Malevolent fic: A Bit of Care

Prompt fic for Croik, who asked for gentle mouthfucking.

Explicit

Peter/John/Arthur

Tags & warnings: threesome, blowjobs, pet names, lowkey BDSM, men who can’t accept affection

***

Arthur lets Peter grab him by the face. Lets him knot his fingers tight in his hair at the back of his neck—still longer than he used to wear it even though he got it cut, like he can’t quite bring himself to erase the marks of his experiences—lets Peter pull him right down to his cock and opens his mouth obligingly to let him push the head between his lips.

Peter stops there to breathe because Arthur’s mouth, goddamn. Hot and wet and silky. The way his tongue ripples against the underside. He could just— 

John’s hands brace against Peter’s pelvis to stop him before he can. “Gently,” he murmurs.

Peter looks at him. He looks down. Arthur glances up at him through thick eyelashes, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t express any preference.

“Gently,” John says again, firmly. “He’s…he doesn’t get much gentle, Peter.”

Arthur makes a scoffing sound around Peter’s cock, as if to wave away the idea that he needs any such thing. “Shit,” Peter curses, because the feel of that. Arthur gags a little as he thrusts automatically deeper into him.

John purses his lips and stares Peter down.

“It’s not your turn,” Peter reminds him, and pushes him back to sit on his heels. John goes, but there’s disapproval in his eyes.

Peter cups his hands around the back of Arthur’s head, tugging him slowly but firmly down onto him, and thinks about it while he rocks into his warm, willing mouth.

Despite the awkward position for him, Arthur tilts his chin up a little, offering Peter the best angle he can manage. He keeps his jaw loose, his throat relaxed. Inviting himself to be used as Peter sees fit. 

He’s never liked to be babied. He’s never appreciated feeling like anyone was going easy on him and he sure as hell doesn’t react well to being pitied.

His tongue is an active participant, pinned down by the thickness of Peter’s cock but curling up around him, tip flicking and teasing along the shaft.

Gently, Peter pushes deeper into his mouth, till Arthur’s throat is squeezing and fluttering around him, working not to gag. He has to pause to groan because “Jesus fuck, Arthur, the mouth you’ve got on you,” and then pulls out again till his glans is resting in the middle of Arthur’s tongue. 

He does it again—gentle, slow, just until he’s nudging at the back of Arthur’s struggling throat and then taking mercy on him.

Arthur doesn’t so much as twitch at any of it. He wants to be used. He’s waiting for it. And maybe John’s right—just because he wants it doesn’t necessarily mean that’s what he should get.

Peter strokes back the locks of hair that’ve fallen into Arthur’s eyes. “Hey, English,” he says softly. “You’re gonna be patient for me, right? You’re gonna let me do what I want to do to you.” 

Arthur makes a sound of affirmation. The hum vibrates all around him, jesus, this man’s mouth is a deadly weapon. 

“Good, sweetheart. Remember you said that.”

Peter’s a red-blooded guy. He likes a good blowjob as much as anybody. But he’s got to admit, there’s something about taking it slow and sweet in another man’s mouth that—well. John’s the one who’s good with words.

In, out. Slow, dragging over the wet velvet of Arthur’s taste buds. The scalloped ridges of his upper palate. The hard curves and sharp edges of his teeth. Carefully careful, to make sure Arthur can feel it, that Peter isn’t only being self-indulgent. That he’s taking care with him. Deliberately avoiding his discomfort, deliberately enjoying his softness. He can feel it making Aathur uncomfortable in a matter of moments. He begins to fidget. Inside him like this, Peter can feel the quiet tension gathering in him. “Yeah, there it is,” he mutters, and wraps a hand under Arthur’s jaw to make him look up. “Hey, sweetness. If I think you deserve soft, we’re gonna do soft, you got that? Now you stay put and keep that clever tongue of yours working. We’re not done here till I decide we are.”

From behind Arthur, John can’t see the grim fire in Arthur’s eyes, but he sets one big hand to Arthur’s back and strokes down his spine, to match the thumb Peter’s stroking over his cheekbone.

There’s something miraculous and unspeakably sexy in the way Arthur’s entire being goes pliant with his sigh of acceptance.