Fill for the Hobbit Kink Meme: Aidan has a major size!kink. Basically Aidan really gets off on Dean being tiny. Some smut where Aidan is very toppy and uses his height and bulk to completely ravish Dean is much appreciated.
Dean is tiny, and sometimes Aidan feels like he could wrap him up and hide him from the world. In ideal circumstances, he would. Hide him, that is. Not that he voices such a thought, because such a thought is substantially creepy and entirely impractical and totally implausible.
But Dean is just so little
, so gorgeous and playful and fair, and sometimes it takes a lot of strength for Aidan to remind himself that other people are allowed to look at him in that way
There's something so submissive, almost smug, in his size, in the smallness of his hands, his lovely feet, his back. The first time they had sex, the sheets around Dean had seemed like a mass, an ocean engulfing him, and when Aidan had buried himself inside him it'd seemed all the hotter and all the tighter for how fucking small and gorgeous and sweet Dean was.
Is. Aidan watches him now, across the room, sitting on the sun-soaked sill, wet from his shower and wearing nothing but a pair of Aidan's sweat pants. He likes wearing Aidan's clothes, because they drown him. Aidan likes Dean wearing his clothes, for entirely the same reason.
He's beautiful. Sometimes Aidan wants to tell him to stop. It's hardly fair.
“Want another?” Aidan yawns eventually. He isn't done looking – he'll probably never be done looking at Dean – but he's thirsty, and the oppressive New Zealand sun is making the bedsheets roast.
Dean swirls the coffee in his cup. “Not finished yet.”
Aidan climbs out of bed, naked save a pair of boxers, and slouches into the kitchen. He's totally unsurprised to find the mess sprawled across the counter tops; ever since moving in together the untidiness of Dean's flat has increased tenfold, due to their mutual disinclination to clean anything other than themselves.
But he loves it here, in Dean's Auckland apartment, all leather sofas and Italian dark wood, birds always singing outside the windows and sunlight warming the curtains. They eat good food and drink expensive coffee and make love all the time. It's lovely. Really lovely, actually.
Another yawn slips past his lips as he waits for the coffee to boil. A bird outside is pecking at the window, and he's wondering whether or not to feed it (he fancies himself a bit of an animal lover, but Dean always moans at him to “stop taming the bloody things”) when hands run across his shoulders from behind.
“Is this your idea of helping?” Aidan tosses over his shoulder as the coffee machine clicks.
A pair of soft, warm lips mouth sleepily at his neck. “Yes,” Dean sighs into his ear.
Aidan finds the strength to turn, and winds his arms around the smaller man, pulling him forward. A warm, pleased noise slips from the back of Dean's throat.
They smile at each other. Dean's hands slide up into Aidan's hair, twirling a few dark curls around his fingers. His own blond cut is damp, freshly washed and smelling of mint, and Aidan scrubs at it with his fingertips before catching Dean's mouth in a sleepy morning kiss.
As is custom on idle, sunny days like this, they don't speak for a while. Words hardly matter. Dean opens his mouth only to kiss and to laugh when Aidan grips the underside of his thighs and hauls him round and up on to the counter top.
“I've got toast crumbs all over these pants now,” he murmurs against Aidan's lips.
“Mm, take 'em off then,” Aidan mumbles back. He's already got his thumbs tucked beneath the waistband. It would have been cheeky at the start, presumptuous even, but neither of them have worked for months, and the days and nights have bled and melted into one another, and now it's like any time or place within these apartment walls is right for fucking.
“I came in here for breakfast,” Dean grins, when Aidan's palm brushes roughly over the bulge in the pants.
“Like hell you did.”
“Alright,” Dean says fairly, and he's sliding off the counter now and brushing the crumbs from his legs, suddenly a head shorter than Aidan again. “But I want breakfast after
“Where are you going?” Aidan asks, watching as the other man saunters towards the door.
“Bedroom,” he says.
Dean's already naked when Aidan gets in there; he's squirming against the mattress like some self-indulgent prince, sweat pants forgotten in a heap at the foot of the bed.
Aidan remains standing just long enough to rid himself of his boxers, before climbing on to the bed too, crawling up to Dean like a wolf staring down his prey. Aidan's kissing him before he can say a word, pressing him down into the soft white mattress with the weight of his body, holding his face firmly in his big hands.
Horny and sensitive from sleep, Aidan groans and parts his legs to fall on either side of Dean's, bringing their lower bodies into forceful contact. Their cocks slide hotly together, sensitive skin catching and slicking desperately, and it's agonizing but God
, this never loses its thrill.
“You're energetic,” Dean observes when their kiss breaks, conversational tone marred by the hitch in his breath.
“Babe,” Dean laughs, kissing him. “Baby.” Another kiss. “What do you want to do?”
Aidan makes a noise against Dean's skin, his soft, slender neck. “Fuck you into next week, if that's alright,” he says, pressing wet kisses to the column of Dean's throat, nudging it with his nose. “Sound good?”
Dean rasps that it sounds excellent
“On your front,” Aidan orders, and Dean is all too quick to comply, flipping so swiftly on to his belly that his legs tangle in the thin white duvet, the fitted sheet rucking into a mess beneath him.
For a moment Aidan sits back on his haunches and stares. He sweeps his fingers across Dean's back, glorying in the way his hand can almost cover the entire expanse of it. The skin is hot beneath his touch, and every time Aidan's fingers move they leave trails of tanned, pebbled skin in their wake.
Beneath him, Dean shivers.
“You can't be cold,” Aidan grins, leaning down to nip at the curve of his shoulder.
Dean shakes his head against the pillow, arching as Aidan blankets the smaller body with his own. His cock slides languidly over the swell of Dean's arse, and Aidan muffles his own moans with wet, sloppy kisses, pressing them all over Dean's neck and shoulder blades as he ruts gently against him.
“Aid,” comes Dean's strained voice, muffled against the pillows, “do something.”
“Ordering me around now, darlin'?”
Dean's laugh is breathless, and he turns his head and parts his lips and they kiss again, awkward in this angle but searingly hot, dozy and messy, and Aidan can feel Dean's hips moving gently beneath him as he grinds against the bed.
“Eager little thing, aren't you?” Aidan murmurs, with a final kiss to Dean's jaw.
He leans back, scans his eyes over the slight body a final time before reaching towards the night stand. The drawer is already pulled out all the way and overflowing with junk, but the open box of condoms and tube of Liquid Silk sit daintily on the top of the pile like jewels, the bottle compressed and sticky with use.
Sometimes, Aidan thinks, this is his favourite part; when Dean knows he's got the lube and he's opening it, slicking it between his fingers, and Dean is closing his eyes and lifting his hips invitingly, biting his lovely pink bottom lip like he's waiting for something special.
He hisses when Aidan pools the stuff at the base of his spine, smearing it down his cleft with two fingers.
“Fuckin' cold, that.”
Aidan smiles in recognition; he says that every time
. Maybe he's trying to make a point. After all, preparation seems more like a formality these days. Spending so much time together, making love so often, it's hardly necessary on a daily basis, but Aidan likes it, likes pushing his fingers deep into Dean's body, small and compact like the rest of him, and watching the way he reacts to every curl and curve and twist, the noises he makes, the half sobs and keens that drive Aidan crazy.
He can quite easily push two slicked fingers in without preamble, and when he does Dean groans softly and raises his hips to meet the touch. He's panting now, breath rustling the loose pillow case, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets as Aidan fucks him soundly with his fingers.
When Dean begins moaning properly, starts pushing further into the mattress, starts sweating, Aidan pulls his fingers away and hauls him over, relishing the easy glide of Dean's body beneath his hands.
On his back now, chest heaving, Dean's cock is hard against his belly. There's a beautiful flush travelling from there all the way up to his chest. Aidan presses his large hands flat against the heated skin; he wants to touch Dean everywhere, every little patch of perfect warmth and smoothness and smallness.
“God, Dean,” he groans, “look at you.”
He touches his fingers to the flat plane of Dean's chest, his lovely hips, his thighs which Aidan grips with a sudden roughness as he pulls Dean further down the bed to close the gap between them.
“Always so rough
,” Dean gripes, but he's smiling, and now they're close again he curls his fingers in Aidan's hair and tugs him in for a messy kiss. “Want you to fuck me up,” he mumbles, and he says that a lot in bed and maybe only because he knows Aidan likes it, but that never loses its shine either.
With a growl low in his throat, Aidan fumbles blindly to retrieve a condom from the box beside him. He tears the foil wrapping with his teeth and rolls the condom on with expert ease, a move so laughably fluid now when compared to their first tentative explorations of each other almost a year ago.
The Liquid Silk is well and truly drained as Aidan squeezes the last of it out into his hand. He slicks it quickly on to his cock, then grabs Dean's shoulder and pushes him none-too-gently on to his front again.
“Make up your damn mind,” Dean grumbles, but he yelps when Aidan's free hand takes hold of one arse cheek, squeezing roughly.
“Be quiet,” he hisses, in a voice which he fancies dangerously exciting, but for which Dean will probably tease him later.
Dean's laugh melts into a moan; shudderingly, he raises himself on to his hands and knees.
“Christ, Aidan, please
,” he begs, when the slicked tip of Aidan's cock is already nudging at his hole.
The sight of Dean stretching around him like this is enough to make Aidan pant. He grits his teeth against it, and when the thick head is inside he gives up entirely and fucks his hips forward, sinking the rest of the way in.
The sound that claws its way out of Dean's throat is beautiful; hoarse and sexy and needy
, and Aidan groans loudly in response and fucks into him again, harder, so that Dean goes pliant and collapses against the mattress with a gravelly moan.
He lies helpless and writhing as Aidan's thrusts turn relentless, the heat, the still-surprising tightness of Dean around him sending him into a fit of frenzied pounding. He shifts his hands from where they're holding Dean's hips to grip at his shoulders, digging angry red seashell patterns into his skin as he grinds in and out of him.
Sometimes they go slow, dozy and sun-dappled in the warm Auckland glow. Aidan takes his time, glories in Dean's body, the way he fits perfectly against him.
Today it isn't like that; they're both too drugged with caffeine, the heat is too intense, and Dean's doing nothing to tame Aidan's hard fucking. He's so responsive, always, bucking up against every thrust and willingly letting his body be driven forwards until his temple is pressed against the leatherette headboard, fingers dangling down the back of the mattress. His hair is already damp, almost brown with sweat, and he's gasping and groaning, chanting Aidan's name in quiet pants beneath his breath.
“How is it, darlin'?” Aidan breathes. “Huh? How is
it?” He punctuates the word with a hard thrust, and Dean gasps again, jerking against the soft sheets.
“So good,” he whispers back, and then he buries his head in the bed and gives a long, guttural groan.
Aidan wants more than anything to capture that groan in his mouth. Quite suddenly he stills, pulls out, sits back on his haunches and, for a second time, tosses Dean easily on to his back.
Without a word he hauls Dean's legs up and sinks back in. Their eyes lock only for a brief moment before Dean's mouth is falling open and he's throwing his head back, a breathless yell caught in his throat. The sunlight streaming in through the windows bounces off the gorgeous olive column of his throat.
Aidan pulls him up for a kiss and Dean responds eagerly, tongue licking desperately into Aidan's mouth as he thrusts his body back and forth to match the harsh rhythm set by Aidan's hips.
“Don't stop,” Dean pants when they break from the kiss. “Don't stop, keep going, keep going.”
“I'm not stopping, baby.”
He pulls out, pounds back in, every deep drive of his cock pulling filthier noises from Dean's throat, from Aidan's own
throat, noises Dean will probably laugh at him for later.
Dean's legs go tight around him, pulling him in; his fingers are clutching desperately at Aidan's shoulders, until Aidan grabs them, presses Dean's arms against the bed, above his head, so their fingers lock together as he drives into him again and again, completely covering Dean's body with his own.
Aidan hasn't even touched Dean's cock yet but he can feel it between them, the satin skin rubbing against their stomachs, sticky with precome and hard as rock. He doesn't want to release Dean's hands, not even to give the tip of his cock a teasing swipe, but it's obvious Dean wants him to by the way he mewls and bucks, rolling his hips in frantic circles.
“Please make me come, please make me come,” he pants, but Aidan ignores him, kisses him quiet and fucks him harder.
He can feel his own release approaching fast, coiling up tight and hot in his belly, liquid heat pooling in the base of his spine. Dean must be getting there now too, Aidan must be nailing that sweet spot inside him, because he's clenching tighter around Aidan's cock and every bit of his skin is flushed and he's letting out these dry sobbing noises and squeezing Aidan's fingers hard enough to leave bruises.
“God,” he gasps. “Fuck – Aidan
It works like a catalyst. The heat in Aidan's spine seems to spill, the tension in his abdomen snapping, and with a growl he thrusts once, twice, three times into the overwhelming heat and comes, toes curling against the mattress and arms going rigid where they're holding Dean down.
A shuddering gasp breaks from his throat as the intensely sharp sensations reverberate around him. Then he slumps forward, face in the crook of Dean's neck, their heaving chests sticking with sweat.
“Christ... Dean... darling, baby, fuck.”
He's shuddering, heavy with lethargy, but Dean's erection is still pressing hard against his thigh. With a twist, Aidan shimmies back down the bed and takes Dean's cock into his mouth, messy and eager, swallowing him down when Dean's hips shudder up.
It doesn't take long before Dean's small body is writhing shamelessly on the brink of release. He's hissing out Aidan's name and bucking up into his mouth and tangling his fingers in Aidan's thick, dark curls. Aidan suddenly pulls his mouth away with a filthy pop and wraps his fingers around Dean's cock instead, stroking him fast. His free hand grips Dean's thigh, the muscles flexing convulsively beneath his palm.
“Come on, baby,” Aidan whispers, rough and low. “Come on, darlin', give it to me, come
Dean lets out this high, strangled moan, drives up into Aidan's hand as Aidan growls his encouragement – there it is, there it is
– and comes hard all over his belly, the last of it leaking messily on to Aidan's fingers.
“Fuuuck,” Dean drags out, all pliant and wrecked and affectionate as he flops back into the bed.
When Aidan's cleaned them both up and dealt with the condom, he moves back up the bed. Dean curls against him, his smaller body wrapping tight around Aidan's, heavy breathing hot on Aidan's skin.
“Well, that was...” Dean breaks off to yawn, before burying his nose back in Aidan's chest. “Lovely.”
Aidan picks up a few damp locks of blond hair, twirling them lazily around his finger. “Mm, are we going back to sleep now?”
“No,” Dean mutters, not opening his eyes. “You're making me breakfast, remember?”
Aidan sighs, pretending to care. Truthfully, he gets a weird kick out of making Dean food, as though he's here to look after him. And anyway, after a performance like that the least the other man deserves is a bit of toast.
But still, Aidan's limbs are too hot and heavy to move, and he tries to cuddle Dean closer to get him to change his mind. It works for a little bit. Then, with a barely concealed grin, Dean turns on to his other side, bringing the covers with him to drape over his warm, curled-up body.
“And coffee too, baby,” he mumbles, nestling back into the pillows.