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mysuperiors · 4 months

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CW: Non-consensual sex.

Your friend’s cousin, Mark, was part of the bachelor weekend trip to the beach house. The first night was a bender and you were way too tired to go out on the boat with everyone else the next afternoon.

“Oh man, you sure? We’re gonna be out there a few hours?,” your friend Nate, the groom to be, asked.

“Nah, bro. Go. I need to recover so I’m ready for tonight.”

“Alright, man. Feel better. Mark is feeling it too. He’s staying behind. Take turns throwing up,” he laughed.

Great. Stuck in a house with a guy you met 18 hours ago before getting blackout drunk.

You went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. The house was quiet, so you got your book and lay on the couch to read. An hour went by and you realized you hadn’t heard a thing. Was Mark going to wake up? Was he even here? You figured you’d check on him just in case. He had to have been asleep for 12 hours by now.

You went upstairs to the room he was sharing with another cousin of his and Nate’s, lightly knocked on the door and opened it. Mark was lying on the bed, completely naked, slowly stroking his cock.

“Oh shit!,” you exclaimed, and quickly shut the door. You heard him laugh on the other side of the door. “Sorry, man,” you called out. Just as you were taking a step away to go back downstairs, you heard him move to the door and pull it open.

He stood there, completely bricked up. “What the fuck man? Where you going? Come back in here.”

It took you a second to process what he said. “Nah, man. I’m not into that. I’m straight. I’m engaged too,” you said taking a step back.

He put his hands on his hips and asked conversationally, “Oh yeah? You and Nate ever swap?”

“What?”

“Bitches.” “Fiancés,” he added seeing the look of confusion on your face.

“What? No, dude. Put some fucking clothes on! I’m going downstairs.”

“Man, I could really use some help here,” he gestured at his dick. “My hand isn’t getting the job done.”

“Fuck this. I’m straight. I’m heading out. Tell Nate and the guys I’ll be back tonight.”

“Whoa! Wait. You can’t leave. They’re gonna ask me a bunch of questions about where you are and why you left.”

“Just fucking tell them… I left before you woke up. I don’t know. Jesus!” You were trying not to look at his bare naked body.

“Listen, man, don’t be a prude. Just come in here and suck it. You never gave a brojob before? College? Frat house shit?”

“Christ! No. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you some fag?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, man! I’m trying to be—”

“Yo I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m leaving.”

Mark took two giant steps forward and grabbed you by the arm just as you were turning to go.

“Get your fucking hands off me, man,” you warned him.

“Or what?”

Without hesitating, you took a swing right at his face, but he ducked and twisted your arm behind your back and shoved you by the neck up against the wall. “Yeah who’s the faggot now, cool guy? Huh? Tell me.”

You struggled, but he had you pinned up against the wall. “Let me fucking go! Get off of me!”

“I asked you a question. Who. Is. The. Faggot. Now.” and he tugged your bent arm farther up your back, sending a piercing pain throughout your shoulder. When you still didn’t answer, he banged your forehead into the wall, giving you an instant unbearable headache. “WHO?”

“Fuck. I am,” you conceded. “Alright? I am the faggot. Let me fucking go now, okay?”

“Nah, man.” Mark breathed. “You just said you’re a faggot and I’m rock hard and ready to cum.”

He slammed your head into the wall again and your vision blurred and you swayed from lightheadedness as he yanked you back into his room and shoved you down face first on the bed. Momentarily stunned, you couldn’t even resist when he literally ripped the T-shirt from off your back. One of his nails caught you and scraped your back, the sharp pain bringing you back into focus as you realized what he intended to do.

“No! Fuck. No! Stop! Help!”

But he grabbed you by the hair and forced your face into a pillow while you screamed. He got right down to your level and bit your ear hard. The shock of that shut you up for a second and Mark growled in your ear, “Shut the fuck up and take this cock like a good faggot. If you don’t be quiet, I’m going to smother you with this pillow. Do you understand? Do you understand that I am serious right now and this is the only choice you have left?”

You were petrified, and given everything that had just happened in the last five minutes, you knew he was completely serious. This jacked CrossFit bro was literally going to kill you. You stopped screaming. Your body was rigid with fear.

“That’s right,” Mark whispered. “Shhhh… nice and quiet. I don’t want you to make a sound, no matter how much this hurts.” He licked your ear lobe and kissed your cheek and forehead. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

You shook your head into the pillow.

“Tell me. Say ‘Yes, Sir.’”

“Yes, Sir,” you choked out through the thick sob that was forming in your throat.

“Shhhh, my baby. If you cry, I’m just gonna fuck you harder.” Mark taunted.

He let go of your arm, freeing it. As you pulled it back around toward your head, the pain was overwhelming. Mark slowly hooked his fingers into each side of your running shorts and boxer briefs, and slid them down, exposing your bare ass. “Nice and smooth,” he commented. He ran his hand over your cheeks, massaging them slightly. He traced his forefinger from the bottom to the top of your crack, sending a not-unpleasant sensation up your spine. Then he slapped your right ass check. “Perfect,” he purred.

He pulled you up on your knees by your hips. You were on all fours, your head pounding, your left shoulder on fire. You felt his knees in between your legs, and then you felt him spread your legs apart with his. You heard a wet sound, him licking and sucking his fingers, and then you felt him spread your ass cheeks apart. He pressed on your clenched hole with his forefinger. He gave it another lick and then began prying you open and working his finger up inside you.

You couldn’t hold back the choking sob. Large tears began to spill out. “Please. Don’t.” you begged between heaving breaths.

“I told you. Be quiet and don’t cry, or else,” he said calmly, and then shoved his finger all the way up inside you, sending an unbearably sharp pain up your colon into your gut.

You gasped and cried out in pain. Mark responded by punching you full force in the side of your gut, knocking all the wind out of you. “I said, be fucking quiet, faggot.”

You heard him spit and a second later you felt a large warm pipe pressing against your anus, pushing its way in, overpowering your sphincter as it tried with all its might to keep the intruder out.

“Don’t fight me, boy,” Mark said threateningly. He pushed his cock harder. You couldn’t withstand the pressure and you felt the muscle give way and expand to let him in. You gasped. My god, the pain. The pressure. You really only got a glimpse at his cock earlier. It was a decent size you had quickly noted, but now inside you it felt gargantuan.

Mark laughed. “That’s right. You’re mine now,” he taunted. “Fuck. It’s so fucking tight! Fucking hot as fire! I love virgin ass!”

It was slow going at first, and unbearably painful. Your anus was wrapped so tight around his thick shaft that he could barely motion in and out, especially with nothing but a little bit of his saliva as lube. Undeterred, he continued to force his way inside you with each grind of his hips. You could feel him going deeper and deeper. Jesus Christ, how many inches was he? How could he possibly mine your ass any deeper?

Eventually, he was thrusting in and out, adding more spit every couple minutes. He was holding your hips, and you could hear his balls smacking with every thrust. Each one, slamming you a little forward. But with his hands on your hips you took the full impact. He was owning you. It went on and on. How long had it been? Five minutes? 10 minutes? An hour? Six hours?

You were becoming delirious. This wasn’t really happening. You weren’t really on all fours with another man buried deep inside you. This wasn’t your life. Your mind went somewhere else while you were taken by this guy who could not possibly be related to one of your best friends.

Mark didn’t let up. He was picking up the pace and slapping your ass in between grunts of “Yeah, bitch. Take my cock.”

You felt as though you had left your own body. Even though all you could see was headboard and pillows, you imagined yourself watching the scene from the doorway as if it were happening to another person and not to you.

Now Mark was in a steady fast rhythm. You knew he was getting close. Am I about to feel what it is like to have a man cum inside me? You wondered. Is this what the dozens of women that I’ve fucked have felt? Has it been this painful for them?

Mark began to grunt. Feral. Loud. Urgent. “Fuck yeaaaaahhh, ahhhhh!!!” And you felt it. In an odd way you were anticipating this. Almost looking forward to it, like some grand finale of a fireworks show. A warm liquid was flooding your colon. It didn’t seem like a lot. Was it? How much did he shoot in me?

He kept fucking you slowly for a couple more minutes. Now his dick was sliding in and out with ease, his manly load making everything slick. Mark pulled out and said in an even, commanding voice “Turn around.”

With absolutely no resistance left in you, you obeyed and turned around, staying on all fours.

“Open your mouth.”

You did as you were told and Mark slapped his dick on your inflamed forehead, eyes, and nose before shoving it in your mouth. He took a handful of your hair and said, “Nice and slow. Twirl your tongue around it and lick it clean. Taste my cock. Taste my cum and my spit. Taste your ass. Taste what we taste like together. And look at me while you do it.”

You did as you were told. For the first time you were looking him right in the eyes. Christ, you saw power there! You saw a Man. He was still hard, and his engorged cock filled your mouth. You were enjoying this a little. He had one hand entwined in your hair on the back of your head, slowly guiding you up and down his long shaft. The other hand was on his hip, giving him a powerful and masculine stance as he towered over you, looking down at his conquest. You were enjoying this a lot.

“That’s right. You’re my calm little bitch now. Ready to go get cleaned up? The boys should be back soon.” He pulled his dick out of your mouth and it made a slurping noise as the head passed your lips. You eagerly started back for more, but he gave a little chuckle and pulled his cock back. “No more for now,” he chided.

You placed your hands on his hips and kissed his abs, starting to work your way up. You licked and sucked on his nipple and kissed his chest.

“You’re a good little bitch now, aren’t you?” he smirked.

“Yes, sir,” you said breathlessly, caressing his strong arms.

He hopped off the bed and took you by the hand and led you into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and waited as the water got warm. He looked at you while you ran your hands over his chest and abs and shoulders, in total awe of this new discovery: Man.

The rest of the trip was a blur. You showered. You got dressed. Iced your forehead. The guys came back. You said you fell and hit your forehead. They all laughed and made a joke about how drunk you must’ve still been from the night before.

It wasn’t until you were back home with your fiancé that you realized just how lasting this experience would be. She was eager to get you in bed when you got home, but you couldn’t get hard for her. You passed it off as just being exhausted after a crazy weekend of partying. But you knew the truth.

You spent the next week gazing at the pictures of Mark the guy posted on their Instagram from the weekend. You jerked off to the thought of his perfect body on top of you, plowing you and holding you down with a hand wrapped around your throat.

You weren’t a man anymore. That part of your life was over now. Now you are what Mark made you. You are a bitch. You are a faggot. The only thing you want now is a man’s attention.

All you want to do is kneel, serve, and obey.

#male worship #forced to kneel #forced feminized #resistance is futile #alpha master #jock bro #alpha jock #ripped #subbmisive #muscle god

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mha-quotes-and-such · 2 years

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Midoriya: You really got me a job at your fathers agency? Todoroki: Yup. You're the best bro I've ever had, and I decided a good way to show my appreciation was to give you a brojob. Midoriya: That... don't call it that. It sounds... bad. Todoroki: It does? How so? Midoriya: Just trust me. Todoroki: Well that blows.

#submitted by anonymous #thanks for the submission!#midoriya #todoroki #my hero academia quotes #incorrect dekusquad #incorrect bnha #mha incorrect quotes #suggestive

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 10 months

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You can't convince me that buck and eddie didn't just gove each other blow jobs to get some energy out. They just called them bro-jobs to keep it straight which they are very far from

AHAHA BROJOBS YES

#ryan gets mail #buddie #anon

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erotica-on-amazon · 9 months

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I always knew my buddy Clay was different than other guys, but I didn't realize how different until one night we spent together after I found out my girlfriend had cheated on me. Clay was quick to hang out with me and cheer me up like any best friend might, but then he suggested something unexpected to help me get over my girlfriend.

Clay explained the concept of the "bro job." It's simply one way for a bro to make his buddy feel better. "It's not gay," Clay assured me. "It's just a bro job." Of course, being straight, I didn't think I could actually let my buddy "please" me in that way.

But with Clay grinning from ear to ear and practically begging for it, how could I resist? Turns out, a "Bro job" is exactly what I need, and maybe I could get Clay to give up more than just his mouth...

#gay romance #mm romance #gay short story #first time gay #straight to gay #lgbt #mm #mm first time #kindle #free #lucy lennox #edward raines #nerd #jock #short stories #new release #ebook #nathan bay

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bigbrotherlouis · 4 years

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for director’s cut: the raleigh/airport scene in ‘i can’t find nothin’...’ if you would like to!!!!

ANGELA you’re gonna make me talk about sex scenes on main?! let’s DO IT

(director’s cut meme)

andrei understands, on some level, why they have to fly commercial, (i’m always going to make players fly commercial in fic if i can. direct action.) even with a job like theirs, but in practicality, when he’s wandering around the raleigh airport at six am after their flight out is delayed, he doesn’t.

marty’s laughing at him in the way that means he’s trying to be subtle about it, but andrei’s too grumpy to care. (this was for la.) it’s too fucking early and the line for coffee is too fucking long.

“it’s too early,” he whines. marty flips over the book in his hands to read the back cover.

“boo fuckin’ hoo, bud.”

“i’m tired.” and again, in russian, “я устал.”

“не— не— i don’t care,” (i couldn’t remember how to phrase this properly and i didn’t want to look it up, plus it’s funny) marty snaps back. “it’s your own fault for watching tv until one in the morning.”

“it was gossip girl,” he mutters. “important american culture.” (in one of my transition workshops where we learned to handle moving countries, we watched mean girls as an example of american culture. true story.)

“uh huh, and degrassi is exactly how canadian high school was like.” (didn’t like the flow on this sentence but i couldn’t figure out how else to phrase it. oh well.)

andrei is, like, ninety percent sure marty didn’t finish high school in canada, but he’s not willing to take the chance that he’s wrong and get teased about it. “please, can we go to starbucks now? давай, давай.” [let’s go, let’s go] (translation is always a struggle, and even more so when it’s a different alphabet like russian. i decided to include translations when context isn’t immediately clear for the reader’s comfort. also, this is something my family does-- use a different language when we want to stress something, like svechy stressing that he wants to leave)

“talking in russian won’t get me to go any faster, svechy,” marty says, placid for the early morning, and shoves a book into andrei’s hands. “here. read this and distract yourself.”

“i don’t read until i awake.” (svechy’s syntax was hard for me to write, because i want it to be clear, true to character, and respectful all at once which is hard to balance. it’s why svech’s grammar can sometimes seem a little inconsistent-- sometimes, i chose respect and readability over true to characterization. also, transliteration of accents can make people seem childish or dumb which is absolutely not what i want!)

“sucks to suck.”

andrei grumbles under his breath, a mixture of russian and english and some of sebastian’s favourite swedish (this should be finnish. oops.) curses thrown in there too, absently drumming his fingers on the cover of the book he’s still holding. marty is paying him no attention, which almost bothers him as much as the lack of caffeine does.

he’s cocking his head to read the spines of the books in the airport store when he feels the heat of someone step behind him, too close for politeness, and he’s whirling before he can even really think about it. (there really aren’t a lot of places spies can meet up by accident without getting too repetitive, especially in something that’s supposed to be silly and short, but an airport felt plausible.)

“whoa,” says joel, stepping back out of andrei’s elbows. “easy there.”

“joel?”

“in the flesh,” he says with a grin, and andrei’s thinking about how twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern when (this is me lampshading their constant meetups because i didn’t feel like expounding on it LOL)— “is that twilight?”

“i— what?”

“the book you’re reading.”

andrei looks down at his hands and then scowls in the general direction of the shelves. fucking marty. (this is the whole reason they’re in the bookstore. for me to make this joke about svech holding twilight.)

joel tips his head to the side and grins wider. “didn’t peg (haha peg) you for a vampire guy, but i can see it. wait, fuck, are you from transylvania?” (apologies to americans but this is a little jab at your general geography abilities)

“no, not in in russia,” he says absently. “siberia, yes. transylvania, no. why you here?”

“well, i just like to lurk around airports for fun. you see interesting people like this.”

“really.”

joel snorts. “no, i have a flight, dumbass. i’m a business bitch.” (my rule of thumb for writing joel’s dialogue is to think of the most ridiculous thing i can imagine a person saying in any given circumstance and then assigning him that line.)

“a business bitch?”

“yeah, dude. makin’ money moves n’shit.”

“you’re not following me?” andrei asks, aiming for teasing, pretending it’s not a real question. (more lampshading. i was lazy.) joel makes his eyes go wide and innocent, and mostly doesn’t succeed.

“andrew,” he says, outraged. “are you accusing me of being a stalker?”

“yes.”

“oh, so you’re definitely team edward. (this joke fell into my lap) i see how it is. can’t a bro say hi to his bro in an airport, especially after getting a decent brojob the last time they saw each other?”

andrei mouths the word brojob (i crack up every time this term is used and joel would absolutely say it) and then shakes his head. “no.”

“tough crowd. what are you doing here, buddy?”

“waiting for marty to finish so we can go to starbucks. too early and he is too slow.”

“yeah?” joel looks over at where marty is now examining the overpriced souvenirs with a very careful air, taking them off the shelves and putting them gently back. (i was very into this image) “wanna go stand in line with me?” (high romance there, bee)

strictly speaking, marty and andrei are supposed to be together when travelling, just in case someone gets snatched. it’s happened before, but andrei really, really wants something to drink before they fly out to fucking vancouver, or wherever they’re going. he can’t even remember. besides, if joel was going to snatch him, he would’ve done it earlier, in the hotel when andrei was fucked out and happy. he shrugs. (listen. i didn’t want to do any worldbuilding because it was a fun au so i did the bare minimum.)

“sure. marty, i go to stand in line,” he yells and marty waves a hand without looking up. the line stretches down the hallway, too many people patiently waiting for a rush. (i’m so familiar with this and it makes me sad just writing about it) andrei can’t fault them; he’s tired too, which is why he doesn’t realise that joel’s pulling him towards the bathrooms instead of the coffee shop, pushing him into the family stall and shoving the door closed. (i’m gonna be honest: i have absolutely no idea why i made this a sex scene. like none. i remember being halfway through and being like “....i’m writing?? airport sex??” but i don’t remember why i decided it was a good idea.)

for a second, andrei thinks this is when he gets kidnapped and killed, a rival taking him out in the crowded airport where no one can see. the bulgarian maneuver would’ve been a lot less conspicuous, but oh well. (this is referring to the bulgarian assassins who killed a journalist in the 80s? i think? with a poison-tipped umbrella and i’m just now realising that’s probably not common knowledge)

instead, joel clicks the lock in place and presses up close, plastered to the front of andrei.

“wha—” says andrei, but it’s swallowed up in joel’s mouth, swallowed up in the kiss that joel gives him. he kisses back, of course he does, because it’s a fucking good kiss. joel hums, coaxing his mouth open for a minute and then biting on his lower lip before pulling away. he doesn’t go far, hands skimming down andrei’s body until he drops to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor.

“we are in a toilet,” andrei hisses. “in an airport.” (svech has the practical response)

joel shrugs, giving him the biggest shit-eating grin as he undoes his belt. (joel is never not going to be smug) “guess you have to be fast, then. besides, i owe you one.”

technically, he still got off last time, even if it was pretty basic, it’s not like andrei’s going to say no, not when joel is looking so eager and mischievous.

“don’t make too much noise,” instructs joel, (i realised after i posted the fic that both blowjobs start with someone giving instructions and i’m gonna say it’s because it’s a literary parallel and not because i don’t know how to transition into sexual acts) and then he’s got his mouth on andrei’s dick and andrei can’t think of anything else to say. he bangs his head against the door and clamps a hand over his mouth, digging his fingers of his other hand into the wood behind him.

joel is good enough that andrei’s not going to last long, not like this, getting off on the secrecy of it all. (read: i just didn’t want to write a lot. but also i think svechy has an exhibitionist streak in him and joel definitely does) it’s a tiny bit shameful in the way that makes him groan into his palm, makes him rock his hips into joel’s hot mouth. joel just hums around andrei’s dick and that’s— okay, that’s a lot. andrei’s gonna get a splinter under his nails from digging so hard, or maybe he’s gonna die on the spot, or like something because joel pulls off to just go right back in again and fuck. (fun fact! i’ve never had sex i don’t know what i’m writing)

“fuck,” he hisses through the meat of his hand. “fuck!”

it’s too loud, probably, and joel’s eyes flick up to his with a warning.

“sorry,” andrei breathes. joel pinches his thigh, sharp enough to sting, and embarrassingly, that’s what makes him come with a noise between a breath and a whine.

“baller,” (joel pick something less sexy to say i dare you) joel says smugly when andrei comes back to earth, enough of a douche move that andrei can’t help but roll his eyes. he flicks joel on the cheek.

“you suck.”

he grins. “well, yeah. obviously.” (low hanging fruit but he’d say it so i wrote it)

“idiot,” andrei mutters and then tugs on joel’s shoulders until he stands up, pulls him in until he can nudge at joel’s jaw with his nose. “i help you?”

joel shakes his head, his hair tickling the side of andrei’s cheek. “nah, i like it when you owe me. hey, does it count as being part of the mile high club if we’re still on the ground?” (i was literally in the middle of posting this fic to ao3 before i realised i had not made a mile high joke which was unacceptable. typed it right into the text box)

“no?”

“damn. it’s on my bucket list.”

“you so weird,” andrei tells him, not managing to keep the fondness out of his voice, and then yawns so hard his jaw cracks. “i’ll pay you back with a drink.”

“oh my god,” says joel and then pinches andrei in the side so he twitches. “i just gave you the best airport blowjob—”

“only airport blowjob.”

“the best fucking airport blowjob of your life, and you’re thinking about drinks? fuckin’ ridiculous, andrew.”

“not andrew, yo-el.” (this is svech getting back at joel as best he can. trying to give it as good as he gets it. establishing banter!!)

“sure, bro,” joel mumbles and andrei shoves at him so he can get his pants back on, fumbling with the door. “next time better be fuckin’ phenomenal. you owe me big time.”

“excuse me, you said it was payback. we equal.”

“maybe i changed my mind,” joel says with a grin, bumping him with his hip.

“maybe i disappear forever,” he replies, halfway between teasing and halfway to serious. joel reaches up to fix his snapback (this is also for la.) and shrugs.

“nah, you’re too sweet to do that.”

“i’m not sweet.”

“uh huh, bro. keep tellin’ yourself that shit.”

the line’s gone down, incredibly, and they’re close enough to the counter that andrei has to start thinking about what to order. he should probably get something for marty, or risk getting whined at all flight.

“yo,” says joel when they’re two people away from the barista. “you got digits?”

andrei hesitates and then holds up his hands, wriggling his fingers. “uh. yes?” (it’s probably more in character for real life joel to ask for instagram instead but this joke made me laugh so much that i couldn’t bear to leave it out. also it’s a little fun second language moment)

joel blinks at him for a long second and then breaks out into a wide smile, shaking his head. “nah, not those. i mean, like, a phone number.”

“i don’t have a phone,” he mutters and then pulls one out of his pocket. (YES this is a tumblr post ripoff but svech wasn’t just going to give it up so easily so in it went) “okay, give.”

he dutifully types out the sequence joel rattles off and then sends a smiley face to the number when joel makes him text.

“cool. now we can text instead of ambushing each other in public.”

“that not me,” andrei tells him. “all you.”

“you’re jumpy and it’s cute.”

“i’ll delete your number. block it.” he warns and joel waves a hand.

“yeah, yeah,” he says cheerfully and then leans over to tell the barista what he wants to drink. it’s the most ridiculous sugary concoction, hardly any coffee, and andrei stares at him in horror. (this is projection for my horror at some of the things i’ve seen in american coffee shops. that’s just. so much sugar. also prime chirping opportunity to show their personalities and dynamic a little)

“you gonna drink that?” he asks and joel frowns a little. “is just sugar. candy.”

“yeah, so? it tastes so good.”

“you not gonna have teeth.” he orders two cold brews and pays. “you gonna die early from sugar.”

“somehow,” joel says with a sparkle in his eye, “i don’t think it’s gonna be the sugar that’ll nerf me in the end.” (minor foreshadowing here! also lmao @ the thought of joel saying nerf)

he gets his vanilla bean java chip unicorn whatever frappuccino— literally, what the fuck— and takes a satisfied sip.

“disgusting,” says andrei. “no more kissing for you.”

“aw, bud, how am i gonna practice? you said i needed it.” (it’s not stated in the fic but joel learned how to flirt from watching tk and patty and i think it shows)

“lost cause,” he tells him airily. he’s about to suggest something— he’s not even sure what— when someone appears over joel’s shoulder.

“farabee,” the guy says. he looks stern, but that might be the impressive beard. or the death glare he’s levelling andrei’s way. “where the fuck have you been?”

joel brandishes his drink. “caffeinating it up, g. stayin’ alert and awake.” (real life joel has said this at least once to claude, and i will stand by that statement)

g’s frown gets deeper. “we’re going to miss our flight.”

“nah, we’ve got time— oh, shit. yeah, we gotta bounce, bruh, but i’ll catch you later? text me.” (inelegant departure but my goal was to not overthink things in this fic, like i’m prone to do, so i left it) he almost literally get pulled away by his elbow, towed by his ginger friend through the airport so he can enthusiastically wave his goodbye.

“well,” marty says out of nowhere, reaching for his cold brew and making andrei jump. “there’s good news and bad news.”

“okay.”

“the good news is that he’s cute and somehow into your stupid face.” he takes a long drink, conscious that andrei is about to hit him for making him wait and enjoying it very much. (he’s dramatic and also i wanted to draw out the surprise a little) andrei needs new teammates.

“the bad news?” he prompts.

“the bad news,” repeats marty, grimacing. “the bad news is that he’s definitely in the same line of work as us.”([john mulaney voice] the other shoe just dropped.)

everything in andrei’s head grinds to a stop. “uh. what?”

“i recognize his handler. giroux, french canadian division.” (i’m gonna work g into fic when i can bc i love him)

“joel’s american,” he says absently and marty takes another drink, shrugging.

“so philly’s an international cooperation team. (this was my way of making the international aspect of the spy teams make sense, and also to not have this be enemies-to-lovers, as much as i love that trope) can’t imagine that ever happening.” he gives svech a look which, yes, andrei knows they work together because of a treaty or whatever, but still. he wants marty to be wrong about joel, for so many reasons.

mainly because he doesn’t like feeling like he’s been conned, not when he’s so good at doing the conning, and this is a big one. (it’s not my fic if there’s not at least a little angst!)

“fuck,” he says glumly. marty pats him on the shoulder.

“well,” he says. “at least he’s cute.” (marty’s trying to show his support for svech here! he just wants good things for his friend :)))

that was so fun to do, thank you so much for asking! ily!! <3 <3 <3

#personal issues #fic talk #hockey fic #hockey #hockey bros #my fic #long post #selkiefinalist

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mattatouile · 5 years

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Hi, I really enjoy your writing! I hope writing them brings you as much joy as reading them brings to me. Also, for the drabble thing) I would love to see 41 and 66 please

for #41 “I’m not drunk enough for this.” The Brienne/Jaime version of bro-jobs. I guess this is rated M?

"I'm not drunk enough for this." Brienne groans, burying her face in a throw pillow.

"It's really better if you aren't drunk," Jaime helpfully supplies.

Brienne pulls down the pillow far enough she can glare at him over it. The thing is, he looks so guileless, as if what he suggested was as simple as going halfsies on a metric ton of takeout and not--not whatever Jaime thinks a 'brojob' includes.

"What exactly, exactly, is a 'brojob'?" she asks, and if her fingers clutch the pillow like a lifeline, that's her own damn business. Being best friends with Jaime Lannister frequently requires emotional flotation devices.

Jaime shrugs. "Handjobs. Fingering. Blowjobs. Going downtown on you." He ticks each act off on his fingers. "I've never known it to include full-blown sex, but I guess it could if it came to that."

"Are you trying to tell me this isn't something you've just made up?" Brienne asks skeptically.

"I don't think I made it up?"

"You're not sure?"

"Well," Jaime tilts his head like a confused puppy. "Addam and I used to give each other a helping hand and then when I went to college, some of the other lacrosse players, like, on road trips or during tournaments…"

"So you were friends with benefits?"

Jaime takes a moment to consider this, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Not really? Friends with benefits sounds more like … like an arrangement. This is just, 'Oh, we're hanging out, and now I have a boner but I still want to finish watching the game'."

"Football gives you a boner?"

"And baseball." He pauses briefly. "And hockey. Sometimes soccer? Also, you know, some movies or TV shows, too."

"Are you hard literally all the time?" Brienne asks, flummoxed and a little horrified, and desperately trying to keep her eyes off his crotch.

"No! I don't get hard at the games or at movie theaters." He scoffs as if that's the ridiculous part of this conversation. "Just...when I'm with my friend and we're really enjoying ourselves...alone."

"Have you thought it might be the person you're with?" Jaime actually looks surprised at the question. Brienne rolls her eyes. "If you don't walk around with a constant hard-on, but you get hard-ons around your very close friends, maybe it has something to do with the friend."

"Huh." It's like watching a lightbulb come on over someone's head. "Huh."

Brienne can't help but snort. It earns her a half-hearted glare.

"Is that a no then?" Jaime asks.

She throws the pillow at his head. "That's your reaction?"

"I don't really care what it's called," he says easily. "I care if you don't want a brojob. Mutual brojob or bust.""I might want one more if you'd stop calling it that. It doesn't even describe what it is you're giving me."

"Well," Jaime says with one of those wicked grins that, truly, would make anyone wet or hard. "I would start with fingering, but if you were interested in--"

"Wait." Brienne squeezes her thighs together and takes a deep breath, and Jaime, for once in his life, keeps his mouth shut. "Questions first. Is it always mutual? If I give you a handy, do I at least get reciprocal attention?"

"Yes."

"Until I come? No matter how long it takes you."

"It won't take me that long."

Ah, to have the easy confidence of a hot twenty-five-year-old man.

"Second question: are there any rules?"

"You really love to suck the fun out of things, don't you?"

"Do you want a handjob or do you want to insult me?"

Jaime stops whatever he was going to say in return, sucking in a breath, that same look in his eyes as when he's decided to stop horsing around and actually try.

"The only rules are whatever we make them. The whole idea is just to give a helping hand to a bro in need. No more or less than that. No pressure. No consequences. It doesn't mean anything more than what it is: bros helping bros."

Brienne stares at him, processing the whole idea. It sounds like it could be a bad idea, but it also sounds like it could be a great idea. It's all the fun of a hook-up, but without the mortification of rejection, the awkwardness of trying to talk to new people, or the fear of pissing off some guy that can't find your clit with both hands and a search warrant.

"You can't get weird if I tell you how to touch me," Brienne warns him. She can see him try not to smile. "If you aren't willing to take constructive criticism--"

"Seven hells." He throws the pillow back at her. "For all I care, you can just use my hand or mouth like a sex toy and direct me where I need to go without my input. The whole point is mutual satisfaction, not boosting my ego like some pathetic insecure asshole."

"I don't want you to be a sex toy," she says. "I have sex toys. There's no point in doing this if you don't want to do it yourself."

"For fucks' sake." Jaime shifts closer to her, leaning in before he says, "I promise that I will keep trying until my fingers get arthritis and my jaw locks up if that's what it takes to make you scream."

Brienne's breath is coming in short bursts, her whole body flushing, her thighs rubbing together. "Okay," she says, squaring her jaw.

"Okay?"

"Are you hard or not?"

Jaime's mouth goes slack for only a moment. "Really?"

"You didn't expect me to agree?"

"Not for a second."

Brienne reaches between them and finds him at least half-cocked against the front of his sweatpants. His eyes close, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "Well, I'm agreeing."

#jaime x brienne #prompt fill #mutual brojobs or bust #i would title this a helping hand if i was posting it elsewhere #i write things #unfortunately for everyone #Anonymous

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