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[SCENE] DIRTY GLITTER PART ONE: Saturday, September 1, Night before rehab
GLITTERY
lydia_gleams wrote in new_donnelly
Jared had gone to say goodbye to Lucy, and Lydia had wanted to let them have their time to give each other shit and insult each other and probably fucking cry and hug, because fuck if the Sloane siblings didn't goddamned love each other, and she had written him a letter, tucked it deep into his bag, settled down to wait.
She had wondered at what, exactly, to do on Jared's last night here for two months, considered dinner or something extravagant and romantic, something beautiful for him to carry with him, but Jesus, they had had so much romance, so much wonderful and perfect and jaw-dropping fucking romance, and it was perfect, and she would not forget it, and she knew he wouldn’t either, didn't need to worry that he would forget that, and so what the hell.
Why not leave Jared Sloane with something just a little fucking different?
She was reclining on their bed reading Texts From Last Night on her phone when she heard the door open, and she sat up, grinning, tossed her phone onto the armchair, silencing it, because it would not be fucking needed tonight.
"Up here," she called, and leaned back against the pillows. She glanced around the room, at the long ropes of fabric spiraled on the nightstand, and she glanced at herself in the mirror: black, strapless lace bra that barely covered anything, black lace thong, the sides thick, dark against her skin, and even the piercing at her navel had a black stone, because Lydia was nothing if not excellent at accessorizing. What the fuck did she need with frills or costumes or some shit when Jared Sloane, she knew, could be wowed by coral boyshorts, and so this, black lace that clung and didn't cover a damn thing, well.
She smirked a little, and when he entered the room, she didn't look at him, at least not in person. Instead, she stared at him in the mirror, her lips pouting in something like an absolutely evil smirk, and she crossed one leg over the other. "Take your fucking clothes off."


Jared had spent hours letting Lucy hug him and cry and hit him and yell at him and kiss on him and hit him some fucking more - Christ, his sister really liked to fucking hit, and it fucking hurt - and he was goddamn exhausted. His bags were packed, his alarm was fucking set, so there was nothing left to goddamn do. He was fucking ready.

He locked the door behind him before following the sound of Lydia's voice up the stairs to the bedroom. He was ready for goddamn bed, ready to slide an arm around Lydia's waist and bury his face in her hair and fucking hold her until he absolutely fucking had to leave.

Then Jared stopped mid-yawn in the threshold of the bedroom door, and the possibility of sleep was nowhere fucking near him.

His girlfriend was dressed like a goddamn porn star, laid out before him in some black lace shit that could barely be called underwear, smirking. And that was a motherfucking order that she gave him, and Jared Sloane notoriously didn't care to be ordered around. But this... well, this was motherfucking Lydia, and something about those words twinged something in his chest and stomach and balls and he just swallowed hard.

"O-Okay," he muttered, wrenching his T-shirt over his head and fumbling at the button on his jeans.
Lydia uncurled, slid off the bed, walked in bare feet to Jared, and shoved his fumbling hands away from his jeans, and her fingers were quick and sure as she undid belt, button, fly.
She let his jeans hang open on his hips and turned him, walked him back, pushed at him and let goddamned gravity take over as she kneeled on the bed, forced him to his back there, and straddled his torso somehow all at once.
His hands had found her arms, and she seized them, wrapped hard fingers around his wrists, leaning forward to bring her face to his and yank his arms over his head.
She kissed him once, hard, bit roughly at his lip, and looked up. "Keep your hands to yourself or I'll tie your ass up," she said, and glanced at the lengths of fabric on the nightstand, looked back at him, a grin tugging one side of her mouth.
She slid backwards, finding her feet, and yanked his jeans, boxers off, and she pushed at him until he was sprawled lengthwise across the bed, until his head nearly hung off the side.
She kissed, bit hard, up his hipbone, torso, ribs, around to his shoulder, neck, ear, and as she slid back down, his hand wandered over to touch her, to rest on her back, and she sat up, slapped the hand away with a muffled smack, caught it in her own, slammed it on the bed and seized his jaw in her hand, nipping at it before hissing into his ear.
"I told you to keep your goddamned hands to yourself. That's strike two," and she raked her nails down his skin as she found her way back down, and her fingers played at his dick, balls, and she leaned down, straddling one of his thighs, her feet hanging into thin air, and she stroked him once, twice, three times, and one hand pressed into the joint at his pelvis.
"If you can keep your hands still and fucking behave, I'll put you in my mouth," she said, her voice low and clear and brushing the head of his dick, and she didn't wait for him to answer before she took him into her mouth, lips tight, tongue running circles around his absolutely goddamned perfect, silky dick, and fuck, goddamnit, she was so turned on just by this, and that never really happened, but this was Jared, and she grinned a little, his dick in her mouth, and sucked on him, hard and firm and wet, and scratched a hand up, down, his chest.
"Fuck, Lyds," Jared gasped, fucking dumbstruck, as his back hit the fucking bed. "You been reading Fifty fucking Shades of Grey or some shit?"

Christ, she was on him, smirking and slinking like a fucking jungle cat, and every time he tried to fucking touch her, she yanked his hands away or smacked at him, and Jared had just fucking opened his mouth to tell her what a motherfucking tease she was being when Lydia swallowed his cock, and Jared moaned, loud and shuddering.

Motherfuck, every fucking inch of him screamed to bury both fucking hands deep into that gorgeous fucking blonde hair, thrust hard into her fucking mouth, but he stopped himself. This was Lydia's fucking game. This was Lydia's fucking rodeo, and she could ride him all the fuck she wanted.

That little mental innuendo sent another fucking shudder through Jared's body, and he bit his lip.

He purposefully dug his hands into the sheets above his head, digging his fingernails into the mattress as far as he could, and Jesusfuck, he wanted to touch her so fucking bad. Wanted to slide his fucking nails over her spine and run his fingers through her hair and, fuck, it wasn't fucking fair.

But it was fucking hot. And Jared hadn't been on that fucking side of the game enough times to really fucking appreciate it.

His body kind of made the fucking decision for him, because he didn't remember gently cupping one hand around the back of Lydia's neck before raking his fingernails down her spine. But he fucking did it anyway, with a preemptive, entirely unapologetic "oops" that he muttered even before he fucking touched her skin

"So remind me again what fucking happens if I can't keep my fucking hands to myself?" Jared hissed, grinning wildly, because fuck, this wasn't fucking like him, and he didn't fucking care, fucking wanted it anyway, because Lydia - beautiful, klutzy, sarcastic, hilarious Lydia, his fucking awe-inspiring girlfriend, finally, girlfriend - could fucking inspire want in him no matter fucking what she did. Could do fucking anything to him with that smirk on her face, and Jared would let it fucking happen. Would fucking crave it.
Lydia would have been a goddamned liar had she said she hasn't wanted him to use his third and final strike, because fuck everything, she wanted to get those goddamned ties on his wrists and render Jared Sloane a million goddamned kinds of helpless.
So she sucked at him once more, slid back up his body, feeling the damp places on his skin, wet from her own mouth, and she clamped her mouth down on his, her nails digging at the back of his neck, and for a tiny moment, she was content to just let him touch her, let him kiss her, because Jesus Christ, his mouth, tongue, it felt so fucking perfect.
But.
"What happens?" she repeated, and was off him like a shot, and she picked up both trailing lines of fabric, kneeled in front of the wrought iron headboard, which had, given her current purpose, been a great goddamned idea, and she quickly, deftly, secured one end of each tie to either side of the headboard.
"What happens," she said, and yanked on his arm, nails scratching at his skin, and she dragged him to lay on the pillows, straddled him again, "Is that if you can't be trusted to do what I tell you, you don't get the fucking option."
She seized one wrist, pulled at the closest tie, formed a rabbit hole, another loop around his wrist, and "The rabbit jumps out of the hole, goes around the tree, and back in the hole," she murmured, and yanked, securing the bowline around his wrist.
"You picked the wrong girl to let tie you up," she said, smirking again and shifting to perform the same knot on his other wrist. "I know some shit," she said, and thank god for those summers sailing, because those knots were really goddamned handy.
And just like that, Jared Sloane no longer had the use of his hands, and just like that, she kissed him, hard and rough, and she was at his dick again, her mouth back on the mark, and she sucked, let her tongue work, let one hand press into his groin, let the other cup his balls and move back, to press on the skin between balls and ass, and she listened to him moan above her, and Jesus, he sounded so goddamned hot she couldn't fucking stand it, and she brought the hand at his groin over to stroke him, mouth and hand working in tandem, and her fingers pressed on that fucking insanely sensitive spot again, and just one finger snuck further back, just one little finger played at the entrance to his ass, and she sucked and licked and stroked and just fucking listened to him, and her mouth left his dick, and she leaned over him, pressed a teasing kiss to his ribs.
"Now that you're helpless," she said, and bit at his hip, moving south again, her hands still moving on him, "What the fuck do you think I should do to you?"
Part of Jared wanted to fucking laugh. Of course she'd tie a motherfucking bowline, his knot of fucking choice. And of fucking course she'd have to say the fucking little story thing that went with it out the fuck loud.

Most of Jared had no fucking interest in laughing. Most of Jared was more concerned about fucking tugging on whatever fabric Lydia had strapped him to the fucking headboard with - Christ, whatever it was, it was fucking tough - and wondering what the fuck he'd exactly have to do to get her to ride his fucking cock. Because holy motherfuck, it was so goddamn hard under her mouth and her hands, and fucking Jesusfuck, her finger rubbed against his fucking hole, and he squirmed. Writhed. Moaned like a fucking bitch in heat. Forced himself to calm the fuck down, swallowed hard, breathed the fuck in.

"I'm the one tied to the fucking bed, Lydia," he murmured, his voice dark and thick. "I don't think this is about what I motherfucking want. I think this is about what you motherfucking want." He smirked a little, slightly dazed. "'Cause I'm fucking yours, babe." And because this was it, for two fucking months, this was fucking it, he fucking said it. "So why don't you fucking do what you fucking want? Whatever you've ever fucking wanted to do with me, fucking to me, why don't you fucking do it tonight? 'Cause I'm not motherfucking going anywhere. And I'll fucking take it."
Lydia stared at him for a moment, cocked her head at him, and leaned in, rubbing herself against his cock, up, down, and cupped his face in her hands, kissed him, deep and fucking searching, and then she had to pull the fuck away, because she couldn't think about the morning, and kisses like this felt like some kind of goodbye.
So she pulled back, ran her eyes over him, laid out before her like a goddamned feast, his shoulders straining, arms to the sides, eyes zeroed in on her, and she really considered what it was she wanted from him.
She pressed to him again, felt his dick rub against her clit, and moaned a little against his jaw, biting down, moving to his neck and sucking at the skin.
"I'm gonna do something. You fucking tell me when you're close, because you don't get to come until I'm ready to let you."
She sat up, looked him dead in the eye, and stripped off her bra, tossed it to the floor, and ran her own hands over her nipples before slipping out of her thong, sliding lace over thigh, knee, bending and stretching legs, thighs open, watched his eyes slide down, and she grinned, and, naked on top of him, sat up straight, let him see, in absolute clear detail, what his hard dick looked like pressed to her skin, pressed to her clit, and for a moment, she just nudged herself against him, let out a shuddering moan as the hard shaft of his dick fucking pressed against her clit and sent a hot jolt up her spine.
She looked at Jared's face, stilled against him, waited for him to look her in the face.
The moment he did, she bit her lip, moved a hand to stroke at him, slow and firm and hard, and she put two fingers of the other hand to her mouth, touched them to her tongue, and dropped them down to press her fingers to her own clit, and she jerked, stroked at him harder, rubbed her fingers harder, faster, ground her pelvis against him.
"Oh, god, fuck," she breathed, and moved, hands working, hips moving, and Jared Sloane unable to do anything but fucking watch, watch her touch them both, feel her touch him, rub against him. "Fuck, you're so hard, Jesus," she managed, pressed herself harder against him, stroked more firmly at the silk of his dick, pressing her fingers to herself, flicking them on her own clit, moaning on top of him.
Jared wanted to throw his head back and fucking let out a moan so loud they'd probably get motherfucking evicted. But his eyes refused to fucking remove themselves from Lydia as she fucking stripped, and he knew he would fucking give anything at the moment to fucking touch her, tease at her fucking nipples, flick his tongue over her clit, bury himself inside her, Jesusfuck, he'd give fucking anything for that.

The thoughts didn't fucking stop as Lydia's hand worked over his cock, so fucking hard he could hardly fucking stand it, and he fucking knew Lydia was going to drive him motherfucking insane before the night was over. Just fucking knew. And he was motherfucking looking forward to it.

He got four or five seconds into a potential fucking near-future fantasy where Lydia dropped the game and fucking straddled him and lowered herself down onto his aching fucking cock before he gasped out a "fuckfuckfuck, fucking Jesus, Lyds," and Jared could feel shit fucking boiling in his blood and balls.

So he fucking did as he was fucking asked, and he writhed harder and gasped louder. "B-Babe," he moaned, "Lydia, baby, I'm gonna f-fucking... I'm g-gonna... I, fuck, fucking fuck, Lyds, I'm fucking close, I'm so mothergoddamnfucking close."
Lydia was close, too. So fucking close to just coming right goddamned now, but if anyone came, it was game over, or at the very least, a pause, and she would be damned if she let this shit stop here.
So she froze. Stopped rolling her hips, stopped stroking his dick, stopped touching herself, and her eyes roved up Jared's long, lean torso, his heaving chest, up to his face, tight and sweating and fucking perfect.
She pushed with her feet and slid up him so fast she had to catch herself with a hard hand on his jaw, and she yanked his head to the side, put her other hand to his long, hot neck, and leaned over him.
"You don't fucking get to," she hissed in his ear. "You don't get to fucking come until I goddamned say you do," and she didn't know where this had come from, this shit she was saying, but she rebelled against the part of her that wanted to hold it back, because who knew if they would be able to steal away fucking ever when he was in rehab, and because she didn't know the next time he would come at her hands or mouth or inside her, she had to make this fucking count.
"You're fucking mine right now," she said, and removed her hand from his jaw to fist it in his thick, gorgeous dark hair, and she yanked his head back, pressed her other hand, hard and unapologetic, into his neck, squeezing and a little fucking drunk on this power.
"You wanna come, Jared?" she asked softly, and a soft kiss on his gasping lips before she pressed their cheekbones together to hiss into his ear. "You want me to take you all the fucking way inside me and ride your dick until you come so hard you can't fucking breathe? Or do you want me to swallow your cock and suck you off until you come down my throat?" She loosened her hand at his throat briefly, released his hair to run a gentle hand down his face.
And then she slid her hand back to his hair, pulling it almost ruthlessly, and squeezed again at his neck.
"Or should I turn the fuck around and play with your dick while you stick your tongue in me?" she asked, and didn't wait before letting him go, spinning around and opening her legs to him, inching back to place herself at his mouth, and she ran her thumb over the wet head of his dick, reached the other hand over, stroked at his balls and down, to his hole, tucked her finger inside, rubbed at him.
Jared bit his lip to keep from crying out and tried not to fucking squirm too much, digging his toes into the sheets in frustration. Christ, she was so fucking close and not fucking close enough, and he yelped a little when she yanked his hair, and he met her eyes, fucking panting. Couldn't keep himself from grinding against her just a fucking little.
But before he could open his mouth to answer - and it would have been yes to fucking all of it, yes he wanted to come, yes he wanted her to fucking ride him and fucking suck him, and fuck, he wanted her so fucking bad - she spun like a fucking ninja and spread her legs in his fucking face, an engraved fucking invitation for Jared to dive the fuck in.
And then a finger, just one, slipping inside and stroking and moving, and Jared let out a low, gutteral moan.
"Motherfuck, Lydia," he hissed as he strained forward, yanking against the fabric to bury his tongue deep, deep the fuck inside of her. Jared hadn't been fucking lying when he said he fucking loved eating her out, and he lapped at her, tasted her, fucking drank her in as his tongue flicked in quick circles over her clit, and fuck, he wanted his fucking hands, wanted to fucking spread her wide the fuck open and touch her skin while he fucked her with his tongue. Her finger pushed deeper, and he hissed into her, paused just for a second to mutter a dazed "Jesus fucking Christ" before he buried his tongue back inside of her.
Somehow, her finger kept working at him, and somehow her hand ran, gentle, over his dick, but her head dropped, and she pressed her lips to his hipbone, moaned into his skin, because fuck, Jesus, his goddamned tongue, and he always knew exactly what to do to her.
She pushed herself back, pressed clit and pussy to his furiously working tongue, moaned, broken and desperate when he sucked at her, and, "Oh my fucking god," and she came so hard and so fast she couldn't have stopped it had she tried, and her hips flicked at his mouth, furious and wild, and she cried out against his hip, bit the bone, and her hand tightened on his dick, finger tensed in him, and when she came down, shaking, she was almost pissed, because somehow, Jared Sloane had taken back the power even without hands.
Her finger slid deeper inside him without her even realizing, and she had moved away from his mouth enough to clearly hear the deep; dark moan that ripped from him, and she looked up, eyes blazing, met her own gaze in the mirror, and watched her reflection smirk.
"You like that?" she murmured, and sat up a little, slid away from his mouth, straddled his rib cage, and slid not one but two fingers inside him, flicking and rubbing, and she yanked her fingers away, suddenly remembering that Trevor, stupid fucking hot Trevor, had fucked Jared, that Jared Sloane had fucking liked it.
She turned around, kissed him hard, kept his face turned, rummaged in the bedside table, and her fingers found the box, flicked open the lid, pulled it out, and slid it under the pillow.
She sat up and let him see as she pulled out KY, applied it to her fingers with an expression of utmost goddamned seriousness, kissed him again, and slid down to wet him, and there was something hot and everything fucking kinky about how tight he was, how he breathed and panted a little as she gently readied him, and the fact that he had no fucking idea what was coming only made it all better, made her ache a little, pant a little herself.
She slid over him, braced on her hands, and looked him in the eye. "Just because you made me come doesn't mean you suddenly have all the power, Jared Sloane," she murmured, low and dark, and she slid the vibrator, pristine and perfect and big, almost fucking exactly the size of Jared Sloane's own dick (which she could not have done on purpose except that she had, of fucking course she had) out from under the pillow, let him see it, let his eyes rest on it.
"This is still my fucking game, and now? Now I'm really gonna fucking make you mine, Jared, and you still, even fucking now, don't get to come until I am fucking ready to let you, do you fucking understand me?" she said, and she kneeled between his legs, forced his thighs apart, and, gently, slowly, slid the dildo inside him, stroked his dick with her other hand, and once he had taken the dildo, stroked it in and out of him, her other hand mirroring, sliding up and down his cock.
Jared's entire body arched in a fucking U-shape off the fucking bed, and he screamed so loud he knew he'd irritate a couple of fucking neighbors, and he did not fucking care.

Because that thing was inside him, in-thefuck-side him, and Lydia was controlling it. Lydia was powering it. Lydia was sliding a goddamn dildo in and out his motherfucking asshole, and Christ, Jared had no fucking clue how he didn't fucking come right then and fucking there. Except Lydia had fucking told him not to, told him he fucking couldn't, and this was her fucking game. Besides, he couldn't fucking tell her no anyway. Would fucking do anything for her.

"Are you fucking serious?" he finally gasped, bucking as the vibrator pumped deep the fucking inside of him. He knew he'd fucking told Lydia about the shit in the locker room (though not with Micah, Christ, he didn't think he'd ever be able to tell anyone about that shit). But to see her fucking calculate that, fucking utilize that... Jesusfuck, it drove Jared motherfucking insane, and he knew that if he let himself go for just ten fucking seconds, he'd paint the fucking room with his fucking come.

But he didn't. Because Lydia had fucking said not to.

He lifted his head slightly, just enough to catch her expression, and it was motherfucking rapt. Like she'd never seen anything so fucking incredible.

"How does it fucking look?" Jared murmured, writhing as the dildo pulsed in and out of him. "Does it look fucking good, watching yourself fuck me in the ass with that fucking thing? Because it f-feels... fuck, it feels fucking incredible. So motherfucking good that I don't even fucking care that it fucking hurts." Panting, he licked his lips compulsively, tasted Lydia again, was suddenly so fucking aware of her wetness still covering his face. "I don't fucking care if it hurts," he snarled, tugging again at the fabric. "So why don't you fucking fuck me a lot motherfucking harder, Lyds?"