(this is my first time posting here - i hope you enjoy it!
plus an ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598984)
---
It all started with a deep v-neck shirt. It was a lovely, soft fabric, a shade of pink that bordered on purple, fading gently into white at the hem. It caught Jon’s attention while they were out, and after five entire minutes of pressing the fabric between his fingers, Martin had smiled and suggested he buy it.
But Jon hated when his binder was visible, and the neckline was too deep, and he said all this to Martin even as he remained standing there, clutching it with both hands.
Martin double-checked the price tag and pulled it off the shiny metal pole. “Well, maybe you’ll still want to try it someday?” he asked very gently, and his eyes gave Jon one last chance to insist on leaving the shirt behind. Jon answered his silent question with a frown of consideration. They left with the shirt in a plain paper bag.
---
For two weeks, Jon thought about the shirt. He would sometimes stand in his closet and run his fingers along the inner seam at the hem, inspect the long sleeves. The fabric was thin and cool, it was soft and had a nice amount of stretch, and Jon wondered how it would feel against his skin, and he wanted desperately to wear it, and he glared at the neckline and tried to count his breathes. Tried to take stock of his desires and figure out what to do with them.
---
One morning, when Jon is kissing Martin, encouraging the lazy roll of his hips against Jon’s, Jon pulls back and mumbles, “You can take off my shirt, too. If you’d like.”
“Hm? But- but you take your binder off before bed.”
“Yes.”
“So…?”
“I’m saying it’s fine, Martin.”
His eyes are very close, wide and dark. Jon feels Martin’s hand on his waist already, fingers inching up past the hem. “Are you sure?”
The thing is that Jon isn’t sure, which he sees as being the problem. Martin frowns at his hesitance, and before Jon can insist, Martin’s hand comes up to graze his chest. He feels a thumb slowly outline the gentle curve of one breast, very lightly. Jon whimpers breathlessly. Martin asks, “How about just this, for now? Is this okay?”
“Touch- try touching them,” Jon whispers. Martin lets his hand envelop Jon’s left breast, and Jon expects to feel the usual self-consciousness, the jarring sense of having something be too much, having it feel extraneous. But instead he just thinks that Martin’s hand is very warm against him, and that he himself seems quite soft beneath the callouses of Martin’s palm. Martin kisses Jon’s neck as he lets a thumb roll over one nipple, making Jon wiggle a bit, making his breath catch, and he thinks maybe this can work. Maybe he can do this.
---
Over the next few weeks, Jon does his best to keep the momentum going. He lets Martin rub against his chest over his binder during the day, when they steal quick, heated kisses from each other. At night or in the morning, while they’re still in bed, Jon sometimes takes his shirt off and lets Martin look, touch. Martin starts to admire them verbally, and Jon lets him do that, too, even if he feels so overwhelmed he might burst at the seams from the man’s gentle praises.
“They’re so soft,” he’ll say, or “Your nipples are cute, they perk up so quickly!”
One day, when Jon is sitting in Martin’s lap, rutting against his thigh, letting him plant little kisses on Jon’s chest, Martin groans against Jon’s collarbone, “Ah, I really love your tits.”
The word sets something off in Jon’s head, some spark that shoots a current all the way through his body, until he’s making a truly embarrassing, desperate sound against Martin’s shoulder as he shudders and comes.
---
All of which finds them here, about a month later. Jon is wearing the shirt. He’s wearing a bra, too, which is not quite as welcome, but Martin had insisted it would look good. And the thing is? It does look good. Jon had looked at himself in the mirror before coming into the bedroom and letting his hands be tied behind his back. He’d never enjoyed wearing bras like this one, the cups holding his chest, the straps snug on his shoulders and back. They actively defined his chest, giving it a bit more lift and curve than he would otherwise tolerate. But then he’d put on the shirt, and the bra had mostly disappeared, only a faint outline beneath the fabric. All that was left was Jon’s small swell of cleavage, framed by the sharp neckline.
Martin had actually, literally cooed at him when Jon left the bathroom. As Jon had gotten more comfortable letting him see and touch his chest, Martin gradually developed the habit of fawning over it. Sometimes it was a bit- not annoying, exactly, but just sort of embarrassing. It made Jon aware of them too, which he usually hated, and sometimes he still did. But he was beginning to realize Martin enjoyed them just about as much as he enjoyed any other part of Jon’s body. He didn’t really spend any more time admiring his chest than he did Jon’s neck or shoulders or wrists, it was just that this was allowed, now. This was new, and a little exciting. It could, at times, be fun in ways that Jon hadn’t anticipated.
So he doesn’t begrudge Martin when he openly stares and tells Jon he looks cute, only glares half-heartedly and grumbles a little. Jon still lets himself get tied up, still lets Martin settle him on his knees on their bed. Jon’s hair is pulled back into a high pony tail, neck and shoulders fully exposed, cleavage practically on display.
Martin sits in front of him, legs on either side of Jon, caging him between Martin’s knees. A warm hand comes up to Jon’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss, even as Martin’s other hand sneaks up to cup at one breast. Jon feels his face burn. He makes himself focus on kissing back, letting Martin feel him up, the nail of Martin’s thumb searching for Jon’s nipple through two layers of fabric. Jon feels it graze him, and the sensation is dulled, but still enough to make him shiver.
“Do you like that?” Martin asks as he pulls away.
Jon can’t speak, can only nod. Martin smirks, and Jon knows this is it. They’re really doing this.
“You like it that much?” Martin asks in a soft, dangerous voice, one that makes Jon so very, very excited for how this will go. “I’ve barely touched you. Do you like really having your tits played with so much?”
That word. A part of Jon has always hated it, found it vulgar and objectifying, and the idea of applying it to himself has always felt terribly jarring. But here, now, with Martin saying it, it lights up his body like nothing else. Martin’s application of the term makes Jon’s chest feel both totally separate from him and very much a part of him, which doesn’t really make any sense, and Jon knows this, and he wonders if the internal conflict is partly what makes it so arousing. He feels like he has his wires crossed, sending unwarranted surges of electricity throughout his body at random, and soon it’ll all be to much and he won’t even be able to think.
He hasn’t answered Martin’s question, but he doesn’t really need to. Martin smiles and starts pulling up Jon’s shirt. “Well then, if you like it so much, let’s get this out of the way.”
Part of Jon doesn’t want to take the shirt off even a little, and finds it’s a shame when Martin pushes it up to his collarbone. But he doesn’t want to stretch it, so pulling the neckline down wasn’t an option. Once Jon’s bra is revealed, Martin wastes no time letting his hands slide along the wings until his fingers find clasps. Martin kisses Jon soundly as he unhooks them.
Then his hands are back to Jon’s- to Jon’s tits, groping them outright, then pinching his nipples until Jon moans. Martin swallows each and every sound. He’s unrelenting, fondling Jon until the man is an overheated mess, struggling against his bonds. Part of him wishes he could pull his arms forward, cross them over his chest to save them from Martin’s lovely torment. But more of him is losing the last of his sense entirely. “More,” he gasps between kisses. “P-please, I want-”
Martin’s mouth finds his throat, sucking cruelly as he twists one of Jon’s nipples between his fingers. It’s just hard enough to hurt, a deliberate pinching that sends jolts of pain to Jon’s stomach. He whimpers and struggles against his bonds once more.
“Good?” Martin asks under his breath as he pushes aside Jon’s loosened bra, mouth traveling downward. His breathe is hot and Jon can feel it on his chest.
“Good, good,” he gasps, resting his chin on Martin’s crown as he feels the man take a nipple into his mouth. This is- this is still pretty new, the hot, wet feeling of Martin’s tongue and teeth. He suckles; the texture of his tongue is delightful against Jon’s nipple and it makes him moan again, makes him squirm.
One of Martin’s arms is wrapped around his waist, keeping him close. Slowly, it travels up his back until Martin is pulling Jon’s shirt over his head. Releasing Jon’s breast with a wet pop, Martin leans back so he could pull the shirt down to tangle with Jon’s wrists. There will be no removing it, not totally, while he was bound like this. Jon realizes the bra, though unclasped, will also have to remain. It makes him feel debauched, especially with the way Martin is looking at him now.
“You know what I would like?” Martin says aloud, not really directing the question to Jon. “I think I would like to press those pretty tits of yours together and fuck them.”
“O-oh?” Jon- he knew this, he knew what they’d discussed, planned, agreed on. So why did hearing Martin say it like that make him feel so utterly wrecked? He started breathing a little faster - from merely nerves or anticipation, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. The heavy breathes make his chest heave, enough for him to notice, and a prickle of something tense and heavy sits on the back of his neck.
As if seeing this, Martin reacts, taking Jon by the back of the neck and kissing him soundly on the lips. As he feels Jon relax beneath him, Martin gently guides him to lie on his back. It’s a bit awkward with his wrists, but that’s sort of the point - Jon likes the ache in his shoulders, the way his knuckles dig into the small of his back.
Jon tries to catch his breath as Martin pulls away to remove his pants, his underwear. Then he’s back, settling his weight carefully atop Jon. His cock is heavy and dripping on the bra. Martin moves the garment aside as much as he can while Jon makes pitiful noises of nervous arousal.
Martin’s large, warm hands rest against Jon’s ribs. Then, slowly, his palms brand a burning path up along his skin until he’s pushing Jon’s breasts together. From where he lies, Jon’s view is mostly taken up by his own cleavage. He can’t help tilting his head away, closing his eyes, trying to breathe evenly even as Martin bends down to nip and lick and torture him all over again.
After a few moments, when Jon’s more concerned with the wetness between his legs than his chest, Martin repositions himself. His shaft looks quite nice against Jon’s darker complexion, he thinks. Jon likes the weight of it between his breasts, even as Martin pushes them together again, more this time, trying to cover as much of himself as he can with Jon.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Martin mumbles to himself, though Jon hears it. Jon wiggles beneath him carefully, adjusting his knees so that his thighs are against Martin’s back. He can’t help bucking his hips futility, wishing for some friction. But that’s not what this is about, and Martin only chuckles at his impatience.
Then he starts fucking Jon’s chest, and Jon can only watch and let himself feel it. Martin sets an easy rhythm, precome smearing his cleavage whenever the man pulls back. With his head propped on a pillow, Jon is close enough to mouth at the head of Martin’s cock with each forward thrust. Above him, Martin makes lovely noises. His hips jerk and speed up. Jon wishes he could do anything with his hands, wishes he could touch himself, or maybe even hold his tits close together for Martin. Maybe then Martin could hold him back, put those fingers in Jon’s hair, or his mouth.
Instead Martin rubs roughly at Jon’s nipples as he fucks his chest. “I’m worried your tits are going to be sore after this,” Martin pants, smiling, then moaning as Jon deliberately sucks at him at the peak of his thrust. “Ah, I think- I’m close, Jon. D’you-?”
“Please, please-”
“Want me to make a mess of your tits?”
“Please, Martin,” Jon begs and writhes.
It doesn’t take long after that. Just a few more decisive thrusts and Martin is coming, spilling white deliberately across Jon’s chest.
Then, while Jon is dirty and still restrained, Martin shoves his hand down Jon’s pants and spreads him with his fingers. Shoves three inside without any issue and wrings out an orgasm in only a few seconds.
---
A few days later, Jon wears the shirt again. And the bra, but only because it really does make his cleavage look excellent.
Fill: trans!Jon/Martin, chest-fucking, nipple play
plus an ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598984)
---
It all started with a deep v-neck shirt. It was a lovely, soft fabric, a shade of pink that bordered on purple, fading gently into white at the hem. It caught Jon’s attention while they were out, and after five entire minutes of pressing the fabric between his fingers, Martin had smiled and suggested he buy it.
But Jon hated when his binder was visible, and the neckline was too deep, and he said all this to Martin even as he remained standing there, clutching it with both hands.
Martin double-checked the price tag and pulled it off the shiny metal pole. “Well, maybe you’ll still want to try it someday?” he asked very gently, and his eyes gave Jon one last chance to insist on leaving the shirt behind. Jon answered his silent question with a frown of consideration. They left with the shirt in a plain paper bag.
---
For two weeks, Jon thought about the shirt. He would sometimes stand in his closet and run his fingers along the inner seam at the hem, inspect the long sleeves. The fabric was thin and cool, it was soft and had a nice amount of stretch, and Jon wondered how it would feel against his skin, and he wanted desperately to wear it, and he glared at the neckline and tried to count his breathes. Tried to take stock of his desires and figure out what to do with them.
---
One morning, when Jon is kissing Martin, encouraging the lazy roll of his hips against Jon’s, Jon pulls back and mumbles, “You can take off my shirt, too. If you’d like.”
“Hm? But- but you take your binder off before bed.”
“Yes.”
“So…?”
“I’m saying it’s fine, Martin.”
His eyes are very close, wide and dark. Jon feels Martin’s hand on his waist already, fingers inching up past the hem. “Are you sure?”
The thing is that Jon isn’t sure, which he sees as being the problem. Martin frowns at his hesitance, and before Jon can insist, Martin’s hand comes up to graze his chest. He feels a thumb slowly outline the gentle curve of one breast, very lightly. Jon whimpers breathlessly. Martin asks, “How about just this, for now? Is this okay?”
“Touch- try touching them,” Jon whispers. Martin lets his hand envelop Jon’s left breast, and Jon expects to feel the usual self-consciousness, the jarring sense of having something be too much, having it feel extraneous. But instead he just thinks that Martin’s hand is very warm against him, and that he himself seems quite soft beneath the callouses of Martin’s palm. Martin kisses Jon’s neck as he lets a thumb roll over one nipple, making Jon wiggle a bit, making his breath catch, and he thinks maybe this can work. Maybe he can do this.
---
Over the next few weeks, Jon does his best to keep the momentum going. He lets Martin rub against his chest over his binder during the day, when they steal quick, heated kisses from each other. At night or in the morning, while they’re still in bed, Jon sometimes takes his shirt off and lets Martin look, touch. Martin starts to admire them verbally, and Jon lets him do that, too, even if he feels so overwhelmed he might burst at the seams from the man’s gentle praises.
“They’re so soft,” he’ll say, or “Your nipples are cute, they perk up so quickly!”
One day, when Jon is sitting in Martin’s lap, rutting against his thigh, letting him plant little kisses on Jon’s chest, Martin groans against Jon’s collarbone, “Ah, I really love your tits.”
The word sets something off in Jon’s head, some spark that shoots a current all the way through his body, until he’s making a truly embarrassing, desperate sound against Martin’s shoulder as he shudders and comes.
---
All of which finds them here, about a month later. Jon is wearing the shirt. He’s wearing a bra, too, which is not quite as welcome, but Martin had insisted it would look good. And the thing is? It does look good. Jon had looked at himself in the mirror before coming into the bedroom and letting his hands be tied behind his back. He’d never enjoyed wearing bras like this one, the cups holding his chest, the straps snug on his shoulders and back. They actively defined his chest, giving it a bit more lift and curve than he would otherwise tolerate. But then he’d put on the shirt, and the bra had mostly disappeared, only a faint outline beneath the fabric. All that was left was Jon’s small swell of cleavage, framed by the sharp neckline.
Martin had actually, literally cooed at him when Jon left the bathroom. As Jon had gotten more comfortable letting him see and touch his chest, Martin gradually developed the habit of fawning over it. Sometimes it was a bit- not annoying, exactly, but just sort of embarrassing. It made Jon aware of them too, which he usually hated, and sometimes he still did. But he was beginning to realize Martin enjoyed them just about as much as he enjoyed any other part of Jon’s body. He didn’t really spend any more time admiring his chest than he did Jon’s neck or shoulders or wrists, it was just that this was allowed, now. This was new, and a little exciting. It could, at times, be fun in ways that Jon hadn’t anticipated.
So he doesn’t begrudge Martin when he openly stares and tells Jon he looks cute, only glares half-heartedly and grumbles a little. Jon still lets himself get tied up, still lets Martin settle him on his knees on their bed. Jon’s hair is pulled back into a high pony tail, neck and shoulders fully exposed, cleavage practically on display.
Martin sits in front of him, legs on either side of Jon, caging him between Martin’s knees. A warm hand comes up to Jon’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss, even as Martin’s other hand sneaks up to cup at one breast. Jon feels his face burn. He makes himself focus on kissing back, letting Martin feel him up, the nail of Martin’s thumb searching for Jon’s nipple through two layers of fabric. Jon feels it graze him, and the sensation is dulled, but still enough to make him shiver.
“Do you like that?” Martin asks as he pulls away.
Jon can’t speak, can only nod. Martin smirks, and Jon knows this is it. They’re really doing this.
“You like it that much?” Martin asks in a soft, dangerous voice, one that makes Jon so very, very excited for how this will go. “I’ve barely touched you. Do you like really having your tits played with so much?”
That word. A part of Jon has always hated it, found it vulgar and objectifying, and the idea of applying it to himself has always felt terribly jarring. But here, now, with Martin saying it, it lights up his body like nothing else. Martin’s application of the term makes Jon’s chest feel both totally separate from him and very much a part of him, which doesn’t really make any sense, and Jon knows this, and he wonders if the internal conflict is partly what makes it so arousing. He feels like he has his wires crossed, sending unwarranted surges of electricity throughout his body at random, and soon it’ll all be to much and he won’t even be able to think.
He hasn’t answered Martin’s question, but he doesn’t really need to. Martin smiles and starts pulling up Jon’s shirt. “Well then, if you like it so much, let’s get this out of the way.”
Part of Jon doesn’t want to take the shirt off even a little, and finds it’s a shame when Martin pushes it up to his collarbone. But he doesn’t want to stretch it, so pulling the neckline down wasn’t an option. Once Jon’s bra is revealed, Martin wastes no time letting his hands slide along the wings until his fingers find clasps. Martin kisses Jon soundly as he unhooks them.
Then his hands are back to Jon’s- to Jon’s tits, groping them outright, then pinching his nipples until Jon moans. Martin swallows each and every sound. He’s unrelenting, fondling Jon until the man is an overheated mess, struggling against his bonds. Part of him wishes he could pull his arms forward, cross them over his chest to save them from Martin’s lovely torment. But more of him is losing the last of his sense entirely. “More,” he gasps between kisses. “P-please, I want-”
Martin’s mouth finds his throat, sucking cruelly as he twists one of Jon’s nipples between his fingers. It’s just hard enough to hurt, a deliberate pinching that sends jolts of pain to Jon’s stomach. He whimpers and struggles against his bonds once more.
“Good?” Martin asks under his breath as he pushes aside Jon’s loosened bra, mouth traveling downward. His breathe is hot and Jon can feel it on his chest.
“Good, good,” he gasps, resting his chin on Martin’s crown as he feels the man take a nipple into his mouth. This is- this is still pretty new, the hot, wet feeling of Martin’s tongue and teeth. He suckles; the texture of his tongue is delightful against Jon’s nipple and it makes him moan again, makes him squirm.
One of Martin’s arms is wrapped around his waist, keeping him close. Slowly, it travels up his back until Martin is pulling Jon’s shirt over his head. Releasing Jon’s breast with a wet pop, Martin leans back so he could pull the shirt down to tangle with Jon’s wrists. There will be no removing it, not totally, while he was bound like this. Jon realizes the bra, though unclasped, will also have to remain. It makes him feel debauched, especially with the way Martin is looking at him now.
“You know what I would like?” Martin says aloud, not really directing the question to Jon. “I think I would like to press those pretty tits of yours together and fuck them.”
“O-oh?” Jon- he knew this, he knew what they’d discussed, planned, agreed on. So why did hearing Martin say it like that make him feel so utterly wrecked? He started breathing a little faster - from merely nerves or anticipation, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. The heavy breathes make his chest heave, enough for him to notice, and a prickle of something tense and heavy sits on the back of his neck.
As if seeing this, Martin reacts, taking Jon by the back of the neck and kissing him soundly on the lips. As he feels Jon relax beneath him, Martin gently guides him to lie on his back. It’s a bit awkward with his wrists, but that’s sort of the point - Jon likes the ache in his shoulders, the way his knuckles dig into the small of his back.
Jon tries to catch his breath as Martin pulls away to remove his pants, his underwear. Then he’s back, settling his weight carefully atop Jon. His cock is heavy and dripping on the bra. Martin moves the garment aside as much as he can while Jon makes pitiful noises of nervous arousal.
Martin’s large, warm hands rest against Jon’s ribs. Then, slowly, his palms brand a burning path up along his skin until he’s pushing Jon’s breasts together. From where he lies, Jon’s view is mostly taken up by his own cleavage. He can’t help tilting his head away, closing his eyes, trying to breathe evenly even as Martin bends down to nip and lick and torture him all over again.
After a few moments, when Jon’s more concerned with the wetness between his legs than his chest, Martin repositions himself. His shaft looks quite nice against Jon’s darker complexion, he thinks. Jon likes the weight of it between his breasts, even as Martin pushes them together again, more this time, trying to cover as much of himself as he can with Jon.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Martin mumbles to himself, though Jon hears it. Jon wiggles beneath him carefully, adjusting his knees so that his thighs are against Martin’s back. He can’t help bucking his hips futility, wishing for some friction. But that’s not what this is about, and Martin only chuckles at his impatience.
Then he starts fucking Jon’s chest, and Jon can only watch and let himself feel it. Martin sets an easy rhythm, precome smearing his cleavage whenever the man pulls back. With his head propped on a pillow, Jon is close enough to mouth at the head of Martin’s cock with each forward thrust. Above him, Martin makes lovely noises. His hips jerk and speed up. Jon wishes he could do anything with his hands, wishes he could touch himself, or maybe even hold his tits close together for Martin. Maybe then Martin could hold him back, put those fingers in Jon’s hair, or his mouth.
Instead Martin rubs roughly at Jon’s nipples as he fucks his chest. “I’m worried your tits are going to be sore after this,” Martin pants, smiling, then moaning as Jon deliberately sucks at him at the peak of his thrust. “Ah, I think- I’m close, Jon. D’you-?”
“Please, please-”
“Want me to make a mess of your tits?”
“Please, Martin,” Jon begs and writhes.
It doesn’t take long after that. Just a few more decisive thrusts and Martin is coming, spilling white deliberately across Jon’s chest.
Then, while Jon is dirty and still restrained, Martin shoves his hand down Jon’s pants and spreads him with his fingers. Shoves three inside without any issue and wrings out an orgasm in only a few seconds.
---
A few days later, Jon wears the shirt again. And the bra, but only because it really does make his cleavage look excellent.