The Last Debauch

[If you're not following the story, the context here is that Cole just lost an important physical fight on purpose to a person he hates and who knows a lot of his secrets, including about his sexual past, in part because that hated person threatened to reveal his secrets. Hal is one of many casual lovers of Cole and perhaps has lasted the longest, and is unfortunately in love with him though aware of the many casual lovers situation]

Cole had one of Hal’s legs up over his shoulder, the other at his side, knees cushioned from the rough stone floor by the mat they had stolen from a nearby supply closet. His dick was pleasantly deep – pleasantly on all accounts – pleasant for Hal, pleasant for him,

and yet.

If he stretched a little more gingerly he could push Hal’s leg further up, give more weight, more depth. If he did that gingerly and then sped up gradually he could have more satisfying force to his fucking, feel more his own effect on the body beneath him.

He knew he could do all that and it just deflated him.

Not his cock – he kept that hard – frankly losing his strength on that front might do irreversible damage to them both.

Hal liked to be fucked. Cole liked fucking him. Hal had obligingly opened his mouth – he still struggled with his throat – and prepared everything. Cole had, of course, performed the necessary seductions – flattered, kissed, caressed, even pinched Hal’s balls in that particular way he liked and promised to beat him off after he was done, should what he was doing not satisfy – half the doing for Hal was the talking about it, so it was a promise easily made.

That was another thing – Hall was satisfied. Satisfactory. He had oohed at the bruises on Cole’s body from the last Cogadh match and decried the violence and lamented the loss and stopped short of any untoward or unwarranted criticism of anyone involved, but he wanted too much to be fucked to do much else so it was all rather empty pleasantry.

That was why Cole was here, testing the depths he could reach in a disused corner where they were unlikely to be stumbled upon at this time of day, out of the rain that soaked the cuffs of their pants and muddied their boots and made outside fucking an unappealing option. Hal wanted to be fucked, Cole wanted to fuck someone, and he was still too... fragile – was it fragility? Where did the weakness come from? He didn’t like that word for it, but it felt tender to the touch when he thought of it –

He was too fragile to think of securing a less certain partner.

But he was trying to please his partner.

“Here – turn,” Cole said.

They didn’t have to elaborate much between each other. Hal signalled some disappointment with losing the current sensation, but took his leg down and turned as asked, and Cole was presented with a new vista: Hal on all fours, glancing back expectantly, bracing for what would probably be a hard fucking.

Cock in hand, Cole reviewed, running his hand over the skin of ass, thigh, and back, trying to keep himself enticed. He was enticed. He wanted so desperately to fuck someone.

He made up for the change in positions by sliding himself in slowly, lingering deep, pulling Hal’s body back as he pulled out to extend the feeling of the gesture before he drove himself in again. He would control the motion, make it smooth, let Hal build up a rhythm so it wasn’t just Cole slamming into him but both of them working together to make him strike true.

Cole wasn’t sure he would come.

It didn’t feel like it right now. Pleasure was happening in all the right places but his mind was wandering.

This was new. Unpleasant. He didn’t like to think very much when fucking.

He thought about letting Hal fuck him and rejected the thought before it finished.

He didn’t let that many people fuck him, and didn’t seek it out that often. Most weren’t good at it. He was particular. It was not only undignified but tiresome the way he had to guide, and teach, and feel just the right things in just the right places. It made him seem fussy and he didn’t want to seem fussy.

He wanted to come.

Hal could do a fine job his mouth – most anyone could if they willing to learn – but if he didn’t come then it wouldn’t exactly be something he could keep secret.

It wasn’t like being unhappy could keep him from coming. It wasn’t like he required an insane amount of pleasure to come.

It was that he wasn’t really thinking about coming, but about all the peripheral effects he wanted from coming. That didn’t seem to be doing it for him right now.

Which was astounding. Hal was a dream; he fit, smooth and tight. He took, all and everything. He sighed and moaned and praised. He bent and moved and required no cajoling. It wasn’t Hal’s fault he wasn’t feeling up to it.

Then whose fault was it?

“Hold tight,” Cole demanded, leaning down from his upright kneeling position so that Hal could grasp his wrist, one arm draped over Hal’s shoulder.

Hal clasped and Cole grunted. Hal clasped harder and Cole opened his mouth to sigh, feeling an extra degree of release.

“Too tense?” Hal asked, casting a glance over his shoulder, admirably still for how Cole was thrusting his body forward.

“More?” Hal asked, and apparently took as answer the way Cole closed his eyes. As much as he didn’t want to have to say anything, Cole didn’t really want to see anything.

This was another good thing about Hal.

Hal dug his fingers into the soft spaces between ligaments on the underside of Cole’s forearm and felt the way Cole rose to fill him more thoroughly. At the next convenient thrust and withdrawal he pushed back, holding the arm he had trapped against his shoulder, forcing Cole back to sit on his heels. Hal reached back and drew Cole’s other arm up over his other shoulder, gripped both wrists tightly, and pushed himself down into Cole’s lap.

Cole breathed a word of gratitude, digging his fingers into Hal’s shoulders in a way that was surely painful, though he gave no indication. Instead Hal obliged the pulling gesture by rolling his hips back, moving Cole within him without drawing away.

A few more strokes like this and Cole could finally feel his thoughts melting away, his grip easing. He widened the stance of his folded knees and Hal widened his to meet them, moving up Cole’s thighs and farther onto his cock.

Hal was stretching himself – he liked a deep fucking but rarely let it linger this way – but seemed to know something different was called for. As Cole’s gave up the grip on his shoulders, Hal took Cole’s arms down, looped them under his own, and laid them across his chest. Cole now had a firm cross grip on his shoulders, their bodies pressed close, Hal’s hips rocking Cole’s cock within him.

This was perfect. Cole no longer cared if Hal liked what he was doing. He tightened his hold on his shoulders again, until Hal had to struggle to move at all – but he did struggle, Cole’s entire length held tight inside him, sweat building between them as skin rubbed skin. Cole’s face pressed against Hal’s back, breath hot on his spine, and he felt himself build that necessary heat, that painful, pleasurable knot...

He dropped one arm down to grip Hal’s rolling hips, as if there were any more space for him to take between them, and this and a tight breath sucked in through Cole’s teeth was all the warning he was going to get.

Cole used his other arm to push Hal down and forward, with barely enough time to catch himself on his forearms. Then pulling free his legs, Cole fell on him, pressing their bodies together, roughly driving his cock up in Hal with all his weight, all the force he could muster.

If Hal objected, he didn’t really hear it. Cole was absorbed at every point of contact, of thigh against thigh, hip against ass, stomach to back, arm over arm – he held and fucked as if to rid himself of something – a dog shaking off water, a horse a rider, except he was the rider too, holding tight to keep his place. He would break himself to this – he would ride.

Hal’s body hardly mattered except that it held him. Barely, with increasing noise as he fucked, but enough.

He came.

Then he breathed against Hal’s back, feeling himself empty, gradually feeling Hal’s ribs expanding and collapsing under his grip. His arms felt stuck in their positions, like was a peeling them away, and he braced over Hal as he draw himself free.

Not his best moment, as a lover.

Hal, too, seemed creaky, moving very slowly as they drew away from one another to lie side by side on their backs on the mat, breathing heavily.

“Haha,” Hal tried to sound jovial, “that surely left some bruises.”

Cole started to apologize, then stopped himself. Was he sorry?

He was satisfied. And Hal had accepted it.

He rolled to his side and with a floating, gentle touch lifted Hal’s arm away to see angry red marks where he had gripped Hal’s hip and around his waist. He leaned over awkwardly to kiss the spots, give them a gentle touch as if that could soothe the hardness that had made them.

It was a meaningless gesture, rote and empty, and he looked at Hal who accepted the gesture, perhaps not knowing its emptiness. Perhaps he thought it was a good thing.

Perhaps he thought it was an achievement to be so pleasurable.