Tolerance (explicit) (knix)

02 February 2024

White Knight’s first instinct was that he had to get Six in for a psych eval. There was no small difference between them in size - similar in height, sure, but in mass Knight could easily have been two of Six, broad where Six was slim, and his three fingers already stretched Six wide. His wrist jerked a little with surprise, flexing fingers in Six’s body, and Six hissed a noise in return. Knight reeled himself in. Finding his cool practiced façade, he said instead, “You’re out of your mind.”

“I'm not,” Six assured him. He met Knight’s gaze directly; when he did that it was hard looking away, arresting for its rarity. “You think I don't know my limits?”

“That isn't what I said.” He felt Six’s leg crook up, then out, giving him more room, space to get leverage. Heat was coming across his cheeks already. Not that he didn't trust Six to know himself - not that he worried about hurting Six, a question that he could feel already forming on Six's tongue and was trying to formulate a rebuttal for - but - he huffed out a breath, looking down between them, where Six’s hips tipped up against him. He looked small with Knight’s hand knuckle-deep inside him. The adjective felt bitterly wrong to use, but with him laying still and flat like this under Knight’s weight, it was true. “You just can't be serious.”

“Do you know me to joke, much?” More each passing day, Knight almost wanted to say, a simmering instinctual response, but he held that back, his lips pressing thin. Six nudged at him with a foot. “Give me another or I'll do it myself.”

“Your hands are smaller than mine. It doesn't even compare.”

“Sure. But I have two of them, after all.”

Knight had been keeping his back up against the wall of imagined moments with Six and his hands and his body but this, dangled like a lure, broke his resolve. The idea of Six alone coalesced: hands between his legs, the four fingers of one pushed into himself, cock pinned under his wrist - body twisted enough to reach behind himself with his other hand so that could ease two of those fingers in as well - the flexible curve of his back and open shape of his mouth. White Knight’s cock jerked with the fantasy of it. Six noticed, the way he noticed everything, turning his head to give Knight a certain look, and Knight tore his gaze hotly away from Six's face. Looking down at the plane of his body didn't help. He found himself following the dark line of hair that trailed down under Six's navel to his cock, draped half-hard over his hip, and Knight’s fingers still opening him up underneath –

“Listen,” Six said, reaching down to touch Knight's wrist. The contact jolted like hot static. “You're arguing about what I can fit in my ass. Just give it to me and say what you really mean to say.”

The blunt approach splashed hot embarrassment down the back of Knight’s neck and he gritted his teeth. What was it he was supposed to say - that he was hung up over this, the thought of Six taking the wide flat of White Knight’s hand, because he liked it too much? Because it made him, in part, want to haul Six up by the hips and sink all of his fist into him, just to see him go a little outraged and squirming and hot, malleable in Knight's grip? Because the mirror side of Knight's brain was frustrated with the control Six had over his own body, flexibility and power that White Knight had lost sight of, demonstrated even here, intimately, an ease and trust in his own skin that White Knight only barely remembered? Because, further than that, in the more animal part of himself, he wanted Six to flip them around and pry Knight open bare for him and take? He felt Six’s touch on his wrist sliding around to almost take hold and he shook it off, dragging his free hand down Six's thigh to hike it up for more space. Fine, he heard himself thinking, fine, if you want to be ruined so badly.

He pulled his fingers nearly free and tucked his pinky in alongside them. They were still freshly wet with lubricant and it dripped a little down the back of his hand, slick and warm from body heat. He felt Six’s eyes on him and ignored them; instead, he leaned forward and pressed the too-wide span of his fingers against Six’s body, waiting for the hitch, the resistance.

They slid in with such relative ease that it distilled all his half-panicked thoughts down to their simplest form. “How the hell–”

There was a minute before Six answered him that wasn't quiet, exactly,  but alive with near-noises that spoke to a man accustomed to keeping himself silent. White Knight watched his muscles tense and then release, his head tipping back against sensation, his chest filling up with cool breath that he held onto for this long shimmering moment before it blew out of him, his shoulders rolling back as the adjustment eased over him. White Knight found himself thumbing against the soft part of Six's hip like awed comfort, the web of his hand tucked tight to Six's body. Six's eyes slit open again, meeting his, too bright, and he breathed a noise that drifted near laughter but landed somewhere closer to a moan.

"The answers won't satisfy you," he said, voice altogether too clear for someone who had just opened himself up around four fingers. He wet his lips. "It's no secret technique. Practice. And - not convincing myself I was heterosexual for years."

Knight had been thrilling in the idea of Six alone, in dim rooms, pressing finger after finger into himself in the pursuit of practice and now it skidded and crashed into shame. He opened his mouth to bite off the argument that Six had been doing something very close to exactly that, but cut himself short so abruptly his teeth clicked when he shut his mouth - he very much did not want to hear about what Six and Holiday had been doing in the years that Knight hadn't been with him. Something smug was starting to emanate off Six so Knight angled his fingers up to press against the inside of him and it dissolved into a sharply drawn breath.

“I don't know that you're physically in a position to be criticizing me like that,” White Knight said, meaning to sound sharp but coming out a little weak, nearly petulant. Six’s eyes crinkled in almost a smile. He rolled his hips down on Knight’s hand, his mouth just open around a self-satisfied murmur. It was hard not to get lost in the small, controlled motions of his body, the flex of his abdomen and thighs when he tipped his pelvis to get millimeters more of Knight's fingers inside him. His cock was filling out again, having softened some during the conversation, glistening with a bead of moisture at the tip that slid down into the crease of his hip when White Knight rubbed the soft internal heat of him. Knight's fingers were caught together tightly; when he tried to flex them apart, Six jerked, his breathing going still for a beat.

“You want to prove yourself?” Six’s thigh tensed where it was still caught in White Knight's hold, then went loose enough to be limp and heavy, an intentional relaxation passing through him. “After you make me come I'll see what I can teach you.”

Six was not his teacher - White Knight was no bright-eyed student - as partners, they learned from one another - he imagined himself there in Six’s position, with Six touching him, Six forcing him to go soft and pliant. It was Knight's breath that went shivery. He tucked Six’s leg up against his side, looping his arm under the crook of Six’s knee, bracing like that. White Knight's cock pressed to the underside of Six’s thigh, a hot bar of want. Knight leaned his weight into him, pushing forward til his knuckles all slid into Six’s hole, leaving just his thumb outside of him. He nudged the whole of his hand a little impossibly further into Six - Six turned his face up toward the ceiling like distant concentration. He tightened and released around White Knight’s fingers.

Make him come - sometimes, some ways, it felt like that's all Knight wanted now to do, stay close and hungry with his partner, all the logic of the world in perfect order between them, securely reckless where Six could see over his shoulder and he could see over Six’s. He had cravings, tooth-aching, bone-deep, too many missed moments of his hands on Six’s skin. He still sometimes felt the ghost of his shell and struggled between shying away or, as now, digging his fingers in so that the flesh of Six’s body reddened in his grip. White Knight rocked his hand into Six, his thumb grinding against the line of Six’s taint. When he made to curl his fingers he met tight resistance; he watched tension gather in the tendons in Six’s neck and the muscles of his abs. Knight wanted badly to fuck him, but he wanted more to see him stretched open wide and tasting White Knight’s name on his tongue. He wanted to have his own tongue on Six's throat, the salt of sweat and skin.

Six kept himself so fucking locked down that every low noise and twitch and gasp was a victory. White Knight fucked into him with four fingers and barely let himself wonder if Six had fit five before, a full fist. He rolled his own hips against Six’s leg, knocking against his hand as he went, and Six sucked in a sound of surprise and need. Easy then: to ignore the burn in his forearm and the strain of his cock as he sank fingers into Six again and again. He twisted his wrist, searching out the spot of Six’s prostate, knew he'd found it when Six stiffened and reached down to take his cock in hand. Seeing that was like a surge of vicious glee, and Knight pressed closer still, leaning forward in a way that stretched Six’s bent leg up towards his own chest. He worked the pads of his fingers up into the particular give of Six’s prostate and got a hard-won all-vowel sound as reward.

Six pushed back on Knight’s fingers, forward into the ring of his own fist, a familiar strain coming across his face that White Knight knew as the sign of him getting close. He dared at swiping his thumb across the stretched-pink rim of Six's hole and Six flinched and bit down on a moan, trembling minutely through his wrist and his thigh, muscles held tight. That's it, Knight thought, hardly breathing, give me that, give it up.

Six gripped down tight enough around White Knight’s fingers that it nearly twinged painful, and his teeth bared and his neck arched in a pretty line and he came, not-silently, rough, up across his stomach and his hip, come pooling in the sculpted musculature of his abs. White Knight fucked him through it, hard and then gentle when Six’s cock twitched and dribbled a last smear of come down the back of his fingers. Six's chest heaved with breath, his thumb drifting idly against the head of his cock. His tongue peeked out to swipe across his lips. He turned his eyes back down to meet Knight's.

White Knight was still so hard he thought he'd start aching, soon.

“Ok,” Six said, his voice only rough from harsh breath, still so put together. “Let's see what you can take.”

–

Then -

White Knight only got so long after pulling his fingers free of Six’s body to watch the wet open shape of his hole clench back down into itself, all red and loose with use, before Six caught his breath and slid out from below him like Knight hadn't been holding onto him at all. He vanished for a sparse half a minute, hand touching down onto Knight’s shoulder when he passed, and came back wiped clean and with more energy than anyone who had just been pried open like that had any right to have. White Knight was still kneeling dazed and hard on the bed where Six had left him, distracted by the beating of his pulse in his own cock; Six came up behind him and his body heat flooded Knight with want.

“You'll like it better on your back,” Six said, though he didn't offer Knight much of a choice - he pressed him forward and then rolled him almost like a combat exercise, close quarters, similarly physical. Being manhandled that way strung a flush up Knight's spine, but it also knocked him back into himself, and while he didn't pull away entirely, he did finish putting himself into the position Six had been in before, muttering about being able to take care of himself. (The bed was still warm there.) Six only shook his head a little and set to slicking up his fingers with the lubricant that had been half-buried in the sheets earlier.

“This would go better if we took it slow,” he said, tapping at Knight’s knee with his clean hand to get Knight to part his thighs. Six glanced up to meet his eyes with that cool stare, the one Knight had been better equipped to handle from behind a screen. “But I imagine you'd have something to say about that.”

“I've had more than enough of being patient,” White Knight answered, and Six tipped his head to concede the point. He rested one hand on Knight's thigh, high enough to set his thumb in the soft hollow of Knight’s hip, and the other moved in to rub the wet pads of his fingers across Knight's hole. It made Knight hiss and flinch, the cold touch, but Six had put himself between Knight’s knees to keep his legs from closing and he was, always, persistent.

The first finger was always easier than he expected it to be, slipping in with so little resistance that it twisted something low and hot in White Knight's gut. Like that space was always there, like he was built for taking and was just out of practice. Six watched the meeting point of his skin and Knight's like it was less interesting than tracking the expressions across White Knight’s face.

“How many fingers can you take when you're on your own?” Six asked him, so mildly it may as well have been a comment on the décor, a situation report on a slow day. He slid his finger into Knight steadily as he spoke. “Or do you not do it much?”

“You're –” White Knight grit his teeth, refocused, half his focus still scattered by Six’s touch. “You're seriously going to hold a conversation while we do this?”

“You tried to have an argument with half your hand in me.” Six shrugged a shoulder, but there was a quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It made White Knight want to – well, it made him want, shiveringly. Six nudged the tip of a second finger into him. “How many?”

How he was meant to give an answer when Six was starting to work him open, he didn't know. On Six's second slim finger he could begin to feel the stretch, a distant sense of opening, held aloft with the promise that he'd be taken wider. Knight realized he'd been holding his breath to keep himself from making noise. Now it felt like if he kept his breath caught in his lungs he wouldn't have to formulate it into an answer that would burn him with humiliation. The burning need for oxygen won out. “Two. I don't - the angle isn’t ideal.”

He knew he was going red down his neck and into his chest. The bleaching had made every second of embarrassment bright and obvious on his pale skin, and that was before Six's innate ability to hold him up to the light and read every part of him. Six, either pitying or sadistic, rocked his fingers into Knight and soothed his palm over the meat of Knight's thigh. “We'll have to get you something to use. Make it easier for you.”

He was teasing again, slyly almost-smirking, and White Knight couldn't think to snap at him for the indignity when he was thinking of Six's hand guiding some smooth plastic cock into him, just a fraction bigger than his own flesh and blood, eyes fixed on Knight's hole as it swallowed the toy. He groaned and shook before he could think better of it. The low sound of his voice caught Six’s attention and sharpened his gaze, had him splaying his free hand across Knight's stomach and trying to scissor his fingers open in the tight squeeze of Knight's ass. He introduced the third finger maybe too soon, Knight hissing with the slight pinch, and he heard Six take a quiet, steadying breath. Sometimes when they were together something dark would pass over Six’s face before he caught it and corralled it, and Knight would wonder - if he didn't have the control that he did - if he slipped his own leash – the pain passed and shifted into heady fullness and White Knight swore again, fisting his hands into the sheets, rolling his hips down for more. The head of his cock brushed against Six’s arm when he moved, brightly oversensitive for how long he'd gone without touching it.

Six, it felt, peeled him apart this way, held him open until lube dripped down the curve of his ass, made him pliant and unresisting. White Knight started to feel overwarm and breathless, his cock a blatant pinkish red compared to his pale thighs and stomach, Six’s hand on his skin almost cool in comparison. Open, and open more - Six’s focus had dropped totally to the press of his fingers inside of Knight, the place where his hole must surely have been going loose and wrecked, only twitching tight in response to the stimulus of Six's fingertips against nerve endings.

There was - there was the ghosting of a fourth finger against him. Knight felt a noise break off his tongue and then caught it, holding himself taut.

A pause.

“My hands are smaller than yours,” Six echoed, thoughtful, something piecing together. He rubbed the knuckle of his smallest finger along the rim of White Knight’s ass, drawing the moment out. “Knight. Can I try something?”

White Knight would have let him try just about anything, now, if it meant maybe at the end of it he'd get to come with Six touching him. He blinked a little delirious. “You're already trying something. Yes.”

Six stared down at him for a breath longer - a held breath, time stretching, their eyes meeting, something heavy in his gaze. Then he put a little more weight into the hand on Knight's middle and pulled his fingers free with a slick sound that made White Knight flinch with shame, or would if he wasn't gasping with the emptiness and the want. Knight fumbled to push himself up, enough that he could see why Six had left him, and he found himself watching as Six tore a condom open and rolled it down onto his cock, poured lubricant out into his fingers to make himself wet. Six’s breathing came in a stuttered rhythm, the control starting to shed off of him. His fist squeezed around the length of his cock.

“You should lie back down,” Six told him, an edge in his voice. Tearing himself away from the sight was difficult, but a nervous thrill was thrumming in Knight's chest, his pulse rapid with exertion and interest.

Six pulled his thighs wider apart with the deceptive ease of his, that quiet strength, and he fit the length of his cock against White Knight’s still-soft hole for a minute, grinding over the gape of him until Six adjusted himself with one hand and pressed the head of his cock inside of Knight. The time he'd spent coercing Knight’s body into his shape paid off here, his cock sliding in easy, so perfect a match that it knocked the wind out of White Knight’s chest and left him open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Six only narrowly offered him the time to adjust, a bare few seconds before he grabbed Knight by the waist with his clean hand and fucked forward into him. It shoved a moan out of Knight’s throat, and then a second one when he did it again.

This - he forgot for a minute - there had been a goal here. An aim. He forgot it again. Knight realized himself tense all through his spine and his abdomen but relaxed and loose in the space of his mind. Six made him pathetic like this, sometimes, made him some short-lived animal that he could never quite touch when he was alone. Needing - wanting this way - it was the closest he felt to human in his human body, inhumanely physical, a man when he put himself against this man, finding the pieces that had been knocked long-loose and kept in Six’s care, mortal by way of slick unbound desire. Knight wrapped his hand around Six’s wrist and held him there, contact on contact, hissing and then cursing and then groaning when Six rolled his hips to drive his cock into Knight’s body. The goal of this. Knight searched for his voice.

“This - weren't you supposed to be –” He couldn't get the sounds out to say forcing me open, or stretching me out, or anything succinct and dirty that described whatever madness he had allowed to overcome him. It didn't matter when Six shoved into him again and the words all scattered apart. But then Six slowed, his grip on Knight's side easing.

“Trust me,” he said, like Knight didn't already have all the trust he could muster laid out for him on display. Six drew back, some few centimeters, the head of him still buried.

There was pressure at Knight's rim alongside Six's cock.

“Fuck me,” White Knight swore as it came clear, his hand going vice-tight around Six's wrist, dropping his head back to gasp for breath while Six slowly, deliberately pressed two fingers into Knight's hole, already filled, already stretched, carving the space out for himself like White Knight was putty in his hands. Knight thought he'd snap, thought he'd tear, but felt himself stretch that much more, making room for all Six had to offer him. “Fuck, Six - fuck–”

His breath was coming so sharply it was starting to burn. Six’s eyes were dark burning points of focus. Those fingers slid in to the second knuckle. White Knight felt a shiver pass through him, felt his cock jerk hard enough to lift and fall, a thick string of precome connecting it to his stomach. “Six,” he urged, needing - needing –

Six gave it. He rocked forward, slowly at first now, and the extra stretch made Knight keen low and broken. Knight wanted to call him every name in the book but more than that he wanted him as far inside as he could manage, so he reached for Six’s shoulder to try and drag him in that way. It must have taken him by surprise - it brought him down close so that he had to catch himself with the arm Knight was still holding onto like a lifeline - their panting breaths mingled - Six’s hips twitched forward, his arm caught awkwardly between them, and he didn't seem to care. He found his rhythm at the same time as he found Knight's mouth, kissing him messy and mindless. There was less skill there than Knight knew him capable of but who was he to judge, here, his body made clay, his hard-earned stoicism and self control lost in the fray. Six’s fingers felt like an impossible extra width, still as his cock slid past them, and Knight kept taking it, somehow, unknowing of how his body didn't break, almost wondering where that breaking point might be.

Six bit at his lips and then turned his face away to catch his breath and say, gruff with effort, “Dammit, Knight, give me my hand back so I can touch you,” which wasn't a compelling enough argument, in White Knight's eyes, and he let him know as much by readjusting his grip and saying “I've got it, just keep,” like that meant anything at all. Knight shoved his free hand between them to finally touch himself and startled at how wet the head of his cock was, how helplessly sensitive he was to his own touch. His back arched and it drove him down onto Six’s fingers that much further and he could barely hear the noise he made over the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. Six opened his mouth against Knight's throat, facial hair scraping against the skin, and fucked him, harder, a little unruly. It edged on too too much. Six, cruel, spread the v shape of his fingers.

White Knight came hard enough to seize up all his muscles, his thighs locking around Six's hips, his fingers surely leaving welts on Six’s arm. He felt himself tighten violently down on Six’s cock and Six made a punched-out sound as his motions stuttered, chasing after his own orgasm while Knight came around him. Knight spattered come up over the tense crunch of his stomach and, probably, over Six as well, a half-formed thought that pinged with the aftershocks of possessive lust. Six threatened teeth against his throat, dragging the fingers out of his hole - Knight groaned half a desperate protest - and braced that hand against Knight's thigh while he fucked him up to the point that Six's face tucked hard against Knight's neck and his hips snapped up against Knight's ass fitfully. His breath was hot and wet on Knight's skin. They fit together, still, slick with their own sweat, with come and lube, the fever starting to die down.

White Knight carefully released the grip he’d kept on Six's wrist and found that, yes, there were red marks in the shape of his fingers there. Deserved, he thought, becoming slowly aware of the ache in his overused muscles. Six nose and then mouthed again at the spot he had nearly bitten, then pushed himself up to sit back on his heels. White Knight was pleased to see the smear of come across his middle.

“You,” Knight spoke accusatory, still catching his breath, “if I ever let you bait me into something like this again – fuck –”

Six had gently slid his cock from Knight's body, leaving him swollen and empty in his wake. There was a serious kind of care in Six's eye when he held Knight open for a moment after, looking him over, but there was a lecherous glint hidden there, too. Knight swore he felt lube start to slide out of him; it made him shudder with combined disgust and arousal.

“You'd let me,” Six told him, apparently pleased enough with whatever he saw to let him go. He brought his wrist up and rubbed it, smiling a little more openly in the post-orgasmic shakedown of his self control. “I didn't have to try very hard this time, and you didn't even know how much you'd like it yet.”

He had liked it. Thinking of it so plainly made his neck go warm with humiliation but of course he had liked it, having Six on him and in him. White Knight looked away. His jaw tensed with something unspoken.

Six leaned close and kissed the corner of his mouth, waiting for him to turn to meet it full, humming satisfied when he did. He glanced over to the door to the bathroom, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “Let's get a shower in before you start getting sore.”

“Too late for that. Might have to carry me in.”

“Cute. I'll just shower on my own, then.”

Six stood and offered a hand to help Knight to his feet, though, and here, now, White Knight took it, holding only a little longer than he might need to in order to feel the warm shape of Six’s palm.