Stormy Night

Erotic short. A captain retires for the evening and buries himself in his bedwarmer.

1.2k, rated E, cis M/trans M. More of Lluw and Ian Chisholm from Sleeping Beauty; featuring somnophilia, sleepy sex, large cocks, teasing. The somnophilia isn’t discussed or negotiated in this piece, but is implied to have been very enthusiastically consented, and is a regular happenstance.

Terms used for Lluw, the trans man, are cunt and cock; for Ian it’s cock and also tits.

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It’s been storming all fucking day, and Ian is exhausted when he finally makes his way below decks to sleep, having eaten a quick meal in the galley on his feet, not interested in sitting himself down and having a proper, dignified meal with plates and forks and napkins. He’s not naturally the type for it and never has been, never will be — he weathers his fancy uniform and fancy plates and all the fanciful things it comes with the way that he just weathered the rain and wind he’s taken shelter from. He loves being at sea, loves working, and he’s tired, knows he’s getting on a bit, knows he couldn’t be a sailor like he used to.

He misses it, though. Misses ropes through his hands, misses wrestling with a creaking, rippling sail full up with wind, misses sweat on his skin, misses the ache he has in his bones right now.

Another few years and he’ll have to take his pension and go ashore for good, and he’s not in the mood to think about that. He never is.

He starts stripping off his clothes as soon as the door is closed behind him, hanging them up to dry out fully as he kicks off his boots. He doesn’t bother folding them or trying to set them aside, knows that Lluw will take care of it in the morning, and in the meantime, Ian can take care of Lluw.

Lluw looks good, sprawled out in bed with one of his legs thrown over the blankets and most of the gathered up against his chest. The ship is rocking dramatically, not as heavily as it was during the day, but still fairly hard, such that Ian has to think about his steps as he takes them, keep his rhythm.

Lluw, solid weight that he is in the middle of a very plush mattress, is barely moving, and Ian hums to himself as he moves forward, tugs himself up onto the bed. His whole body feels tired and raw, but where his hands touch Lluw’s the boy is soft and perfect, radiating a comforting warmth, and even if he’d had a choice between this and a hot bath, he’d have chosen Lluw, he’d have chosen Lluw’s body and the warm, soft bed.

He’s already half-hard just in anticipation, and as he slides his hand across Lluw’s belly, squeezing at him, Lluw grunts softly in his sleep, but barely stirs even as Ian drops into the bed beside him, tugs Lluw up, brings Lluw’s back up against his chest. He’s grateful for the height difference on nights like these — the position isn’t the easiest, but although Lluw has a distinctly generous arse, that’s quite offset by the even more generous nature of Ian’s cock.

He lines himself up and slides his thigh against the underside of Lluw’s, sinking into the sweet, wet heat of his cunt — in his sleep, Lluw moans quietly, but doesn’t really move, just tips his head back into Ian’s nose when he nuzzles against Lluw’s hair, seems to sink happily under the arm wrapped around his chest. Ian can’t sink his cock all the way in like this, is barely sheathed halfway, but he can feel Lluw’s wonderful warmth around him, the slickness of his cunt — he’s not tightening or bearing down like this, and there’s no urgency to it, no goal other than this.

He buries his nose in against the soft, floral-scented plushness at the back of Lluw’s neck and closes his eyes, letting himself relax against Lluw’s body, the perfect pillow he makes.

He’s asleep within a minute or two, and his dreams are more than pleasant.

* * *

When Ian wakes, bleary and slow, a good few hours have passed, and he smirks to himself as he realises what’s woken him — not the rocking of the bed with the waves, but the rocking of Lluw against him, his body sinking back against Ian’s, grinding his arse against Ian’s cock.

Ian, still half-asleep, has his arm bounding Lluw’s belly and his chest, but it’s starting to come away because Lluw is leaning forward, the better to grind himself down into Ian’s lap — it’s not the best position, spooning like this, and Lluw is letting out frustrated noises as he tries to work more of Ian inside him. A few inches are still unsheathed, and Lluw is making sharp noises, greedy for them.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he says snippily, and Ian can hear he’s still sleepy himself; Ian chuckles again, and then lets out a low “oof!” as Lluw lifts himself free and then shoves Ian down on his back.

He comes to straddle Ian’s thighs, all his weight on top of Ian and Ian closes his eyes, luxuriating in it a moment, the thick, soft weight of his legs, his arse, sinking down on top of him. One of his beautiful, delicate little hands comes to wrap around Ian’s cock, squeezing and tugging at him to make sure he’s fully hard before he nudges the head in line with his lips and sinks himself down.

It’s a perfect slide in — Lluw is even wetter than he was earlier but tighter, squeezing around him as he works his way down, down…

Lluw lets out a grunt of frustration. It’s quite charming in its brattiness, makes Ian smile. He still hates the idea of retiring, but he could stand it, he thinks, bringing Lluw with him, retiring with him.

“I wish you were thinner,” he complains — his belly is far more generous than Ian’s, the underside of it actually quite cool where they’re flesh-to-flesh, but Ian can feel him clenching as he tries to cram them closer together, tries to get the last inch of Ian’s cock inside him.

This position isn’t the best, either, but Lluw likes to be in charge.

“If I said that to you, you’d scold me,” says Ian good-naturedly.

“If you said that to me, you’d be lying,” says Lluw, and then gasps when Ian pushes up with his diaphragm, sucking in his belly and making Lluw tip forward — it doesn’t get him any deeper, just puts him off his balance, and Ian laughs as he reaches up and grips his hips, rocking up and into him.

“Want me to tumble us over? Want me to fuck you properly?”

“You tired?” asks Lluw, and Ian nods, aware that his eyes are heavy-lidded, that there’s a yawn threatening to climb out of his mouth.

“But I can,” he says. “For you.”

“No, it’s okay,” says Lluw, and he begins to rock himself in place — he’s lifting his knees a bit, but not fully lifting himself and thrusting himself down again. Mostly, he’s just rocking, and Ian smirks when he feels the fat little bud of his cock rubbing against the base of Ian’s belly, watches Lluw’s lovely eyes flutter shut.

“You like me after all, huh?”

“I suppose you’ll do,” says Lluw, and he moans when Ian chuckles this time because it makes Ian’s belly move under his.

He’s hard, but he’s feeling lazy — he closes his eyes and sinks back onto the pillows, relaxes under the regular rhythm of Lluw’s body rocking down onto his, Lluw’s hands coming to brace themselves on Ian’s chest.

He drifts off, and when he comes to it’s to Lluw snoring softly, passed out with his face mashed between Ian’s tits and his cock still sheathed inside him.