Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/897426.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Actor_RPF
  Relationship:
      Mads_Mikkelsen/Bill_Skarsgård
  Character:
      Mads_Mikkelsen, Bill_Skarsgård
  Additional Tags:
      dad's_friend, Anal_Sex, Fingering, Biting, Hair_Pulling, Light
      Somnophilia, age_gap, Mirrors, Cum_Play, Oral, face_fucking,
      Exhibitionism, Age_Difference, Infidelity
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-25 Words: 6312
****** Avoidance ******
by XVII
Summary
     He had no idea how long Mads would be staying with them, but he just
     hoped his imagination and bank account would be able to last that
     long. Because it was absolutely wiser to avoid him than to risk
     giving himself away. For all that he was an actor, this wasn’t the
     right setting for it, and he could only act so far; tenting pants
     would tell stories that facial control couldn’t erase.
Bill is seventeen. Has been for a few months now— long enough to be old enough
to be called upon to help his father when he comes home, staggering from his
drinks, and dragging an extra body with him.
Mads is a friend of the family. They’ve done big dinners with some members of
both families present, and his dad and Mads had done a few projects together,
starting with King Arthur.  Bill knew that, for a while, the women of the
families had conspired to try and pair him off with Viola, Mads’s daughter,
before it turned out his tastes leaned very much in the opposite direction.
They’d given it up without any real objection, though, which was for the best.
The girl was gorgeous; even gay, he was intimidated. He could only imagine if
he was straight. Besides… even if she had been a guy, she’d be young for his
tastes.
 But it had been a while since he’d seen those folk; they weren’t always the
closest people, moving as Mads got work, and likewise, with his dad gone as
often as he had to be for his own work, it was hard to coordinate. Not that the
women weren’t close, they just were no where near so close as the men were.
Which had worked out for the best when Mads showed up a few days ago, drunk and
upset, saying that he and Hanne had quarreled. Something about Carl wetting the
bed, or something, which had spiraled into a full out argument. Bill hadn’t
gotten the full story before he’d been sent away, like the child he wasn’t any
longer.
This wasn’t exactly a localized event, though. His parents still hadn’t come to
terms with his adulthood. He’d been working for a while now to get them to see
it, even going so far as to take intentionally adult roles to act in.
But now he took a drunken Mads off of his father’s hands and told him to go to
bed, then helped Mads into the guest room.  It was easy to get his shoes off,
to help remove the jeans and strip him of his coat. He tried not to let his
hands shake, tried to put himself in the mindset of a caretaker or a nurse. But
Mads was well built… he used to be a dancer, a gymnast… it showed, Bill
thought. Mads had been boisterous when they first came through the door, the
echoes of some drinking song only dying on his lips at Bill’s insistence that
he not wake the rest of the house, but now he was silent, intense and
observant. Bill felt his face growing hot, realizing that he had been watching
him admire his body. When he spoke, it was a little too loud for the quiet of
the night.
“Get yourself in bed, Mads. I’m going to go get you some water, and then you
can sleep it off. Things will look better in the morning.” Mads full out
snorted at that, and the moment of intense scrutiny felt broken.
Bill retreated, feeling more like he was fleeing. He wondered at the heat he
felt. Was he just embarrassed at the attention? It didn’t seem likely; he was a
performer. But his eyes had lingered and he felt sure that Mads saw, that Mads
knew. What must he think of him for it? They both knew that he was married,
that he had kids not much younger than Bill.
He shrugged it off and returned with the glass of water he’d promised. Mads was
already asleep when he brought it back, though, and he sighed a bit fondly.
This was the man who had been glad to play with the kids when he came to visit,
video games or rough housing or dice or cards—he’d used to ruffle his hair and
bring gifts when he came.
Times may be rough for him at home, but he was still… almost an uncle to Bill.
But only almost.
He left the glass on the nightstand and returned with a couple of asprin. He
had a feeling that Mads would want them, and, what’s more, that he wouldn’t
wake up to drink even if Bill tried.
The thought gave him pause, and He found himself glancing back over his
shoulder, his face screwed up in consideration.
Mads had managed to pass out on top of the blankets, and he had one arm sort of
rolled under himself, in a way that looked distinctly uncomfortable, and like
he might wake up with a case of serious pins and needles.
It wouldn’t hurt to help lay him out a bit, make him comfortable. Bill wasn’t
the most muscle bound guy, but he was strong enough for this, at least.
He tried shaking Mads gently; just on the off chance he was the only drunk in
the world who was also a light sleeper. No such luck.  So he rolled him onto
his side, pinning him between his thighs and his arm, so that he could rescue
Mads’s other arm from a sure lack of blood flow.
He looked up and caught sight of himself in the mirrored closet door. From
here, where he was standing and where Mads’s body was, how much it looked like
Mads was blowing him.
The thought made him warm, and he quickly dropped Mads back onto his back and
left him there, moving to pull the covers out from under him, work the blankets
out from under his mass, and then pull them back up over him, up to his chin.
Mads made some sort of muttering sound in his sleep, and Bill froze. But as he
watched, Mads settled, licking his lips before stilling.
Boldly, Bill pressed the pad of his forefinger against the shine that even the
lamplight made far too enticing. He swiped across the lower lip, then repeated
the motion with his thumb, wishing he was just brave enough to kiss the man.
Instead, he dipped his thumb in, through the unresisting teeth that parted far
too easily, and rubbed it over his wet, velvety tongue. He imagined that moving
over his dick, and shuddered, reminding himself how fucking wrong that was, how
disgusting he was for even thinking that way.  He smoothed his thumb up across
Mads’s cheekbone, then stroked his wild hair flat, before turning and leaving,
lest he get carried away. Before he trespassed any farther than he had already.
In his bed, he lay awake, the mental image of Mads’s mouth around his thumb
becoming one of Mads on his knees, those ridiculous, trouble making brown eyes
open and looking up at him, while he took Bill in, made his knees shake…
Bill stroked himself with his whole fist, wishing he could approximate the
sensation a  little better, while at the same time hating himself for this. He
swore he could feel the warmth of Mads’s body against his thighs, still, and he
was tempted to go back downstairs, to wrap Mads’s limp hand around himself, and
use him to finish. Or to offer the head of him to that eager to please mouth of
his, and slowly work up until he couldn’t hold back any longer, and slid down
his throat. He imagined flipping the tables, moving aside the blankets that his
mother cleaned, and pressing chaste kisses to Mads’s chest and stomach,
completely innocent pecks right up until he met his pelvic bone, and then
swallowing him down.
Bill wasn’t at all experienced, but he imagined himself learning quickly. He
imagined Mads waking up and being a wonderful instructor.
He had a good imagination, and in his mind he heard Mads telling him how good
he was, such a good boy, and that was it. That was all he needed. He was done.
He fell asleep with Mads’s name on his lips and a sort of sexual fantasy
obsession forming behind his eyes.  He was so fucked up. And also just plain
fucked.
-*-
The next day was awkward, mostly for him, though everyone else seemed
oblivious. He made more of a point of avoiding Mads, just to avoid the guilty
feelings that rose every time he looked at him. At breakfast, his dad called
him out for being twitchy and he tried to play like it was nothing, but Mads
noticed. He knew Mads noticed. He caught him staring, a little wrinkle between
his brows.
He ran off as soon as he could, citing errands he needed to run.
Which translated to hanging out under the railway bridge near his house and
trying to sort through muddled emotions. He knew most of it was just hormones,
or at least he thought so. Hoped so. They would go away. He was just a horny
kid and there was an attractive guy staying with them that he wasn’t related
to. It made sense.
And he was attractive. While pointedly not looking at him during breakfast that
morning, he’d seen more than his fair share of his hands, big and warm looking,
with their blunt ends and the way he moved them when he spoke, all but
caressing the air to demonstrate a point. He’d shivered, imagining those same
fingers dragging over his thighs, down his sides—tightening on his hips to pull
him down onto…
He’d excused himself, and now he was stuck wandering around the mall. Which was
fine, he supposed; he did need some new shirts.
A few hours later, though, he was at a loss as to what to do. He saw a film,
missed dinner, ate out, and got home just in time to tell everyone goodnight
and head to bed.
He had no idea how long Mads would be staying with them, but he just hoped his
imagination and bank account would be able to last that long.  Because it was
absolutely wiser to avoid him than to risk giving himself away. For all that he
was an actor, this wasn’t the right setting for it, and he could only act so
far; tenting pants would tell stories that facial control couldn’t erase.
But he should have known that, like with everything else, balance was
important. Mads wasn’t an idiot.
And so he found himself stopped on the way out of the house a few days later,
as part of his routine of disappearing from morning to dusk. Mads was leaning
nonchalantly against the wall near the front door, and he had been looking down
at his phone as he approached, so Bill didn’t notice until he was nearly upon
the older man.
He swung his head, searching wildly for an escape route, and Mads looked
hesitant, but asked anyway.
“Can we talk?” Even his voice was unsure, but Bill was in full on panic, so he
blurted out the first answer that came to mind, and waved his phone for proof.
“Can’t. Sorry. I’m late.” He pushed past and out the door, and looked over his
shoulder when he closed it behind him.
The crestfallen look when he closed the door in Mads’s face followed him for
the rest of the day, making his guilt double. It wasn’t Mads’s fault.
But he thought that would be it; Mads left him alone that night and all of the
next two days. He thought maybe the worst was over. With a little distance and
a little time, the sound of his voice would no longer raise gooseflesh on the
back of his neck.
So of course, when Mads approached him next, he did so at the only place and
time that Bill was guaranteed to be there, and not have an excuse to leave.
Bill opened the door to his room to find it dark, just the way it ought to be.
The sun had set hours prior, and he had started coming home just in time for a
shower and bed. He’d already showered, and was wearing a towel, his clothes for
the day in a bundle in front of him.
He closed his bedroom door, and jumped when his desk lamp turned on.
He muffled his startled sound when he saw that it was just Mads.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, this time his voice laced with the
frustration he really felt. His feelings of guilt were temporarily forgotten in
light of his pounding heart and surging adrenaline.
“I’m sorry. I know teenagers are particular about their spaces, but it was the
only way I could think of to be able to talk to you.” He looked hurt, saying
it, and Bill was reminded yet again of Mads’s children, not much younger than
him. All the more reason this conversation shouldn’t be happening. Especially
not with him dripping and wearing nothing but a towel. He gripped at his waist
defensively, to keep it from slipping unexpectedly. Because that was the last
thing he needed tonight.
“And?” He asked pointedly, willing Mads to speak his piece and leave, half
hoping he would just condemn him for being a horny little boy. It would make it
easier to stop wanting him.
“I’m already in trouble with the person I care the most deeply about in the
world, as you know. That’s why I’m here. But I guess I seem to have upset you
somehow, and all I know is that you put me to bed when I was drunk, and since
then it’s been impossible to see hide or hair of you. So I just… will you tell
me what I did? I can only assume…” He sounded so guilty and lost and… honestly
afraid of what Bill would say that Bill couldn’t help but take pity. He sat his
clothes down on his bed and spoke with his back to him.
“You didn’t do anything.” He tried to keep his voice even, but he was sure it
wavered.
Mads let out a rough breath.
“I hope it was… nothing inappropriate.”  He sounded strained, and Bill spun,
almost angry that he could believe himself capable of such things.
“I’ve been avoiding you because I didn’t want you finding out about me and
realizing that I’m an awful human being. You. Didn’t. Do. Anything.”
“What do you mean—Bill. Because you’re gay? You aren’t awful, that doesn’t make
you awful. If Carl were to decide—I only hope he would be as brave as you were,
in telling your family. But you mustn’t feel… did you think I didn’t know, and
would think less of you if I did?”
“No! No, that isn’t.” Bill cut himself off roughly, not wanting to give anymore
away and already certain that he had said far too much. He folded his arms over
his chest and turned his face away without moving his body.
Mads let the silence stretch for a moment, then stood.
“I’m sorry I made you feel this way. I… if you want me to leave, I can go to a
hotel, or travel to my brother’s home, perhaps. I don’t want you to avoid your
own home any more because of me.”
“Don’t.” Bill sounded just as miserable as Mads clearly felt. “It isn’t that,
alright? I’m gay, you’re my type, I just didn’t want things getting… awkward.”
He shrugged helplessly. “Clearly, that didn’t work out so well.”
“Your… type.” Mads spoke slowly, like he was confused. Like he didn’t
understand. Bill rolled his eyes.
“You know what, I can’t have this conversation with you right now. I’ve been
doing nothing but thinking about you since you got here, I’m dripping and naked
and you’re in my room, and yeah, I’m a dumb teenager whose brain keeps urging
him to jump your bones. So if you want to maybe go back to the guest room, that
would be… great…” He trailed off as Mads stepped closer to him, and he felt his
own breath bounce off Mads’s shoulder and come back to him, while he looked up
at the man who had become the subject of every jerk off fantasy he had.
“I thought I had said something to you, touched you in ways no man should touch
a boy, because you’re beautiful and I was drunk. And now you tell me you almost
wish I had.” Mads’s voice was rough, oddly wistful. Like he knew this wouldn’t
happen. That it couldn’t.
They both did, Bill supposed. But that didn’t stop him from pushing his face
into the hand that Mads had raised, into the fingers running gently across his
cheek. Didn’t stop him from turning his head to suck his index finger into his
mouth. He looked up from beneath his lashes while he laved at Mads’s finger
with his tongue, suggesting everything he’d love to be doing to his cock just
then. Mads held the eye contact and let out a groaned
“Christ.”
Bill closed his mouth over Mads’s finger and applied suction, but let it go
with a slight pop when Mads pulled it away.
His eyes instantly filled with the regret he’d known he would feel, but it was
swept away in the perfect heat of Mads’s lips on his. He closed his eyes and
leaned into it, at least somewhat experienced on this front, if not much
further. He’d kissed girls for short films, for plays… even a guy, already. But
not a man. Not like this. He’d never had a kiss with intent before, and he
could feel his body reacting to it. His nipples had gone hard and so had his
dick, until he had to break off the kiss, had to wait for Mads to pull his
tongue away from the roof of Bill’s mouth, before he could try and knot the
towel better.
But Mads stopped him.
“This is a bad idea.” He warned him, even as his hands pulled the towel open
and his eyes slid down Bill’s body like another drop of water. Bill shivered
under his gaze.
“Can’t be all that bad.” Bill murmured, as though it was some sort of valid
argument, some sort of comfort.
“You’re my friend’s youngest son. I’m a guest under your parents’ roof. I’m
married.” He let the towel slump onto the floor behind Bill’s feet, and moved
his hands to wrap around Bill’s hips, letting his thumbs trace the creases
downwards from there.
“I’m adult. My parents like you. You’re estranged from your wife for now.” He
pointed out, proud that he was able to form words, much less valid points to
contradict Mads’s.
“You’re of age with an adult, but you’re still young. So young. Too young for
me.” Mads came back, and Bill took hold of Mads’s wrists.
“I’m a virgin, but I don’t want to be. I film a short about fucking a girl up
the ass in a week and a half. Show me how. Show me what that feels like.” He
knew his voice sounded low, desperate and serious and hushed. His parents were
just down the hall.
Mads’s mouth dropped open, and Bill let his hands move to Mads’s hair, pulling
at it, running his fingers through it. It was still tied back on the top, and
he pulled the band out, letting his hair slump into his eyes. He wound his
fingers in it and tugged, making a low groan drop from Mads’s lips.
Mads dropped gracefully to his knees, years of dancing going into the movements
and making them fluid and near silent while he leaned in and pressed his lips
to Bill’s stomach. He licked along the smooth, flat plane there and into Bill’s
belly button, and Bill responded by pushing his hair back, pulling his face in
closer to him.
Mads took the hint and slid lower, laving his tongue down the length of Bill’s
dick and turning his head like he meant to kiss it. Instead, he cradled it
between his lips and began dragging himself along it, jerking it off with his
mouth without really taking him inside of him.
Bill loosed a whine and Mads changed that, used his hands to get it angled
right, and took a deep breath before all but impaling his throat on Bill’s
cock.
“Jesus fuck.” Bill murmured, still trying to keep his voice down. His hips
bucked a little and Mads didn’t seem to mind, putting his hands behind Bill’s
ass to urge him in deeper. He withdrew just a bit and inhaled noisily through
his nose, then leaned in again, swallowing Bill nearly to the root.  
“How do you—why do you.” Bill was shaking, his thigh muscles performing some
complicated dance that he didn’t know he knew, and Mads slid back only to pull
Bill’s pelvis fully against his nose. Bill let out a garbled string of vowels,
and Mads laughed around him.
Bill snapped his hips forward, almost in response, and Mads’s vibrations from
his laughter turned longer, lower, a droning moan. Experimentally, Bill did it
again. Mads pulled off entirely, and Bill’s first reaction was to apologize,
but Mads swallowed and spoke in a voice now roughened by the recent use of his
throat.
“I want you to fuck my face.” The order was given with a cracked voice, but
even eyes, and his words shot straight to Bill’s groin through his stomach,
leaving a trail of heat and confidence he didn’t have in these matters.
He grabbed Mads by the sides of his head and stepped over him, pulling and
twisting and nudging Mads along until his back was against the side of Bill’s
mattress. He ran his fingers through the loose strands of hair over his
forehead, and took a fistful, using it to tilt his head back.
Mads shut his eyes and took a deep breath, then dropped his mouth open. Bill
lined himself back up and did as Mads had asked, thrusting in deeply and
smoothly. He paused to check that Mads was okay, only to feel his fingers
digging into his ass, urging him forward and faster.
Bill gave up with abandon and bore down on Mads, pressing the back of his head
against the mattress and shifting forward more so that he was thrusting almost
directly downwards, the position more natural and granting him far more
leverage. He reached down to press shaking fingers to Mads’s throat, feeling
himself through the thin skin there. Mads keened quietly and Bill was suddenly
aware again of their noise levels.
He thought of his parents, imagined his father getting up to get a drink or use
the restroom, his footsteps faltering in the middle of the hallway at the wet
sound of Bill sliding in and out between Mads’s unresisting lips, the
occasional gargle as Mads’s gag reflex tried again and again to work and had to
be fought down, and Bill’s answering gasps at the waves of constriction that
came when Mads swallowed around him.
He imagined his brother looking in through the keyhole or a crack in the door,
watching as Bill shifted his weight forward onto the bed and cut off Mads’s air
with the weight of his body. Imagined him pulling himself out to stroke his
erection while he watched. Imagined his father finding them all like that. The
thought made him dizzy and he opened his eyes, only to find himself face to
face with his closet mirror, reflecting back at him the lewd sight of his cock
disappearing into Mads’s mouth. And when he raised himself up, changing the
angle to better see where their joined, Mads’s blinked and they locked eyes in
the reflection.
A tremble ran through him and Mads pressed at Bill’s thighs, urging him back so
that he could get a breath.
Bill disengaged, crawling up and over and turning to face him.
Mads was panting, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down saliva and
precum, and his hands massaged his throat.
“Did I hurt you?” Bill asked, suddenly afraid again. Mads shook his head no.
“You’re fine. You’re good.” He croaked out, voice showing every sign of his
use.
“I’m close.” Bill said, and he felt like he was whining. Mads looked startled,
then smirked and rolled over, climbing onto the bed as well and pushing the
younger man backwards.
“You want to come?” He teased, his words tinted with a smooth roughness, a
voice like whiskey. His eyes, his face… it was playful, so much younger looking
than when they had begun this, so much more open and relaxed. Bill felt his
heart rise into his throat. He couldn’t talk, so he just nodded in the
affirmative.
“Hmm.” Mads grumbled. He wrapped his hand around and began jerking Bill, who
whimpered and cringed at the dryness, his saliva having already started
evaporating.
From above, Mads offered Bill his palm. Bill hesitantly put out his tongue and
licked it, then withdrew and pooled saliva into his mouth and transferred that
to Mads’s palm, halfway torn between holding his hand there to lave attention
on it, and wanting it to return to the part of him that was demanding
attention. His dick won.
“Good boy.” Mads rumbled, and wrapped back around him, stroking and pulling him
with the ease of years of experience. Bill shuddered and had to bite down on
his fist to keep the sound down as he began to cum, and it became twice as
challenging when Mads caught the head of him in his mouth and lapped at his
slit between spurts, interspersed with laze pumps to his sensitive shaft. He
seemed set on coaxing as much out of him as humanly possible.
When it finally stopped, Bill collapsed backwards, feeling boneless and
drained.
Mads rocked back and just looked down at him, uncharacteristically silent.
“Is…” Bill started, forcing himself to sit up through the haze, but Mads surged
forward, claiming his lips and prying his mouth open with his tongue.
Bitter salt flooded his mouth, and he nearly pulled away until he realized that
Mads was feeding him his own cum. He nearly choked trying to vocalize the
pleasure that came with it.
“Don’t swallow just yet. I want that back in a moment.” Despite the nonsensical
tone of the statement, Bill found himself nodding in agreement. He’d never
found it so hard for his throat not to open, though.
“Lube, condoms?” Mads asked, and Bill’s eyes widened and he shook his head and
tapped the desk drawer, communicating as best as he could with a mouth full of
semen.
Mads found the lube, and rifled casually through the rest of the drawer’s
contents before looking back to Bill questioningly.
Bill shook his head no again, and Mads sighed.
“Fix that. I won’t have you getting sick just because you’re young and
embarrassed to buy things.” Bill could only nod.
He pulled his wallet from the pocket of his jeans, and withdrew a foil packet,
before sitting his wallet on Bill’s desk.
Laying back on his bed, propped up on his elbows, it suddenly struck Bill how
on display he was, while Mads was still dressed—sloppily so, his shirt big and
loose and his jeans worn, but still. Covered.
He unzipped, clearly intending to simply brush aside his underwear, but Bill
shook his head viciously, making Mads grin like a cat with a mouthful of cream.
Bill wasn’t immune to the irony.
He came forward again, tugging at the top button of the jeans and lifting the
shirt high onto his torso in the process.
Mads chuckled softly and shrugged out of it, dropping it over the back of
Bill’s computer chair.
His pants followed, and then his boxers, until he was just as nude as Bill was,
and every bit as ready as he had been. The condom was rolled on quickly,
deftly, and without ceremony.
“I’ll need that back now. Thanks.” Mads whispered against Bill’s lips, and then
sealed their mouths together so as not to lose any of the slick fluid that Bill
happily pushed out of his mouth.
“That tastes awful.” He informed Mads archly, and Mads just smirked and tugged
at his hips, turning him and sending him sprawling over the bed with his feet
still on the floor. Bill felt like he was up for a spanking, and wished they
weren’t so involved in being as quiet as possible, or he might just ask for
one.
He felt a jolt of surprise at the sudden wetness leaking between his cheeks,
and flushed when Mads pulled them apart and spat on him. Those fingers he’d
been admiring began stroking, just the thumbs as he held his ass open, but
then, after Bill had reached back to assist without having to be asked, Mads
rewarded him with a long upwards stroke with the pad of his index finger.
“You’ve heard this will hurt, I’m sure. But I won’t let it, as much as I can.
Do you believe me.”
Bill hummed his assent, and Mads pinched his ass, making him bury a yelp in his
comforter.
“Yes!” he gasped, indignant and aroused.
“Better.”
Mads began stroking his cum into his asshole, a tiny bit of his finger at a
time feeding Bill’s own seed into him. It was an odd sensation, made odder as
Mads managed to get in past the first knuckle, and then it seemed easy, the
inward slide. Bill figured that was it; Mads was through. That didn’t hurt at
all. He rocked his hips back and forth, eagerly dragging his cock against his
bedding in the process, but stilled, confused, when Mads pressed his free hand
to Bill’s lower back.
Wordlessly, he uncapped the lube and spilled some over where his hand joined
Bill’s body. Bill shivered, and Mads made a soft shushing noise, rubbing small
circles into his back while he began pressing the second finger in.
This came with a stretch, a sort of low burn that seemed tied to his stomach,
and he bit down n his blankets, wanting but uncomfortable, but unwilling to
stop.
Mads moved slowly, irritatingly slowly, and finally Bill took the initiative
and tilted his hips before sliding himself backwards, pushing that second
finger all the way in beside the first, and causing them to hit something that
made his spine stiffen and his cock harden almost instantly. The discomfort was
all but forgotten in this sudden wave of abject pleasure.
Mads let out another low chuckle and began working his fingers, searching for
the spot that had caused that reaction in Bill. He knew when he found it,
because Bill actually whimpered and thrashed, and he had to nearly pull his
fingers all the way out in threat when Bill’s muscles fluttered around them.
“I can only imagine,” Mads spoke softly and bent forward, so he could be quiet
but still heard, directly into his ear. “How tight you will be when I get
inside of you. How warm, how inviting… You’re so greedy for this.” He
explained, pushing his fingers in and rotating them, so that they just barely
clipped that spot. “So hungry for more.” Bill humped backwards and forwards,
not sure whether to try and get more pressure on his prostate or to apply
friction to his cock. There was a lot going on and he was starting to be
overwhelmed. He was glad Mads couldn’t see him right now, couldn’t see all the
expressions flashing over his face.
“I’m going to put one more finger inside of you…” Mads crooned, and Bill let
out a low moan, which Mads spoke over. “And then I am going to fuck you.”
Mads took hold of the nape of Bill’s neck and used the grip for leverage, as he
plunged his two fingers deeply in and out of him a few more times, before
adding in the tip of the third.
Despite his aggressive words, he was gentle, and Bill wondered if he was
remembering meeting him for the first time, the way Mads had played ball with
him and the other kids, or the way he had helped to carry them in to bed when
they had gotten exhausted and fallen asleep in the den after dinner. Every
ounce of care he’d ever shown Bill as a smaller boy was pushing in and out of
him at a torturous, agonizingly pleasurable pace.
When all three fingers were fully seated inside of him, Bill spat out his
mouthful of downy blankets and carefully formed the words he needed to get out
a few times, before giving voice to them.
“Please Mads.” He repeated it silently, his lips moving over the words as if in
prayer. ‘please Mads, please. Please please please, Mads, please.’
Mads rotated the fingers within him and spread them out, stretching and
touching and trying to be sure, before he withdrew them completely. Bill made a
little moue of upset, then gasped in air when he felt the warm, slick, blunt,
rubbered head of Mads’s cock at his entrance.
Mads leaned forward and slid his hand over Bill’s mouth, reminding him to keep
quiet, and began thrusting into him.
Bill clasped his hands over the top of Mads’s and held on, feeling Mads digging
into his hip while he slid deeper.
It was so much, so much of a stretch, and the burn had returned, but no worse
than before. It didn’t hurt though, not really, despite his impatience, Mads
had been true to his word. Bill stared into his mirror, watched Mads’s chest
rising and falling as he carefully began moving inside of him.
It was surreal, watching it and feeling it, being part of it and yet other. He
gripped tight to Mads’s hand, not out of pain, but because he didn’t ever want
him to let go. He tilted his hips up and down, encouraging Mads and coaxing a
choked off sound from somewhere in his throat when Mads’s cock struck the
bundle of nerves that his fingers had so delighted in teasing earlier.
“So tight, so hot, like I knew you would be.” Mads told him, jerking forwards
and laying some of his weight along Bill’s back.
Bill hummed into their hands and bore down on the cock inside of him, demanding
more.
“And just as hungry.” Mads informed him. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
He began pressing in faster, though his strokes became more shallow to
compensate. And every few, he made sure to tilt his hips, or slide in a certain
way—whatever he did, it made sure to strike Bill’s prostate, and send his cock
crashing down into the bed below them. He bit into Mads’s hand, licking the
pucker of skin that pushed between his teeth and appreciating the groan that
followed his actions.
Bill could hear the soft protests of his mattress rubbing the bedframe, and was
glad that the wood wasn’t striking the walls. He wondered what it would be like
to be with Mads somewhere else, where they could be loud, and rough and fast,
could move until their skins slapping against one another echoed over the
walls.
He wondered if he could get the rest of the family out of the house for some
reason, soon.
And then he didn’t wonder anything at all, as Mads took his hand away from
Bill’s mouth and curled it around his renewed erection instead.
He stroked them together to their respective ends, Bill tumbling over the edge
first and the increased tightness caused by his orgasm pulling Mads in after
him.
Mads collapsed on top of the younger boy and lay there for a few minutes while
his breathing evened out. He played with the hair at the base of Bill’s skull,
then finally sighed and pulled his softening dick out, the feeling markedly
stranger than the process of putting it in had been, for Bill.
“I won’t regret this.” Bill said, not entirely cohesive enough to be speaking
yet but feeling like her should say something. “You were my first, and I won’t
regret it and… I’d appreciate if you didn’t either.”
Mads stared at him, eyes never wavering even as he pulled his pants back on,
and a creeping sort of sadness overtook his face.
“I’m married, and old enough to be your father.” He reminded Bill, and Bill
stood.
“Neither of those things is my fault. And speaking of being married, how do
you—do you even--” He didn’t know what he was trying to ask. It was something
to do with sexuality, how he knew all of this, how he had no gag reflex to
speak of and how many men he’d been with.
“I’ve had time.” Was all the answer he got, and he would have fumed if Mads
didn’t lean in to press a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Well I have plenty of catching up to do, it seems.” Bill said, hoping that he
would take it as the invitation that it was.
Mads looked wary. He turned away and pulled his shirt on over his head,
pocketed his wallet, and considered. Bill felt a cold hand grip below his
ribcage, sure he would hear that this had only been the one time, that now he
would have to try and put Mads out of his mind, think of him as nothing but a
friend. Mads seemed to read his fears on his face, and came to a decision.
“Let me come to you. Your father cannot know—I value his and you mother’s
friendship too much. And Bill?”
“Mm?” he asked, a drowsy sort of satisfaction filling him at the thought of
being allowed to do this again.
“Please don’t avoid me any more.” Mads said.
“Of course.” Bill agreed. Mads gave him one of his sharp toothed little grins,
and snuck out into the hall, shutting his door softly behind him.
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