Sam Worthington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_worthington) wrote2015-09-23 08:56 am
sam_worthington) wrote2015-09-23 08:56 am
Sam Worthington and ryan_kwanten: after Ryan's reward
players only. backdated to summer 2014. takes place the day after Sam follows through on his promise to Ryan.
Sam wakes early, feeling completely hungover despite having only had a couple of beers the day before. He slips from the bed, up earlier than Ryan even, and wanders down to the kitchen, his stomach grumbling since they'd stayed passed out after Ryan fucked him. He manages to put together a couple of eggs and some toast but he's not really hungry after all. Ends up settled on the couch, looking out at the water, a throw wrapped around him.
When Ryan first stirs awake, some conditioned part of his brain comes to full alert before the rest of his mind, warning him to rise quietly so as to not disturb his lover. So it's a hazy double-take when he realizes Sam isn't even there, not in bed, not in the bathroom, not... Ryan checks the time and reviews Sam's schedule for the day. Then he scrambles to clean up and get his ass downstairs.
"Hey," he says, jogging down the steps with a smile and dropping a kiss on the top of Sam's head. "You're up early."
Sam nods. "I thought I was hungry," he says, moving his feet so Ryan can sit down if he wants to.
"You thought you were hungry?" Ryan repeats, checking if he heard right. "I thought there were only two times in life when you're not hungry," he teases, settling in and propping his feet up on the coffee table, then pulling Sam's legs to drape over his lap. "Either you only just ate, or you're in the middle of sex and you're so busy you forgot how hungry you are."
Sam manages a small smile at that but he still feels wrapped in cotton, his head fuzzy, everything slow, dragged out. "I made some eggs and toast but I didn't want it," he says. "I don't know. Maybe I'm coming down with something."
Ryan eyes Sam critically for a long moment, then shakes his head without comment. He and Sam have been through this before. Only once, perhaps, but it sure stands out in Ryan's memory. "Come here, love," he murmurs, shifting on the couch to wrap his arms around his husband. "Maybe just some coffee, to start?" he asks, petting Sam's hair. "Tea?"
Sam nods. "Coffee sounds good," he murmurs, but he's already wrapped his arm around Ryan and he has no intention of moving.
"All right." Ryan presses his lips to Sam's temple. He settles into the moment, unhurried and relaxed in a way they rarely get to be together these days. Sam's professional success is an amazing thing, but it sure does keep them jumping. "Let's just hang here today," he says, phrasing it like it's a suggestion – when really he's got no intention of doing anything else. "Chill out together."
"You're not working out?" Sam asks, used to his husband running first thing in the morning.
"Eh." Ryan shrugs. "Maybe later." He trails his fingers over Sam's nape. "Want a massage?" Because he will by-god coddle Sam on The Morning After even if he has to pretend like it's just another normal day.
Sam nods. "Sure." It might not be the best idea – right now he feels like he could go right back to sleep – but he never says no to Ryan touching him. Not unless he's tormenting his boy.
"Okay. Go stretch out and get comfortable, yeah?" Ryan coaxes, giving Sam a kiss. "I'll be there in two."
Sam sits up, dragging a hand through his hair before he gets to his feet. "Don't be long or I'm likely to fall back asleep," he says, heading for the stairs.
It's more than the promised two minutes, but Ryan brews a cup of fresh coffee and carries it upstairs along with a cold glass of water. He's not going to let his Sir get dehydrated. "Here, love. Drink," he orders gently, holding out the glass to Sam before he'll give up the mug of coffee. "I'm just grabbing some lotion."
Sitting up against the headboard, Sam gulps down the water and then hands the glass back, exchanging it for the mug. "Can you bring me something for my head?" he asks, the slow-building ache having turned into something fierce.
"Yeah baby, of course." Oops. That's a slip – Ryan knows Sam kind of hates that endearment, and so it's rare that Ryan uses it at all... But only ever at times like this, after he's topped his lover but good. Which fact he's trying not to draw attention to. Returning from the ensuite bath, he opens his hand to reveal a couple painkillers waiting in his palm. "Lie down and turn over when you're ready," he says softly. "I'll work on your shoulders."
Sam takes the pills and then shifts down, onto his stomach, his pillow bunched under his head. He knows he's being unnaturally quiet and docile but he feels too shitty to care. Or wonder why. He's obviously coming down with something.
His Sir and husband lying quietly, waiting for Ryan to come put hands on him... Ordinarily, this is a moment when Ryan would be getting as naked as humanly possible. But today he actually pulls on a pair of board shorts before he gets onto the bed, then straddles his lover low on his hips. He rubs massage oil between his palms, warming it, then begins to work on the knots at the base of Sam's neck.
Sam makes a soft sound of pleasure, his eyes closed, body relaxing under Ryan's weight and touch.
Ryan works in silence for several minutes, feeling his way. Alert to every nuance of response from his husband. "Is your head starting to feel better?" he asks finally, sliding his fingers along the cords of muscle of Sam's nape.
"Yeah, a little," Sam says, words slightly slurred against the pillow. "Feels good..." His cock slowly hardening beneath him, pressed tight between his stomach and the bed.
"Okay." Ryan nods in satisfaction and slips his hands over Sam's shoulders, down his back. "Gotta keep you in fighting shape," he murmurs, grinning to himself.
Sam gives a soft laugh, another groan spilling from his lips as Ryan works him over. And sure enough, the more his lover touches him, the better he feels, the fog slowly lifting.
"Do you want me to do your feet next, or just work my way down and get there when I get there?" Ryan asks, kneading Sam's glutes – in the most indifferent and professional manner as he can manage, of course.
"Work your way down," Sam says, shifting slightly, his cock starting to get uncomfortable.
"All right." Shifting position as he needs to, Ryan moves to devote attention to Sam's hamstrings, massaging all tension out of the large muscles. "When you start training really hard again, we can do this more often," he suggests softly, now focusing on Sam's calves. "I mean, I know they'll have PTs to look after you, but just, a little bit extra at home."
"You're better than any PT," Sam murmurs, and he means it. Ryan knows what he's doing.
Ryan's grin is abashed, shy but smug. Slipping from the bed to the floor he drips more oil onto his hands. "Roll over," he whispers, trying to make it sound like a request and not an order.
Sam stretches and turns over, his pillow pushed aside and his hands at his side. His head's still aching a little and he feels... quieter than usual, but who knows. Maybe he just got up on the wrong side of the bed.
Taking Sam's left foot into his hands, Ryan glances up and freezes for an instant – an instant of pure feral appreciation of his lover's gorgeous and fully-hard cock. Ryan inhales deeply, his lips curving at the thought of the treat to come. Then he gets back to work, firmly sliding his thumbs along Sam's sole, finally putting his newly-acquired reflexology education to the test, after the training he completed last month.
"Oh, fuck," Sam murmurs, the sensation going from ticklish to so-fucking-good in two seconds flat. He'd thought Ryan's massaging his back had relaxed him fully but apparently not given the way he feels now.
"That's it," Ryan whispers, gently feeling his way. He wonders if he can reduce Sam to jelly and yet still leave his prick so gloriously hard and ready...
Sam groans. "Is this the stuff you learned in your class?"
"Yeah," Ryan answers, pleased that Sam thought to ask. "Is it working for you?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. God. You'll have to explain it to me," he says with another groan. "Some other time." Because god knows, he's got no hope in hell of focusing right now.
Smiling, Ryan turns his attention to the other foot, and devotes just as much time and care. It's difficult to concentrate now, though, his eye drawn again and again to his lover's cock, so damn ready... "Sir?" he whispers, prowling back up the bed. He tightens his muscles with a gasp, and peeks at his husband from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. "I need you. Please?"
Sam grins, his cock giving a jerk between them. "You want to ride me? Or you want me on top?"
"Maybe..." Ducking down, Ryan licks a long slow stripe from root to tip of Sam's cock. "Maybe you could fuck me through the mattress?"
"Yeah?" Sam's grin widens and he suddenly shifts out from under Ryan, draping himself over his boy's back, one arm keeping him on all fours, the wet tip of his cock pressed to Ryan's already slicked hole. "Tell me again."
Ryan's surprised breath bursts from him on a moan. "Sir," he groans, dropping even further to press his face against the pillow, his ass high in the air. "Please fucking pound my ass."
Sam pushes forward, groaning as he penetrates that first tight ring of muscle. "Fuck, yeah, let me in," he breathes. Demands.
A soft keening whine as Ryan bears down to make the path easier. Because he knows that fuck yeah Sam is going to take him, easy or not. That knowledge is like a rush of electricity through his body, and he jerks back, trying to get his sir deeper.
Bottoming out, Sam rocks his hips, getting every last fucking fraction of an inch before he pulls back and drives in again.
Ryan whimpers, his face mashed against the pillow. It feels like Sam is ripping him open and goddamn he craves that violence – lusts after every shock of pain that jars him.
Sam leans back, grasping the fronts of Ryan's thighs in his hands. He pulls out to the tip, fascinated by the sight of Ryan's gaping hole and then plunges back in, hard, rough, holding nothing back. And again.
"Yes," Ryan gasps, giving himself up entirely to his Sir. "Yes," he begs. "More, please!" More, always.
Fully in his element now, Sam drives into Ryan mercilessly, pounding the hell out of his boy, Ryan's hole growing red and swollen. He uses every last ounce of willpower to hold on, hold out, as long as he can, riding the edge of his own orgasm, his balls drawing up tight.
There's no begging now. Not for anything. Ryan struggles simply to hold himself in place and take it, take it all, water stinging behind his eyelids.
Finally there's no holding back and Sam shouts, the sound filling the room as his seed fills his boy, hot and thick and heavy.
Ryan cries out, feeling that wet heat everywhere, outside as well as inside. "Please," he gasps. "Please Sir let your boy come!"
Sam nods, breathing heavily when he orders, "Do it."
His muscles seem to spasm in panic, and Ryan drops his hips to rub his aching cock against the bed. He sprays hot on the linens and damn near melts, pleasure rioting through him.
Fuck. Sam lowers them both to the bed, shifting slightly to the side, his cock slowly slipping from Ryan. He kisses the back of his husband's neck, arm tight around his waist and chuckles softly. "I thought I was coming down with something, but maybe not."
"No, I'd say you're in top shape," Ryan murmurs, snuggling in even closer to soak up more of Sam's body heat. He gives his Sir a hazy grin.
"Thanks to you and your miracle massage," Sam says, grinning back.
[feedback welcome. comments screened.]
Sam wakes early, feeling completely hungover despite having only had a couple of beers the day before. He slips from the bed, up earlier than Ryan even, and wanders down to the kitchen, his stomach grumbling since they'd stayed passed out after Ryan fucked him. He manages to put together a couple of eggs and some toast but he's not really hungry after all. Ends up settled on the couch, looking out at the water, a throw wrapped around him.
When Ryan first stirs awake, some conditioned part of his brain comes to full alert before the rest of his mind, warning him to rise quietly so as to not disturb his lover. So it's a hazy double-take when he realizes Sam isn't even there, not in bed, not in the bathroom, not... Ryan checks the time and reviews Sam's schedule for the day. Then he scrambles to clean up and get his ass downstairs.
"Hey," he says, jogging down the steps with a smile and dropping a kiss on the top of Sam's head. "You're up early."
Sam nods. "I thought I was hungry," he says, moving his feet so Ryan can sit down if he wants to.
"You thought you were hungry?" Ryan repeats, checking if he heard right. "I thought there were only two times in life when you're not hungry," he teases, settling in and propping his feet up on the coffee table, then pulling Sam's legs to drape over his lap. "Either you only just ate, or you're in the middle of sex and you're so busy you forgot how hungry you are."
Sam manages a small smile at that but he still feels wrapped in cotton, his head fuzzy, everything slow, dragged out. "I made some eggs and toast but I didn't want it," he says. "I don't know. Maybe I'm coming down with something."
Ryan eyes Sam critically for a long moment, then shakes his head without comment. He and Sam have been through this before. Only once, perhaps, but it sure stands out in Ryan's memory. "Come here, love," he murmurs, shifting on the couch to wrap his arms around his husband. "Maybe just some coffee, to start?" he asks, petting Sam's hair. "Tea?"
Sam nods. "Coffee sounds good," he murmurs, but he's already wrapped his arm around Ryan and he has no intention of moving.
"All right." Ryan presses his lips to Sam's temple. He settles into the moment, unhurried and relaxed in a way they rarely get to be together these days. Sam's professional success is an amazing thing, but it sure does keep them jumping. "Let's just hang here today," he says, phrasing it like it's a suggestion – when really he's got no intention of doing anything else. "Chill out together."
"You're not working out?" Sam asks, used to his husband running first thing in the morning.
"Eh." Ryan shrugs. "Maybe later." He trails his fingers over Sam's nape. "Want a massage?" Because he will by-god coddle Sam on The Morning After even if he has to pretend like it's just another normal day.
Sam nods. "Sure." It might not be the best idea – right now he feels like he could go right back to sleep – but he never says no to Ryan touching him. Not unless he's tormenting his boy.
"Okay. Go stretch out and get comfortable, yeah?" Ryan coaxes, giving Sam a kiss. "I'll be there in two."
Sam sits up, dragging a hand through his hair before he gets to his feet. "Don't be long or I'm likely to fall back asleep," he says, heading for the stairs.
It's more than the promised two minutes, but Ryan brews a cup of fresh coffee and carries it upstairs along with a cold glass of water. He's not going to let his Sir get dehydrated. "Here, love. Drink," he orders gently, holding out the glass to Sam before he'll give up the mug of coffee. "I'm just grabbing some lotion."
Sitting up against the headboard, Sam gulps down the water and then hands the glass back, exchanging it for the mug. "Can you bring me something for my head?" he asks, the slow-building ache having turned into something fierce.
"Yeah baby, of course." Oops. That's a slip – Ryan knows Sam kind of hates that endearment, and so it's rare that Ryan uses it at all... But only ever at times like this, after he's topped his lover but good. Which fact he's trying not to draw attention to. Returning from the ensuite bath, he opens his hand to reveal a couple painkillers waiting in his palm. "Lie down and turn over when you're ready," he says softly. "I'll work on your shoulders."
Sam takes the pills and then shifts down, onto his stomach, his pillow bunched under his head. He knows he's being unnaturally quiet and docile but he feels too shitty to care. Or wonder why. He's obviously coming down with something.
His Sir and husband lying quietly, waiting for Ryan to come put hands on him... Ordinarily, this is a moment when Ryan would be getting as naked as humanly possible. But today he actually pulls on a pair of board shorts before he gets onto the bed, then straddles his lover low on his hips. He rubs massage oil between his palms, warming it, then begins to work on the knots at the base of Sam's neck.
Sam makes a soft sound of pleasure, his eyes closed, body relaxing under Ryan's weight and touch.
Ryan works in silence for several minutes, feeling his way. Alert to every nuance of response from his husband. "Is your head starting to feel better?" he asks finally, sliding his fingers along the cords of muscle of Sam's nape.
"Yeah, a little," Sam says, words slightly slurred against the pillow. "Feels good..." His cock slowly hardening beneath him, pressed tight between his stomach and the bed.
"Okay." Ryan nods in satisfaction and slips his hands over Sam's shoulders, down his back. "Gotta keep you in fighting shape," he murmurs, grinning to himself.
Sam gives a soft laugh, another groan spilling from his lips as Ryan works him over. And sure enough, the more his lover touches him, the better he feels, the fog slowly lifting.
"Do you want me to do your feet next, or just work my way down and get there when I get there?" Ryan asks, kneading Sam's glutes – in the most indifferent and professional manner as he can manage, of course.
"Work your way down," Sam says, shifting slightly, his cock starting to get uncomfortable.
"All right." Shifting position as he needs to, Ryan moves to devote attention to Sam's hamstrings, massaging all tension out of the large muscles. "When you start training really hard again, we can do this more often," he suggests softly, now focusing on Sam's calves. "I mean, I know they'll have PTs to look after you, but just, a little bit extra at home."
"You're better than any PT," Sam murmurs, and he means it. Ryan knows what he's doing.
Ryan's grin is abashed, shy but smug. Slipping from the bed to the floor he drips more oil onto his hands. "Roll over," he whispers, trying to make it sound like a request and not an order.
Sam stretches and turns over, his pillow pushed aside and his hands at his side. His head's still aching a little and he feels... quieter than usual, but who knows. Maybe he just got up on the wrong side of the bed.
Taking Sam's left foot into his hands, Ryan glances up and freezes for an instant – an instant of pure feral appreciation of his lover's gorgeous and fully-hard cock. Ryan inhales deeply, his lips curving at the thought of the treat to come. Then he gets back to work, firmly sliding his thumbs along Sam's sole, finally putting his newly-acquired reflexology education to the test, after the training he completed last month.
"Oh, fuck," Sam murmurs, the sensation going from ticklish to so-fucking-good in two seconds flat. He'd thought Ryan's massaging his back had relaxed him fully but apparently not given the way he feels now.
"That's it," Ryan whispers, gently feeling his way. He wonders if he can reduce Sam to jelly and yet still leave his prick so gloriously hard and ready...
Sam groans. "Is this the stuff you learned in your class?"
"Yeah," Ryan answers, pleased that Sam thought to ask. "Is it working for you?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. God. You'll have to explain it to me," he says with another groan. "Some other time." Because god knows, he's got no hope in hell of focusing right now.
Smiling, Ryan turns his attention to the other foot, and devotes just as much time and care. It's difficult to concentrate now, though, his eye drawn again and again to his lover's cock, so damn ready... "Sir?" he whispers, prowling back up the bed. He tightens his muscles with a gasp, and peeks at his husband from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. "I need you. Please?"
Sam grins, his cock giving a jerk between them. "You want to ride me? Or you want me on top?"
"Maybe..." Ducking down, Ryan licks a long slow stripe from root to tip of Sam's cock. "Maybe you could fuck me through the mattress?"
"Yeah?" Sam's grin widens and he suddenly shifts out from under Ryan, draping himself over his boy's back, one arm keeping him on all fours, the wet tip of his cock pressed to Ryan's already slicked hole. "Tell me again."
Ryan's surprised breath bursts from him on a moan. "Sir," he groans, dropping even further to press his face against the pillow, his ass high in the air. "Please fucking pound my ass."
Sam pushes forward, groaning as he penetrates that first tight ring of muscle. "Fuck, yeah, let me in," he breathes. Demands.
A soft keening whine as Ryan bears down to make the path easier. Because he knows that fuck yeah Sam is going to take him, easy or not. That knowledge is like a rush of electricity through his body, and he jerks back, trying to get his sir deeper.
Bottoming out, Sam rocks his hips, getting every last fucking fraction of an inch before he pulls back and drives in again.
Ryan whimpers, his face mashed against the pillow. It feels like Sam is ripping him open and goddamn he craves that violence – lusts after every shock of pain that jars him.
Sam leans back, grasping the fronts of Ryan's thighs in his hands. He pulls out to the tip, fascinated by the sight of Ryan's gaping hole and then plunges back in, hard, rough, holding nothing back. And again.
"Yes," Ryan gasps, giving himself up entirely to his Sir. "Yes," he begs. "More, please!" More, always.
Fully in his element now, Sam drives into Ryan mercilessly, pounding the hell out of his boy, Ryan's hole growing red and swollen. He uses every last ounce of willpower to hold on, hold out, as long as he can, riding the edge of his own orgasm, his balls drawing up tight.
There's no begging now. Not for anything. Ryan struggles simply to hold himself in place and take it, take it all, water stinging behind his eyelids.
Finally there's no holding back and Sam shouts, the sound filling the room as his seed fills his boy, hot and thick and heavy.
Ryan cries out, feeling that wet heat everywhere, outside as well as inside. "Please," he gasps. "Please Sir let your boy come!"
Sam nods, breathing heavily when he orders, "Do it."
His muscles seem to spasm in panic, and Ryan drops his hips to rub his aching cock against the bed. He sprays hot on the linens and damn near melts, pleasure rioting through him.
Fuck. Sam lowers them both to the bed, shifting slightly to the side, his cock slowly slipping from Ryan. He kisses the back of his husband's neck, arm tight around his waist and chuckles softly. "I thought I was coming down with something, but maybe not."
"No, I'd say you're in top shape," Ryan murmurs, snuggling in even closer to soak up more of Sam's body heat. He gives his Sir a hazy grin.
"Thanks to you and your miracle massage," Sam says, grinning back.
[feedback welcome. comments screened.]