(FILL) nightlight

Date: 2014-08-21 04:39 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Frank knows better than most how easy it is for people to get used to a routine. Seeing an endless sea of faces each day, performing the same inane tasks, asking the same perfunctory questions: at a certain point the mind just starts to filter it out without you ever really noticing.

Somehow he's gotten used to sleeping with both of his hands chained to the headboard. Oftentimes he nearly dislocates a shoulder in the night, body twisting and rolling as he sleeps, uncaring that his right hand is bolted in place. It isn't typically a problem, potential dislocation aside; just another part of his bedtime routine, Carl locking his arms in place and then turning off the lights, hiding the key that would grant Frank freedom some place where Frank can't see.

Tonight, though, tonight has Frank rethinking just what it is he's agreed to.

"Carl," he whispers, prodding the older man's calf with his foot. "C'mon, Carl, I know you don't sleep that hard." Carl makes a noise, lets Frank knows he's awake, for a given value of consciousness. Frank takes it for the acknowledgment it is. "I gotta use the bathroom, Carl. Lemmie out."

"Hold it," Carl tells him, as if it's that easy, as if Frank hasn't been trying to fall back asleep since he woke up twenty minutes ago. Frank groans in frustration.

"I fuckin' can't, Carl. Help me out here, please. You want me to beg? I'm beggin'."

Carl rolls over and looks at him, squinting, must be twice as blind than usual, seeing as it's so dark and he's not wearing his glasses. He sighs and raises up onto one hand, asks, "You call that beggin', kid?" so glibly that Frank groans. He feels about two minutes away from pissing himself and Carl wants to play games, fucking great.

"Actually," Carl says, tone considering, something that never bodes well for Franks well being. "I gotta way that'll help you hold it."

"Don't fuck with me here, Carl," Frank flat out begs, voice whiny like the teenager he is. "I'm not playin'."

"Who says I'm playin'?" Carl asks back, mocking Frank's tone. "Alright, hold still, you'll like this." Frank seriously doubts that, but he starts to change his mind as Carl groans and sits himself down on Frank's thighs.

He rubs Frank through his underwear, and Frank tries to reach of for Carl, return the favor by stroking his hands across Carl's shoulders, maybe squeeze his throat a little, but any attempts of moving are cut short by the cuffs, keep Frank vulnerable.

Carl notices, because of course he does, and Frank sees his teeth glint in the dark of the room, the predatoriness of his smile. "Kinda tied up, aren't ya?" He remarks, mirth obvious in his words. Frank wants to cuss him out, but he's gasping before he can even think of a comeback, Carl ticking the sensitive skin on his belly, right above the waistband of his boxers.

"Carl, Carl please no," Frank begs. His body tightens, and he knows that one moment of weakness on his part will having him soaking the sheets.

Carl does as he's asked, relents just as quickly as he'd started, holding his arms up in the air placatingly. "Alright, lets see if this works instead," he says vaguely, before stuffing a hand down into Frank's underwear and wrapping around his dick. "I don't care which it is, but you better gimmie something, Frank."

Frank gasps, his body doesn't know whether to push into Carl's hand or squirm away. He'd already been nearly half hard with how badly he needed to piss, and to switch gears so quickly into arousal hurts. His body doesn't know what's happening, what to do. He keens, fucks up into Carl's fist and tries to buck him off his legs at the same time.

"Carl," Frank chokes out, follows that up with a half-swallowed scream and then takes up chanting Carl's name, pleading for something, but fuck if Frank knows what.

"There we are," Carl praises once Frank's fully hard. Frank feels tears slip down his cheeks, but doesn't actually register crying. It's a slight relief, the need he felt before pushed into the back of his mind, still there, still slightly incessant, but not nearly as bad and pressing as it'd been before. The need to come has taken that role, a new kind of ache fulling Frank up from the inside. "Let go for me, kid."

Frank comes and it feels like drowning, his lungs frozen for the first few pulses. His heartbeat is racing in his ears, the loud thumps scaring him. He gasps in the middle of it, choking on air. Somehow he manages to keep his eyes open, but damn if he can see anything out of them but sparks of white.

He's still gasping for breath once he's done, Carl wiping off any of the mess Frank got on him, speaking it into his pubes, the cotton of his boxers. He tucks Frank back into his boxers once he's done, leans down so that his full weight is spread over Frank's body, his greater bulk pressing Frank into the mattress.

"Look at how well you held it," Carl praises. Frank can feel the hard line of his cock pressing against his own slowly softening one. "I think you've earned some relief. Let go, kid. It's alright."

Frank's face heats up, and he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak, but a pained little grunt is all that comes out at first. "No, Carl. It ain't funny; let me go." Now that he's come, the need to piss his back again, his dick isn't getting soft, can't with how bad he needs to go. Carl's body pressing down on his stomach isn't doing Frank any favors.

Carl bears down harder, puts all his weight on Frank's middle, his eyes keen and sharp. "Go already. I'm not askin' you."

Frank's eyes start to tear up again, but he tries to do what Carl's ordering of him anyway. It hurts: he's held it too long, his dicks still confused from the orgasm, unsure of what it should be letting out and when, but Frank keeps at it, concentrates, squeezes his thighs.

Finally, after what feels like a full minute delay, he slowly starts to pee, slowly at first, his dick sore and stinging and oversensitive. After a bit it picks up and Frank is confronted with a warm wetness filling his lap, soaking the fabric of his boxers, slipping and dripping down his legs. It feels so good, amazing, nearly as good as coming had felt. Frank realizes that Carl has to be soaked too, that his dick must be wet and warm because of Frank.

Carl dips his head in and presses kisses to the corners of his lips, swallowing up the little gasping, shuttering sighs that Frank is unable to stop himself from letting out. Frank gasping for real when Carl starts to grind himself against Frank's pelvis. Frank's still pissing, isn't sure if he'll ever stop, he feels so full, and it feels so great to keep going.

"You're so good for me," Carl whispers into his mouth as he comes. "Don't even think about feelin' embarrassed, you're doing so good." Frank groans, pleased, even though he has no idea how he'll look at Carl in the light of day, had no idea how in the hell he's supposed to wash these sheets and pretend that he doesn't know what happened on them. Carl keeps praising him, though, and Frank keeps listening.
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