let it snow! | dorbyn

TWENTY FOUR

smut warning! like throughout the entire chapter! this is your only warning! enjoy 3000 words of smut! fluff will come back next chapter! goodbye!🤍

december 24th

"did you spike the coquito?" daniel asked with a wince, but drank more because alcohol!

"maybe." corbyn said with a cheeky smile, kissing his cheek. "don't blame me. blame your cute self for being all touchy feely when you're tipsy."

"oh so you just want me to feel up on you, that's it?"

"mhm." he kissed him. "i know you get all squirmy when you're drunk and in desperate need to fuck."

"you know," daniel took another sip. "if you want me to fuck you, all you gotta do is ask."

corbyn grinned, bringing the glass back up to daniel's lips. "yeah... but wheres the fun in that?"

❄︎

daniel was overheating under the blanket corbyn draped over them. his mind was still foggy from the alcohol he consumed, and shit. corbyn was right. he was feeling the need to touch his smaller boyfriend.

the seavey family had their eyes trained on the television since they agreed on having a christmas movie marathon. daniel and corbyn were seated on the loveseat, daniel seated between corbyn's legs, his back against his chest.

corbyn's hand slipped under daniel's shirt, trailing up and down his abs, dragging his nails across his skin. he moved his hand up up up to the small bud on his chest, barely gazing over it. daniel whimpered, giving a small arch of his back. "this isn't fair." he whispered, resting his head on corbyn's shoulder. "and you're acting very dominant. i don't like it."

"believe me, i'm not. still very much a bottom." he kissed his cheek, giving his nipple a small squeeze. "but i like teasing you. it's fun."

"'s not fun. at all." he sucked in a breath. "bug-"

corbyn freed his hand from underneath his shirt when jeff stood up, probably to use the restroom. daniel dug his nails into corbyn's thigh, absolutely hating his older boyfriend.

"it's hot." daniel whispered, grabbing onto his water bottle. he pressed the cool metal against his neck, desperately wishing he could just take corbyn upstairs and make him scream but he can't. unfortunately.

he felt his cheeks heat up when jeff sat back down. god he was doing this right in front of his family.

"i know what you're thinking." corbyn whispered in his ear. "how much you want to take me upstairs, fuck me 'til i can't walk.. right? or do you wanna fuck me 'til i scream. or both. i know you have such a hard time picking, 'specially when you're all tipsy—"

"i have to go to the bathroom." he interrupted corbyn, patting his knee. he stumbled out of the too warm blanket and practically dashed to the bathroom. he leaned on the sink. fuck corbyn, honestly.

and he knows corbyn wouldn't let him do shit when he isn't 100 percent sober. so he has to wait until he can manage to walk in a straight line before doing anything.

(same goes for corbyn. if neither of them can say their safe word or do their tap out in under three seconds because they're tipsy or drunk, no sex. absolutely none until the alcohol cleared their system.)