Matthew is Mine
Chapter 8
“Alfred—Alfred, stop—“
Arthur’s voice came hoarse and exhausted, and, laughing softly behind his ear, Alfred replied,
“You really want me to stop?”
He then moved into him particularly hard, and, crying in defeat, Arthur replied,
“No.”
Alfred laughed, deliberately slowing down, and he pulled out until only the glistening tip of his member was in, and, out of breath, long arms clutching at the wooden chest beneath, Arthur whispered,
“Please.”
“Yeah?”
“Please, Alfred.”
“Please what?”
“Please.”
“You want me to give it to you?”
Silence, but for the soft echo of breath—
Alfred didn’t move, remaining frozen in place with just the tip barely in, hard and wet against Arthur—
“Yes,”
Came at last the response,
“Yes, I want you to—“
“Want me to what?” Alfred whispered, lips stretching into a devious grin against Arthur’s ear, and, defeated, Arthur replied,
“—I want you to give it to me—”
Soft, throaty laughter as, very slowly, Alfred pressed his way in, and his voice was just barely audible then as he crooned,
“Like this?”
Long, yellow eyelashes came down over Arthur’s eyes, and, very slowly, he exhaled,
“Yesss—”
Now Alfred’s voice came soft and breathy, too; he began kissing the moist skin at the nape of Arthur’s neck, long fingers closing around his glistening member in front, and he whispered,
“You dirty boy—”
“Quiet you,”
Arthur snapped, mostly helpless in his grasp, “Is that any way to speak to the guy who brought you up?”
Alfred only laughed, and, kissing him gently, replied,
“Are you gonna punish me?”
“That’s right,”
Arthur replied, his voice hot and hoarse, wet with expiration as he moved back against Alfred, he’d punished him plenty over the years; when he grew up, on a regular basis Alfred had found himself helpless and angry, strewn across Arthur’s lap at the mercy of his belt, for whatever bit of mischief he’d managed to stir.
Matthew would watch, eyes big and blue and thumb at his mouth, all too often the victim of the very schemes that Alfred devised—
But it wasn’t for show, go play outside, Matthew, Arthur didn’t do it to amaze and amuse.
He did it to discipline, with love all the same.
“You want me to spank you,”
Arthur whispered, even as he was helpless just then in his grasp, bent double beneath the wet thrust of his hips.
“Just like that, with your hand?”
Alfred replied, kissing him wetly, “no belt?”
“You want the belt?”
“I think I’d rather like it with your bare hand,” Alfred said, the very notion bringing him closer to climax.
Outside the attic door, Kiku pressed his palm hard to his mouth, guarding himself with utmost care lest he made any sound. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the things he had heard, he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t fight his arousal at the very thought—
He wanted so much to look, so much to watch as the two of them kissed, as Alfred at last released the other boy, and then climbed atop Arthur’s lap, member sliding hard and wet across his legs as then there came the crisp, sharp echo of flesh striking flesh, emanating throughout the empty room.
“I rather think it’s you who’s the dirty boy here,”
Arthur whispered, and Alfred smiled softly to himself, secretly aroused by the way he pronounced the word dirty.
“Ah, but you’ve always thought s—“
He was cut off when again there came the sharp impact of Arthur’s hand, and his voice resounded desperate and distinct when again he cried out—
“You’re hard, Alfred,” the other boy whispered, grinning with wicked satisfaction against the damp skin of his neck, “does this get you off?”
“I was already hard.”
“The very thought of fucking me gets you hard, doesn’t it.”
“Yeah,” Alfred breathed, “it does.”
Arthur struck him again, and, against his naked thighs, Alfred was completely hard, his member hot and wet and large, and Arthur leaned in to kiss him, hungrily seizing his mouth, hand still gloved as he took hold of his sex.
Alfred’s cries came muffled when he came at last, hot liquid running wet and white through the slender digits of Arthur’s hand, dripping over the gloved surface and to his thighs beneath and to the floor from there, and, his own lips mere inches away from Alfred’s, he brought his hand to the other boy’s mouth, tonelessly whispering the single word,
“Suck.”
Out of breath and exhausted, Alfred allowed the slick digits in past his lips, holding Arthur’s hand in place with his own, and, blonde bunches of hair sticking damp to his forehead, he took them hungrily in, sucking hard, until at last he was done. Arthur then kissed him gently, murmuring in hushed tones,
“You want more?”
Without further encouragement, Alfred slowly climbed down from the other boy’s lap, gazing up eagerly as he proceeded to part Arthur’s thighs.
“Go on,”
Arthur said, fingers gentle in his hair, consoling almost as he urged him forth.
To be continued…