Date: Mon, 19 Apr 2010 13:41:10 -0700
From: marcus avenier <marcus.avenier@gmail.com>
Subject: Plastic

*Plastic* is (c) Marcus Avenier. Creative Commons Licensing - Attribution.
Noncommercial. No derivative works.

-----

The tablecloth came in three layers. The bottommost layer was a strange,
fibrous fabric to ensure that it clung to the surface of the table. The
middle layer was a sheet of vinyl printed with washed out daisies and
sun-faded stems. The top layer was a sheaf of thick plastic, presumably to
make it easy to clean. None of these was pleasant to the touch, but Jess was
considering turning the damned thing over anyway. The plastic on the top had
long since cracked, split, and warped. It was digging into his ass in the
most uncomfortable of ways, leaving little welts and shallow cuts, rolling
to press lumps into the tense stretch of his musculature.

He did not, however, think that it would be a good idea to interrupt
Nathaniel. No, not in the least. The man was clearly enjoying himself. He
could tell from the way Nathaniel kept pushing his weight up into the balls
of his feet, and shifting it from one side to the other. Jess liked the way
it made his calves bulge, and his thighs tense, both springing in powerful
curves from the indentations of his knees. He smiled for the sight, but the
expression was short lived. It was replaced instead by a short, sharp yip of
pained surprise. Fucking riding crop. It stung like a bitch.

"What do you say?"

Jess rolled his own leg outward, his muscles feeling like noodles. He
shivered, his sweaty skin sticking to the plastic. He loved the growl in the
other man's voice. His soft hazel eyes raised to meet the unyielding deep
dark brown of Nathaniel's. He smiled again, caught in the fire of the man's
stare, and moved his mouth in a series of carefully shaped movements.
Nathaniel didn't like it when he stuttered. Or mumbled.

"Thank you."

Another smack, this time across his nipple. Jess let his head fall back
against the table with a grunt, the pink swell of flesh growing stiff in
time with the twitching of his cock. He squirmed, stuck to the plastic,
shifted the pressure on the welts. His wrists and ankles pulled against the
tightly woven ropes that bound him, but there was no real relief to be had
for all of his attempted movement. He had very little play available to his
limbs, and his joints were aching. His voice exploded outward in another
surprised cry.

"Thank you," he panted quickly, stopping the cut of braided nylon through
the air.

Nathaniel loved the way Jess said thank you. Thank you as if he meant it.
Cried it out on gasping breaths. Cried it with the twitches of his muscles
beneath the creamy white and inflamed red of his skin. He said thank you,
and he meant it. If nothing else, Nathaniel knew from the way the man's cock
twitched and throbbed, straining against the strap of black leather buckled
at its base, wrapped about his bulging balls.

"You're welcome," he whispered in a cool exhale against the musky
indentation of one of Jess' hips.

Nathaniel caught his teeth on the shallow angle of Jess' hip. Such a pretty
boy. He bit down hard, digging against the skin, rolling the connective
tissue beneath as if he might pierce the flesh to the bone beyond. Jess'
cries filled the air, sweet as music, and Nathaniel's cock strained harder
into the smooth white suede of his trousers. He drew his tongue along the
already forming bruise, feeling out the indentations left by his teeth with
its tip.

"So good, you are," he purred.

So good, so good. And Jess was all his. His. The tips of his fingers worked
at the laces on his trousers, the skin a coppery tan against the white of
the leather. The loosening of the material was relief enough to make him
groan, and Nathaniel pulled his cock free with a satisfied slump of his
shoulders. He pushed his pants down past the muscled curve of his ass and
rubbed his drooling cockhead against the inside of Jess' thigh.

"Oh yesssss," Jess moaned as he felt the sticky slide and cling of cut flesh
dragging against his own sweat.

Jess picked his head up from the table and stared hard at the man standing
near the edge of it. His knees rolled outward again, thighs straining, and
he picked his ass up, shifted his hips, and dropped them in exhaustion. It
made his knees hurt, doing that. It made his ankles hurt from twisting
against the ropes. The appreciative look that drew Nathaniel's dark brows
together under a fringe of inky bangs made the hurt well worth it. He was
his. His. And he liked that look.

There was a narrow shelf near the table. It was a shelf with tulips in a
vase, dusty bronze miniatures, and a picture of Jess' niece fingerpainting
in Kindergarten. The little girl in the bright pink dress was smiling out at
the shimmering purple and gray of a condom wrapper, her face exposed as
Nathaniel drew away the conspicuously phallic plastic bottle that had
temporarily cluttered the usual order of things.

Lube spilled cool along Nathaniel's fingertips, and he did not warm it in
the least before pressing them against the exposed, straining brown stain of
his lover's ass. Jess shuddered hard, his hips tilting, and angled the eager
pulse and throb of bulging musculature into the invading fingers. One, and
then two. Thrust and thrust again, scissoring about. He moaned, his head
turning against the table, the plastic digging at his shoulder. And then
there was void, emptiness, and Jess was left a simpering, slippery mess on
the tabletop.

"Shhhh," Nathaniel crooned. It was a comforting sound more than a shushing
one. "Shhhh," he cooed again, distracted with the tight roll of slick latex
down the eager swell of his shaft. The foil bounced off of the plastic, and
landed on the floor to shine up at the bottommost layer of the tablecloth.

"But I want you," Jess drawled out, protesting, begging, demanding and
asking all at once.

It made Nathaniel laugh. A low chuckle in the barrel of his dark chest. Jess
loved Nathaniel's laugh. The laughter trailed off, replaced by a strained
silence on both their parts.

Dark knees dug against the broken plastic of the tablecloth, slid outward to
brace against the wide splay of Jess' legs. Nathaniel pressed forward, slick
and smooth and hot, all of the tight pressure in the world unable to keep
him out with such a generous oiling up. Deep, and hard, and thick, and Jess
stretched just so. Clung about him in a tight, warm pulse that seemed to
draw him in, beckon him on. He saddled himself to the hilt, let out a low
groan through his lips, and dropped his sweat-slicked brow to Jess'
shoulder. He lingered there, breathing, taking in the measure of his pulse
and the violent twitching of his cock within its constricting nest.

"Ooooh. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you," Jess chanted in an
arduous prattle.

He was so big, and so deep, and Jess didn't think he could stretch any
wider, or hit any sweeter. He squirmed his aching spine against the table
again, and was rewarded with a sharp forward rock meant to stay his
movements. It worked for a moment, but then he squirmed, feeling out the
length buried within him, the tight press of bulging flesh about the
sensitive splay of his hole, feeling the way that Nathaniel's balls rested
heavily against the slick crevice of his ass. He stared at the muss of the
man's hair along his ear, and turned to graze his teeth along it even as
Nathaniel planted his thick-fingered hands to either side of Jess' narrow
shoulders and pressed himself upward.

"You're welcome," Nathaniel grunted, his chest tense with coiled restraint.

Then the restraint was gone. The tablecloth came in three layers. The
bottommost layer ceased to function to its intended purpose given the
forceful assault of Nathaniel's thrusts. It slid and bunched beneath the
vinyl, pressing it up in awkward peaks through the cracks in the plastic, so
that it rubbed sweaty skin and added a new kind of abraision to its
inventory. Jess noticed this distantly, but did not particularly care. How
could he, when he was being rocked again, and again, and again with the
force of the short, sharp thrusts that bore him against it?

Rope hissed, slipping, peeling away to smack against the floor in a dark
dormant curl. Jess' leg was hauled abruptly upward, unresisting for its
exhaustion. It flopped in a pale tuck over Nathaniel's dark shoulder, heel
bouncing, and then angled knee toward chest as he rocked. Another hiss of
rope. Another lift of leg. Jess was jostled forward, bruised and aching, his
cock throbbing so painfully he could have cried. Each time Nathaniel
bottomed out he angled just so before pulling back, just the right way to
cause pink lips to part with gasped cries of pleasure.

The table rocked and creaked. Its legs bumped and scooted, the dark wood
complaining for the abuse. It was over a century old, and had been through
worse, but it groaned in squeaky underscore to the low grunts, the soft
keens, and the lewd sounds of wet squelching and smacking skin. Deep and
hard and on and on and there was no amount of panting in the world that
could make either of them catch their breaths.

Nathaniel smacked one hand over Jess' shoulder, catching it on the edge of
the table to provide some support as he tugged another length of rope free.
This knot came loose at the table, and the dark tendril of restraint smacked
against Nathaniel's arm as Jess threw his hand over the other man's
shoulders. Pale fingertips caught at the contours of musculature, gripping
there was he was rocked steadily. Thrusting again and again. Down and back,
down and back, and oh so deep. Oh so tight. Oh so hard. Oh so warm. Another
hiss of loosed rope. The tablecloth was starting to bunch in the most
impractical of ways, clinging to the curve of Jess' ass each time it was
forced up off of the table. Nathaniel growled, digging at it with his knees.

"I love you, Nathaniel," Jess gasped out through his tingling lips.

"I know," came the rumbled reply.

The last restraint was lifted. Nathaniel's rhythm broke somewhat to manage
it, but he wormed his free hand between them to snap free the thin strap of
leather. He drug his fingers up to catch at the delicate shoulder beneath
his own immediately afterward, eagerly rutting forward in sharper, harder
thrusts. His hips jerked, convulsed, thighs and ass tensing as he pumped
into the sudden spasm of Jess' ass, the tight drawing cling of it about his
eager shaft.

Jess shuddered hard, his skin afire, prickling anew about all of the welts
and bruises and tiny little cuts. The rush of sensation was so abrupt, so
sudden that tears sprang to his eyes as his swollen cock swelled further,
surged, and he came hard beneath his lover. The in and out stroke of the
man's cock only seemed to drive his climax harder, sending the spurts of
seed high along his belly to slide down the curve that sank from his ribs,
shooting again and again until the last pathetic little wells of it simply
slid down his sagging cock to the coarse, pale hairs beneath. His vision
blurred in the midst of it, blacked, and blurred to life again. He could
feel Nathaniel swell within him, and the man's groan seemed to fill his
ears, his head, his chest, the whole of his world. The groan, and the swell,
ebb, swell, and the sticky hot mess of his own cum. It smelled of sex. Jess
stared, lulling, blinking at the light that filtered in through the cheap
plastic blinds.

Nathaniel collapsed forward atop the smaller man with a heavy sigh of air.
It was a habit he'd taken the time to cultivate, judging the angling of his
limbs so as not to jostle him, and distributing his weight so that it became
slowly more and more difficult to breath. Just the way Jess liked. He kissed
affectionately at the other's shoulder, and then his jaw, and then his lips.
A smile showed his teeth in stark white contrast to the dark of his skin,
but it faded as he went to brace himself up a bit. The broken plastic of the
tablecloth dug rudely at his palm.

"Oh fuck this," he muttered.

Nathaniel's mouth cut into a cunning grin, and he pulled his flagging cock
from the other's ass before the condom could slip. He tied it off with one
hand and the aid of his teeth, tossed it to the side, and then wrapped his
arm rudely about Jess. One little lurch was all it took to send them off the
edge, Nathaniel's body smacking to the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor,
Jess clinging in wide-eyed and picture-perfect terror above him. Jess
blinked, laughed softly, and slumped atop the warm, muscled bed that was
Nathaniel's body. One dark hand parted from its pale victim, caught the edge
of the tablecloth, and pulled it off to send it sailing across the kitchen
floor. It landed in a heap and confusion, uncertain of which layer was meant
to be in the middle.