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fandomfluffandfuck · 2 years ago

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The following very feral, horny shit is all thanks to @howdoyousleep3 because-

I. Have. Thoughts. About. Golfing. Christopher. Robert. Evans. First, though I must (sort of) explain what the fuck my thought process was:

The kickstart was K’s reblog on these Evans Golfing Photos with specifically the tag “#that arm vein 😭”

This tag fucking awoke something in me because I didn’t see it before because my eyes were dilated after going in for my yearly eye exam but also because I was so busy looking at (a) his hand and (b) the grey patches in his beard on his stupidly handsome face. But anyway-

a r m v e i n

Because, of course, instantly after flicking my eyes back up to that fucking photo (because K has great timing and reblogged it once the dilation had mostly worn off so I could, in fact, see again haha) my brain was all *nearly incoherent chanting* forearm vein… forearms… forearm muscles… forearm muscles flexing and moving those thick fingers… those thick fingers in that fucking golfer’s glove fucking fingering Sebastian while he’s still got the glove on 🥴🥴

And then I just-

I could clearly not help but think about that white, leather glove covering those fingers. That gloved hand being put to good use… good use thrusting and twisting and stretching Sebastian’s hole- working his hole out for Chris’ cock perhaps? Or maybe just fingering him for the purpose of playing with his body, teasing him, and making him feel good? Either way, I just could not help but think of DILF Evans with his Sebastian in a chokehold as poor, overwhelmed Seb is face down and ass up, making Seb gasp and squirm and turn bright, bright red at the whole fucking thing- the whole fucking using your golf glove not for your clubs but for me, smooth and thick and so different than just your bare fingers when it’s inside me. So embarrassing but also, oh, God, don’t you dare fucking stop because it feels so good.

Oh, and you know what else I thought about-?

I bet the leather of that glove also 100% makes Chris’ fingers feel just a tiny bit thicker than normal which shouldn’t be driving Sebastian crazy but it is. It really fucking is. He’s always had something of a size kink anyway and this is exploiting it.

And what’s also driving him crazy is seeing his man dressed up all expensive. Dressed to look the part of golfers: dressed to look like he’s got money. Not just any type of money but old generational wealth… passed down to him so he must’ve grown up in country clubs, silver spoon always in his mouth, summer time meaning global vacations, tutors rather than public school teachers, and… yeah.

(Not to even mention how dizzy Seb is for the fact that Chris smells like expensive cologne and sweat and sunscreen after being out in the sun all afternoon.)

Which… those feral thoughts from above inspired me further when in combination with K’s effect of adding age differences and daddy kinks (which I fucking love her for) and…

Just imagine this with me:

College Student Sebastian with Sugar Daddy Chris

Sebastian has worked his way through college ever since the summer before his freshman year and this summer is no different, he’s working full time when he doesn’t have classes through the summer term except…

It is different this year because somehow he got hired on at the country club a good 45 minutes away from his college town and, hell, the pay is more than worth the price of the commute from campus. Although Sebastian, when he finally learned he landed the job, was seriously considering if they accidentally called him and told him the news by mistake rather than one of the other applicants. What made him qualified to be in their proper, prim, polished facilities? What qualified him to be earning that amount of cash (not, like, a crazy amount… just way, way more than Sebastian has ever seen working fast food or retail or any other starter job)? Much less, what made him qualified to assist the type of guests that would attend a country club? Sebastian doesn’t have a fucking clue, he’s just grateful for the job.

And he tries (very hard) to remember how grateful he felt at the time of hire when it’s the middle of fucking summer and it’s hot as balls and he’s outside driving golf carts (not as fun as you would expect when they’ve all been modded to cap the speed, so you can’t go over 20 miles per hour and additionally become less and less fun when you have to cart around people who have such traditional political values and are so out of touch with the rest of the non-wealthy population that it makes you want to hit your head against the steering wheel or crash the damn thing into one of the water traps). It’s also hard to feel grateful when he’s outside in the heat lugging around golf club bags for the guests, acting as a caddie but with, apparently, much slower reaction time than they’re used to since he’s often snapped at for not getting the correct club out of their bag as fast as they would like. Whatever. He got, what, two hours of training on which club is which and what it does and most the rest of his training on proper manners (ugh), what he is allowed to wear when on the job (not a uniform because that’s tacky but damn near close with the number of restrictions), and how they treat their guests (way too fucking nice).

The pool looks like heaven more and more every time they come in off the golf course, back to the main buildings. Sebastian often debates himself inside his head if crashing the pool at the end of the day, or between shifts of assisting guests, is worth his job. It’s not. It’s better money at the country club than anywhere else by a cushioned margin. He needs the money, wincing just thinking about his loans. And if he’s not thinking about his loans, he’s thinking about how goddamn bored he is because-

What even is golf?

You hit a ball around and passively aggressively talk about business deals while chasing it? If you’re good though… Sebastian supposes to don’t have to chase it that much. Either way, it’s not enjoyable to watch or listen to, so Sebastian cannot imagine that they’re guests enjoying themselves. But, whatever. They keep coming and they keep paying him- sometimes tipping him (although usually if someone tips, they do it while shaking his hand, crushing a crisp bill into the palm of his sweaty hand, and insulting him at the same time, saying something about good on him for working hard for his dollar, boy, or whatever else undermining thing they creatively come up with).

But...

Sebastian is not bored out of his skull on the day that he sees him.

Not at all bored as he walks up to greet this afternoon’s party of guests. They’ve booked up the rest of the evening, hours longer than usual patrons do, although, Sebastian supposes the time isn’t just booked for golfing so maybe they came to golf and have dinner or drinks? Whatever. The point is that Sebastian is not bored or dreading the amount of time he will have to spend with them because he sees him. And his eyes have a feast.

He stands at the edge of the group, talking animatedly with another member of the group. And the man is easily six feet tall - looking every bit like the tall, cold glass of water Sebastian needs when he’s out this heat - and so impossibly handsome. He’s somewhere between the ages of the normal guests, seemingly always rich kids playing in the pool noisily or trying to sneak sips of their parent's drinks (as if that’s the worst substance they’ll probably get their hands on underage) or trying to get back to the poker tables OR there’s the other side of the spectrum of their guests: the aforementioned kids' grandparents. Meaning: older white men with younger women (who are pretending to be younger still) hanging off of their arm(s). Typically the men are in their sixties or (usually) older with beer guts and fading hair and pretend accents.

This guy…

This guy is… older? Not a child, no fucking way. But not that old, doubly no fucking way.

He has a salt and pepper beard, concentrated in these two patches at the sides of his chin which are both blisteringly hot and adorable at the same time somehow. Also though, the hair around his temples is just starting to go grey as well, fading out into soft brown, glimpsed by Sebastian when he adjusts his hat. He looks… mature. His exact age is difficult to place especially because his eyes are hidden under aviators (even though they’re inside, alright, Mr. Rockstar), so he can’t see how intense his crow’s feet are. But, his lips speak of more youth than the grey in his hair would suggest.

Over the rest of the day, Sebastian has to continually rip his eyes away from those lips, especially his bottom lip. Plush and fat. His upper lip is vaguely overshadowed by his beard in the best way. It looks like it might be tickly. Sebastian shivers despite the heat, looking at it. He wants to know. He wants to know how his lips and his beard would feel. Please.

Beyond his face - or at least what Sebastian can see of his face under his cap, glasses, and beard - with his plush lips and sharp cheekbones and jaw, the rest of him is outrageously attractive too. His white shorts are belted around his impossible waist, falling higher above his knees than all the rest of the men’s shorts. Not… it’s not that they’re outrageously short or anything, they’re still appropriate for the environment, but when he sits down in the passenger seat of Sebastian’s cart soon enough… God, Sebastian has to bite his lip to stifle the little sound he wants to make. The shorts hike up even higher at the same time that his thighs spread on the seat. Making his thighs thicker.

Oh.

Forcing his eyes up and turning the key in the ignition, Sebastian finds that his simple (but still expensive, thanks to that logo) black polo is open around his throat. Open and exposing flashes of his collarbones and his light amount of chest hair and… oh, dear God, his ink. He has tattoos. Under that polished, perfect exterior of white shoes, white socks, white shorts, a black belt, a black polo, and a golfer’s glove with black leather for the palm and white leather for the back of the hand- tying his whole outfit together. Under that he’s got at least two tattoos. One of the tattoos is script and the other is a large image of something. Sebastian spots the hints of ink and almost crashes the cart out of sudden onset stupidity, not out of frustration about who controls the state of the world for once. He can’t tell if he prefers the change or not.

And worst of all, so close next to him the man smells expensive. Clean. Expensive. Cologne that has to be worth more than Sebastian’s entire outfit. Well deserved in price though. It smells good. Sebastian isn’t going to rule out the possibility that there are some fucking pheromones in it or something, seducing Seb subconsciously.

Then… when Mr. tall-drink-of-water does open his mouth and-

Shit.

He has a softened accent, not the almost British but going for upper-class-posh stuffy and fake accent some of the older men have, but an accent familiar to his east coast migrant ears. Boston. He’s from around there. Not too intense, just a nice purr that wraps like velvet around every word that he speaks to Sebastian. Because he’s weird. He speaks to Sebastian, not at Sebastian.

“What’s your name?” He asks over the hum of the cart, saying it like he really wants to know, leaning in closer. Just trying to hear him probably. Just trying to be polite. Probably. Right?

“Sebastian.”

“Mm, Sebastian,” he parrots. Seb tries not to shudder at the way his name sounds coming out of his mouth, “that’s a unique name.”

“Th-thanks?” He’s still struck dumb so it takes a moment for him to return the question, “and you’re Mr-?”

“Chris.”

“Mr. Chris,” Sebastian repeats his name too, he’s not heard that as a last name before but he’s no stranger to first names as last names. Just look at his own. Stan. Not exactly the usual last name.

The older man lightly hits his upper bicep with the back of a gloved hand and goosebumps break out across Sebastian’s body, “just Chris. Mr. Evans is my father.” God, he can really hear the Boston in that word: fah-ther.

Sebastian ducks his head in embarrassment, mostly, honestly, hearing static when Chris also points out to the other guys (most of them obviously older than him, but a few his own age) stacked on the back of Seb’s cart and the other two caddies’.

Sebastian does not catch the others' names then or even later. He is too preoccupied watching Chris (taking Chris in, if he's honest) and lugging three bags instead of one or two as per usual. He’s gonna go back to college buff as hell and tan as hell. Those are perks. (The third (best) perk of course is the small chunk he’s taken off of his debt with his summer paychecks.) He has to remember the perks as motivation. Well. He has three bags of clubs and then Chris comes over and grabs his own, hauling it despite Sebastian’s own protests.

“Nah, sweetheart, it’s too hot for you to be doing that, ’m not shy, I got my own, don’t worry, don’t worry,” he says.

And, well, it leaves Seb tongue-tied and weak. He lets Chris take it from him. The sweetheart makes Sebastian turn the same shade as he would if he were badly sunburned. It also makes him completely shut up rather than fumble with his words.

And, Christ, fun fucking fact (re: fun in the way of it makes Seb play the game called hold-in-your-moans-and-don’t-choke-or-else with himself), this fucking outrageously attractive guy, Chris-not-Mr-Evans, grunts with every first stroke 😳 Every first stroke of his driver on the golf course. His form is immaculate (especially when viewing from behind) and strong, his shoulders and arms unreal. And a grunt comes out of his mouth every time with the force of the hit. And his mouth also twists into a line of serious, sharp focus that is more than attractive.

Later, Chris sinks his ball into the hole from fairly far away on the green and is so caught up in his conversation with one of the men his own age, passionately talking, loud and booming, fast, and Sebastian takes it on himself to walk over and fish the ball out. Bending over to do so, of course. Chris has previously talked him out of doing it since he already has two others to worry about. But this time he does it. Chris is busy. He’s just trying to be helpful by, y’know, doing his job. Although, this time he’s mostly sure - he can’t be 100% with the shades he has on covering his eyes and all - that Chris is staring at his ass when he catches on to what he’s doing. But(t) if anyone should be staring at anyone’s ass, it should be Sebastian. Chris’ shorts are…

They’re something alright, white and short and tight 🤤

Other infuriating things throughout the afternoon include:

Chris’ habit of using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his nose, lifting his shirt up enough that Sebastian gets an eyeful of his tummy.

Chris’ propensity for sticking tees in his mouth rather than just holding them (or asking your caddie to hold them for you) like a normal human being.

Also his habit of putting his grip glove into his mouth when he wants to use his phone, sticking his index finger between his teeth and biting gently while he slides his hand out of it. Practically striking a pose. Model worthy. Although, it might be worse to watch him put that glove back on, the leather white and black and seemingly just a tiny bit too small because every time Chris puts it on he tugs it on from the bottom, flexing his fingers from a flat hand to a fist, back and forth. Working it over his thick fingers and thicker knuckles. The veins in his arms popping more with the movement of it. It makes Sebastian want to drool.

The thing he does when he swallows a few gulps of water, here and there when others are taking their shots… always drinking with his head back, throat bobbing, when in front of Sebastian. Sebastian might be melting. Melting in two different ways when Chris asks eventually, “you got water too, right, sweetheart?” And punching his shoulder afterward once more as if the bro-ish touch cancels out the homoeroticism of calling your caddie sweetheart and worrying about if he has enough water or not.

Chris is also just a good fucking golfer, not the best, of course, he’s talking business and goofing around with the guys he’s got with him in equal parts. So he’s not the best. Definitely not the best Seb has ever seen, some people are so rich they have only time to waste, but Sebastian finds himself actually being impressed by Chris. Impressed by something he’s otherwise been calloused from noticing. He’s whipped but… in a lustful way. Just lust. Right? He’s narrowing down his unprofessionalism to just one sin today.

By the time the game ends and they’re readying to go back, Chris makes a joke shot with some of the others, goofing around now that scores have been tallied. But his joke shot sends the ball flying off into the rough (because of the strength in those muscles- hnnng) rather than just a short ways away from the green but still on the course. Sebastian, if he weren’t too busy staring at Chris’ body, in his shorts and tight shirt, would have the brain power to think it’s a setup. Intentional? Maybe? Because Chris calls over to his friends and business partners, “the caddie and I will catch up. You go on ahead. Order a round for everybody,” and they just laugh and wave him off, packing up, excited by the proximity of drinks and dinner. They don’t even bat an eye. Sebastian is shocked. Chris’ behavior, flirty and nicer than anyone has ever been to him when on the job, hasn’t been subtle. Won’t they be suspicious? Because- isn’t..? Isn’t it weird to make a shot that separates you from the rest of the group so it’s just two people alone? So you can take advantage of being alone?

Is that what is happening? Surely, it’s not that- that being what Sebastian wants. Time away from others’ prying eyes with Chris. No…

Is it?

Is that happening?

If not that then what is happening?

Because Chris leans against the cart, not even pretending to rest or take a drink from his water bottle and not offering to get his ball himself like he has during any other part of the day… he just… stands there and undeniably watches Sebastian’s ass as he scurries off to where the ball went flying It is his job after all but it doesn’t feel like his job right then. Not just his job.

Something has to be happening. There’s something in the air between them. Electric and tense.

Sebastian tries to make it look like he doesn’t know what’s happening (is something happening?), denying his own want to sway his hips some and stick his ass out while bending at the waist rather than just normally crouching to grab the ball. No. He makes himself crouch.

He walks back as normal as he possibly can without knowing where Chris is looking at him, those sunglasses keeping his secret. He’s definitely looking at him though. Where exactly he’s looking is the only question.

Chris stays silent.

Chris watches him place the ball back in the collection bag which is then placed back in his caddy bag and still stays silent. Not using any words even as he offers Sebastian his pitching wedge, watching just the same as he puts that in the bag too.

Sebastian can’t help but grunt as he hefts the bag up into the cart from the green. Chris’ eyes hot on his back.

He turns around, readying himself to ask, ready to go back? without his voice cracking but when he sees the smirk on Chris’ face… all he does is stutter. Just like he didn’t want to.

“I haven’t actually seen much of the grounds here, I’ve only been to this club once or twice,” Chris says, adjusting his sunglasses and then stroking his bearded jaw, “care to give me a quick tour?”

Oh.

“But your fri-”

“They can wait.” He says, blunt and confident.

His voice makes Sebastian’s insides twist up hotly. It sounds like an order for them to wait for him. Anyone else saying it would make Sebastian’s lip curl, finding it arrogant but with Chris… Chris is the exception as he intentionally moves his head enough to let Seb know he’s looking him up and down. He wants Sebastian to know he’s checking him out. Playing obvious.

Sebastian shivers.

And then shivers noticeably again when Chris asks, “how far out does the course go anyway? It seems like it gets pretty remote, huh? Not a lot of players out there?” He chuckles at Sebastian’s reaction, even as he’s trying to play it cool.

“Uh-huh.”

“You okay with showing me?”

Sebastian watches an eyebrow peak out over the top of his sunglasses, his head tilting. And if that isn’t a covert way to ask Sebastian if he is consenting to take Chris to the furthest corner of the grounds to do… stuff-? Then he doesn’t know what is.

He inhales shakily, thinking for a moment, is this possible hook up really worth my job? But, of course, the answer is hell yes. He hasn’t even seen this guy’s whole face but he’s entirely, completely the most attractive person he’s ever seen. He has to. The guy screams big dick energy. Anyone would in a heartbeat. If offered. “Y-yeah.”

“You sure, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

They load up into the cart.

And after about two seconds Chris scoots closer to Sebastian. Too close to be casual but it’s that point in the evening/late afternoon where everyone is either done with golf for the day or they’re on break for dinner, so it’s not like they’ll get caught.

“You’re real pretty, you know that?” Chris rumbles, voice seemingly darker and deeper when they’re closer together. Intimate.

Sebastian flushes red, staring hard ahead.

“Aww, look at that,” Chris murmurs, teasing, lifting a hand to touch Sebastian’s cheek. It’s not his bare skin. It’s his gloved hand. Somehow that makes it worse. Like, how is it possible that he hasn’t even touched this guy, he hasn’t even seen his whole face, and yet he’s so, so attracted to him? Melting like dropped ice cream on a sidewalk in the summer.

Sebastian makes a sound like he’s dying in the back of his throat, having his cheek and jaw caressed, because he is dying and just fucking trying to not crash and kill Chris too. That’d be a hell of a lawsuit for the club.

“You’re so pretty,” he says it again, it doesn’t make Sebastian blush any less, “why’re you out here in the hot sun, sweetheart? Why’re you dressed up like a caddie, when, goddamn, sugar, you could be inside as the entertainment? Making twice your dollar with a lot less work, just lookin’ at people with those big eyes and serving ‘em drinks. They’d tip you real good, y’know that, right?” Chris purrs, leaning in even closer. One of his huge hands lands on his thigh, heavy and warm, gripping him in a way that makes Sebastian’s nerves spark. Nearly shorting out.

Sebastian is burning up on the inside. They couldn’t get to the edge of the grounds faster. Why the hell did the carts have to be this slow?!

“Soooo pretty,” he strings it out, voice gruff and quiet, hand moving up and down on his thigh. Petting him.

Sebastian makes another weak sound. He would switch from caddie to server in a heart beat if all the attention he got was from men like Chris or rather- just Chris.

Chris grins when he flashes him a quick wide-eyed but turned-on look. His gorgeous smile is shit-eating and his voice firm, “say thank you.”

Oh, God.

“Th-thank you,” Sebastian’s breath gets caught in his chest, heart pounding.

Chris clears his throat. Practically saying go on.

“Thank you for-” Christ, he can’t even say it, burning bright red, “-thank you for calling me pretty, Chris.”

“Good,” another full-body shudder goes through Seb, then even more heat. “Good boy,” he seals Sebastian’s fate with those two words. Ngh. His muscles tense, forcing him to step on the gas harder than he wants to.

And nothing but thick, electric tension exists for the rest of the drive. Chris doesn’t talk. But he doesn’t stop stroking his thigh either. Every pass of his large, warm hand comes higher and higher up on his leg, closer and closer to his almost fully hard dick. If he would just-

“Damn,” Chris chuckles as they come to a stop, “it’s like a different world out here.”

Sebastian makes himself nod, heart beating out of his chest, lower lip caught between his teeth. He absolutely did not park half hidden by bushes. Not on purpose. Nope.

Chris doesn’t even look around them. He turns to the side and orders, “c’mere.”

All he can do is obey.

Sliding closer. Shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. Sweat on his skin has started to stick his clothes to his body, even more so than normal, standing and walking and working all summer outside apparently has nothing on the heat of his man.

“No, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sliding an arm between Sebastian and the seat of the cart, “I meant like this-”

His arms flex and pull Sebastian into his lap.

Oh.

Seb’s breath leaves him in a rush. A little too fast. It makes his vision spotty.

Under his hands, Chris’ shoulders feel even bigger and broader and stronger than they look. His thighs are better than the golf cart seat. Up close he can almost see through his sunglasses… but his lips. His lips gather all of Sebastian’s attention.

“You want a kiss, sweetheart?”

He nods jerkily.

“You think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes?”

“Good answer.” Chris’ hand envelops the back of his neck, pulling him down… getting their faces close together, but not connecting their lips. Not yet. “You want it?” He whispers. His breath smells like mint. Mouths so close yet so far apart.

Teasing him intentionally, Sebastian’s sure.

And a noise, soft and high, falls out of Sebastian’s parted-in-anticipation lips. “Yes,” he takes the lesson he was given earlier, asking for it better, “yes, Chris. Please. Kiss me?”

Chris kisses him.

Oh.

Their lips meeting is so much better than Seb even imagined. Full and hot. And all through it, his hand lays heavy on the back of his neck, squeezing and making sure that Seb is only along for the ride, melting him in his lap. Eyes shut. Heat tightening in his gut. Sparking and going up in flames when Chris licks his lower lip and then bites. Sebastian gasps. Chris licks into his mouth. It feels like a claim. Sebastian’s head bumps the brim of his hat, so he takes it off, tossing it in the driver’s seat next to him.

He’s the best kisser Sebastian has ever had the pleasure of locking lips with. Better than any of his college-age peers. More experienced and mature. God.

Chris tastes like breath mints. He feels good. He feels like gym-honed strength; big under Sebastian’s hands, muscles shifting. There is no confusion about who is in charge even though Chris is underneath him.

Chris pulls him away by the hold he has on his neck, almost like he’s scruffing a kitten. He whines and is embarrassed to say that his eyes stay closed a little too long. Savoring it. Lips buzzing, lungs reluctant to breathe Chris out. Standing on shaky ground.

“That good, huh, pretty?” He asks, running his fingers through his gorgeously messy hair, incidentally showing off his arm in the process.

Sebastian shivers.

“Am I that good or are you just deprived, sweet thing?” He muses out loud, hand cupping Seb’s jaw, his thumb fitting into the cleft of Sebastian’s chin. Watching closely as Seb licks his lips. Unable to help himself. “That it? You just need someone to take care of you?”

Sebastian whines.

“Yeah…” he chuckles, amused, and turned on, “you need someone to make sure you’re drinking your water, make sure you’re not working yourself too hard, and make sure getting what you need, don’t’cha?”

Wide-eyed still, sitting in Chris’ lap, Sebastian has no words. How-? How does he already know so much about Sebastian? What?

“Mmm-hmm, I see you,” he purs, Sebastian practically swoons, “you need someone to make sure you’re getting what you need right here-” as he says it he goes in for the kill, his hand slipping from his hip to the front of his shorts, grabbing his dick through the fabric.

“Guh-!” Sebastian makes a stupid sound, not expecting the touch.

And it’s a double gut punch with the way Chris chuckles, dark, “yeah, you need a daddy, sugar. You need somebody to take care of you.”

There is nothing that can keep Sebastian from choking out, “D-daddy.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, tell me who I am.”

Sebastian feels fucking faint, gasping, “Daddy.”

“Mmm-hmm, that’s right,” he squeezes him more, his dick and the hand on his jaw, holding him tight and close, “you want Daddy to help you? You gonna let ‘im take care a’ you?”

“Please.” He says, unthinking, before he stutters, realizing that’s not an answer- “please, I want Daddy.”

“That’s what I thought,” his grin only grows wider, sharper, “an’ ya’know what else I think? I think this back here needs a little workout-” the hand Chris has on his dick moves back over his hip, then back again, cupping his ass (and, Christ, his hands are so big that it feels like all of his right asscheek fits into his palm), and rubbing the center seam line on his shorts. Over where his hole is, clenching on nothing. “You want Daddy to feed it-?”

All of Sebastian’s air leaves his chest.

“-Keep you in line by makin’ sure you get what you need so you don’t go actin’ out, bratting for it because you’re so hungry. So starved for it. Can’t have that.”

“Ca-can’t, Daddy.”

“Mmm-hmm, that’s right, sugar. Gotta take care of you. Daddy’s gotta keep you good for him. You gonna let me?”

“Yes! Yes, please, Daddy. Please-!” Sebastian is more than embarrassed but it doesn’t matter because he’s also more than turned on. More than fucking here for getting off like this.

“Shh, shhhh, don’t worry about it, baby,” he hushes his pleading. “Daddy’s gonna make you feel better. Daddy’s gonna give you everything you need.”

His words wash over Sebastian like velvet. Exorbitantly expensive velvet that’s softer than anything, sensationally divine.

“But first, you’re gonna have to get up and get somethin’ for me, can you do that for Daddy, sweet thing?”

“Yeah- yes, Daddy.” He says it without thinking.

“There’s some hand lotion for after games in my golf bag. I want you to get it for Daddy. Daddy’s got plans for it that involve you…”

“Oh, yes, yeah, I can-” there’s a question on the tip of his tongue even as he agrees but more of his brain is thinking about all the good uses for hand lotion rather than the logistics of- hand lotion? Really? Is that… safe?

Daddy sees through it though because he knows important things like that. Purring, “don’t worry, sugar, it’s safe to go inside this pussy a’ yours-” he grips his ass to emphasize “-otherwise I wouldn’t’ve offered. I’m no stranger to spit, sweetheart. Unless, a’course, you wanna use just spit? Want Daddy to get you nice and wet?”

Sebastian’s brain breaks out into white-hot heat, ears ringing, upon hearing his body referred to as… as that. But thankfully he is able to tune back in to hear the last part and squeak out, “no, no- I, I’m good. I’ll get it.”

“You are good. Daddy’s good boy.”

Sebastian trips over his own feet getting up off his lap; thankfully he doesn’t face-plant and embarrass himself beyond repair.

“Careful, sugar.”

Sebastian finds and snatches the little tube of lotion, unscented and almost completely full. It’s a brand that Sebastian recognizes like we knew the logo on Chris’ shirt- high end. Expensive.

“C’mere, don’t be shy,” he rasps, pulling Seb back into his lap from next to the golf cart- he had to get out since the bag is sitting in the back.

He’s taken off his sunglasses.

Sebastian has to stop and stare for a moment. He’s very, very handsome. Pretty even. So fucking unbelievably handsome that he’s pretty and Seb didn’t know that was a thing but… oh, God, it is. It really is. He’s speechless.

Chris pulls him in for a kiss, deep and scorching hot.

Against his jaw, breaking their kiss to mouth at his jaw than his throat, tipping his head back in a way that’s unfairly attractive in the confidence it takes to move him where he wants him, commanding him, Chris murmurs, almost talking to himself more than Sebastian, “‘s a cryin’ shame I don’t carry condoms with me, ‘cause Daddy’d love to slide himself inside your tight pussy.” He sighs.

Sebastian gasps, eyes shut tight as Chris works down his throat. Lips to the sensitive, thin skin. Seb can feel how hard his pulse is throbbing and he imagines Chris can feel it too. Just as he begins to question, why get lotion if he’s not going to get fucked (and subsequently getting disappointed that he’s not going to get a dick inside him), Chris answers-

Breath hot and humid on his collarbone, “can’t fuck you without a condom, we just met today, sugar, but…” he sinks his teeth into his flesh. Sebastian moans. Chris bites him harder like he wants him to moan louder but at the same time reminds him he’d better be quiet because anyone could be around and hear them. It only makes Sebastian want to make more noise, but he stifles the next few the best he can instead. Because Daddy said to be quiet and be good.

He can be good.

Daddy finishes his earlier thought, “can’t fuck you but Daddy can make you feel good with his fingers, can’t he? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Already know you’d like something in your pussy, could see it on your face when I told you I had lotion… you always need something in that pretty little hole when you get off, sweetheart?” He repeats, “do you?” when Sebastian doesn’t answer. So many of his other questions have been rhetorical, he didn’t know that was one to actually answer!

“No- not all the time.”

“Ohhh, not all the time?” Chris repeats, acting like he’s cute or a little bit stupid for answering so quietly, talking down to him in the most wonderful way. “You don’t always get off thinking about being stuffed full of fingers or cock?”

“N-no,” his answer is much weaker this time. The heat inside him might be enough to make him combust. No fingers or cock required. Shit.

“But now you’re thinkin’ about it-” he’s so cocky as he says it. And he has every right to be. Because he’s right. He’s putting lots of images in Sebastian’s head “-now you’re thinking about what you’ve been missing out on, huh? I bet you are. Thinkin’ about all the times you’ve just jerked off without anything fillin’ you up and missed that reeal good orgasm that cumming with a stuffed cunt gives you.”

Sebastian whimpers.

“Why’ve you been depriving yourself, sugar?” He looks at Sebastian with fucking puppy dog eyes. Looking at him like it hurts him that Seb hasn’t been giving himself the best orgasms he can every time he gets off. “You don’t gotta do that. Lookit that face, honey. You could go out anywhere, any time of the day, and get yourself a man to take home and give you what you need. Not that any ol’ guy would do what Daddy can-”

A full-body shudder attacks Sebastian.

He laughs, “that’s right. No one would give it to you like Daddy’s gonna give it to you. ‘M gonna be the only one that can feed your hungry cunt right. You’ll see, c’mon,” he slaps his hip, “take off your shorts.”

Sebastian wiggles his shorts down just below his ass, then his underwear too; feeling hotter and even more squirmy inside when he watches Chris’ eyes darken impossibly more when he gets his hands on his bare skin. His hand, groping and squeezing his bare ass, because his other hand-

When-?

When did he get his other hand slick with lotion and-?

“Oh-” Sebastian shudders as his fingertip, slick and warm, rubs circles around his hole. It’s been a while since he’s done anything to himself there, even longer since he’s been fucked. And Chris’ fingers are large. But not just his fingers…

Jesus Christ. This is going to wreck him.

“You like how that feels baby, nice smooth leather, huh?”

Sebastian squeaks, curling forward out of mortification. Hiding his burning face in Chris’ shoulder and neck.

“Yeah... yeah, I bet you do,” his non-gloved hand pets up and down his back as he speaks, low and smooth, “you like it.”

Sebastian can’t lie. He can’t. “I- I like it,” he whines.

And not only does he fucking like it, he more than likes it. This is all so fucking hot that his body is opening up faster than normal, wanting him so bad. His fingertip moves from tight circles to pressing in, finding just how eager Sebastian is. Circling his hole. Pressing in. Circling it. Pressing in. Slow but unyielding until the half of his first finger is inside him. It stings a little but Sebastian likes it.

He likes it so much and only is liking it more as it slips deeper.

Fuller.

His toes curl in his shoes, God, his finger is so thick. He makes an obscene sound.

Chris smirks, loving it too, but for different reasons. “Can you tell it’s nice and expensive leather, sweetheart? Nice expensive leather being ruined with lotion in your little pussy... tsk tsk. You’re lucky Daddy’s being so nice to you, sugar. Treatin’ you well. Giving you a taste of the best.” Sebastian inhales weakly. He’s dizzy. “Something you never had before, sugar…” Chris’ first finger is all the way inside him now and he’s letting him get used to it, thrusting in and out with smooth motions at the same time that he’s teasing his rim with another finger. Sebastian wants the second finger so bad, crumbled onto Daddy’s chest. “Oh, baby,” he purrs, “Daddy’s gonna fucking ruin your taste. Gonna make you spoiled. Gonna give you only the best. Gonna treat this pussy right-”

Chris shows him exactly what he means by right when he finally gives him that second finger. Going with what his body needs. His body needs to be fuller. Fuller. His second finger next to the first is so much thicker. So much.

Seb whines, his cheeks flush. He’s imagining what he looks like at the same time that he’s being assaulted with Chris’ unfairly hot words… God, what they look like. Together. Chris sitting up, big and impressive with Sebastian curled up in his lap as nothing but a little pet or plaything. A pretty thing, as Chris keeps calling him, to play with. Thrusting his fingers in and out of him. Just for fun. Chris is fine. And Sebastian is wrecked. Shaking and clenching and making pathetic noises around the intrusion of one, two-

“Ngh-!”

Three fingers.

“Mmm-hmm,” Daddy encourages, enjoying everything he’s doing to him immensely, “you want that? You want Daddy to ruin everythin’ about you? Gonna ruin you for anyone else and gonna ruin your taste so all you like is the good, expensive shit?”

Three gloved fingers inside him-

White leather sliding unbearably smoothly into his pussy, teasing his walls and brushing intentionally just along his prostate without fully touching it, leaving him on the edge. Teased. White surrounded by pink. Both his pink, clenching pussy and Daddy’s glove shining with lube. Wet. Daddy’s making him wet and feeding his pussy exactly how he wants- leaving Sebastian moaning, trying (and failing) to muffle his sounds against his good-smelling skin and expensive shirt. Leaving his hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Leaving his toes curling in his shoes.

If he weren’t in Chris’ lap- Daddy’s lap and were forced to stand instead, he’d be falling to the ground.

“Uh-huh!” Sebastian agrees. He’d agree with anything Daddy says but also, God, yes, that sounds incredible. It sounds as good as he feels right now. Which is fucking incredible.

However just making him fall apart with his fingers isn’t enough, he has to continue to use that fucking mouth for evil, humming, “an’ forget holdin’ my clubs for me, sugar, I wanna take you home and make you hold my cock for me-”

Sebastian, even full as he is, split open on three fingers, wants that. Call him greedy but he wants that. He wants to be impaled on Daddy’s cock that he can feel hard and thick and massive where it’s tenting his tight shorts. He wants it. Bad.

“Yeah, you like that idea?” His grin is audible as he asks it. And nodding into his neck with frantic, hot agreement has Chris pulling him by the hair at the same time that he thrusts his fingers into him and punches his prostate so he moans with his mouth hanging wide open, eyelashes fluttering with his head now up. Chris watches him with dark, hungry eyes. “Say it,” he demands.

“D-daddy,” Sebastian gasps, eyes still shut.

Chris pulls his hair harder, “c’mon, sweetheart, it’s not that hard. Just say it.”

Sebastian knows he’s not talking about what he’s fucking packing in his shorts, but he is that hard there. He’s so hard and hot under Sebastian when he squirms. Stuttering, “I-I… I like that idea, Daddy.”

“Good.” Chris says to his face, leaning in to kiss him. Hard.

He kisses hard, he’s pulling his hair hard, he’s hard as fuck under him and-

“Ah!” Keeps hitting his prostate hard with his fucking gloved fingers.

“‘Course you like it. ‘Course you want it. I know what you like,” he shakes his head, jostling him with the grip he has on his hair. “Daddy could give you triple pay whatever you’re getting here to keep him in that gorgeous mouth while he works.”

Sebastian gasps.

“Not that I’d have to pay you. I bet you’d do it for free, ‘cause you want it so bad. You need it.”

Sebastian nods as much as he can, then moans when Chris lets go of him and allows his head to thunk back down against his broad shoulder. His forehead against the soft fabric of his shirt. His scalp sparkles, draining down his neck and pooling in his gut with the rest of his boiling hot arousal.

“Keeping me warm while I work until I get frustrated and need something to take it out on. Then I’ll haul you up, out from under my desk, and put you over it instead. Lay you out and lay into you. Fucking you until I’m done. Then I’ll slide a pretty plug back into that pretty hole and sit you right back under the desk where you belong ‘cause you’re just there for helping Daddy, right.”

“Y-yes!” He can hardly think, let alone talk around Chris’ fingers, fullfullfull and so good rubbing his prostate.

“Yeahh, just Daddy’s lil’pet. Taking it so well. Being so good.”

There is no way Sebastian can respond. All he can do is try not to die. He’s being fingered within an inch of his fucking life while he’s on the goddamn clock. He’s at his job! Hiding away in the most remote part of the golf course so he can get fingered. Christ, it’s like being a fucking high schooler again, mixed in with the theater and band kids at a getaway, hotel rooms divided by gender but in a way that’s smart because everyone’s queer anyway. Or, Christ, it’s like hooking up in the stage closet. In the dressing rooms and… maybe Sebastian should’ve considered that he might be an exhibitionist before now. Right now. When he’s ready to fucking cry because he wants to cum so bad. Hot for everything about this.

“Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ good inside, sweetheart, so fucking tight and wet. Smooth and hot, gripping Daddy’s cock like you don’t wanna let it go. Like you need it to live.” He mumbles it, focused mostly on fucking him with his fingers. He says it like it’s not for Sebastian but for his own sanity that he has to say the words out loud.

Oh.

Oh, right.

Daddy can’t feel what he feels like inside because he’s got his gloves on. He doesn’t-

He can’t-

He’s really just doing this for Sebastian he gets nothing out of this other than the knowledge that he’s wrecking Sebastian. He’s ruining him just to ruin him. Getting off on getting Sebastian off. Treating him right. Spoiling him.

Sebastian is frantic.

So close.

“‘M s’close, Daddy!” He sobs into Chris’ shirt. “Close-!”

And he doesn’t know what possesses him to ask, but he has to ask-

“Can? Nnngh! Can I, I, please, cum? Daddy! Wanna- I, I need! I need to cum! Please?”

Daddy rumbles. Low in his chest. It vibrates through Sebastian. His fingers speed up inside Sebastian. They hit his prostate harder. His fourth finger, his pinkie teases his entrance. Threatening to stuff him fuller. Adding onto Sebastian’s straining already. Please. Please. He just wants to fucking cum. He wants-

He’ll do anything to-

“Cum.” Daddy demands.

Sebastian’s orgasm hits him like a freight train. There is no time to hit the breaks. Only full force collides against him and instantly he’s done for. Instantly he’s there. Exploding with pleasure, twitching and shaking and moaning. Seeing nothing but white hot fireworks that void out his entire world. He’s drooling onto Daddy’s shirt and probably getting him messy with his release but he can’t stop it. He can hardly wrap his brain around what’s happening to him, hanging on with white-knuckled fingers and tight muscles.

Panting like he’s dying, Seb relaxes against Chris. Suddenly embarrassed by the ferocity of his orgasm. He just got off on that, like, so hard.

Chris is petting his hair and back. Not making fun of him, not that Sebastian expected him to, he’s been so nice to him the entire time but…

He squirms in his lap.

Chris is still VERY hard underneath him.

Chris sighs, pleasant, “lemme know when you’re ready to move again, ‘kay, sweetheart.”

Seb groans. He doesn't want to.

Chris laughs, “I’d offer to drive the cart back and take you right to my car so the chauffeur can take us home but… I think that might be an even more obvious walk of shame than the one we’re already gonna have to do. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to drive the cart as a guest.”

Sebastian is ashamed to say that his cock twitches a little at the idea that Chris is so fucking rich that he didn’t even drive himself to a country club. He has a chauffeur to do it for him instead. But any second-wind arousal is mostly tampered down by the realization that, oh, yeah, he has to go back to his job after this. Fuck. He’s so getting fucking fired. At least he got to have the best sex of his life before the rest of his life is over...

And later, yes, of course, they get together. Not just so Sebastian can stay under Chris’ desk, his little cock warmer, and get paid for it…

I’m imagining that they start a real relationship with actual feelings for each other but that it looks like a sugar daddy and sugar baby relationship from the outside because Chris insists on paying for Seb’s college and clothes and they end up living together pretty fast. Whatever though, fuck what those other people think, it’s real.

P.S. if you read all the way through that horny ramble-? ✨Congrats✨ you just read 8.2k words because I have no self control with porn and this spun out of control in the best way lmao

#chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #chris evans x sebastian stan #rpf #real person fanfiction #howdoyousleep3 #fandomfluffandfuck #fic

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liveonlinematches · 7 years ago

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Whilst he’s guffawing the entire method to the financial institution, the remainder of us are depressing

West Brom’s new supervisor, Alan Pardew, at his maximum DILF

Alan Pardew is the brand new West Bromwhich Albion supervisor, and at this level we would possibly as nicely face details and make our peace with the truth that the slimiest of grownup failsons can be managing within the Premier League till the top of recorded time.

Everyone knows what’s coming: A slight bump in shape, a lot of ingratiating interviews with pals within the press, a modest win streak that provokes communicate of shifting on to raised jobs, pining for avid gamers from the 2012-13 Newcastle aspect, and the inevitable, months-long slide that Pardew has many times confirmed incapable of arresting that can in the end result in his ouster. Been there and performed that. Everyone knows this script similar to we all know the corresponding ones for David Moyes, Sam Allardyce, Roy Hodgson and the entire standard suspects repopulating technical spaces within the decrease part of the Premier League.

It’s becoming, then, that Pardew’s first fit in his new put up used to be an eminently forgettable nil-nil draw towards Roy Hodgson’s Crystal Palace. Each males prior to now controlled the other aspect. Tony Pulis, past due of Unemployment FC, prior to now controlled each groups. (Don’t child your self; He’ll be again in a pair weeks.) A tweet did the rounds this week tallying the entire golf equipment that experience hired some aggregate aggregate of Pardew, Pulis, Moyes, Allardyce, Hodgson, and perhaps even Mark Huges on the helm, however who can truly inform the variation?

It’s no longer even price seeking to differentiate the participants of this Brexit center of attention workforce. They’re more uncomplicated understood as one long-term supervisor blockading the ascent of managerial ability, each home and overseas. Those retreads are wont to enroll in golf equipment in or across the relegation zone and go away them a yr later in or across the relegation zone. Their most effective actual talent is temporal: when the tune stops enjoying and the season involves the top, they have a tendency to be close to a place simply over the drop.

Over any time horizon longer than six months, they go away you at the verge of relegation, no higher than whilst you first employed them. (Of past due, Sam Allardyce has solved this drawback via resigning at season’s finish and getting a brand new process a couple of months later.) Whilst they transfer from one process to a subsequent, the truth is that the similar few jobs are simply being reassigned inside of this clique of dinosaurs. We will subsequently glance past their quick tenures at any given membership and acknowledge their true blight at the footballing panorama: years of turgid mediocrity with valuable little to turn for it.

Rather then obnoxiously wealthy managers on this de facto cartel, it’s exhausting to believe very many people who find themselves satisfied about this association. Enthusiasts, who briefly tire of those dullards, need to reside with stultifying play and dependable worry of relegation and minimum expectancies. Any pleasure at liberation from a supervisor like Tony Pulis is wont to briefly be tempered via the coming of Alan Pardew. Global-class avid gamers are subjected to managers who have been proven to be restricted a decade in the past and insistent on having their relied on deputies at each membership. Neutrals and enthusiasts of different golf equipment are bored to tears. Proudly owning a soccer membership almost certainly sounded a laugh to males like West Brom’s Guochuan Lai, however the grim fact is that it quantities to changing Tony Pulis with Alan Pardew.

The monetary élite who personal soccer golf equipment don’t advantage our sympathy, but it surely’s nonetheless price pausing to notice that the Premier League’s riches don’t even seem to have made them satisfied. Maximum golf equipment now exist in a determined scramble to protected some other yr of TV cash after which…nicely, no longer a lot. If you’ll have the funds for to possess West Brom, you’ll no doubt additionally have the funds for a cable bundle that can briefly disclose the life of many thrilling aspects in different leagues that have been assembled for a fragment your soporific survival candidate. That will have to be galling.

Whilst maximum Premier League golf equipment and their homeowners might really feel like paupers in an international that comprises Guy Town, Actual Madrid, and PSG, the remainder of the arena accurately understands that the likes of Crystal Palace and West Brom are in fact insanely wealthy golf equipment. (Each entered the top-30 of Deloitte’s Cash League in 2016.) Accordingly, when those golf equipment check out to shop for a thrilling participant they’re made to pay a top rate. As soon as signed, the ones thrilling avid gamers are frequently ruined via the want to live on for some other yr of TV cash prior to as soon as once more being just right once they go away England. Everton is paying Sam Allardyce greater than the managers of 3 of remaining season’s 4 Champions League semifinalists to, at easiest, end 7th and eke into the Europa League if top-four golf equipment win the FA and EFL Cups. The most productive-case situation for lots of Premier League homeowners is to hold on lengthy sufficient to promote their membership to somebody richer who will briefly inherit the similar fundamental distress.

When you simply wish to develop into richer, a soccer membership isn’t where you will have to be striking your cash. It’s the type of funding that most effective is smart should you assume possession can be a laugh and pleasant. However even with that roughly funding, there’s an incipient paranoia that sucks out all pleasure. The possibility of dropping cash or standing seems so overwhelming that those males—they usually have a tendency to be males—appear to lose the capability to take into accounts the rest. The life of charlatans within the soccer global scares homeowners off anything else however probably the most recognized of amounts. Like parasitic monetary advisors, an proprietor will have to now pay a md who will come what may have the ability to suggest Alan “however truly I’m a DILF” Pardew in 2017.

What occurs to homeowners is the footballing identical to a billionaire artwork collector promoting off all their art work as a result of they have been swindled as soon as and henceforth most effective purchasing for prints at Ikea. (Rather then the Ikea bit, that is in fact what took place with Monaco’s Dmitry Rybolovlev.) The comparability to an Ikea print flatters Alan Pardew, however that’s the upshot of this analogy. All there’s to look ahead to for those homeowners is some other yr of TV cash. On the level the place you’re that concerned with ROI, you could as nicely have simply put your $300m in a passive fund and long past to an island on holiday.

Cash doesn’t purchase happiness

It’s not a specifically distinctive or football-specific commentary to notice that riches don’t translate into happiness. Social science analysis at the topic means that the accrual of wealth isn’t truly a recipe for happiness. “Other people grossly exaggerate the affect that upper earning would have on their subjective well-being,” writes the Princeton economist Alan Krueger. Different economists, just like the College of Warwick’s Andrew Oswald, have famous that relative standing is what adjustments contentment: “when everybody in a society will get wealthier, reasonable well-being remains the similar.” This can be a great way of working out what took place to the Premier League in the previous couple of years. Golf equipment like Crystal Palace and West Brom changed into a lot richer however their place vis-à-vis the Manchester duopoly remained the similar and so everybody remained depressing and put-upon. Any other large TV deal might are available a couple of years however none of that is going to switch.

The strategy to this drawback, whilst radically unpopular with the élite, isn’t precisely a thriller. Eu soccer typically and the Premier League particularly have constructed a profoundly unequal device that are meant to be demolished for everybody’s just right. After 25 years, the Premier League will have to be correctly reintegrated into the Soccer League construction and the large income of its haves—West Brom and Crystal Palace very a lot integrated—will have to be correctly redistributed to the true have nots of British soccer.

As a substitute of pushing to fasten within the standing of Eu soccer’s aristocracy with a super-league, source of revenue from Eu pageant must be higher divided amongst individuals and treated in this kind of means that it doesn’t create mini-leagues inside of home competitions just like the Premier League’s top-four fixation. For just right measure, simply tax the entire wealth concerned way more aggressively. This used to be all the time the morally righteous plan of action, however possibly the happiness argument has a greater likelihood. If the gaps between the Premier League and the Championship, between the top-six and the remainder of the league, or between the Eu super-clubs and everybody else have been smaller, golf equipment and their homeowners would possibly in fact have a laugh and no longer spend all in their time fretting over the rather inconsequential distinction between 18th and 14th or fourth and 5th. Such structural exchange would additionally assist obviate the want to rent a rotating solid of alleged fixers like Alan Pardew or Sam Allardyce. None of this may occasionally ever come to move, after all, for the reason that wealthy would moderately be as wealthy as they’re now and entirely depressing than relatively much less—however nonetheless reasonably fabulously—wealthy.

One of the vital richest other folks on the earth set out to shop for soccer golf equipment as a result of they concept it will be a laugh and funky most effective to finally end up hiring Alan Pardew. This result can be darkly funny if those millionaires weren’t dragging us all down with them. The sector is wealthy with happy footballers and the wealthy are the use of soccer to make everybody depressing.

Practice David on Twitter @DavidSRudin.

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http://ift.tt/2BN5iXK football

#liveonlinematches #Cricket #Football

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