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It was late at night when you took your stroll, the sun having set along the horizon a couple of hours ago. The beaming sky and sweltering heat were replaced by darkness and cool, crisp air—somewhat damp and humid. The streetlights lining the area between the sandy beach and the hard concrete sliced the darkness, illuminating the sidewalk, while the beach remained in total darkness.

The once-packed businesses that lined the other side of the beach became vacant. The ambiance of people speaking, padded footsteps, and the occasional conflict ceased. You could hear your footsteps patting against the concrete and the faint, distant sounds of cars driving through Key Lento. The wind blowing caused the hanging palm trees to sway and rustle, and some sand particles from the beach dusted the sidewalk and your shoes.

Nightly strolls were the best, at times, if you avoided the more criminal and shady areas. The beach was probably the safest. You usually walked through the long stretch after working out at one of those twenty-four-hour gyms, or when you needed to get out, wanting to forget about your living situation and finances.

The sharp, salty, and fishy aroma of algae and other sources choked the air, enhanced by the cool air, which gave it a saltier, ozone-like scent. The smell didn’t bother you that much, but it was still putrid—an offense and assault to your nose. Your gaze moved to the empty, dark beach. While it wasn’t dirty per se, it wasn’t winning any of Leonida’s prizes or magazine titles as one of the state’s best beaches. Trash littered the grounds, embedded deep in the sand, but most of it has been cleaned by volunteers.

You saluted their efforts, unlike those rich bastards. They took an interest and decided to build marinas to dock their expensive yachts and boats, along with lavish resorts and homes, thereby gentrifying the area.

They always say that Key Lento was some sort of gateway to paradise, and apparently, they wanted to push the gateway further so people like you wouldn’t be allowed entry. You had a stable job, but due to the influx of wealthy individuals and real estate investment, you were barely above water. It felt like the ground was sinking beneath your feet, with your head inches away from being swallowed.

Rent and taxes were increasing, and your job wasn’t handing out promotions any time soon. The stress was getting to you, and this led to you relieving yourself with sex and walking at night. The walks did help, but sex was the ultimate relief you needed. Just the thought of dick made your pants feel tight, your dick chubbing in your underwear.

‘Shit, right now?’ you whined. You readjusted your pants, pulling at the fabric to free some space in your underwear. Thankfully, there wasn’t anybody out, otherwise you would’ve looked like a lunatic or some drug addict. You fiddle around with your pants, but it was temporary as your dick was filling the space, pushing the limits of your underwear.

Surveying the area, there weren’t many options to choose from to relieve your little predicament. The storefronts and restaurants were closed, meaning their bathrooms were as well. Then, your eyes fell on a conspicuous building in the middle of the beach. It was a sight for sore eyes, a beige brick building with a red-tiled roof and blue doors rose from the sandy expanses. It was a public bathroom and locker room. Perfect.

You didn’t hesitate, following the paved path with haste, your feet clamoring against the concrete as the beige building grew closer. Your dick bounced and throbbed, sensing that it was going to get the relief it needed. Pushing the blue door open, you were greeted with the typical public bathroom.

It was just as you expected—the metal stall doors, wide open, lined the grey-tiled walls, with urinals on the opposite side. The sinks sat beside the metal boxes with cracked, dirty mirrors; you could see rust chewing away at the metal pipes beneath the sinks. The buzzing of the light above was harsh, but it flickered and dimmed—probably needs maintenance. It kinda gave horror movie, killer vibes. Cleaning products mixed with the usual waste choked the air, another offense to your nose.

You sighed, groaning and tilting your head back. You didn’t want to be here, masturbating in some public bathroom on the beach, but you needed the privacy. It would do until you’ve dealt with your problem and return home. You peered into the various stalls, disgust visible on your face as you wondered if adult men were responsible for the mess cause there is no way a fully grown adult would do something like this.

The last two stalls were the cleanest, not as filthy as piss-stained tiled floors or shit smeared on the toilet bowl or seating—even on the stall itself. Stepping into the stall and examining the seat, you verified it was safe before closing and locking the metal door. You pulled down your pants and whipped out your throbbing cock. The piece of meat plopping out of your underwear, bouncing up and down, precum glistened your tip as it twitched with eagerness and the freedom of being out of its clothing cage.

Sitting on the seat, you gasped softly as the cold ceramic touched your ass cheeks. Your back pressed against the tank, your legs spread open and extended to the corners of the stall, as your hand wrapped around your sensitive cock. Muttering under your breath as a blooming warmth filled your body, muscles relaxing as you let your hand do the work, giving long, circular strokes.

Your breathing hitched, choking on your spit as you tapped your fingertips against the swollen tip, spreading the tiny split to show oozing precum. Using your free hand to scroll on your phone, you opened the Sniffies site—curious to see all the hot men and dicks in your area or from the nearby metropolis of Vice City. You used the site before; the easiest way to score dick and delve into some fantasy you wanted to try.

“Fuck… thats so huge.” You whined, slowing your stroking game to view the massive dick on your screen. It was 8.5 inches long with decent thickness. Looking through the profile and pictures provided, the guy was lean and cute, twenty-three years old, and straight-curious, but sadly, he was ten miles away. You would’ve loved to slobber on his dick, show him that a man knows another man’s pleasure.

Your area was a dry wasteland, drier than the Sahara Desert. Nobody was only online, but a profile piqued your interest. Not only was he the only one online, but he was surprisingly close. Clicking on the profile, there were no pictures, but information.

31m, 6’2, 215 lbs, 9” inches, muscular, dom top (breeder), straight.

‘Straight?’ you thought. It wasn’t uncommon for straight men to go onto these types of sites, wanting to have sex with men without vocally coming out to their loved ones, even going as far as to cheat on their wives, or they want to gaslight themselves into thinking that it's not gay as long as they’re not the ones being penetrated. Straight men confuse you. It's truly mind-boggling in their reasoning.

While you were deep in your thoughts, the man was coming closer. The distance was being slashed as the other guy was interested in getting his dick sucked.

Jason groped his massive bulge, squeezing his dick through his pants as he looked at your profile. The original plan was to go home and maybe pick up a hookup along the way to have a warm pussy wrap around his massive, throbbing dick. He needed some relief after nearly botching an operation and having his ass reprimanded by his employer. There were none, though, so he moved on to plan B.

He became aware of Sniffies from one of his colleagues. It was a gay hook-up site where gay and straight, even trans, men could find one another. The reason he was told this was that he wasn’t scoring any pussy and his distant, horny mind was interfering with work. He needed his balls to be drained, to have a hot mouth or pussy milk his dick. That’s when his partner suggested the site.

—

“That’s fucking gay. Why would I have another man suck me?” Jason bickered, taken aback by what was being said to him. There was no way in hell that he was going to fuck or stick his dick into another man. His dick was exclusively for pussy.

“Bro, I swear, he sucked my dick better than my girl. Plus, he gave me the feeling of anal!” the guy said, going into depth about gay sex and the sensational feeling and orgasm he experienced—the greatest bust in his life.

“Whatever, man, I’m not doing that gay shit,” Jason said, dismissing the other guy, but his dick throbbed at the thought. It's like his dick has a mind of its own; it doesn’t care if the hole or mouth belongs to a man or woman. It just wants to fuck.

“You're lost, dude.”

—

Despite being against the idea of having another man suck his dick, Jason hastily created a profile, adding some information but no pictures in case someone recognized him. He had to look up some terms used, but it wasn’t long before he was browsing the map. His neurons activated when he saw the various profiles. His dick jumped at the sight of another man’s ass, blood pumping into his massive piece of flesh as he scrolled through the man’s pictures.

Without shame, Jason dipped his hand into his pants, pushing past his underwear to stroke his dick. He walked and stroked, observing several profiles on the map, squeezing his dick and licking his lips whenever he saw ass. The filtering tool was heaven-sent, removing all the tops and showing the bottoms. Then, your profile popped up. You were the closest to him, and you were online—a green marker on the top.

“Fuck… that’s a fat ass.” Jason groans, looking up from his phone to see the approximation of your location via the map. Your profile showed you were close, inside a building on the beach. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for: a public bathroom structure.

‘Bingo’

You heard the bathroom door swing open, the hinges squeaking and producing an ear-shattering screeching sound that echoed in the empty bathroom. You jolted up, your relaxed body tensed. You sat up straight, no longer leaning against the tank as if you were in your room. Your legs closed and sprang back from the corners.

‘Why is someone here?! Is it that guy? Has to be.’ Your cock jumped at the thought of that man being here and his nine-inch dick. It has you drooling, your body physically reacting by producing saliva in anticipation of you getting your hands and mouth wrapped around it. How would it taste? How would it feel in your hands? Is he lying about his size?

The man’s heavy footsteps echoed, his shoes clicking against the tiled floors as his shadow came into view. You turned off your phone and held your breath. The stall door next to yours swung open, creating the same screeching before slamming closed. Your gaze followed his feet, and that’s when you noticed a huge hole cut out in the metal between the stalls.

‘Oh… OH’

You stumbled upon a gloryhole. This was a turn of events. You’ve seen glory holes in porn videos, but never in real life. The idea of sucking an anonymous man’s dick through a hole in the wall made your dick pump and your hole weep. Hearing the other man’s groans as you vigorously sucked and drained his dick—imagining his face twisted with pure pleasure as he pumped loads down your throat, feeding you his thick cum.

Your breathing became shallower, your hand returning to stroking as you tried to see the other side. Then a deep, masculine voice called from the other side.

“Suck my dick,” The anonymous man said. He didn’t give you time to respond before pushing his dick and balls through the hole. He wasn’t giving you an option; he was commanding you. There was no room for opposition as his dick stood tall and proud, clearly arrogant about its length and thickness. You could sense that he was a macho man from his tone, but by goodness, did his dick look appealing.

It's like you were hypnotized by it, salivating at the mouth, and your brain short-circuited and shut down as your instincts told you to suck it. Nine inches of meat and veined thickness, throbbing from the cold bathroom air and the expectation of a warm mouth sucking it. The flustered, red cockhead was leaking pearly beads of precum. Your eyes traveled down to see his dusted, heavy, egg-shaped balls.

Your night just got better.

Hastily kneeling on the bathroom floor, giving you a further close-up of this anonymous man’s massive cock. Everything about it screamed dominance and control—demanding your submission to it. Your mind is hazy with lust and need as you start to get to work on the man’s massive cock.

You gave experimental licks, dragging your wet tongue along the skin and veins. You could hear the man biting back his breathing, but that was gonna change. You moved your mouth to his heavy, sagging balls, sucking on them with vigor and with the intent to make him vocal. You wanted to hear those groans and moans, knowing that you were giving a straight man better head than his past partners or hookups.

Your head buried between his balls, his massive cock resting on your face as you serviced him. Your tongue swirled and pulled at them; you could feel how heavy and full his sack was in your mouth. You can tell he was backed up, his hot cum waiting to spurt out of his dick, eager to be milked.

As you sucked on them, a salty taste landed on your buds—must have been sweating in his pants all day. His pheromones were overwhelming, intoxicating even as your nose pressed against the source—buried deep in his sack. The musky and manly fumes are getting into your head, clouding your mind and senses.

You continued to inhale his delicious, musky scent, your eyes rolled back, making you want to stay in this position for the rest of the night. It was like you were caged by his scent, bound to kneel and suck for eternity—something you wouldn’t mind.

You continued to massage the man’s balls with your mouth, lathering them with your saliva and flicking the sacks. Your wish was granted as the man was becoming vocal. His heavy breathing and moans bounced off the walls as the straight, macho facade dropped.

“Yeah… keep sucking… f-fuck.” Jason’s breathing faltered as he let out deep, manly moans. He held onto the metal wall, amazed by how eagerly you sucked. More moans and groans choked out as you began to multitask, stroking his dick while sucking his balls. Your hand was firmly gripping and stroking his meat, a simple stroke, but you were purposefully milking him—squeezing strings of precum out of his slit and spreading it on his sensitive tip.

Jason didn’t want to admit it, but that bastard was right. This was better than anything he’s experienced before. You were a passionate and eager slut, going for his dick’s weak points. It felt like he was about to have a mind-numbing orgasm, and this was just you worshipping his nuts and stroking.

‘What would his mouth feel—’

You pulled back and didn’t wait to breathe as you wrapped your eager, wet mouth around the man’s shaft. The taste of his bitter precum hit first before subsiding as you bobbed your head up and down. Your tongue swirled and toyed with the slit, lapping and drinking the precum that oozed before shifting to the rest of his dick. You tightened your lips around his shaft, suctioning and hollowing your cheeks for better effectiveness. You could feel every ridge and vein as you took him deeper into your throat; the remaining inches were covered by your hand.

“Oh yeah,” Jason moaned, “That’s fucking good.”

“Mmmm,” you moaned back, happily taking the compliment. You were determined to rock this straight man’s world, drain his heavy balls, and give him the best earth-shattering orgasm.

You kept bobbing your head, taking as much into your mouth before stopping, cockwarming the anonymous man’s massive dick. The heavy piece of meat throbbed and gushed as it reveled in the warm, wet oral cavern. Jason felt like his dick was melting and being cooked, leading to more vocal responses and heavy breathing.

“Wish I knew you gays were this cock hungry… would’ve done this sooner,” Jason moans, his balls tightening and churning as he teeters on the brink of his orgasm. The only thing on the older man’s mind was to cum down your throat—reward you for your service with his hot, thick cum. He conjures the image of you swallowing his seed, kneeling and looking at him with your fucked out eyes.

You grinned. You had this straight man wither before you, his moans, groans, and praises filled your ears. It gave you a sense of control and dominance over him. He was like this because of you. His massive dick was hard and throbbing because of your mouth sucking the soul out of him. You were gonna have this man standing on his forefeet, toes clenching as his heavy sack was gonna be drained of his seed.

What an amazing feeling.

The feeling made your cock throb and ache. You wrapped your free hand around it and mimicked the way you were sucking. Long and deep strokes, spreading and lathering your cock with precum until it glistened in the fluorescent light. You shifted your knees to alleviate the stiffness, pulling back with a wet pop. You took deep breaths, your eyes half-lidded as you stared at the massive shaft—coated with precum and saliva, throbbing as it missed the warmth of your mouth wrapped around it.

You could hear he was disgruntled, asking with bated breaths about why you stopped and to wrap your mouth around his shaft again. You weren’t going to do that, instead opting to squeeze the flustered, swollen cockhead while mouthing and kissing the rest of his massive shaft.

“F-fuck… you love this dick, don’t you?” Jason moans. A deep, masculine laugh followed. Jason is aware of how magnificent and breathtaking his dick is. He was the whole package, physically wise: muscular, tall, and sporting a nine-inch dick—won the genetic lottery. He basked in the attention and admiration, purposefully going shirtless whenever he worked out, letting women ogle him, even men.

He didn’t mind men leering at him; he just didn’t wanna fuck them, until now.

“I do,” you replied, panting as you eagerly and desperately lick his dick before taking the shaft into your mouth. You moaned at the flavor and the heavy weight touching your tongue again. The vigor returned as you gulped and choked on every inch of the man’s shaft.

“Not gonna last much longer… be a good cocksucker… and take my seed—fuuuuuckkkk!” Jason roared out. He slammed his hips into the metal wall, pushing his dick further into your mouth as he stood on his toes. His body shook from the force, his backed-up balls unleashing weeks' worth of cum.

You could feel his dick expanding in your mouth, see his balls throbbing and tightening as he was pushed to the edge. The first shots of cum hit the back of your throat. You tried to swallow as much as you could, but your lungs were burning. You choked and pulled back, gasping for air, which soothed the burning sensation in your chest.

But the man’s dick didn’t stop cumming as his thick seed painted your face—shooting ropes of cum all over your face. After taking a couple of seconds to breathe and to reposition, you promptly took his dick back into your mouth. The flavor of his cum rammed into your taste buds as you could hear the man’s guttural moans echoing in the small space.

Even after Jason deposited his load, he was shocked to feel you continuing to bob your head. He stuttered out a weak moan, almost falling back as you squeezed his dick and balls, intending to drain the last few drops; you were sucking on it like a straw in a cold glass drink.

For three minutes, you sucked on his massive cock before pulling back, satisfied having drained a massive one. Jason’s dick lay flaccid, which still looked big despite being deflated. It was sad to see it pulled back from the hole. You could hear the rustling of clothing and hastened retreat. The stall door squeaked open with the familiar sound of shoes clicking against the tiled floor, growing farther.

“Thanks, man.”

That was the only thing the anonymous man said before leaving the bathroom. You were left in the bathroom stall, disheveled and sweaty, with your hand and the floor coated in ropes of cum. You weakly pushed yourself up, your knees flustered and ached as your skin dug into the rough tiled floor.

“Nasty, can’t believe I actually did this,” you mumbled, sitting on the toilet seat and yanking the cheap toilet paper from the holder. It was a fantasy to suck or fuck another man in public—in a discreet area, but it has the same adrenaline and risk that made your cock throb. Maybe you would’ve picked a more desirable location than a dirty bathroom on the beach, but you got to suck a massive dick.

That dick definitely and righteously earned its place as number one. The length and thickness, how it felt heavy and filled your mouth, and the flavor—you could keep sucking on it all day for the next fifty years.

But disappointingly, he was straight and most likely a one-time hookup. You should’ve expected something like this. You wiped off any remaining cum with the cheap toilet paper provided before leaving the stall to wash your hands. The room was quiet, other than the rushing sound of water going down the drain and your soft breathing.

Leaving the bathroom, you began your journey home. When you turned on your phone, the Sniffies website opened and loaded, showing you a new notification in your inbox.

“Name's Jason. Gonna need my dick sucked from now on.” The message reads, and below it was another picture of that massive dick.

Jason made you his official cocksucker.

…

It became a weekly, more like a daily occurrence.

Same bathroom and stalls, at the same time, but recently, morning and afternoon times were added. Jason was sticking his thick, massive cock through the hole, and you were quick to get your knees and worship that massive thing. Your warm mouth wrapped around it, eagerly sucking and choking as you wanted Jason to feed you his thick, creamy seed. You wanted to hear him let out those deep, manly groans as he unloads inside your mouth.

Never in a million years would Jason consider fucking another man, let alone getting his dick sucked. But after his encounter with you and how you sucked and gulped every drop of his cum down your gullet, he wanted more. Best blowjobs he’s ever received, his heavy balls being drained every day by an eager cocksucker. Your service also helped him with performance during an operation, earning praise and a bigger cut from his employer.

He was satisfied, but Jason wanted more. His dick and mind yearned for the feeling of another man’s tight ass wrapped around it. This need was further exacerbated by an extreme and fierce intake of gay porn and his partner babbling about how ass is better than pussy. You’re the best throat he’s had in years, and if your mouth is that good, he could only imagine what your ass feels like.

Your legs and cheeks spread open, your tiny rosebud eagerly waiting to be spilt. It wouldn’t be difficult to mount and fuck you into the ground. His dick leaked as he visualized the feeling and appearance of your tight anal walls clenching around his massive dick, pulling it deeper as he aggressively jackhammered your ass. He wasn’t going to stop until you were fucked dumb by his dick, nothing in your head, just moans and pleas for him to continue.

He was going to make this happen.

“Wanna fuck that ass.”

It was a simple, clear message, but it had you walking fast, quickening your pace as you didn’t hesitate to fulfill your own and his desire. Ever since you saw Jason’s dick through the gloryhole on that day, you wanted to feel it split your ass open and fuck you into oblivion. The length pushing into your tight, warm ass—deep thrusts as he rearranged your guts. The thickness spreading your anal walls, you could feel every vein and ridge grinding against your nerves, and his heavy balls slapping and mushing against yours. Despite being drained daily, they were still pumping huge loads—painting and filling your mouth with the thick goodness.

You could feel your hole aching and itching for Jason’s massive cock. The inside is burning and leaking for more, desperate to feel everything. The dildo you used beforehand might have been the reason for the aching sensation, and now, with the promise of being rammed by Jason, it demanded the real thing—rejecting the fake, silicon toy for the real deal.

You had been waiting for this moment. You didn’t want to bring it up in case it scared Jason away, and you’d lose access to easy dick and cum. At least, deep down, you had a hunch he’d come around eventually; they always do.

It was early in the morning, the sun having risen hours ago. You could see the once-closed businesses opening their doors and preparing for the day. There was a delicious, mouthwatering smell that mingled with the salty ozone aroma, the scent of food vendors, and the aroma of restaurants cooking their meals. There weren’t many people out, just scattered clusters along the sidewalk—no one on the beach.

Once you arrive at the bathroom, you do what you’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks: you wait for the accustomed sound. As you waited, a pit formed in your stomach. Your heart beat, and your breathing quickened, adrenaline rushing as an internal conflict took place. What if he chickens out, leaving you embarrassed and your time wasted? What if the wrong guy comes? Can you take it?

The big moment came when the door echoed the familiar squeaking and screeching. Footfalls clicked against the tiled floor, growing closer with each long stride. Then your stall closed and locked. You looked up, and your eyes were blessed with the sight of the sexiest man alive.

He had a polished yet rugged appearance—maturity that you liked. Light stubble dusted his chin and defined jawline, snaking beneath his nose. The rest of his features were covered. The wayfarer-style sunglasses blocked his eyes, but you could feel them boring into your being, predatory and hungry for what's coming next. He sported a backwards cap with strands of hair peaking out and sticking to his forehead.

That’s when you noticed he was sweating. Your gaze shifted to the rest of his body, taking in the eye candy that Jason was. His light-skinned complexion glistened with sweat, the fluid coating every nook and cranny. You made an educated guess about what he worked out before coming here. You zeroed in on his thick pectoral slabs; chest hair peeked from underneath his white tank top. You could make out the shape of his nipples—they were solid and pointy.

His tank top stuck to him like a second skin, giving you a full viewing pleasure of his ripped, sculpted body. His abs are etched deep and defined with bulging biceps and thighs as thick as trees. Everything about Jason was making you salivate and unimaginably horny—the itching was getting worse.

“Like what you see?” Jason teased, smirking as he peeled his sweaty tank top, revealing his chest hair matted with sweat. Your gaze followed the trail of hair, starting from his pectorals down the valley of his sculpted, defined abs. Your dick jumped when Jason peeled off his shorts, the belt clicking and clanking as he discarded it—tossing the garment to the side. His massive dick hangs between his thick, tree trunk thighs.

“Come on, don’t keep me waiting.” Jason grins, raising his muscular arm over his head, exposing his furry patch. Words stuck in your throat as Jason starts tugging his dick, the massive shaft growing in his hand.

You quickly stripped off your clothing, pulling and yanking at the fabric. Your heart was thumping, giddy with the anticipation of feeling Jason’s muscular body pressing against yours. The dream you’ve been having for weeks was coming true. You painted vivid images of Jason’s body, and he fit the description. You imagined running your hands over his shredded form, fingertips gliding over his coarse, scruffy hair, and feeling his warm, solid body molding against you.

Once your clothing was discarded, Jason paused his tugging and reached out to pull you closer. You let out a “oof” as you were pressed against the man’s solid, sweaty body. You could feel his dick throbbing against your thigh, pulsing from the contact of your relatively cold skin.

What caught your attention was Jason’s masculine funk. The man still had his arm over his head, letting his funk fill the air around you. It was making your head dizzy, causing it to swirl around in circles. Your breathing deepened as the heady scent filled your nose. Your body moved on its own, and without pause, you went in for that funk—burying your head and inhaling the sublime, heady mix of sweat and pheromones.

“Fuuucckk.” Jason exhaled, chuckling as he watched you worship his pit. You were something else. Hell, maybe he’s bisexual. He’s never experienced such depravity and eagerness.

You weren’t in control of your body as your primal instincts took over. You didn’t just sniff, you ran your tongue over the furry patch, licking and probing while your other hand kneaded Jason’s pecs. You began to thrust your hips, grinding your aching dick against Jason’s thick thighs—with him moving in rhythm.

“T-that’s it… keep g-going,” Jason stutters, letting out breathy and throaty moans. His free hand moves down to grope your ass, marveling at how it fills and spills through his fingers. Men have fat asses, too? Just feeling your ass in his palm was making his dick ooze precum—smearing against your thigh as he followed your eager rhythm. Your bodies moved in unison.

You licked slowly down his armpit, gliding your tongue to his hairy pecs as you wanted to feel every crevice of Jason’s body. Your dick throbbed from feeling Jason’s rough hands squeezing your ass—smearing fluids on his thigh. Soft moans escaped your lips, muffled by sucking and biting on his nipples. Jason tilts his head back, and another moan pulls from his lips. As much as he was enjoying this, he needed to be inside you.

“That’s enough. Now, how about you get my dick wet? I want to feel this tight ass.” Jason said, slapping your ass cheek, the skin rippling from the impact of his palm—the sound echoing off the tiled walls.

You didn’t hesitate, licking your way down his body, past his navel, following the happy trail to your happy meal. Kneeling before Jason’s ripped, dominant body, his dick came into your view, erect and standing proud, beads of sticky precum oozing, and his heavy, furry balls dangling. You took the massive thing into your mouth, lips tightening around it as it glided back and forth—holding and ramming your tonsils over and over.

Jason groans in ecstasy as he hears you slobbering and choking on his dick. Your wet mouth coating his thing with copious amounts of saliva, lathering and preparing it for penetration. He moved his hands to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair—guiding and holding you in place. Your mouth was enough to make him cum, but he held back. If it were any other time, he would’ve fed you his load, but not now.

“Bend over.” Jason grunts, gripping your hair and pulling you off his dick.

You took deep breaths, eyes locked on Jason’s massive, glistening shaft—admiring the sight. Every ridge was generously lathered, the cockhead flustered and pulsing. You overworked your glands to produce enough saliva for preparation; you should’ve brought lube. When Jason spoke again, you scrambled off the floor and gripped the toilet’s tank—presenting your ass to the man who’s gonna fuck you as if you were a virgin.

“Mmm, this is what I like to see.” Jason groans, his hand making contact with your ass, delivering another slap that rocks your body. He marvels at your ass before lathering one and then two fingers.

You gasped as you felt Jason’s thick fingers teasing your hole, rimming the tight ring of muscles with his tips. Your hands hardened their grip on the ceramic tank, holding onto the porcelain for stabilization as Jason worked his fingers—stretching and scissoring your hole. You could feel them pressing around your inner walls, bumping and poking the flesh. It felt so good, your ass clenching around the invading fingers at the thought of Jason’s dick replacing them.

“So fucking tight,” Jason growls. He could hear your whines and moans growing louder as his fingers touched and rammed into a certain area. That must have been the elusive sweet spot inside of men. He could see your legs wobbling and your dick flopping between your legs—thick strings of precum gushing out as your dick was painfully throbbing and flustered.

Then Jason pulled his fingers out, deeming you prepared for the main event. He watched your entrance pulsing and clenching around nothing, searching for something to fill it and eagerly drag it in. Your hole went from stretched and gaping to small and tight—incredible. He needed to be inside you immediately.

You let out a disappointed whine, but that was quickly shut down when you felt a thick, blunt head pressing against your tight sphincter. Jason gripped his massive cock with one fist, positioning and pushing the helmet through your entrance. There was some resistance before his massive shaft pierced the tight ring, his cockhead stretching your hole as a flash of pain consumed you.

“Oh, f-fuck… y-you’re so huge.” You cried, your fingers digging into the ceramic tank. If it were a cheap toilet, the damn thing would’ve shattered from the force you were applying. You stood on your forefeet, your legs and body shivering as Jason continued to push his massive cock until he was balls deep—his heavy sack mashing against yours.

The oxygen was knocked out of you, and drool dribbled out of your mouth as you choked on your saliva. Your chest heaved rapidly as you tried to calm down and relax. Your mind was racing, but the immense sexual pleasure clouded you. This man was making you feel like a virgin again.

Your asshole is being split open beyond belief, the burning sensation from the massive shaft grinding against your inner, pink walls. You could feel Jason’s dick breaching depths you didn’t know were possible.

“Shhiitt. Fucking tight. Feels like I’m about to cum.” Jason said, letting out a bellowing groan. His rough, meaty hands moved to your hips, gripping them with an iron hold. Jason withheld from thrusting, biting back so he doesn’t cum, but you were making that impossible. Your ass was massaging and tightening around him, pulling him deeper.

The pause was grueling. It felt tight, figuratively and literally. The tight, closed space of the stall was becoming unbearable. There was no sound besides labored breathing and soft moans. The pause ended when Jason pulled out, leaving the cockhead before plummeting back into your ass. The once quiet room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and moans.

Your eyes rolled back into your head from each forceful thrust—your dick flopping back and forth, slapping against Jason’s balls. Jason tilted his head back, groaning as this was the best sex he’s had in years. Your ass happily accepts his massive dick, seemingly learning the shape and size instantly.

“You like this dick inside this hot cunt?” Jason groans, slapping your ass with each thrust of his hips

“Y-yes! Feels so good.” You exclaimed, breathless with each thrust. Your dick is on the verge of shooting its load.

Then the bathroom’s entrance screeched open, the sound reverberating off the walls. Before you could react, Jason pulled you against his body—his sweaty, matted hair grinding against your back. He stilled his thrust and clasped his meaty hand on your mouth, ensuring total silence. You both listened to the clicking of sandals against the floors, followed by the familiar sound of piss streaming and hitting the urinal.

Jason didn’t care, though. This random stranger wasn’t going to prevent him from fucking your tight ass. He discreetly fucks you with short but deep thrusts. Your eyes widen before becoming half-lidded when you feel his free hand stroking your dick—each stroke mimicking his thrusts as he was determined to fuck your brains out.

He didn’t care that another man was a couple of feet away from them.

“Shhh. As much as I wanna hear those moans, I don’t wanna get caught—unless you want that.” Jason purrs into your ear, his voice low and deep. He never thought he’d be into exhibitionism, but the adrenaline was making his dick painfully throbbing inside your ass, signaling his impending orgasm.

“You want that?” Jason growls, disregarding the other man as he delivers a series of deep thrusts. Wet squelching and skin slapping grow louder—surely alerting the newcomer. Your moans were muffled by Jason’s hand, but you didn’t care, not with his other hand stroking your dick, tugging and squeezing the thing as he fully intended to make you cum.

Meanwhile, the other man was cleaning off his cockhead after relieving himself in the urinal. He bobbed his head side to side, jamming out to the music playing from his headphones. He was unaware of the debauchery happening a couple of feet away. That’s when he heard muffled groans and gruffing coming from the last stall. He shrugged it off as someone taking a dump—brave since it was a public bathroom; if it were him, he’d hold it in till he got home.

The groaning got louder, slicing through the stream of water from the faucet—even his headphones. Wow, that guy must be fighting demons. Probably constipation. Then he heard banging against the metal sheets, fists colliding in rhythm, and the signature groan ranging. It was getting kind of awkward. The poor guy was probably embarrassed about letting it rip.

“Good luck, dude,” the guy said, drying his hands and exiting the bathroom to continue his morning jog across the beach. He remained blissfully unaware that two men were having sex in the stall—the groaning and banging were products of their coupling.

“Finally, he’s gone… not gonna last much longer. Gonna breed this tight cunt.” Jason growls, removing his hand from your mouth. His thrusts became sloppy, but he continued to jackhammer your quivering hole. He’s since removed his hand from your dick, transferring it to your hips.

“P-please, shoot your load inside me!” you begged, tilting your head back to rest on Jason’s shoulders—arching your back to let him go deeper. Your prostate was constantly being rammed into, the cockhead hitting the bundle of nerves—setting your body ablaze as the message of pleasure travelled through you. You let your moans pour out of your mouth, no longer shackled by shame and Jason’s hand.

Jason didn’t get to respond when you overshadowed him with your bellowing moans. Your flopping dick burst, spraying cum all over the ground and toilet. Your thick seed flying up and down as you came hands-free. The orgasm left you exhausted, panting, and heaving as it felt like your soul was taken by the reaper. Jason held you close to him, pressing your sweaty bodies against each other.

“Oh fuck, I’m about to bust! Open that tight cunt.” Jason commanded as his dick was being suffocated. Your orgasm caused you to tighten around him, squeezing and milking him.

“Y-yes! B-breed…” you replied, completely out of it, but still hungry for Jason and his thick seed.

“Yeah, here it comes—yeah—yeah—fuuucckk,” Jason growls and groans, his body convulsing. He gave a few more thrusts, his heavy balls throbbing against yours as his big dick erupted in your ass. You could feel his dick throbbing before thick ropes of cum spewed from the slit, flooding your deepest recesses until his balls were drained.

You both were drained and exhausted. The smell of sex and semen choked the air. You both were panting, taking gulps of air. Jason kept his dick lodged deep inside you, preventing his seed from gushing out of your fucked hole. This was the best experience you both had. Jason is certain he can never go back; the damage was done, and he’ll gladly take it.

“Round 2? At my place?”

The End

Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! I hope y’all enjoyed this fic! This is probably the fastest I’ve completed one. I feel like I really captured Jason. God, I need that man. There is certainly more content for him. Mark Grayson may be next.

Special thanks to my proofreader: @sagethegaywitch

As Daeron's sworn shield, you do not find yourself under any peril from the Prince himself. Instead, you are susceptible to anyone seeking to take him for ransom from the Royal Family or anyone seeking to murder him for the mere fact that he is Targaryen. Ordinarily, it would be quite hard to for him to come upon such a person, but Daeron's hobbies are not ordinary. When he is not permitted drink in Summerhall, he slinks away on his own.

Daeron perfected his skill of sneaking out from Summerhall—and the Keep, when his family makes visits—long before you became his sworn shield, and as such, even if you may be standing outside his very chambers, when you deign to check inside, he is often gone.

So, compared to any other sworn shield to the royal blood, you definitely have the more interesting job.

You have found Daeron in many states of disarray over the years.

"My Prince."

"Dear stranger." Daeron greets with a wide smile. The words come out of his throat heavy and slurred, but besides that, he seems quite content... despite the wine decorating his breaches (you hope it's wine) and his tunic, and also his lack of coat.

You stare at him for a moment, wondering just what happened to him, until you look at the barmaid, who in turn looks at another patron in a similar state. "A fight." She explains.

"Between two imbeciles..." You mutter, because both men seem unscathed. You heave sigh, "Alright, Prince, come along."

"I will do no such thing–"

Daeron does such a thing when you sling his arm over your shoulder and hoist him up.

Despite how much of a bother it has been to keep him out of trouble throughout the years, the two of you have grown rather fond of each other. The nightly escapades almost feel like tradition—and you are just as good at tracking Daeron down as he is at escaping you.

Fondness grew into companionship, as Daeron eventually found the excuse of "your presence is comforting" to keep your guardpost within his chambers. It opened the door for conversation. Beyond the rumors, Daeron is a good man.

For a little while, Daeron felt guilt that you had to chase after him everytime he left, so he surprisingly stayed home at nights. It only took that one night for you to hear him screaming himself awake.

It only took that one night to offer to comfort him.

Daeron took advantage of the offer, and shamefully, of his own high stature above you to ask you to take off your armor. The shame had melted away when you agreed to lay beside him, and then the feeling was replaced by contentment when you let him press to your side and lay his head on your chest.

Sleep came rather easily after that. Not a dreamless sleep, mind, but certainly an easier one.

And after that, companionship was not the right title anymore. It did not take long to figure out what was.

Daeron is a rather sorrowful, and at times violent, drunk; but he does not lose the entirety of his essence when he takes to the drink. Whatever troubles he may be fighting, whether mentally or physically, are always destroyed by your mere presence.

Although, you suppose, they're not destroyed but replaced. The sorrow leaves him for something like determination.

Recently, once you are gone from the tavern and surrounded by a fickle privacy made primitively of silence and the absence of others, Daeron has one demand from you: "Fuck me, please. Please, please, please."

And always you reply, "If you were sober."

Which to Daeron's drunken mind means in about 12 hours, and that is half a day! So he whines about it, "Please, Ser, I am begging you!"

You know how far these protests can go, so you shut them down quickly by throwing the Prince over your shoulder, which is not something you would've dared to do a year ago.

His drunken bones are heavy to his equally drunken resolve, so his body flops like liquid over your shoulder and his mouth is muffled, for it is pressed your against your back. Now, he will not wake anybody up with his begging to have your cock.

You don't take him seriously, of course not. He's only drunk. Drunk men get like that, always thinking with their cocks. Drunk men lose all sense. Daeron may be foolish in that he seeks reprieve in wine, but he is not foolish to think that he has feelings for you, of all people, a knight below his stature.

You thought it might be a phase, but now, night after night, he only has one thing to say to you and one thing to ask of you. Most confusingly of all, he seems serious with his demands, as serious a drunken man can be; and he returns to sorrow once you return him safely to his chambers, as if your rejection has truly affected him.

You should've shut it down by now.

Daeron as of late has been rather passive. It concerns you that he has spent the past couple nights in his own bed, free of the drink—but who are you to ask him about it?

You would be lying if you said you it didn't relief, for once, that Daeron had made for a tavern tonight.

As always, you track him down to a tavern. The circumstances aren't any different. You're ready to take him home... until you actually find him.

You only have to take one look at him to notice that he's sober.

"My Prince?"

"I'm sober now." He stands, makes his way over to you. He does not care for the other patrons, he does not care for the barmaids offering drinks. He cares only for you, "Isn't that what you wanted from me?"

"I don't understand."

Daeron takes you by the shoulders and leads you upstairs, towards the rooms of this tavern-inn. In your state of disbelief, you can do nothing but follow. You barely make it up the stairs and out of earshot before your Prince pushes you against a wall.

"You said," He begins strong, a certain desperation to him, "that you'd fuck me if I was sober. Well here I am."

Daeron nears, takes your helmet in his hands. You grab his wrists before he can take it off.

He groans before you can even get a word of your own out and grips your helmet tighter. "I meant it, I did. All those fucking times I asked, I meant it!"

"You don't know what you're talking about." You refuse to think about the implications. Instead, you grab his waist to hoist him over your shoulder, but Daeron plants his feet firmly on the ground.

"I know what I'm talking about, what I ask for. I am not the fool you think me to be." Daeron says firmly. He does not stink of alcohol. His trek over to this tavern had purpose.

Companionship isn't right anymore, and though it is scary, finally you admit in your mind that love is what sounds right. You are Daeron's sworn shield, you have spent countless hours in each other's presence and found it to be pleasing. Your conversations go on for hours. You hold him until he is asleep, both on drunken and sober nights.

"I'm sober." Daeron confirms again, less agitated.

And that matters because Daeron has made good on the promise you've been offhandedly asking for, because he has staved off the drink for you.

His hands reach for your helmet once more, this time slowly. This time, you let him.

The helmet clangs onto the floor, hard. Your lips crash together, soft. You allow him to kiss you, but you are not as impassive of a force as you thought yourself to be. You desire him, too, and whereas Daeron has been pondering it for months, you have only just begun to allow yourself to desire him.

Much of your restraint leaves you. You kiss him back with a hunger, though your gentleness remains. You are his sworn knight. You'd sooner harm yourself than harm him.

"The room at the end of the hall." Daeron whispers, then kisses you.

You understand him now. For the first time, you don't sling him over your shoulder; rather, carefully, you lift him into your arms.

His lips part delicately with a moan, so you take the advantage to lap at his tongue with yours.

You maneuver to the room blindly, shifting him mostly onto one arm to open the door, then once more to close it. Your strength makes Daeron twitch in his pants, and how you've forgotten your helmet in the hallway, because you've been much too caught up in your kiss, too.

You don't toss him onto the bed, you lay him delicately upon it. Daeron takes the first steps in scooting back towards the pillow, and you chase right after him in tandem.

It's harmony, between you two. You're never too far from each other by the time his hair meets the headboard.

You are too close when you grab him by the hips and manhandle him towards you. Pain sprouts just slightly, your oath breaks, but Daeron biting his lip isn't from the pain, but from arousal.

When your ass presses flush against your pelvis, the both of you moan.

He is quick to begin taking off your armor, and you are quick to help. The plates come off just as loudly as the helmet, until all of it is gone. Finally, for the first time ever, Daeron's warmth meets yours as his hand wraps around your bicep.

It explores elsewhere, along your collarbones, up your neck, and finally to your cheek to pull you in for a kiss.

It feels celebratory, this time around. Your warmth mingles together, as cozy as a hearth, when you lean over him and press your bodies together. It feels pathetic, to moan at the feeling of flesh meeting flesh over thick clothing, but it is all too right between you two.

Cozy becomes hot when your body demands you undress... but you ignore it, in favor of helping him first.

Daeron's breaths rush faster when you pull his tunic up and off. They hitch, with his heart, when your palm meets bare skin. You take his waist in hand, the place where you heave him over your shoulder from, and he relishes in that you only use it to press yourself closer now.

Where taking his tunic off feels like helping him, taking his trousers off feels like defiling him. So, wordlessly, you let him undress you.

Daeron parts from your kiss to do it because he wants to see you. For so long, he's wondered what hides beneath your pure white armor. Is it scars? Body hair? Muscles?

His gaze is so intense, so attentive, that you feel as though you are shrinking underneath it with shame.

He notices, when his eyes find yours for permission; so his hands move softer, slower. He pulls your tunic off first and finds the time to admire you with both hands.

It's more than admiration... Daeron shows reverance when his hands follow the sharp contours of your body, when he wishes and follows through with the wish of touching you. He does not pinch, does not harm, does not tighten his hold painfully.

He touches because he wants to make sure you're real, because his tumultuous dreams leave him with a weak grasp on reality, because he cannot believe that he finally has you.

He's confirmed that you're tangible by the time he reaches your waistband. Another glance up, another nod from you, and he pulls it down.

At the sight of your cock, Daeron draws in a sharp breath. After all those nights of begging for your cock, now that he's sober, he's more hesitant. Shame burns in your chest, because you should've never allowed this. You were right, he's foolish–

"I want you." He says instead, and when you find his eyes again, his are very intent. He wasn't hesitant, but careful. "I want you inside of me. Please."

"I–"

"It is not all I've been dreaming of, you know my dreams, but, I have dreamt of this. Of you." He takes off his own trousers for you, because he's noticed your hesitation, even though he wants you strong, like how you handle him on drunken nights. "My dreams are not often solicited, but this one I've welcomed, so please."

You gulp nervously. Your hands stay shock-still at your sides. The sight is desirable, of course... you desire your Prince vehemently, there is no denying it, but, "I don't want to harm you."

"You won't." Daeron promises. His hands find yours, where he guides them to his hips so you may feel them as he parts his legs. "I'm not fragile."

But he is fragile, and you know it first-hand, for his dreams keep him awake and he can only drift off to sleep sober, nowadays, if he is holding you. Daeron is fragile, that's what you're afraid of.

His lips are already forming into a pout. You may hurt him physically, but so little that it will be of no consequence—or you could hurt him, emotionally, by gathering up all your things and leaving him blue.

And then, you can't deny that you want him too. It makes you feel selfish until Daeron repeats again, "I want you, my Sworn Shield. Please." And it is not selfish, because he wants you too.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, leaning down to bury your head against Daeron's neck.

Eventually, you bury a spit-soaked finger into Daeron's heat, and your Prince sucks in a sharp breath at the intrusion. It wasn't from surprise, you made sure he knew what you were doing, it was because he finally gets to have you.

Spit dries fast. Each time, with utter devotion, you take your fingers into your mouth to add more and return them down.

Upon an umpteenth time, he steals your fingers from you, soaks them with his own saliva. It should feel disgusting. Instead, it feels like a kiss without contact.

Three fingers push into his hole. Your tongue invades his mouth in a proper kiss. Both his lips and his hole part to accommodate each intrusion.

A while after he's taken four, you ask him if it "Hurts?"

"No." Daeron replies with a little smile. No, you haven't hurt him. He knows it'd be too crude to for you to ask, and he's not got the same shame you do, so, "Will you fuck me now? Please?"

You heave out a sigh and reply, "Alright."

Reluctance, not because you don't want him, but because you're still afraid. You do want him, irrevocably so. Your groin burns with anticipation and pleasure you've denied yourself. The very sight of him lights a fire in your body, it's hard to fight against.

It's alright. This'll be your first time, your love just barely proclaimed in actions. You want to take it slow, because slow can't hurt.

When you sit up, Daeron spreads his legs eagerly. His hands guide yours to his hips just as eager, no care for where your fingers have been.

You push your cock into him slowly, finding no resistance but the eager clenching of his hole. You've prepared him thoroughly, to the dismay of Daeron's impatience. That impatience is quelled the further you push.

Your utter size makes Daeron struggle to fight his instinct of closing his legs. He thought mental preparation might've helped him, after seeing your cock... but it never seems to help, around you.

He sighs contently once you're fully situated inside of him, and already he is eager for you to move. All he has to say is, with a pitiful look, "Please."

There is something about this "please" that is so soft and genuine, that you give it to him. You fuck him shallowly, just to gauge his reaction, but even that is not enough.

"Faster, please, Ser." He demands, despite the groans you have already pulled out of him.

You've always had good restraint and even better discipline. It's how his demands before have never tempted you—but tonight's blabberings are real, unburdened by wine, and so they feel more genuine and somehow more desperate. Tonight's demands are easier to follow.

"Tell me of your dreams." You say. You obey his command, and though it is not what he asked for, you draw more and more of your length out each time. "What am I doing to you?"

"Uhm," Shame finds him. You're sure, if you'd asked his drunken self, he'd reply with no problem. "it's just like this, but you've got my leg over your shoulder and you're kissing my calf... and it is much faster."

"Faster than this?" Your pace quickens a little more. Before he can reply, you hook his ankle over your shoulder and press your cheek against his calf.

He could be lying to you, saying yes so you will want to one-up your dream self, so you will fuck him even faster—or he could be telling the real, pathetic truth, "Yes."

You find it is easier to ignore your years of discipline training if he tells you what to do himself, for his words spur you on.

"Might I voice my opinion, my Prince?"

Daeron grows confused at the question, at how you can show him so much courtesy in a moment like this. Regardless, he replies, "Of course, my Kna-Knight."

"I quite prefer it harder." You draw your length back then push it all back in swiftly, once, twice, then resume the previous fast pace.

The drastic difference in such a quick moment in time punches out a yelp from Daeron's lips. His hands find your shoulders after the fact, for purchase. "I... I don't know what I like. Could you try it again?"

"Of course."

Daeron's hands tighten upon your shoulders, nails digging into your skin, to brace himself. They don't help once you start fucking him hard in earnest.

His hole clenches around your cock to try to resist instinctively—but he's already gaping and it's helpless. His hands too, slip from your shoulders and drag his nails down your back. He doesn't know the harm he causes, only that he thoroughly enjoys holding handfuls of you.

You kiss his calf, rousing him from his delirium. "Well?"

"Yeah." Daeron replies quickly, though he almost can't. A groan overtakes him right after, "fuck, mhm. Better!"

It's not like his dreams and not like his drunken hallucinations either. It's tangible and real and so much better. And the soft kisses you lay upon his leg? And the even softer hold you maintain upon his hips?

Under the influence of your cock, Daeron discovers a new kind of delirium he can possess while being sober.

Your cock feels as though it stirs his insides, and each time your pelvis meets his rear, you steal his breath from him. It's like being drunk but without the sour taste of alcohol nor the splitting headache, for his limbs are still weighed heavy by pleasure and a buzzed, careless demeanor overtakes him. It's like being drunk, but all the good bits.

It won't soothe his dreams—your affection has never been able to carry through into them—but this is a reprieve, anyway. A triumph too, for he has mustered up the courage to state he wants from you, and you have accepted it.

Most of all it is a triumph that you have abandoned your restraint, for Daeron's mouth can't seem to shut, and neither can his legs.

His hips still move, though, fucking up into the air and further, when he finishes on his stomach. It's embarrasing to do so, but not embarrasing anymore when your spend joins his.

Immediately, you're apologizing, for you remember that your oath involves keeping his honor.

He stops you from fussing, though, by pulling you into a kiss with a rough hand at the back of your neck. You're his Sworn Shield. It's only right that you get to claim him, and it is leagues better than the mud he gets on himself when he is drunk.

He's glad he's sober, for once, as you clean him up, and after, let him cuddle into your side—because he'll get to remember this clearly.

"I've not hurt you?"

| In town for game. You free?

| How did you get my number again?

Ilya smirked at the reply, typical lawyer response, overthinking instead of just answering.

| Stole your card again after we fucked

he texted back without shame, thumb tapping the screen with zero guilt. Honesty was easier than pretending it was some grand romance. A beat passed before he added:

| So? You busy or not?

| No. What?

| JW Marriott, room 1204. Be here in an hour and bring something cold to drink. Hot in here

Giving you a clear option: show up or don’t bother replying again. And you, in fact, did not reply. Your client came by the office again and you, as a professional, kicked your phone to the side and got straight to business.

The knock came half an hour late…you got Ilya waiting for 90 minutes. And Ilya had been pacing his room, shirtless and impatient, the AC blasting but doing nothing against his burning annoyance. He yanked the door open with a scowl already forming. There stood you, dressed in a nice suit.

“You're late" Ilya accused immediately, voice tight with irritation. No greetings, straight to judgment.

“I have meetings with cilents....cut me some slack” you scolds, a hand holding your work suitcase and a few papers, a hand holding bag with beers inside.

Ilya’s glare sharpened at the excuse. Yeah, right. Like lawyers couldn’t wrap up work for a few hours.

"You could’ve texted" he snapped, stepping aside just enough to let you pass but not with warmth more like grudging tolerance. He should have left to find someone else. But he didn’t. He found himself expecting you. His eyes flicked to the beer bag though. Small mercy there. He took it from your grip without thanks and headed straight for the mini fridge in his room, popping one open aggressively. You didn’t bother explaining further, just quietly closed the door and walked inside.

Ilya dumps ice cubes into a glass, shoving them in like they offended him. The beer followed with a loud clink as he poured it over the ice. Then he takes a long swig from his own drink first, leaning against the counter while watching you take off your suit jacket and loosen the tie. The silence wasn’t hostile, just Ilya being petty about waiting so damn long.

“You’re still annoyed?” you look at Ilya up and down, slowly rolling up your sleeves and approach him. Ilya wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after another gulp of beer. Yeah, he was still annoyed…annoyed at the heat, annoyed at waiting, annoyed that you looked so normal, calm while he was sweating through a damn AC blasting.

"You showed up late," He repeated flatly, not yelling but not hiding it either. His dark eyes flicked over your stoic expression before gesturing to the second beer on the counter. "You want one or not?" The offer wasn’t sweet, more like an afterthought now that he’d cooled off slightly. Ilya’s gaze dropped to your defined triceps flexing subtly with every movement. Something about that paired with the unbuttoned top buttons revealing a hint of collarbone made Ilya's irritation fade slightly. Not gone, but... reduced by appreciation. He took another sip of his beer before finally pushing off the counter and closing the distance between you two without a word. His lips captured yours before you could even wipe the beer foam off you. The kiss was hungry and impatient, a direct transfer of frustration into passion. His tongue slid past your lips without asking permission, tasting the cold brew still lingering there. One hand gripped on your bicep while the other cupped your jaw to kiss you better.

The difference in your response was immediate, no hesitation this time. No stiff, uncertain kisses from you two’s previous hook up. Now you kiss back with equal hunger, your hands rising to grip Ilya’s hips. It was better like this: less awkwardness, more chemistry.

Ilya’s fingers worked fast, popping open the remaining buttons of your shirt with practiced ease. The fabric fell slightly open, revealing more of that toned chest and abs beneath.

He wasn’t patient for layers right now, not when his skin was already too warm from the humidity and their kiss had cranked up his body temperature. The shirt hung loose as he yanked it down one shoulder. The shirt hit the floor with a soft thud, he wasn’t careful about it, just shoved it off impatiently. Your belt clicked open messily next, fingers fumbling slightly.

The Russian sank to his knees without a word. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and boxers, dragging both down together. The fabric pooled around your ankles as Ilya helped you step out of them, leaving you bare for him to feast on now. The air conditioning hit your skin, pretty chilly, but neither paid it any mind. No lingering stares or smirks, just quiet intent as Ilya stayed kneeling there for a beat before leaning forward.

His hand gave a few confident strokes first, testing, warming up before he leaned in and took your cock into his mouth. His lips wrapped around the tip, tongue pressing lightly against sensitive skin as he sucked with deliberate focus. Ilya wasn’t new to this, he knew exactly how to use his mouth effectively. The only sounds were their breathing and the quiet hum of the AC trying and failing to cool down two heated bodies.

Ilya noticed your controlled breathing, the way you were deliberately steadying yourself, jaw maybe tensed slightly to avoid losing composure too fast. He found it… amusing. And kind of hot. You clearly had practice staying calm under pressure, probably from courtroom scenarios, but Ilya wasn’t about to let you win this little game of endurance. Without warning, he took you deeper, slowly at first, then with a sudden increase in intensity, testing how long that cool facade could really last. the deep, husky groan that escaped you vibrated through Ilya’s mouth, proof of just how much you were feeling it despite your earlier composure. That sound alone told Ilya everything: you weren't lasting much longer like this. The stretch against Ilya’s lips and the way it brushes the back of his throat confirmed it…this man had presence, both in courtrooms and… elsewhere. Ilya smirked around you briefly before doubling down, sucking harder, hollowing his cheeks deliberately to push you closer to that edge.

Your fingers tangled into Ilya’s dark hair, no gentle guiding, just a firm grip. A silent demand to stay right there, mixed with the pressure of your fingertips against Ilya's scalp. The bite of your lips was subtle but noticeable, like you were physically holding back louder noises, trying not to unravel too soon even as pleasure built. Ilya didn’t mind the hand in his hair, if anything, it fuels him even more. He likes when people react physically instead of just passively taking what he gives them.

The quiet praise “you're taking me so well” rolled off your lips with that subtle upturn of your mouth. Not a cocky smirk, just genuine appreciation laced with satisfaction. Your thumb brushed away the tear at the corner of Ilya’s eye from gagging without mockery, just a soft wipe before lingering there for half a second. The compliment wasn’t much lustful, it was earnest, maybe even tender in its own way. Ilya could tell you meant it, not some empty flattery but real acknowledgment of him enduring this intensity. And he knew he was just that good, the compliment somehow fueled his pride.

The moment you came, it was with a quiet but intense groan, your whole body tensing for a split second as the pleasure crashed over you. Ilya could feel the subtle tremble in your thighs where his hands still rested. It hadn’t taken long, not surprising given how focused and skilled Ilya had been. The lawyer clearly wasn't used to being pushed like this overwhelmed fast by sensation instead of dragging it out. Breathing slightly uneven now, you leaned back against the wall while recovering from that rush. Meanwhile, Ilya gave a few final, lazy sucks, gentle now that the intensity had passed before his tongue swirled to clean up every last trace. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavier than before. Ilya wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and exhaled sharply through his nose, the air conditioning still doing nothing against their body heat. He glanced up at your face, all you can see is his flushed skin, Heavy-lidded eyes and sweats. Almost like a puppy.

Ilya rose to his feet, towering over you again, his dark eyes raking over your state with open appreciation. That post-orgasm glow on you was good.

The word "nerd" didn’t come to mind, not that he'd say it aloud anyway, but yeah you had that sharp intelligence mixed with quiet sexiness. Ilya always did have a type, a pattern he noticed: smart guys who could keep up physically too. Without breaking eye contact, he closed the distance between them again. The kiss deepened as Ilya guided you backward, careful as their steps slightly clumsy from the urgency to get on the bed. You bumped into a chair, dodged your suitcase on the floor until finally Ilya nudged you toward the bed. The mattress gave under their combined weight as they tumbled onto it together.

Ilya didn’t resist as you peeled off his tank top, letting it get yanked over his head before tossing it aside. The shorts followed right after, kicked off onto the hotel floor. Ilya let you take charge of undressing him further. Bodies pressed closer now, skin against skin without fabric barriers anymore, heat building between them despite the AC still humming uselessly in the background. Ilya can feel the weight of yours pinning him down the mattress. His head tilted back instinctively as your mouth worked his neck…lips and teeth grazing sensitive skin. Clothes were discarded carelessly, from the couch to the bed on the floor. When you pull away briefly, Ilya watches you left to go through your suitcase for protection. The quiet squeeze of lube onto fingers. The soft breath of Ilya on the bed, waiting impatiently. The kiss resumes as soon as you return, warm and deep. Then came that first slick press, your finger easing into Ilya with practiced gentleness, stretching carefully rather than rushing. You never like rushed sex.

Ilya’s lips quirked at the absurdity of it…you, a lawyer with legal files probably stuffed in that same suitcase, casually keeping condoms and lube tucked between case briefs. The mental image was weirdly hot in its own filthy way. The stretch burns slightly as you work your fingers. Ilya exhaled through his nose, adjusting to the sensation while their mouths stayed connected in messy kisses. No jokes or comments from him though, just focused breathing and letting you prepare him properly.

You broke the kiss just long enough to grab the condom, teeth tearing the packet open with a quiet rip. You roll it down in one efficient motion, lube already making your movements slick. The bed dipped slightly as you shifted back over Ilya, lining yourself up between his legs. The kiss swallows Ilya’s breath as you press forward slowly at first, giving his body time to adjust. The stretch was intense, but not painful, just that fullness of being taken. Their lips stay locked, messy and warm as you sink deeper inch by careful inch. Ilya’s hands gripped your shoulders for balance while your mouths moved together in a heated rhythm.

Ilya’s teeth grazes your lower lip, not hard enough to hurt, but with a sharp nip that was equal parts punishment and pleasure. You pick up the pace now, moving with a purposeful rhythm that bordered on good pain. The bite made you gasp against Ilya’s mouth for half a second, surprised but not pulling away. If anything, it seemed to turn you on even more, your hips snapped harder after that. The quiet hotel room quickly filled with heavy breathing and the slick sounds of skin meeting skin.

Ilya doesn't love missionary, too much face-to-face intimacy for casual hookup, too many emotions tangled up in close eye contact. But you were good at it, nailing the right angle with every thrust like you’d studied Ilya’s body beforehand. Your mouth on his neck helped too, hot kisses and occasional bites making Ilya arch his head back into the pillow. A silent surrender to how skilled you were at this despite not being some wild hookup machine like he was. Ilya hooks his legs around your torso, tightening them like a belt to pull you even closer. The change in angle deepens the connection, their bodies connect with no space left between them. The movement forced you down onto him more firmly, changing the rhythm slightly. Now every thrust was met with Ilya’s hips lifting subtly to meet you, silent demand for more, harder.

You shift gently but firmly removing Ilya’s legs from your waist before pinning them down on either side. Your large hands gripped behind Ilya’s thighs, holding them up and open, giving himself full access. Since Ilya’s legs were locking you, not really giving you the lead in this. The new angle was devastating, every thrust now hit deep, exactly where it mattered most. It made Ilya groan in annoyance and squirm a little, feeling like having no control and being manhandled. A low groan escaped you at the sensation too, not just you dominating but genuinely enjoying how this position felt for both of you.

Ilya throws his head back against the pillows, his breath coming in rough, uneven gasps. Each deep thrust punched a groan out of him, unfiltered and raw. One hand fisted in the headboard above him, knuckles whitening from how tightly he gripped it, another digs into your back, leaving scratches. The wood creaked faintly under his grip as pleasure coiled tight in his stomach. You could see every reaction on Ilya’s face, the flushed skin, the parted lips. Simply too overwhelmed. Your large hands slid to grip on Ilya’s thighs to a gentler stroke, your thumbs rubbing slowly, soothing circles against the sensitive skin. A contrast to the rough, relentless pace of your hips.

Ilya’s discomfort flared, his legs still pinned too high, the stretch uncomfortable now. Without warning, he yanks you down, forcing you closer until your chests pressed together. His legs relax on either side of your torso, instead of being held up, a silent demand to change the angle. At the same time, Ilya digs his nails sharply into your shoulders and back, half frustration at being overstimulated from that position earlier. The scratches weren’t gentle, they stung just enough to make a point.

You don’t need praise to know you are doing it right, the way Ilya’s body responds tells you everything. You keep the rhythm steady, mouth on Ilya’s neck between thrusts, sucking dark marks into flushed, sweating skin. Salty and addictive.

Ilya’s head tips back against the pillow, his whole body tensing as he comes, heat spilling over his stomach. His breath hitches, muscles locking briefly before melting into the mattress. You followed right after a few final thrusts, burying yourself deep with a low groan as you finished too. Rough exhale through clenched teeth while pleasure pulsed through.

Once you regain your composure, you carefully pull out. You dispose of the condom, tying it off properly and tossing it into the trash bin by the bed. Then you grab wet wipes from the nightstand, to clean Ilya’s stomach up gently. The room was quiet now except for your breathing evening out. After catching your breath for a while, you thought about going home, maybe opening another beer and enjoying yourself before taking an everything-shower. Sounds refreshing already before Ilya caught your wrist just as you started to rise from the bed. His grip was firm but not demanding.

"One more…”

And you paused, glancing back at Ilya with a raised brow, reading the unspoken desire in those dark eyes. A second round? Already?

A beat passes before you smirk slightly and lean back down, sealing your lips over Ilya’s again without needing more encouragement. Fine, if he wants it, you will give him.

A lazy smirk curled at his lips as he pulled you back to the bed, having you lay on your back. Letting Ilya take control, watching as the Russian tore open a new condom packet with his teeth and rolled it down your cock after a few strokes. Your eyes met briefly, a silent agreement passing between them. Ilya was in charge now, setting the pace while you relaxed into the mattress, arms loose at your sides.

Ilya climbs onto your lap, turning his back to you, knees framing your hips as he positioned himself for reverse cowboy. The angle gives you a full view of Ilya’s shoulders and spine while he rides. No words exchanged as Ilya reached back to guide himself into place, then slowly sank down with a controlled motion.

Starting with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, testing the new angle before picking up speed. Each snap of his body down was firm and controlled, creating a steady rhythm that made the bed creak beneath them. Your hands instinctively found Ilya’s waist, not gripping too tight but stroking up and down, feeling every movement as Ilya took what he wanted from you without hesitation.

Your gaze drinks in the sight of Ilya, every defined ridge of his muscular back, the way his shoulders flexed with each movement, and that perfectly plump ass rising and falling in front of him. It was a sight worth memorizing. Worth dying for. Your hands slid up Ilya’s sides before settling firmly on those cheeks, not squeezing or groping aggressively, just touching because you couldn’t resist. You were appreciating the show he put on.

Ilya’s breath hitches into soft moans each time he takes you fully, body melting into the sensation as you two move together now that you try to match him, lifting your hips to meet every downward grind, creating deeper friction that makes Ilya arch his back in pleasure. Ilya’s hands braced against your thighs for balance, soft groans escaped his lips.

You were chasing your own high now, each snap of the hips fueled by the tight heat around you and the sight of Ilya moving desperately. Ilya could feel it, the way you got more urgent beneath him.

Head tilting backward as pleasure crashed down on Ilya, his entire body tensing for a split second before warmth spilled through him. But he didn’t stop moving, hips kept snapping down in relentless rhythm even as he came. The overstimulation bordered on sensitive now, but Ilya pushed through it, determined to ride out every last pulse of his climax while still fucking you hard. You could feel the slight tremors in Ilya’s thighs from the aftershocks, but you both knew this wasn't stopping yet, not until you were completely spent.

Ilya’s focus sharpened, every snap of his hips now deliberate, designed to drag you over the edge. He adjusted his angle slightly, hitting just right with each bounce. He was determined to break his newly favourite toy tonight.

Your groan was deep and ragged, air forced out of your lungs as Ilya’s nails bit into your thighs. The sting mixed with pleasure, sharp but not painful enough to make you pull away. Your abs flexed under sweat-damp skin, every muscle taut from holding back the wave threatening to crash over you. Your hips jerked up involuntarily, chasing more friction like you couldn't control it anymore. Ilya had you right where he wanted.

Your head thrown back against the pillow, a silent gasp escaping you as you came, hard. Your palm pressed bruisingly into Ilya's hip for half a second, fingers splaying wide with the force of it. The pleasure hit like a punch, no loud cry, just tense muscles and heavy breathing as waves rolled through you. Ilya stays there for a moment to catch his breath, keeping your cock warm in him at the same time. Clearly enjoying your aching cock trying to break free from further friction.

Afterwards, Ilya slid off you with a satisfied smirk, collapsing onto the mattress beside you. Both were breathless, chests rising and falling rapidly as you two came down from the high. Their shoulders brushed slightly, you turned your head to glance at Ilya, cheeks flushed and worn out.

Ilya reached down without asking, snagging the half-crushed pack of Marlboros from your open suitcase on the floor. The silver zippo was right there, he flicked it open with practiced ease, sparking a flame. The first drag hit his lungs as he exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. No shame in stealing, they’d just had sex twice, boundaries were loose now. He wouldn’t care.

“That’s my lucky cig for tomorrow's trial” you scolds once you noticed he was smoking the last cigarette in the pack. The one you saved for your trial tomorrow, like athletes having their own lucky charm, a ritual before an important game. You exhaled through your nose, more of a sigh than an angry sound and deliberately turned your body away from Ilya. He faced the opposite wall, clearly annoyed. The mattress dipped slightly between now that you’d put physical distance there. The silence grew heavier, no conversation attempted, just two people lying in separate moods after intimacy. Ilya kept smoking without comment, the cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

Then, Ilya called you out, loud and blunt: "You're being a baby." No sugarcoating. Without warning, he grabbed your jaw and crushed his lips together. The kiss was rough; the stolen cigarette still between Ilya's lips as smoke seeped into your mouth too. A messy transfer, ashy and warm as Ilya blew it right into you. If you want it so bad, here, take it.

Equal parts punishment for pouting and desire to reconnect after the petty tension.

But you shove Ilya’s face away with your palm, firm but not violent, just enough to break the kiss. Your expression was unamused, eyebrows slightly furrowed in disapproval. The cigarette smoke hung between you two. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand after being kissed like that, annoyed at both the theft of your cigar and being manhandled.

You sat up, voice calm but detached. "I got to work early tomorrow." No explanation for why you were upset, just stating facts as you swung your legs off the bed. You grab the used condom from earlier and toss it properly into the trash before gathering your clothes scattered across the floor: shirt, pants, everything draped over one arm. That made Ilya’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. He wasn’t used to being pushed back. Most people caved when he demanded attention, especially after sex. But you weren't melting, not clinging nor anything. You quickly get dressed, gathering your stuff back into the suitcase.Ilya scowled at the floor instead of saying anything, pride wounded by how easily you walked away from him.

The cigarette’s taste turns bitter in Ilya’s mouth, like poison instead of pleasure. The playful arrogance from moments ago soured instantly, he’d misjudged you completely. Should have remembered, you’re a boring, nerdy lawyer man. He stared at the smoldering tip, then crushed it abruptly into the hotel ashtray. No fun left in stealing it now, the satisfaction tasted hollow now that you have left, upset at him. Petty.

Ilya’s frown finally eased only when sleep dragged him under, his last conscious thought a frustrated I screwed up. The hockey game had been electric. The sex? Amazing. Right up until he acted like an entitled jerk and ruined it all. He would be pissed off too if someone disturbed his lucky ritual before a game. Right?

The empty hotel room stayed silent around him as exhaustion won out over thoughts.

The next morning, the Russian started off with a cold shower to rinse away last night’s sweat and lingering traces of sex. Then dressed, Phone in hand, he scrolled to your contact and hit call. No hesitation this time. He had a plan forming, not an apology exactly, he wasn’t great at those, but something better…a move.

The line rang once… twice…

“What?” You answered. No greetings. Just straight up annoyed.

“I need you to pick me up. Same hotel” he stated his demand right away. But met with your cold respond “call an Uber, Rozanov”

Ilya switched tactics, dropping the scold and pulling out his trick. His voice lowered, smoother now, laced with that charming arrogance and thick russian accent he knew you couldn’t fully resist.

"Come by… I'll make it worth your while, handsome lawyer man" he added like a deliberate flattery. No desperation, just confidence that his appeal would work. The car noise paused slightly on the other end. A slight hesitation from your side… weighing whether to cave or not.

The sigh on the other end was heavy, resigned, but not angry. Ilya heard it. You turn around and speed up. You aren't happy about it… but you are coming. And Ilya smirked to himself, victorious, already mentally planning what to do once that cute lawyer pulled up outside his hotel room door.

The black SUV pulled up by the curb, and Ilya wasted no time, sliding into the passenger seat with his sport bag of hockey gear. The bulky equipment took up half the space as he threw it onto the back seat. You glanced at it briefly, already guessing.

“Where?” You asked.

Ilya answered with that smirk, the one that said I’m going to cause so much trouble while I’m here. "Going to the rink." Simple as that as he gives you the location and you start driving. You keep your eyes on the road, mentally calculating: seven minutes to the rink, you have enough time to drop Ilya off before heading to court. Tight, but doable. The second they pulled away from the hotel, Ilya’s fingers moved, unbuckling your belt with a smirk while driving. The lawyer swatted his hand away half-heartedly "What are you doing?" Trying to focus on driving.

Ilya ignored you, too focused on leaning over to nib on your earlobe while touching you. Ilya doesn’t hesitate, dropping low in the passenger seat, his hands quick as he unzips your pants. The fabric parted just enough for what he wanted. Your cock springs free once Ilya drags it out of your boxers. Your grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, knuckles whitening.

Your jaw tensed "Rozanov-" but Ilya shut you down with a low, teasing "Focus on driving, lawyer man." Then his saliva-slick palm wrapped around your cock without warning, giving you firm strokes from base to tip while Ilya kept his other hand braced against your driver seat for balance. The SUV stayed steady despite the distraction, the road was still straight ahead as you swallowed hard and forced yourself to concentrate on driving safely.

Ilya leaned down without another word, his mouth closing over your cock, hot and wet. His tongue swirled deliberately along the veins, tasting skin as his head bobbed up and down. Seven minutes? He only needed five. That was his goal, a quick but effective job to get you off before you two reached the rink. Ilya skipped the teasing, no slow build-up, no games. He went straight for deep throat, taking you all the way down with practiced ease. His throat muscles clenched around your cock deliberately, tight, rhythmic squeezes. Smooth swallowing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard on each upward stroke. Five minutes was plenty if he pushed this pace. He knew your brain is fried trying to calculate time to get to work without being late, you won’t hold back once climax reaches you.

His free hand cupped and kneaded your balls, firm, rhythmic pressure while his mouth stayed busy. The wet sounds of sucking filled the car: slurps, gulps, occasional gagging noises as Ilya pushed limits. Every bob of his head sent a jolt through your body. There goes a man trying very hard to focus on driving despite this.

Your muffled groan was quiet but undeniable “f..fuck-” the climax hitting you faster than usual as you give in to the pleasure. Typically, you have stamina, control but today? You were rushed. A busy man with court to get to couldn’t afford distractions lasting longer than five minutes. Ilya took it all without complaint, swallowing every bit before pulling back slightly to catch his breath, mission accomplished in record time. His special way of apologizing is only reserved for this handsome lawyer.

Ilya licked slowly from base to tip, cleaning every trace with a smirk stayed wide, satisfied. That had been quick, effective work, exactly what he intended when he first got in the car. Now you were still sitting there slightly dazed but focused, hands back on the wheel as his breathing evened out again post-orgasm. At least that’s what you tried to do. Ilya gently tucked your cock back into your boxers, adjusting the fabric with careful hands. He zipped up his pants and refastened the belt, leaving no evidence of what just happened.

As you pull up to the rink, no goodbye, just that wink thrown your way before Ilya unbuckled and opened the door. The hockey player grabbed his bag without another word, swinging it over one shoulder as he stepped out onto the pavement. The wink said everything Yeah, I did that on purpose. Deal with it. Then he turned and walked without looking back.

The hotel room door clicked shut behind Ilya, his foot kicking it closed after stumbling inside around 1 in the morning. Sweat glistened on his forehead, partly from practice, partly from the drinks he’d had with teammates at the club. He fished out his phone, thumbs clumsy as he typed to you.

"Did you win the case?"

No greeting; just straight to business despite being tipsy. The text sent at 1AM carried that casual but curious about how your day had gone in court. He eyes the wine bottle on the hotel suite counter before checking your reply. It was short and to the point.

Yes.

Ilya stared at the screen, tipsy brain processing that victory for a second before another wave of drunken energy hit him. Without overthinking it, he typed back:

"Celebrate w me? Drinks still here."