Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They haven't done this before. 

But then, a lot has changed — since Section shot Menendez, since Harper took a length of rebar to the leg, since they watched the White House almost burn to the ground, and thought that maybe everyone just got what was coming to them, after all. 

"Never?" David emphasizes, blinking at Harper in surprise. He's not overplaying it, not enough to make Harper genuinely mortified, but it is a little embarrassing. "Not even like, your own fingers? In the shower? I mean, I've done that and I don't even have a prostate, as far as I'm aware."

Harper's already flushed, but he flushes some more, at that. And at the very real memory of the low, guttural moans he's worked out of David doing just the opposite of what David is proposing right now, on several past occasions. 

A common misconception about anal sex is that the prostate is doing all of the work making it feel good. In actuality, it doesn't matter what configuration of genitals you have down there. It's more a toss of a many-sided die that has to do with nerves. Everyone has an asshole, and some people find that useful for various things other than waste disposal. 

In any case, Harper does have a prostate, and... "I mean, I've had, like. A medical check. Up there." 

He's in his goddamn forties, he should be able to say this. Even with David staring so intensely at him. Especially like that, actually. For fuck's sake, he should be used to David looking at him like that, he should be immune by now, but maybe he's just cursed. 

David, for his part, is doing an admirable job not laughing at Harper. Harper wouldn't even be offended — it's worth laughing at how thoroughly mortified he is right now. Though, it is nice that he doesn't judge Harper for being relatively sexually inexperienced. Even if it is only in this one area. And not a big deal. see? Harper's doing just fine with his self-esteem, thank you very much. 

But...yeah. 

David smiles softly at him, amusement playing on his lips. It's not mirth at Harper's expense, more the excitement of potentially getting to show him something new. Harper's learned to recognize these little nuanced expressions David has, the way he sometimes bares so much more of himself than anyone else would ever think to notice, only with his face. He's careful with his words, a lot of the time. Doesn't let on what he doesn't want people to know. But if you watch him carefully, you can learn to read him, to catalog his face. 

Maybe Harper just has a damning amount of brainspace dedicated to David Mason and that pretty face of his. But that's beside the point. 

"But you've never taken anything up the ass in a sexual context?"

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," Harper says, for lack of any better way to respond. David has this beautiful way of getting right to the core of something, approaching it so bluntly it takes you by surprise, stripping away your own defenses, making you admit things you'd have stumbled around, otherwise. He just doesn't give you the chance to be afraid of your own reality. He confronts it, and it only makes sense to go with him. and...

"Would you like to?"

Harper finds himself a lot more open to the prospect of change, these days. 

"I can't say I've had it on the mind, but then I can't say I've never thought about it, either. Seems like it could be fun."

Harper thinks he knows what he's in for. After all, everything David's about to do to him, he's done to David before. But being on the receiving end is a little different. David spends a long, long time just touching him. Running his fingers over every sensitive spot, teasing him, getting him acclimated to the contact so he'll properly relax. 

When he finally hears the click of the lube bottle uncapping, it doesn't even faze him. By that point he's got his cheek squished into the pillows and is lying comfortably on his stomach, David a warm weight splayed over his back. He's half hard already just from anticipation and being teased by David like this. David is nuzzling into his neck, whispering to him, sweet nothings about how good he's being, how he's doing a perfect job. 

One hand is somewhere in the vicinity of Harper's abs, pushed up under his shirt. The other is warm between his legs, until it's pulled away. Harper's shoulders slump at the loss of contact, but David's hand comes back quickly, and he gasps, then, at the cold, slick sensation of David's thumb rubbing lube around his rim, generously spreading it out, dipping in without actually penetrating him. 

His fingers trace the underside of Harper's balls, spidery touches that have Harper shivering, light sensations just enough to split his attention between that and the insistent press of David's lips to his skin, and his thumb, still moving in circles, teasing without teasing. 

"I'm ready," Harper mumbles, half muffled by the pillows. "'M not glass, y'know."

David's laugh is a soft hum against his neck. "I know. But it's your first time. I want to make it good for you." A gentle kiss, just above his collar. "And you're impatient."

He wasn't lying: he is ready, as much as he can be. Still, nothing can quite prepare him for the unfamiliar sensation of a foreign object breaching his body. His half-lidded eyes shoot open and he freezes with a gasp when David's thumb bends at the first knuckle, pressing into his hole.

Instantly, David's other hand is on his back, curving over the familiar paths of old scars, draining the tension out of him. 

"It's okay, just breathe, you gotta relax or it won't feel good," he soothes, and it shouldn't be so obvious that Harper's embarrassingly reactive to how new this is, but what's one more little thing to be privately mortified about? 

"How's it feel?" David asks, after giving him a long moment to adjust.

Harper makes a face, uncertain. "Still getting used to it."

It feels...weird. 

Interesting, though. Not bad at all, with the lube easing the way, and the generally comforting aura created by David on top of him. That, at least, is perfectly familiar. It's easy enough to sink into the mattress and just let himself be sandwiched between that and David. He kind of wants to see David's face, while they're doing this, but for now he's too comfortable to move.

"How about this?" Slowly, gently, David's thumb massages his rim, from the inside. Something in Harper's brain turns upside down, nerves sparking confusedly at being pressed from brand new angles. Curiosity is steadily giving way to definitive interest. 

"Not bad. What else you got for me, hotshot?"

David stretches him with his thumb, but just when Harper's finally getting used to the feeling, starting to become intrigued, he removes it. Harper whines deep in his throat at the loss, but relaxes again as he hears the lube bottle open once more, and then finds David pressing two fingers at his rim. 

This time, the stretch is enough to spark a slight burn. Toeing the line between pleasure and pain, but it's a soft pain, the kind of ache that just makes him crave more. He times his breaths with David's when his mind begins to wander, and by the time David is working those two fingers in and out of him at an agonizingly slow pace, he's just lost enough in the sensation to make himself ignore how obscene his own gasps sound.

He finally moans outright when David's fingers slide a little deeper, crooking at the first knuckle, pressing down against — yeah. That'd be his prostate. He knows where it is, in theory. He didn't know it could do that.

Harper is aware of exactly two things: the nerves between his prostate and his dick and his balls and whatever the fuck else has a name inside his body down there, lighting up like crazy; and the curve of David's smile against his neck, that smug bastard. 

"Good?"

Harper really doesn't want him to pull out again, because he's hard as carbon steel now, but that's outweighed by his violent need to look David in the eyes, suddenly. He holds up a hand, indicating he wants David to pause. 

"Good." That's the first thing. Fuck, he needs a moment to collect his thoughts. Maybe several moments. David hasn't moved his fingers, but they're still on his prostate, and he can still feel it. And he doesn't not like it. He swallows. "Can you, uh, —" and fuck, this shouldn't be so embarrassing, but here they are, "I want to see you."

It's worth the mortification of forming the words, a hundred times over. David pulls out to roll him right over, moving a pillow to support Harper's lower back, and his eyes are glittering with pleasure and pride, when he smiles down at Harper. He slides his fingers back in, and dips down to kiss Harper at once. Harper whines into his mouth, whines even louder when David's free hand cups his balls, thumb stroking the seam of his thigh. 

"You're sensitive," David observes with obvious delight, seeing how responsive he is. 

"You're teasing me," Harper spits, with no real heat. 

David kisses below his earlobe. "I am, and I'm very much enjoying it. Can I touch your dick now?"

"You can do whatever the hell you want with my dick," Harper pants, "as long as you finish what you start."

"Oh, I intend to."

How he manages to be both cheery and composed with Harper's junk in his hands is probably some kind of top-secret classified knowledge far above Harper's rank. Both knowledge and rank are largely escaping Harper at the moment, regardless.

David takes his free hand off Harper's balls to pour more lube into his palm, and slicks Harper up. Harper moans shamelessly, arching into the touch, a garbled noise escaping his mouth as David starts to jerk Harper slowly in his fist, curling his fingers to rub against Harper's prostate in time with each thrust. 

Harper's own fingers curl, clenching into the sheets, trying to get some grasp on what the absolute fuck is happening to his body right now. It's really fucking good, but it's also a lot at once. He can feel the familiar gut-swirl warmth of an orgasm beginning to build, but the tender ache of it is...more spread out than usual, like David's hit some hidden switch on his entire reproductive system at once. 

Like it might wash over his entire body when it finally hits him.

It's a good thing Harper's head is cushioned by the pillows, or he'd be hurting himself with how hard he throws it back with the force of the electricity hurtling up his spine. Probably smothering himself in the pillows, too — at least then he might be able to muffle his moans, then, but this isn't so bad either. David likes when he's noisy, in any case. 

"C'mon, Harp, sing for me," David teases, grinning at him. 

"Fuck you," Harper groans. That's part of the song, too.

"Working on it." 

With the way David's pressing into him, it feels like he wants to put a lot more than two fingers inside of Harper. Or maybe Harper's just projecting something he's starting to realize he might want. 

"Hey — you have a strap, yeah?" he blurts out before he can think (between the hand on his dick and the hand on his ass, most of his thoughts are far gone). 

Something in David's eyes sparks, going dark, feral. Something turning on, a forge deep in his core. He's been half hovering over Harper, but now he settles his weight heavily over his torso, pressing close. Pinning him. Harper knows, in this instant, that he's said exactly the right thing. Maybe not something they're going to do — at least, not just yet — but something that stokes the flame of whatever's on David's mind right now. 

"I do," he says, "are you interested?"

"Yeah, I think I am," Harper says, and then he starts laughing because he can't believe he's only realizing this now, and that David has made him realize so quickly, in terms of going from point A to point B, and because some parts of his brain have been knocked a little loose by David's clever hands. 

David kisses his jaw, tonguing over the scar there. At the same time, he runs his thumb over the tip of Harper's dick, the calloused skin catching on his foreskin with a friction that would be devastating if he hadn't been so generous with the lube. And the fact that Harper's been leaking pre nonstop since David touched his prostate. 

It still makes him jolt under David, a dizzy wave of arousal traveling through his whole body. He realizes he's almost squirting with each press of David's fingers to that wonderfully squishy-firm spot inside of him, though it feels and looks different from pre. Distantly, he remembers that his prostate and balls are connected. He's a little distracted by the practical demonstration of just how so, at the moment. 

"I can't wait to wreck you," David says, equal parts excited and sultry, one hundred percent genuine. 

"You're already doing a damn good job of it," Harper manages, and then David is kissing him, and he rapidly loses the capacity for speech as David tugs him over the edge. He feels dizzy when his vision returns in a flurry of stars, head spinning with the intensity of the orgasm he's just experienced. Is still experiencing, in pulsing aftershocks that ripple through his body as his balls empty over David's fist, and when he's finally done he's spent. He hasn't come that hard in a long time. Possibly ever.

He winces slightly when David pulls his fingers out, wiping lube-sticky hands on his own pants. There's a slight burn in the aftermath, but mostly he just feels satiated. And the idea of David giving him more is still spinning around in his head, bumping up against the flood of endorphins buzzing under his skin.

David settles comfortably on top of him, resting his head on Harper's chest. "Was it good?"

Harper hooks an arm around David's back, and tugs him closer. "Very good. Think I'm gonna need a little time to recover before you go to pound town on me, though." 

They both laugh, David dropping his head in the crook of Harper's neck to muffle the utterly juvenile giggle Harper's joke managed to get out of him. 

"That's fine, I didn't expect you to be up for round two, like, right now. But, whenever you are, just let me know and I am more than happy to show you my gear." David's voice is low, sultry in his ear, just a little amused — probably at himself, for his own excitement. "I have more than one attachment, you know," he says, nose brushing down the line of Harper's jaw with a tingling sensation in its wake. Every bit of contact is almost electric, like this. 

"Oh, sweet Jesus fuckin' Christ," Harper says with the weight of realization, "you mean different sizes an' shit?"

A huff of air, a soft laugh against his neck. "Mhm." 

Harper thinks back to how David's fingers had felt, carefully probing inside of him. The pressure against his prostate, but also the other stuff, before and in between that. The unfamiliar places in his body being touched in brand new ways, the satisfying burn of repetitively working a muscle and the sheer release after a slow stretch. That feels good across the board, it's no surprise he should get the same pleasant buzz as after working out. 

He thinks: how would it feel with something larger, thicker, longer? With three fingers instead of two? In a different position — on his hands and knees, or riding David (fuck), or pressed against the glass panel of their shower? If they really took their time, drew things out the way he does with David sometimes, spending countless unhurried minutes on lazy kisses and slowly fingering him open, making him finish from external stimulation alone once or twice, only pulling down his own waistband to slide into David when he's already soaked, enough to hardly need lube. 

Obviously, it's different in the back end. Still using David as a reference point, he's usually content with two fingers in the front, as prep or on their own, but can take more in the back. Two is the magic number for a teasing amount of stimulation, especially combined with anything else, but when they do anything in the back, he'll often ask for three fingers — he can happily take them, where such a feat is significantly more likely to overstimulate him in the front hole, by comparison. Probably something to do with the placement or shape of the organs — Harper doesn't know, he's not a gynecologist, he's just lucky enough to be sleeping with a guy with devastatingly good pussy.

In any case, the ass is higher capacity. And while Harper can stretch his imagination (hah) to imagine something like more fingers, he can't quite guess what it'd feel like to take something deeper. 

Which seems to be what David is getting at. 

It's a little bit of an intimidating idea, but he suspects that's mostly because he doesn't really know the dimensions of David's cock collection off the top of his head. And for all that it's intimidating, it's equal parts exciting. Half the excitement is probably the same thing as the intimidation, really, or from a shared source. Twisted all together, inseparable impulses. Challenges are interesting. Interest is a driving force. 

"If you aren't ready — if you just don't want to, that's fine too." David seems to take his silence for hesitation. 

"No, I want to," Harper assures him, "I'm just thinking."

"Already? I'm not doing my job well enough."

"Post-nut clarity."

"Hmm. Think I'm gonna need a demonstration to remind me how that one works."

Harper leers at him. "Let me guess, you want it hands-on."

David sighs dreamily. "You know me so well."

They both dissolve into laughter. The rest will come in time.

Chapter Text

Next time, they take it further. 

They take it slow, too. 

Next time David is sprawled on top of him, two fingers pressed into him, kissing the marks he's left on Harper's neck, he's also wearing the strap-on. He has a harness that can take pretty much any dildo as an attachment, but had opted for a strapless strap-on this time. A nondescript blue silicone dildo sits flush to David's mons pubis as if it's a part of him, its weight against the inside of Harper's thigh a constant reminder of what's to come. Also, a constant assurance that David has him. That even if he changes his mind about going all the way, this is still worthwhile. The dildo is double-ended — secured inside of David, putting pressure on his G-spot with each roll of his hips. Winding him up even before he starts to touch Harper.

This time Harper's on his back the whole time. They start in each other's arms, like that, just kissing softly, lazily, until Harper breaks away and whispers "I want you to fuck me now," almost like a secret. And: 

"You're sure?"

"Mhm. Very sure. Been thinking about it nonstop. I want you."

And then David kisses him once more and untangles himself to retrieve water bottles, lube and washcloths, all the good stuff. 

And thus, it begins. 

David's patient. Taking his time, using his teeth against the sensitive skin of Harper's throat to get Harper's dick straining against his own abs with how pent-up he is. 

They spend a long time just making out, enjoying the warmth of their blankets and each other's bodies, gradually building the tension between them until it's an undercurrent they can't ignore, heat and friction and a pull between them. 

David goes slow, fingering Harper open, using all the tricks he learned the first time he made Harper cum on his fingers to draw this out, prepping him without working him up too much, too fast, too hard like he did before. There'll be time for that later — time for David to figure out how to bring Harper right up beneath the edge and keep him there for an agonizingly long time, how to bring him up and drop him back down over and over again until he can't think at all. 

For now, he just wants to make it feel good, and he wants to take his time. Wants them to feel connected, deeply, truly, more than just physically. To touch each other inside and out, to know each other entirely. 

One finger slowly drags the tension from Harper's body. Making noises spawn deep in his throat. 

Two gets him heated, a flush rising on his face, covering his whole throat and neck. Hands clutching David's sides to steady himself. 

David knows all too well what feels good. He's learned from Harper, after all, how to treat his man. Knows just how to twist his fingers inside Harper, how to scissor them and stretch him out, making him squirm for David. 

By the time he's goading David to thrust three fingers into him, Harper's struggling to hold back the noises his body wants him to let out.

He presses his cheek into David's shoulder, and David lets him have the comfort, but when he tries to hide his face entirely, tries to muffle his whimpers in David's neck, David pulls him back and holds Harper's chin in his free hand. 

"You always chastise me for hiding my moans, hmm? A little hypocritical of you."

Harper's responding protest is lost as David presses his fingers up against Harper's prostate, making him see stars, ripping a groan from his mouth. He doesn't bother to hide anything after that, just lets David play him like an instrument, lets David pull every little sound out of him. 

When he's finally got Harper moaning and rolling his hips back on three fingers, he still hasn't touched Harper's dick, even as he's whispering how good Harper is being, how patient he's being for David, how David's going to make him feel so good. It already feels so good, and Harper is using every last modicum of self-control he has to keep from giving in to the ever-present urge to reach between his legs and thrust into his own fist as hard as he can until he's spilling out his last few braincells. He could cum into David's hand, into David's mouth, in any hole David would give him, and be even more satisfied than by his own hand, but that's not the point right now. 

The point is that Harper feels absolutely fucked either way, and he loves it. 

He wants to be good for David, and that's enough to keep his hands where they belong, for now — on David's body, keeping him close. Not that he needs to be held. If anything, if any one of them needs to be restrained, it's Harper. So he doesn't have to think about where his hands are, or aren't, or where they could be; so even in his most thoughtless moment, his hands won't wander. 

Right now, though, this is enough. Enough to keep his pleasure building, to keep him from skyrocketing over the edge prematurely, just from the deluge of sensation from David's fingers alone. It won't be forever, though. If the strap — he might as well just call it David's cock, for now — doesn't have him coming untouched, it'll be a close thing when David gets a hand around his dick. 

David’s good enough with his fingers that Harper half forgets there’s even anything else after that. He’d be content to ride David’s clever fingers over the edge, to allow David to carefully disassemble him just like that. 

But David starts to rut against his thigh, eventually, and he’s all too aware of the cock pressed close to his entrance after that. All too curious. All too hungry.

When David pulls out of him without warning, he whines in upset, feeling cold and empty. Lube-slick fingers are sliding over his rim just moments later, though, getting him nice and wet, and Harper shudders pleasantly as he relaxes into the feeling that is, by now, familiar enough. This is the second time David’s fucked him like this, so he thinks he knows what to expect.

The head of David’s cock nudges at his rim, cold and hard and impersonal. Somehow, attached to David like this, it still feels almost like it’s the real thing, flesh and blood, not cast silicone. Like it's inexorably a piece of David's body. Like it’s going to burn Harper up from the inside out. 

A flashing image across his mind, a newborn idea: gods, he wishes David could come inside him. Could leave his seed inside, paying Harper back for every time Harper’s filled him up. Leaving him full and satiated; leaving his semi-permanent mark.

David's hand is reaching back for the lube again, and then his fingers are wrapping around Harper, cool and slick and oh so teasing, and stroking him gently. Not trying to bring him over the edge immediately, just getting him to relax some more, getting him strung up on the endorphins.

They did the finger test — Harper knows the exact circumference of two of David's fingers versus three versus the attachment they picked from David's collection for Harper's first  time, and he knows that realistically, it's not even as girthy as three fingers in most places. The curved, slightly bulbous head and the tapering base that disappears back inside David's body are really the only spots that are really intimidatingly thick (except, well, the head on the other end, but that's inside David right now, so it's beside the point).

That doesn't change the fact that all of this at once is significantly different than one finger at a time. He can still feel that it's all one object, one form, one thick head carefully testing the give of his muscles. 

David squeezes his hip. "How you feeling?"

Harper lets out a shuttered breath he didn't realize he was holding. Anxiety, trepidation, anticipation, excitement. Any number of words could fit the fluttering in his stomach, the tension sliding around under his skin. 

"A little nervous," he admits, softly. "But...I'm ready."

David presses closer for a moment, kissing him gently, and then a little less gently. When Harper relaxes into the familiar sensation of David biting and sucking at his lower lip, his hips start to move.

As he slides in, Harper's legs wrap around his waist, trembling, pulling him in closer subconsciously. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hisses under his breath, and of course that makes David halt halfway into him, cupping his cheek in one hand, pressing their foreheads together. 

"Just breathe," David says insistently, "I've got you, I've always got you."

"I know," Harper breathes, closing his eyes for a moment against the deluge of sensation. "I know. It's just so much."

"Do you want me to pull out?"

"No, just...go slow, okay?" 

"Okay. You're doing a perfect job." David kisses him, and he desperately leans into it, into the familiar comfort of David's lips moving against his own, messy but gentle. Harper's cock is angrily hard between them, tip pressing into David's abs, and Harper wants so badly to start rutting into his boyfriend right here and now. But he also knows if he moves it'll drive him even crazier, so he stays maddeningly still.

When David pulls back, it's only to leave their foreheads touching, the two of them clinging to one another, and he keeps his hand soft but firm on Harper's face, thumb stroking over one cheekbone. Those hazel eyes won't let up, staring intently at Harper, and it compels him enough that he can't make himself keep his eyes shut, no matter how tempting it may be to squeeze them shut and not think at all. David wants to look at him, David wants Harper to look at him, and Harper's job is to be good for him right now. 

So he's good. He gasps just centimeters away from David's mouth, but stays exactly at the range he's at as David slowly, carefully slides into him. 

It feels like forever, and like it passes in a heartbeat, at once. When Harper blinks and feels his chest rise and fall with yet another ragged breath, and feels David's hips flush with his own, finally. Feels David fully hilted inside him. 

Fuck. 

God, fuck.

Harper's full. and the pressure won't let up. And god, it feels incredible. Grounding and mind-numbing all at once. He's clinging to David, clutching at him, nails digging red lines into his shoulders. 

"How's it feel?" David whispers, one hand still on his face, the other idly stroking his flank.

Harper takes in a deep breath, counting in his head until he releases all the air trapped in his lungs. "Really good," he croaks. A cracked laugh escapes him, relief and excitement and joy mingling with the sheer pleasure that's beginning to overtake him, now that they've gotten past the most awkward part. "Really fuckin' good."

David caresses his face, smiling adoringly at him, pulling him in for another kiss that melts Harper from head to toe, makes him feel like his whole body is set to low simmer. Like David is turning up the dial, slowly setting him ablaze. 

David holds it together at first; doesn't betray how utterly fucked he is, even already, by the fact that his every thrust stimulates David himself nearly as much as it does Harper. But by the time they get into a rhythm, David's head is buried in the crook of Harper's neck, moaning into his skin, hips bucking, stuttering as they slap against Harper's. 

"Think you could cum like this? Untouched, just from me fucking you?"

"You can try," Harper pants.

And he does. David doesn't hold back; he knows how Harper likes it. He knows just how harshly to press his hips into Harper’s, just how long to pause between thrusts so the pain is sublime, a dull ache that feels good more than it actually hurts. And most importantly, he knows how to listen to Harper, his words and the noises that are far less than words (and far more numerous), how to listen to what he says with only his body, how to make sure it keeps feeling good for him. 

Soon enough, David sounds almost as wrecked as Harper feels, clutching him tightly, the two of them moving rhythmically in almost-unison, staggered by the gap between each of David's thrusts and each responding roll of Harper's hips back into the contact. 

Harper's holding onto David as if his life depends on it; both to soothe David through his own overwhelming pleasure, and because, well, David is his lifeline. Especially right now. 

He's never felt anything quite like this before; he was right: it is impossible to imagine it until you've felt it. Being opened up, being touched so far inside, it's weird and it's vulnerable and it's a little scary but he can't be afraid, not truly, when he has David wrapped around him like this. David's careful, but he knows his way around Harper's body by now, by and large. Once he's certain Harper can handle it, he's not shy fucking Harper just as roughly as Harper likes to fuck him; both of them have carried each other through far worse than the pain of a little too much, too fast, too hard. 

And they're careful with each other, anyway. There's a time and a place for trying to hurt one another for pleasure, and this isn't it. This is for soft, and sweet, and unabashedly tender. Yes, David fucks like an animal, but his hands are gentle on Harper's hips, and his teeth are only as sharp as usual when he licks and nips at the side of Harper's throat, leaving love bites anywhere he can reach and comfortably rest his head on Harper's shoulder at the same time. 

David on top of him like this feels good, feels right. Harper's not going to stop craving the opposite, not going to stop wanting to be on top of David, wanting to fuck him, wanting to be in him. But this is good, too. This is really good. He'd save his complaints, if he had any. 

He's confused, at first, when David finishes — hears and feels many of the usual cues, but in a way so detached from the usual that it doesn't register with Harper at first. Because David is still moving, still rolling his hips at the same pace, only a mild stutter betraying him, a jerk like he's been electrocuted for a few seconds as he buries his face in the crook of Harper's neck, muffling a wracked cry. Harper has enough of his higher thinking functions left to realize, albeit somewhat delayed, that David has finished, but is continuing to pound into Harper relentlessly, even as he overstimulates himself.

Even as he starts to tear up, the hot tracks down his cheeks joining the mess they've already started to make. 

Harper wants to soothe him, wants to comfort him on instinct, but it’s nigh impossible to muster the strength for words right now, let alone a coherent sentence. The best he can do is reach up and cup David’s cheek in his hand, brushing some of the tears away with his thumb.

“It’s okay,” he rasps, “it’s okay.” He’s not sure which of them he’s reassuring, nor what exactly it is which is okay, after all, but he needs to say it. Needs to touch David like this, gentle and caring. 

Harper recognizes when his own orgasm is approaching, now that he knows what to expect, somewhat. What he doesn’t expect is for David to stop moving almost entirely once Harper’s almost over the edge, to wrap his arms around Harper’s middle and hang on for dear life, grinding his hips shallowly into Harper, giving him only the barest amount of stimulation to keep him riding that edge. He’s so close, so fucking close…and then he’s not. 

“You’ve been so good for me,” David croons, “but you don’t get to finish just yet.” 

"I can't believe you — " he's interrupted by a choked-out moan, as David restarts with nearly the same intense rhythm as before, only giving him a little while to warm back up to a renewed pace. Harper wants to bite back, wants to give in to that familiar animal urge to wrestle and growl and complain, but something satiates him. Something keeps him down. Maybe it's the realization that David is edging himself, too. Even when he's already come, already worked through the burst of overstimulation that no doubt followed that first orgasm. 

He continues like this until Harper is panting weakly, squirming around since he can't hide his face in the pillow, can't roll over when he's pinned under David. Once, twice, three times he drives Harper up the wall, almost over the edge, only to stop right when he feels he's finally lost in the sensation, right when he could finally bury his face in David's neck and let himself go. 

David edges him until he's on the verge of begging, of tears, until his ragged gasps are a last-ditch effort to keep his composure together. 

"You gonna beg for me?" he teases, and Harper knows, then, that that's what he wants. That he won't get to come until David lets him, and David won't let him until he asks nicely enough. 

He doesn't want to, but...well, he does, actually, and that's the issue. A little difficult to express the difference between not wanting something and just being too embarrassed to ask for it, right now. 

But David gives him the time to catch his breath, the time to let it sit in his head, and he knows also that David will be patient enough with him. Enough to get him to ask for what he really wants. 

He catches a glimpse of David's smug little grin before he leans in to brush Harper's hair back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” David hums, cupping Harper’s cheek with his clean hand. “So vulnerable, so raw, just for me. Nobody else gets to see you like this, do they?”

“No,” Harper gasps in affirmation, “nobody. Just you.” 

David tilts his chin gently up, forcing Harper to look him in the eyes. “Nobody else gets to see how gorgeous you are on your knees. How gorgeous you are when you beg.”

Harper’s brain is on fire in the best way possible, sparkling with electricity. “David, please…”

“What is it, baby? What do you want? You gonna ask me nicely for it?”

Harper tips his head into David’s palm, closing his eyes. Letting the warmth and the solidity of his presence wash over him like a safety blanket, like a soft tide rolling in.

“Please,” he rasps, shocking himself with how desperate he sounds, “please let me come. Please, David, I need it. I need you.”

“Good boy,” David whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his jaw, just beneath his earlobe. “You can come for me now.”

Something in Harper’s brain goes completely silent, at that, like it was just waiting for the right cue — waiting for David. And then David’s hand is wrapping around him again and it’s nothing but white noise, a blanket of untrodden snow in his mind, an endless stretching field of light as Harper’s back arches off the mattress.

This time the climax lasts. Drawn out, fullbodied like before, affected by the pressure to his prostate more than anything else. But this time it’s even more. Cum splatters over David’s hand, working him efficiently, Harper’s hips twitching hard with each spurt as his balls empty over David’s thick, clever fingers.

When he’s finally done, David raises his fingers to his own lips and pointedly sucks. 

Harper’s dick twitches once more, a final jolt of arousal rocketing through him as he watches David lick Harper’s own cum off his fingers. 

When he’s done he leans in for a kiss, and part of Harper is a little disgusted, and somehow that just makes him incentivized to kiss David even harder. To lick his own taste from David’s mouth. To think about hilting himself in that tight, slippery heat. Watching his own cum drip from David’s lips, messy, mixed with spit. Memories and fantasy merge, stoking arousal in his gut again. 

He's exhausted, though, really. David is a dead weight on top of him and a nap sounds really good right about now. 

It takes a few minutes for either of them to muster the will to speak, both too content to simply lie together for a little while longer.

Where Harper’s dick would be soft again by now, the synthetic dick is still hard inside both of them, insistent and rough even as all the lubrication makes it feel perfectly slick and smooth, binding them together. The dopamine haze of being full, being linked together like this, is enough to make Harper seriously consider wanting to remain like this for longer. But David is shifting restlessly on top of him, and he’s starting to feel a little sore in the receding flood of endorphins.

"Maybe we should pull out," Harper rasps finally, rubbing a circle over David's shoulder blades with one hand. 

David's head rolls against his collarbone. "Don't wanna. Too sensitive."

"Still? There's no way."

David grumbles. "Can you help me?"

"Of course."

Harper’s dick twitches once more when he shifts his hips to help David pull out. David isn't the only one who's still sensitive, apparently. 

David groans obscenely at the release as Harper carefully pulls the other end of the dildo from inside his body. He squirms as Harper works it out, wet and worked up and all frayed nerves, and Harper half wants to tease him again with it, push it in and out until David’s sobbing for him again.

But he won't. Not right now, anyway.

David sighs when it's out and tossed aside on a spare washcloth; half relieved, half disappointed, missing the contentment of fullness. They’re both too tired for it now, but Harper spares a thought for rolling right on top of him and fucking him into the mattress. He looks perfectly ready for it, like this — disheveled, a pretty rose blush covering his face and chest, pussy swollen and leaking, clit still hard and red from his previous orgasm, sustained while he was still busy pounding Harper. 

Fuck, they're a mess, the both of them. 

They rehydrate and wipe each other down without much to say — the usual rituals of aftercare are, at least, unchanged. It's a quiet comfort to do the same old routine, even though some of the finer points are different this time around — David wiping excess lube from Harper's ass, as opposed to the other way around. Harper's cum splattered across David's abs and stomach, on the other hand, is fairly usual. 

When they've finished cleaning up, David crawls right back to Harper's side and curls up against his chest, resting against his body just as fully as when they were in the heat of sex, but with a much more laid-back intent, now. 

"You feeling good?" David loops his arms around Harper's middle, making himself comfortable wrapped around his partner.

"Yeah. Definitely want to do that some more in the future." Harper idly runs a hand through David's hair, enjoying how he tilts his head back into the contact and hums softly, almost like he's purring. 

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." David tucks his head into Harper's shoulder, and Harper shifts to pull him closer, the two of them halfway spooned together now. Both of them are a little sleepy from the exertion, and the warmth of being tangled together is an entirely different kind of temptation now that they've finished — the temptation to fall asleep in each other's arms. 

Harper kisses David's forehead, holding him close like the pillow he seems to want to be in this moment. "I'm glad you showed me. I love you, Davey."

David nuzzles Harper's neck, squirming happily in his arms. "I love you too."

They kiss some more, they cuddle and joke around lightly, and they shortly fall asleep in a pile of limbs, lost in their contentment.