Domestic: Suds


By Mostly Harmless

Doing the dishes and scratching an itch.

Plot what plot to the utmost extreme. Incest. AU. Naughty, adult language. Written in one hour and not beta-read. Let me know if you're looking for a job to do.

This is part of a storyline that I've been thinking about for a long time. I don't know if I'll ever write the actual story, but the smut certainly demands my attention...


Washing dishes was a chore, but not the worst one. If he kept up with it, it was only ten minutes of his day. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn't too long.

The water was hot and his skin had turned a little red. Soap bubbles clung to his forearms and the steam was making sweat drip slowly down his face. He swiped the yellow and green sponge over the plate in a wide circle until he heard a tell-tale squeak, smiled, and then set it into the dish rack to be rinsed later.

He was so engrossed in the job that he almost dropped the next plate when a pair of hands settled onto his hips and the heavy swell of a hard cock incased in denim settled against his ass. He took a deep breath to calm himself from the shock, smiled again and considered how the night would unfold. All evidence suggested that Squall was horny.

"Want to go upstairs?" he asked, preparing to set everything down and finish it later. This felt pretty urgent and it had been a while. With work and responsibilities, sex had become one of those things they had to plan for. A spontaneous, wild fuck like this was looking to be was a rare and valuable thing. Dishes could bloody well wait.

Or so he thought.

He almost cried out in protest when Squall answered in the negative against his ear. "No, keep doing exactly what you're doing." Almost, because Squall's hands were slowing tugging at his belt buckle from behind. As if he'd had more practice at it than other men his age—which was probably the case now that Laguna thought about it—his pants were loose and down less than a minute later. "Step out," Squall commanded.

Still holding a plate in one hand and a sponge in the other, Laguna obeyed. Anticipation almost made him forget what he was supposed to be doing. He gave a distracted scrub at the plate, heart already thundering. What was Squall up—

The answer was a hot, hard, slick cock suddenly settling in along the crack of his ass. His son had stripped in record time. "Squall!" he shouted and really did have to set the plate down.

"Spread your legs."

Laguna did and the cock slid nicely between them, the tip coming to rest against his balls, which felt heavy and tender as his own sex was filling and lifting towards his belly. He couldn't help himself when he leaned forward and pushed his hips back. It exposed him more fully, presenting Squall, he was sure, with a nice target.

Squall shifted again and Laguna felt a tiny trickle of the oil Squall had slicked himself with streaming down the inside of his thighs. It made him clench the sponge in his hand too tightly and suds splushed out onto his hand. Hyne he wanted this.

The cock settled more firmly against his body and he wished it were inside him instead, but Squall had other plants. "Close your legs," Squall suddenly commanded. And sadly, disappointedly, Laguna understood.

Carefully, he clamped his legs back together, squeezing the shaft between them. He didn't know if it was too tight—knew it wasn't as tight as other places could be—or not tight enough.

He heard Squall sigh and knew that it didn't really matter what he thought. It was apparently good for Squall. That was all he needed to know.

Squall settled his hands on the counter on either side of Laguna, impersonal and aloof, and then pulled back slowly, only to thrust back even slower. The skin here was sensitive and it felt good when the cock shuddered into the base of his cock and his balls, but he knew he couldn't come from this. Worse, he knew this wasn't about him. For the first time ever, Squall was playing the inconsiderate lover. Laguna squirmed and felt a tingle run up his spine.

Squall's hip snapped back once more and the skin of Laguna's thighs caressed him, tightened around him, welcomed him. He repeated the motion at a steady pace ten more times before speeding up. Laguna listened and knew exactly when Squall threw his head back, riding out the pleasure.

Laguna squirmed again. He wanted...more. This was...insulting. Squall had wanted sex right then, had wanted release right then.

And that explained the smoldering looks throughout dinner and the hurried way he had eaten, didn't it?

And it all boiled down to Squall not caring if Laguna was enjoying this.

"Please, touch me," Laguna asked. Somewhere along the line he had dropped the sponge. "Not like this," he said and wondered why his voice sounded drugged with satisfaction and lust "Touch me. Fuck me."

"No," Squall said and slowed down his pace just to stretch it out longer for himself.

"Squall," Laguna cried out. That one had been brutal and he had felt the hair around Squall's cock grind into the skin of his ass. "Oh, Hyne."

Laguna moaned, dropped his head and tried to squeeze his thighs together tighter. He meant to beg Squall to lube him up—or not was okay at this point, too—and fuck him properly, but all he said was "Harder" and where the hell had that come from?

Because, yeah, nothing could change the fact that Squall was using him. Which he shouldn't like. At all.

"Fuck, y-no," Laguna cried when a long-fingered hand forced his head down closer to the steaming, dirty, soapy water, and took a fierce hold on his hips, making him easier to manipulate, an easier way for Squall to pleasure himself.

Squall was using him like he'd use a fist to jack off. Taking his own pleasure from Laguna from behind. Treating him like he was just any other body to fuck. He shouldn't be enjoying this.

"Please, no," Laguna said and felt all the blood rush to his head and then crash back down. Surely he wasn't going to come just like this...

Squall wasn't fucking him.

Squall wasn't going to fuck him. Squall was going to fuck himself off in between Laguna's thighs and probably not return the favor with even a handjob. A blowjob was out of the question. And, maybe—just maybe—after he came, he'd push him away and leave him to bring himself off on the kitchen floor. And that idea made Laguna arch his back and practically purr.

"Please," he moaned—and was he asking for what he had imagined? Certainly not. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I want you to touch me."

"Do you really?"

He felt cheap and dirty. Just a body.

"No. I...I..." The whimpering sound coming from his lips was no good indication of what he wanted. It sounded pleased and aroused. He trailed a wet, sudsy hand to his lips, warm water dripping down his sweating chest, and sucked on his own finger to block the noise. He was aware of the suds and water streaming from his hand and wrist gliding and gathering all over his neck and nipples and belly and even they made him hot. He considered using that same hand to make this better. Soapy and hungry for flesh, his hand slid down...

"Don't touch yourself."

"Ahhh!" he gasped and then groaned, a noise that sounded like the ones he sometimes made when Squall slid inside him smoothly in one stroke and pushed hard against his prostate. Those noises he made when he was ready to black out from pleasure. It was as if Squall had done something other than deny him what he thought he wanted. At this point, he was beginning to wonder if Squall was the only one in the room who knew what Laguna wanted.

"Let me..." he pleaded.

"I said no. Stay like you are." And that tone was chilling, unyielding.

"Hyne!" His hand fell away and he struggled to lift it back to the ledge of the sink. That voice...

He pushed his hips back a little further, barely clinging to the sink at all anymore and the slap, slap, slap of his own balls against his empty body was counterpoint to the slick sound of Squall moving in and out.

Just a glorified fist.

And Squall knew that he liked it. The bastard knew.


"Please, what?"

"Please...Please, I-I can't say it, know..."

Squall stopped moving entirely.

"No! Please," Laguna gasped, dismayed. He tried to move his hips back to finish the motion, the make Squall feel this, but the hands at his hips were brutal. He was stuck like this, Squall in control.

"Then tell me what you want."

"Please don't make me say it."

Squall fisted his hand into Laguna's hair, too hard, pulling too tight. "Tell me," he said and accented the command with a beautiful, slow slide out and back in. Laguna felt his eyes roll back in his head.

"Please, tou—" he tried and then gave up. The truth hurts sometimes. But, he decided, if it gets you what you want, go with the pain.

"Please use me," he begged. "I want you to...use me."

Squall moved again, snapping his hips forward and then back. "Like this?"

"Harder." He swallowed and felt more words—like a river of dirty secrets flooding the air—coming out before he knew how to stop them. "I want you to not care if I want it or if I like it. Or even if it hurts. I want you to force me down onto a table and use me how you want to...Fuck me till you come and then watch me bring myself off screaming your name...I want...Hyne...ah, ah..."

He ran out of words and breath because Squall was moving again.

"More?" he asked.

"Yes," Laguna panted. "Fucking...hell...make it rough."

"Gladly," Squall said and rode out his own release in a high-paced spurt, ratcheting in and out and gripping Laguna's hips cruelly. His fingers were digging in and Laguna was writhing under the assault, twisting his body as if the cock were inside him instead. He felt like he'd die of disappointment if Squall touched him sweetly at all.

And this was going to leave bruises and that was good because Laguna was just a body, a tool. There was no pleasure to be had here for him. This was all about Squall, who was sure not fucking his body, but seemed to be having a pretty good time fucking with his head.

"Squall!" Laguna cried when he felt the hot, wet, thick, powerful twitching of the cock enveloped in his thighs. He almost collapsed when his own release ripped through him like a dam bursting.

Squall caught him and they both tumbled to the floor.

"Hyne, Hyne..." Laguna was chanting.

"Shhhh," Squall soothed him and stroked his damp hair. "I've got you. Shhh..."

Laguna blinked and settled more firmly against Squall's chest, staring at the ceiling. He felt more like himself five minutes later. Enough to try to speak, anyway.

"Squall," he began, voice hoarse from screaming like he hadn't in a long time. Sex with Squall was always good, but this had been a little scary. "How did you...why did you...fuck. I haven't come that hard in my life. And those things that I said. I'm sick, aren't I?"

"I like you sick," Squall admitted. He stroked his hands along the skin on the inside of Laguna's legs, gathering up the drying semen there as proof of how much he liked this particular kink. "And it wasn't hard to figure out. You'd probably let me handcuff you to the bed and beat you for a week if you thought it would get me off."

Laguna shuddered, but not with disgust and he couldn't stop the excited roll of his hips. And this time, Squall was surprised. "I was just joking, you know."

"Sure. But...just in case, how much do handcuffs cost?"


I like the idea that Laguna curses during sex and when he drinks. I don't know why. :)