the GREAT PATREON SMUSH
I was going to make an advertisement for this with bright colors and maybe animated sparkles but 1) I hate making ads and 2) we are all so exhausted by bright ads vying for our brain chemicals that I just don’t want to do that to you anymore!!!! I’m TIRED of things grabbing for my attention in an unending assault on my senses and I’m sure you are too!!!!!!!
if you’ve been doom-scrolling and need a break (a nice beverage, a stretch of the legs, etc.), take this as a sign to do so now. if you’ve got the energy for a little reading, though, and want to learn about my work - keep going!
ANYWAYS I’ll get to the point: ALL of my patreon benefits are now available to the lowest ($3) tier.
in fact, there ARE no other tiers anymore. they’re gone! scrunched! smunshed! stirred up all together into one big super tier soup of everything I offer now and will offer in the future!
everyone now gets:
over 100 4k desktop wallpapers
early access/wips
25% discounts on prints
livestream voice chat
art votes & art suggestions
commission slots
and access to the Art Grotto discord, a friendly and chill server with a small community of creative folks. we share art, writing, pets, memes, and also come up with fun art ideas together! 🌈
why am I smushing the tiers and giving up the higher pledge amounts?!
because capitalism sucks, we’re in a recession, and I’m lucky enough to have a full-time job that allows me to make art without being reliant on Patreon income. anyone who has sat in on one of my livestreams knows that I try to be a calming force in an often-chaotic world, and that I’m always looking for ways to make art more accessible to everyone. I want my Patreon to be a place where I can give back to those who are supporting me in this mission!
this tier smush is just the start of how I hope to transform this space! I have a bunch of fun ideas about stuff I want to do in the future, so keep an eye out for more announcements like this 👁
that’s all!!!! thank you if you’ve read this far, and here’s the link to the Patreon if any of this interested you!
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Kinktober Day 9: Fingering
no warnings.
People were filing into the reception area by the dozens, talking and giggling and drinking, completely unaware of where Barry and Rafe had run off to.
The marble countertop was digging into the small of Rafe's back, white dress shirt clinging to his tacky skin as Barry nipped at his bottom lip.
Music floated in from outside the spacious bathroom, obscuring the sounds of panting and hushed conversation from within. Barry had all but dragged his boy down the grand staircase and shoved him inside the stark white room, doing a rushed sweep before locking them inside.
Rafe hadn't understood the hurry then—and he's even more confused now.
Heated kisses are trailed down his throat as rough hands yank open his belt carelessly, pulling the rich leather from its loops before dropping it on the counter.
"Wait," gasps Rafe, brows creased as he grasps his man's broad shoulders. "Shouldn't we—'
Whatever suggestion was about to fall from the boys slack lips is long forgotten when Barry's hand weasels inside of his pants to wrap around his embarrassingly hard dick, all worked up from being in close proximity to his husband.
Barry says breathlessly, like he's the one being touched, "Fuck, just need ya' ready, aight? We'll go out in'a minute."
"Ready for what?" whimpers the kook.
"Me, country club," clarifies Barry, swiping the pad of his thumb over the oozing slit, smearing slick around the cockhead. "By the time we make it to the resort, don't wanna be sidetracked and shit."
With his free hand, Barry's skilled fingers pop open the button and pull down the zipper of the slacks, shoving them down Rafe's hips impatiently.
The boys mind is racing as he tries to pick apart his jumbled thoughts, searching for the question itching at the back of his brain. There's something they need to be doing, but it's hard to remember what when Barry's fondling his balls.
"Turn around," orders Barry.
Rafe dumbly replies, "Huh?"
Instead of repeating himself to the scatterbrained boy, Barry maneuvers Rafe around to face the large mirror, white overhead lights catching on the beads of sweat collecting on the kooks brow.
Barry softly comments, "Pretty boy," while smoothing a rough palm over the curve of his ass before giving it a sharp swat.
"Barry," hisses Rafe.
"Sorry," the man replies with a grin, gold tooth glinting in his reflection. "Sorry, baby." Then he's pressing a kiss behind Rafe's ear and confessing, "Can't help myself, look so damn good."
Footsteps approach from down the long hall outside and Rafe's lips come together in a thin line, suddenly overly aware of where they are and what they're doing.
Rafe mumbles, "We need to go out before people come looking."
Like Ward. Or Topper, maybe Sarah because she's nosy—then of course Wheezie would be trailing behind. Fuck.
The thought sends a shutter throughout his body but Barry is quick to shush his worries, noisily spitting onto thick fingers while telling Rafe, "We'll tell 'em you were fixin' your hair again, they'd believe me."
Before the boy can make a quip like sorry, not everyone can just shower and step out with perfect little curls, the words die on his tongue as the blunt tip of Barry's index finger sinks inside him.
Rafe's hands catch and curl around the edge of the counter as he mindlessly bends, spreading his legs a little further apart. One finger is a barely there stretch, yet it has him panting in anticipation for more, blue eyes flickering up to meet his mans in the mirror.
"There you go," mutters Barry encouragingly, hungry gaze roaming over the boys flushed face.
Spit eases the glide when Barry pulls out and fucks two thick fingers back in, effortlessly curling to brush over the tiny bundle of nerves that has Rafe violently bucking forward with a loud moan.
Barry warns, "Quiet, country club," which has Rafe whining. "I know, baby, but we'll have to stop."
Sucking his bottom lip, Rafe gives a weak nod before rocking back on the prodding fingers, giving Barry a silent go ahead. Without a moment of hesitation, the older man thrusts in with perfect precision, nailing the kooks prostate on each inward stroke.
And Rafe really, really tries to keep his mouth shut but then three fingers are stretching him open and it's too much, has him tossing his head back and moaning brazenly.
"Shut up," demands Barry, but his ministrations only increase in speed. "Slutty mouth gonna get us caught."
Rafe whimpers, "Don't stop," as a tight coil of heat steadily pools in his belly, untouched cock throbbing between his legs.
Barry's sizeable erection is a hard line against the kooks bare hip, expensive material of the black slacks stretched tight. Rafe has enough mind to know he should give into the impulse to beg for his husband's dick inside him, the thought of being split open has him squirming against the counter, desire growing tenfold.
Letting out a shuttering breath, Rafe pleads, "Barry, please—"
And all the pleasure ceases immediately.
Rafe watches in shocked horror as Barry rights himself, leaving the younger man's body empty and aching for release.
"Nah," the older man says with a shrug, reaching around Rafe to turn on the tap and wash his hands. "Not yet."
"Not..." Rafe trails off, face scrunched up. "Not yet? What? Barry."
Barry reprimands the tone with, "No whinin', country club. You ain't comin' unless you're on my cock and I ain't comin' unless I'm inside you, and we ain't fuckin' unless we're on that big ass bed we paid a fortune to fuck on."
Sure hands reach down to yank Rafe's pants up and even help loop the belt back in place, dark eyes trained on the task while completely ignoring the menacing look directed at him in the mirror.
"You can't—" a frustrated Rafe starts to say, wriggling against his man's affectionate hold. "That's not fair."
"Sure it is, told ya' I just wanted you opened up for me," counters Barry.
And yeah, that is what he said, Rafe realises with an annoyed huff. His cock is flagging and his heart isn't pounding in his ears, which is probably a good thing given their location. Now that Rafe isn't teetering on the edge of orgasm, he can admit a random bathroom in the country club isn't the place he wants to consummate their marriage.
Entwining their fingers, Barry brings Rafe's hand up to kiss his knuckles before checking the time.
"We better head out, baby boy, 'fore they send a fuckin' search party."
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