Robbie crawls onto the bed and turns over to face Lance, finding him already on the bed and moving, walking on his knees into the space between Robbie’s spread legs. Their eyes meet, and Robbie swallows.
His hands are already reaching for Lance; he makes them a cage around Lance’s lean hips and his forefingers brush together low on Lance’s waist, easily spanning his slender torso. Robbie’s so hard that he hurts.
Lance’s blue eyes are stormy, his skin flushed as his hands slide up Robbie’s thighs. Lance’s gaze drops to where the tip of Robbie’s cock is protruding past the waistband of his briefs, desperate. He licks his lips, and Robbie’s stomach clenches like he could come apart just from the way Lance is looking at him.
“Let me,” Lance murmurs, slowly bending over until he’s on his hands and knees over Robbie. He nudges Robbie’s cheek, guiding Robbie into tilting his head, and then kisses him again. Robbie kissed Lance before and was kissed back; now, Lance is in the lead, and the act feels different. Fiercer, deeper. Lance presses their lips together before guiding Robbie’s apart, and then he touches the roof of his mouth with a clever tongue. Imagining that skilled mouth at work elsewhere on his body has Robbie’s hips jerking, seeking contact.
Lance notices, of course, and with a satisfied purr, he lowers himself into the cradle of Robbie’s thighs and rolls his narrow hips flush against Robbie’s. What felt good when they were both standing up is excruciatingly perfect when Lance can bear half his body weight against Robbie, rocking into him with incredible pressure.
Robbie has to gasp, which breaks their kiss. Lance meets his eyes, smirks, and lowers his head again. This time, he skips Robbie’s mouth and begins to kiss his way down Robbie’s chest, then farther down, with unmistakable intent. Robbie’s breath hitches, and he tenses. Lance freezes and looks up at him, a flash of fear in his expression. Fear of what, Robbie can only guess—but still, he thinks his guess is pretty good.
“I want you to,” he rushes to say; in fact, his cock is objecting intensely to the fact that he’s interrupted Lance on what was obviously a path toward putting his mouth around Robbie’s throbbing cock. “But first, I want to look at you,” Robbie says. “Please.” He takes two handfuls of Lance’s borrowed shirt and tugs communicatively.
Lance’s expression eases somewhat, but he still looks nervous. He flashes a tense smile, kneeling up and stripping off his shirt—revealing all of that long, narrow, beautifully angular body to Robbie. The last time Robbie got a glimpse was torture—this time, it’s a revelation, because Robbie is allowed to touch. Or at least, he thinks so? He finds his hands hovering an inch away from Lance’s waist until Lance smiles again in silent permission. Then, Robbie strokes him from his ribs to his underarms, which makes Lance squirm and laugh, and then he trails his hands down the planes of Lance’s pectorals and abs, which makes him shiver. Below that, Robbie cups the rigid bulge of his cock and then the softer heft of his balls, and his head spins. He knows that he’s discovering something in this moment that, now, he’ll always crave.
“Off,” Robbie murmurs, meaning the boxers, and Lance seems to agree that they need to go. He gets out of them with impressive coordination for someone on his knees in the middle of a soft mattress, balancing himself on Robbie’s thigh, and just like that, his long, pink, erect cock is in view, the skin of his sack a darker shade, liberally dusted in light gold hair. His thighs are so long and lean, if Robbie saw them in a photograph, he’d suspect they were digitally enhanced.
“You’re stunning,” Robbie breathes. “You are so beautiful.”
Lance inhales like he might argue. Robbie sits up, takes him by the back of his neck, and kisses him quiet. Lance’s cock slides against Robbie’s stomach, and he sighs against Robbie’s mouth.
“I want to take care of you,” Robbie says when they break apart. He holds Lance’s face and kisses his jaw, his chin. “Will you tell me what you like?”
“Anything,” Lance says at once. “Anything you—anything you want to do, I’ll like it.” He makes a noise like a plea when Robbie slips his hand between them and takes hold of his shaft. The feel of him in Robbie’s hand is heady…something both like and nothing like holding himself. Robbie does know the mechanics of cocks, though, he reasons, and tries a twist and pressure that he would appreciate if he took himself in hand, closely observing Lance’s reaction.
Lance bucks against him and says, “Fuck!”
Encouraged, Robbie does it again, with similar results.
But he wants to do more than just give Lance a handjob fifteen seconds after he’s undressed. So, he reluctantly lets go of that incredible, hot length that he intends to get to know much better and takes Lance by the waist, flipping him onto his back and reversing their positions. Lance peering up at him in surprise from the pillows is a sinful sight. But Robbie is unrepentant, bending his head to Lance’s long, pale throat and wondering what it is about Lance’s neck that makes him want to lick and bite every inch. He’s never had this kind of fetish before. At first, it was about smelling the lingering residue of the soap on Lance’s skin, and while that is still making him more than a little wild, he also has an almost primal urge to bite and claim.
Lance, apparently noticing, laughs lowly. “You’re such a—ahhh—vampire.”
Robbie rakes his teeth over Lance’s pulse point and pauses. “Do you mind?” He’s not particularly worried about how Lance might answer, based on the needy noises he’s been making every time Robbie’s tongue or teeth or beard touch him between his chin and his sternum.
“No,” Lance assures him. “Just be careful. I have to go to court in a couple of days, remember?”
Robbie pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Lance’s shoulders, and they look at each other. The charge between them is still there, but it’s momentarily suspended by the reminder of everything beyond this hayloft. Into that brief but heavy silence, Robbie says slowly, “There’s a lot we should talk about.”
Lance’s pupils are so blown that they’ve chased the blue of his irises to nothing but a rim of color, itself dark as a midnight sky. “We should talk,” he agrees weakly.
Robbie looks down at him, those questions he’s been pushing back feeling too far away to concern himself with. He knows this is a trick of his body, his speeding pulse; he knows he’s not thinking clearly.
And still, he thinks clearly, Fuck talking, and lowers his mouth down again, this time just skimming the reddened skin of Lance’s tantalizing throat before he’s pressing his open mouth over Lance’s left nipple instead.
Lance jerks and twists, his hand suddenly buried in Robbie’s hair, holding him in place with surprising strength. It only lasts a moment, and then Lance swears and loosens his hold.
“Sorry, fuck, but…fuck.”
Robbie interrupts his apologies by circling the bit of soft skin until it forms a tiny, hard peak, until Lance is clutching his head again in the same way, which Robbie is happy to encourage.
It takes him a minute of shifting his weight to arrange himself so that he can accomplish it, teasing Lance’s nipple all the while, but he angles his arm and grips Lance’s cock again, rubbing his thumb over the precum-slicked head, mimicking the movements and rhythm of his tongue until Lance is leaking copiously and pulling Robbie’s hair, making his eyes sting. Robbie loves it. He loves the abandon in Lance, loves the helpless way he’s toppled over by pleasure. Pleasure Robbie is giving him. Care Robbie is giving him. He stretches his legs further out behind him so that he can grind his own desperate hardness against the rumpled bedclothes, and then, summoning his courage and hoping he isn’t about to become Lance’s most disappointing lover ever, he lifts his head from Lance’s chest, pushes himself the crucial foot further south, holds Lance firmly by the base of his cock, and adds his mouth.
Lance’s cock is long, but Robbie’s hands are big. Big enough that he can take Lance in until his lips meet his hand, enveloping Lance from root to tip. Robbie is so eager that the urge to gag at the feeling of a cock at the entrance to his throat doesn’t stop him. He keeps going, having received enough blowjobs in his life, and fantasized about twice that many, to have a list of things he’s always wanted to try on someone else. Lance is delightfully responsive the entire time, shaking and writhing. And when he’s gotten Lance thoroughly wet, Robbie pauses to stroke him a few times.
“Robbie,” Lance says in a strained voice, pushing Robbie’s hair back as he lifts his head. The smell of male arousal and warm, intimate male skin—that should be familiar, but it’s heady, new when it’s not just Robbie, but Lance. The two of them together.
“What, sweetheart?” Robbie asks, the endearment slipping out. He hears it, and a thread of worry that Lance might not like it stabs at him, but Lance smiles down the line of his body, tucks his lower lip over his bottom teeth, and bites down. Robbie wants to kiss him again, but he stays between his legs for now, well-aware that that’s where he’s needed most at the moment.
“If you keep going,” Lance begins, and then cuts himself off with a gasp as Robbie licks down his shaft and nuzzles in fascination at his balls, wondering if getting both of them in his mouth would be as easy as it looks in porn, “you’re going to make me come.”
Robbie smiles up at him. “Isn’t that the point?” he asks, and puts his mouth on Lance’s cock again, this time trying to take him a little deeper.
True to his word, Lance comes about thirty seconds after Robbie resumes his fast rhythm of stroking and suction. He pulls back so that the cum lands on his tongue instead of his throat, which isn’t as distasteful as he’d expected—especially when it’s accompanied by Lance’s hoarse cry. Robbie feels his heart swell in his chest like he’s just done something worthy of the highest praise, and he slips a hand past his own stomach and finishes himself off in a matter of moments, his forehead against Lance’s thigh.
As Robbie drifts down from his orgasm, Lance strokes his hair. There’s a fleck of cum that must have escaped Robbie’s mouth on Lance’s hip bone, and a cooling, sticky mess in the cup of Robbie’s hand, still tucked under his body. Lance’s thigh is also just as lean and hard as it looks. The position isn’t exactly comfortable, and at the same time, Robbie doesn’t ever want to move.
But.
“Stay right there,” he tells Lance, and then he kisses his knee and gets out of the bed before he can change his mind. The hayloft feels horribly cold after leaving that sex-heated nest, even though Robbie is somehow still wearing his shirt and jeans and boxers, and even his socks. He washes his hands in the bathroom, then runs warm water over an old washcloth that doesn’t have any obvious stains. Still, while he’s never noticed before, it practically has bristles, the pile is so rough. He makes a mental note—new towels—and buttons his jeans and hurries back.
Lance is sitting up, but he hasn’t pulled the blanket around himself. He’s looking out the window at the snow coming down. Robbie’s steps slow, because if someone were here with a camera right now, he knows this image would wind up at the top of those search results he couldn’t stop himself from pulling up earlier.
He slides back into the bed and, suddenly shy, hesitates for a moment before putting his hand on Lance’s shoulder.
Lance turns to him with an uncertain smile that Robbie instantly wants to banish, so he leans in and kisses him. He never wants Lance to have to doubt how grateful, how eager, Robbie is to have the gift of touching him, kissing him. He gently dabs the spot of cum off Lance’s hip, then eases closer, his arm going around him.
“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” Lance says.
“Yes,” Robbie agrees.
“And I didn’t even get to suck you off,” Lance adds, this time with what can only be called a pout.
Robbie laughs. “I wanted to.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to do it, for you, and then I couldn’t wait to come.” He meets Lance’s steady blue stare. “You were so sexy. I loved doing it. I hope it was…?”
Lance’s grin is immediate, the warmth in his eyes unmistakably sincere. “It was perfect.”
Robbie smiles, kisses his shoulder, and then arranges himself against the headboard behind Lance, pulling him back between his legs before arranging the blankets over him. Lance’s hard back against his chest and Lance’s ass between his thighs is giving him all kinds of ideas, but somehow even more distracting is the easy access he now has to Lance’s neck, and how he can brush his nose through his hair, and how Lance’s arms lie over his, their fingers threading together upon Robbie’s knees.
“I need to tell you something,” Robbie murmurs against Lance’s shoulder. “I looked up your name on my phone,” he confesses in a rush.
But Lance just twists around to look at him and grins. “Finally. I’m kind of offended you hadn’t done it already.”
Robbie snorts. “Why? Have you searched for me?” The idea of anyone thinking there’s anything about Robbie to be found on the internet seems comical. But to his dismay, Lance is nodding shyly.
“Yeah. I never found anything. Well, one time I saw your name on some approval list of BLM subcontractors. I didn’t really know what I was seeing at the time. I guess I do now.” He shifts against Robbie, leaning back so his head rests on Robbie’s shoulder. “It wasn’t what I wanted, though.”
Thinking of the pictures has made Robbie hot all over. Especially now that he’s holding in his arms their untouchable, forbidden subject. He can’t help sliding his hand down the center of Lance’s chest toward his navel.
“What did you want? Did you think you’d find a picture of me?”
Lance nods his head.
Robbie smiles. “I couldn’t compete with yours. Did you really want to see me standing naked by a lighthouse?”
Lance laughs. “That one? Ugh, that one is so cliche.”
“You look amazing in it,” Robbie says earnestly. “I didn’t look at it for long enough. I’ll have to study it more later.”
Lance laughs again, but more breathily. Possibly, he’s affected by the fact that Robbie’s hand has drifted lower, between his legs.
“Maybe you wanted to see me tied up with a bolt of lace.”
Lance’s response is just a sigh. Robbie smiles at the feeling of his cock filling in his hand as he gently massages the shaft, thick even in repose, and tugs on his heavy balls. Definitely a mouthful, but he’s sure, now, that he could manage both. The idea makes him salivate more than a steak dinner ever could.
“I liked that one.” He pushes his nose against the spot where Lance marked himself with the soap, but the scent is lost for now. He only smells salt and Lance, and maybe an undercurrent of cum, which is undeniably in the air.
“You like me when I’m pretty?” Lance asks, sounding breathless, and Robbie’s cock is quickly hardening again, pressed against the perfect ass that’s nestled against him.
“Yes,” he admits.
Lance leans his head far to the side, presenting his neck again, like an offering, and Robbie is helpless to do anything but bend and suck on the white skin there, tonguing a fine blue vein as he, unbelievably, starts getting hard again—something that hasn’t happened to him in such close succession since…ever.
“That’s why you brought me that nice soap. You want me to smell pretty. You want me in lace. Maybe panties. What about stockings, would you—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lance interrupts himself with a string of hissed curses as Robbie, acting purely on instinct, pushes his hand past his balls and probes the hot, lightly-furred skin around his asshole. Lance groans like it’s his cock there and not just his fingertip, and Robbie, head full of a reel of fantasies, contains himself to just stroking, pressing. Knowing he is miserably lacking required knowledge to do more than that.
Then, Lance’s hand covers his and guides him. Lance’s fingertip pushes Robbie’s deftly against Lance’s incredibly tight hole, the tiny ridges of skin strange and tantalizing, until the muscle yields and Robbie’s forefinger is inside him, just to the first knuckle, and dry, but it’s still an overwhelming heat and pressure, especially because Robbie is already thinking about what it would be like to have his cock where his finger is.
He makes a ragged sound against Lance’s neck. Lance has hooked his own arm around the back of his own thigh, holding himself within Robbie’s reach, holding himself open. Robbie is overcome, somewhere between tears and laughter, feeling some kind of shocked joy. He’s also perilously close to having a second orgasm in his jeans, which might be further into martyrdom than he’s willing to travel.
But before that thought can complete itself, Lance, perfect Lance, is guiding Robbie’s hand again, this time drawing it away from Lance’s body. Then, Lance turns over between Robbie’s legs like a panther, and in a show of strength that reminds Robbie that he’s earned all of those ridges of lean muscle on practically every inch of his body, he jerks back the sheets and lifts Robbie’s hips easily, divesting him quickly of his jeans and boxers, and he swallows Robbie to the root with the same kind of anticipatory noise that someone makes when they’re very hungry and presented with a meal.