Sam Worthington and ryan_kwanten: beating

[sam_worthington]

players only. current.



Happy as a fucking clam to be back home in L.A. and off work for a couple of weeks, Sam's stretched out on the couch in worn jeans and a navy tee, beer in hand, watching Misplays of the Month and chuckling his ass off. He loves blooper shows and blooper shows about sports? He loves those even more.

Ryan drapes himself across the back of the couch. "Did they show that one of Ellison from the preseason yet? Fucking hilarious."

"No, but I bet they will," Sam says, smiling up at Ryan. "How was your run?" Attention only half on the TV now.

"Good. Storm's coming in," Ryan answers with a grin for his lover. "Gorgeous moody clouds."

"Uh huh?" Sam grins back and crooks a finger at Ryan. Wanting him closer.

Ryan leans down and kisses Sam, thrilling at the touch. At knowing his lover still wants him.

Wrapping a hand around the back of Ryan's neck, Sam keeps him close, licking into his mouth, his show completely forgotten.

His stomach does a slow flip and Ryan moans softly. It never takes much for Sam to rev him up. To refocus his attention completely.

"You're still too far away," Sam grins, licking across Ryan's lips. "I can't get my hands on you."

With a chuckle Ryan circles the couch and kneels down on the floor next to his lover. "Is this better?"

"Much, except you've got way too many clothes on," Sam says, picking up the remote and turning off the TV.

Ryan can't quell a shiver of anticipation, now that he's got Sam's full attention. "Sorry, Sir. Let me fix that," he murmurs, pulling his shirt off. Then standing to drop his shorts as well before kneeling once more.

"Fuck, I'm a lucky bastard," Sam says, taking a good long incredibly appreciative look. Ryan's like some mythological god come to life. He shakes his head. "Looks like I've been pretty neglectful though."

"Sir?" Ryan quirks an eyebrow, then glances down at his body. "What do you mean?"

"No marks, aside from your piercings, your brand, your tattoo," which is a lot of marks, but he means bruises. "You're unblemished, skin perfectly smooth..." Sam grins, eyes sparkling. "I should fix that."

Ryan's heart starts to race. "Yes, Sir," he agrees softly. "Please mark your boy."

"You know that thick black leather belt you gave me?" Sam prompts, as always drawing everything out, tormenting Ryan every step of the way.

Ryan's heart begins to pound. "The one with the hand-stitching?" he asks, picturing the heavy belt in question.

Sam nods. "Yeah, that's the one."

Oh. God. With a belt like that, even a warm-up is serious. "Would you like me to go and fetch it, Sir?"

Sam nods again. "It and a cock ring."

Ryan wants desperately to know whether the ring is intended for himself or his sir, but he knows better than to ask. He takes off up the stairs at a jog, heading first to the playroom which has been waiting unlocked since they got home. When he returns to the living room he goes to his knees, presenting ring and belt to his sir.

Sam takes the items and sits up, placing his feet on the floor. He sets the belt beside him and reaches out, taking Ryan's nipples, with their piercings, between his fingers, rolling and pinching them.

It's one of Ryan's bulletproof sweet spots, and Sam knows it. Ryan moans and pushes into the touch, even as his mind warns him not to.

"Play with your P.A.," Sam orders, tugging more roughly on Ryan's piercings. "I want you close."

"Ah, fuck." Ryan ghosts his hand over his prick, then tugs at his P.A. with a gasp. He tugs again, gently twisting the piercing, working it in and out of its channel. His breathing grows harsh as he becomes lost in sensation.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, wishing he'd thought to have Ryan grab a set of clamps and chains so he could've linked all three piercings. Made Ryan torment himself as he beats him. "Keep going. Let me know when you're there."

"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, his eyes slipping shut. It's easy to get close with Sam touching him that way, his hand on his cock. Exactly the way he likes it. He yanks on his P.A. and whimpers, then nods. "Close, Sir," he says, stroking himself.

"You can stop then," Sam tells him, reaching for the cock ring and snapping it around the base of Ryan's cock and balls.

Even uncomfortable as it is, there's wicked relief when Sam gives him the ring. Ryan instantly starts to relax, confident now that he can't fuck up their scene by coming too soon.

Sam nods, satisfied, picks up the belt and rises to his feet. "Get on the couch. Knees on the cushions, hands on the back," he orders, liking the idea of not using their playroom for this. Of marking Ryan in broad daylight, in their living room, looking out over the sand and the water.

Kneeling up, Ryan spreads his legs slightly wider. Bracing himself, fingers curled into the sofa back.

"As I said, I've been neglectful," Sam murmurs, tucking the buckle against his palm and wrapping his fist with the leather. "There's not a mark on you." Which doesn't mean he hasn't fucked his boy into the ground. But to leave Ryan unmarked, uncut, unblemished... Damn. There's no excuse. "You have plans for tomorrow, boy?"

"No, Sir. N-- nothing important," Ryan manages.

"Good, because you'll be spending it resting and letting me spoil the hell out of you," Sam tells him, teasing the leather across Ryan's shoulders and down his back to his ass.

"Oh my fucking god," Ryan whispers, driving towards a fever pitch already. "Yes, Sir."

"Good boy, remember you said that," Sam says, bringing the leather in across Ryan's shoulders, nice and easy.

Ryan gasps, not because it hurts but because he's waiting on that first touch, and it's such a relief when it comes. The wait for the next is almost as agonizing, heat and pressure but no pain. Yet.

Sam works over Ryan's shoulders, back and ass, careful of his spine, giving him a good warm up for what's to come next. "Good boy," he praises again, already hard and aching himself. "You ready?"

Ready? Ryan is burning. "Yes, Sir," he groans through clenched teeth, adjusting his position only slightly. He's so fucking grateful Sam gave him the ring.

Now Sam really lays into Ryan. Retracing the same path but this time harder, faster, pink deepening into red into an almost purple, bruises rising.

Ryan doesn't hold back. He shouts in response, his voice ringing off the walls, the glass. Cries out, his eyes wet, and fights not to hunch into himself. Gradually, though, he sinks. The blows begin to feel less like searing pain, and more like a massage. He catches himself slipping down - too far - and struggles to lift his head. "Please."

Please. It's the one single word and the way Ryan's started to slump that pull Sam up. He unwraps the belt from his hand and sits down on the couch. "C'mere," he says, the words more of an order than they might sound to anyone else, already reaching out to pull Ryan down, into his lap. And who the hell knows. Maybe he's got it wrong. Maybe he's stopping the scene for nothing. But something feels off and he's not taking any chances.

Ryan loses his balance at the last, and comes down on Sam harder than he ordinarily would. Immediately curls up to his Sir like he can burrow into him.

Sam stretches for the throw they keep folded over the end of the couch, shaking it out and rearranging it around Ryan the best he can. "You okay?" he asks softly, not necessarily expecting a response right away but needing to ask.

"Mmm." Ryan's freezing and exhausted, his cock a burning weight against his belly. "Take it off," he whispers, clutching at Sam. "Please."

"Of course," Sam says, reaching under the blanket to unsnap the cock ring and toss it on the floor. He wraps his arms even tighter around Ryan, just holding him.

It's what Ryan needs most and he settles in happily. He feels just the slightest of strain in his shoulders, and knows vaguely that there will be hell to pay when he wakes.

Sam can feel Ryan's breathing even out, tell when he's fallen asleep, and he breathes a sigh of relief, shifting just a little so they're both comfortable. He leans his head back, closes his eyes. He's still not sure exactly what happened. Ryan's taken a lot more from him on numerous occasions. But they can talk about that later. Sometimes stuff just happens.

The light is lower when Ryan stirs again, and groans. "Oh, my god." He pushes up to sit with a wince, groggy and seared with pain.

The moment Ryan rouses, Sam does too. "You okay?" he asks again, concern lacing the words. Words which encompass so much more than just the physical.

"Yeah." It's an automatic answer, before Ryan finishes taking stock, but his brain ticks on. "Son of a bitch," he mutters, hesitating with his fingertips hovering just above his shoulder. Then he thinks better of it. "Yeah, I'm okay." He turns his head to find Sam's lips, kissing him deeply.

Sam groans into the kiss, his earlier arousal restoked in an instant. But he holds himself in check, drawing back a fraction when they break for breath. "Talk to me," he says softly. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. Thought I was going to pass out. Didn't know what to do," Ryan says gruffly, resting his head on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, grateful he'd recognized something was wrong. "What about now? Do you want some water?"

"No. Please don't move unless you're taking me to bed," Ryan pleads softly, unwilling to let go just yet.

"Let's do that," Sam says. "I think we could both use to move but I just want to curl up with you."

Ryan slowly unfolds himself and gets to his feet with a grunt. "Think I'm going to be sleeping on my stomach for a while," he says, cracking a small smile. "And I'm going to need some serious mirror time tomorrow, so I can appreciate the full extent of your handiwork."

"I'll take some pictures," Sam promises, standing up, everything aching as he stretches and then takes Ryan's hand, detouring them to the kitchen for a couple bottles of water before leading them upstairs to the bedroom. "You got cheated though. You didn't even get to come."

"Neither did you. That always makes me feel weird," Ryan admits, taking Sam's free hand as he climbs the stairs. He heads straight for their massive bed and collapses onto it, face-first.

"It shouldn't," Sam says, settling on his side next to Ryan. He brushes a kiss across the outside of his shoulder, careful not to touch the bruises. "You should drink some water." He twists the cap off one bottle and offers it to Ryan.

Ryan groans in protest, but he's nothing if not a (mostly) obedient boy. Sitting up, he forces down about half his water before setting the bottle aside on the night stand. "Mmm, you worked me over good. Can I suck you off? Please?"

"That doesn't sound like much of a reward," Sam teases, eyes sparkling, but he lies back, pillow under his head and hands under his pillow. Still dressed.

"It is when you're me, and have you for a Sir," Ryan answers with a smile. He slides his hands indulgently over Sam's chest, then rucks up his navy t-shirt. Licks the treasure trail of hair arrowing downwards, slowly unzipping Sam's fly as he works his way down.

Fuck. Sam shivers, stomach muscles clenching and cock kicking up. He watches Ryan, pretty sure he's an ass for not insisting his boy just rest after the beating he gave him but if Ryan's determined this is his reward, he's sure as hell not going to argue.

"I know what you're thinking," Ryan murmurs, tugging Sam's jeans down his thighs. "Can my boy really be this much of a slut?" He looks up to meet Sam's eyes, and takes his lover's cock into his mouth.

Sam starts to laugh but the sound quickly dissolves into a groan, one hand sliding down immediately to work its way into Ryan's hair. "Oh, fuck," he murmurs, licking his lips. "I already know you're a slut, my slut. I'm just amazed at your stamina."

"It hurts," Ryan states simply. "It incredibly hurts. And I'm so fucking hot for you right now that I'm lucky you're indulging me." Sliding down to the root, he lightly scrapes his teeth up the length.

That gets another soft curse, Sam groaning, eyes half-closing as he watches Ryan, tugging lightly at his hair. "You deserve it. My good boy."

Even after all this time together, those words haven't lost their power. Ryan moans softly and starts to suck, long slow pulls on the length.

It takes almost nothing to put Sam right back where he was during the beating, hard and aching, and so fucking close... He pulls harder on Ryan's hair, hips starting to rock slightly, greet every drop. "Fuck, yes," he breathes, balls drawing up.

Ryan whimpers, pushing into Sam's touch like it's a caress. He wraps his hand around the base of Sam's cock and jerks in time with his mouth, using every bit of skill he can muster right now.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," Sam warns, only seconds before he does just that, spilling hot and heavy, fingernails scraping against Ryan's scalp.

It's a victory every time. Ryan moans in approval - he'd grin if he could - and sucks his lover's seed down, licking in the wake, laving with his tongue.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, tugging Ryan up a little. "Now come on me. You've got permission. Any way you want it."

"Any way?" Ryan echoes, to be sure. Hell, coming on Sam at all is a bonus. He straddles his lover, their cocks pressing together, and wraps his hand around them. Ignoring how sensitive Sam must be growing and using him to jack off.

Sam winces a little but urges Ryan on, "That's it. C'mon, boy. You earned this." Watching Ryan above him, so fucking gorgeous.

It doesn't take much, not like this. Ryan arches his back and fire streaks through him, and like that he comes with a loud groan. His fingers slip in the slickness and he rocks against Sam through every last aftershock.

"God, I love watching you come," Sam says, grinning, his softening cock giving a deliberate jerk.

"Mmm. I'm happy to oblige," Ryan murmurs hazily. He cautiously lies down on his side next to his lover.

Sam laughs and smiles at Ryan. "I love you."

"Love you. And you are absolutely going to baby me now," Ryan insists, though he's only agreeing with what Sam promised earlier.

"Absolutely," Sam says, unable to stop grinning, so blissfully happy it feels like he might never stop.

[feedback very welcome. comments screened.]