First Time for Everything

cw for mild choking

The first time Guzma and Piers have sex, it takes all of Guzma’s self-control not to cum on the first thrust. He knew Piers was going to be tiny and tight; he might be tall, but he’s whip-thin and those slim hips just barely make a handful on either side. But he wasn’t expecting that wet pussy to wrap around him like a hot, slick fist, sucking him inside greedily. He has to fight himself for any scrap of control, forehead resting against Piers’ bony shoulder as he tries not to cum instantaneously.

The scent of Piers’ rosy cologne wafting up out of his hair isn’t helping, and Guzma desperately tries to distract himself by biting at the material of the collar Piers always wears. His balls ache from the pressure, but goddamnit, he’s waited too long for this to embarrass himself now. Lips drag up the side of Piers’ strong jaw and he relishes in the scrape of stubble across them, a soft gasp echoing in his ear before he claims that talented mouth for his own. Fuck, how is this man real?

Piers sucks on his tongue at the same time his body clenches harder, and yet when they peel apart, there’s nothing but a wicked smirk painted on his face. “C’mon, thought ya were gonna show me who’s boss. Put me in my fuckin’ place for bein’ a little punk.”

The words are like spurs in Guzma’s back (and there’s a thought, Piers wearing nothing but knee-high leather boots and shiny silver spurs. Damn, when did he get so kinky?) and he moves to grab up both those thin wrists in one hand. They both fit satisfyingly in his grip, even with the shocking strength those slender arms hold, and Guzma doesn’t care at all that a few strands of monochrome hair get caught up between his fingers, likely sending bolts of fire racing across Piers’ scalp.

Pulling out until just the tip rests inside, he looks down between them to the sight of his cock gone shiny with slick, poised right under Piers’ own hard dick. When he slams back in it earns him a musical moan, and fuck, no chance of stopping now. Not when Piers’ cunt clings to him like it’s trying to keep him buried deep, and he sets up a punishing rhythm fast, loving the filthy-slick noise of their hips slapping together.

“This what ya wanted, doll? Feelin’ every inch of boss’ cock when he feeds it to yer tight little hole?” Piers writhes underneath him, but he’s pinned, unable to struggle out of the iron grip around his wrists and helpless to do anything but pant and whimper. Perfect.

“Fuck yeah—give it t’ me, Guzma—boss—be fuckin’ mean,” Piers manages, though his voice has gone throaty and rough. He sounds like sex personified, and it’s the only noise Guzma thinks he wants to hear ever again. That, and the lewd squelch of his cock pounding deep.

Be mean? Can do.

Sweat is already rolling down his back in the humid air of this room, but it doesn’t matter. Not a goddamn thing matters but the wicked body under his, and he alters his grip, abandoning Piers’ hipbone to hook his forearm under one pale thigh.

Then he lifts him, bending Piers to fit up underneath him so his calf is by Guzma’s bicep and he’s folded in half. Gravity sends him so much deeper, and on the next down-stroke he’d almost be worried about how far his cockhead reaches if it weren’t for the keen spilling out of Piers’ throat. His pretty head thrashes against the sheets, and the only thing on Guzma’s mind is how to empty it of all thoughts except how good his pussy feels, how hard his dick is, and how well he’s being fucked. After this, Piers isn’t going to think of anyone but his boss when he’s horny, and needs something up his cunt.

Below him, his eyes are drawn to the glitter of Piers’ choker as it bounces against the pronounced hollow of his throat. Lovely thing, that, but right now it’s in the way, and Guzma can think of much better collars for Piers to be wearing.

He pauses on another thrust, enjoying the way Piers’ kohl-rimmed eyes hazily search out his own before reaching up behind his neck to find the delicate clasp of that collar.

“Oi, what’re you doin’—?”

His voice is so wrecked, and Guzma can’t keep the rakish grin off his face when he finally manages to undo it and cast the collar aside somewhere on the bed.

“Relax, sweetheart. You’ll get it back when boss is done with you.”

Piers looks like he wants to say something else, but Guzma doesn’t give him the chance, kissing him deep and lewd before pulling back to smear saliva along his lower lip. It’s gone so plush and pink, and he’s almost hypnotized by it—but then again, who isn’t enraptured with Piers’ mouth? He resolves to have it another time, perhaps. Right now, he’s not moving for the damn world.

Using the grip around Piers’ thigh, he drags him back into every thrust, until each snap of his hips has the headboard knocking against the wall. Piers wants to know who’s boss? He’ll show him.

The hand that was holding Piers’ wrists releases, and Guzma wraps it around that gorgeous throat instead, fingers digging in at the sides just enough to make Piers dizzy. He can feel a pulse pounding away under his fingertips, every rushed exhale when his thrusts slam the breath out of Piers’ lungs. With a flex of his palm, he tightens the grip on the rocker’s larynx, watching his eyes fly wide.

“Y’wanted me to be mean, didn’tcha, doll? This mean enough for ya?”

Each thrust carries the weight of his body behind it, and only the hold he has on Piers’ leg is keeping him from sliding across the bed. Every time he sinks inside it feels like pure fucking heaven, and Piers’ moans reverberate under his hand, vibrating up his fingers deliciously.

“Answer boss when he’s talking to you,” he commands, loosening his grip on Piers’ throat just enough for him to respond.

“Fuck...yes, boss—holy shit, you feel so good in me, just like that—“ his voice is hoarse and low with pleasure, but the praise sends shivers skittering over Guzma’s skin. When was the last time anyone said something like that to him, even in bed? When was the last time someone snapped their hips back and gave as good as they got, like it’s truly not enough for either of them? He can barely breathe, but he’s hanging on to his control the same way he was at the start, determined to make Piers cum first. He wants to see that, wants to see what the look on his face is like when he orgasms hard, wants to hear him scream for it.

Piers’ sweat-slicked thigh almost slips out of his grip and he digs his nails in, bending even lower until he can nip at those puffy, reddened lips for himself. Makes his way down Piers’ throat again, moving his fingertips just enough to leave room for a mark to be sucked, purple and red against that pale skin. Never seen a drop of sunlight, and suddenly he’s almost grateful for the fact as he watches a bruise bloom instantly on Piers’ throat.

The new angle must be working well because Piers’ moans have become a near-constant litany of praise, and Guzma gives up on holding him by the throat just to hear it.

How long has he waited for this? How many times has he fantasized about Piers in the short time since knowing him, and now it’s real and better than his wildest imaginings? Nails bite into the backs of his shoulders, leaving red lines over the ink laid into skin there, but the bites of pain only have him hissing in ecstasy. Piers must be nearly there; he can feel his body tightening, the desperate clenching of his walls bearing down harder, and Guzma frees the hand from around his throat to stuff it between their bodies and find the hard length of his dick. He grasps it between two fingers, and every thrust back and forth jerks Piers off at the same time until he’s going wild, hips trembling and shaking even as he takes every inch of pleasure Guzma gives him.

Greedy and decadent and beautiful.

“Come on, baby—sweetheart, cum for boss, I know yer close, can feel you gettin’ tight and squeezing me,” he mutters into his ear. “Cum for me, Piers.”

It’s the sound of his name that does it.

Piers’ back arches hard, his body drawing up bowstring-tight as his orgasm takes him, the wail falling out of his lips just this side of ear-splitting but still fantastic. Still perfect as those blue eyes roll up in his head and he convulses, the cock between Guzma’s fingers swelling and twitching and so, so wet. There’s no way Guzma can hold back; he follows Piers over the edge with a shout of his own, then buries his cock as deep as it will go, needing to fill him to the brim. Wants a trace of himself so deep Piers will never get it out.

Pleasure roars in his ears like the thunder and white pops across his vision, every muscle in his body tensing as he spills again and again. Perfect heat, he never knew it before...

Even when the bruising pleasure drops him out of its undertow, he’s shaking and panting against Piers’ skin. It’s all he can do to collapse to the side rather than directly on top of him, the white-hot ecstasy still tingling through his extremities.

After a long moment of catching their breath, Piers sits up and fishes around in the bed for his collar, snapping it back on and tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Goddamn, bossman. That was pretty good, we’ll have t’ do it again sometime, yeah?”

He almost slides out of the bed before Guzma’s hand catches his wrist.

“Sometime? Who said we were done?”