Breeding His Smartass Trans Boyfriend

The dishwasher was still humming when Fabian dropped onto the couch. Thirty-five, a software architect with a tongue like a razor, he had spent the day arguing with other people's code and had exactly enough patience left for his own life. Laszlo followed with two glasses of water and the look he got when he intended to start something. Twenty-nine, a sarcastic data analyst, trans, wearing Fabian's old gray T-shirt and the kind of quiet that meant trouble. He had a pussy Fabian had learned by heart over three years of fighting and fucking, and a mouth that never learned when to quit. The apartment still smelled like the pasta they had slightly burned and eaten anyway.

"Don't," Fabian said.

"I haven't opened my mouth."

"You have the face. That face is a spreadsheet or a feeling, and I am not in the mood to be improved."

Laszlo sat anyway, thigh pressed to thigh, and shut the television off. The room held the machine and the traffic under the window. "Kids," he said. "Eventually. I've always wanted them. I'm saying it out loud so you can't pretend you didn't hear me."

It hit. They had circled the subject for months in jokes that refused to stay jokes. Fabian stared at the blank screen and felt the want move under his ribs, inconvenient and warm. "Eventually is a word people use when they want the picture and not the three a.m. screaming."

"I want both." Laszlo's chin came up, fond and mean in the same breath. "I want a kid with your terrible eyebrows and my better judgment. I want to be somebody's dad. I've wanted that for years. I am not asking you to blow up our lives on a Tuesday because the rent cleared. I am telling you it lives in me."

"Practicality," Fabian said, because if he went soft without a jab Laszlo would call an ambulance. "We have one bedroom. I work like a bastard. You cry at insurance commercials. You murdered a succulent and you want a person."

"The succulent was dramatic. And you love me."

"Regrettably."

"Say the other part like you mean it, architect."

Fabian looked at him. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. The T-shirt rode a hip he had bitten last week until Laszlo swore and laughed and pulled him back in. Heat climbed under the banter the way it always did, reliable and a little vicious. He loved this man in a way that made him rude about it, because tenderness without an edge would have embarrassed them both. "I love you," he said, dry as old toast. "You are also a menace. A kid with your attitude would unionize the nursery and then bill us for emotional labor."

"A kid with yours would debug the lullabies and reopen the ticket." Laszlo hooked a knee over Fabian's thigh. His voice dropped, still teasing, no longer quite a joke. "I am not saying tomorrow. I am saying I think about it. You inside me. Not pulling out. The whole stupid, impractical version. I think about it when you are being an ass at the sink."

Fabian's hand found the warm skin above Laszlo's knee and stayed, sure of its welcome. The want in Laszlo's face was not a bit. It was old, and it was his, and it made Fabian's pulse kick like a bad deploy. "You are using a baby to get fucked. That is manipulative."

"It is honest. You like honest. You hate that I am better at it than you."

"Your pull-out game is a rumor," Laszlo went on, because he never knew when to stop and never wanted to. He shifted. The T-shirt rode higher, and Fabian saw the bare curve of him, the place that went slick when they stopped pretending this was only talk. "You talk a big game about control. I bet you would last four thrusts if I told you to put a baby in me. You would fold like a cheap chair."

Fabian's laugh came out low and annoyed, which meant he was already hard. "Cute. I have a boyfriend with a smart mouth and a pussy that tries to keep me. If I wanted to knock you up, I would not negotiate with your sarcasm. I would pin you down and do it until you shut up."

Color rose in Laszlo's throat. He tried to cover it with a smirk and failed. His own pulse was a mess, heat pooling low, the fantasy arriving faster than his pride. "Big talk from a man who still asks if I came."

"I ask because I like hearing you lie badly." Fabian turned, one hand on the back of the couch, the other sliding under the T-shirt to the soft give of Laszlo's stomach. He pressed there and watched Laszlo's eyes go dark. "Right here. That is where I would put it. Fill you until it takes. Watch this flat stomach swell because I decided your mouth needed a better job than mocking me."

"You are disgusting," Laszlo said, and his hips rolled up anyway.

"You brought up kids on my couch. Say you do not want it."

"I want it." The words came fast, mean with need. "I want you to fuck a baby into me and act like it was my idea, which it was, because you are slow. It is a terrible plan. We are not ready. I do not care. Breed me anyway."

Something in Fabian went bright and mean and tender at once. He loved this man. He also wanted to ruin him in the exact way Laszlo was begging to be ruined. He caught Laszlo's wrists, pinned them above his head, and kissed him like an argument he meant to win. Laszlo kissed back harder, teeth and tongue, until the laugh broke into a sound Fabian felt in his cock. They made out like they were trying to win, shirts rucked up, hands greedy, both of them already shaking with how fast the joke had become a plan.

"Bed," Fabian said against his mouth. "I am not breeding you next to a remote."

"Romantic."

"Walk."

They stumbled, stripping as they went, kissing in the hallway like neither of them trusted the other to stay ahead. The T-shirt hit the hall floor. Fabian's shirt followed, then his pants, kicked off by a man who wrote elegant systems and undressed like a disaster. Laszlo's briefs, small and dark and already damp, caught on one ankle until Fabian yanked them free and threw them at the dresser. By the time Laszlo's back hit the mattress he was bare, flushed, thighs open, pussy shining in the low lamp. Fabian looked at him for one mean second. Thirty-five and wrecked. His boyfriend, twenty-nine, smirking even while he dripped.

"Staring like you invented it," Laszlo said, and spread wider, a challenge and an invitation in the same shift of his hips.

"About to use it." Fabian climbed on, pinned his wrists again, and kissed the smirk dead. Then he let go, shoved those thighs apart, and went down.

The first lick was slow on purpose, a flat stroke through the wet mess of him up to the hard little cock that twitched when Fabian sucked it. Laszlo swore and grabbed the sheet. Fabian did it again, then sealed his mouth over that slick pussy and ate like he had a point to prove. He growled against him so the vibration went filthy and deep, and came up just far enough to talk with his mouth still wet.

"Soaked because I said I would knock you up. This pussy knows what it is for."

"Winning arguments," Laszlo gasped, already failing at it.

"Taking my cum." Fabian pushed two fingers in, curled them, and watched Laszlo's stomach jump under his free hand. "Deep. Hold it. Get bred. You want a kid so bad you brought it up between leftover pasta and the news. I am going to fuck one into you. I am going to pump this smartass cunt full until your body does what I tell it."

Laszlo's laugh cracked into a moan. His hands fisted in Fabian's hair, not to stop him, to keep him there. "Then stop narrating and eat me. Get me sloppy. I want to feel stupid."

Fabian obliged. He licked and sucked and fingered until Laszlo was shaking, thighs clamped around his ears, voice gone high and vicious, still trying to give orders while he fell apart. "Don't stop. Right there, you bastard, right there—"

He came with a sharp cry, pussy clenching around Fabian's fingers, wetness flooding his mouth. Fabian licked him through it, greedy, then crawled up and kissed him so Laszlo could taste himself. Laszlo bit his lip and grinned, wrecked and still trying to win. "That all you got?"

"No." Fabian lined his cock up against that soaked entrance and held there until Laszlo's hips chased it. "Ask better than fuck me."

Laszlo's eyes flashed, furious and hot, and he hooked a leg around Fabian's waist like he meant to drag the answer out of him. "Breed me. Fill my pussy and don't pull out. I want your cum in my womb. Knock up your smartass boyfriend and live with it. Please, Fabian. Please fuck a baby into me."

Fabian sank in to the hilt in one mean stroke.

Laszlo's back bowed. The stretch was thick and familiar and overwhelming, and he took it with a broken sound that was half laugh and half plea. Fabian braced a forearm by his head, caught one thigh, and fucked him in long, heavy strokes that shoved the air out of him. Missionary. Pinned. Mouth close enough to talk, body open, nowhere to go but onto the cock ruining him. Laszlo met him anyway, heels in his ass, trying to set the pace and losing.

"Feel that?" Fabian said against his mouth. "That is me deciding. Every thrust puts it deeper. You are going to take every drop. I am going to come in this pussy until it is useless for anything but holding my load."

"Harder. I want it messy. I want to leak you for a day and still be full." Laszlo clawed at his back, dragging him deeper. "Talk. Tell me what you are doing to me. Don't get shy now."

"I am breeding you." Fabian snapped his hips. The wet sound was obscene in the quiet room. "I am fucking your cunt like it owes me a pregnancy. This belly is going to swell. You are going to waddle around my apartment knocked up and still trying to be clever, and I am going to bend you over and add another load, because one is not enough to shut you up."

"Do it," Laszlo moaned, and the mean little smile was gone, replaced by something wrecked and certain. "It is a bad idea. It is the worst idea we have ever had. Get me pregnant anyway. Make me a mess. Make me yours in the stupidest way. I have wanted your cum where it counts."

"You are already mine." Fabian kissed him, filthy, teeth on his jaw, and fucked harder, the bed knocking the wall. "Mine to pin. Mine to fill. Mine to put a baby in. Say it."

"Yours to breed. Come in me. I want to be dripping and still begging. Please impregnate me. I need you to—"

Fabian pulled out. Laszlo snarled at the loss and tried to haul him back.

"Turn over. Ass up. Face in the pillow. I want deeper. I want to fuck it into your womb where you can feel it take."

Laszlo flipped, eager and graceless, and Fabian shoved a pillow under his hips, then covered him. Prone, pinned, weight along his back, cock sliding home in one brutal thrust that punched a shout out of Laszlo's throat. This angle was deeper. Meaner. Fabian got a hand under him, palm flat on his lower belly, and pressed so Laszlo could feel the cock moving through him against that hand.

"That is how deep I am," he growled in his ear. "That is your womb getting claimed. Smart mouth. Pretty pussy. Both of them mine. I am going to pump you full until you are sloppy with it. Multiple loads. I am not stopping at one. You asked to be bred. You are going to be bred."

"Yes. Pound me. Don't be gentle." Laszlo reached back, grabbed Fabian's thigh, and held on, pushing into every stroke like he could force the finish. "I can feel you in my stomach. Put it there. I want to be pregnant. I want your baby. I want to walk around swollen because you couldn't keep your cum out of me. Please. Please come. Breed this pussy. Knock me up. I am begging you, you smug bastard, impregnate me."

Fabian lost the thread of his own control. He fucked in short, savage strokes, buried to the hilt, and came with a groan that sounded ripped out of him. The first pulse was heavy. Then another. Thick spurts flooded Laszlo's pussy, and he did not pull out. He stayed seated and rocked, working the cum deeper, panting against Laszlo's neck.

"Take it. That is one. That is me putting a baby in you. Hold it. Don't you push it out."

Laszlo was shaking, coming again around the flood, pussy milking every spurt. "I feel you coming. So much. Stay in. I am not full enough. Breed me again. I can take another. Please, Fabian, creampie me until it sticks."

Fabian was still hard enough, the kind of hard that came from the kink more than from rest. He pulled back an inch, watched a thick string of cum leak around his cock, and shoved it back in with a wet slap. The sight undid what was left of his patience. He fucked the mess, churning his own load, and the oversensitive drag made both of them curse.

"Dripping already. Greedy hole. I am going to plug you with another one. Look at you, face in the pillow, ass up, taking it like you were built to get knocked up by me."

"I was. Come again. I want two. I want to be so full it runs down my thighs and you push it back in. Breed your boyfriend. Get this smartass pregnant. I love you, and I want your cum in my womb, and I am not taking it back."

Fabian came a second time with a broken shout, hips jammed flush, another heavy load spilling into the already flooded heat of him. He held Laszlo down and pumped through it, grinding, making sure nothing escaped that he could force back in. Laszlo sobbed his name and came with him, clenching, begging in a cracked voice to be impregnated, to be kept full, to be swollen and claimed in the exact way they had both wanted since the word kids left his mouth.

He did not pull out. He lay heavy on Laszlo's back, cock still buried in the cum-slick clutch of him, and lazily ground, small circles that stirred the mess and made Laszlo whimper. The lamp hummed. Their breathing slowed. Sweat cooled. The fantasy they had committed to sat between them, reckless and bright, and neither of them took a word of it back.

"Still in you," Fabian murmured, filthy and almost sweet. "Still plugging my load where it belongs. Your belly is going to swell. I am going to watch it. I am going to fuck you like this until there is no arguing with the evidence."

"Terrible plan," Laszlo said into the pillow, hoarse and fond and still a little mean. "We are not ready. It is not the best idea we have ever had. You are going to be an unbearable father."

"You started it on my couch."

"You finished it. Twice. Show-off." Laszlo found Fabian's hand on his stomach and pressed it harder. "Leave it in. I can feel it moving. Your stamina is a rumor and your eyebrows are a crime, and if you pull out I will never let you hear the end of it."

Fabian laughed against his shoulder and obeyed, slow and deep, whispering about a round belly and a smart mouth finally occupied with something other than winning. Laszlo insulted his timing, his romance, his habit of being right, and then moaned when a fresh trickle of cum shifted inside him. Sleep tugged. Fabian's weight was a blanket. They were tangled, buzzing, already halfway gone, when Laszlo turned his face just enough to be heard.

"You really going to breed me again before I can walk?"