⋆꙳•❅‧₊⋆☃︎‧❆₊⋆
Lexie would love to say he was a wonderful guest who was nice, and polite, and made comments about what a lovely home Frankie has, but he doesn’t get a single, little, not-one-bit chance to actually look before warm lips are pressing to his own. A strong grip presses his wrists above his head, back hitting the cold wood of the door to Frankie’s flat, their hips pinning him in place as he gasps into their mouth.
It’s new but definitely not wrong. There’s something bubbling and burning inside his belly as a thigh rubs against his embarrassingly half-hard cock, a noise slipping from him that does not sound like him. At all. Even with his very large, very big, very unique voca-loca-bulary, he can’t find the right word to describe it.
Only when he feels Frankie’s lips pull into a wide grin and feels more than hears their voice against his skin does he find an answer. “What a pathetic noise, puppy,” the redhead purrs, a hand dropping to tilt Lexie’s chin up and keep his attention on them—where else would it be? He still doesn’t know if there’s anything else in the room because his eyes have either been closed or on Frankie. The eye contact does not help the whole his insides are burning feeling, and neither does the words that send a whole fireplace worth of flames across his face. “Do it again.”
Look, if Lexie could, he would, but he really doesn’t know how to make a noise like that on his own, and definitely not—
Frankie’s thigh presses harder against his straining erection, fireworks exploding behind Lexie’s eyelids as he melts against the friction, mouth falling open with ease as he lets rip something far too high-pitched to be a groan. It’s probably pathetic. He hopes it is.
A hum vibrates over his neck as Frankie begins to kiss at his heated skin—the coat and mistletoe and jumper and, well, whole outfit is really, really, super duper Not Helping—and drops his chin. Their hand keeps going down, down, down until it’s cupping him where he’s throbbing. Their words melt into his skin like butter as they say: “Good boy.”
Flashes of the same phrase flash through Lexie’s mind, spoken to both him and Kai as his best friend’s mouth was filled with his dick whilst his best friend’s boyfriend filled him up from behind. It was maybe, possibly one of the best nights of his life and he’s been chasing that high ever since. Not that he was going to ask Toby and Kai again, he knows as much as he loved—like, really, really loved—it, they didn’t want to do again. Even if Lexie would drop every plan he’s ever made in a second if they did want to.
It’s fine! He’s fine! Very, very, very eager to seek out that feeling again, but very normal about it. Rhys would be proud of him, actually, that’s how calm, cool, and collectable he is about the situation he is.
Their decision to stop the bow-chicka-pal-wow was one of the reasons—okay, the main reason—that Lexie even wanted to Get All The Kisses. Because he wants to feel like that again. Because he realised after being bent over his friend’s sofa with one, then two, then three fingers stretching him open that maybe he really likes being told what to do. And being called a good boy, that part is really good. Great. Frick, Frankie called him a good boy. He needs to focus on that again, needs to focus on the lips skating his neck, or the—
He might come. Like, right now. Against the door with his massive, barely made it through the doorway Santa coat on. In his underwear and jeans.
“I feel like I’ve lost you, handsome,” the angel that is Frankie says, fingers still very nicely—so nice he really thinks he’s going to ruin his underwear before he gets a chance to take them off—stroking him through his clothing.
“Sorry, I— I want to be good,” Lexie finds himself saying, trying desperately to remember what the right thing to say is from the one time session he had with Toby and Kai, and not to let himself fall completely into the hole of that memory like the rabbit in that weird story about the blonde kid who does drugs. Or maybe it was a cat who went down a hole. Lexie can’t focus on that right now, his head is stuck on be good, be told he’s good, and can’t think past that.
“Then pay attention,” Frankie responds, lifting their head to meet Lexie’s gaze, a warning not very well hidden behind the hazel he finds staring back at him. “I want you to go into that room,” they nod towards the closest door—if you ignore the one Lexie is stilled pressed against—and wait until Lexie clearly looks at it before continuing, “and then I want you to wash up thoroughly, do you understand?”
“Y-yes, I can do that. Will do that,” Lexie stumbles, gulping at the way Frankie’s voice has dropped with each order. He’s really, super duper lucky that he found them at Razzles, he thinks belatedly, especially with how he’s turned into gooey honey with just their voice, let alone that mouth.
Now he needs to thank Rhys for two things when he sees him tomorrow. He’s sure his brother will appreciate how much he appreciates all of his help, after all! Get All The Kisses was a success and it’s all because of Rhys’—
“Good. Oh, and Lexie?” He nods, eyes wide, waiting. Trying his best. Being good. “Count all the mistletoe for me, won’t you? I want to know exactly how many made it from our walk.”
“Okay. Yes. I— Yes, I’ll count them. Do— I should shower, right? Do you want to join me? Is that okay?” Each question is rushed out, a stumbling tumbling mess of words because Lexie’s brain is as good as mushy peas right now and he’s still one stroke away from ruining his underwear—honestly, he’s probably already ruined them if the damp patch is any clue.
“Is that what I asked you to do? To shower with me?”
“No.”
“So it is not something I am offering, puppy.” Their warm body presses against his own, keeping him in place as they use both hands to undo Lexie’s trousers and slowwwwwly pull them down until cool air sends a shiver over his newly exposed skin. “But, I would be more than happy to come in and watch. Is that what you’re in to? Do you want me to watch you wash up and make sure you’re doing a good job?” Frankie moves their lips to Lexie’s ear, mouth skimming his lobe and making him gasp when they tug it between their teeth. “Oh, wouldn’t that be fun? Imagine having to hold back, to have to touch everywhere but where you want it most. I wonder if I could make you come just by telling you how not to touch yourself.”
Lexie isn’t someone who feels embarrassed often but he’s pretty sure that’s the feeling running through him as his face blazes—something it keeps doing since he stepped inside Frankie’s flat. It might be because he kind of (maybe) likes the idea of Frankie embarrassing him a little. Not that he likes being made fun of, but being made fun of by the person on the other end of the sultry voice in his ear is really not helping his attempts not to tip over the edge, especially when his cock is just there, out in the open, not being touched.
“So what do you say, Lexie? Are you going to wash up alone or do you want me to join you?”
“I can— I’ll— Alone! I’ll do it alone!” he rushes out. It’s not that he’s scared—he’s not scared of anything, except maybe Rhys, and maybe spiders, and a little bit of heights—and it’s not that he doesn’t want Frankie to watch, it’s just— It— He— Okay, so he’s a little scared.
It’s because last time he tried something new (Toby and Kai), he felt like he was changed forever. Yeah, he tried to have sex without all the Mambo-Jambo-No. 5 but it didn’t feel the same. Like something was missing without the other person giving him praise or telling him exactly what to do. And as much as Lexie very, really likes praise and knows he now likes praise, he thinks maybe not being able to shower ever again without wishing a hot redhead was telling him how might really, really ruin him.
See, once upon a time (imagine sparkles like in the fairybooks that show before films about animated princesses) he met Toby’s dad, Luca, who is a very nice, very kind, very handsome man with very big hands who says nice things like good job when Lexie does even the tiniest, little thing. After a few too many rosy cheeks and wide-eyed staring contests in which Luca didn’t even participate and it was just Lexie not being able to blink as he watched the man, Lexie decides he doesn’t need that. He has an already too long list of things that have been ruined—okay, not ruined, Luca is still hot and he wants to be praised more—already. Showers are his safe space.
Except he’s hard. He’s still hard as he slips away—well, it’s more of an awkward shuffle considering his trousers are half way down his thighs, but that really isn’t important—from Frankie and into the unfamiliar bathroom. He’s hard as he takes off the large Santa coat that started all of this, hard while he counts the mistletoe that remained lined within, hard as he realises he’d lost twenty of them in his haze of getting here (what the fricklety-frack?). The throbbing pleas are harder and harder to ignore with each piece of clothing that falls off him.
Naked, water running over him, soaped up and ready to scrub-a-dub-do his best at getting as clean as a whistle, he tries to focus on anything else. Frankie’s body wash smells like mango and on another day, Lexie would be tempted to eat it, if he wasn’t distracted by the fact it smells like Frankie, so of course he’s hard. Not knowing what Frankie is working with (a coat full of mistletoe did not help with the feeling their body against his body and hoping to put pieces together thing), he tries to prep the other side, just in case, hoping if he ignores his cock it will stop torturing him.
But no. No. Nononononono. Stretching his hole with two fingers and feeling the burn that comes with not having anyone inside him for a while—too long—only makes Lexie wish Frankie was here. He groans into his forearm, pressed against the cool shower tiles as he awkwardly tries to twist his hand, to let his fingers reach deeper, but he can’t. It’s not the same, not deep enough, not filling enough, not as good as if someone else—Frankie—was doing it. His cock (the traitor) leaks with every sloppy thrust of his fingers and he’s tries with everything in him—love of Christmas included—to keep himself from leaning forward to press his length against the cold wall. The slightest bit of friction is all he needs, any feeling against his aching cock, anything, everything, Frankie would be enough. He’s so close he could cry and he wants—
“Lexie?”
The man in question jumps, fingers curling with his surprise at the sound of a knock at the door. That’s all it takes to tip him over the edge, pleasure rushing over him as his eyes roll back, slumping against the wall. Whatever he just did with his fingers—because he doesn’t know—felt like magic, like being lit up from the inside, a secret button being pressed that he needs to press again. When he tries, his cock twitches pathetically, coating the shower wall with his release, whines and moans echoing through the steam-filled room.
It should be embarrassing, right? He’s pretty sure knowing Frankie is on the other side of the door and can hear him really, really should make him feel some shame, so why does he only moan louder at the idea of their face? Frick. He wants to come again. He’s barely finished and he wants to do it again, wants it from their hands, tongue, anything.
Even with all his trying, his safe space is ruined. He’ll never be the same. He’ll probably never be able to shower without thinking of this specific moment and wishing he could recreate it.
It gets worse because it has to get worse because Lexie is made of jelly—not even the good kind like the ones with little raspberries floating inside—and he can do nothing but lift his head as the door opens and Frankie gets a look at him. Their face is unreadable as they cross their arms over their chest, lip twitching around a tut.
“I’m disappointed,” they sigh and the words make Lexie’s cheeks hotter than the water still running over his sensitive skin. The way they watch him makes him nervous, slowly dragging their eyes down his body and biting their lip as the state of him. Lexie thinks (??) it’s a good thing that they reacted like that to seeing him naked but it’s really (really) hard to focus. “If you were so impatient, you should have told me.”
“S-sorry,” Lexie mutters out in response, flinching as he slides his fingers out of himself. Frankie’s gaze follows the actions, squinting quickly before they take in the pile of clothing on the floor. “I’ll hurry up! That’s— That’s what I should do, right?”
Frankie hums, a smirk tugging at their mouth as they take a step back. “You do that. I’ll make sure you won’t have to wait once you’re out of here. I’ve already got a good few ideas on what I want to do with you…”
The door closes before Lexie can respond, leaving him with his overactive imagination bouncing off the walls trying to understand what ideas Frankie could be thinking of. What if they want to play Twister with no clothes on? What if they want to bop-it, twist-it, lick-it using his body like a joy stick? Why is he stuck on kid’s games?
With a sigh, Lexie rushes to get out of the shower and dry off to find the answers himself—even if in his quickened state, he trips and hits his knee on the towel-rack and has inked his skin with an already purpling bruise. That’s just the price to pay for being so excited! Lexie is covered is evidence of exciting moments (bruises).
Taking one last big breath—a gulp to rival the biggest whale in the world—Lexie opens the bathroom door, ready to meet his fate! Twister be damned, he’s got All The Kisses to get!
What he was not expecting was to find Frankie standing at the end of their bed, tightening the strap of a harness over their hip, with a big, purple dick making itself known where all the straps meet. Well frick. Holy-moly. Frick.
“If you’re going to keep your mouth hung open like that, I can tell you what you can fill it with,” they tease, making Lexie jump in place (very gracefully, thank you very much).
“Huh? What should I…”
“Come here,” Frankie commands as they sit, directing Lexie to kneel before them. “I need to know if you’re into this or if you’d like to go for something more vanilla.”
“No, no— This is good, I like not-vanilla!”
“That’s what I like to hear,” they smile, except it feels dirty somehow, wicked in a way Lexie can’t wrap his head around. “Do you know what a safeword is?”
“Yes!” Lexie rushes to answer, recalling the list of things Toby had told him to look up before they bow-chicka-wow-wow-ed. Actually, most of their conversations before The Sex were about how important it was to Toby (and Kai, probably, but he never mentioned it) that Lexie understood exactly what a safeword was for. Though Rhys didn’t seem to appreciate the talks they had about appropriate words to use when you wanted to stop the Sexy and get to the Serious.
“I’m all ears if you have any suggestions,” the redhead smirks, running a long finger along Lexie’s jaw and tilting his head. It’s very (very) effective in making his stomach spin and head empty of any thoughts. All he has is the words he came up with last time. Is that a no-no in the not-vanilla world, to reuse safewords? Lexie isn’t sure but he’s also not really sure of anything except that he really wants Frankie to keep looking down at him like this with their teeth biting into their bottom lip. Frick.
“Potato.”
“Huh?” Frankie laughs, brow crinkling as they continue to giggle at Lexie’s choice of word. If you ask him, he doesn’t really get what’s so funny about it, but he’s not going to complain. Frankie has a nice laugh, it’s lovely and wonderful and is making his heart feel weird in a good way. “Why potato?”
“Because it’s the opposite of spicy, and sex is spicy. I mean, I don’t get why it’s spicy because I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t feel very nice on your…you know,” Lexie makes a point to nod towards Frankie’s crotch except he’s reminded of Big Purple. It isn’t his fault that his face is really, very hot again.
“Hmm, I see. Would porridge not be less spicy than a potato? I mean, potatoes are wonderful when you add a little spice to them,” they reason, lips tilted up into a smile that Lexie would like to describe as amused. He wants them to be amused, he wants them to like him.
“I-I guess,” he mumbles, leaning into Frankie’s hand as they move it from his chin, caressing his cheek. It’s as close to heaven as anything ever, and Lexie is pretty sure the last thing he said that about was the Christmas cookies Lily made for him a few weeks ago, so it’s a hard contest.
That feeling is only made worse when Frankie leans down into his space, their giggle dancing across his cheeks. “Oh, you are adorable. So responsive to everything, hm? I would really like to get started if that’s settled. If you want to stop—”
“I’ll say porridge, I double-pinky-promise,” Lexie tries to reassure, eyes pinned to Frankie’s lips. He’s owed at least fifty kisses, after all, and the more they talk, the less they’re kissing.
“Oh, one more thing, do you have any hard limits—”
Lexie is going to go crazy soon, that’s why he interrupts them. It’s perfectly understandable, you see. He’s not being rude! (He hopes.) “No, just kiss me please.”
Frankie’s mouth splits into a wide grin at Lexie’s words, which is not (!) helping (!) the spin cycle his washing machine stomach is stuck on right now. “Pathetic,” they whisper, voice dropping low, “exactly how I like them.”
With no warning—not that Lexie needs any, duh, he’s super-duper prepared at all times—Frankie slides their fingers past his cheek, moving to cradle the back of his head and their lips meet his. It’s a lot more intense than the last kisses, not a second wasted before they’re licking at the seem of his mouth, opening it so they can run their tongue along his teeth.
Lexie can do nothing but moan as Frankie continues, chasing every swipe of their lips, tongue, their everything with his own mouth. When they suck on his labret ring, he follows them until he’s leaning forward, using their thighs to keep himself from falling. The topsy-turvy feeling in his stomach is replaced with a cauldron, like a bubbling heat that only gets hotter the more their mouth works to make him melt.
“How many?” they breathe before kissing him again, not giving him any time to answer—not that he has an answer because he doesn’t understand the question, to be honest. When he doesn’t attempt to respond, they tug at his curls gently and repeat themself: “How many mistletoe?”
“F-fifty-two,” he whines, blinking his eyes half-open to meet their expectant gaze. It’s unfair, really, how hot he feels under it, how hot he feels under them.
If that answer is good or not isn’t an answer he’s given, too busy letting them capture his mouth again, shivering as they bite into his bottom lip and tug. The sensation goes straight to his—once again—aching cock, trailing a path right from his lip to his crotch in a single moment that’s far too quick. When he tries to mimic their action, they tug at his hair again, forcing him to gasp as they pull away. It feels like a warning, like a reminder that Lexie isn’t in control here. He doesn’t want to be, he just wants to be used—
“Do you want to earn more?” Lexie starts nodding immediately. It doesn’t matter what the cost is if it means more kisses. The redhead’s lips kick up into a smirk as they use their free hand to grip at the silicone between their legs. “Then suck it for me, puppy.”
“But you won’t be able to feel it?” he finds himself blurting out in confusion. It’s a silly, stupid mistake, especially when he sees the amusement fade from their face.
“I’m not sure how that’s relevant,” they bite back, tone disappointing. A title wave of shame—or whatever those big waves are called that he always see videos of, usually with surfers riding them—washes over Lexie as he slumps his shoulders, dropping his head. Or he would, if they’d let him. No, Frankie tugs again so his face meets theirs. “I want to see that pretty mouth of yours stuffed with cock. Is that a problem, Lexie?”
“N-no, that’s not— I can do it, I want to do it.”
“Show me. Prove you can.”
The purple dong is so much more scary now, up close, being tilted towards his mouth. Not scary bad, but his stomach is spinning (still) and now filling with something tingly that he’s pretty sure is excitement. Wetting his lip and swallowing his nerves, he leans forward to gently lick at the fake-tip of the fake-penis in front of him.
When Frankie begins to drag their nails across his scalp, he takes it as a good sign, making sure to keep his eyes on them as he slowly tries to take the big (seriously, why is it so big?) dildo into his mouth. It tastes weird. Not bad, but weird. Probably exactly how silicone should taste? Lexie doesn’t know, he’s not sure he’s ever put it in his mouth before.
The flavour kind of doesn’t matter at all, he decides, because Frankie is smiling at him. Like he’s doing good. Like the fact he’s sucking in his cheeks even though they can’t actually feel it is what he’s meant to do. The shame from before washes away as easily as it drenched him.
“You look so good like this,” the redhead hums, spreading their thighs further. It’s hot—too hot, if you’re asking Lexie—and he’s pretty sure they know exactly what they’re doing. He should do better. That’s the motivation behind his actions when he tries to push the dick deeper into his mouth, ignoring how his throat protests. Fighting a gag, he blinks up at them and shudders when they let out a low groan. “Can I fuck your face, puppy?”
Oh frick, Lexie gulps, finally choking as he rushes to pull off Big Purple. The image of Kai’s tear-streaked face appearing vividly in his mind as Toby had done exactly what Frankie is asking to do, of the mess Kai looked like afterwards, gasping for air every time he got a moment to breathe. Honestly, Lexie isn’t sure if he would look as good as Kai like that, if he ever could, but he’d like to try.
He wants his face fucked. He wants it so bad, he can’t speak—which is saying a lot for someone like Lexie who hates silence and loves talking.
His cock twitches impatiently between his legs at the idea of becoming even more pathetic for Frankie. Oh, they’re really going to make him weird. He’s desperate for it.
With a nod, he opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue. It’s the right thing to do, he thinks, because Frankie’s eyes light up at the action. Good.
“Tap my thigh twice if you want to stop, okay?” they say, voice annoyingly low—only annoying because Lexie is pretty sure he’s going to end up coming without being touched if they keep being this hot and doing all these hot things like speaking like that and telling him he looks good sucking on dildos. He nods again, moving his hands to their thighs as they cup both of his cheeks.
This time, the taste isn’t even a thought, too busy focusing on the way his chest tightens as they slowly thrust into his mouth. They barely reach the back of his throat before they’re pulling back, letting him suck on the end quickly before they thrust forward once more. It’s so slow, Lexie thinks he might go insane, like every motion of their hips driving the toy into his mouth is a test of patience, and he wants to win.
Frankie’s hands return to his curls, gripping them as if in warning before they push further. Now they’re hitting the back of his throat, making him suck a deep breath in his nose as he tries to adjust to the new sensation.
“Is that okay, puppy?” Lexie would like to respond, but all that comes out is a whiny sound he’s really, really sure is pathetic. Or, he hopes it is, because that’s what Frankie said they want. “I don’t want to break you before we begin,” Frankie continues, seeming to enjoy watching Lexie’s eyes water, relentless in how they hold him in place, deepthroating the silicone.
When they pull away, Lexie gasps for breath, jaw already aching (almost) as much as his cock. “You can b-break me, I w-want you to” he croaks, voice breaking. If Frankie’s fluttering eyes are anything to go by, he’s pretty sure they like it.
“You are far too tempting for your own good,” Frankie mutters, too quiet, like they didn’t really mean for Lexie to hear it but he does. It’s as good as praise the way his body reacts, thighs clenching together as he fights the urge to stroke himself. Thankfully, he’s distracted by Frankie pressing Big Purple against his mouth again, dropping it open only to have it roughly filled when they waste no time thrusting forward.
His eyes roll back as they really move, hips rolling over and over and over, using his mouth like a toy as they fuck into him. His throat burns with every hit of the fake-tip against it but he doesn’t even care because it feels good. Every time Frankie’s breath catches or they moan, Lexie feels closer to the edge himself, like it’s his own dick being sucked, except it’s not, it’s just Frankie and their reactions.
“Such a good boy,” they groan, grinding as Lexie’s lips meet the base of the fake-dick, making him moan, whiny and desperate even when their body tries to force a gag out of him. He’ll hold it down as long as he needs to if this is what gets him praise. His cheeks are wet with tears, his jaw really hurts and his cheeks feel numb with how hard he’s trying to suck them in, but he feels alive in a way he hasn’t since the last time with Toby and Kai.
Actually, this might be better, with Frankie’s full attention on him and how clearly they approve of the mess they’ve made out of him.
Finally, they move again, messily thrusting into his mouth without any care for the sounds he lets out—the wet, broken moans he chokes over—or how he’s gyrating his hips into nothing as he tries to chase friction that he can’t find for his own cock.
“You look amazing like this, puppy, like the perfect pet,” Frankie praises, holding his head down on their length before they rip him off of it, letting his breathe for barely five seconds (he counted) before pushing him back down. “Be a good boy and come for me,” they continue, like they know exactly how close he is even if he hasn’t had a chance to tell them. “Come from me fucking that lovely face of yours. Fall apart from sucking a toy like the pathetic puppy you are.”
That’s the sentence that sends him over the edge, whining as pathetically as he can without even needing to try, drooling around the dildo as his hips twitch, rushing to catch his own release in his hands, cock overly sensitive without being touched. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, he’s pretty sure.
He’s still gasping and twitching when Frankie pulls out of his mouth, barely able to focus as he blinks bleary eyes at them. He feels like a mess, like the most messy-mess he has ever been, and it’s incredible. Whatever this feeling is, he wants to live in it, wants to stay like forever—
“Come here,” Frankie interrupts, their hands somehow having moved without him noticing, pulling at his upper arms until he’s sitting up on shaky knees. “I think you’ve earned a lot more than kisses.”
With a gulp, Lexie nods, rushing (and falling at least once, but who’s counting?) to get up onto the bed next to them. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, I definitely haven’t had my fill of you yet,” they grin, that same wickedness from before that makes Lexie’s stomach do summersaults. “You said you want me to break you, didn’t you?”
“Yes— Yeah, I— Please,” Lexie manages to respond, ignoring how his jelly-like body protests every one of his movements.
In an instant, he’s flipped onto his back, legs spread as Frankie grips at his thighs, feeling the still wet tip of Big Purple against his hole. “Then let’s get to real fun, shall we, puppy?”
Lexie is almost very, entirely, most likely never going to be the same after this. He can’t wait. He really can’t wait. “U-use me, please. I’m all yours.”
“Good boy,” Frankie repeats, and it’s as effective as every other time they’ve said it. Lexie can’t wait to hear it again…
⋆꙳•❅‧₊⋆☃︎‧❆₊⋆
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART THREE