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marisferasiop · 7 months

Text

Eyes on Me

Ao3 link

Word count: 4300

Pairing: afab reader/Dieter Bravo/Cecil (Revenge for Jolly!)

Rating: so explicit. MINORS DNI:: Clicking read more implies your consent!

Warnings: Chastity play, orgasm delay/denial, public use of sex toys under clothing, pegging, canon typical drugs/alcohol use (so... A lot, but not in graphic detail), oral, anal, piv, established relationship - no condoms, cum eating, degradation play, subby boys/domme afab reader, no use of y/n and no descriptors other than having hair, enthusiastic consent, hand jobs, cock warming, a tremendous amount of fluff

Summary: Dieter Bravo is up for his second Oscar after Cliff Beasts 6 (shockingly) propelled him back into the spotlight. He's (mostly) sober and in one of his first solid relationships of his life. All he needed was a firm and indulgent hand. With you and Cecil, he gets everything he could hope for.

Or: You and Cecil are the other two thirds of Dieter's very- public polycule. You take care of him before and after a red carpet event, in your own special way. Both of your sweet, easy boys only ever beg for more.

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It's four hours until the Oscars and Lead Actor nominee Dieter Bravo, instead of being in a makeup chair getting dolled up by designer artists and enduring endless photoshoots, is suffering.

At least, to the untrained eye, he might be. You know different. You watch the tears break the waterline, dribbling into his ears, and smirk, petting Cecil for his hard work.

"Please-- please, mamí -- I need to cum," Dieter chokes, this stomach flexing hard, trying to drill his hips upward into Cecil's mouth. Cecil takes his whole length easily, his gag reflex long since trained out of him.

Dieter has you to thank for that, he knows. He's seen what you do with Cecil when he's across the world on a set and you're having fun at his house. You send videos and instructions on what he should do to himself when he watches them. When he's away, he watches endless loops of Cecil on a Sybian, deep throating a toy suctioned to the wall, or bound on all fours, his ass in the air while you toy him mercilessly, or on his back with no bondage but his own will, while you suck his cock slow and cruel, his whines and tears a symphony for Dieter to jerk off to in his trailer, alone.

Dieter just whines harder when Cecil moves with him, dutifully keeping the languid pace you set. He's fun, loves drugs and cutting loose and being goofy. Deiter adores him. But he's also a well-trained pet; nothing will make Cecil pause like the prospect of disappointing you.

You had both come into Dieter's life nine months ago, already together. He had met Cecil first, at a club where the guy was trying (and succeeding very well) at bumming drinks and hits off joints from the crowd at large. Dieter had watched him for a long moment that felt suspended in time (he had been high as fuck-- it could have been barely a minute) before he motioned the pretty young thing over. Cecil had been rumpled in jeans, boots, and a tee shirt, but his face was gorgeous, and Dieter had liked his energy. When he asked Cecil to come home with him, Cecil had straightened.

"My lady won't like being left out," he had said, which had struck Dieter square in the chest.

"You got a lady?" He'd asked. Cecil nodded, the motion loose from his heavy intoxication.

"I'm looking for a third. We do that now 'n then. You think I'm handsome?" Cecil had blinked up at Dieter with those huge soft eyes and Dieter had been helpless to nod.

"I do. Does she love you?"

"She loves me like no one ever has. I love her. She's so good to me, Dee," Cecil's eyes had gotten huge and wet, and Dieter only nodded. "She'd be really good to you."

"Can I be your third?"

Cecil had taken Dieter back to the apartment you and he were renting. He had been with you for over a year already, and was well-used to doing whatever you told him to do. Dieter had met plenty of dommes, women who he went to his knees for easily, but he had never met someone as easy to drop and open his mouth as Cecil. Hell, Dieter himself had never met someone he was more than willing to be compliant to than you.

That night, you had coaxed him easily to his knees. He's hardly been off them since.

Your soothing voice drags him back to the present.

"Now baby, we talked about this. Use your words correctly. Do you really need to? Are you going to use your word?" You ask, kneeling behind Cecil, your strap deep in his ass. He moans around Dieter's girth and rocks his hips back, asking for more, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. You drag your hand up his sweaty spine, into his hair, holding him down, his slick lips flush with Dieter's pubes.

"Agh! No! No, Mamí I can wait! Oh, fuck-- sssssCecil--!"

Dieter blinks down at Cecil and immediately drops his head back to stare unseeing at the ceiling. He is wholly unable to watch what's happening to him- he's on a hairtrigger as it is. The very sight of Cecil's glassy, unfocused eyes as he floats along in his subspace, red-faced and choking on Dieter's cock, his ass stuffed with yours, is nearly too much to bear.

He wants to grab so bad, but you told him not to touch- his fingers twist in the sheets by his head, instead. You watch him writhe, his jaw dropping and brow crumpling in distress as Cecil chokes hard, running out of oxygen, and you yank him up and off.

A long thick line of spit connects Cecil's swollen, slack lips to the tip of Dieter's throbbing cock. Dieter makes a strangled sound at the sight of it, his balls crawling up, but he bites his lip hard to distract himself from the imminent need to come. You slap him once, hard, on the inner thigh and he jolts with a heady whine.

"Roll over, Dee," you command, and he does, flopping to his front like a despondent ragdoll. Predicting your next command, he wriggles down and folds himself over the edge of the bed. "Good boy, Dieter. Cecil, eat his ass, baby. I need him nice and wet for his toy. Don't let him come, remember?"

"Yes, mamí," Cecil murmurs, twisting his hips back into yours mindlessly, and dives his face between Dieter's cheeks.

"Fuck," Dieter whines, reaching back to hold himself open. He desperately wants to fist his cock, to disobey, but he knows if he does, you won't follow through with the scene today. And shockingly, he wants that endgame more. You've managed to teach him how to relish in the glory of delayed gratification, and he's revelling in it now.

Cecil, for his part, absolutely devours him. Burying his face between someone's legs is a pleasure only second to burying his cock somewhere agreeable. After more than a year with you, he knows that he will get his pleasure, especially if he's good enough. You make him feel good, and now he has Dieter, too. It blows his mind, sometimes, that you had taken him in when he was on the verge of a mental break, cared for him, gave him something to work toward and have agency in. He loves you. There is nothing he won't do that you could possibly command. Your disappointment, to him, is tantamount to the apocalypse- unfathomable and terrifying. He does his best to make sure he never displeases you, and it rarely happens.

He adores the feel of your cock inside him, just sitting, rocking slowly and unevenly. It sends little frissions of electric pleasure up his spine. Cecil tips his hips up and back, spreads his knees another centimeter apart, his tongue buried as deep as he can get it in Dieter's clenching asshole. Instead of reaching down to fist his cock- you haven't said he could touch himself yet- he wraps his forearms under Dee's hips, his hands on the top rise of his narrow little ass, and pins him, rendering the much larger man wide open and immobile. He sucks on the rim and then, when Dieter clenches around him tellingly, slides his hand under, cinching his long fingers tight around the base of that fat cock, and stiffens his tongue to plunge back inside when Dieter inevitably bucks backward away from the pinch of pain.

He had been about to come.

"Fucking-- CECIL!" Dieter howls, writhing in his grip. You smack Dieter's ass, hard enough to leave a handprint and make the muscle wobble. Cecil pulls his tongue out and bites the red swell of flesh, making Dieter yelp indignantly.

"Don't you yell at my perfect boy, Deiter Bravo. He's doing what he was told to do; you are misbehaving. Don't think I can't see you trying to rub off on the sheets."

Dieter whines and goes limp, hissing when Cecil backs away at your command. You reach and drizzle lube over Cecil's long, pretty fingers and drop a kiss on his cheekbone. "Use your fingers, baby. Open him up real nice for our toy."

Cecil easily slips two spidery fingers up inside, avoiding Dieter's prostate, and scissors them. He lays his cheek on Dee's ass and watches the slide of his digits in and out, feeling something similar from behind on himself as you rock into him. When he slides a third finger inside, you gift him a firm slide over his own prostate, making his cock drool onto the wood floor between his knees. If you're not careful, you'll milk him dry before he can even come. And he's been too good a boy for that.

"Enough, baby. Hand me the plug, please," you croon, scritching through Cecil's hair. He pulls his fingers out, smirking when Dieter whines at the loss, and hands you the silicone plug Dieter will be wearing until you take it out tonight.

It's silicone and flexible, not overly large, but a constant reminder when he's moving, walking, or sitting. It's just short enough to tease his gland, or brush it when he sits. As long as he doesn't squirm, it's fine. Dieter whines when you seat it easily and pat the base, making him clench.

"Is it the vibrating one?" He asks, slurring his words like he's wasted.

"No, you asked for no surprises in case you have to go up and give a speech," you respond. He nods and slides down to sit on his heels in front of Cecil, letting the smaller man rut against him, seeking a kiss.

"Please, mamí," Cecil whines, bucking hard when Dieter sneaks a hand down to rub his whole wide palm over and then cup Cecil's purpling dick.

"Good boy, Cecil. Stand up with me now. Dee, hands by your feet. Put your head back on the bed." You grip Cecil's hips and haul him up, standing without pulling out the rainbow horse cock toy you have him impaled on. Dieter settles on his heels, his dick softening with lack of attention, and drops his head backward onto the mattress. "Open up."

Cecil's not allowed to touch his cock unless you tell him he can. He whimpers and waits, teary-eyed and drooling with desperation as you reach down and pump him a few times, notching his sticky-wet head between Dieter's lips.

"Fuck yourself 'til you cum, baby boy. You've been so good for me," you croon, petting him everywhere you can reach while he ruts forward into Dee's throat and back onto you. It takes mere seconds- he's far too wound up. Dieter swallows his load, licking and laving his tongue over Cecil's softening length to clean him of every drop while he shudders and whines at the sensitivity.

"Good boy, Cecil. I want you to take Dee to the bath and wash yourselves up. I'll call Bec," you pull your cock out of Cecil's ass and let him go, watching them stumble to the en suite while you dig for your cell and call his stylist and preferred on-retainer makeup and hair artist.

They are both due within the hour, and you are due an orgasm. You pick up the cock cage Dieter will need for the evening and saunter into the bathroom.

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Dieter fucking hates red carpet events. He takes no interviews down the row, only holds still for a scant few photos, and disappears inside quickly to find his seat and start swiping drinks off waiters' trays. His head is swimming with his anxiety meds and the dregs of the joint he'd smoked on the way over.

He needs a drink. Something stronger than champers.

Minutes later, he spots you and Cecil being ushered in the audience entrance and led toward his reserved row. You look stunning in a gown he picked out-- barely more than a sash, completely open to the waist in the front and back, a gold band about the natural waist to cinch it- and nothing underneath but carefully placed tape and a stick-on filming guard over your pussy. He adjusts his weight in his seat and curses the pinch of the cage on his cock for the thousandth time.

Cecil looks incredibly out of place despite the tidy cut of the suit and how pretty he is. Bec had done wonders with his gorgeous black curls. His thick scruff and sharp cheekbones catch the lighting perfectly as he follows you like a puppy with his typical slouching gait. Dieter wonders idly how many edibles you let him have before you came. His eyes are glassy but he's behaving- it can't have been too many. He wonders if you have more in that tiny clutch, or squirreled away in Cecil's pockets.

"Would you like a drink miss? Sirs?"

You give the waiter a kind smile and set your clutch on the table. "A cherry Italian margarita for me, please. And two double Taliskers, neat." The waiter nods once and disappears. Dieter reaches up and takes your hand, urging you to sit. You each take a side, effectively blocking him from dealing with whoever's assigned to be his row partner.

Cecil drops a hand on his thigh and leaves it there, and you take Dieter's opposite hand, and soon (not soon enough) the lights dim and the show begins.

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He's absolutely fucked.

There's cold metal in his fist and a dull ache in his pants, and his eyes can't focus on a thing. He can feel Cecil nearby; those long, pretty hands are on him. One of you has kept a hand on him all night. He likes it. He looks down at Cecil's long, slim hand on his ribs, overlapping the velvet lapel and the loose buttons there and tries to listen through the cacophony of music to what he's saying.

"Hmm?" He squints, dropping his forehead down to Cecil's shoulder. The man shouts and it's still nearly drowned out.

Something about you going out to call the car.

He doesn't remember who gave him the coke, or the last five drinks, but he knows he and Cecil have been partaking since he left the awards stage with his new trophy. You had a few drinks and mostly mingled, watching from the edges while they danced and got absolutely smashed.

He kisses Cecil messily on the dance floor, there in the middle of the after-party, and hears the sussurus of shutters clicking; the few paps allowed in getting their gotcha shots for the night.

Fuck 'em. He came out publicly as bi ages ago, and as poly with you two sometime in the last several months. It's nothing new. Maybe to the tabloids it's just juicy, considering he just won for a goddamn cowboy movie. He hasn't been seen being a menace or an embarrassment for months- they're thirsty.

Cecil kisses him back like a starved man, he always does. Dieter thrives on it, especially when everything is too loud and too much. You're both good at dampening the crowd, in different ways. He sucks on Cecil's tongue like a cock and pants into his open mouth, begging to go home, to come.

"I wanna fuck her," Dieter whines, his legs shaking when Cecil grins against his mouth and slots a thigh between his legs. The pressure on his heavy balls, his caged cock, is unbearable. The toy in his ass is starting to chafe, which is what prompted you to go get the car. He's remembering now.

"She's probably waiting on us now, c'mon," Cecil pants. He takes Dieter's hand and leads him through the press of the crowd toward the doors. He swipes a bottle of liquor off a tray and knocks back two drinks from their table (not theirs- some other actor's remains). They frot again in the elevator down from the rooftop, with Cecil against the wall, utterly soft and moaning encouragingly while Dieter pins him with his bigger frame and holds his face. There are other people in here, Dieter thinks passively, but he couldn't care less. He won, and he's about to take two people home he cares about. He's high and drunk, and happy. It's a nice change of pace from his usual lonely depressive benders.

The doors open, and suddenly they're in an absolute swarm of paps crowded into the lobby.

Dieter squints against the complete wall of flashing lights and slides his dark glasses up his nose. He clutches his Oscar tighter and pulls Cecil behind him, walking the harrowing path out to the relative safety of the covered garage.

You're leaning on a guardrail there, talking to someone on your phone. You smile at both of them and wave them over. For as stoned and drunk as he is, Cecil is the more steady on his feet. He leads Dieter over to you in a mostly straight line and you let him fold into your chest.

"Have you had fun, baby?" You ask, carding through his gelled, sweaty, tacky hair. He nods and fumbles for your skin, wanting you closer.

"'s a good party," he slurs, and you huff a laugh of agreement into his shoulder. The car pulls up behind him and you three pile in.

Dieter watches LA speed by outside the tinted windows, nursing the bottle of tequila Cecil had swiped. They trade it back and forth. He wants you to rub him off, but he knows you'll make him wait to come til you get home. Even if you start now, he'll have no relief for ages. If he's patient, a trait you've taught him well, he'll get everything he wants and more.

He wants to explode into a billion pieces and then those pieces dissolve, to be nothing for a while. To be held in yours and Cecil's hands, and everything is quiet and nothing at all is expected of him.

"Cecil, baby," you say, and he lolls his head over to hum at you in question. Dieter blinks and takes the bottle back when you beckon the younger man across the limo's width with a crook of your finger.

"Hasn't Dieter been such a good boy tonight, baby?"

"Hmm. Yes, mamí. He has. Won a pretty award and made his nice speech. Shared all his friends and booze and drugs with us. He wants to fuck you," Cecil says bluntly. He can't lie to you for shit. Anything that's told to him is told to you, even if it's nothing.

Dieter swallows and looks at you.

"Does he?" You cup Cecil under his chin and make him kneel between your knees on the floor of the limo. He goes easy. Dieter feels his cock protesting the snug cage again and winces.

"We'll be home in ten minutes, baby. He wants to bend me over the second we get in the door, doesn't he?" You urge Cecil to turn and sit on the ledge of the seat between your thighs. You reach around him and open his trousers. Dieter's eyes are riveted on your hands.

"Yeah mamí, he does. Wants to fuck you so bad, he's gonna come too soon. He's gonna wanna go twice. Oh, shit," he gasps, hands curling on the outsides of your thighs. He keeps his dark eyes on dieter, enjoying being put on display.

Cecil is simple- you both think he's pretty, and you care for him, and he wants for nothing, so he likes to be what you want- a toy. He only ruts a little into the loose curl of your fist and your other hand comes up under his chin, pulling him back against you. The back of his head goes over your shoulder; he's pulled taut against you and you're stroking him to fullness.

"Keep your hands away, baby. I don't need those. If he's gonna fuck me, we gotta take care of you, right? You've been a good boy, too. You kept our pretty boy safe tonight, kept your hands on him. Made sure no one gave him anything nasty, right? What all did you have baby?"

Cecil shudders when you pull him out of his trousers. You watch Dieter, his eyes like glinting black gems in the passing streetlights. He is about to snap. You can see him adjusting his weight on the seat very minutely.

"Dieter. Come sit across from us. Straight on your ass, hands on your thighs," you command, and he nearly falls over in his scramble to comply. "Cecil?"

"We had lots of drinks, mamí. Mostly weed. A few lines of coke. Not much. Mos- ahhh-- mostly weed."

"Thank you baby. Such a good boy. Isn't he, Dieter?" You ask. Dieter blinks at you owlishly and nods. "Tell him, sweetheart."

"You're so good Cecil. So pretty. Such a good boy. Kept me safe, from them, and myself."

Cecil whines and nods, desperately pleased. He loves being praised so thoroughly. You tighten your fist around him and start stripping it hard, coaxing a quick and brutal orgasm out. You've only got a few minutes left.

His hands scrabble at the backs of your knees. Dieter watches your hand, panting, wanting to cup himself. Mindlessly, he does, and you stop, your hand tight around Cecil's base. He whines pathetically and thrusts his hips up, chasing friction. Your hand under his jaw tightens and Cecil sags against you, leaning into it.

"Are you allowed to touch my cock, Dieter?" You ask pointedly, and he gulps. He's been so good, he doesn't want to ruin his reward for a thoughtless gesture. He slides his hand away under your pinning glare, and you begin again.

This time, Cecil is already precariously on the edge. He comes with a sharp gasp as you're entering Dieter's neighborhood. He doesn't even hesitate when you hold your hand up, licking it clean while he comes down.

He sucks on your fingers and stares back at Dieter while the driver navigates the Hollywood hills. "I wanna kiss you," Dieter whines, and you smile.

"Come here then, sweetheart," you croon, and he folds forward on his knees, sandwiching Cecil tight between your chests as he dives over his shoulder and claims your mouth.

When the car parks, Dieter practically throws himself out of it, beelining for the door. You get out and thank the driver and help Cecil do up his pants (he's already mostly asleep) and follow at a more sedate pace. You find him in the bedroom, already naked and kneeling by the bed, practically vibrating. Cecil walks straight to the couch, kicks his pants off, and passes out on his front. You snort at him and turn back to Dieter.

"Come help me get these stickies off, sweetheart." You slink out of the completely seamless dress and are left in nothing but the pasties. He scrambles forward and gently picks the edges off one by one, peeling carefully on your tender flesh while you play with his hair. The long, thin silver chain with the key to his cock cage ends between your breasts in a tiny locket. He kisses over the red patches left behind by the stickers over your nipples and mound, and nuzzles the locket, whining faintly.

His eyes are so wide and soft and dark you could easily get lost in them. "Please, mamí."

You smile indulgently at him and nod. "Okay, sweet thing. Go get a towel and get on the bed."

He darts into the bathroom and comes back, eager. You take the key out of your locket and snick the tiny padlock open. When you pull the plastic sleeve off, he hisses as his cock immediately starts to inflate.

"Eager boy. What do you want to do to me, sweet thing?"

You pull the ring off from around him and cup his balls, making him flinch again. "I want you on all fours. Wanna hold your tits and kiss your neck while I fuck you til you come. Wanna come inside, and sleep there."

Your eyebrows raise at the thought he put into it. You glance at the Oscar glinting on the little table beside the bed. Best Lead Actor in a Drama Film, it says. Underneath, added tonight during the party: Dieter Bravo.

"I want that too, sweetheart. Give it to me?" You blink up at him, and he folds forward, melting over you.

He wants the plug out, and you remove it. After, he licks you til you're dripping and slides inside, basking for a long moment before draping his weight down and holding you tightly to all of him.

Dieter loves connection; skin contact. For all that he's never been alone for more than a day, LA is a lonely place. The spotlight is cold.

You're warm. Cecil is warm.

Dieter barely lasts ten minutes in the end. He tears up and clutches at you and empties himself, swirling fingers over your clit until you pulse around his tender, aching length inside. You let him stay there, and he wants to weep.

The comedown is hard. He hasn't been this intoxicated in a long time, now.

The loneliness has abated. You and Cecil give him everything he doesn't have already. He has money, fame, connections, too much attention, friends who want things and friends who want clout. Two Oscars.

He finally feels like he's won.

Cecil snores loudly across the room. Dieter plays with the ends of your hair until he too, drops off. They're both going to feel like absolute dog shit tomorrow. You text the personal chef who comes on Sundays to meal prep and ask for a tray of water and breakfast to be left outside, not expecting a response. She gives none. You listen to them snore for a long moment in the dark, simply being, and finally drift off.