Rooftop scene as per the film, blushing virgin!Arthur as the quasi-PoV character and confident seducer!Curt, about 2K words, as NC17 as it gets. Sorry, don't have a VG icon ;)
“Come closer,” Curt says. “Make a wish.”
Their hands touch, the electric current spiking through his flesh; the plea in his eyes must leave no doubt in Curt’s mind as to what that is. His legs are buckling, his breath shallow and quick, his hand trembles when Curt takes it into his.
It is happening, this unattainable stage idol is looking at him, talking to him, devouring him with his eyes, touching him... Curt’s hand gently lifts the hem of his T-shirt, and he does the rest himself, pulling it off over his head, embarrassed by his own inexperience; Curt’s fingers trace fire on his naked skin, and when the man stands closer and holds him lightly from behind, it is all he can do to stop his hips from uncontrollably grinding against the solid bulge at Curt’s crotch. He may have never done it before, he may be a virgin – the awkward fumbles with girls don’t really count, even though he has had sex with them in a strict sense of the word, but he has never been taken himself - but it could not possibly matter when he is touched and held like that, desired by a stage demigod with that sort of casual intensity.
Curt’s hands move to undo his fly, and he does not resist, just moans, betraying his impatience, and grinds forward into the hand now gently cupping him through the cotton of his pants. Reality ceases to exist; there is only the brush of hot lips against the back of his neck and the relentless touch of Curt’s fingers through the cotton. He is not beyond begging; he’d give anything at this stage to have those fingers on him, inside him, anywhere closer than this, touching him, probing and stretching and opening and fucking him; and he would beg for all that if he could only get his tongue to obey. All he can do is move his own hands down to his hips and lower down the elastic, pulling his own trousers and pants down, exposing himself to Curt’s attentions.
Curt is willing to oblige; those nimble, gentle fingers wrap around him and he cries out loud, and Curt’s other hand rises to his neck, craning it just enough so their lips can meet and Curt’s tongue can enter his mouth. Its movements are obscene; his mouth is being fucked by that tongue and all he can pray for is that it does not stop. Curt is still fully dressed, the cotton of the man’s T-shirt hot against his bare back, the denim of Curt’s jeans rough against his exposed buttocks; he is coming undone under Curt’s touch, completely helpless.
“Please...” he begs.
“What?” Curt questions him softly.
“F-fuck me,” he grinds out. There, he has said it; his darkest, most secret desire, his most shameful fantasy, of becoming this man’s plaything, if only for one night; of submitting, of belonging, of being taken, entered, deflowered.
“You sure?” Curt asks, and he suspects that it is meant to make him beg more.
“Yeah,” he manages instead. After all, if the state of Curt’s cock is any indication, that is what he wants, too.
Curt’s hand leaves his shaft and goes to unzip the fly on the man’s jeans. He shivers when his sensitised flesh is exposed to the night air; but the promise of skin on skin, of Curt pressed up against him, breaching him, inside him, is overwhelming. Curt frees himself, the fat cock sliding and pressing between his arse cheeks, wrenching another desperate cry from his lips. He wants it so much; if Curt does not fuck him, he will be impaling himself on that cock next, with or without lube. But Curt is more considerate, or at least more experienced, than that. He pulls out a tube from his back pocket and steps away, exposing his bare arse to the skies.
“Spread yourself for me.” The request sounds unbelievably obscene; he is supposed to make a welcome mat of himself, or a lavish banquet; no matter, he is dying to do both. He moves his feet apart.
“Put your hands on your cheeks and open them,” Curt commands next.
He tries not to think of what he must be looking like as he does that. Cool, slick fingers trace a line between his buttocks; he shudders when they pass the opening, and Curt snorts in satisfaction, his lubed-up hand sliding lower to cup his balls from behind, gently kneading them, making thick liquid drip from the tip of his exposed, aching cock.
Curt releases his balls and retraces the line back up again, eliciting a similar shudder, and when his fingers come down next, the pressure is slightly greater, so his fingertip pushes inside – a mere half inch, nowhere near enough to breach him, but more than enough to set him on fire. He tries to grind against that finger, keep it in, push himself down on it; Curt stays him with his other hand and pushes in, very slowly, until he has been breached – and while it is far from being an overpowering sensation, it is an agonisingly delicious one, the way Curt moves his finger just slightly in and out and twists it sideways to stimulate his hot, slick, sensitive flesh. He moans softly at the sensation; Curt pauses, warm chest peeling momentarily away from his back, and he wonders what he can do to make the other man go on.
“Does it hurt?” Curt asks him.
“N-no,” he moans again. “Don’t stop.”
But Curt stays still, one hand between his arse cheeks, the other on his lower abdomen, steadily pressing against it just above his straining cock.
“You’re too tense,” Curt tells him quietly. “I can’t fuck you if you keep clenching up on me. You should open yourself up.” He does his best to obey, to will himself open. “Yeah, like this,” Curt coaxes him. “There, see how much easier it is? Try to stay like this,” Curt instructs him, the movement of his finger getting faster, more insistent, taking advantage of his now-compliant flesh. “Let me put a second finger inside you.”
His knees buckle again at the prospect. Curt withdraws his hand altogether, pumps more lube onto his own fingers and works it into his open flesh, aching with the gentle intrusion. When Curt’s fingers come back to probe him, it is quicker this time, but the sliding motion is still steady and careful.
“There, there,” Curt shushes him, left hand stroking soft circles on his belly. “You’re such a sweet boy. Now just keep yourself like this.”
Curt’s left hand finally slides down to grope and pump his cock in rhythm with the fingers pushing in and out of him from behind.
“How does this feel?” Curt asks. Like heaven and hell wrapped into one; shameful, sinful, unfamiliar, uncomfortable, thrilling, delightful, sublime.
“Good,” he manages. Curt pushes two fingers as far inside him as they will go, before releasing his cock and putting the hand on his back to bend him down. He submits, his hands finding purchase against the roof parapet, and feels the fingers push even deeper into his exposed, welcoming, willing body.
Having probed him as far as the fingers can reach, Curt twists his hand back and forth, and he shakes and whimpers as the uncomfortable sensation of being worked open gradually gives way to waves of heat and delicious weakness, turning his insides to jelly. He tries pushing back and forth onto those fingers now and Curt indulges for a while before pulling out.
“Are you ready now?” Curt asks next, his voice rougher, more urgent. Yes – no – he is dying for it and still afraid of the pain, the intrusion, afraid that Curt will turn into a crazed beast and pound into him fiercely and forcefully until he is in agony. Nothing Curt has done so far points to that, but there is no telling what he may be like in the heat of the moment.
“Just... please take it slowly,” he begs. Curt’s response is to plant a slow kiss on the centre of his back, and his body instantly sags in relief.
“Don’t worry,” Curt murmurs, the soft hair trailing upwards on his back as the man’s lean body stretches over his own, until Curt’s soft lips are against the back of his neck again. “I’ll enter you very slowly.” The words enter you trigger some sort of overload in his brain. “Just stay relaxed, if you clench against me early on it will hurt, your muscles need to get used to being stretched, it’ll be uncomfortable at first but it’ll get easier later on,” Curt whispers right into his ear. “I’ll be slow, and you tell me if it hurts too much and I’ll stop.” He is not sure how much is too much and doesn’t really want to tell Curt to stop under any circumstances, but he nods in silent agreement.
Curt steps back a couple of inches, straightens up. “Put your hands on your ass cheeks again, and spread them open. You can start pumping your cock when I’m in you, but right now, just try to stay relaxed.” He feels the fat head of Curt’s cock pressed against him, pushing in just slightly before withdrawing, a surprisingly pleasant sensation, smoother and slicker than the fingers, and moans as Curt repeats the teasing, light thrusts, pushing into him without breaching. He moans louder and more impatiently as the sinful caress continues, his body longing for the intrusion by now.
“Want to push yourself down on me?” Curt prompts him, and he is only too eager, stopping only when the discomfort gets too pronounced. “Take it slowly, back and forth, just like this,” Curt murmurs, pulling out just far enough so that the head of his cock is still dipped into him, but still outside his ring of muscle. “Now do it again. There’s a good boy.”
They keep pushing and pulling like that for a few seconds and he is getting lost in the sensation when Curt suddenly stabs deeper into him and he bites down on a muffled cry at the jabbing pain.
“Shhh,” Curt soothes him. The man has gone completely still except for the nimble hands playing over his back, his sides, his buttocks, reaching over to knead his balls and caress his cock.”It’s done now, I’m in you. Just relax,” he says again. “I know it hurts a bit now but it’ll go away soon. Tell me when you’re ready to continue, or if you want me to pull out.”
“No, I don’t want you to pull out,” he begs. The ache in itself is wonderful, tangible proof that Curt is really fucking him. Curt stays still for a while longer, caressing him, then bends over him and twists his face toward himself, so that their lips touch and he once again can perform that incredible tongue-fucking routine upon his mouth. His buttocks clench of their own accord then, his cock twitching, and Curt pauses, waiting for him to relax again before pushing just a bit deeper into him. Curt continues alternating the kissing and caresses with these shallow, gentle thrusts, until he can finally feel Curt’s groin pressed against his buttocks, his body fully penetrated.
Curt pauses again – and then continues, grinding narrow hips against his buttocks, the fat cock stretching him, pressing into him from the inside. He starts gasping and moaning again, from pure pleasure this time, and begs Curt to just keep moving like this, feeling completely open and out of control, impaled on hot, hard flesh, feeling full and needy and boneless, in the helpless, exhilarating ecstasy of submission. Curt’s grinding becomes more erratic, and he tries to stay still under this tender assault, silently guiding Curt’s hand back to his cock.
Curt strokes him, every movement causing waves of bliss to ripple through his brain, and then puts his other arm across his chest and pulls him up so he is standing almost upright, his back once again flush with Curt’s chest, Curt’s tongue flicking against his ear, still impaled on the cock pumping into him. He is at the limit of his resistance; the pleasure gets unbearably intense until he loses any semblance of control and blurts out “I’m coming!” before a particularly wicked twist of Curt’s fingers on his cock gets him spurting onto the roof.
He is about to collapse in the aftermath; dimly he feels Curt’s arms supporting him in a strong embrace, the man’s hip movements getting increasingly frantic until he feels a throbbing, sticky warmth spread inside him, and then Curt stills and stays there, holding him upright, before gently disengaging and lowering them both onto the mattress, exhausted and spaced out. He feels Curt’s hands stroking his chest as he drifts off, wondering how the other man could possibly still be awake after such brain-meltingly intense sex. In the end, he is too spent to ponder it.