Not Pretty, But Something.

TITLE: Not Pretty, But Something 3/3
AUTHOR: Belinda (eyebrowofdoom@yahoo.com)
SERIES: Fucking Normal People 1/?.
DISTRIBUTION: gimme a little sugar and just ask...
RATING: NC-17. Contains SLASH, ie explicit m/m sex; drugs, coarse language, and other reasons for living. Also allusions to past sexual activity between what were probably minors.
SUMMARY: The seduction and betrayal of Greg McConnell by Blaine Tuttle.
NOTE: CI 2 was an unpleasant hallucination caused by some funky gear probably supplied by an unscrupulous Blaine, and none of its back story holds, as far as I'm concerned. :)
FEEDBACK: Feed the kraken! Squeak! I mean, roar! Constructive criticism helps keep fabled sea-monster bowels regular.
DISCLAIMER: the characters are from the movie Cruel Intentions, and do not belong to me. This fic has no connection to the makers of the movie and I receive no money from writing it.

[RECAP: So Greg's other training began.

I considered the setting carefully. Made the bed, went with the plaid linen. Put certain very beautiful, but perhaps a little confronting, representations of the masculine form away in the cupboard. Burned a little clove and cinnamon oil. Not too much.]

I tried way too hard, as it turned out. He took the idea of naked, my bed, my house, right in his, well, stride. The matter at hand was what to do with him then.

"Gregory," I would say, "be nice." I would be cupping, handling his balls, my mouth primly closed once the words were out. In the wake of a certain nasty habit of grabbing my ears and thrusting, he wasn't allowed to hold my head. He wasn't even allowed to touch my head, technically. But if he was making those nice breathy moans for me, I would tolerate him stroking my hair a little or trailing his fingers down my jaw.

The second nasty habit was the same old, same freaking old. I would finally get him to let go of my Goddamn ears, lie back and keep his hips still. And once he'd done that, he was all alone up there, and he'd start thinking about it. And he'd basically go into a rictus of shame and stare at the ceiling. If there was ever proof that most people should think as little as possible, this was it. Now, I happen to know I am a man of considerable talents in the cocksucking department, and the fact is that I like some appreciation. Do I want to blow a plank of wood? I don't think so. So I had to get the man out of the bell jar.

There are very few problems this technique is not good for. Suck him till his toes curl, then stop, and make your demands.

"Now, Greg. Do you like that?" I would enquire.

He was about as interested in answering as he would be going to the ballet the night of the superbowl.

I would dawdle my tongue around the rim of his cock, and wait.

"Gregory?"

He would make a noise like he was seal pup I was strangling.

I'd run the tip of my tongue up the underside.

"*Do you* ...like it, Greg?"

"Yes, Goddamn it!"

"Good." Then I'd take it back in my mouth. Take it very deep. Easing into the gag.

I'd work my mouth up and down his shaft for a little while, till I could hear his breath catch. Then I'd ask again, licking around the head all the while, "Like it?"

If he didn't answer, we were back to square one. If he did, I'd take it back inside, and we could proceed.

The next time I would ask him, I wouldn't take his cock out of my mouth to do it.

I do like to talk with cock in my mouth. It keeps things interesting, and it makes my throat vibrate. Of course, they can't actually understand what you're saying, but if they've got the faintest clue, they still *know*. Of course, that's no warranty on Greg.

He didn't always get it. Then we had to start again. On the other hand, there was only one question, and only one right answer, so it wasn't that hard. Usually he'd say, "Yeah," and we could move on.

After that I would just make little moans with an upward, questioning inflection to them. These I could do without breaking the rhythm of sucking. I expected them to be answered with a moan from him.

He got a couple of chances to work out what I wanted. If he didn't work it out after that, we were stalled again.

Over a number of sessions, he got much better at this -- knowing he'd get what he wanted, if only he'd tell me out loud he wanted it. Once he'd broken his silence a couple of times, it was usually broken for good and he was right on board with me. The *ooh* and the *aah*. The *hmm* and the *mmph*. The gasp. The thing that's like a throaty squeak. The *yes, oh yes*.

The wriggling hips. The hands going crazy at his sides, where he's been told he has to keep them.

Finally the big, vocal *ah, aah* like pain. The desperate grabbing my head (naughty!) and thrusting into my throat, coming deep and hard.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was how I began to teach Greg McConnell to make love like a civilised pervert. There were a couple more games in the series still to go. There was the *Are you hard? How hard?* game. Then *You want to put that somewhere? Where? How much do you want to?* Fairly self-explanatory, even for Greg. A more advanced one was *How does that feel?*, because of course I disallowed one word answers. But he was well into the swing of things by then -- he was downing my hurdles like the champion he is.

He came along in leaps and bounds. By the end of that summer, he was so much better behaved, he was actually a worthwhile lay, and I don't say that lightly. Even the freak-out afterwards improved. It turned into just saying "shit" under his breath, cringing a little, backing off, finding his pants.

I really should patent this little program. I could probably have got his father voting Democrat.

***

Finally I've pried Greg off the couch, and down the hall we stagger, or more like waddle. We're not going places at all fast. He's holding me tight from behind, nudging his knees into the back of mine with every step, nuzzling his hard-on into my ass. He's kissing my neck. Undoing my belt. Giggling.

He's being such a good boy tonight. Thinking about that little nuzzle from behind, how it's going to turn into having him right up inside me, sends a shiver down me, from my neck all the way to my ankles.

He fumbles the bedroom door, and we're inside. The faint trace of cinnamon and clove.

Just beyond the door, he drops my shirt off my shoulders. Trails his fingertips down my upper arms, still from behind. No more giggling, all of a sudden. He eases my fly down ever so slowly, humming in my ear. Drops my pants down my hips.

"Mmm, Blaine." So close my ear vibrates.

His hand slips down the front of my boxers. He flattens my erection up against my stomach. Eases my boxers down over it with the other hand.

Kisses along my shoulder. His free hand traces my belly button, dips a fingertip inside. Trails back and forth across a nipple until it puckers. The first hand still holds my cock flat against my belly. It burns my skin.

I lean back against him. Make a squeaky little sound. I think it's me who says, "I'm melting."

He says softly in my ear, with warm breath, "I want to suck you off."

We start up the waddle again towards the bed. That unspeakable bump against my ass.

We're nearly there when I turn around. Push his t-shirt up to where he can take the hem from me and pull it off. He sits down to take off trainers and socks. Stands up again so I can push his sweatpants down.

There he is in Y-fronts. So wholesome, so utterly dorky. I once walked in on my uncle Micky changing, and that was what he was wearing.

Greg's mouth is trembling. I put my arms around him, stroke his ass through the Y-fronts. Breathe on his chest, smell his skin. It's like dorm cooking, clean cotton, and just... skin. I kiss him, admit his tongue to my mouth, slip mine around it.

I pull the Y-fronts down. Kneeling, I take them off under his feet. I lean my cheek against his hip.

"My turn first," I whisper, standing up. Bracing my hands on his chest, I shove him onto the bed.

The sheets do a little billow around him where he falls. His eyes have gone that indigo colour.

"Scoot up, sweetie," I tell him, my voice low. I lie down between his thighs. Touch him a little, butterfly-lick him. The mattress creaks with his weight shifting.

When I take the head in my mouth, his whole body starts to tighten. He's like a guitar string coming into tune. His back arches slightly. His limbs kind of unfurl out from his body, tautening.

Far, far away there is a noise. A noise something to do with wood somehow.

The wet sounds my mouth is making on Greg's cock are far more interesting. Greg's heavy breathing, his *yes... yes... yes*.

I think the noise came from... downstairs. And it's continuing. It's coming upstairs.

Oh Jesus. It can't be twelve yet.

It can't be.

My cock is an iron bar pressing into the mattress. My cock is damp with grief. I suck Greg down deep, right into the back of my throat.

"Baby," he squeezes out.

Then the door flies open.

All I can do is roll over, lie back and watch the show.


-end of "Not Pretty, But Something"-

The "Fucking Normal People" series is continued in "Christmas".