goodfellow | for Thomas

for Thomas

It was perhaps two in the afternoon, and Robin was in his apartment waiting for Thomas. The place was messier than usual - mostly because he hadn't gotten a new housekeeper yet. He should do that, he just... hadn't gotten around to it. It had nothing to do with the fact that he last one had tried to kill him.

Half an hour ago, Robin had called the salon. He'd said only: "I took the afternoon off. If you do too, I'll blow you before you can can get more of a foot into my apartment." To his credit, he'd at least made sure that Thomas was the one who'd answered the phone, but he hadn't waited for a response before he'd hung up.

Maybe it was his way of showing that he had some power over Thomas... or maybe he just really wanted a cock in his mouth. Either way, when there was a knock at the door, he opened it, yanked Thomas inside by his shirt, and dropped immediately to his knees.

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Robin's cock twitched. It was actually starting to hurt, how painfully hard he was, particularly given the... pun intentional... gravity of the situation.

Still, he may as well make the best of it.

"You wish it was me, don't you," he breathed. "Touching you. Inside you. Tell me."

Thomas briefly considered lying, just to goad Robin, but in the end he just moaned and nodded his head. "Always," he murmured, not really thinking about the implication behind that one word, too distracted by mental images of Robin doing all of this to him, images tempting enough to almost convince him to get up and untie the puck.

Robin let out a strangled little sound, completely ignoring any further implications of the word.

"Go back to the toy box." There was an edge of pleading in his voice. "Don't untie me. Just... do something. Whatever you want to me."

"I want to make you wait," Thomas pointed out. He did get up, though, making a soft noise as the beads shifted inside of him and then making his way to the toys again to look at the assortment, pondering.

"I've been waiting," Robin whined, watching him with a hungry expression.

"Not nearly as long as I had in mind," Thomas murmured. The problem with his initial plan, though, was that he found Robin all but impossible to resist for any significant length of time. He plucked a feather-tipped wand from Robin's collection and turned with a somewhat evil grin. "Whatever I want, huh?"

"Whatever you want," Robin groaned, a note of petulance in his voice. "What do you want, an engraved invitation?"

"You know, with that attitude I'll just leave you waiting even longer," Thomas observed, drawing closer and running the feathers lightly up and down Robin's cock, watching his face with a small smile. "I'm actually kind of tired. Maybe in the morning I'll feel more like fucking you."

Robin's hips bucked at the touch, an almost pained expression crossing his face.

"You wouldn't be sleeping in here," he growled. "If I'm not sleeping, you're not sleeping."

Thomas continued moving the feather over Robin's skin, up his abdomen to his chest, then back down to torment his cock some more. "What are you going to do to stop me?" he asked, then gave Robin a wry smile. "Right, it's you. You'll just talk all night."

Robin actually gritted his teeth a little when his cock twitched.

"Absolutely," he said. "Don't doubt that I can do it."

"Oh, I have no doubt whatsoever." Thomas moved behind Robin, pressing his body tantalizingly to Robin's back.

Robin twisted his body more to give Thomas easier access, and pushed back against him.

"You know you want it," he groaned.

Thomas closed his eyes, his mouth moving over Robin's neck. "I always want you," he murmured, dropping the feathers and moving his hand to Robin's cock, fingers running lightly over it. "You drive me fucking insane sometimes." He nipped at Robin's earlobe, pressing against his back, inhaling as the nipple clamps shifted and twisted.

"Oh god," Robin gasped out, his whole body bucking. It was probably a fucking miracle that he didn't just come right then and there.

And finally, he just gave up on any semblance of pride. "Fuck me, Thomas, oh god oh please fuck me..."

Thomas choked back a groan, knowing that with that he was lost. Robin begging was more than he could resist. He reluctantly pulled away to cross the room and grab the lube, returning quickly and coating his fingers as he walked.

Robin couldn't twist his body anymore to see him, so he took the opportunity to sag a little, his body already sore with the tension of being tied up.

Thomas moved behind him again, one arm moving around Robin's waist as he pressed the fingers of his other hand inside him, leaning in to bite and lick his way along the line of Robin's shoulder.

Robin made a soft keening, needy sound and pressed back against him. "You don't need much," he gasped out. "I was fingering myself in the bath before you came."

This time Thomas did nothing to stifle his hungry groan. "Oh thank fuck," he growled, quickly moving his fingers in and out a few times before extracting them and replacing them with his cock, pressing smoothly into Robin with a shuddering moan.

Usually in these situations, Robin muffled himself with a pillow or his arm. Without that luxury, he just screamed his pleasure without a care at all.

Thomas bit firmly at the junction of neck and shoulder to muffle his own cries, starting to move inside Robin, his hand moving over Robin's hip but avoiding his cock. He didn't want Robin to come too soon, not until he was ready. It wouldn't take long, though.

Robin began to pant in time with Thomas' thrusts, not caring about the needy sounds that escaped him as well. Even without Thomas touching his cock he could swear he was about to come.

Thomas moved faster, thrusting harder, and as soon as he felt he was close to coming, his hand dropped to Robin's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts as his mouth moved over Robin's skin, quite probably leaving marks as he sucked and bit.

Robin screamed again when he came. His body bucked wildly, chafing the bonds at his wrists, and then he sagged, fortunate that he was being held up by both Thomas and the ropes.

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