Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ryan_kwanten): grocery shopping gone wrong
Mar. 23rd, 2015 02:22 pmsam_worthingtonplayers only. backdated to spring 2014, while Sam and Ryan are in Australia.
Sam flashes Ryan a wide easy grin as his husband comes out of the bathroom after his morning run and shower, hair still damp, towel wrapped around his hips. Nice and low. "Morning," he says, eyes sparkling with what could definitely be mischief, his erection tenting the sheets. "D'you know if we happened to bring any rope with us?" Knowing damn well Ryan's got all their bases covered any time they travel like this for his work. Has transporting a decent working toy chest down to a fucking art.
"Huh?" The question brings Ryan up short, and he stares dizzily at Sam's lap. "Um, yeah. We have... We have a 20-foot length of black nylon cord. And then the red, um..." He shakes himself and meets Sam's eyes. "Yes, Sir. We have 10 feet of red."
Sam nods. "Good. Lose the towel and get the rope. And bring me a plug you can move in, too."
Ryan is halfway into the closet when he halts and looks over his shoulder at his lover. "I can... move in?" he says uncertainly, but then shakes his head. "Yes. No. Sorry. Yes, Sir." He dives into his suitcase, tucked way in the back corner and safely concealing their kinky paraphernalia.
He emerges again with both coils of rope - just to be sure - and a thick plug with a narrow neck and contoured base. Stark naked and every sense on alert.
"C'mere," Sam says, crooking a finger at Ryan. "I want you kneeling right here." He points beside him.
"Sir," Ryan replies, swallowing hard and laying the items at Sam's side before kneeling up on the bed.
Ryan's already hard and Sam grins, snapping his thumb and forefinger at the head. "Look at you. So fucking eager."
With a yelp Ryan jerks away, but then instantly forces his posture right once more. His face flushes hot with embarrassment at the slip-up.
"You'd better correct yourself, boy," Sam drawls, wrapping his hand around Ryan's cock and giving it a couple of long slow strokes.
Ryan bites his bottom lip - hard - on a whimper, and nods. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
And with that Sam lets go and gives Ryan's cock a good hard slap, his eyes locked on his boy's face.
That fetches a shocked yelp, but at least this time Ryan reflexively curls into the strike, not away. "Th-- thank you, Sir," he stammers, locking his fingers tightly together at the small of his back. He sucks in a breath and raises his gaze to Sam's, his eyes already turning cloudy with pain and acceptance. His brain rushes to keep up, beginning to dump a cushion of endorphins into his system as quickly as his heart beats.
Sam smiles. He picks up the plug and reaches into the bedside table for a bottle of lube. "Turn around. Show me my hole, boy."
Without a word, Ryan turns and goes down on his elbows, spreading his thighs wide enough that Sam can see everything. Feeling every line of the huge tattoo on his ass like it's a fresh-cut mark.
"Beautiful," Sam murmurs, resting his hand on the cleft of Ryan's ass and his thumb against his already-prepped hole. Pressing firmly but not in, not yet.
Ryan's body shudders. Even though the touch doesn't penetrate, the simple knowledge that this is his sir - calm and confident in his ownership - rocks through Ryan like a blow. "Please," he whispers.
God. Sam gives his own cock a stroke with his free hand, the plug ignored for the moment. He pushes his thumb into the tight heat of Ryan's ass, working it as deep as it'll go.
Whimpering, Ryan forces himself to keep still. Working to be pliant, demanding nothing.
Sam slowly and deliberately fucks Ryan's hole with his thumb, that whimper making his cock throb.
To demand nothing... All right, that's a tall order. "Sir," he whispers, his muscles clutching tightly like he can get even more. "I love having you inside me." Anything Sam will give, and that's a bald truth that he simply had to make peace with, back in the early days.
"I know you do," Sam says simply, dipping his thumb into Ryan a few more times before replacing it with the well-slicked plug.
Ryan grunts in response, not because it's uncomfortable, exactly, but simply because the plug fills him so abruptly. He focuses on his breathing - slow steady inhale, then exhale - and after a moment, relaxes again.
"Good boy," Sam says, watching Ryan's body clench and unclench around the base of the plug. Fuck. The sight threatening to derail his plans. "Now face me again and kneel up."
"Yes, Sir." The words are a bare whisper, and might even be unintelligible to anyone who isn't accustomed to hearing Ryan say them. Often. He hisses at the way the plug shifts inside him when he moves, teasing at his prostate and then making him dizzy with sensation as he kneels, spine straight.
"Look at you," Sam breathes, wrapping his hand around Ryan's erect cock and giving it a few strokes before reaching for the rope.
Ryan whimpers at the touch, a pearl of fluid beading already. But when he looks at the rope, stark against Sam's skin, he can't help but whimper again, a little louder.
Sam places the rope behind Ryan's neck, making sure he's got the same length on both sides before starting to fashion a chest and body harness from it. He takes his time, making sure it's tight but not too tight, each knot tested as he makes it.
Shutting his eyes, Ryan lets himself sink into the moment. He focuses on the feeling of the cord against his skin, the scent of his lover, the soft sound of Sam's breathing. Instead of putting his hands behind his back as he usually does, he holds them slightly out to his sides so as not to interfere with his binding.
"You like this?" Sam asks as he continues knotting the rope, crisscrossing it over and around Ryan's body before fashioning a pretty solid cock ring out of it and strapping that to Ryan's thighs so it will move with him, jerking him, with each and every movement.
"Sir," Ryan whispers, forcing himself to open his eyes once more. The world appears to move so slowly now that it feels like he's stuck in glue. He smiles shyly, adoringly. Completely punch-drunk. "Yes, Sir."
"Good." Sam grins, leaning in and kissing Ryan. "This is where it gets really fun. I want you to get dressed."
For long moments all Ryan can do is gaze absently at Sam. Something doesn't quite make sense, but he's not sure whether it's just him. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Sam says oh so casually, taking a step back. "Jeans, shirt, shoes... We're going grocery shopping."
Gradually it dawns on Ryan that Sam is serious: Sam actually expects him to walk now. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and slowly gets off the bed. He moves to the bureau and forces himself to focus, selecting clothing that's loose enough so as to not reveal the secrets of Sam's ownership. Turning to face his Sir, he winces once as the plug shifts inside him, catching him unawares. Then he nods.
"Good boy." Sam pulls Ryan in close and kisses him. "Where'd you put the list?"
"The...?" Ryan blinks, and it takes him another second to realize what he's being asked. "Oh. Grocery list. Fridge. Magnet," he mumbles, and turns to go retrieve it. But a thought strikes him, and he looks back at Sam, forcing a full sentence from his lips. "I... I don't think I can drive. Sir."
"That's okay. I'll drive," Sam says, because while taking Ryan out like this is somewhat risky, making him drive is downright dangerous. For them and for others. "Just grab the list and put some shoes on. I'll be right there." Because of course he's still fucking naked, and hard as hell.
Ryan nods and heads downstairs. He's having trouble keeping hold of more than one thought at a time. Every step he takes causes the plug to rub against his prostate and the nylon cord to pull tight on his cock. He groans, but eventually manages to find some shoes and go wait by the front door, list in hand.
Sam joins him shortly as promised, having pulled on an old AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. "Ready?" he asks Ryan, grabbing his car keys and wallet and slipping on his Blundstones.
"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, still buried deeply in a fog, but anxious now as he wasn't before the news of their outing. "Please--" he says suddenly, Sam's hand on the doorknob. He gathers his courage. "Please, Sir. May your boy ask for a kiss before we go?"
"Of course," Sam says, letting go of the door and pulling Ryan close. He kisses him softly, thoroughly, taking his time. "I love you."
Ryan tries to blink away the wetness from his eyes. "Thank you, Sir." He hesitantly lays his hands on Sam's hips, then rests his head on his shoulder. "Your boy loves you."
"Are you okay with this?" Sam asks, holding Ryan close. "We don't have to go out." Having Ryan uncomfortable is one thing, that's part of the fun, but having him anxious or upset is another. "We can stay in and I can play with you here."
"No, Sir," Ryan answers, and steps back again. "Thank you. I'm okay now."
"Good." Sam smiles. "You be sure and let me know if that changes though, yeah?"
Ryan smiles back, a bit shy. "Yes, Sir," he says quietly. "I will."
Sam locks up behind them and takes the wheel, driving them to the market they use the most for groceries. There's a farmer's one too but it's usually really crowded on the weekend and he'd rather not put Ryan under that scrutiny today.
It's unusual for Ryan to be so silent, although he definitely has a tendency to go non-verbal when he's sunk deep in subspace. As they cross the parking lot, he finds himself automatically drifting closer to Sam, again and again. Wanting the reassurance of physical contact, but then jerking back every time he realizes anew what he's doing.
Recognizing the need, Sam nudges their shoulders together, but suspects it's not nearly enough. This'll have to be a short trip. He grabs a cart from the front. "Where to first?"
"Um." Ryan checks the list. "Butcher's counter last," he says softly, feeling the ropes burning into his skin with every hitch of breath. "Vegetables... Yeah. Vegetables."
"I remember the first time we went shopping for vegetables together," Sam says with a grin and a playful leer.
"You do?" Ryan grins back at his sir. "All you wanted was potatoes," he recalls, and cautiously drops his voice. "Except then you just wanted stuff you could fuck me with." He shudders, much too aware of how full his hole is now. Just like it was then.
"Hey, you put the idea in my mind," Sam grins, eyes sparkling. "I was going to behave myself."
Now Ryan laughs softly. "When have you ever bothered behaving yourself?" He sneaks glances at Sam as he begins selecting fresh produce for their cart.
"Whenever I'm out with you," Sam says a little more seriously. "Other than today." Obviously. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you sometimes."
Surprised - and god, needing - Ryan turns to face him. Every nerve ending feels alight, and everything in the world is blurred except for Sam. "Will you tell me?" he asks.
"Tell you what? When I'm feeling that way?"
"Tell me how difficult it is," Ryan whispers. "To not touch me." He licks his lips. "Tell me it's the same way I feel with you."
"I think it is," Sam says, watching Ryan closely. "It feels like I should be able to touch you. You're my husband, my boy, my life. It's not just the sexual stuff. It's wanting connection with you, to reconnect, affirm what's between us."
Ryan shuts his eyes for a moment, wondering how it is that no one else seems to notice how the earth is moving beneath him. Blinking himself back, he gives Sam a little smile. "Thank you, Sir." He hopes Sam can hear the genuine feeling in his voice, that he knows the depths of his gratitude.
"You're welcome," Sam says softly, although it feels like it's the least he can do for Ryan. Give him that reassurance, that honesty, when his boy gives him so much in return. "Now what else is on the list?"
Glancing at the piece of paper in his hand, Ryan answers, "Beer. Orange juice, milk, quinoa--" although he has yet to turn Sam on to quinoa, despite several valiant attempts -- "then fish and then meat." Ordinarily at this point in the trip he'd ask Sam to get the drinks while he scoped out the fresh fish counter. Today is definitely not an ordinary day.
Sam makes a face at the mention of quinoa. "Okay, so drinks first," he says, steering the cart in that direction. "I think I'd like something different," eyeing the beer. "Maybe the Toohey's Dark or Cooper's Pale." He grins at Ryan.
"Okay," Ryan replies with a nod, scanning the shelves. His eyes widen and he shoots Sam a wary look -- of course Sam chose items from the very top shelf and the very bottom one. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs, and reaches up to snag a six-pack of Toohey's, barely swallowing a moan at the feeling of the ropes pulling taut against his chest, his prick jerked with the stretch of his body. The beer goes into the cart. He crouches down to grab a pack of Cooper's, and this time he simply can't hold back a soft whimper when the plug rubs his sweet spot, and fuck his cock for straining to swell at a time like this. When he gets back to his feet, he's breathing just a bit too fast.
Caging Ryan between the drinks and their cart, Sam leans in, his breath ghosting over Ryan's earlobe as he murmurs, "I think I might want to put one of those up your ass later. While it's still nice and cold."
"Ohh, fuck," Ryan whispers, his eyes slipping shut. Damn it, he needs. Needs to burrow into Sam and simply melt. "Anything, Sir," he says quietly, turning his head just a little until their mouths are mere inches apart. "Anything."
"Good boy." And fuck. Sam's so tempted. But they're in public and it's a line he dare not cross. He takes a step back. "Orange juice and milk next?"
Ryan blinks, and stands up straighter. "...What?" he asks, also backing away a bit. "Oh! Yes. Milk. Juice." He nods.
It's while they're getting the milk that Sam's asked for an autograph, a couple of kids with their parents approaching them. He talks to them about Avatar and Clash of the Titans, all the time keeping a close eye on Ryan.
But Ryan, of course, is doing his best to fade into the background. His husband doesn't need him around for this, and Ryan always figures it's best if people don't notice him at all. Hunching into himself he moves away under pretense of selecting exactly the right brand of orange juice.
"So what's it like working as a personal assistant to a big star like Sam?" the dad asks Ryan, stepping away from his wife and kids while they fawn over their celebrity crush.
"Pardon?" Ryan looks up in alarm, instantly panicking at the realization that the man is talking to him. "Oh. Um." He swallows hard and tries to shrug off his nerves, giving the guy a smile. "Not as glamorous as you might think, really. He's a real pain in the ass to clean up after." Oh god. Ryan doesn't even know where those words fucking came from, and he prays with all his might that the man won't ask him any more questions.
"Yeah?" The guy grins, filing that away to tell his mates later. "Like leaving his stuff around and expecting you to pick it up. Or bringing girls in?"
Ryan waves a dismissive hand. "All of that and more. And all the girls..." He drops his voice like he's making a confession. "I wish he would just pick one already, you know? Because of course they all fall in love with him instantly, and then he hooks up with a new one, and I seriously just don't want to be involved in any of that drama." His heart is pounding so hard that he can feel it beating, and he hopes the man doesn't notice that he's starting to sweat. And he hopes that Sam doesn't get furious with all the smack he's talking.
"Wow." The guy looks at Sam. "I'd always heard he was a player."
"Yeah, well." Ryan shrugs and leans in closer, a knowing look in his eye when he says, "The shit like that you hear about celebrities? It's almost always true."
Sam can't hear exactly what they're saying but he knows that look. "It's been great talking to you," he says to the kids and their mum, shaking hands and smiling for one more selfie with the trio before he grabs Ryan by the arm and says, "We should finish here. I've got that call at one."
"Yeah, Mr. Worthington," Ryan agrees, snapping to attention. Secretly so relieved that he could drop to his knees and kiss Sam's feet, except that would likely undo all the damage control he only just attempted. He pushes their grocery trolley to the fresh fish counter without a look back.
"What were you two talking about?" Sam asks when they're well out of earshot.
Ryan glances sidelong at his sir, uncertain. "He wanted to know how fabulous it is, having you for a boss."
Sam raises an eyebrow at that. "What'd you tell him?"
Feeling his cheeks flush hot, Ryan shrugs. And carefully drops his voice when he answers, "I said you're a pain to clean up after, and that you never make up your mind about which woman to keep." Chewing on his lip, and nervously eyeing Sam.
"Why the hell would you tell him that?" Sam asks.
"I don't know," Ryan answers, beginning to inwardly panic once again. "I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry." He glances around and whispers, "I'm so sorry, Sir."
Well, not fucking that, Sam wants to say but he bites his tongue and grits his teeth instead. "It's okay. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have left you alone with him." Not in this state.
"I'm sorry," Ryan whispers again, starting to blink back tears now. He's definitely lost all of the pleasurable buzz, but he still doesn't yet have hold of his emotions as he normally would. He and Sam are only steps away from the butcher's counter now, but he's frozen in place by misery and guilt.
The look on Ryan's face just fucking kills Sam. "It's okay," he says again, putting his hand on the back of Ryan's neck, thumb rubbing gently above the rope just under his shirt. "I'm not mad." Not really. Not enough to justify making Ryan feel like this.
Ryan nods. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, staring at the floor. Then pulling away from Sam with a shiver to go place their order.
Godfuckingdamnit. Sam pushes their cart closer, waiting for Ryan while he orders their fish at one counter and meat at the next.
A stack of paper-wrapped parcels in his hands, Ryan takes the cart from Sam and goes to pay. He manages a small smile for the cashier but he's not as friendly as he normally would be -- just doesn't trust himself to speak. Once the groceries are all packed up, he grabs the sacks and waits for his sir to lead the path back to their rental car.
Sam helps load the car and then turns to Ryan, grateful they parked at the side of the store, in the far corner. Normally he'd be all about being careful but right now, he just needs to do this and so he does. He wraps his arms around Ryan and hugs him close.
Ryan stiffens immediately, shocked to his core. "...Sir?"
"Shh," Sam says, hugging him harder. "Just let me do this."
If possible, Ryan's panic actually grows. But he obeys and keeps silent, though he keeps his hands at his sides and doesn't return the embrace. Because surely he has already fucked up enough for one day.
Fuck. Sam can feel Ryan stiffening against him, the tension in his body not a good one. He steps back, releasing his hold on his lover and gestures at the passenger side. "Get in." Feeling stupid for taking the risk in the first place.
Ryan does so in silence, fastening his seatbelt and trying to lean back into the seat.
They drive in silence for a bit. Until Sam hits a spot of traffic and they're stuck where they are. "I'm sorry," he says softly, finally, blowing out a breath, feeling the whole fucking day's gone to hell.
The words snap Ryan out of the funk he's slipped into. "What?" he asks softly, turning to look at his sir. "What could you apologize for?"
"Everything," Sam says, glancing at Ryan. "Leaving you to talk to that guy when you're in fucking headspace. Making you upset over what you said. And then fucking up when I tried to make it better. I'm just. I'm sorry. None of it should've happened."
"No." Ryan shakes his head slowly. "No, Sir, it was all my fault. I'm sorry. I should've..." But in truth, he can't even think of how he might have improved the situation.
Sam reaches across and takes Ryan's hand. "No, you shouldn't have. There's nothing you should have done differently." Not a fucking thing. He gives Ryan's fingers a squeeze. "Let's just get home and get settled and we can talk about it later."
The touch is over all too quickly, but Ryan is grateful for it nonetheless. And he's all about waiting until they get home before they... absolutely anything. He just can't think clearly right now, and struggling for coherence in the fog is a frightening prospect.
The traffic finally cleared, they're home in no time, and Sam helps Ryan carry their few groceries into the kitchen. But the moment they're on the counter, he pulls Ryan into his arms and hugs him again. Hard.
Ryan whimpers and this time he wraps himself so tightly around Sam that it's like he could melt into him. And the tears he was fighting so hard in the market, now they spill over, his whole body shuddering. "I'm sorry," he tells his sir. "Please, I'm so sorry."
"I know. Me too," Sam says, and maybe later he'll try and talk Ryan out of thinking he's got anything to apologize for, but right here, right now, with his boy still bound and plugged all he cares about is making him feel better. "I love you so much."
Openly sobbing now, Ryan clings tight, his tears soaking the shoulder of Sam's t-shirt.
"Here, hold on," Sam tells him, keeping one arm tight around Ryan while he uses the other to shove the perishables in the fridge. "Come lie down with me." Walking them backwards into the bedroom where he pulls them both down into the bed. "It's okay," he says, brushing his mouth across Ryan's hair as he holds him close.
And ohh, what a relief: to finally lie down with his sir and simply be once more. Ryan slips his arms securely around Sam, ensuring that his lover can't go anywhere just yet. Gradually, the sobs begin to die down, leaving him shivering against his sir, shocky from the emotional hurricane of the past few hours.
Sam drags a blanket up over them and goes back to holding Ryan, rubbing at his shoulders and back in an effort to warm him up, to calm and to soothe. "You okay?" he murmurs. "You need me to get you anything?" He knows he needs to get rid of the rope and the plug but Ryan doesn't seem in any shape for that.
Ryan whimpers softly and clutches his sir tighter.
"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," Sam promises, kissing the top of Ryan's head.
Somehow Ryan manages a small nod of acknowledgment. He can't speak. Can't even imagine ever moving. But he's exhausted from the stress of the outing plus the hysterical crying fit. Shutting his eyes - and without loosening his hold - he begins to drift.
* * *
Shifting a little, Sam opens his eyes. God. He must have fallen asleep after Ryan did. He yawns, trying to keep it as quiet as possible and cranes his neck for a quick look at the clock on the other side of the bed. It's early afternoon, lunch already come and gone, his stomach rumbling softly, letting him know it's aware of that fact. But Ryan's still dead asleep and Sam's damned if he's going to wake him. Not after what he put his boy through this morning. Christ. What a clusterfuck. He kisses the top of Ryan's head, mouthing 'love you' against his hair. Hopefully this won't turn Ryan off the whole bondage in public thing...
Gradually Ryan stirs, breathing in the familiar scent of his Sir and feeling surrounded by Sam's warmth. He nuzzles his lover with a soft moan, then whimpers at the sudden realization of his bound and plugged state.
"You awake?" Sam murmurs.
"Yes, Sir," Ryan says very, very softly. Awake and instantly transported back to his misery of this morning. He shuts his eyes like he can close out the awareness of all the mistakes he made.
"Then let's get you out of those ropes and that plug," Sam says softly, shifting lower himself, his hands already at Ryan's tee.
"Okay." Ryan sits up in order to facilitate the process, letting himself be undressed like a doll while he tries to shake off the wash of cold shame.
"We can try this again sometime," Sam says as he unties the various knots. "Just maybe not at the grocery store." Giving Ryan a small smile.
Ryan's puzzled gaze flicks upward for a moment, but he can't meet Sam's eyes for longer than that. "I embarrassed you," he says softly, his throat feeling hoarse. "I didn't... I didn't behave well. I wasn't a good boy." And of course, a boy is only a reflection of his sir… which means all his own bad choices just put Sam in a negative light.
"I want you to stop saying that," Sam says firmly. "And stop thinking it too. You were a good boy. I shouldn't have left you on your own." He blows out a breath, setting the rope aside. "You can take the plug out now unless you want me to do it." He can tell Ryan's still under but he's not sure how far.
"I..." Now Ryan stares at Sam like he's some alien being. "...I can't. Sir."
"Fine, turn around," Sam orders, wishing they could go back to this morning and start all over again.
Obeying, Ryan goes to hands and knees to present his ass. It may be the last of his sir's physical restrictions on him from this morning, but he's still too deep into the scene to feel like he owns the power to remove the plug himself.
And god, that pose. That ass, that plug, his boy. Sam spreads Ryan's cheeks with his hands, taking a good long look. "You are so fucking hot," he murmurs.
Ryan shivers. Sam's tone makes his heart beat faster, brings every nerve in his body to attention. "Thank you, Sir."
Sam leans in, swiping his tongue over the back of Ryan's balls, over the stretch of skin between them and the plug.
With a yelp Ryan jerks away -- simply out of pure reflex at being so surprised. Shaking, he moves back into position.
"That's it. Good boy," Sam murmurs, repeating the movement, his tongue teasing under the base of the plug, teasing at Ryan's hole.
"Ohgod. Oh god, oh god," Ryan moans, shuddering hard. This kind of stimulation, on top of the emotionally draining and physically demanding morning he's already endured -- "Oh, fuck. Please, Sir."
Sam pushes his tongue in harder, forcing it in beside the plug, fucking it into Ryan's hole. He reaches around and grasps Ryan's cock, stroking roughly.
"Oh, fuck. Please, Sir. Don't, Sir, please! I can't--" Ryan's damn near to breaking down all over again. "Your boy can't--"
Sam lifts his head just long enough to say, "Come for me, boy," before he's got his tongue back inside Ryan's ass, fucking his hole for all he's worth, his hand moving over his boy's cock.
"Sir, no! I--! I didn't--" The words are alien to Ryan's mouth, but hell, it's not like his body listens anyway. He comes so hard he shakes with it, bone-deep shudders running the length of his body, leaving every muscle weak. Hanging his head, he bursts into sobs.
Fuck. The moment Sam hears Ryan crying, the sobs shuddering through his frame, he pulls back, quickly easing the plug from his boy's body before wrapping his arms around him and moving them both to lie down again. "Hey, it's okay," he whispers, kissing the top of Ryan's head. "You're my good boy."
Ryan immediately tries to burrow inside Sam, feeling like he'll never again in his life be warm enough. "I'm sorry. You didn't-- I need to--" Any further words are lost in a flurry of tears.
"Shhh..." Sam whispers, kissing the top of Ryan's head again, one hand reaching to try and tug the covers over them the best he can. "Just relax," he murmurs. "Everything's okay. It really is."
But Ryan sits bolt upright. "Ohgod Sir, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fuck up everything at the market, I'm sorry I was so wrong, I'm sorry you couldn't trust me, I didn't mean to, Sam, I swear I--" He just might be hyperventilating.
"Ryan. Stop it," Sam orders, sitting up as well, the tone one he almost never uses with his lover. Or his boy. He grabs Ryan by the shoulders. "Look at me."
And Ryan does. Stares at his sir in outright shock, really.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sam says firmly. "Nothing. Anything weird that happened this morning was my fault, my responsibility, and I'm more worried about how upset you are than anything at the market." He pauses for a moment then continues, "You're my good boy and I love you and nothing's changed about that. I'm not angry or upset with you and I want you to just let the whole morning go. That's an order."
But but but...! Ryan struggles against the feeling that, regardless of anything else, he still hasn't made things right -- and, in contrast, his training and conditioning skip right past the emotional parts of his brain to shout that Sam gave him an order, full stop. He inhales a deep breath, trembling a little, and then nods. "Yes, Sir," he whispers. "Thank you for taking such good care of your boy."
"I love you," Sam repeats, because he needs that to sink in. "And you're the most important thing to me in the entire universe. I have to take care of you." He wraps his arms around Ryan and hugs him hard, then pulls him back down to lie with him.
And now, finally, Ryan slowly begins to relax in Sam's arms. He rests his cheek on Sam's chest, listening to his heartbeat, and murmurs, "I just want to make you happy. That's my job in the universe."
"I know," Sam says, hugging Ryan even close. "And you do, so much," he insists, even as he knows they probably need to talk about all of this some more. Later. When Ryan's feeling better and more aware and out of this whole fucking guilt loop.
Ryan sighs. And nods. And eventually confesses in a whisper, "I wanted to run away, when we were in the market. But I also wanted to punch that obnoxious bloke in the face."
"I can understand that," Sam says. Both feelings actually. "But I'm glad you didn't do either." He also meant what he said earlier, that he never should have left Ryan to fend for himself under those circumstances but bringing that up now? So fucking counterproductive.
"Yeah, that would've made things worse," Ryan acknowledges in a wry tone. "Can I know, though? Sir? What specifically you were unhappy about?" He lifts his head, studying Sam's eyes. "What I said, or that I talked to him at all, or that I lied, or...?"
"How about we talk about this later?" Sam suggests. He's only now got Ryan calmed down and the last thing he wants to do is go another few rounds over this.
Ryan's breath catches -- it's so unlike Sam to be anything but direct. But he tries to keep faith. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, resting his head once more against his lover's heart.
"You need more sleep?" Sam asks. "Or do we want to make some lunch and take it out on the back deck?"
"I--" Ryan instantly rethinks what he was about to say, changing mid-sentence to, "I can make some sandwiches, is that all right? With the leftover marinated grilled chicken?"
"That sounds great. What can I do?" Sam asks with a smile.
"Nah, just... Okay if I toast the bread? We've got hoagie rolls, I'll melt some cheese on them. Good?"
Sam's stomach rumbles on cue and he laughs. "Sounds delicious," he says, kissing Ryan again. "I'll get drinks."
"Okay." Ryan watches Sam get out of bed. Then he sighs softly and heads for the bath to wash up. Maybe clear away the last of the cobwebs.
In the kitchen, Sam puts away the rest of the groceries the best he can. He starts to pull two beers from the fridge then thinks better of it and grabs two bottles of juice instead. It's started raining outside, misting really, but it's enough to make the idea of eating outside less than appealing.
It's a few minutes before Ryan really gets his ass in gear, but then putting their meal together is pure mechanics, not anything that requires deep thought. "Oh, did you ring your mum yet?" he asks, glancing over at his husband.
Sam shakes his head. "I texted to say we were back, but I haven't called her yet."
Ryan nearly drops his paring knife. He looks up at the ceiling and struggles to keep from bursting into laughter. "You texted your mother?"
"Yeah." Sam gives him a look. "Why not? She texts me."
"When you're within three timezones of her?" Ryan asks, grinning over his shoulder at his husband.
Sam huffs out a breath, looking resigned - and defeated. "I'll call her later, okay?"
"Yes, dear," Ryan says sweetly, turning back to the tomato he's slicing. He knows how much Sam hates talking on the phone.
"Did you call yours?" Sam asks.
"Yeah." Ryan shrugs. "But you know my mum. She wants us there for dinner each night. I told her I'd check with you about your schedule and then get back to her with a date. One date," he adds. He slides their sandwiches into the oven for toasting to let the cheese melt a bit. A bit sheepishly he confesses, "She doesn't actually know that we're staying in Sydney."
Sam just stares at his husband. "Seriously?" he says finally. "Where does she think we are?"
Ryan shrugs, biting his lip. Because he knows he is so busted. "Um. I told her we'd be, you know, just around. Traveling." He looks at Sam and can't hold back his grin now.
Sam stares for a moment longer than starts laughing. "Have I told you lately just how much I love you?" he says, grinning back.
Now Ryan outright giggles. "Every day, Sam. She wants us there every day!" He wipes his hands on a dishcloth, then slips his arms around his lover's waist. "At least your mum doesn't have those kinds of expectations."
"No, she doesn't, and she hasn't mentioned grandchildren even once," Sam says with a laugh, kissing Ryan. Truth be told, he doesn't really mind Ryan's mum - except when she's getting on his case about not coming out or having kids.
"You'd think it would be the other way 'round, wouldn't you?" Ryan asks, and kisses Sam again. "Your parents don't worry about ever having grandchildren?" What with Sam being an only child, whereas Ryan has two siblings...
Sam shrugs. "I told them it'll happen and they're willing to wait," he says, incredibly grateful Ryan seems to be feeling better. "Besides, I think they'd pretty much given up on having them for a while there."
"Ooh, that's the best!" Ryan flashes his husband a triumphant grin. "All their hopes have been devastated, you've trained them to lower their expectations... So if you surprise them with grandchildren, you'll be everyone's hero."
Sam laughs. "Sure, but your mum's the important one," he says, amused. "She's the one'll keep after us until we do have them." He cocks his head to one side, assessing. "What do you think she'll bug us about after that? One of the opposite gender?"
Ryan snickers. "Yeah, probably. And she'll say how it's best to have your kids close. So, every eighteen months... But I don't need to explain that. You've met my brothers."
"Eighteen months?" Sam's aware he must look slightly horrified but he can't help it.
"Well, yeah," Ryan answers, working to keep a straight face when he sees Sam's expression. "Although, I guess when you're using a surrogate, you can just as well use two, and then you don't even have to wait that long between births." He smiles cheerily.
"Do you really want two?" Sam asks. It sounds like a nightmare in the making to him but if that's what Ryan really wants...
"Wait, who said anything about what I want?" Ryan asks, studying his lover's face in surprise. "I thought we were talking about my mother." It's certainly a safer topic than the one Sam just introduced...
"We were, but that's what you want too, isn't it? Eventually," Sam says.
"Well, eventually," Ryan agrees softly, shrugging a little. "But I never figured on having a whole football team to ride herd on." He busses his husband's lips. "I think one could be sufficient. Do you?" Oh, fuck. Have they had completely opposing ideas of the future, all this time?
Sam chuckles and nods at that. So fucking relieved. "I think one would be perfect," he says. "I was one of those onlies who never minded being an only. I know what some people say about them being spoiled but I never had any problem with sharing my toys or playing with other kids. I think it's the parents in that case."
Now Ryan raises an eyebrow, but can't quite contain his smirk. "Sam, you're worth, like, a hundred million dollars. I'm pretty sure any child we have will be spoiled. Plus, there's my mum," he says with a laugh. "I don't care. As long as our kid isn't an actual brat, I don't care."
Sam laughs. "That's what I meant by spoiled," he says, "but millions or not, she's not getting every toy in the world or ponies in the backyard for her birthday."
"Hmmm. What about a treehouse?" Ryan asks. "I mean, a really awesome treehouse? If a kid can't have that, then..." He shrugs a little. "Okay, maybe the treehouse would actually be for me."
"Because you're the spoiled one in this family," Sam teases, kissing Ryan again.
"Ohh, I'm spoiled?" Ryan asks, stepping back to lean against the counter. Wrapping his leg around Sam's hip. "Right, because you almost never get what you want. It's so tough to be you."
Sam laughs and kisses Ryan again. "I'm not spoiled," he insists, eyes sparkling, grinding lightly against Ryan. "I'm well taken care of, by my amazing boy."
"And that's simply your right?" Ryan asks, slowly grinding back. "To be eagerly molested so well and so often that sometimes you even miss out on eating lunch?"
"Oh yeah, lunch," Sam says, taking a step back and then laughing even harder. Swooping back in for another kiss, his mouth plundering Ryan's, so fucking hard against him.
With a moan Ryan clutches at his lover, amazed that his own need is just always present, and his desire follows right behind it.
Christ. Sam pulls back a second time, cursing softly under his breath. "You'd better get those out before we burn the place down," he says. "But then I want you back here."
"Yes, Sir," Ryan mutters, and reflects that he's likely going to cook lunch twice today.
...As if he cares.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," Sam murmurs, eyes roaming over his boy once he's back in front of him.
"Thank you, Sir." The words thrill through Ryan, filling him with pride -- not a self-centered pride, but rather a satisfaction in the knowledge that he pleases his Sir. His lips kick up into a crooked grin. "I'm all yours."
"Yes you are," Sam nods, kissing Ryan again, soft and slow but hungry still the same.
Ryan whimpers under his breath, his hands flexing restlessly at his sides before he surrenders to need and clutches at Sam's shirt. Rocked by a wave of seductive heat which has always been Sam for him.
Sam works his way along Ryan's jaw and down his throat, mouth moving over his skin, his collar...
This isn't what Ryan was expecting, and it's not what he was mentally prepared for. All he can do is shudder in response, fixated on being whatever Sam wants of him.
"Take your clothes off," Sam orders, drawing back only enough to let Ryan do just that.
There's some vague mumble of assent and Ryan gets to work. It takes seconds, only -- sometimes he wonders why he bothers getting dressed in the first place. He always seems to end up leaving bits of clothing strewn around the place anyway, his own bits naked and vulnerable... "Sir," he murmurs, taking up a sort of nude parade rest and lifting his chin.
"Now turn around," Sam says, a small smile creasing his lips, his cock already hard and aching.
Ryan slowly blows out a centering breath, turning to face the counter. But he doesn't bend over, doesn't brace himself; he's not certain yet exactly what his sir wants, and he doesn't want to jump the gun.
Sam grins at the vision before him, reaching out to grab Ryan's ass and spread his cheeks with his thumb, a silent curse said as he notices his boy hasn't prepped again after their earlier activities. He runs through the options and leans in, kissing the back of Ryan's neck. "Olive oil makes decent lube, yeah?"
"Sir?" Ryan's gaze darts around the kitchen in question, and then realizes why Sam asked. "Yes, Sir," he says softly, setting his jaw but nodding. "It should make great lube. We've got the extra virgin kind."
Sam chuckles. "Don't move. Just tell me where it is."
"The spice cabinet. Upper right," Ryan answers, pointing.
"This one?" Sam asks, pointing at the one he thinks Ryan pointed at, because damned if he knows which is the spice cabinet. It took him months to memorize where Ryan put everything at home and at the villa. He's useless when it comes to remembering on the road. But jackpot, he's got the right one, and he grabs the oil, pouring some in the palm of his hand and using it to slick his cock before pushing the rest inside his boy, two fingers quickly becoming three.
Ryan groans, the sound thick in his throat. "Sir, may... may I brace myself, please?" Or he might just fall to the floor and beg, desperate to open himself more to his lover.
Sam nods, twisting his fingers deeper. "Go ahead, boy."
Some sort of "nngod thankyousir" spills from Ryan's lips and he bends over, splaying his hands wide on the counter. Pushing his hips back and spreading his thighs to take more, to take it deeper.
"Look at you," Sam breathes, three fingers turning to four. "So fucking greedy." But it's clear by his tone he approves.
"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, and the hot flush on his skin is not only desire but also from the understanding that his sir truly knows him. He definitely couldn't blush from shame -- right now, with Sam? He's got none left. "I always want you inside me."
"And I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be," Sam says honestly, replacing fingers with cock as quickly as he dares, a rough groan spilling from him when he sinks into that perfect tight heat.
Ryan damn near melts in an instant. This. This is what he was created for: to please this man, to love him and protect him and bring him home. To give him everything. "Yes, Sir," he gasps, bearing down in invitation. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," Sam says, groaning as he sinks all the way in, amused as always at being thanked for something that gives him so much pleasure. Christ. Ryan's cheeks spread so he can get every last fraction of an inch inside him.
"Oh god," Ryan says with a whimper. He's so full, so perfectly full. His muscles clench and relax around Sam then clench again, his body demanding more already.
"So so greedy," Sam says, reaching for the oil again, his thumb slicked and pushed in beside his cock.
Ryan yelps in surprise -- he definitely wasn't expecting that bit of extra penetration. He shudders hard in reaction, and has to remind himself to hold his form.
His other hand goes to the back of Ryan's neck, pushing him down over the counter, and Sam watches his cock, his thumb, as both slide into Ryan's hole, the skin stretched tight around him. "So good for me," he murmurs. "Such a fucking slut for me."
"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, his muscles pliant in an instant. He can't help it: when Sam pins him that way, he simply goes limp. "Your slut. For your cock."
Sam groans and stills for a moment, his cock throbbing inside Ryan. And then he pulls out again, teasing the head over Ryan's hole, moving in an inch and then back, again and again.
"Ohfuck." Teasing? Now? Ryan might just lose his ever-lovin' mind. "Sssir..." he whispers, fighting his urge to beg for what he hasn't been given.
"Yes?" Sam grins, repeating the movement, his gaze locked on the tip of his cock disappearing into Ryan's ass over and over.
With a whimper, Ryan surrenders. His Sir is obviously trying to drive him fucking mad, and who is he to argue? So he lets any protest go and tries to focus on simply feeling.
"And here I thought you were going to beg," Sam teases, tormenting them both, his hips rocking, pushing the head through that ring of muscle again and again.
Ryan's answer is a desperate whine, ground through his teeth. "Please. Please, Sir? Fuck... Take me."
Beautiful. Sam tightens his grip on the back of Ryan's neck and drives deep, hips rocking a few times, just savouring the feel of his boy wrapped around his cock, before he starts pounding into him.
Ryan was only just starting to relax, to adjust to the smooth seductive rhythm... He shouts at the first brutal thrust and flings his arms out, flat against the counter and trying to open himself as thoroughly as possible. "Fuck, yes!"
Sam fucks Ryan so hard his whole body begins to ache with it. Holds Ryan in place and makes his boy take it. "That's it," he growls. "Oh, fuck..."
"Yes," Ryan whispers, so dizzy he's spinning, certain only of one constant in the universe. "Sir..."
"You want to come for me, boy?" Sam spits out, not slowing down for a single second.
The dam breaks. "Please, please, Sir," Ryan cries out, all the pleas he's held back washing through him on a rush. "Oh please, god, Sir, please, please let your boy come, please!"
"Go ahead," Sam orders, only holding back his own orgasm long enough to feel Ryan go over first. "Do it."
Ryan screams, his face shoved hard against the counter and the sound too loud for close confines. In an instant everything inside him unfurls, taking him over until all he can do is cling to gravity, mindless and damn near sobbing.
"Fuck, yes," Sam groans, Ryan's body, his screams, shoving him over. He keeps thrusting, cock spurting, emptying every last fucking drop inside his boy.
One shudder after another works its way through Ryan's body, and goddamn he's cold. But he doesn't dare move, not yet. "Sir?" he whispers. "Please?"
Sam lets go of Ryan's neck and eases out, pulling Ryan up with him, his boy turned so he can wrap his arms around him.
Ryan shivers again, freezing, and nearly tackles Sam in his need to touch and be touched. To be subsumed by his Sir. He rubs his damp eyes against Sam's shoulder, trying to wipe away any last evidence of his tears.
Sam hugs the hell out of Ryan. "You're my good boy," he murmurs, kissing the side of his throat. "I love you so much." He lifts his head. "I think we both need something to eat though. Couch or bed? I'll grab the sandwiches."
"Mmm. Couch," Ryan replies, because he doesn't want crumbs and grease in their bed. He doesn't want to move, either. "But only if I can snuggle you on the couch."
"You grab the throws and I'll grab the food," Sam tells him.
That's easily done. Ryan settles slowly onto the couch, the motion a far cry from his usual flying leap from across the room. He yanks not one but two large hand-knitted afghans from the rocking chair, wrapping himself up in one.
Sam plates their sandwiches and grabs two beers from the fridge. A couple of paper towels tucked under his arm and he joins Ryan on the couch, snatching up the remote the moment he has a hand free. "I am so fucking hungry," he says, stomach growling. "These smell so good." He takes a bite and rolls his eyes with pleasure, turning the TV to today's match.
As usual, Ryan spends a moment simply watching Sam eat before turning to his own meal. He always feels a kind of prehistoric satisfaction at knowing he has fed his man. He drapes the blanket around Sam's shoulders and then happily starts on his own lunch.
[feedback welcome. comments screened]
Sam flashes Ryan a wide easy grin as his husband comes out of the bathroom after his morning run and shower, hair still damp, towel wrapped around his hips. Nice and low. "Morning," he says, eyes sparkling with what could definitely be mischief, his erection tenting the sheets. "D'you know if we happened to bring any rope with us?" Knowing damn well Ryan's got all their bases covered any time they travel like this for his work. Has transporting a decent working toy chest down to a fucking art.
"Huh?" The question brings Ryan up short, and he stares dizzily at Sam's lap. "Um, yeah. We have... We have a 20-foot length of black nylon cord. And then the red, um..." He shakes himself and meets Sam's eyes. "Yes, Sir. We have 10 feet of red."
Sam nods. "Good. Lose the towel and get the rope. And bring me a plug you can move in, too."
Ryan is halfway into the closet when he halts and looks over his shoulder at his lover. "I can... move in?" he says uncertainly, but then shakes his head. "Yes. No. Sorry. Yes, Sir." He dives into his suitcase, tucked way in the back corner and safely concealing their kinky paraphernalia.
He emerges again with both coils of rope - just to be sure - and a thick plug with a narrow neck and contoured base. Stark naked and every sense on alert.
"C'mere," Sam says, crooking a finger at Ryan. "I want you kneeling right here." He points beside him.
"Sir," Ryan replies, swallowing hard and laying the items at Sam's side before kneeling up on the bed.
Ryan's already hard and Sam grins, snapping his thumb and forefinger at the head. "Look at you. So fucking eager."
With a yelp Ryan jerks away, but then instantly forces his posture right once more. His face flushes hot with embarrassment at the slip-up.
"You'd better correct yourself, boy," Sam drawls, wrapping his hand around Ryan's cock and giving it a couple of long slow strokes.
Ryan bites his bottom lip - hard - on a whimper, and nods. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
And with that Sam lets go and gives Ryan's cock a good hard slap, his eyes locked on his boy's face.
That fetches a shocked yelp, but at least this time Ryan reflexively curls into the strike, not away. "Th-- thank you, Sir," he stammers, locking his fingers tightly together at the small of his back. He sucks in a breath and raises his gaze to Sam's, his eyes already turning cloudy with pain and acceptance. His brain rushes to keep up, beginning to dump a cushion of endorphins into his system as quickly as his heart beats.
Sam smiles. He picks up the plug and reaches into the bedside table for a bottle of lube. "Turn around. Show me my hole, boy."
Without a word, Ryan turns and goes down on his elbows, spreading his thighs wide enough that Sam can see everything. Feeling every line of the huge tattoo on his ass like it's a fresh-cut mark.
"Beautiful," Sam murmurs, resting his hand on the cleft of Ryan's ass and his thumb against his already-prepped hole. Pressing firmly but not in, not yet.
Ryan's body shudders. Even though the touch doesn't penetrate, the simple knowledge that this is his sir - calm and confident in his ownership - rocks through Ryan like a blow. "Please," he whispers.
God. Sam gives his own cock a stroke with his free hand, the plug ignored for the moment. He pushes his thumb into the tight heat of Ryan's ass, working it as deep as it'll go.
Whimpering, Ryan forces himself to keep still. Working to be pliant, demanding nothing.
Sam slowly and deliberately fucks Ryan's hole with his thumb, that whimper making his cock throb.
To demand nothing... All right, that's a tall order. "Sir," he whispers, his muscles clutching tightly like he can get even more. "I love having you inside me." Anything Sam will give, and that's a bald truth that he simply had to make peace with, back in the early days.
"I know you do," Sam says simply, dipping his thumb into Ryan a few more times before replacing it with the well-slicked plug.
Ryan grunts in response, not because it's uncomfortable, exactly, but simply because the plug fills him so abruptly. He focuses on his breathing - slow steady inhale, then exhale - and after a moment, relaxes again.
"Good boy," Sam says, watching Ryan's body clench and unclench around the base of the plug. Fuck. The sight threatening to derail his plans. "Now face me again and kneel up."
"Yes, Sir." The words are a bare whisper, and might even be unintelligible to anyone who isn't accustomed to hearing Ryan say them. Often. He hisses at the way the plug shifts inside him when he moves, teasing at his prostate and then making him dizzy with sensation as he kneels, spine straight.
"Look at you," Sam breathes, wrapping his hand around Ryan's erect cock and giving it a few strokes before reaching for the rope.
Ryan whimpers at the touch, a pearl of fluid beading already. But when he looks at the rope, stark against Sam's skin, he can't help but whimper again, a little louder.
Sam places the rope behind Ryan's neck, making sure he's got the same length on both sides before starting to fashion a chest and body harness from it. He takes his time, making sure it's tight but not too tight, each knot tested as he makes it.
Shutting his eyes, Ryan lets himself sink into the moment. He focuses on the feeling of the cord against his skin, the scent of his lover, the soft sound of Sam's breathing. Instead of putting his hands behind his back as he usually does, he holds them slightly out to his sides so as not to interfere with his binding.
"You like this?" Sam asks as he continues knotting the rope, crisscrossing it over and around Ryan's body before fashioning a pretty solid cock ring out of it and strapping that to Ryan's thighs so it will move with him, jerking him, with each and every movement.
"Sir," Ryan whispers, forcing himself to open his eyes once more. The world appears to move so slowly now that it feels like he's stuck in glue. He smiles shyly, adoringly. Completely punch-drunk. "Yes, Sir."
"Good." Sam grins, leaning in and kissing Ryan. "This is where it gets really fun. I want you to get dressed."
For long moments all Ryan can do is gaze absently at Sam. Something doesn't quite make sense, but he's not sure whether it's just him. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Sam says oh so casually, taking a step back. "Jeans, shirt, shoes... We're going grocery shopping."
Gradually it dawns on Ryan that Sam is serious: Sam actually expects him to walk now. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and slowly gets off the bed. He moves to the bureau and forces himself to focus, selecting clothing that's loose enough so as to not reveal the secrets of Sam's ownership. Turning to face his Sir, he winces once as the plug shifts inside him, catching him unawares. Then he nods.
"Good boy." Sam pulls Ryan in close and kisses him. "Where'd you put the list?"
"The...?" Ryan blinks, and it takes him another second to realize what he's being asked. "Oh. Grocery list. Fridge. Magnet," he mumbles, and turns to go retrieve it. But a thought strikes him, and he looks back at Sam, forcing a full sentence from his lips. "I... I don't think I can drive. Sir."
"That's okay. I'll drive," Sam says, because while taking Ryan out like this is somewhat risky, making him drive is downright dangerous. For them and for others. "Just grab the list and put some shoes on. I'll be right there." Because of course he's still fucking naked, and hard as hell.
Ryan nods and heads downstairs. He's having trouble keeping hold of more than one thought at a time. Every step he takes causes the plug to rub against his prostate and the nylon cord to pull tight on his cock. He groans, but eventually manages to find some shoes and go wait by the front door, list in hand.
Sam joins him shortly as promised, having pulled on an old AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. "Ready?" he asks Ryan, grabbing his car keys and wallet and slipping on his Blundstones.
"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, still buried deeply in a fog, but anxious now as he wasn't before the news of their outing. "Please--" he says suddenly, Sam's hand on the doorknob. He gathers his courage. "Please, Sir. May your boy ask for a kiss before we go?"
"Of course," Sam says, letting go of the door and pulling Ryan close. He kisses him softly, thoroughly, taking his time. "I love you."
Ryan tries to blink away the wetness from his eyes. "Thank you, Sir." He hesitantly lays his hands on Sam's hips, then rests his head on his shoulder. "Your boy loves you."
"Are you okay with this?" Sam asks, holding Ryan close. "We don't have to go out." Having Ryan uncomfortable is one thing, that's part of the fun, but having him anxious or upset is another. "We can stay in and I can play with you here."
"No, Sir," Ryan answers, and steps back again. "Thank you. I'm okay now."
"Good." Sam smiles. "You be sure and let me know if that changes though, yeah?"
Ryan smiles back, a bit shy. "Yes, Sir," he says quietly. "I will."
Sam locks up behind them and takes the wheel, driving them to the market they use the most for groceries. There's a farmer's one too but it's usually really crowded on the weekend and he'd rather not put Ryan under that scrutiny today.
It's unusual for Ryan to be so silent, although he definitely has a tendency to go non-verbal when he's sunk deep in subspace. As they cross the parking lot, he finds himself automatically drifting closer to Sam, again and again. Wanting the reassurance of physical contact, but then jerking back every time he realizes anew what he's doing.
Recognizing the need, Sam nudges their shoulders together, but suspects it's not nearly enough. This'll have to be a short trip. He grabs a cart from the front. "Where to first?"
"Um." Ryan checks the list. "Butcher's counter last," he says softly, feeling the ropes burning into his skin with every hitch of breath. "Vegetables... Yeah. Vegetables."
"I remember the first time we went shopping for vegetables together," Sam says with a grin and a playful leer.
"You do?" Ryan grins back at his sir. "All you wanted was potatoes," he recalls, and cautiously drops his voice. "Except then you just wanted stuff you could fuck me with." He shudders, much too aware of how full his hole is now. Just like it was then.
"Hey, you put the idea in my mind," Sam grins, eyes sparkling. "I was going to behave myself."
Now Ryan laughs softly. "When have you ever bothered behaving yourself?" He sneaks glances at Sam as he begins selecting fresh produce for their cart.
"Whenever I'm out with you," Sam says a little more seriously. "Other than today." Obviously. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you sometimes."
Surprised - and god, needing - Ryan turns to face him. Every nerve ending feels alight, and everything in the world is blurred except for Sam. "Will you tell me?" he asks.
"Tell you what? When I'm feeling that way?"
"Tell me how difficult it is," Ryan whispers. "To not touch me." He licks his lips. "Tell me it's the same way I feel with you."
"I think it is," Sam says, watching Ryan closely. "It feels like I should be able to touch you. You're my husband, my boy, my life. It's not just the sexual stuff. It's wanting connection with you, to reconnect, affirm what's between us."
Ryan shuts his eyes for a moment, wondering how it is that no one else seems to notice how the earth is moving beneath him. Blinking himself back, he gives Sam a little smile. "Thank you, Sir." He hopes Sam can hear the genuine feeling in his voice, that he knows the depths of his gratitude.
"You're welcome," Sam says softly, although it feels like it's the least he can do for Ryan. Give him that reassurance, that honesty, when his boy gives him so much in return. "Now what else is on the list?"
Glancing at the piece of paper in his hand, Ryan answers, "Beer. Orange juice, milk, quinoa--" although he has yet to turn Sam on to quinoa, despite several valiant attempts -- "then fish and then meat." Ordinarily at this point in the trip he'd ask Sam to get the drinks while he scoped out the fresh fish counter. Today is definitely not an ordinary day.
Sam makes a face at the mention of quinoa. "Okay, so drinks first," he says, steering the cart in that direction. "I think I'd like something different," eyeing the beer. "Maybe the Toohey's Dark or Cooper's Pale." He grins at Ryan.
"Okay," Ryan replies with a nod, scanning the shelves. His eyes widen and he shoots Sam a wary look -- of course Sam chose items from the very top shelf and the very bottom one. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs, and reaches up to snag a six-pack of Toohey's, barely swallowing a moan at the feeling of the ropes pulling taut against his chest, his prick jerked with the stretch of his body. The beer goes into the cart. He crouches down to grab a pack of Cooper's, and this time he simply can't hold back a soft whimper when the plug rubs his sweet spot, and fuck his cock for straining to swell at a time like this. When he gets back to his feet, he's breathing just a bit too fast.
Caging Ryan between the drinks and their cart, Sam leans in, his breath ghosting over Ryan's earlobe as he murmurs, "I think I might want to put one of those up your ass later. While it's still nice and cold."
"Ohh, fuck," Ryan whispers, his eyes slipping shut. Damn it, he needs. Needs to burrow into Sam and simply melt. "Anything, Sir," he says quietly, turning his head just a little until their mouths are mere inches apart. "Anything."
"Good boy." And fuck. Sam's so tempted. But they're in public and it's a line he dare not cross. He takes a step back. "Orange juice and milk next?"
Ryan blinks, and stands up straighter. "...What?" he asks, also backing away a bit. "Oh! Yes. Milk. Juice." He nods.
It's while they're getting the milk that Sam's asked for an autograph, a couple of kids with their parents approaching them. He talks to them about Avatar and Clash of the Titans, all the time keeping a close eye on Ryan.
But Ryan, of course, is doing his best to fade into the background. His husband doesn't need him around for this, and Ryan always figures it's best if people don't notice him at all. Hunching into himself he moves away under pretense of selecting exactly the right brand of orange juice.
"So what's it like working as a personal assistant to a big star like Sam?" the dad asks Ryan, stepping away from his wife and kids while they fawn over their celebrity crush.
"Pardon?" Ryan looks up in alarm, instantly panicking at the realization that the man is talking to him. "Oh. Um." He swallows hard and tries to shrug off his nerves, giving the guy a smile. "Not as glamorous as you might think, really. He's a real pain in the ass to clean up after." Oh god. Ryan doesn't even know where those words fucking came from, and he prays with all his might that the man won't ask him any more questions.
"Yeah?" The guy grins, filing that away to tell his mates later. "Like leaving his stuff around and expecting you to pick it up. Or bringing girls in?"
Ryan waves a dismissive hand. "All of that and more. And all the girls..." He drops his voice like he's making a confession. "I wish he would just pick one already, you know? Because of course they all fall in love with him instantly, and then he hooks up with a new one, and I seriously just don't want to be involved in any of that drama." His heart is pounding so hard that he can feel it beating, and he hopes the man doesn't notice that he's starting to sweat. And he hopes that Sam doesn't get furious with all the smack he's talking.
"Wow." The guy looks at Sam. "I'd always heard he was a player."
"Yeah, well." Ryan shrugs and leans in closer, a knowing look in his eye when he says, "The shit like that you hear about celebrities? It's almost always true."
Sam can't hear exactly what they're saying but he knows that look. "It's been great talking to you," he says to the kids and their mum, shaking hands and smiling for one more selfie with the trio before he grabs Ryan by the arm and says, "We should finish here. I've got that call at one."
"Yeah, Mr. Worthington," Ryan agrees, snapping to attention. Secretly so relieved that he could drop to his knees and kiss Sam's feet, except that would likely undo all the damage control he only just attempted. He pushes their grocery trolley to the fresh fish counter without a look back.
"What were you two talking about?" Sam asks when they're well out of earshot.
Ryan glances sidelong at his sir, uncertain. "He wanted to know how fabulous it is, having you for a boss."
Sam raises an eyebrow at that. "What'd you tell him?"
Feeling his cheeks flush hot, Ryan shrugs. And carefully drops his voice when he answers, "I said you're a pain to clean up after, and that you never make up your mind about which woman to keep." Chewing on his lip, and nervously eyeing Sam.
"Why the hell would you tell him that?" Sam asks.
"I don't know," Ryan answers, beginning to inwardly panic once again. "I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry." He glances around and whispers, "I'm so sorry, Sir."
Well, not fucking that, Sam wants to say but he bites his tongue and grits his teeth instead. "It's okay. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have left you alone with him." Not in this state.
"I'm sorry," Ryan whispers again, starting to blink back tears now. He's definitely lost all of the pleasurable buzz, but he still doesn't yet have hold of his emotions as he normally would. He and Sam are only steps away from the butcher's counter now, but he's frozen in place by misery and guilt.
The look on Ryan's face just fucking kills Sam. "It's okay," he says again, putting his hand on the back of Ryan's neck, thumb rubbing gently above the rope just under his shirt. "I'm not mad." Not really. Not enough to justify making Ryan feel like this.
Ryan nods. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, staring at the floor. Then pulling away from Sam with a shiver to go place their order.
Godfuckingdamnit. Sam pushes their cart closer, waiting for Ryan while he orders their fish at one counter and meat at the next.
A stack of paper-wrapped parcels in his hands, Ryan takes the cart from Sam and goes to pay. He manages a small smile for the cashier but he's not as friendly as he normally would be -- just doesn't trust himself to speak. Once the groceries are all packed up, he grabs the sacks and waits for his sir to lead the path back to their rental car.
Sam helps load the car and then turns to Ryan, grateful they parked at the side of the store, in the far corner. Normally he'd be all about being careful but right now, he just needs to do this and so he does. He wraps his arms around Ryan and hugs him close.
Ryan stiffens immediately, shocked to his core. "...Sir?"
"Shh," Sam says, hugging him harder. "Just let me do this."
If possible, Ryan's panic actually grows. But he obeys and keeps silent, though he keeps his hands at his sides and doesn't return the embrace. Because surely he has already fucked up enough for one day.
Fuck. Sam can feel Ryan stiffening against him, the tension in his body not a good one. He steps back, releasing his hold on his lover and gestures at the passenger side. "Get in." Feeling stupid for taking the risk in the first place.
Ryan does so in silence, fastening his seatbelt and trying to lean back into the seat.
They drive in silence for a bit. Until Sam hits a spot of traffic and they're stuck where they are. "I'm sorry," he says softly, finally, blowing out a breath, feeling the whole fucking day's gone to hell.
The words snap Ryan out of the funk he's slipped into. "What?" he asks softly, turning to look at his sir. "What could you apologize for?"
"Everything," Sam says, glancing at Ryan. "Leaving you to talk to that guy when you're in fucking headspace. Making you upset over what you said. And then fucking up when I tried to make it better. I'm just. I'm sorry. None of it should've happened."
"No." Ryan shakes his head slowly. "No, Sir, it was all my fault. I'm sorry. I should've..." But in truth, he can't even think of how he might have improved the situation.
Sam reaches across and takes Ryan's hand. "No, you shouldn't have. There's nothing you should have done differently." Not a fucking thing. He gives Ryan's fingers a squeeze. "Let's just get home and get settled and we can talk about it later."
The touch is over all too quickly, but Ryan is grateful for it nonetheless. And he's all about waiting until they get home before they... absolutely anything. He just can't think clearly right now, and struggling for coherence in the fog is a frightening prospect.
The traffic finally cleared, they're home in no time, and Sam helps Ryan carry their few groceries into the kitchen. But the moment they're on the counter, he pulls Ryan into his arms and hugs him again. Hard.
Ryan whimpers and this time he wraps himself so tightly around Sam that it's like he could melt into him. And the tears he was fighting so hard in the market, now they spill over, his whole body shuddering. "I'm sorry," he tells his sir. "Please, I'm so sorry."
"I know. Me too," Sam says, and maybe later he'll try and talk Ryan out of thinking he's got anything to apologize for, but right here, right now, with his boy still bound and plugged all he cares about is making him feel better. "I love you so much."
Openly sobbing now, Ryan clings tight, his tears soaking the shoulder of Sam's t-shirt.
"Here, hold on," Sam tells him, keeping one arm tight around Ryan while he uses the other to shove the perishables in the fridge. "Come lie down with me." Walking them backwards into the bedroom where he pulls them both down into the bed. "It's okay," he says, brushing his mouth across Ryan's hair as he holds him close.
And ohh, what a relief: to finally lie down with his sir and simply be once more. Ryan slips his arms securely around Sam, ensuring that his lover can't go anywhere just yet. Gradually, the sobs begin to die down, leaving him shivering against his sir, shocky from the emotional hurricane of the past few hours.
Sam drags a blanket up over them and goes back to holding Ryan, rubbing at his shoulders and back in an effort to warm him up, to calm and to soothe. "You okay?" he murmurs. "You need me to get you anything?" He knows he needs to get rid of the rope and the plug but Ryan doesn't seem in any shape for that.
Ryan whimpers softly and clutches his sir tighter.
"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," Sam promises, kissing the top of Ryan's head.
Somehow Ryan manages a small nod of acknowledgment. He can't speak. Can't even imagine ever moving. But he's exhausted from the stress of the outing plus the hysterical crying fit. Shutting his eyes - and without loosening his hold - he begins to drift.
Shifting a little, Sam opens his eyes. God. He must have fallen asleep after Ryan did. He yawns, trying to keep it as quiet as possible and cranes his neck for a quick look at the clock on the other side of the bed. It's early afternoon, lunch already come and gone, his stomach rumbling softly, letting him know it's aware of that fact. But Ryan's still dead asleep and Sam's damned if he's going to wake him. Not after what he put his boy through this morning. Christ. What a clusterfuck. He kisses the top of Ryan's head, mouthing 'love you' against his hair. Hopefully this won't turn Ryan off the whole bondage in public thing...
Gradually Ryan stirs, breathing in the familiar scent of his Sir and feeling surrounded by Sam's warmth. He nuzzles his lover with a soft moan, then whimpers at the sudden realization of his bound and plugged state.
"You awake?" Sam murmurs.
"Yes, Sir," Ryan says very, very softly. Awake and instantly transported back to his misery of this morning. He shuts his eyes like he can close out the awareness of all the mistakes he made.
"Then let's get you out of those ropes and that plug," Sam says softly, shifting lower himself, his hands already at Ryan's tee.
"Okay." Ryan sits up in order to facilitate the process, letting himself be undressed like a doll while he tries to shake off the wash of cold shame.
"We can try this again sometime," Sam says as he unties the various knots. "Just maybe not at the grocery store." Giving Ryan a small smile.
Ryan's puzzled gaze flicks upward for a moment, but he can't meet Sam's eyes for longer than that. "I embarrassed you," he says softly, his throat feeling hoarse. "I didn't... I didn't behave well. I wasn't a good boy." And of course, a boy is only a reflection of his sir… which means all his own bad choices just put Sam in a negative light.
"I want you to stop saying that," Sam says firmly. "And stop thinking it too. You were a good boy. I shouldn't have left you on your own." He blows out a breath, setting the rope aside. "You can take the plug out now unless you want me to do it." He can tell Ryan's still under but he's not sure how far.
"I..." Now Ryan stares at Sam like he's some alien being. "...I can't. Sir."
"Fine, turn around," Sam orders, wishing they could go back to this morning and start all over again.
Obeying, Ryan goes to hands and knees to present his ass. It may be the last of his sir's physical restrictions on him from this morning, but he's still too deep into the scene to feel like he owns the power to remove the plug himself.
And god, that pose. That ass, that plug, his boy. Sam spreads Ryan's cheeks with his hands, taking a good long look. "You are so fucking hot," he murmurs.
Ryan shivers. Sam's tone makes his heart beat faster, brings every nerve in his body to attention. "Thank you, Sir."
Sam leans in, swiping his tongue over the back of Ryan's balls, over the stretch of skin between them and the plug.
With a yelp Ryan jerks away -- simply out of pure reflex at being so surprised. Shaking, he moves back into position.
"That's it. Good boy," Sam murmurs, repeating the movement, his tongue teasing under the base of the plug, teasing at Ryan's hole.
"Ohgod. Oh god, oh god," Ryan moans, shuddering hard. This kind of stimulation, on top of the emotionally draining and physically demanding morning he's already endured -- "Oh, fuck. Please, Sir."
Sam pushes his tongue in harder, forcing it in beside the plug, fucking it into Ryan's hole. He reaches around and grasps Ryan's cock, stroking roughly.
"Oh, fuck. Please, Sir. Don't, Sir, please! I can't--" Ryan's damn near to breaking down all over again. "Your boy can't--"
Sam lifts his head just long enough to say, "Come for me, boy," before he's got his tongue back inside Ryan's ass, fucking his hole for all he's worth, his hand moving over his boy's cock.
"Sir, no! I--! I didn't--" The words are alien to Ryan's mouth, but hell, it's not like his body listens anyway. He comes so hard he shakes with it, bone-deep shudders running the length of his body, leaving every muscle weak. Hanging his head, he bursts into sobs.
Fuck. The moment Sam hears Ryan crying, the sobs shuddering through his frame, he pulls back, quickly easing the plug from his boy's body before wrapping his arms around him and moving them both to lie down again. "Hey, it's okay," he whispers, kissing the top of Ryan's head. "You're my good boy."
Ryan immediately tries to burrow inside Sam, feeling like he'll never again in his life be warm enough. "I'm sorry. You didn't-- I need to--" Any further words are lost in a flurry of tears.
"Shhh..." Sam whispers, kissing the top of Ryan's head again, one hand reaching to try and tug the covers over them the best he can. "Just relax," he murmurs. "Everything's okay. It really is."
But Ryan sits bolt upright. "Ohgod Sir, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fuck up everything at the market, I'm sorry I was so wrong, I'm sorry you couldn't trust me, I didn't mean to, Sam, I swear I--" He just might be hyperventilating.
"Ryan. Stop it," Sam orders, sitting up as well, the tone one he almost never uses with his lover. Or his boy. He grabs Ryan by the shoulders. "Look at me."
And Ryan does. Stares at his sir in outright shock, really.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sam says firmly. "Nothing. Anything weird that happened this morning was my fault, my responsibility, and I'm more worried about how upset you are than anything at the market." He pauses for a moment then continues, "You're my good boy and I love you and nothing's changed about that. I'm not angry or upset with you and I want you to just let the whole morning go. That's an order."
But but but...! Ryan struggles against the feeling that, regardless of anything else, he still hasn't made things right -- and, in contrast, his training and conditioning skip right past the emotional parts of his brain to shout that Sam gave him an order, full stop. He inhales a deep breath, trembling a little, and then nods. "Yes, Sir," he whispers. "Thank you for taking such good care of your boy."
"I love you," Sam repeats, because he needs that to sink in. "And you're the most important thing to me in the entire universe. I have to take care of you." He wraps his arms around Ryan and hugs him hard, then pulls him back down to lie with him.
And now, finally, Ryan slowly begins to relax in Sam's arms. He rests his cheek on Sam's chest, listening to his heartbeat, and murmurs, "I just want to make you happy. That's my job in the universe."
"I know," Sam says, hugging Ryan even close. "And you do, so much," he insists, even as he knows they probably need to talk about all of this some more. Later. When Ryan's feeling better and more aware and out of this whole fucking guilt loop.
Ryan sighs. And nods. And eventually confesses in a whisper, "I wanted to run away, when we were in the market. But I also wanted to punch that obnoxious bloke in the face."
"I can understand that," Sam says. Both feelings actually. "But I'm glad you didn't do either." He also meant what he said earlier, that he never should have left Ryan to fend for himself under those circumstances but bringing that up now? So fucking counterproductive.
"Yeah, that would've made things worse," Ryan acknowledges in a wry tone. "Can I know, though? Sir? What specifically you were unhappy about?" He lifts his head, studying Sam's eyes. "What I said, or that I talked to him at all, or that I lied, or...?"
"How about we talk about this later?" Sam suggests. He's only now got Ryan calmed down and the last thing he wants to do is go another few rounds over this.
Ryan's breath catches -- it's so unlike Sam to be anything but direct. But he tries to keep faith. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, resting his head once more against his lover's heart.
"You need more sleep?" Sam asks. "Or do we want to make some lunch and take it out on the back deck?"
"I--" Ryan instantly rethinks what he was about to say, changing mid-sentence to, "I can make some sandwiches, is that all right? With the leftover marinated grilled chicken?"
"That sounds great. What can I do?" Sam asks with a smile.
"Nah, just... Okay if I toast the bread? We've got hoagie rolls, I'll melt some cheese on them. Good?"
Sam's stomach rumbles on cue and he laughs. "Sounds delicious," he says, kissing Ryan again. "I'll get drinks."
"Okay." Ryan watches Sam get out of bed. Then he sighs softly and heads for the bath to wash up. Maybe clear away the last of the cobwebs.
In the kitchen, Sam puts away the rest of the groceries the best he can. He starts to pull two beers from the fridge then thinks better of it and grabs two bottles of juice instead. It's started raining outside, misting really, but it's enough to make the idea of eating outside less than appealing.
It's a few minutes before Ryan really gets his ass in gear, but then putting their meal together is pure mechanics, not anything that requires deep thought. "Oh, did you ring your mum yet?" he asks, glancing over at his husband.
Sam shakes his head. "I texted to say we were back, but I haven't called her yet."
Ryan nearly drops his paring knife. He looks up at the ceiling and struggles to keep from bursting into laughter. "You texted your mother?"
"Yeah." Sam gives him a look. "Why not? She texts me."
"When you're within three timezones of her?" Ryan asks, grinning over his shoulder at his husband.
Sam huffs out a breath, looking resigned - and defeated. "I'll call her later, okay?"
"Yes, dear," Ryan says sweetly, turning back to the tomato he's slicing. He knows how much Sam hates talking on the phone.
"Did you call yours?" Sam asks.
"Yeah." Ryan shrugs. "But you know my mum. She wants us there for dinner each night. I told her I'd check with you about your schedule and then get back to her with a date. One date," he adds. He slides their sandwiches into the oven for toasting to let the cheese melt a bit. A bit sheepishly he confesses, "She doesn't actually know that we're staying in Sydney."
Sam just stares at his husband. "Seriously?" he says finally. "Where does she think we are?"
Ryan shrugs, biting his lip. Because he knows he is so busted. "Um. I told her we'd be, you know, just around. Traveling." He looks at Sam and can't hold back his grin now.
Sam stares for a moment longer than starts laughing. "Have I told you lately just how much I love you?" he says, grinning back.
Now Ryan outright giggles. "Every day, Sam. She wants us there every day!" He wipes his hands on a dishcloth, then slips his arms around his lover's waist. "At least your mum doesn't have those kinds of expectations."
"No, she doesn't, and she hasn't mentioned grandchildren even once," Sam says with a laugh, kissing Ryan. Truth be told, he doesn't really mind Ryan's mum - except when she's getting on his case about not coming out or having kids.
"You'd think it would be the other way 'round, wouldn't you?" Ryan asks, and kisses Sam again. "Your parents don't worry about ever having grandchildren?" What with Sam being an only child, whereas Ryan has two siblings...
Sam shrugs. "I told them it'll happen and they're willing to wait," he says, incredibly grateful Ryan seems to be feeling better. "Besides, I think they'd pretty much given up on having them for a while there."
"Ooh, that's the best!" Ryan flashes his husband a triumphant grin. "All their hopes have been devastated, you've trained them to lower their expectations... So if you surprise them with grandchildren, you'll be everyone's hero."
Sam laughs. "Sure, but your mum's the important one," he says, amused. "She's the one'll keep after us until we do have them." He cocks his head to one side, assessing. "What do you think she'll bug us about after that? One of the opposite gender?"
Ryan snickers. "Yeah, probably. And she'll say how it's best to have your kids close. So, every eighteen months... But I don't need to explain that. You've met my brothers."
"Eighteen months?" Sam's aware he must look slightly horrified but he can't help it.
"Well, yeah," Ryan answers, working to keep a straight face when he sees Sam's expression. "Although, I guess when you're using a surrogate, you can just as well use two, and then you don't even have to wait that long between births." He smiles cheerily.
"Do you really want two?" Sam asks. It sounds like a nightmare in the making to him but if that's what Ryan really wants...
"Wait, who said anything about what I want?" Ryan asks, studying his lover's face in surprise. "I thought we were talking about my mother." It's certainly a safer topic than the one Sam just introduced...
"We were, but that's what you want too, isn't it? Eventually," Sam says.
"Well, eventually," Ryan agrees softly, shrugging a little. "But I never figured on having a whole football team to ride herd on." He busses his husband's lips. "I think one could be sufficient. Do you?" Oh, fuck. Have they had completely opposing ideas of the future, all this time?
Sam chuckles and nods at that. So fucking relieved. "I think one would be perfect," he says. "I was one of those onlies who never minded being an only. I know what some people say about them being spoiled but I never had any problem with sharing my toys or playing with other kids. I think it's the parents in that case."
Now Ryan raises an eyebrow, but can't quite contain his smirk. "Sam, you're worth, like, a hundred million dollars. I'm pretty sure any child we have will be spoiled. Plus, there's my mum," he says with a laugh. "I don't care. As long as our kid isn't an actual brat, I don't care."
Sam laughs. "That's what I meant by spoiled," he says, "but millions or not, she's not getting every toy in the world or ponies in the backyard for her birthday."
"Hmmm. What about a treehouse?" Ryan asks. "I mean, a really awesome treehouse? If a kid can't have that, then..." He shrugs a little. "Okay, maybe the treehouse would actually be for me."
"Because you're the spoiled one in this family," Sam teases, kissing Ryan again.
"Ohh, I'm spoiled?" Ryan asks, stepping back to lean against the counter. Wrapping his leg around Sam's hip. "Right, because you almost never get what you want. It's so tough to be you."
Sam laughs and kisses Ryan again. "I'm not spoiled," he insists, eyes sparkling, grinding lightly against Ryan. "I'm well taken care of, by my amazing boy."
"And that's simply your right?" Ryan asks, slowly grinding back. "To be eagerly molested so well and so often that sometimes you even miss out on eating lunch?"
"Oh yeah, lunch," Sam says, taking a step back and then laughing even harder. Swooping back in for another kiss, his mouth plundering Ryan's, so fucking hard against him.
With a moan Ryan clutches at his lover, amazed that his own need is just always present, and his desire follows right behind it.
Christ. Sam pulls back a second time, cursing softly under his breath. "You'd better get those out before we burn the place down," he says. "But then I want you back here."
"Yes, Sir," Ryan mutters, and reflects that he's likely going to cook lunch twice today.
...As if he cares.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," Sam murmurs, eyes roaming over his boy once he's back in front of him.
"Thank you, Sir." The words thrill through Ryan, filling him with pride -- not a self-centered pride, but rather a satisfaction in the knowledge that he pleases his Sir. His lips kick up into a crooked grin. "I'm all yours."
"Yes you are," Sam nods, kissing Ryan again, soft and slow but hungry still the same.
Ryan whimpers under his breath, his hands flexing restlessly at his sides before he surrenders to need and clutches at Sam's shirt. Rocked by a wave of seductive heat which has always been Sam for him.
Sam works his way along Ryan's jaw and down his throat, mouth moving over his skin, his collar...
This isn't what Ryan was expecting, and it's not what he was mentally prepared for. All he can do is shudder in response, fixated on being whatever Sam wants of him.
"Take your clothes off," Sam orders, drawing back only enough to let Ryan do just that.
There's some vague mumble of assent and Ryan gets to work. It takes seconds, only -- sometimes he wonders why he bothers getting dressed in the first place. He always seems to end up leaving bits of clothing strewn around the place anyway, his own bits naked and vulnerable... "Sir," he murmurs, taking up a sort of nude parade rest and lifting his chin.
"Now turn around," Sam says, a small smile creasing his lips, his cock already hard and aching.
Ryan slowly blows out a centering breath, turning to face the counter. But he doesn't bend over, doesn't brace himself; he's not certain yet exactly what his sir wants, and he doesn't want to jump the gun.
Sam grins at the vision before him, reaching out to grab Ryan's ass and spread his cheeks with his thumb, a silent curse said as he notices his boy hasn't prepped again after their earlier activities. He runs through the options and leans in, kissing the back of Ryan's neck. "Olive oil makes decent lube, yeah?"
"Sir?" Ryan's gaze darts around the kitchen in question, and then realizes why Sam asked. "Yes, Sir," he says softly, setting his jaw but nodding. "It should make great lube. We've got the extra virgin kind."
Sam chuckles. "Don't move. Just tell me where it is."
"The spice cabinet. Upper right," Ryan answers, pointing.
"This one?" Sam asks, pointing at the one he thinks Ryan pointed at, because damned if he knows which is the spice cabinet. It took him months to memorize where Ryan put everything at home and at the villa. He's useless when it comes to remembering on the road. But jackpot, he's got the right one, and he grabs the oil, pouring some in the palm of his hand and using it to slick his cock before pushing the rest inside his boy, two fingers quickly becoming three.
Ryan groans, the sound thick in his throat. "Sir, may... may I brace myself, please?" Or he might just fall to the floor and beg, desperate to open himself more to his lover.
Sam nods, twisting his fingers deeper. "Go ahead, boy."
Some sort of "nngod thankyousir" spills from Ryan's lips and he bends over, splaying his hands wide on the counter. Pushing his hips back and spreading his thighs to take more, to take it deeper.
"Look at you," Sam breathes, three fingers turning to four. "So fucking greedy." But it's clear by his tone he approves.
"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, and the hot flush on his skin is not only desire but also from the understanding that his sir truly knows him. He definitely couldn't blush from shame -- right now, with Sam? He's got none left. "I always want you inside me."
"And I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be," Sam says honestly, replacing fingers with cock as quickly as he dares, a rough groan spilling from him when he sinks into that perfect tight heat.
Ryan damn near melts in an instant. This. This is what he was created for: to please this man, to love him and protect him and bring him home. To give him everything. "Yes, Sir," he gasps, bearing down in invitation. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," Sam says, groaning as he sinks all the way in, amused as always at being thanked for something that gives him so much pleasure. Christ. Ryan's cheeks spread so he can get every last fraction of an inch inside him.
"Oh god," Ryan says with a whimper. He's so full, so perfectly full. His muscles clench and relax around Sam then clench again, his body demanding more already.
"So so greedy," Sam says, reaching for the oil again, his thumb slicked and pushed in beside his cock.
Ryan yelps in surprise -- he definitely wasn't expecting that bit of extra penetration. He shudders hard in reaction, and has to remind himself to hold his form.
His other hand goes to the back of Ryan's neck, pushing him down over the counter, and Sam watches his cock, his thumb, as both slide into Ryan's hole, the skin stretched tight around him. "So good for me," he murmurs. "Such a fucking slut for me."
"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, his muscles pliant in an instant. He can't help it: when Sam pins him that way, he simply goes limp. "Your slut. For your cock."
Sam groans and stills for a moment, his cock throbbing inside Ryan. And then he pulls out again, teasing the head over Ryan's hole, moving in an inch and then back, again and again.
"Ohfuck." Teasing? Now? Ryan might just lose his ever-lovin' mind. "Sssir..." he whispers, fighting his urge to beg for what he hasn't been given.
"Yes?" Sam grins, repeating the movement, his gaze locked on the tip of his cock disappearing into Ryan's ass over and over.
With a whimper, Ryan surrenders. His Sir is obviously trying to drive him fucking mad, and who is he to argue? So he lets any protest go and tries to focus on simply feeling.
"And here I thought you were going to beg," Sam teases, tormenting them both, his hips rocking, pushing the head through that ring of muscle again and again.
Ryan's answer is a desperate whine, ground through his teeth. "Please. Please, Sir? Fuck... Take me."
Beautiful. Sam tightens his grip on the back of Ryan's neck and drives deep, hips rocking a few times, just savouring the feel of his boy wrapped around his cock, before he starts pounding into him.
Ryan was only just starting to relax, to adjust to the smooth seductive rhythm... He shouts at the first brutal thrust and flings his arms out, flat against the counter and trying to open himself as thoroughly as possible. "Fuck, yes!"
Sam fucks Ryan so hard his whole body begins to ache with it. Holds Ryan in place and makes his boy take it. "That's it," he growls. "Oh, fuck..."
"Yes," Ryan whispers, so dizzy he's spinning, certain only of one constant in the universe. "Sir..."
"You want to come for me, boy?" Sam spits out, not slowing down for a single second.
The dam breaks. "Please, please, Sir," Ryan cries out, all the pleas he's held back washing through him on a rush. "Oh please, god, Sir, please, please let your boy come, please!"
"Go ahead," Sam orders, only holding back his own orgasm long enough to feel Ryan go over first. "Do it."
Ryan screams, his face shoved hard against the counter and the sound too loud for close confines. In an instant everything inside him unfurls, taking him over until all he can do is cling to gravity, mindless and damn near sobbing.
"Fuck, yes," Sam groans, Ryan's body, his screams, shoving him over. He keeps thrusting, cock spurting, emptying every last fucking drop inside his boy.
One shudder after another works its way through Ryan's body, and goddamn he's cold. But he doesn't dare move, not yet. "Sir?" he whispers. "Please?"
Sam lets go of Ryan's neck and eases out, pulling Ryan up with him, his boy turned so he can wrap his arms around him.
Ryan shivers again, freezing, and nearly tackles Sam in his need to touch and be touched. To be subsumed by his Sir. He rubs his damp eyes against Sam's shoulder, trying to wipe away any last evidence of his tears.
Sam hugs the hell out of Ryan. "You're my good boy," he murmurs, kissing the side of his throat. "I love you so much." He lifts his head. "I think we both need something to eat though. Couch or bed? I'll grab the sandwiches."
"Mmm. Couch," Ryan replies, because he doesn't want crumbs and grease in their bed. He doesn't want to move, either. "But only if I can snuggle you on the couch."
"You grab the throws and I'll grab the food," Sam tells him.
That's easily done. Ryan settles slowly onto the couch, the motion a far cry from his usual flying leap from across the room. He yanks not one but two large hand-knitted afghans from the rocking chair, wrapping himself up in one.
Sam plates their sandwiches and grabs two beers from the fridge. A couple of paper towels tucked under his arm and he joins Ryan on the couch, snatching up the remote the moment he has a hand free. "I am so fucking hungry," he says, stomach growling. "These smell so good." He takes a bite and rolls his eyes with pleasure, turning the TV to today's match.
As usual, Ryan spends a moment simply watching Sam eat before turning to his own meal. He always feels a kind of prehistoric satisfaction at knowing he has fed his man. He drapes the blanket around Sam's shoulders and then happily starts on his own lunch.
[feedback welcome. comments screened]
