I Loved Being Called a Cocksucking Faggot and a Fairy

The downtown loft held the cold blue of the city in its tall windows and the warmer smell of cedar and clean skin. Grant stood just inside the door with his coat half off, twenty-eight years old and suddenly clumsy in his own body. He had been messaging Hugo for weeks on the hookup app, both of them openly gay, both of them circling the same filthy jokes until the jokes stopped feeling like jokes. Hugo was thirty-one, a graphic designer who worked from this loft and talked like he already knew what Grant's mouth was for. Tonight he had sent an address and three words, come over, and Grant had meant yes the whole walk through downtown.

Hugo shut the door. He was taller than the photos, shoulders broad under a gray henley, dark hair cropped close, a calm in his face that made Grant's pulse kick. The living room was private and spare, a long couch under the windows, a low table, no one else anywhere in the place. Just the two of them and the hush of traffic far below.

"You made it," Hugo said.

"Yeah." Grant's voice came out thinner than he wanted. He dropped the coat over a chair and stayed where he was, jeans tight across his hips, hands useless at his sides.

Hugo crossed the room without hurrying. He stopped close enough that Grant could feel the heat coming off him, close enough to smell soap and the faint bite of coffee. He did not touch yet. He looked Grant over the way a man looks at something he has already decided to take apart.

"You've been cute on that app," Hugo said. "All those messages. You like being told what you are."

Grant's throat worked. "I like the way you say things."

"Do you." Hugo's mouth tipped. He leaned in until his breath moved the hair at Grant's temple. "Then listen. You walked into my loft already wanting it, didn't you, fairy. Pretty little thing. Weeks of flirting and you still showed up blushing like you don't know you're a cocksucking faggot who came here to get used."

The words landed low and hot. Fairy. Cocksucking faggot. They should have cut. They lit him up instead. Grant's cock jerked so hard the denim dragged across the head, a visible throb that pushed the ridge of him against his zipper and would not go back down. City light slid over the front of his jeans and made the shape of him impossible to miss. Heat flooded his face. He could not hide it. He did not want to.

Hugo's eyes dropped and stayed there. "Look at that," he said, almost soft. "One sentence and you're throbbing in your jeans. Say you want more of it."

"I want more," Grant said. The admission scraped out of him and made his cock pulse again, shameless and thick against the seam.

Hugo's hand settled on the back of his neck, warm and steady, asking nothing he had not already offered. "Good. Stay right here. Let me see what those names do to you."

They stood close in the living room with almost no space left between their bodies. Hugo kept his hand at Grant's neck and let the other drift down, hovering just shy of the bulge until Grant swayed into the heat of his palm. The living room seemed to shrink around them, couch and city forgotten, nothing left but Hugo's voice and the ache pounding in Grant's jeans.

"Say it again," Grant managed.

Hugo smiled like he had been waiting all night. "You're a cocksucking faggot." The words were clear and unhurried, meant to be heard in the quiet loft. "A needy little fairy who gets hard when a man puts him in his place. Look at your face. Red all the way to your ears. You love this."

Grant's blush burned hotter. Shame and want braided so tight he could not pull them apart. His cock ached, trapped and leaking, a dark spot already warming the denim at the head. The truth sat on his tongue. He let it out before he could swallow it back.

"I love it," he said, voice rough and shaking. "I love being called those names. Cocksucking faggot. Fairy. I love it when you say them out loud. I've been getting off to the idea of you saying them to my face for weeks, and it's better than I imagined. I love it."

Hugo's eyes went dark and pleased. "There he is." He cupped Grant through the jeans, a firm press that made Grant's knees threaten to fold. "Honest little fairy. You want my cock in that pretty mouth while I keep talking, don't you."

"Yes. God, yes."

Grant did not wait to be pushed. The want dropped him. He went to his knees on the rug unprompted, the impact dull through the denim, and looked up with his face still hot and his mouth already parted. Hugo's hand stayed in his hair, resting there, not forcing.

"Please," Grant said. "Keep using the words. Don't stop. Call me that while I suck you. I need to hear it the whole time."

"Beg prettier, fairy."

"Please, Hugo. Call me your cocksucking faggot. Call me your fairy. Let me have your cock and don't take the names away. I'll be so good. I'll be filthy for you."

Hugo undid his belt with his free hand, slow enough that Grant heard every click of the buckle and every tooth of the zipper. Grant reached up and fished Hugo's cock out himself, impatient and greedy, shoving the open fly aside. It was thick, heavy in his fist, the head already slick, veins standing along the shaft. The weight of it made his mouth water so fast he had to swallow or drool on the rug.

"Open," Hugo said.

Grant opened. He took the swollen head onto his tongue and groaned at the salt, then pushed down, sloppy on purpose, spit slicking his lips and shining on Hugo's skin. He sucked with eager, messy enthusiasm, cheeks hollowing, drool spilling over his chin and onto Hugo's balls when he went deep and came back up gasping. His own cock throbbed untouched in his jeans. Every wet sound felt like proof he had been right to come here.

"That's it," Hugo said, voice lower. "Look at my fairy on his knees. Filthy little cocksucking faggot, drooling all over me like you were built for it. Suck. Don't you dare get shy now."

Grant moaned around him and took him deeper, eyes wet, blissed and burning, sucking like the names were a fist around his own cock.

Hugo's grip tightened in Grant's hair, a question until Grant pushed his mouth down harder, hungry and sure. Then Hugo stopped being careful.

He fucked Grant's face hard, deep steady strokes, the thick head bumping the back of Grant's throat and sliding heavy over his tongue. Spit shone on Grant's lips and strung to the shaft. Grant gagged once, opened wider, hands braced on Hugo's thighs, taking the rough pace because he wanted the wet sounds and the use. He hummed around the cock and sucked on every withdraw like he was starving.

"My favorite cocksucking faggot," Hugo said, fucking his mouth without mercy. "Pretty little fairy. On your knees with your throat full and your cock leaking in your pants. Take every inch. My favorite cocksucking faggot. My pretty little fairy. That's all you are right now."

Hugo set a harder pace, hips snapping, the thick shaft sliding over Grant's tongue again and again until spit ran freely down Grant's chin and soaked the open fly of Hugo's pants. Grant's eyes watered. He did not pull off. He relaxed his throat and took Hugo deeper, nose brushing skin, a choked grateful sound vibrating around the cock every time Hugo called him that name. The humiliation sat sweet in his chest. Each fairy made his own cock jump in his jeans. Each cocksucking faggot made him suck sloppier, messier, proud of the drool and the tears and the way he looked on his knees. He wanted Hugo to see all of it. He wanted the words to keep coming until his jaw gave out.

Grant moaned around him. The names hit harder with his lips stretched wide. He loved being called a cocksucking faggot with his mouth too full to answer except by sucking harder. Hugo held his head and used him, balls tapping his spit-slick chin, the loft full of wet sounds and Grant's broken noises whenever he got air. He looked up, eyes shining, and begged with his throat for the next thrust.

"Enough of that hole," Hugo said, pulling free. Spit snapped between them. Grant's lips were swollen, chest heaving. "Pants off. I want the rest of my fairy."

Grant shoved his jeans and briefs down and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, flushed and wet. Hugo stripped, thick cock glistening from Grant's mouth, and nodded at the couch.

"Over it. Ass up."

Grant bent over the back of the couch, the moaning twenty-eight-year-old presenting himself, back arched, ass tipped high. City light ran down his spine. Hugo spread him open. Cool air hit his hole. Then Hugo spat, a hot stripe landing on the tight rim and sliding down. He worked the spit in with two fingers, twisting him open, and Grant pushed back onto them with a greedy sound.

"You want it."

"I want it. Fuck me. Please fuck me and keep calling me names. I need your cock and the words. Both."

Hugo slicked himself with spit, lined up, and pushed in. The stretch burned sweet and huge until he was seated deep, hips flush to Grant's ass. Grant's moan went raw against the cushions. When he rocked back for more, Hugo started to pound.

Deep. Rough. Doggy-style, hands locked on Grant's hips, each thrust driving in to the root and dragging back out until Grant saw sparks. The couch creaked. Skin slapped skin. Grant pushed back greedily, meeting every stroke, hungry for the depth and for the filthy talk poured over his back.

Hugo's cock dragged over the spot inside him on every stroke and Grant's voice broke into helpless noise, high and shameless, the kind of sound he would have hidden from anyone else. Not here. Here he let it out. The loft smelled like sweat and spit and sex. Hugo's fingers dug into his hips hard enough to promise bruises Grant already knew he would touch later and smile. Each slam seated Hugo to the root, thick and unrelenting, and Grant's ass met him greedily, pushing back, taking more, chasing the filthy burn. His cock swung heavy beneath him, leaking onto the rug. His thighs shook. The degrading names landed on his bare back like hands, and every one of them made the pleasure spike sharper, meaner, better. He had never been fucked like this. He had never been spoken to like this. He did not want either to end.

"Listen to you," Hugo grunted. "Moaning like a fairy who lives for cock. My favorite cocksucking faggot, bent over and taking it. Pretty little fairy. You love getting railed while I call you what you begged to be."

"Yes, fuck, yes, call me that." Grant stroked himself, fist flying over his slick cock in time with the pounding. "More. Please, more names. Louder. Call me your cocksucking faggot. Call me your dirty fairy. Tell me I'm a hole that loves it. I love it, Hugo, I love being your cocksucking faggot, I love being your fairy, don't stop."

Hugo leaned over him, breath hot at his ear, hips never slowing. "Cocksucking faggot. Needy little fairy. Slutty fairy with his ass full. You came downtown to get used, and you're pushing back like you'll die if I stop. Say thank you."

"Thank you, I'm your cocksucking faggot, I'm your pretty little fairy, don't stop, call me worse, I want it, wreck me with it."

The names and the pounding stacked until thought failed. Grant's hand blurred on his cock, and then the pleasure crested past his fist. Hugo snarled pretty little fairy into his ear and drove in so deep the world went white. Grant's hand fell away. He did not need it. The orgasm tore out of him hands-free, ripped loose by the rough fuck and the degrading talk, cum striping the cushions in hard pulses while he sobbed and shoved back for more, still begging, voice wrecked, not to be called anything kinder.

Hugo fucked him through the clench, then pulled out with a curse. He spun Grant around. Grant dropped to his knees, dazed, face tipped up, mouth open. Hugo stroked twice and came. Thick ropes of cum shot across Grant's face, hot over his cheek, his lips, the bridge of his nose, one heavy line in his eyelashes and another on his waiting tongue.

"Cum-hungry fairy," Hugo said, voice breaking. "Look at you. Painted. My cum-hungry little fairy, wearing every drop. Take it, cocksucking faggot."

Grant held still, blinking through the mess, smiling so wide it hurt, aftershocks jerking through his spent cock while the names rang in the loft.

Still shaking from the hands-free orgasm the pounding and the names had ripped out of him, Grant stayed on his knees in the quiet, Hugo's cum warm on his face. Hugo's cock hung spent and shining. Grant leaned in and licked him clean, slow strokes from base to tip, smiling up the whole time so Hugo could see how much he meant it. He kissed the crown and let it go.

"Come here," Hugo said.

They collapsed onto the couch together, Grant's bare back against Hugo's chest, the city glowing beyond the glass. They traded lazy kisses, unhurried, tasting sweat and the softness after all that roughness. Grant's smile kept breaking against Hugo's mouth. He could not hold it back. The loft was warm now, cedar and sweat and the low hum of the city, and Grant felt wrung out and perfectly held. Hugo's arm stayed heavy around his waist, easy and sure. Hugo's mouth brushed Grant's ear.

"Good little cocksucking faggot," Hugo murmured.

Grant shivered, satisfied pleasure rolling through him so hard his toes curled. Hugo said it again, lower, and Grant shivered again at the utterance, pressing back into him.

"Fairy," Hugo added, kissing his jaw. "My pretty fairy."

"I loved it," Grant whispered. "Say it again."

Hugo did, and the words sank in and lit Grant up all over again.

He would chase the sound of those names for the rest of his life, and he would never once ask to be called anything softer.