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Content warnings: Daddy kink (title only), puppy play (sort of? Vinny’s “pup,” but there’s no active pet play in this fic), implied self-consciousness on Ryan's part, body comments (all positive, but they do touch on shape/size), body worship, kind-of oral through/over fabric, mild dirty talk, anal fingering, riding, unprotected anal sex, little dick!Vin (beloved boy).
Summary: Vinny buys Ryan lace boxers, and he's starstruck by how his boyfriend looks in them.
Word count: Approx. 5,600 words
Author's note: Jester finally finished the "Ryan in lace" fic!! It got sappier than I meant it to, and there's a touch of angst that I didn't plan on including, but I think I managed a little bit of heat to make the hefty word count worth it. Thanks to @desperatetype for the beta read! He's also largely to blame for the way the GGs live rent-free in my head, amen. Title comes from "U(phoria)" by Mirrorcell. The song does not fit this fic in any way, but the line struck a chord for it. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
Vinny wasn’t surprised that Ricky was being nosy. He also wasn’t caught off guard by Ricky’s request to film the moment he gave Ryan his gift. He was willing to humor the former (Ricky would find out eventually anyways) but wasn’t budging on the latter.
“It’s lacy boxers. Some lingerie shit. Chris got me a discount. And no, he won’t take them if you’ve got your camera shoved in his face.”
Ricky proceeded to reach into the gift bag, crinkling the stupid bubblegum pink paper Vinny had stuffed it with as he pulled out the boxers in question. He held them up, frowned at them. “You think he’ll take them at all?” he asked, arching his eyebrows.
Vinny shrugged. “I’m really convincing.” When Ricky snorted, Vinny swatted at his head. “Fuck off. You have no idea what puppy dog eyes and a sweet daddy is capable of,” he huffed.
A grimace from Ricky, presumably because of what Vinny’s words had led him to visualize. “Hate it. Thanks.” As if he was any better when it came to Chris. And Justin wasn’t dating anyone in the band but was somehow the horniest out of all of them.
“Yeah, well, you need to fuck off. I’m serious. You’re not third-wheeling me giving my boyfriend slutty boxers.” Though third-wheeling usually implied feeling awkward, and Vinny was pretty sure that Ricky had never felt awkward a day in his life (he definitely should have — like, on a daily basis).
Ricky looked at the finger Vinny pointed in his direction as if he was debating biting it (or worse), so Vinny switched to flapping a hand at him. “You better tell me if he actually wears them,” he said, tucking the boxers back in the bag and setting it aside. “You’re really giving him them on the tour bus, though?”
That earned a frown from Vinny. “Duh? I finally got them today. I’m not waiting.” He perked up when he heard the tour bus door open and Ryan’s voice, overlapping with the sound of the door shutting loudly behind him. “Now—“ Vinny flailed with both hands.
Thankfully, Ricky just rolled his eyes and headed out, passing Ryan on the way — Vinny saw him pat Ryan’s chest but not say a word.
“Ominous,” Ryan declared as he plopped down on the couch. He almost sat on the bag, and Vinny had to scramble to snatch it up. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. Didn’t see it.” He sprawled back, legs spread a little as he hit his vape and then perched it on the nice upper curve of his stomach, highlighted by his slight slouch.
Vinny set the bag aside again so he could get a kiss, rub his hands all over Ryan’s chest, maybe give his shoulders a squeeze. His boyfriend was hot as fuck, okay, he wasn’t ashamed by his own eagerness to appreciate that fact. “I got you a present,” he told Ryan without really pulling away from the kiss.
It seemed like Ryan understood the words anyways, muffled as they were. “Me?” He pulled back to crane his head and peer over at the bag suspiciously. “Is it the one in the ‘just married’ bag?” he asked.
“Yep.” Ryan seemed unsurprised as Vinny snagged the handles and swung the bag at Ryan expectantly.
Ryan managed to catch it on a forward swing. “Maybe don’t smack me in the face with it?” He didn’t sound angry, though; his tone was perplexed, maybe a touch intrigued. He sat up to balance the bag on one knee and dug around in it.
A furrow to Ryan’s brow, a pause, and then he pulled out the boxers. They weren’t anything too special, just black lace boxers composed of flower patterns — closer to a gothic vibe than anything necessarily feminine, at least according to Chris.
Vinny had just imagined Ryan’s dick dressed in lace and proceeded to violently drool, which had made the decision for him. He definitely owed Chris some sort of favor for the hookup.
“These are for me?” Ryan clarified, holding them up and frowning at the fabric.
That made Vinny snort. “They’re too big for me.” Clearly. Though they didn’t quite look Ryan-sized held up like that. He was going to die of disappointment if they had to send the pair back for a different size.
A glance from Ryan. He opened his mouth, looked back at the boxers, shut it. “Is this a serious gift? I have a hard time telling with you sometimes,” he remarked, chewing on his bottom lip.
None of those words had been a no. In fact, if Vinny had to guess, he’d say Ryan was considering it. Hope was alive. “Serious as shit, Daddy. You got me those panties the other day, right? Figured you wouldn’t be able to wear something like that but this is still sexy. Sexier than your alien boxers from Walmart.”
Ryan snorted. “Leave my Great Value boxers alone.” It was a half-hearted protest, and he ran his fingers over some of the floral pattern etched into the black lace before shrugging. “Fuck it,” he said.
Vinny leaned in, hand settling on Ryan’s upper thigh. “Fuck it as in you’ll wear them for me, or fuck it as in you’re throwing them away? Well. Don’t throw them away. They deserve to live to cover a sexy man’s ass.” And Vinny wanted a refund.
A soft laugh as Ryan ruffled Vinny’s hair with one hand, tucking the boxers back into the bag with the other. “Fuck it as in I’ll wear them for you. Spoiled rotten puppy,” he answered, the last sentence muttered with a fondness even Vinny could recognize.
“Thank youuu,” Vinny sang, nuzzling into Ryan’s cheek.
It wasn’t like Ryan could strut around the tour bus in them. Unfortunately. Vinny thought it’d be pretty cool of him to, and it’d be good for band morale, but Ryan had just snorted at the argument, so clearly it wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
Which meant that Vinny was stuck waiting until the next night they had at a hotel; he tried not to pine for it, but he still huffed and puffed about it pretty often. When they were getting ready for their last set before the best night of his life, he kept batting his lashes at Ryan like Ryan had any power over the flow of time — and, apparently, he didn’t, because it took forever for the show to actually start.
The performance went quickly. Vinny only fucked up once, but it was the kind of slip that left him with a busted finger and a short temper after the show. He managed to get through tear-down okay and only almost bit Ricky’s head off, refusing to actually take care of his finger until the whole thing was finished.
And maybe the delay was to ensure Ryan could baby him. Big guy had big hands, but they handled Vinny so gently as he squinted down at the digit and went about cleaning and bandaging it. Vinny soaked up the attention, demanding kisses for sitting so well, and maybe the two of them almost tumbled onto the green room couch to fuck.
Chris interrupted — poor Chris — to let them know the bus was ready to take off, and Vinny was up in an instant, dragging Ryan along after him as best he could for the size difference. “C’mooooon,” he groaned, leaning all of his weight into hauling Ryan, “we’re almost theeeere.”
There was no reason for Ryan to fight Vinny, so clearly he only dug his heels in to earn puffed cheeks and a scowl. “I can walk just fine, baby boy,” Ryan laughed, ruffling Vinny’s hair and pressing a kiss to his sweat-damp mop of hair. He kept a hand on the small of Vinny’s back to placate the smaller man, but he managed to enforce a more reasonably paced trek to the bus.
Vinny plopped in Ryan’s lap the second they were inside. They took up a good portion of the couch, but it wasn’t like people were really fighting for it. Chris was taking a call on one end of the bus; Ricky was in his bunk, typing away on his computer like his dumb stories were going to run away if he didn’t capture them on the page quick enough; and Justin was laying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and groaning to himself.
“What’s up, dude?” Vinny called down to Justin, wiggling around until he was comfortable (and maybe a little more after that, just to tease Ryan — until hands settled on his hips and forced him to go still).
Another groan. “My fucking ankle, dude. I slipped doing gay shit with Ryan, and now it’s killing me,” Justin complained, lifting his foot in the air to roll his ankle with a grimace.
Ryan barely muffled a snort into Vinny’s shoulder. “Not my fault you got so excited to smooch me, dude,” he clarified, as if he didn’t want any sort of blame placed on him.
One of Justin’s hair ties went flying and nailed Ryan in the face, even as Vinny guffawed. “You were doing gay shit with my boyfriend?” He sounded scandalized, leaning forward and trusting Ryan to catch him if he lost his balance. He squinted down at Justin suspiciously, brow crinkling. “You think you know a guy . . .” A tsk, a slow shake of his head.
“Oh, fuck off, dude. Ryan started it. Probably because he’s horny about getting you alone tonight,” Justin griped back, putting his leg flat once more and muttering something about dying there, on the bus floor, among the dropped chips and spilled popcorn. With the trash, where he belongs, et cetera.
Now that line of argument had Vinny preening and beaming up at Ryan, Justin’s betrayal forgotten. “Oh yeah? You’re horny about getting me alone tonight, Daddy?” he snickered.
A loud groan from Ricky’s bunk, curtain remaining drawn but Ricky’s voice carrying nonetheless. “You’re disgusting,” he called out, as if he wasn’t perfectly capable of putting headphones on instead of eavesdropping on his bandmates.
“Ricky’s into it,” Justin declared, helpfully, from the floor.
Ryan laughed. “Damn right he is,” he agreed. He lowered his voice as he nuzzled into Vinny’s cheek, his next words clearly intended just for him to hear: “Been thinking about it for days, pup.” He paused, pressed a kiss to Vinny’s jaw. “The boxers fit, by the way,” he added, and Vinny could only imagine it was a treat for being so well behaved.
Which, well, he hadn’t been, but Vinny was allowed to delude himself and Ryan for the sake of treats.
So Vinny spent the rest of the ride to the hotel imagining what Ryan would look like in nothing but the lace boxers, chewing on his bottom lip and leaning back against Ryan’s chest for a rather uneventful ride. He doomscrolled the whole time, but even that didn’t manage to kill his excitement, and he was the first one off the bus when they parked.
Vinny didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his bag until Ryan appeared at the hotel entrance with both Vinny’s bag and his own, one thrown over each broad shoulder. Vinny led the way inside, trotting up to the counter to check in and realizing belatedly that Chris had all of the information — so he chatted with the person at the desk, absentminded and nonsensical, until the singer appeared with a soft laugh.
“You make a new friend, Vin?” Chris asked, bumping their shoulders and then actually checking everyone in. He was responsible like that.
Not that Vinny hung around to express his gratitude, snagging the keycards for his and Ryan’s room and bolting. “C’mon,” Vinny urged, snagging one of the bag straps to tug Ryan along with him. They only had so many hours, after all, and he also needed to sleep at some point. In theory. Allegedly.
Ryan wobbled a bit on his feet once they were in the elevator and the doors had shut. He laughed openly as Vinny leaned up against him to steal a kiss, bracing a foot against the elevator wall to keep from falling over. “Babe, I’m carrying both our bags, and I’m too big to run. You’re gonna knock me on my ass. Chill.”
Needless to say, Vinny didn’t heed the request to slow down. The elevator dinged and Vinny was ushering Ryan toward the doors before they’d opened entirely. It took them three tries to find their room — Ryan was being rushed, and Vinny was just an idiot — but then they were finally stepping inside.
Dropping the bags next to the wall, Ryan groaned and rubbed at one shoulder. “I’m getting old,” was his verdict, opening his eyes to see Vinny flinging his shirt across the room. “Are you excited about something?” Ryan asked, chewing his bottom lip and raising his eyebrows.
Vinny nodded emphatically. “Yeah. Seeing my hot ass boyfriend dressed up.” He sat on the edge of the bed with enough force to bounce a bit, and then he flashed a big, bright grin. “Which he’s going to do now, because he loves me,” he added, and maybe he blinked his eyes up at Ryan in a coy, alluring manner to really remind Ryan of that adoration and affection.
The look might not have been too successful, because all Ryan did in the face of it was laugh and shake his head. “You gonna take a real shower?” he asked, dropping into a chair to get his boots unlaced and pulled off.
Venue showers never really counted for much other than removing the paint, so Vinny needed to take a real one, but he didn’t see any real urgency. “After,” he announced. “You’re gonna let me see that dick in lace, then you’re gonna break my back, then I’m gonna shower so I don’t reek in the morning.” He laid out the evening’s agenda very factually, eyes following every little movement of Ryan’s with a heat that didn’t match his tone.
Ryan paused, and Vinny swore he saw the buffering symbol playing in his dark eyes. “I’m showering now.” He raised a hand right as Vinny opened his mouth to protest. “The boxers are a big deal, right? Do you want them all sweaty and gross the second they’re on my body?” he asked, and it seemed like he was directly challenging Vinny there.
It was a bad challenge, though. “That sounds sexy as hell.” Vinny wasn’t really as gross as Justin, but there was very little about Ryan that Vinny didn’t find unbearably hot.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Ryan drawled, going through his bag and pulling out one of his old, faded graphic tees (why he tried to wear any shirt to bed was beyond Vinny, because hiding his stomach was a crime punishable in fifteen states) and a handful of black lace that caused momentary brain lag for Vinny.
By the time he realized what was going on, Ryan was already in the bathroom. Vinny booed and then flopped face-first on the bed, closing his eyes and sighing. He was pretty gross, actually. He could feel where he’d missed a bit of black paint — it itched — and his shirt still clung to his back. Maybe Ryan had the right idea about showering first.
Before he could think too hard about it, Vinny grabbed his own pajamas and let himself into the bathroom, already filling with steam. Ryan seemed completely unsurprised to see his boyfriend, just rolled his eyes and then tilted his eyebrows in what might have been a challenge. Vinny didn’t really care about how dumb he looked, though, because Ryan was naked and he needed to be touching his boyfriend.
Vinny’s clothes fell to the floor with little preamble, clean and dirty alike, and he latched onto Ryan to kiss him and fondle all of the soft, squeezable bits of his body. That might have included his dick, briefly, though Ryan caught his wrist before Vinny could rub his cock to attention. Vinny booed for the redirect but allowed Ryan to tug him into the shower — and did his best to actually focus on cleaning himself off rather than the sexy, naked, sudsy man standing next to him.
It didn’t help that it was a small shower and their bodies kept brushing. It certainly didn’t help that Ryan at one point put his big, coarse hands on Vinny’s waist and moved him out of the way without asking first (not quite manhandling but still close enough to make him a bit dizzy with lust).
By the time they were finished showering, Vinny was hard enough that he was ready to whine and beg Ryan to get off, but they had a mission. An agenda, even.
There were times when Ryan would redirect Vinny if the smaller man tried to pay too much attention to his body; Vinny would start kissing skin, mouth wandering, and the second he settled to give stretch marks attention, Ryan would haul him up for a kiss so breathtaking that Vinny forgot his own damn name. It was an absolute bummer every time, but Vinny didn’t know how to ask about it.
Tonight, however, meant that Ryan’s body was going to be on display. Vinny would be allowed to admire, to indulge in touching and examining and touching, and there’d even be a dick dressed in lace for his patience too.
“If you want the full experience, pup, you should go wait for me on the bed,” Ryan pointed out as he toweled off. He wasn’t one for theatrics, so Vinny suspected something was going on, but maybe he was just indulging Vin. He tended to do that more often than he should have, after all.
The concept won Vinny over instantly. A fashion show from his hot as fuck boyfriend wasn’t in his plans for the evening, but it was something he was willing to add. “I’ll get dressed out there.” He was still half-wet, towel clutched in one hand as he went to scoop up pajamas and then bolted.
Vinny realized as he finished toweling off that putting on his pajamas was kind of a waste of time. He settled for just his boxers, stretched out on the bed for a moment and then sat up to perch on the edge of the mattress. He wondered where his collar was. Did he have time to grab it? It was probably—
But then the bathroom door opened, and Vinny decided he didn’t care about his collar. It was hard to care about anything as Ryan stepped out. Sure, the t-shirt was kind of a bummer, but the boxers were everything he’d imagined and more.
Something about the delicate lace pattern against the thick hair on his legs, the way it stretched over Ryan’s thighs, made Vinny’s toes curl. The patchwork tattoos contrasted nicely too, and Vinny wished that damn shirt was off so he could really see how Ryan’s dick fit.
“Daddy,” Vinny whined, batting his lashes and jutting his bottom lip out. “Why are you wearing a shirt?” He knew that Ryan tended to prefer that, would rather stay somewhat clothed rather than strip naked, but that wasn’t what Vinny had been promised.
If Ryan was genuinely uncomfortable, Vinny wouldn’t push. He never did. But Ryan paused, chewed his bottom lip, and then sighed. He pulled his shirt off, dropped it aside, and sort of floundered for a moment. “I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do with my hands.”
As if Vinny cared about Ryan’s hands. Ryan’s stomach hung over the waistband of his boxers in the best way, just enough to really sell the curve of it, and now he could see the shape of Ryan’s cock beneath the sheer fabric. It was framed beautifully, on display like it was a fucking work of art in a fancy museum.
He’d need to be closer if he wanted to really appreciate it, though.
Walking over was too simple. Vinny had to crawl over, of course, even though the sway of his ass was probably less enticing for the stupid pattern of his boxers. He kneeled at Ryan’s feet and stared up with wide, eager eyes; his hands slid up Ryan’s thighs, shivering at the shift in feeling from hairy skin to textured lace.
The way the lace felt against Vinny’s lips was intoxicating. He kissed off to the side, far from Ryan’s cock, and then rubbed his cheek against it too. “Mm, does it feel nice?” he asked Ryan, glancing up through his lashes.
Ryan hummed and carded his fingers through Vinny’s still-damp hair. “It feels alright. Might feel better if my puppy puts his mouth somewhere else,” he remarked, tilting his head and grinning. It was a cheeky little grin, playful.
“And where does Daddy want my mouth?” Vinny asked. “Here?” Another kiss, further down Ryan’s thigh, further away from his cock. “Or here?” Lower still.
When Ryan tugged on his hair, Vinny licked a thick stripe up the fabric, laughing softly at the bumpy, uneven feeling of it. He still didn’t move any closer to Ryan’s intended target until Ryan forced him to, using a fistful of hair to shove Vinny’s slightly-parted lips against his bulge.
And, god, Ryan was just hard enough that he really strained against the fabric. Vinny grinned and started licking at him through the boxers, sloppy and insistent, working Ryan with just his lips and tongue until he could stretch up and mouth at the covered tip, and come away with the bitter taste of precum.
Vinny sat back on his heels, staring at the sight before him with a wide, delighted grin. “You’re so fucking hot,” he sighed, reaching up a hand to palm at Ryan’s stomach. He squeezed and kneaded, blinking up at Ryan with his best puppy-dog eyes. “Can I ride you, Daddy?” As if Ryan had ever told him no before, as if there was any chance of it now.
In fact, the question earned a soft groan from Ryan. “Yeah, pup, you can ride me.” He lifted Vinny’s chin a little bit more with two fingers underneath it, raised his eyebrows. “Do you know where the lube is?” he asked, and there was a playful little challenge there.
God. Did he? Vinny kept fondling Ryan’s stomach with one hand, his other palm slowly dragging up and down the length of Ryan’s clothed cock. He opened his mouth to make an educated guess but was distracted by the way Ryan’s dick twitched, and then he was leaning in again to mouth at it all sloppy and eager.
It took Ryan pulling him back and laughing for Vinny to realize he’d lost track of the conversation. Oh. “It’s in a bag somewhere,” Vinny answered vaguely. He pouted up at Ryan, wiggled his hips as best he could while kneeling. “But you know where it is. You could get it for me, Daddy.”
Was it playing dirty? Yes. Did it work? Also yes, and that affirmative was what mattered more. Ryan sighed fondly, scratched at Vinny’s scalp and then released him. “I’ll get it. It’s in my bag, for the record,” he added, walking over to start digging around for it.
Vinny took a moment to admire the sight of Ryan’s bare back, the tattoo leading down to the waistband of his boxers. He also had a really nice ass — it filled out the boxers well enough that Ryan had found the lube and turned around before Vinny registered he’d gotten distracted again.
“I can’t look that good,” Ryan remarked, sounding more amused than self-deprecating (but not by much). “Or are you thinking about something else?” As if Vinny was capable of any thoughts that weren’t some variation of Ryan’s so fucking hot and I need his cock inside me.
One could always depend on Vinny to be honest. It was often unhelpful, honestly, but he was reliable in it. “You do look that good, actually. Fucking male model shit.” He stood up and hurried over to Ryan, sliding his hands along the pleasant shape of his sides. “And now you’re gonna lay your fine ass on the bed and let me bounce on your dick.”
Vinny wasn’t usually the type to be bossy in bed. If he got impatient, he’d whine a bit (or more than a bit), but mostly he just asked Ryan for things. Could he please have more fingers, Daddy? Can he suck your dick, Ryan? Now, though, Vinny knew what he wanted and had no intention of wavering on it.
He’d been good-ish. Good if it was rounded up. He’d earned a treat.
And what a treat it was. Ryan settled on his back on the bed, head propped up on a pillow, and sat the lube where they both could see it, watching Vinny straddle his thighs. He made a show of putting his hands behind his head, looking for all the world like he’d settled in for some television show rather than some hot and sweaty sex.
Vinny snorted and kissed Ryan until that demeanor slipped, until Ryan was reaching to tug on a collar that wasn’t there and sliding his other hand down Vinny’s chest.
“Uh-uh,” Vinny managed once he recalled his plan. He shook his head and pulled back, expression bright and playful. “My turn to touch.” He scratched through Ryan’s chest hair, watched Ryan’s eyelashes flutter in pleasure, and then moved lower, fingernails grazing down the curve of his stomach.
The last thing Vinny wanted was to push too far, so he kept his touches to just his hands; he squeezed and groped at the places with extra plushness, the spots decorated in stretch marks, but only licked and bit at Ryan’s shoulder. And maybe he got caught up in the groans and hisses he was drawing from Ryan, and left a giant hickey on the side of his neck.
“Oops.”
Ryan shifted his weight, eyes opening. “Oops?” he echoed, sounding exasperated rather than panicked.
Vinny patted Ryan’s chest and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” It’d be fine. Ricky and Justin would give Ryan hell, sure, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Surely the stage makeup would conceal his slip-up, and no one would be any wiser to it — though there was something really hot about people seeing Vinny’s claim on Ryan.
The only problem with fucking himself on Ryan’s dick was that Vinny would have to take the lace boxers off. He scooted back on Ryan’s thighs a bit more, palmed at Ryan’s clothed dick and rocked his own hips for how eager he was.
“I didn’t think your cock could get any hotter,” Vinny rambled, free hand fingering along the shape of one flower pattern as he thumbed over Ryan’s lace-covered tip and smeared some more pre-cum over the fabric. It was an odd sensation, feeling it so textured and slick.
Ryan snorted softly, bucking his hips up into Vinny’s touch a bit. His breath caught despite his easy grin, his lax and loose body language, and the heat in his dark eyes made Vinny lick his lips when their gazes met. “You’re getting distracted again,” he pointed out, as if that was different than any other time.
Except Vinny was currently so hard he was going to potentially bust in his boxers, and Ryan’s dick was right there. He clambered off of Ryan to shed his boxers, doing an odd little wiggle and momentarily planting his face against the mattress to get them off completely.
The underwear went flying — further than Vinny meant it to — and then he was shimmying Ryan’s tight boxers down just enough for his cock to slap against his soft stomach.
“God,” Vinny groaned, grabbing the lube and returning to his previous perch on Ryan’s thighs. “You’re so hard, Daddy.” He wasted no time slicking his fingers, giving Ryan’s cock a few strokes and then pulling his hand away.
Ryan grunted softly. “And your cute little cock is dripping, pup.” The observation rumbled from his chest, and he squeezed at Vinny’s hips as Vinny slipped two slick fingers inside himself.
It was an odd angle, but Vinny made it work through sheer determination. He was suddenly aware of how much of a mess he was making of himself, and he felt his face heat with arousal rather than embarrassment as he thrust his digits as deep as he could get them.
As he worked himself open, Vinny rambled about how hot Ryan was, how fat his cock was, how Vinny had almost committed a few minor crimes because he was so frustrated he couldn’t see Ryan in the boxers but it had been so worth staying out of jail for.
Vinny couldn’t brush against his own prostate, and it made him whimper softly as he pressed a third finger inside. “Daddy,” he keened, batting his lashes and peering down at Ryan placating me.
Ryan hummed and fisted Vinny’s hair, pulled him down for a slow kiss that completely scrambled his brain. “Do you need something, pup?”
Did he? What was he going to say? All Vinny could think about was the way Ryan’s lips felt against his own, the way he tasted. Except he fucked his fingers into himself again and felt a twinge of disappointment that sparked inspiration. “I want your fingers, please. You get deeper than me,” he pouted.
“Yeah, pup, I’ll help,” Ryan hummed, watching with amusement as Vinny slicked his fingers with lube for him and then slipping a hand behind Vinny, swirling fingertips around his hole before suddenly thrusting two of them knuckles-deep.
Ryan’s fingers were so much thicker than his own. Vinny’s eyes rolled back and he pressed his hips to meet each movement of Ryan’s digits, stroking himself slowly and moaning openly. A twinge in his gut, a realization of how close he was, and Vinny shook off his horny-induced stupor.
Vinny’s voice shook a little as he reached back to snag Ryan’s wrist. “Your dick. I need your dick,” he announced, tugging until Ryan’s fingers slipped free — when had he added a third? — and he clenched down around nothing.
Not that he had to wait long. Vinny re-lubed Ryan’s cock, partially just to feel the weight and heat of it in his hand, and then he was lifting himself up on his knees, sinking down so slowly that Ryan groaned and bit his knuckles.
Despite how wound up they both were, Ryan let Vinny set the pace. In fact, all Ryan did was watch, lip caught between his teeth and hands settling at Vinny’s waist. His hips started to twitch upwards, short little thrusts to meet Vinny as he sank down slowly, and one particularly forceful jerk made Vinny gasp and shudder.
Any attempt at slow and steady went out the window when Vinny clenched down around Ryan and Ryan groaned something loud and filthy. Vinny’s hands settled on his chest, nails pressing firmly as he braced himself to set a faster rhythm.
“You look so pretty fucking yourself on my dick,” Ryan sighed, one big hand drifting to finally, finally stroke Vinny’s cock. The heat and rough callouses and the way his fingers wrapped around Vinny entirely earned another tightening, a harsher slam of Vinny’s hips.
Vinny had to shut his eyes to focus on his rhythm. He felt a burning in his thighs that dulled in comparison to the tightening in his gut; sweat trailed down his back but barely registered in the face of the faint jiggle of Ryan’s stomach beneath his palms.
A soft chant of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy fell from Vinny’s lips, and he leaned down to steal a clumsy, fumbling kiss right as he tipped over the edge and spilled across Ryan’s stomach. He kept fucking himself, relishing how Ryan squeezed his hips tightly and thrust up into him in earnest — and just as it started to hurt, to burn, Ryan growled softly and warmth bloomed.
They came down from their orgasms together, panting audibly, and Vinny came to rest with trembling limbs and blurred vision. He might have rocked his hips a little, just to be cheeky, but he stopped at the stern, “Pup,” from Ryan.
It wasn’t as if either of them could go again that quickly, but Vinny would have certainly tried.
Once Vinny climbed off of Ryan and they’d cleaned up, Vinny pushed his boyfriend back onto the mattress and curled up against his side. The boxers had been tugged back up into place, and Vinny kept sliding his palm up and down Ryan’s lace-covered thigh as they murmured back and forth about the next stretch of driving they had ahead of them.
“Oh,” Ryan interjected into the warm silence that settled after some half-hearted complaining, “why did Rick asked me for an underwear update the day after you gave me the boxers?”
Vinny frowned at him. It seemed obvious, after all. “I guess he wanted to know if you took the gift. He doubted how spoiled I am,” he answered with a shrug.
A slow blink from Ryan, followed by another. “You told Rick that you got me lace boxers?” he clarified, brow furrowing.
Something about Ryan’s tone told Vinny that maybe that hadn’t been the best idea. “Yeah? Chris helped me pick them, and Rick’s up his ass all the time. I was surprised he didn’t know already, honestly.” It seemed like a waste of time trying to hide it.
Ryan groaned and closed his eyes. “I bet he’s the one who told Justin too. Justin pulled the pics or it didn’t happen thing, and I told him to fuck off,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound too upset about it.
“Can we take pictures?” Vinny asked, feeling his own face light up.
There was no hesitation. “No,” Ryan stated, though he should have known that wouldn’t be the final verdict.
And, by the end of the night, Vinny had several new photos tucked into his secure folder.
Tag list: @ami-gami, @dodgersnotebook, @ladyveronikawrites, @desperatetype, @damaskexe, @malice-ov-mercy
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new fic because really what was i supposed to do, NOT write weird porn about the new MIW song? thank you to @jestersnotebook for our joint worm wriggling and the beta read! go read their new fic!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Content warnings: Boot kink, Will is treated like/referred to as a dog, d/s dynamics (domme!Chris/sub!Will), femdom, masturbation, mentions of fingerfucking a mouth and breathplay (none in the fic), mentions of oral sex on a trans woman, (as respectfully as possible but because Will has a thing for it specifically) girl bulge, mean domme!Chris, “Mistress” as an honorific, degradation kink, cock ring, butt plug, anal fingering (trans woman receiving), unprotected anal sex (trans woman receiving), beloved small dick!Will, Will cries, handjob (male receiving).
Summary: Chris thinks Will would look so cute licking her boots clean, and she knows how to get what she wants.
Word count: Approx. 4,000 words
Author's note: This is a continuation of sorts of this prompt fill. I had a lot of fun with this, honestly. I broke my "no new WIPs in May" rule, yes, but only because MIW/Corey Taylor dropped that damn song ("Playing God," which is where I got the title from). Since it's finished before the end of May, though, it doesn't really count, right? It's technically a fanfic for Will's birthday, I just can't be bothered to wait until the thirty-first. This is once more trans woman!Chris (specific terms used are right below the cut to make sure everyone's comfortable reading), and it takes place at some nebulous point during their tour. Listen. We vibe with timelines. Thanks to @desperatetype for the beta read! Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.
Chris uses "clit" and "cunt" for her anatomy in this. Will describes her as "tight," "hot," and "wet."
Chris loved getting Will low and dirty. More than that, she found a thrill at getting to train him — to make him a good, obedient dog for her.
When Chris had brought up kink, Will had shrugged, offered a vague sort of yeah, I’m freaky that told Chris everything she needed to know. When a man self-described as freaky, he usually knew nothing about actual kink.
But that was fine. She liked sharing her knowledge, and now she could make sure he behaved exactly how she wanted. Chris was a responsible domme, so it wasn’t as if she was being too dubious about it all.
Will’s interest in her boots had been briefly-lived, but it was enough to convince Chris it was worth digging into. She loved when someone was on their hands and knees kissing her foot, after all; the power rush from watching them debase themself was intoxicating.
There wasn’t much of a chance that Will was actually interested in anything raunchy with her platform boots when they started, but Chris knew how to change that. Besides, Will would have thanked her, had he even noticed her efforts — his brain usually shut off moments into a scene.
One of her favorite things to do with Will was get him on his knees in front of her and make him jerk himself off. Sometimes she’d just have him sit there, stroking his own cock and whimpering for attention as she scrolled her phone and shoved her fingers in his mouth. Other times, she’d talk to him, taunt him, squeeze the sides of his throat until his face turned red and his eyes glazed over.
And if he was really well behaved, Chris would let him suck her clit. He’d learned quickly how she liked it: no harsh sucks, no bobs of his head, focusing on the head and lots of tongue movements. It took a while to build her to orgasm like that, but Chris always made sure they had plenty of time. She’d lounge in her chair, tug on his curls, and make him keep masturbating even after he came if he hadn’t gotten her off yet.
It started simple. As she was scrolling one day, her boot found its way to Will’s knee; the next time, she shoved her fingers in Will’s mouth and fingerfucked his throat until he was a blubbering, drooling mess — and then planted her boot on his chest as she told him to cum for her.
Her favorite moment, one she wished she could have gotten on camera, was pressing her boot to Will’s cheek when he was close to cumming — and then watching him spill unexpectedly, a sharp little gasp and wide, startled eyes.
Chris couldn’t be sure it’d worked until she stomped off stage one night, Will trailing behind her after they’d closed with “Slaughterhouse.” She was panting and sweaty as she made her way into the greenroom, the rest of the band lingering backstage, and flopped down on the couch, thumped a boot on the table to start unlacing it.
Will stood a few feet away, eyes locked on her boot; it was hard to tell if the flush was from the performance or the sight, but the way he licked his lips said enough. “Feet hurting?” he finally managed to ask, voice strained.
Oh, how cute. “They’re killing me,” Chris admitted, and that much was honest. She flashed a devious little grin that seemed to scorch so much that Will glanced her way. “You thinking about trying on a pair for a show?” It was total bullshit — she knew that Will had no interest in wearing them.
The teasing did loosen Will’s shoulders a little though. “I’d fall on my fucking face,” he announced emphatically, and that was all he could say before Vinny was walking in and crowing about how Justin almost fell again.
Chris could be accused of theatrics. In fact, she’d preen a bit at the remark, because she was completely committed to everything she did. There was intentionality to her actions, her decisions, her presentation, and she wanted that to be visible. So when she decided to see how far she could push this, could push Will, she had to make it count.
That meant getting dressed up, of course. A full face of makeup, a bit of wistful reminiscing about her old lip rings, and a leather outfit that would have been too much for the stage if only because it would have distracted some of her bandmates. (Justin didn’t need another reason to trip over his own feet.)
It was a tight little leather dress, form-fitting, accenting her chest and hips and barely covering her ass. Chris had her platforms on, of course, as well as black fishnet thigh-highs. She didn’t bother to tuck, and maybe it was partially because Will seemed fond of nuzzling her clit through her clothes when he could feel it pressed to his cheek, his parted lips.
Will walked into the hotel room a little late, a bag of leftovers in one hand. As he scampered inside, an apology died half-fallen from his lips. He stood in the entry, door clicking shut behind him, and stared at Chris. A moment of silence, another . . .
“You kept me waiting,” Chris finally said, tilting her head, “and now you’re just gawking. I’ve taught you better than that, haven’t I?” Not that she minded revisiting old lessons, especially with a dog as cute as Will.
After all, sometimes the pretty ones took longer to learn.
The tone to her words, the bit of sharpness to the syllables, seemed to shake Will from his stupor. “Right. Uh. Sorry, Justin and I—” He blinked, shook his head, sat the bag down and scrambled to shove his shoes off. “Sorry, Mistress,” he finally said, stumbling over the honorific.
They’d tried Mommy too, but Will seemed to take it all much more seriously when she was Mistress. The latter had also earned a lot more squirming, and that was what Chris was after. Arousal tinged in discomfort. Will needed to sweat and weep for his orgasms.
Chris didn’t miss how Will dropped his gaze as she walked up to him. It was reverential, knowing not to look her in the eye when she was in this mood; what wasn’t required of him, however, was the way his eyes locked onto her boots. They were a special pair that never saw the stage, but she doubted Will would notice the difference.
So Chris paused, posed one foot and then the other to give Will a good look at the shoes — and then she glanced up to find Will’s face flushed, pupils blown. Oh, what a good dog he was . . .
“On your knees.” Chris snapped her fingers to get Will’s attention, pointed to the floor at her feet. It was a fluke that Will didn’t fall on his face in his haste, and she grinned openly when he finally looked up at her.
Will looked good like that: on his knees, hands pressed to his thighs, lips parted in anticipation and his face all red. His eyes were wide and placating, begging for something, anything, and she could tell he was already aching to touch her.
It would have been too easy to just give Will what he wanted, though. “Use your words, Will,” Chris chimed, tilting her head and fisting his curls. She forced his head back, gaze raking down the raw and needy expression that colored Will’s features.
There was a pause as Will cleared his throat and licked his lips. “I wa— Can I touch you, Mistress? Please?” he asked, and he sounded so small compared to his usual demeanor. Words usually left him with a resounding, echoing sort of confidence; he didn’t waver or falter, just blurted whatever thought popped into his head.
Not that he’d ever been quite that bold and brash with Chris. Sure, she’d seen more of that side of him in recent weeks, when they just hung out and dynamics weren’t involved, but Will had always been a little shy around her. Once he sank into his role, though, he was timid, and that made him so easy to break.
Chris took her time considering the request. She tilted her head to the side, pursed her lips, kept his head wrenched back at an angle that had to spark discomfort — not that Will complained. He’d learned to appreciate the unpleasant sensations as much as the pleasurable ones, if they came from Chris’s hand.
“I guess you can touch,” Chris eventually decided. “Even if you were late.” She clicked her tongue and pulled Will closer by his hair; she didn’t move, left him to scoot forward awkwardly on his knees until his face was buried in her groin.
The way Will melted into that point of contact was delicious. Lips parted slightly, cheek grazing over the swell of her clit through the dress, and then a full-on buried face. He groaned softly, fisting his own pants rather than reach out.
It felt nice to rock against Will’s face, it did, but what was more enjoyable was hearing the noises it sparked from Will. Chris couldn’t get hard, not really, but just the weight and warmth of her clit seemed enough to set Will into a space full of fuzzy-edged need.
Will whined into her dress, and she swore she could feel his tongue doing its best to lap at her through the fabric. She laughed, let the sound bite with mean-spirited amusement, and then pulled Will’s head back enough to study his face.
He looked fucked out already: pupils blown, face flushed, mouth open as if expecting some sort of treat. No, there was no demand there — it was him begging, wordlessly, for something to fill his mouth. Her pretty dog loved something to taste and make a mess of.
“Tongue out.” Chris watched Will comply, and her grin was briefly, momentarily softened by fondness. Then it twisted up, at an angle, became the smirk of someone amused by something beneath them.
And how she loved keeping Will under her.
Chris scratched at Will’s scalp and then released his hair, taking a step back. She watched him sway before steadying himself, heard the way he gasped for breath despite the fact she’d left his airways unconstricted. “You owe me an apology, but this is also a treat. Isn’t Mistress so nice to you?” she crooned.
Without prompting, without knowing what the treat was, Will wiggled a bit as he sat on his heels and nodded. “Thank you, Mistress.” His gaze was still a bit hazy but focused some in his excitement, leaning forward but still keeping his hands tucked in his own lap.
“I love when my pets have manners,” Chris sighed fondly. She took another half-step back, so one boot was planted a bit in front of the other. Dogs were easily confused, after all. She snapped her fingers, pointed at her boot. “Lick it.”
Will blinked once, twice. His gaze dropped to the boot, and he just stared for another moment. “Lick it?” he echoed, brow scrunching, and that deferential tremor to his voice was gone now. He peered up at Chris curiously, and he even angled his head slightly.
Oh, how cute. Will really hadn’t understood what she was doing. “My boot. Lick it. It’s dirty, and it needs cleaned.” It wasn’t dirty. She’d never worn the pair outside of a scene — but Will didn’t need to know that.
If he was uncomfortable, Will knew how to stop everything instantly. He didn’t seem to feel anything unpleasant, though, appeared more puzzled than anything.
After a pause — Chris waiting so, so patiently, good owner she was — Will moved his hands to brace them on the ground. He cleared his throat, stared up at her for another moment, and then shifted his attention to the boot.
The surface of the platforms was shiny, a synthetic sheen that was still glossy in the faint hotel room light. It was a smooth sort of texture, she’d been informed, even if the aftertaste sat oddly on one’s tongue.
Not that she’d know. She wasn’t the one licking them.
“C’mon, Will,” Chris sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “This is your treat. Don’t make Mistress take it back.” She loved that Will just nodded again, a bounce of curls, though there wasn’t a question to be found in the words.
When Will’s tongue finally made contact, Chris couldn’t feel it — the boots were too thick. She could see well enough, though. The angle he leaned down at, the tilt of his head . . . and then he moaned, low and trembling.
Chris laughed. “Does my dog like his treat?” She took a step back just to watch Will wobble on all fours, almost hit the floor. “C’mon. Follow.” Two more steps back and she perched on the edge of the bed, presented her boot again. “Clean it,” she ordered.
There was no hesitation. Will crawled forward and leaned back down to resume his actions from before. She could see better now, could witness the way he’d hesitate, drag his tongue in a long and quick stripe, then pause again.
She kept waiting for a protest or a shudder or a complaint. Nothing came, though. Will just licked every inch of her boot he could reach — she didn’t bother lifting it, didn’t force him to tongue the soles this time — and whimpered, nosing over the wet material to make sure he’d gotten all of it before blinking doe eyes up at her.
Chris considered that first boot, nodded. “Good dog. The other one needs done, too.” She moved that one closer, leaned back on her hands to watch Will work. He was more earnest now, worked faster.
And when Will was finished, Chris snapped her fingers. “Stand up,” she ordered.
As soon as Will was on his feet, Chris could see what the task had done to him. “Oh, look at you. You’re so hard. I bet you’re leaking through your underwear, hm? Making a mess?” She tilted her head. “I won’t make you clean it up this time. Strip for me.”
She found short commands were easiest for Will to follow. He complied quickly, stopping abruptly as he stared at the pile of clothes he’d dropped. Without her needing to say a word, he picked everything up, folded it, sat it all neatly.
Chris gave a warm smile when Will blinked at her once more, naked in front of her and completely bared. “Good dog. You remembered.” Her gaze slowly made its way down Will’s bare skin: his throat, his shoulders and chest, that soft and vulnerable stomach.
And he was still so unbelievably hard for her, cock flushed and leaking. He really was making a mess.
“You’re going to fuck me,” Chris announced, standing up. “Do you need the cock ring? You’re not cumming inside me.” He certainly hadn’t earned that today, after all. She required promptness.
Will hesitated, ducked his head a little. “Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, Mistress,” he corrected, licking his lips and squirming a bit where he stood.
Part of Chris had considered breaking him of the small, mindless movements, but they were endearing enough she allowed them.
The cock ring was already out — she’d known how her dog would fall apart, even with such a simple task — and she plucked it from the bedside table, slicked it with lube and worked it onto Will’s dick. Once it was snug at the base, she smiled with too many teeth and flicked the tip of his cock.
Will whined as his hips jerked, but he stayed still otherwise. Good boy.
Chris turned away from Will, toward the bed, and climbed up on it slowly. Once she kneeled on it, she pulled her dress up, slowly, until the fabric slipped up over the swell of her ass. She leaned forward onto one hand, pulled her panties aside to reveal the skull-shaped plug base.
“Take Mistress’s plug out,” Chris ordered, wiggling her hips a bit and then arching her back to put it fully on display. She felt Will’s fingers fumble for a moment, and then he was carefully easing it out.
It was cute, how Will would usually handle her like she was delicate until she forced him to do otherwise.
Chris sighed as it slipped free. “Grab the lube and get Mistress wet again.” She had felt Will fumbling for the lube already, but the command was more to remind him who was in charge.
One of the wonderful things about Will was how great he was with his tongue, but she only allowed him to use his fingers this evening. He didn’t need to do much, just slick her cunt and then himself, and then she was crawling up further on the bed.
Will settled behind her on his knees, hands clutching at her hips — not touching bare skin but, rather, the bunched up fabric of her dress. She could feel him grip like he was desperate for more, pawing and kneading.
Like all well-trained dogs, Will waited for his command. The second Chris gave it, though, Will was pressing his cock inside her, a slow slide that barely stretched for the plug she’d used before.
It was still so nice, though, to be filled by something warm and throbbing. It was so pleasant for Will to fuck into her like he’d forgotten about care and reverence and affection, just some stupid animal chasing pleasure.
Chris sighed and braced herself on one forearm, fingers moving artfully over her clit. Everything she did was slow, intentional, from the circles she rubbed with her fingertips to the leisurely rolls of her hips back to meet Will’s quick, abrupt thrusts.
“You’re s-so—“ Will cut himself off with a whine, his hands gripping even tighter.
Chris hoped he left bruises when they were done.
A soft hum, a lick of her lips. “I’m so what, Will?” Chris prompted, voice velvet and rich. It dropped a bit, in moments like this, but she found the rumble more authentic than anything else.
There was a moment of almost-silence, just a soft grunt from Will and the slapping of skin. “Tight. Hot. Wet.” Each adjective came with a thrust of its own. “Beautiful. Fuck.”
Part of Chris wanted to keep Will talking — not because she needed the ego boost, but to force him to find coherency — but she could also feel her orgasm start to warm her throat, her groin, her chest.
“Mistress is so close,” Chris sighed, adjusting her position a bit. “Be a good dog and make her cum.” Which was all she had to say, really, for Will to finally adjust the angle of his thrusts and make each movement of his cock inside of her perfect.
Chris’s orgasms were full-bodied things that set her head floating, flooded her limbs with heat. She always felt so alive and aware of every inch of skin, and this time it was so much stimulus from so many places that she collapsed face-first into the bed, keening softly into the pillow as she worked herself through her orgasm.
Except it was one of those steady, sweet ones that built — she crested, it swelled, there was a brief recede and then it crested again.
By the time Chris’s euphoria had faded, she could tell Will was a mess. “Stop,” she ordered, clearing her throat because she didn’t sound authoritative enough.
Not that Chris needed to say it again. Will had stilled the second the word had left her lips, cracked as the syllables had been.
“Pull out. Slowly.”
Chris took her time sitting up, rolling over, sitting up and bracketing Will between her splayed legs. And, god, did he look pathetic.
Will was crying, face flushed and blotchy. His cock was leaking and swollen, so cute and small and angry, and his fingers spasmed as he placed his hands on his thighs. “May I please—“
He knew better than to ask, usually, but Chris could tell how close Will had come to breaking. She hummed softly, crooked her finger to beckon Will closer.
As Will settled between her legs, so close he was almost in her lap, Chris carefully removed the cock ring. “You’re going to cum for Mistress,” she explained patiently, “and you’re going to thank her. Understood? Don’t touch yet. Remind me why you’re thanking me.”
Chris eased Will down, hand settling on the back of his neck: he draped himself over her, kept himself held above her body, almost like he was about to fuck her again. He fisted the blankets so tightly his arms trembled, and he stared at her like she had something he needed.
He answered, though, ever the obedient pet. “Because my orgasm belongs to you,” Will answered, voice barely audible. “Can I kiss you?” he blurted.
Oh, how cute. Chris laughed, fingers wrapping around Will’s cock. It jumped in her hand, and she could feel him start up a faint, repetitive shudder as she stroked him in a loose grip. “Why would I let you kiss me? You just tongued my boots.” She had thick condescension coating each word, even as another laugh left her as something bright and amused.
Between the refusal and the way she twisted her wrists, Will came so suddenly he seemed caught off guard. Ever the good boy, of course, he managed to whine out his thank you. His body spasmed and he made a choked-off noise, face scrunching and hips fucking up into Chris’s hand — she didn’t even need to do anything, just let him use the circle of her fingers.
After Will made a thorough mess of her dress, Chris hummed and smiled something soft. “Good boy,” she murmured, lifting her hand for Will to lick it clean.
Once he had obediently complied, Chris cupped his face in both hands. “Such a good boy for me, hm?” She kissed his forehead slowly, the press of her lips lingering, and then she pulled back to beam at him again.
Will looked dazed, almost like he’d fallen a step behind somewhere and wasn’t sure how to catch up. His cheeks were still unevenly flushed and wet with tears, but he seemed less distressed now, more settled in his limbs.
“I did a good job?” Will murmured, blinking a few times and then nosing at Chris’s jaw.
A hand slid down Will’s bare side, touch soothing and soft. “You did. You did an amazing job for me, Will.” Chris paused. “If you sit beside me, I’ll clean both of us up.” She helped Will move, made sure he was settled before she stood up.
The clean-up was relatively quick this time: Chris unzipped and removed her boots, unzipped and peeled off her dress. The dress was left crumpled on the floor, boots sat neatly against the wall. She grabbed a washcloth to clean herself up, used a light touch to make sure Will wouldn’t end up unpleasantly sticky.
Their pajamas came next. Chris pulled on a shirt she’d stolen from Justin and a pair of loose drawstring shorts that did nothing to cover her long legs, a pair of panties and socks; she did most of the work of getting Will to his feet to dress him in nothing but a pair of sweats.
She had planned on a shirt, too, but Will swayed so concerningly that she decided against it.
Chris had them both hydrate, an extra bottle of water nearby just in case, and broke the silence to start in on the praise again, now that she knew Will was present for it. (Up until then, it had been practical questions, check-ins to make sure Will was still there, inquiries about requests for DoorDash.)
“My sweet little dog was so good for me,” Chris sighed as she gathered Will in her arms, let him burrow into her chest. She stroked his curls and hummed, glancing over at the boots.
Even as she comforted and soothed, she wondered what Will would look like rutting against one.
Tag list: @ami-gami, @dodgersnotebook, @ladyveronikawrites, @desperatetype, @damaskexe, @malice-ov-mercy
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