#oh god this is definitely the filthiest thing i've posted solid to tumblr

[singsweetmelodies]

so... @welightitup​ and i were having a bit of a freakout about pierre's abs + whipped cream + leclerc tops, and i, well. ask and ye shall receive 😘 

crème français.

"I want to try something," Charles pants in-between deep kisses, dropping his hands to Pierre’s shoulders and squeezing, unexpectedly hard. 

“Okay,” Pierre agrees, his voice already rough and significantly lower than usual even to his own ears. “What is it?” 

Charles smirks at him, and Pierre barely has time to think oh, shit, I know that expression before Charles is surging forward to straddle Pierre’s lap. His hands drop from Pierre’s shoulders to his chest, and then he pushes, just hard enough that Pierre gets the idea. 

Shit, yeah, okay, Pierre thinks a little nonsensically as he goes easily, falling back onto the pillows. Above him, Charles smirks. 

And oh, fuck. Charles doesn't get like this often, but when he does… those have been some of the hottest nights of Pierre's life. 

"Hands on the headboard, please," Charles requests, as sweet and earnest as ever even when they’re like this. Pierre can only smile up at him, feeling stupidly and impossibly fond of the man above him.  

"I'm only going to ask nicely the first time," Charles says, and though his voice is still soft, there's a hint of steel behind it now. "Hands on the headboard now, Pierre, before I make you keep them there for the rest of the night." 

“Fuck,” Pierre says, the word getting half-caught on a moan as he hastens to raise his arms above his head. Hottest nights of his life, hell yeah. 

“Thank you,” Charles says sweetly, leaning down for a quick reward of a kiss as Pierre curls his fingers around the headboard. "Now, close your eyes," he murmurs as he pulls away, his breath hot against Pierre's cheek. "You're going to like this, I promise." 

Pierre exhales roughly, but closes his eyes, white-knuckling his grip on the headboard. "Good," Charles breathes above him, and then his weight shifts on top of Pierre, like he's reaching to the side. 

"Ah," Charles says somewhere to his left, satisfied, and it takes all of Pierre's self-control not to open his eyes and look immediately. What is it, what is it - 

Charles shifts back so he's properly straddling Pierre's thighs again, and Pierre loses track of his train of thoughts immediately as Charles' boxer-clad ass rubs teasingly over his dick. 

"Fuck, Charles," he manages, fighting to keep his eyes squeezed shut. 

Charles chuckles above him, and then he's leaning down, and there are lips pressed to Pierre's, quick and soft. "Trust me, Pierrot." 

And Pierre can only nod, because he does. Of course he does. He trusts Charles with everything he is. He forces his muscles to relax, because much as he hates giving up control in any situation, this is Charles. He would do anything for Charles. 

There's a strange sound, then, almost like… a can being shaken? Pierre grips the headboard tight enough that the frame cuts into his skin a little, the slight pain distracting him from opening his eyes. 

"Fuck, Pierre, your arms," Charles says above him, voice rough and dark with want. He trails one finger down the flex of muscle in Pierre’s bicep, obviously getting slightly distracted from his original line of thought. 

Pierre feels a smirk spreading across his face, lazy and self-satisfied. Even though he can’t see Charles’ expression, he knows that Charles’ green eyes will be dark with want, a little hazy the way they always get when Pierre is bare before him and Charles is allowed to touch. “Like what you see, hmm?” 

“I more than like it,” Charles purrs back, continuing the trail of his finger down the length of Pierre’s arm, then down onto his chest and all the way to his abs. He flattens his palm there, obviously admiring the hard planes of muscle beneath his touch, and Pierre has a second to wonder if this is Charles’ master plan for the evening - 

Then Charles pulls his hand away, and replaces his hand with a cold squirt of something… airy, and cold, in a line across Pierre’s abs. 

Pierre can't help the way his eyes fly open in shock at that. Charles just grins at him, tongue pressed against his teeth and cheeky as anything, a can of whipped cream held casually in one hand. "Hello," he purrs, and then sprays another line of cream in a neat vertical line across Pierre's abs. 

“Shit,” Pierre manages, his head falling back against the headboard with a loud thunk as Charles repeats the action a third time. 

“A good shit?” Charles checks, momentarily stilling his movements to meet Pierre’s gaze, searching.

Pierre nods fervently. “Good, yeah, yeah, so good. Green light. Fuck.” 

“I thought you would like this, yes,” Charles says, entirely too pleased with himself as he sprays another line of whipped cream in a lazy arc over Pierre’s stomach.

“You are so -” Pierre starts, pushing up a little to try and catch Charles’ gaze in a glare, but the words die in his mouth as Charles dips his head and drags his tongue over Pierre’s abs. 

Charles looks up at him, then, his green eyes wide and innocent as he swallows, licking his lips to get the last traces of white cream off. “I am so?” he parrots, blinking coquettishly at Pierre. 

Pierre is pretty sure his brain has just forgotten how words work. Charles’ innocent smile morphs into a smirk, like he’s saying I thought so. 

Fuck. Fuck. He is so full of shit for this, so fucking cheeky, and Pierre is going to get him for it later, he’s going to get him back so well that Charles won’t be able to say anything but Pierre’s name and “please -”  

But as it is, Charles has the advantage, and boy, does he use it. He’s almost languid as he licks another long stripe up Pierre’s stomach, lingering in the dips and lines of his abs, and the contrast between the hot of his mouth and the airy chill of the whipped cream is slowly driving Pierre crazy.

To make matters worse, Charles holds the cream in his mouth a little longer this time, parting his lips just enough to show Pierre the white all over his tongue and lips and chin. 

“S-shit,” Pierre stutters, the curse fading into a breathless moan as Charles does it again, and again, and again. 

There isn’t even any cream left anymore, but Charles doesn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry, leaving licks and nips and open-mouthed kisses all over Pierre’s stomach and abs. He’s clearly enjoying himself, clearly having the time of his life, while Pierre is so hard that he feels like he might explode if Charles doesn’t fucking do something, and soon. 

Like he can read Pierre’s mind, Charles starts kissing a line down his stomach, further and further down until his lips are teasingly close to Pierre’s clothed dick, his face hovering just above Pierre’s waistband. 

“Hmmm,” Charles hums, one hand coming up to toy with Pierre’s boxers as he leaves another kiss, slow but searing, to the soft skin just above his waistband.

“Charles,” Pierre warns, his hips involuntarily jerking up towards the heat of Charles’ mouth. 

Charles chuckles against his skin, moving away just enough that Pierre can’t find any friction, and that’s -

That’s it. That’s the last straw. 

Pierre lets go of the headboard and grabs for Charles’ hair in one smooth movement, pulling him up so they’re seated nose-to-nose. “On your knees, right now,” he orders, and he doesn’t leave any room for argument. 

Charles moans, long and loud and unabashed, and then he’s scrambling off the bed to do what Pierre says, somehow managing to take Pierre’s boxers with him. Pierre swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and Charles settles in between his thighs, looking up at Pierre with a devious smirk and red, red lips still glistening from how many times he’s licked them tonight.

Charles leans forward, swirling his tongue teasingly over just the head of Pierre’s dick before pulling back to look up at him with a smirk and hooded eyes. 

“Fuck,” Pierre groans, and grabs his hair again, pulling hard enough that Charles moans too. He’s close enough that Pierre can almost feel the vibrations of it around his dick, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, breathing hard.

When he opens them again, he knows his eyes will be so dark that the blue will be almost entirely black. “I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he warns.

“Yes,” Charles says breathily, and then he’s leaning forward, and parting his lips, and Pierre pushes forward, and -

Fuck. Just, fuck. If Charles’ lips and tongue had felt heavenly tracing patterns all over his abs, the feeling of it on his cock is… fucking nirvana. Charles is so good at this, just, so good. 

And Pierre could lose himself in the feeling of it, easy, but that’s not who they are. 

“I bet you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he pants, punctuating the words with a harsh snap of his hips, and Charles chokes, a little, and fuck, it feels so good, finally. 

“You think you’re so clever, driving me crazy like this all night,” Pierre says, and tightens his grip on Charles’ hair. “Because this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Being told to get on your knees and choking on my cock like a good boy.” 

Charles moans around Pierre’s dick, and Pierre sees him reach into his own boxers and get a hand around himself, and that - fuck, this really isn’t going to last long at all, is it? 

“That’s right,” he grits out, and he can feel himself starting to lose his hold on words and coherency, but he holds onto them with a tenuous thread so that he can finish this for Charles. “That’s right, get yourself off while I fuck your mouth. Are you going to come for me, Charles?”

Charles moans again, and his eyelashes flutter, and that’s it. Pierre comes with a grunt, his hips surging forward in a particularly brutal thrust which Charles takes, easy and easy and easy as the world whites out around Pierre.

Distantly, he’s aware of Charles’ jaw going slack as he comes, too, and Charles must have pulled off at some point as well, but Pierre missed it completely in the blinding force of his orgasm.

“Jesus,” Pierre says, when he’s managed to catch his breath again. “We’re definitely doing that again.” 

Charles tilts his head up to look at him, and despite the rough, ruined quality to his voice, he still manages to sound cheeky as he points out, “Well, there’s still a lot of whipped cream left in the can…”