#dilfredfield

[image removed for safety reasons]

Piers is on his knees, looking up. Chris' powerful form towers above him, looking down on him, expecting obedience. Ready to reward it, perhaps.

When he got in a mood like this, it was magnetic. Not something he let most people see - what he looked like when he was needy, yearning for cock. The one he wants, the one he knows will make him whole, is still sealed up tight in those denim jeans, but he wants it so bad he's prepared to free it with his teeth if he has to.

Baby boy.

Would Chris let him? Let him nurse on that cock even through the fabric? Would it get him hard enough to take it out and slide it all the way down his throat? Would it make him happy to stare into his eyes while he did it? Blue and gold, captain and lieutenant?

"Yes sir."

Is it pathetic that his mouth is water? Actually, physically watering? Anticipating the weight and girth? It isn't the only thing. His cock waits beneath his waist, nestled between his knees, throbbing with each pump of blood.

He hasn't said it with his mouth yet. But he's more than said it with his eyes.

Please, Chris.

He's so tall from this angle. So vast. Each muscle and cord on him so very distinct. Piers could look at him all day, touch him all night. He can't be sure of how time flows when he's like this - seconds are passing like minutes and minutes like hours.

"Rrrgh."

In moments like these, he learned to love what he was and what he and Chris had. Moments where the leather of the couch grunted and rustled with each thrust, where he struggled to hold himself upright, where his lover's weight and strength bore down on him.

There was a cityscape outside, the wide un-curtained window showing the vast urban expanse where they'd chosen to hide and take a small break, several stories up. Rain was starting to fall gently, a storm rolling in. A television in the den they found themselves in was playing some bullshit newscast neither of them cared to listen to as it droned on in the background. So many people in this city and yet, none of them were going to hear. No one was going to see, either, unless they happened to aim a telescope at a random window in a random building.

He'd told Chris he didn't want to flee to some rural vacation spot every time they wanted privacy. He wanted the same urbanite freedom other gay men in their twenties had. Where one could meet a boyfriend in a hotel and fling his clothes off and get naked the way God intended. And so the night had gone.

How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? Didn't matter. He wanted more, wanted it all night.

Piers was made to take punishment, something he tried to communicate often to Chris. He didn't want to be hurt, but he did like it when it hurt a little. When he could feel more than just need, when he could feel power and raw masculinity in those snapping hips. Sometimes it wasn't about making love, sometimes it was about being bent over and getting fucked.

Nobody else could have this. Just Chris. It was his and his alone.

"Harder." he gasped out, not wanting this to end. He could take more, he could take it harder. He could take it all night.

He pushes himself back, pushes his ass back against the length of cock penetrating him, back against Chris. Muffled thunder in the distance rumbled outside and the sound of television. They had all night and no one would interrupt them.