oops. [lady gaga show me your teeth.mp3]
It’s an accident the first time.
Balls deep in Charles, ducked forward as he sets the pounding, merciless rhythm for the night, Pierre is losing the last of his meticulously-constructed façade as the noises he’s getting are driving him closer and closer to the edge. This is favorite full-body workout, of course—Charles splayed out in bed, entirely open and exposed, moaning and cursing and grabbing at him like his life depends on it. It never gets old, not once. Pierre knows him like the back of his hand, can tell which noises mean he’s close and which mean he’s thinking about saying something. He’s listening now; practically cheek to cheek with Charles, whispering something he doesn’t even really recognize in Charles’ ear and getting these pretty, pretty noises back that mean he’s about to cum.
Pierre’s favorite song.
“That feel good?” He grunts, slowing the movement of his hips but thrusting even harder back into Charles. The bed is moving. Charles’ head is bouncing on the pillow, eyes glazed over, mouth slick with spit and drool, and he’s never looked so fucking good.
“Pierre,” he whines, rutting upwards against Pierre’s chest to get friction on his cock, and wow he’s so pretty, squirming like this. He’s so fucking pretty. Pierre wants to eat him alive.
“Are you ready to cum, sweetheart,” he drawls, using the last remnants of his control to fuck into him once, twice, three times with force. The wood of the headboard slaps against the wall but Pierre can’t be bothered to care because Charles looks at him with those big eyes, lips parted, and nods. “You have to say it, Charles, use your voice—”
“Pierre, please, I want to cum,” Charles interrupts, voice hoarse, and surges up to try and catch Pierre in a kiss. It almost works—his mouth lands at the base of Pierre’s neck instead, hot and wet and open as his tongue does something filthy and Pierre just--
"Charles, oh my god—” he gets one last thrust in before it’s all over. With a groan, his orgasm finally swallows him whole, and he’s still wading through it as Charles comes undone beneath him—
And sinks his teeth right into Pierre’s skin. The pain is sharp against the hazy pleasure of release, although not entirely unwelcome, but—
“Charles, did you just fucking bite me?” He hasn’t moved, still settled inside Charles even as he starts to come back down from his high. From under him, Charles makes an apologetic noise, then whines when Pierre shifts and moves inside him. Oversensitive. Right.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. Pierre echoes the sentiment under his breath as he pulls out and collapses beside his best friend. Charles takes no time in rolling over so that they’re face-to-face on the pillows, gaze lidded. “I didn’t mean to, Pierrot, you felt so good and I think I just went on autopilot.” His face gets a little pink, which Pierre loves terribly. “Did I hurt you? I really am sorry, mon petit.” He reaches over to thumb at the spot his teeth had marked, fingers soft and pleasant and warm. Pierre’s eyes flutter closed for a beat.
“No, no, you didn’t hurt me. I just—was not expecting it, is all.” He leans forward to press a tender kiss to Charles’ apologetic mouth, smiling as he gets a soft nibble at his bottom lip in return. “If biting is allowed, just let me know next time.”
-
The next time…is not.
Pressed into the wall of the hotel room they’re sharing while on holiday, Pierre is all but ready to throw Charles into bed the way he’s riled up; they’d barely made it into the elevator before he’d started, drawn to Pierre like a magnet and about as strong as one, too. He’s too good at this, at getting Pierre to drop everything and give him exactly what he needs.
To be fair, usually it’s also what Pierre needs, but Charles has mastered his effectiveness in getting Pierre properly wrapped around his finger on nights like this.
“Charles,” Pierre groans between kisses, hands palming Charles’ hot skin under his shirt, “Bed before I—shit, before I—”
“You’re going to shit? That’s kind of disgusting, Pierre,” Charles interrupts, grinning like an absolute ass while still managing to stay pressed close to Pierre’s mouth.
“Shut the fuck up,” Pierre grumbles. He lightly scrapes his nails down Charles’ chest and waits for the inevitable whine that cuts through the cockiness. (It sounds just as beautiful as always.) “Get in bed before I fuck you against this wall and you complain about your back for the next day and a half.”
Charles moans, but doesn’t move, still using his weight to keep Pierre pinned. “Make me,” he says, raspy but still in it, still ready to fight Pierre a little before they actually get to bed. Something feral rears its head in Pierre’s chest.
“Make you,” he echoes, tsking softly and shaking his head. “Careful what you wish for, Charlito.” The grin he gets in return is a Charles-specific blend of utterly stupid and impossibly sexy. Pierre digs his fingers into the flesh of Charles’ hip with one hand and grabs his face with another, insistent and firm as he pulls Charles in for a kiss that will get him the upper hand.
It works—at least, it does until Charles peels away from Pierre’s mouth to bite at his thumb, not quite sinking his teeth in but still sharp nonetheless. The grin is still big on his face, even as they flip places, Charles’ back hitting the ugly wallpaper with a dull thud. He inhales sharply at the contact, air rushing around Pierre’s now-tingling thumb as he does so, but doesn’t say anything.
“Easy,” Pierre murmurs, tightening his hold on Charles with both hands. The press of his fingers draws another little breathy hiss from him. Charles turns his head, snaps hungrily at his thumb again. His eyes are dark and the lighting of their room seems to only make them darker. “Be a good boy for me.”
That does something. Like a switch has been flipped, Charles whimpers, soft, and then finally relents, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad of Pierre’s thumb instead. “Okay,” he murmurs after a beat. Pierre softens his hand against Charles’ cheek, thumbs gently at the flushed skin.
“There we go,” he hums, using the hand on Charles’ waist to maneuver them towards the mattress. “There we go.”
-
“Hey,” Charles mumbles from his seat on the couch, stirring Pierre awake. The movie he’d put on is apparently still going. “Come on, Pierrot, we have to stay awake or else the jet lag and the timezones will kill us tomorrow.” He scoots closer. “We just have to make it another 3 hours, mon petit, and then we can sleep.” Charles’ voice is so soft and soothing that it’s having the opposite effect he’d probably intended. Pierre sighs heavily.
“Charles,” he half-whines, lolling his head back onto the cushions. “Why can’t I just be fucked up tomorrow and sleep now?” He knows it’s not a good idea, knows Charles is right to be keeping him up, but he’d slept like shit the night before and really, this couch is so comfortable and his boyfriend is so warm right next to him…
“You are always fucked up,” Charles teases, tucking himself in Pierre’s side. He gets a groan in return. “Come on, you can do it. If I can stay awake, so can you.”
Pierre rolls his eyes, turning to look Charles right in the face. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, rubbing at one eye. “I need to get better at sleeping on planes, I think.”
“You do,” Charles confirms. He grabs Pierre’s free hand and squeezes it. “But it’s okay, because I can keep you up until we are allowed to go to bed.” Pierre raises an eyebrow. “Okay, disgusting.” But he’s grinning again, big and sparkly, and Pierre can practically tell how their night is going to end just looking at him. Admittedly, getting his hands all over Charles would keep him awake—but he’s not going to start now, because it’s only going to drain him once he finally cums.
“Tell me, Charlito,” he mumbles, shifting against the cushions so he’s propped up and facing Charles with his whole body. “How are you going to keep me awake.”
Charles hums, scooting closer so that they’re thigh-to-thigh again, and taps at his chin like he really has to think about it. “I guess movies will not work, considering.” He jerks a thumb at the television behind them, which is still playing. “And you will fall asleep if I suggest chess.”
“I will definitely fall asleep if you suggest chess.” He grins as Charles pouts at his confirmation. “Mmm. Charlito, we are famous drivers in the most popular racing sport in the world. How do we have no way of keeping entertained.”
Charles laughs softly, shaking his head. “Just lucky, I suppose.” He hums, then shrugs. “I guess I’m not better than being disgusting, Pierrot.” With a grunt of effort, he climbs into Pierre’s lap, settling heavily on his thighs. Pierre chuckles. “If I kiss you, will you stay awake for me?”
“I don’t know, calamar,” he replies, “but you can try.”
Charles does. Gently, he sinks forward and captures Pierre’s mouth with his own, insistent but not exactly dirty. His tongue is warm on Pierre’s bottom lip, and Pierre allows him in easily. The dull vibration from Charles’ moan of pleasure makes him shiver, the sensation traveling all the way through him. He leans his head back. Charles keeps kissing him, lips dragging up Pierre’s jaw; it feels so good and so comforting that Pierre finds he’s actually starting to nod off a little again, eyes a little heavy—
And then Charles bites his earlobe, sending a sting of subdued pain right to his brain. “Shit,” he mumbles, and Charles huffs a soft laugh in his ear, pressing another kiss to where his teeth had just sunk in.
“You are awake now, yes?”
Pierre hums, looping an arm around Charles’ waist. “I am.”
-
They’re running on borrowed time—and honestly, even that is a generous statement. Sitting in the Ferrari Charles had picked him up in, parked under a cluster of trees, they have a very strict FIA-enforced curfew they have to adhere to tonight. And, well, Charles is sunk fully on his dick in the passenger seat, somehow, pressed so tight against Pierre that it feels like they’re glued together. He’s soaked in sweat, rocking his hips up as Charles rolls his hips down to meet him, and it’s—
“Pierrot,” Charles moans in his ear, jerking forward. The whole car moves with him, although neither of them really have it in them to be embarrassed right now. “You feel so good, so fucking good, please do not stop—” he chokes on his words as Pierre uses a focused burst of strength to deliver another sharp thrust upwards, so effective in silencing his boyfriend that Charles drops his head to Pierre’s shoulder and sobs.
“Pretty boy in his pretty car,” Pierre whisper-teases. “You like this, huh? Riding my cock in the hotel parking lot, naked and exposed for anyone to see.” Charles moans pitifully into the crook of his neck as Pierre lifts his hips again, burrowing still deeper in him, somehow. “So pretty, so dirty.”
“Pierre,” Charles sob-whines, nuzzling further into him. Pierre half-wonders if he can even breathe with how he’s pressed so firmly into his shoulder. “Pierre, please, I’m so close, oh my god—”
And, really, Pierre can’t help himself. With Charles bent over him in this (frankly, insane) position, his bare shoulder is right in Pierre’s line of vision, catching a little glow from the distant lights of the parking lot lamps, and. Well.
“I’ve got you,” Pierre murmurs. He presses a tender kiss to Charles’ neck, then trails a line of them down and across the plane of his shoulder. “I’ve got you.” And, with another kiss-thrust combo, Pierre sinks his teeth in.
“Pierre!” Charles gasps, hips rocking forward sharply once. He cums almost instantly, Pierre’s teeth still hot on his skin, and streaks the front of Pierre’s black shirt. Which, really, is his fault for picking this evening all things considered, but he won’t complain because Charles just fucking came when Pierre did that.
Bit him.
Jesus Christ.
“Charlito,” he grunts, control now entirely gone as he ruts helplessly upwards into Charles, who’s clenching and unclenching around him so deliciously that Pierre thinks he could faint. “You are mine. Mine mine mine.” He mouths the words into Charles’ shoulder, feeling the shiver he gets in return from it.
“Yours,” Charles whimpers, mouth hot against Pierre’s ear. He takes Pierre’s earlobe between his teeth, bites down a little. “Only yours, Pierrot, I am all for you.” He bites down harder.
Pierre loses it.
Jesus Christ.
