"I hung your suit in the closet and put both suitcases by the bed," Antony says quietly, coming back into the living room to find Stephen on the phone but obviously on hold. He checks that the fridge has been stocked, the plants watered, the place cleaned, listening to Stephen talk to someone about costume fittings, table reads and rehearsals. He pours himself a small tumbler of scotch and then another for his husband, handing it over without a word before settling on the couch, his phone pulled from his pocket. If he checks his messages now, he won't have to do it while Stephen's free.
Stephen winks at Antony as his husband reappears, then watches him move around the room as he waits for his conversation to resume, then he's scribbling notes and times in his notebook, one he's bought specially for this project, by the end of which it will have everything in it from meeting times, to script notes and personal observations. When he's done he sets the phone down and turns to Antony. "And so, it begins..." he grins.
Antony grins back. "Are you excited?" He's not looking forward to them being parted for any length of time but he knows this is something Stephen fought for and there's not a chance in hell he'd stand in his way.
"Yeah, yeah I am. It's very different to filming a TV show, so I'm going to learn so much from this." He takes a seat next to Antony on the couch and picks up the glass of scotch. "At least the pace isn't quite so insane as it can get on 'Arrow' so I hope I can take some time to take it all in."
"I hope you can too," Antony says, watching Stephen, drinking him in. "And I'm sure it'll be the first of many." Especially with Arrow under his belt now.
"Huh. Well, let's wait and see if I enjoy the process first, and see if I'm any good at it." Stephen chuckles, he enjoys 'Arrow' and he's not about to throw away his TV career to chase after movies that might not happen.
Antony raises an eyebrow at that. "Are you telling there's anything you're not good at?" he teases. Stephen's a natural at most things and when he's not, he makes up for it with sheer hard work and determination.
Stephen snorts over the rim of his glass. "Um yeah, there's plenty I'm not good at." He loves that Antony thinks he's 'all that' - it's been key in rebuilding his self-confidence.
"Uh huh." Antony grins, unconvinced, eyes crinkling at their corners. "I've got a quick meeting in the morning and I have to be at the airport for 8 but I'm free the rest of the day. What's your schedule look like?"
"Busy, but I can do lunch and a quick dinner date before you fly," Stephen reaches out, his arm laying along the back of the couch, his fingertips stroking the curve of Antony's ear. "It's going to be weird not having you around," he says softly. "Though I guess Christos will more than make up for the fussing..."
"Just as long as he doesn't make up for anything else," Antony says, but they both know he's kidding. He trusts his husband and Christos implicitly.
"Darling, after you, all men would measure up short," Stephen grins, flicking his gaze down to Antony's crotch and back again.
"True," Antony says with another grin then laughs, totally unrepentant.
"Smug doesn't suit you," Stephen drawls, rolling his eyes at his husband. Even so, it's good to see Antony laughing so freely. "One day, at the club, we'll see someone larger...and you won't like that."
"Never gonna happen," Antony declares, still laughing, not even sure what's gotten into him. Except he's happy, so fucking happy. Even facing time apart, he's in a good place, they're in a good place, and life is just so damned good, for both of them.
"Smug and over confident!" Stephen snorts out as he puts his glass down. Rolling to his feet he offers Antony his hand, "C'mon then 'big man', you'd better show me what you've got."
"What are you in the mood for?" Antony asks, taking Stephen's hand and rising from the couch.
"Well," Stephen throws a playful look over his shoulder as he tugs Antony along. "I thought I'd start with a very detailed study of the size of your cock... with my mouth, and then I aim to persuade you to test out the capaciousness of your slave's cunt with said cock."
Antony smiles. "Lucky me," he murmurs, his body already responding to the picture Stephen paints. "I like the way you think."
"Isn't that why you chose me to give your collar to? Isn't it my place as your slave to know exactly what will please my owner?" Stephen pauses at the door of the bedroom, letting his hand skim over the already straining denim that covers Antony's prick. "You remade me Antony; into a boy who would never willingly kneel before any other man. Into the boy who craves your sex and your sadism. I am your creation, for your pleasure."
Fuck. Suddenly rock hard and aching, Antony groans, tilting his hips, his cock, into Stephen's touch. "Mine," he agrees, the one word encompassing everything. "Every inch of you."
"Always," Stephen murmurs as his fingers tighten around the fabric covering Antony's erection. "Please... show this slave how you own him..."
Antony closes the small distance between them, pulling Stephen in close and kissing him hard. He grinds against him, shoving into his hand, letting him feel every inch, his lust raging, already working Stephen's t-shirt over his head. "I want you naked, boy. Naked and on your knees," he orders, biting at Stephen's mouth.
Stephen's breath stutters hard in his chest, the force of Antony's passion overwhelming him. Taking a half step back, Stephen makes short work of removing the remainder of his clothes before dropping to his knees, his face turned up to Antony, his eyes meeting his Sir's. His own cock, equally as hard as Antony's stands proud, the silver ring of his PA glinting in the light.
"Good boy," Antony murmurs, taking a moment to truly drink in the sight of the most beautiful man he's ever seen before he pulls his own shirt over his head and drops his jeans, fisting his cock in his hand. "Open up."
Just for a moment Stephen indulges himself, leaning in to carefully inhale the scent of his husband's sex; male and musky. His own dick jerks in response, Stephen's body flooding with a spike of arousal. Then he opens his mouth, offering himself up for his Sir's use.
Antony reaches out, sliding his hand over and down the back of Stephen's head, cupping the nape of the neck. He rubs the tip of his cock, wet with precome, back and forth across his boy's mouth, teasing them both, before he pushes forward a little, watching the thick crown disappear between Stephen's lips, a low groan spilling from his own.
The noise Antony makes mirrors Stephen's own, he lets the thick spongy head of Antony's prick sit on his tongue for a moment before he begins to swirl his tongue over and around the slit. He knows how his Sir likes this, knows how to tease and inflame him; but right now he's taking his time, savouring each moment.
"Oh, fuck," Antony breathes, head going back for a second, every muscle almost melting into the pleasure that is Stephen's mouth. "That's it." Pushing slowly deeper.
Tilting his head just so, Stephen prepares himself for taking all of Antony's considerable length, even now he can't always take it all but, more often than not, he pushes himself to suppress his gag reflex and let Antony sink deep enough that his nose is pressed to the crisp curls that sit at the base of his Sir's cock.
Cursing under his breath, Antony watches as his cock sinks deep and still deeper into Stephen's mouth, filling his throat, the tight heat making his blood swim, his head reel. "You were made for me," he murmurs, fingers tightening on Stephen's nape.
Stephen agrees, he feels it down to his bones; he and Antony were meant to be. But with his mouth and throat full of cock he can't verbalise this, instead he slides his hands up the backs of Antony's thighs to cup his Sir's tight butt and he holds that icy blue gaze.
Eyes locked on Stephen's, Antony thrusts deeper, curls pressed against his boy's nose for a long moment before he starts moving, taking every last fraction of an inch again and again.
It's all Stephen can do to breathe, his lids flutter as he struggles to push down the urge to fight against the hold Antony has on him. Drool spills from the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin.
"Good boy," Antony praises, the mess only spurring his arousal. "I'm going to fuck this throat raw before I breed my bitch."
There's not much that gets Stephen hotter than his Sir talking like this; Stephen loves to be called names, loves to be told he's Antony's bitch. He whines, the noise lost, but the vibrations in his throat tickle the head of his Sir's cock and he shifts his knees apart a little more. His balls high and tight from arousal.
Antony does exactly as promised. Fucks Stephen's throat hard and fast and deep, letting his boy have only enough room for breath, before pulling out, his cock dripping, so fucking close it actually hurts to stop. "Get on the bed," he orders, knowing it'll take Stephen a few seconds to gather himself, make the move. Long enough to pull himself back.
Swaying on his knees, Stephen lets his hands fall away from where his fingers had been digging into Antony's ass, he swallows and winces, but makes no attempt to wipe at the mixture of precum and saliva that glistens around his mouth and down his chin. He blinks, drops down onto all fours and shuffles around to crawl to and up onto the bed. Unsure whether Antony meant he should be on his back or not, Stephen plays it safe and stays on his hands and knees, his ass offered up.
"That's a good bitch," Antony says, moving behind Stephen, hands spreading his cheeks, eyeing his hole. "Get that cunt up there."
Stephen gets off on his Sir inspecting him like this, the more intimate the better, it's something he's never really shared with anyone, even Antony. It feeds to his humiliation kink. So he tilts his hips a little more, bears down until his asshole flares as if inviting the abuse he hopes it will be subjected to.
Fuck. Antony curses softly beneath his breath, his tone laced with lust and appreciation. He reaches for the lube and slicks his fingers, pushing two and then three quickly into his boy's ass, quickly opening him up.
Stephen's eyes slip shut as he concentrates on how good it feels to submit to Antony like this, how his asshole tingles as it stretches, his cock jerking in anticipation of what's to come.
"So fucking eager. Your cunt's just begging for my cock. You were made for this. For being fucked, bred, abused like the pig you are..." Antony keeps up a steady stream of loving abuse as he works on opening Stephen up for his cock, the desire to put his whole hand in his boy there as always. Cock, hand, fuck, he could bury himself in Stephen and stay there forever. But cock it is, tonight.
"Yes!" Stephen agrees with each sentiment, he gasps out the words. "Please, yes, use this pig, breed this boy..." As his hole opens, his own cock softens, but it still leaks, strings of clear precum dribble from the tip down onto the bedding beneath him. "Please! please Master..."
That word. That title. That acknowledgement of his complete ownership. Antony'll never get sick of hearing it. He pulls his fingers free, spreads Stephen's cheeks wide and pushes forward, the wide head breaching his boy's cunt more easily than usual.
Letting out a long, low sound of pleasure, Stephen's head drops forward as he ass pushes back. Antony's cock fills him so completely, taking up space, claiming him. He licks over his lower lip before trying to speak. "Thank you, thank you for using your pig."
Antony grins. "My pig," he nods, sinking deep with a rough groan. "My cunt, my bitch, my fuck toy. Nothing but a hole for me to use and abuse, a place to dump my come..."
Stephen lets his subspace wash over him, lets the edges of his consciousness go fuzzy as he succumbs to Antony's use of him, the intense, sweet, power play between them. This, this is what it is to acknowledge Antony's status of 'Master' over him, this absolute giving of self, the willingness to do, to take, to accept anything his owner wants of him.
Antony drives into Stephen's hole again and again, careful not to leave too many marks on his boy, his fingers gentler than they'd normally be. He rides the edge of his own orgasm as long as he can before he finally comes, hard, heavy, shouting out his pleasure as he fills Stephen's cunt with his seed.
There is always a deep sense of satisfaction for Stephen when his Sir finds his completion like this. Antony, who is never quiet when they have sex, is louder still when he orgasms, a hoarse, incoherent shout of pure animalistic pleasure. It's a siren call to Stephen's submissive, an acknowledgment he has been found pleasing, that his Sir is satisfied in his service. Head still bowed, Stephen shifts his weight and reaches back with one hand to seek out his Master's skin.
"Good boy," Antony murmurs, laying his hand over Stephen's, his cock still buried deep, still pulsing with the last of the aftershocks. "You're so good for me."
With that, Stephen lets his posture relax just a little, content that Antony is pleased with him. "Thank you Master."
Easing out, Antony drops to his back beside Stephen, his boy tugged down with him. He kisses him, licking into his mouth, running a hand over his hip, gauging where in his headspace Stephen is.
Stephen's head space is very much still in submission if not down right slave mode. He lets himself be manhandled, opens his mouth willingly to his Sir's kisses, returning them with a subtle hesitation. All of Antony's touches light up his skin, and his cock thickens in response.
"That's it," Antony murmurs, exploring Stephen's mouth, his hand on his cock now, stroking it to fullness. "It's your turn now, boy."
Giving himself up to the pleasure of his Sir's touches, Stephen pushes into the friction on his erection. "Please...thank you SirMaster, thank you, thank you."
Antony bites at Stephen's mouth, roughening his strokes, pushing Stephen closer and closer to the edge. "I want you to come for me, boy. Soak my hand with it."
"Yessir..." Stephen's words become slurred as he works himself to a frenzy. His hands grab at Antony, fingers pressing bruisingly tight as he finally tips over into his orgasm, face contorted and flushed, his teeth bared.
"Good boy. Just like that," Antony praises, his own softening cock giving a last throb at the force of Stephen's pleasure. He works him through the aftershocks and then kisses him, offering his hand a moment later.
Leaning in, his eyes closing Stephen starts to lick away his semen from Antony's skin. It's done automatically now, and he doesn't have to think, which, given where his head's at is probably a good thing.
There's more praise when Stephen's done and then Antony's pulling him in close, the covers up around them, savouring the feel of his boy in his arms.
Blissed out, spaced out, safe and content, Stephen relaxes. There is nowhere else in the world Stephen would rather be.