethra or lodging the damn thing into him at the wrong angle, it'll still burn when he pisses. You sigh and wish you had more power to resist your fucking idiot of a best friend. You send him a message telling him to come over to your place, that you agree to his idea.
He shows up at your place, a triumphant grin on his face and kisses you frantically as soon as he's through the door and it's closed behind him.
"I knew you'd see things my way." He's still wearing that grin, even as you press him back against the door and kiss him, far slower and more softly.
"We can try it." You say as you pull back from his lips. "This once we can try but you need to talk to me. If it hurts, if you don't like it, tell me. Don't think that just because you wanted to try it out, you have to go through with it." You stroke his hair from his face and try to make him understand the truth in your words, the Colt you're the best smile is on his face as he nods. "I'm serious, Phil."
"Oh, real names, you must be serious, Scott." He grins at you.
"Philip." You are serious; you need him to understand that if he changes his mind, if he doesn't like it, then you won't do it. "You say stop and I stop, okay?" You stroke his cheek, focusing your gaze on his eyes, he nods at you again.
"I understand." You raise an eyebrow at him, understanding and doing as you asked, could very easily be two different things. "If it's no good, I'll say so." He smiles softly and rests his forehead against your own. "I trust you, stop worrying." You nod at him and lead him to the bathroom. "Why are we here?"
"Shower, Punkers. You need to be clean." Cleanliness is key from what you've learnt. Clean and sterile. You bought dozens of packets of sterile lube, alcohol swabs and a little box of latex gloves. Working out how to sterilise the sounds themselves had been difficult, working out which was the right size for him was even more difficult, in the end you went with a few from the middle. Your gut-instinct had been to go for the smallest one first but research into the topic made you throw that idea out the window, there's no way you're risking puncturing his urethra because you weren't carful enough with something that small and pointy somewhere so fragile.
"You offend me, sir! To imply I have the hygiene of a lowly serf." He looks mildly offended and clutches at his chest.
"Wash, Punk and the fuck is a serf?" You mutter pulling your shirt over your head.
"A peasant." He grins at you and strips quickly, turning the shower on and stepping under the spray. "You coming?" He holds his hand out and pulls you in with him, you stand pressed against his back, arms looped about his waist, he leans his head back against your shoulder, the water plastering his hair to his head, running in rivulets down his throat. You press a few lazy kisses to his throat and briefly flirt with the idea of fucking him to see if he'd change his mind, it's unlikely, he's a tenacious bastard, your best friend. You step away from him and wash quickly before you really do decide to fuck him, he's damn near irresistible when he's all wet.
"Clean, Punkers, very clean remember." You smack him on the butt as you get out and wrap yourself in a towel, there's a lot of stuff you need to get ready for this.
You're all set up by the time he emerges from the bathroom, towel around his waist. He raises an eyebrow; you know it all looks rather medical, the little tray with the sounds laid out on it, the little packets of lube and swabs, and the box of gloves.
"C'mere, sit on the end of the bed." You gesture to the corner of the bed, there's a chair from the kitchen sitting facing it, you'd read that this would be the easiest way to do this, would let you be close enough to him. He does as you ask and you fetch a pillow from the top of the bed and hand it to him. "Lay down." You sit in the chair and pull him to you, draping his thighs over your own. You snap on a pair of gloves and open one of the alcohol swabs to clean the sounds you're going to use, leaving them to dry. The second swab you use to clean the head of his cock. You suddenly wish you'd thought to buy one of those little syringes the Internet had mentioned but you didn't and there's nothing you can do about it now you suppose, you open the first packet of lube and try to direct as much of it into him as possible. He sucks air through his teeth. "Okay?"
"Hmm, yeah, stingy, is all." You stroke his cock hoping to draw the lube into it but trying not to arouse him. "Wait a minute." He says softly, eyes screwed shut; you watch him carefully, change the gloves and wait for a sign from him. "Okay, go." You smile slightly at him and glance at the sounds, then back at the opening to his cock, you pick what you think is the right size and line it up carefully.
"You sure about this, Punkers?" You're worried, his legs wrap around the back of the chair, squeezing you briefly before he relaxes them again, his legs dangling over your own once more.
"I'm sure." You slowly introduce the sound into him, chanting don't push, don't push in your mind. He makes the most peculiar noise you've ever hear from him. "Oh fuck."
"Okay?" You know you sound panicked.
"Yeah, yeah, more." You let gravity draw the metal rod deeper into him; he moans again, eyes still screwed shut.
"Talk to me, Punkers." You need to know how this feels, if it's okay, if he wants to stop.
"It's." He moans again, the sound is maybe three or four inches into him and slowly shifts in his body. "It's different, weird."
"Good weird, bad weird?" You ask him, carefully holding the sound from sinking too quickly.
"Good weird." He moans once more, you're sure the sound is as far as it'll go without you manipulating his cock to let it sink into his bladder and you have no desire to try that out. You slowly draw the sound back out of him. "Wait, wait!" He says when it's almost all the way out. "Back in." You raise an eyebrow and open another packet of lube, pouring it over the head of his cock and the sound, before letting the rod slide back into him, it seems to move more easily this time, and you have to hold it back a little more.
"Talk to me, Punkers." You say softly, staring at him, his skin is flushed and glistening with sweat, his head is thrown back, his throat exposed. If you weren't so very worried about hurting him, you'd be enjoying this view immensely. He makes an inarticulate noise and you find a smile coming over you, slowly letting the sound sink into him and then drawing it back out. He lets you draw it fully out this time. "You wanna go bigger or this one again?" You ask him softly, he finally focuses on you, at least he focuses as much as he can, his irises are almost swallowed up by his pupils.
"Same again." You re-lube and let the sound sink into him, feeling a little more confident this time, let it move a little quicker, making him gasp and moan. You chance a few strokes of his cock, once it's fully inside of him; he makes an odd whining noise. "Don't."
"No good?" You ask softly, he nods.
"Don't like that, fuck me with it. That's good." You pull the rod back up slowly.
"What's it feel like?" You draw the sound back about halfway and let it move back into him, he makes a soft moaning noise at your actions.
"I, I don't know. It." You draw the sound back out and he moans again. "Doesn't feel like anything else, ever." You fuck him carefully with the sound for a while longer, his moans more frequent and growing in volume. "Bigger." He says suddenly, you look at him, he looks ruined already, you're surprised he's not hard.
"Are you sure?" He makes a soft agreeing noise and you pick up the next size of sound, pour another pack of lube into him, coat the sound and slowly insert it into him. The greater weight of the sound means you have to work harder to keep it from slipping away from you. You move slowly, the bigger size has changed the tone of his moans, less soft and more guttural, his breathing getting heavier and faster. You slowly draw the sound out and use more lube, let it ease its way back inside of him. His legs, which had been lying over your own unmoving suddenly wrap back around the chair tightly.
"Enough, Colt, enough. Stop."
You carefully remove the sound from him; he's panting, looks frantic. You pull off the thin latex gloves you were wearing and stroke his cheek, bringing his attention to you.
"You okay?" You ask him softly, his eyes are glazed over, face flushed and sweaty.
"No." He moans softly and shakes his head, you feel yourself frowning.
"See! I told you, I'd hurt you." You scowl, you should have known better than to think he'd tell you if something was wrong.
"Colt." His voice is a strange soft growl and draws you attention back to his face.
"I hurt you." You say pitifully, you hurt him, you knew that's all this would bring but hopefully it's put this silly idea out of his mind now.
"Not hurt." He says, reaching for you, you get off the chair you're sitting in and go to him, let him wrap an arm around your neck. "Not hurt, just need to fucking come. Make me come, Cabana." He drags you down for a kiss; you swear you can taste desperation in. You stroke one hand from his cheek, down his neck, along his chest and stomach to take his cock carefully in your hand. He's still so sensitive from the sounding that he shivers when you start stroking him slowly. You keep this slow languid pace, caressing the length of his cock, feeling him harden in your hand and kiss him thoroughly. "Please." His voice is a soft, needy moan; you speed your strokes up a little and then let him go. You move back to sit on the chair at the end of the bed, pulling him so that his thighs are draped over your own once more and rip open another of the little packets of lube and coat the fingers on your left hand, slowly easing one into his tight hole. He gives a drawn out moan and wraps his legs around the back of the chair, trapping you between the wood and his body. You finger him slowly, thrusting into his body carefully with one finger before easing a second into him and pressing on his prostate. "Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck, please, Colt, make me come." You smirk at him, pleading, begging desperate Punk is one of your most favourite things. You take his cock back in hand and stroke him, slowly gaining speed. Your cock twitches but you ignore it, this isn't about you as so much as him. He comes quietly, his cum mixed with the lube you used in him, giving it an odd appearance. He lies on the bed panting, eyes hazy, a lazily content smile on his face and you leave him to go to the kitchen.
"Here." You come back with a glass of cranberry juice, you'd read it was good for warding off infections and you sure as hell don't want him to get an infection, he'd blame you, you'd blame you. He drinks the glass down, an unimpressed look on his face, you know he doesn't particularly like cranberry but he must have read the same information to take it without complaint. "Go piss." You tell him, gathering the sounds and wrapping the ones you used in the towel for cleaning, you'll do it later. The empty packets of lube you collect to throw in the trash. He stands shakily, almost staggers over to you and wraps himself around you, arms holding you tight, face buried where your neck meets your shoulder.
"Thank you." You can feel his lips against your skin, his breath warm and damp. "You like it?" You squeeze him firmly, you aren't sure if you enjoyed that at all, there were moments when it was enjoyable, moments when he looked incredible and you were sure he was enjoying it but mostly you were scared of hurting him too much to form a real opinion.
"Ask me later, okay?" You squeeze him again. "Go piss." You hand him one of the little packets with an alcohol swab and he raises an eyebrow at you but accepts it and goes to the bathroom. By the time, you've tidied up and come back to the bedroom he's under the covers, looking sleepy. He lifts the blankets and you slip in beside him, feel him settle on you, head on your chest, one leg thrown over your own.
"Stings a little but nothing I wasn't expecting, no blood. You didn't hurt me, felt good, really good, Scott." Real names, serious business, you think to yourself and squeeze him. "Thanks." You kiss his hair, if he's okay, if he's sure he's not hurt, if he liked it then you can admit to yourself that you enjoyed it, having that kind of power over him, it's always intoxicating to be that in control of him. "So, did you like it?" He moves and props himself up over you, his face hovering over you, an expectant look in his eyes. You really lack the willpower to resist this idiot.
"I dunno, Punkers." You stroke his hair and kiss him softly. "Maybe we should try it again sometime so I can decide."
Merry Christmas everyone!
Yes on Christmas morning I sat, eating apples, playing fetch with my dog and writing smut... Quick note on the title, I know its a kind of sequel to 404 Error but a 405 Error is Invalid Method and whilst it kind of works, I like 403 better.
Credit for the sounding definitely goes to the lovely alizabethianrose, I hope I did it justice! :D