Just a Game Ch. 04

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His dalliance with his roommate had been a major distraction for him for the first several weeks of their co-habitation, but Pete had finally secured a job. He was working five, and sometimes six days a week as a maintenance millwright at a manufacturing plant. The work was hot, sweaty, cramped, noisy, chaotic, and physically demanding. Often he had to work overtime, and his colleagues were generally repellent people to be around, but the pay was fantastic, and he was well on his way to being in the best shape of his life. He hadn’t lost any weight, but within only a few weeks a great deal of his fat had converted to muscle.

Pete usually came home feeling grumpy and exhausted, but oddly satisfied. It had been excruciating at first, but now that he was toning up, he was beginning to find a hard day’s work inherently rewarding.

No matter how work was, Pete was always glad to come home. Tonight, he was especially glad. And tonight, he had to hide his gladness. He put on only grumpiness when he came through the door of his and Dean’s apartment, and dropped his toolbag with a great noisy clatter. He could hear the stove going in the kitchen.

Good.

He kicked off his work boots and left them next to his tools before strutting into the kitchen. Dean was industriously preparing dinner, and he wore only two things: on his feet, shiny, red, knee-high boots with moderate heels-his Sailor Moon boots-and around his neck, a leather collar with a large metal ring hanging from the front. He looked up at Pete’s arrival and smiled. He sashayed over and pressed himself up against Pete’s chest.

“Hi, handsome.”

Pete studied him soberly, and then gave him a single, hard kiss, hanging tightly to his hair as he did so. “I’m tired, Dean… and I’m hot and thirsty. Make yourself useful and get me a Coke.”

“Of course, Petey.”

Pete watched as he dropped his head and strode over to the refrigerator. He loved watching the way Dean walked in those boots, the way he unconsciously swung his hips from side to side like a runway model. Dean took a can out of the fridge and filled a large glass halfway with ice. He poured the cola into the glass, and then hurriedly brought it over to Pete.

“There you go, dear. Relax and enjoy.” He turned back to the stove, but Pete grabbed him by the ring in his collar and forced him to look him in the eye.

“This is half foam, you jackass!”

Dean tensed up, and his eyes grew wide and moist. “I… I’m sorry, Pete,” he said softly. “I fucked up.”

Pete pushed the glass into his hand. “Take this and bring it to me in the living room once you’ve done it right.”

“Yes, dear,” he breathed.

Pete let Dean go with a little shove and turned to leave the kitchen. “And would it kill you to put a little makeup on?” he yelled out as he settled down heavily on the sofa, causing Dean’s three cats to scatter. “It’s like you don’t even care!”

After a few moments Dean walked in, head down, with a glass in his hand. It was full to the brim with Coke, and hardly a trace of foam. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, setting the glass on the coffee table in front of Pete.

“What did you say?” Pete barked, grabbing him by the thigh, the smooth span of skin between the top of his red boot and the shapely curve of his ass. “Speak up!”

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Dean said in a steadier voice, daring to make eye contact, though his dark bangs were hanging low, obscuring most of one eye. “I wasn’t well prepared for you today. It’s no one’s fault but mine, and I don’t blame you for being angry. Once I’ve brought you your dinner, I’ll go fix myself up a little. You deserve to come home to someone pretty and pleasant and ready to serve you.”

“Fine,” Pete snarled, picking up his glass and sipping it while he propped his feet up on the coffee table. “God knows I don’t ask much of you-it shouldn’t be so difficult!”

“I know!” Dean replied humbly, dropping his head again. “You’re absolutely right. A cold drink, a solid meal, and a pretty face. My handsome, hardworking man deserves these things. I’ll try to do better.”

“All right, all right-now quit moaning and get back into that kitchen before you ruin dinner too!”

“Yes, dear.”

Again Pete watched him walk away. That ass…

He idly watched television and sipped his Coke until Dean entered with a dish for him. He sat down gently at his side and presented his offering.

“What is this slop?” Pete asked, eyeing it skeptically.

“It’s… it’s a risotto,” Dean said in a near-whisper. “Prosciutto, and, um… mushrooms… fresh basil…”

Pete stuck his finger into the saucy rice and licked it, giving a little grimace. “Ugh,” he muttered. “You make such freaky shit! Why can’t you just make meat and potatoes like a normal person?”

Dean blinked several times, his dark eyes welling up a little behind his glasses. “I… I’ve got chicken for the next course. You don’t like the risotto…?”

Pete grabbed the dish out of his hands. “Don’t snivel-I’ll choke gaziantep escortlar it down!” He gripped his fork and shovelled the food moodily into his mouth.

Dean watched him for a minute or two, breathing deeply.

“What’s your problem?” Pete finally asked, pausing his brisk but dispassionate eating to stare back at his companion.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered. He reached out a hand and touched his cheek, running his fingers down the length of the beard Pete had been growing out over the past few weeks. “It’s just… you’re so handsome. Your beard-it’s coming in really nicely.”

Pete gave a brief nod and continued eating. “Weren’t you going to go fix yourself up?”

Dean stood up quickly. “Yes-yes, I’m so sorry, Petey! I’ll be back soon, looking so much prettier, and with the rest of your dinner. I hope you’ll like it.”

“I hope so too, because so far this has been a shit evening!” Pete yelled after him. He let out a long sigh, and began to take his time finishing the risotto. When he’d eaten every last grain, he drew his thumb across the dish to collect up all of the sauce he could, licking it throughly. He finished and set it down on the coffee table just in time for Dean’s return.

“Do you like me better, Pete?” he asked softly, hips gently swaying as he strode in his red boots. He held a dinner plate loaded with food, but Pete’s attention was on his face. His lips were now a juicy shade of red. He’d taken off his glasses to fully display his artistry, and his semi-Japanese eyes were carefully lined and elegantly exotic. He’d become fairly talented at applying makeup, especially around the eyes, and Pete couldn’t help feeling a little disarmed.

“Yes, Dean,” he replied hoarsely. “You look good. Come over here.”

Dean beamed with pleasure and approached gracefully, clutching the plate with care.

“Turn around,” Pete ordered once he was within arm’s length.

Dean turned for him. Pete’s fingers teased the backs of his knees just above the tops of the boots, and then slid up his thighs, cupping the flawless, round cheeks of his gorgeous ass. Dean let out a tremulous breath. Pete suddenly gave him a sharp smack across the backside, making him yelp, and the dinner plate trembled momentarily, causing the fork and knife to tumble to the floor. Dean gasped. He set the plate down on the coffee table and bent over to retrieve the fallen utensils, his hands groping clumsily as he struggled to locate things without his glasses. Pete paused to enjoy the view, and then seized his wrist before he could stand fully.

“You clumsy little bitch,” he hissed. “That knife could have landed on my foot.”

Dean’s perfectly-painted eyes widened in horror. “I’m so… so sorry, Petey,” he breathed. “I… I wasn’t expecting…”

Pete cut him off by giving him a firm shake. “Shut it!” he snapped. “Get back into that kitchen and bring me fresh utensils-unless you think I should eat with a fork that’s been on the fucking floor with your filthy animals!”

Dean breathed hard. He appeared about to speak for a few moments, and then gave up. As soon as Pete let go of his arm, he clattered back to the kitchen.

“And hurry the hell up before my food gets completely cold!” Pete added.

Dean returned shortly with a new fork and knife, and set them reverently on either side of his plate. “I hope it’s to your liking,” he whispered. His eyes still looked like they were on the verge of spilling over with tears, and his lower lip and chin twitched intermittently.

Pete poked at the food with his fork. Dean had served him half a roast chicken, separated neatly into its various cuts, alongside an assortment of roasted vegetables, elegantly presented, and buttered corn cut freshly off the cob. He sighed grievously as if completing a chore and began laboriously to eat what he’d been served. Now and then he gave a surreptitious glance toward Dean’s cock. It had been gradually, steadily growing over the past ten or fifteen minutes, and was well on its way to horizontal.

“Sit,” he said through a mouthful of chicken.

Dean reverently settled next to him on the couch, sitting straight-backed and neatly crossing one leg over the other.

“The fuck is this?” Pete asked, pointing his knife at an orange vegetable arranged flawlessly into a fanned-out array of crescent-shaped slices and drizzled with something black or possibly deep brown.

“Acorn squash,” Dean replied softly. “With a balsamic glaze. I made it from scratch this afternoon.”

“Well la-dee-dah!” Pete rolled his eyes. “This is what you make for a hungry working man? This is pretentious crap! If you think I’m impressed, guess again. Frankly I think it’s both pathetic and annoying as hell that you’d blow half your day making some disgusting whatever-the-fuck glaze to put over some vegetable thing I have no intention of touching, when you could have made me a goddamn steak and potatoes like a goddamn normal person! Who do you think you are, Wolfgang Puck?”

Dean’s mouth trembled, and his breath hitched a few times. “No… I… I just…”

“Shut up! I’ll tell you who you are, Dean. You’re a worthless little prick, and if it weren’t for what you do for my prick, I would have lost patience with you long ago.” He threw his fork and knife down in disgust. “The chicken is fucking dry. You overcooked it-the one thing I actually might have eaten. This is a bad joke, Dean. I’m fucking sick and tired of your shit. I might as well just order a pizza, and if the Domino’s delivery guy has a decent ass, I won’t even need you at all anymore. Get this out of my fucking sight before I smash it over your idiot skull.” He gave the plate a little shove.

Dean choked back a whimper and pushed himself up off the couch. He quickly collected Pete’s plate and utensils and retreated into the kitchen. Pete smiled to himself, sipped his Coke, and gave it almost half a minute before he stood and followed Dean to the kitchen, putting on his scowl again.

The plate was sitting on the stove with a lid over it, and Dean leaned over the sink, his shoulders shaking. Pete took him firmly by the ring in his collar and turned him around. Dean was sobbing silently, his eye makeup melting into long, miserable lines down his cheeks. Even his nose was beginning to drip.

Pete nearly lost it. His cock jumped, straining against his clothing. “Y-you gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said hoarsely. “Are you seriously fucking crying?”

“I’m s-sorry Petey,” Dean blubbered. “I t-tried so hard. I tried… too hard. Please, Petey, oh please… forgive me. I’ll do better. Oh… I’m so sorry! Please don’t send me away-I need you! Give me another chance to make you happy!”

Pete breathed deeply, practicing a tremendous amount of self-control. “Wipe your nose. You look disgusting. You’ve ruined your makeup.”

Dean’s hand groped behind him for a cloth, and he quickly mopped up the tears and snot that had soiled his painted face. He trembled and continued to sob beneath Pete’s harsh gaze.

“Stop… crying,” Pete hissed severely.

Dean inhaled deeply and clenched his jaw, holding his breath as long as he could. His cheeks were dark red, and his chin quivered. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks. Finally he let out the breath he’d been holding in a loud sob.

Pete’s hand moved swiftly, slapping him hard across the face.

They were both shocked by it for a few moments. Pete’s palm felt pleasantly warm and tingly, and he was a little taken aback by how much he enjoyed that sharp, crisp noise of skin striking skin. He was achingly hard now. His eyes flicked downward to find Dean also fully erect. He returned his eyes to Dean’s, and slapped him again, twice more in rapid succession. It was bizarrely, dizzyingly liberating, and now Dean was quiet and staring at him with the most intense and unequivocal “fuck-me” gaze Pete had ever seen.

He pulled back his hand once more and watched Dean flinch. Dean cried out and shook all over. Pete kept his hand still for a few moments, raised over his head. Dean’s breath heaved rapidly in and out. Pete brought his hand down swiftly and stopped a finger’s breadth from Dean’s cheek, relishing the way he winced. Dean’s entire body tensed up, expecting another blow. Instead of hitting him, this time Pete caressed his flushed cheek gently, and Dean shook even harder. His breathing escalated to a frantic pace.

“I’ll show you how to make me happy,” Pete breathed, clenching his jaw tightly. He gripped Dean’s collar tightly and pulled him toward the bedroom. Dean choked a little and stumbled but went along eagerly.

“Bend over!” Pete roared once they were in range of the bed, and shoved him toward it.

Dean gasped and let himself be propelled onto Pete’s bed. He pressed his face into the covers and stuck his ass out toward Pete as he splayed his red boots wide apart. He continued to pant and sob noisily. “Oh please, pleeeease!” he wailed, his voice muffled by the bedspread.

“You can take your pleases and shove them up your ass!” Pete huffed as he scrambled out of his coveralls and stripped off his undershirt. “Maybe there’ll be room for them after I’ve shoved my cock up there real good, huh?”

“Peteeeeyyy…” Dean moaned, scrunching the covers in his trembling fists. He turned his face to the side so he could breathe. “Oh god…!”

Pete dropped his boxers and palmed his throbbing erection, shivering as he gazed at Dean’s irresistibly perfect ass. He seized the nearest bottle of lubricant and poured plenty into his hand. He leaned over Dean, pressing against the side of his face with the hand that wasn’t coated with lube and pushing it harder into the bedspread. “No more snivelling,” he growled, and tucked his slick fingers into Dean’s warm cleft, pressing the first two against his tight sphincter. He felt it give way and groaned a little as he hooked his fingers inside the snug opening, working plenty of lube inside him.

“Ooohhhh…!” Dean moaned, pressing his ass back hard against Pete’s hand.

“You’re gonna be a good little bitch now, aren’t you, you whore?” Pete panted, working a third finger into him and fucking him rhythmically. “What are you, Dean?”

“Whore… bitch… yours!” Dean gasped. “Yours!”

“Yes! Mine!” Pete pulled his fingers out quickly, causing Dean to groan, and straightaway slapped him full-force across one ass cheek. Dean yelped and tensed. Pete leaned back a little to appreciate his handiwork, watching as a distinct red handprint rose up across that flawless cheek.

He slipped on a condom and coated himself with extra lube. “You’re gonna get it now, bitch. Oh, you’re gonna get it.”

“Please be gentle!” Dean whimpered.

Pete once again pressed his hand against Dean’s face, forcing it into the bedspread. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do with my own fucktoy!” he growled, prodding at Dean’s sensitive pink opening. It didn’t allow him entrance at first, but he pushed hard, and at last felt the head of his cock pop through.

“Aaaohh!” Dean groaned. He raised a hand and clenched it into a tight fist. Pete stayed where he was, watching that fist and not moving a muscle. They panted together.

After a minute, Dean unclenched his hand and lowered it back to the bed, shifting his boots a little wider apart and pressing his behind gently back against Pete’s cock.

“That’s a good boy,” Pete rumbled in a low voice, gripping his hair firmly. “Take my cock like a proper slut!”

Dean’s opening was almost painfully tight. Pete pushed further inside, grunting, until his balls rested against Dean’s ass.

“Ohhh fuck,” Pete groaned, “I’m all the way in! My entire cock is inside you!”

Dean huffed and sniffled. “Yes, Petey,” he whimpered.

Pete nearly asked him if he was okay. It was a momentary struggle, and then he jumped back into the zone.

“Such a little bitch,” he hissed. “I’ll give you something to cry about!”

He tightened his grip on Dean’s hair, pulled most of the way out, and pushed back in again all at once. Dean wailed, and more tears spilled from his eyes.

“Snivelling… little… whore,” Pete said as he drove his cock into Dean’s ass a few more times. “You… like it! Don’t you? You like it!”

“Ohhh… Pete… oh!” Dean moaned, intermittently sobbing and hiccuping. “Oh yes! Yes please… teach me… my place. I’m your toy, Petey… pleeeease! Oh! Use me… fuck me… I want all of your cum!”

“Oh, and you’re getting it, you little cumslut,” Pete snarled. “You do know your place, don’t you? And it’s right here. Right… here!” He punctuated his words with a few more powerful thrusts, pressing Dean down hard against the bed with both hands. He groaned at the intensity of the sensation, fucking Dean’s tight hole harder and faster. His cock thrummed with hot pleasure that seemed to spread up his abdomen and down his thighs.

“Fuck!” Pete roared, pounding into him even harder. The sensation and the sound of his sweaty body slapping against Dean’s drove him wild. “Yeah! Oh-fuck!”

Part of him remained fearful of hurting Dean, but he watched closely for signals even while losing himself in the ecstasy.

“Uhh… huhh… punish me!” Dean groaned, clawing at the bedspread with his fingernails. Half of his makeup was now smudged off on the covers.

“Fuck yeah!” Pete shouted, spearing into him mercilessly. The rhythmic slapping of their scorching bodies escalated to a frantic pace. “Fuck… yeah! Ohh I’m gonna cum so hard! Down on the ground-now, NOW!”

Dean choked a little as Pete grabbed hold of his collar and forced him into a kneeling position. Pete stripped off his condom and tossed it aside. He gave his throbbing hard-on only a couple of tugs before the first hot surge jetted from the raging purple head of his cock and spattered across Dean’s cheek, his chin, and into his eagerly open, lipstick-smudged mouth.

“Yeahhh, take it all, bitch!” Pete grunted, jerking himself rapidly and dousing Dean’s face with several more gouts of cum. Dean’s tongue hung out, trying to catch as much as he could. Pete finally finished, breathing hard and letting go of his cock and Dean’s collar. He gazed down at the face gazing up at him, smeared with the remains of his ruined makeup and now painted with cum. Dean’s cock was hard and standing at attention, his hand twitching near it. His dark eyes, rimmed with black smudges and tear-matted lashes, seemed to beg for permission.

“Up on the bed,” Pete panted.

“Oh Petey!” Dean moaned, scrambling up onto the bed and lying on his back.

“You’ve been a good little cumslut, so I’m gonna let you have a treat,” Pete said softly, sitting next to him and gripping his cock.

“Ohhh thank you!” Dean breathed. “You’re so good to your fucktoy, even when I’ve been so naughty!”

“I’m far too good to you,” Pete muttered, stroking him firmly. “You’d better appreciate this.”

“I do, oh, I do-Petey, that feels soooo nice!”

“Fuck, you look like such a nasty little slut with your face like that!” Pete hissed, stroking him faster now. “Shameless cum-covered face. I’ve marked you, Dean-you belong to me. Don’t you!”

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