A short ficlet for Judith, in thanks.
The prompt was: Channon and Ewan together. Does Ewan ever top?
Pairing: MM, Ewan/Channon
Content Tags: contemporary
Summary: With their Doms away, Channon and Ewan play a game.
“Buy me that,” Ewan said, pointing at a donut under the glass. Channon pulled his wallet out and did as he was told, the same way he had when Ewan demanded a milkshake for the movie, and when he’d picked the movie too. All day, Ewan had been bossy and Channon had been good, as both of them pretended that they didn’t miss Jack and Nate on the other side of the world.
Being left home sucked. But it sucked less when Ewan turned the sucking into a game.
Channon liked games. He was good at them, after all.
“Take me home,” Ewan said, his mouth sticky with glaze. Channon did, opening the passenger door for him, letting him choose the music, even though he always messed up the stereo settings. Channon followed him up the steps, into the elevator, always a pace behind. He followed Ewan into the apartment—Tig was out, lucky for them—and into Ewan’s room, and then he folded to his knees, tucking his hands behind his back and ducking his head.
Long fingers wound into his hair. “Look at me,” Ewan said. Channon looked up, lifting his chin, and Ewan collared Channon’s throat with his palm and his thumb, and grit his teeth on the words, “Fuck, I don’t think I can do this.”
It was jarring, breaking the illusion. Channon breathed out, settling on his heels. “I believe in you,” he said.
Ewan squeezed his throat, baring his teeth for a moment before letting his hand go loose. “Yeah, naw. I mean…I can’t.”
Well. So much for that. Channon raised his hands to Ewan’s fingers, lifting Ewan’s wrist to his mouth to press his lips against Ewan’s pulse-point. “I can still blow you.”
Ewan’s eyes flickered, grey against the black around his eyes. “Naw, I ruined it.”
“It’s not ruined.”
“Like fuck it’s not.”
“Seriously?” Channon shook his head. “Dude, it’s fine.”
The argument billowed, an unreal thing. It was, Channon thought, just Ewan blowing off steam, too embarrassed to be normal about stuff. So Channon let him, argued back in all the right places, and ended up shoving him onto the bed, pinning him there with his body.
Ewan squirmed. “You weigh a ton!”
“You love it,” Channon told him. “Hey. You can fuck me, if you want.”
Ewan’s expression would have been funny if it hadn’t been so mortifying. “No fucking way.”
“Are you out of your bleeding mind? No!”
Channon hesitated. “I could ride you?”
“The last thing I want right now,” Ewan said through teeth as tight as a locked door, “is to stick my dick in you. Oh, for Christ—It’s not you, idiot!” Ewan dug his knuckles into Channon’s ribs, halfway between a tickle and a mild form of assault. “It’s me. It’s all fucking me, okay.”
Oh. Well. In that case.
Channon breathed in, braced his hands on the bed, and pushed himself up on his palms. “Roll over,” he said, low and firm as he could. Jack’s voice, but a pale imitation.
Ewan’s eyebrows went up. “What?”
“I said,” Channon insisted, doing his best. “Roll over.”
For a moment, Ewan stared. Then he did as he was told.
His breath was fast and shallow. Channon saw him squirm against the bedcovers, and knew he was already turned on by this, by Channon’s frail attempt to dominate him.
Channon licked his lips. “Get your phone out.”
“Why?” Ewan demanded, cocking his hips up in blatant invitation. “Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters?”
“You’re gonna film it,” Channon told him, his heart racing. They had all the permission in the world for this and yet it felt illicit, a ‘thou shalt not’ written into his flesh and unmistakable. “And we’re gonna send it to Nate.”
Ewan rubbed himself shamelessly on the bed. “No,” he whimpered.
“Yes,” Channon told him, knowing exactly what Ewan’s ‘no’ was worth, feeling the power in that moment and wondering at it.
Heartbeat. Then. Ewan reached for his phone. Channon reached for his zipper.
Maybe Ewan couldn’t, but Channon could. So he would.