#oaksfics

Wiping sweat from his brow, the young man smiled down at the work he’d accomplished. He looked to his left and saw the large bull pen. He’d been working on the farm as a hand for a little over a week now and had successfully avoided any unwanted attention so far.

He’d been learning all the animal’s names as well as their personalities and temperaments. Maggie was a lovely cow, a bit of a loner, but sweet as can be. Rex was easily the meanest of all the bulls, and he had to be taken away from the cows pretty often. 

But, Joel, well. He was easily the biggest of all the bulls. He was another loner, but in a distinctly different way than Maggie was. He stood at an imposing 9ft tall (horns not included) and had dark, curly fur that covered his whole body. His torso was barrel-shaped and as tough as any leather. 

The young man didn’t have much experience working with Joel, that was left to a select few employees on the ranch. Joel didn’t trust many people and whenever breeding season came around, he had to be taken to a secluded area. “Gets downright ravenous, that one,” the farmer had said. “Gotta cycle out the cows so they don’t get too tired.”

The boy had bit his lip in thought when he heard that. According to another hand on the farm, Joel had been the oldest of all the bulls and that was why he got the special treatment. He was the farmer’s favorite, but they didn’t understand why. He was grumpy and stubborn. 

The young man wasn’t surprised to hear that, to be honest. The older a bull got, the more ornery they were. That was just the way of things.

“Hey, kid, I’m gonna needja to take care of Joel’s pen for him.”

The young man looked up from his raking and shielded his eyes from the sun. “Oh. Are ya sure?”

“‘Course,” the farmer chuckled. “He’s out back gettin’ a bath, so he’ll need a clean pen to get back to.”

The boy nodded and gulped. “O’course, sir.” The farmer saluted in thanks before taking off to do his own chores. 

Exhaling a heavy breath, the young man grabbed a metal bucket, his rake, and some cleaning supplies before heading in the direction of Joel’s pen.

No one would have blamed him for thinking Joel’s pen would look like a tornado blew through, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting this.

It was clear where a lot of the rut had been taking place, with a decently sized pile of hay in the corner, but the whole place… reeked. It was musky and heady and thick. The young man wished he’d grabbed some sort of face mask before entering. He’ll probably have to wash his clothes a few times to get the stink out.

“Fuck it,” he whispered to himself, and got to work. There was so much of… Joel everywhere. He hadn’t been around Joel enough to personally know him, but this felt like an invasion of privacy. It looked like any other pen, with a large metal sliding door and roof, but it was clear Joel had marked his territory so no other bull would be caught dead in there.

“Hey, newbie!” Lynn, another hand, greeted cheerfully. Behind her, a large, imposing (and freshly bathed) Joel entered the pen. His big barrel chest heaved heavy breaths, deep eyes locked onto the boy. “Thanks for takin’ care o’ Joel’s pen for ‘im. I’m gonna go find a nice girl for ‘im, I’ll be right back!” She was gone before the young man could respond.

Joel walked closer towards the pile of hay, large snout smelling if things were where they should be. He grunted in approval when he realized his smell was still there. 

The young man watched before putting away his cleaning supplies. He stood frozen to the spot, Joel’s intense eyes making it hard to turn his back and leave. 

“U-um, I’ll just–” The young man pointed his thumb in the direction of the door to leave, but Joel gripped onto his overalls, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you–?”

Joel lifted him high off his feet and planted the young man’s crotch onto his snout. 

“J-Joel! What are you doing?!” He screeched, cheeks burning in embarrassment. Joel ignored him and inhaled the scent deeply, before exhaling a low, very pleased groan. “I’m–! I’m not a cow, I’m not what you want!”

Joel froze and looked the young man deep in the eyes, challenging him. Who was he to know what Joel wanted?

“Um, p-please put me down?” The boy stammered. Just then, his cock stirred in his overalls, betraying him. A twinkle appeared in Joel’s large, dark eye.

Before he knew it, Joel had him bent over a bale of hay with his legs kicked apart. Joel towered over him with a massive paw of a hand keeping his chest pressed to the hay. 

“Joel, please,” he whimpered, his body trembling in fear and… perhaps arousal, he really wasn’t sure. 

Joel huffed in response, asking what he wanted.

“I don’t– Wouldn’t you prefer a cow over… over me?”

Joel grumbled above him and ripped his overalls down his legs, pressing his large, very hard and leaking cock against the young man’s ass. He rolled his strong hips and groaned in response. Joel’s belly rested on top of the young man’s lower back, so he felt every heavy breath he exhaled. 

“I-I guess that answers that question…” He sighed. He hid his face in his arms and whined weakly. “Fine, just… Just do it, okay?”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned over the young man’s body and lifted his t-shirt, teasing his nipples. A large, thick tongue started probing at the young man’s earlobe, making him shiver in response.

“Oh,” he moaned, his own dick twitching to life between his legs. One of Joel’s large hands moved down to his ass to spread his cheeks and assess what he had to work with. Joel grunted appreciatively and started rubbing the boy’s hole in preparation.

A large glob of spit landed on the sensitive skin, easing the way for Joel’s thumb to pierce through. “Oh, fuck,” the boy gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily.

Joel hummed to himself and gripped his cock in his free hand. He started stroking it slowly before slapping the head against the young man’s cheek, giving him an idea of the size.

“Fuck, is… Is that thing gonna fit?”

Joel snorted before slowly pressing the head inside. It felt like the young man’s entire body was set on fire. He couldn’t feel his own legs beneath him, but he felt the pulsing of his cock throbbing between them. All the air left his lungs at once as Joel’s cock entered him further.

Joel stopped once a large thick ridge toward the base kissed the edge of the boy’s rim. He felt lightheaded, his eyes barely staying open as he adjusted to the full length of Joel’s cock.

“O-oh my god, I’m…” The young man trembled, voice pitched up an octave. “Am I dying?”

Joel made a low noise in his chest and leaned over to kiss and lick along the young man’s neck and ear. He was… comforting him, letting him take his time. Joel mooed quietly, almost like he was cooing words of praise to the boy. It made him feel like he could breathe again.

The young man rested his head on the bale of hay and tried to look back at Joel. “Okay, I’m… I think I’m okay,” he smiled sheepishly. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Before Joel started moving, one of his hands moved underneath them and covered the young man’s belly. He felt his cock through the skin, bulging through easily. He groaned in appreciation before adjusting his stance. The young man’s feet were hanging high off the floor of the pen like a ragdoll, his overalls still attached messily around his ankles.

Suddenly, as if someone had whistled for Joel to get started, he fucked hard and deep into the boy. The loud, almost comical sound of his heavy balls slapping against the young man’s tender flesh made him go dizzy. 

Joel gripped onto his narrow hips and set a punishing pace, rutting into him. He breathed heavily and grunted above the boy, sounding far away. 

The young man’s entire body moved back and forth against the hay bale, the scratchy feeling keeping him grounded as he ascended into another plane of existence. He had no idea being stretched so much and fucked so deep could feel so good. He didn’t want this to end. 

Just then, Joel decided he didn’t want that position anymore and lifted the young man into the air so his back was pressed to Joel’s barrel chest. The boy moaned loudly, resting his head on Joel’s broad shoulder.

Joel grunted and started using the boy’s body as if he were a fleshlight, lifting and lowering him at a punishing pace. The amount of precome leaking out of the boy’s hole and around Joel’s cock covered their bodies entirely. 

“I’m– I’m not going to last long, Joel,” the young man gasped, breath hitching with each powerful thrust. His eyes rolled back as Joel’s cock pummeled against his prostate, making him tremble weakly. The boy’s cock slapped lewdly against his lower stomach, precome splattering everywhere.

The boy’s stomach bulged with Joel’s cock, stretching the skin past its limits. He looked down to watch, mesmerized by the sight. How Joel’s cock fit inside him, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to question it.

Joel groaned deeply, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He must be getting close. 

“C’mon,” the young man whined, turning his head to look at Joel’s face. “Come inside me.”

Joel pushed him back down onto the bale of hay and pushed his cock even further inside. The ridge near the base of Joel’s cock made the boy gasp weakly, gripping onto the hay beneath to ground himself. 

Each smack of Joel’s hips against his ass had him letting out weak noises he didn’t even know he could make. Joel’s horns pierced into the hay as he rested his forehead against the boy’s back.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the young man chanted. “C’mon, Joel, please,” he whimpered.

If he could see him, he was certain steam left Joel’s snout as he panted and grunted behind him. Joel made a low groan before slamming one last time against the boy’s prostate and came like a geyser inside him. 

The boy gasped as he was filled up, coming untouched as he felt Joel’s cock pump inside like a hose. He trembled beneath the bull’s body, screaming into the hay. 

Joel exhaled heavily, hands gripped onto the boy’s hips tightly. He moved them slightly and noticed that they’d probably bruise soon. He hummed and leaned over to kiss and lick along the young man’s neck again, this time as an apology. He slowly pulled out and watched as his come poured out lewdly.

The boy panted hard, his body feeling more empty than it ever had in his life. His stomach felt full, though, which made him look down to see. Joel had well and truly filled him, it seemed. He couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving his body, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

Joel climbed onto the bale of hay with him and held the boy close, spooning him comfortingly. He turned the young man’s face and kissed and licked his tears away, mooing praises into his ear. The boy felt like his heart would burst from the tender act and silently cursed whoever called Joel grumpy and mean. 

“That was…” He giggled, breathing heavily. “I hope you got what you were looking for.”

Joel grunted in affirmation and held the boy close, one large hand holding his full belly. It dawned on him then that Joel probably thought that he’d just bred the boy. 

He didn’t have the heart to tell him it wouldn’t take.

“Sir, I had somethin’ to tell ya,” the boy said the next day, running up to the farmer with a bit more pep in his step. 

“What’s that, kid?” The farmer grinned, chewing more tobacco.

“Just wanted to let ya know that I think I cracked ol’ Joel. Think he likes me!”

“No kiddin’? Well, shit, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth! If you’re thinkin’ he won’t mind, you’re welcome to take care o’ his pen for the rest of breedin’ season, then.”

The boy couldn’t stop the wide grin from growing on his face.

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday. 

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling. 

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe. 

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything. 

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster. 

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar. 

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be. 

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere. 

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating. 

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next. 

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now? 

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s. 

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar. 

Samantha. 

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away. 

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel. 

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him. 

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it. 

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone – especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that. 

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him. 

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day. 

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor. 

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?” 

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.” 

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive. 

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward. 

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth. 

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.” 

“Good. That’s good.” 

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.” 

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.” 

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?” 

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke. 

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?” 

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb. 

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?” 

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?” 

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably. 

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice. 

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently. 

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?” 

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly. 

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” 

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” 

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.” 

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.” 

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it. 

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry. 

 This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret. 

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much. 

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.  

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze. 

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin. 

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .” 

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh. 

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell. 

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.” 

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet. 

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.” 

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for. 

“Oh,” he says. 

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers. 

“Shane.” 

“Hm?”

“Look at me.” 

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?” 

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

“It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.” 

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat. 

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers. 

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector. 

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn. 

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.” 

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy. 

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek. 

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands. 

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth. 

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered. 

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain. 

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.” 

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face. 

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up. 

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic. 

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers. 

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager. 

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end. 

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.” 

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him. 

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light. 

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast. 

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans. 

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.” 

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough. 

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.” 

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.” 

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?” 

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.” 

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before. 

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?” 

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back. 

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head. 

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat. 

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head. 

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there. 

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused. 

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.” 

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.” 

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes. 

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.” 

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.” 

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.” 

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions. 

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door. 

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment. 

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek. 

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.” 

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.” 

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance. 

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice. 

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck. 

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” 

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders. 

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks. 

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.” 

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?” 

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it. 

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?” 

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this. 

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot. 

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent. 

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both. 

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger. 

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago. 

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles. 

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed. 

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.” 

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now. 

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.” 

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage. 

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest. 

“Ohmy god . . .” 

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.” 

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.” 

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.” 

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin. 

It feels too fucking good. 

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole. 

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,” 

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear. 

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets. 

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him. 

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze. 

“Turn around,” Tim pants. 

“What?” 

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.” 

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets. 

“… stop.” 

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips. 

“You want me to stop?” 

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?” 

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps. 

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain. 

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.” 

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him. 

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today. 

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse. 

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets. 

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.” 

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze. 

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets. 

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

"We're in public, you two," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement.

"But I'm bored," Dieter whined, big brown eyes rounding to try and appeal to your more understanding side.

"Babe, she's on a mission," said Shin gently. He gripped Dieter's thick fingers in his own and linked them together, calming him with a reassuring thumb on his knuckles. Dieter relaxed and rested his head on Shin's broad shoulder.

Your heart softened at the two of them, loving them more by the minute. When you first met Dieter, you didn't know he'd already had a partner. You were working as an assistant on a movie he was filming as a part time gig while you worked on getting your Bachelor's degree. Frankly, you got a little skeptical when he said his boyfriend would be "cool with it" if you joined them a couple of times in the bedroom. You didn't really know what that meant at the time, but what you did know was that that was five years ago now and you couldn't be happier.

Shin worked as a photographer for a magazine, which is how he and Dieter met a year before you came into the picture.

"I like this one, honey," Shin said softly, picking up a scented candle and showing it to you. You took it from his grasp and popped off the lid, letting the scent fill your nostrils. It went right to your head, calming you all over. "Right?" He smiled, watching your reaction.

Your cheeks warmed as you nodded. "Yeah. It's just vague enough that it'll satisfy her weird expectations, but it's also kind of nice," you snorted, placing it in your shopping basket.

"Why does your aunt gotta be so weird?" Dieter groaned. He started to get antsy, the edible he'd taken earlier starting to wear off. He hated holiday shopping. It was always too crowded and loud so he got overstimulated easily.

"We all have at least one in our families, right?" You sighed, coming over to give Dieter a kiss. "I'm sorry, Dee. We'll be done soon, I promise. Okay?" You pouted, cupping his scruffy cheeks gently. Dieter nodded jerkily, but he eased some with the promise of going back home. He couldn't wait to get into some pajamas (well, comfier than what he was currently wearing) and cuddling up with his partners on the couch while they watched A Christmas Story for the hundredth time.

"You go check out, I'll go sit with him on a bench outside the store, okay?" Shin offered. You agreed, watching as the two of them left hand in hand. This made you finish your transaction as soon as you could, standing in the line for way longer than should've been necessary. You'd been walking around this mall for at least two hours and your feet were starting to hurt.

Once you finished, you made your way out of the store. You felt a little out of breath and tired, just as ready as Dieter looked to get home. He was resting his head on Shin's shoulder and playing with a lock of hair that had come loose from the bun low on his head. Shin kept pressing kisses to Dieter's forehead between saying little things to make him giggle or smile.

Dieter's face lit up as he saw you approach them, that boyish smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. "Now we can leave," you exhaled.

"Fuck yes!" Dieter cheered, fist lifting into the air like he'd just kissed Claire at the end of The Breakfast Club. He laced his fingers with yours using his free hand, holding both of you tightly. "So, I was thinking we could order some pizza so we don't have to go anywhere else, and then…"

You looked over at Shin as your shared boyfriend's entire mood seemed to change, talking a mile a minute as you made your way through the alleyways of the mall. It didn't stop on the car ride home and even when you all changed into your pajamas. Shin was on the phone, standing in your kitchen, ordering the pizza Dieter was craving.

Once all three of you were sat on the couch, pizza on the coffee table in front of you, and the main menu screen of A Christmas Story on the TV, Dieter looked at you like you hung the moon. "I love you, babe," he said softly.

"What's with you getting all serious, huh? I love you, too, ya goof," you smiled.

Dieter shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. "I dunno. Don't feel like I say it enough. I love you both," he smiled. Shin's face visibly softened, cupping Dieter's face to kiss him deeply. Then, just as Dieter started to melt into it, he pulled away and did the same to you, soft lips taking your breath away.

Dieter took his chance and kissed you just as hard, moaning into your mouth. "Maybe Christmas moves can wait?" He chuckled breathily against your lips. Shin nodded from behind him, pulling the collar of his pj's away so he could kiss along Dieter's freckled shoulder and collarbone.

"They can totally wait," you agreed, giggling as you ran off to your bedroom.

Acacius hated the "arrangement". It was presented to him as a choice; either him or Lucilla. He loved her far too much to let her do something so vile, so if letting Caracalla get on his knees and suck him off would let her live without going through such a thing, then he would endure. Lucilla loathed this, possibly more than he did, but she knew that once Acacius had made up his mind about something, he was hard to argue with.

That's typically how it would go, but sometimes they'd bring out the olive oil and make him mount them. "He's such a brute, brother, he may as well act like one, hm?" Caracalla would giggle. Geta would always laugh, an unamused sneer on his face. Fierce eyes bore into Acacius', daring him to challenge their orders.

It never came.

In Rome, it was preferable to be in Acacius' position, the one to "give" rather than "receive". However, in the young Emperors' quarters, they often called him "brute" or "beast" or his title of General to demean him. He had to continue taking their orders, no matter the position he was taking. He was simply a "cock on legs" as Geta called him once. This made him question his own manhood at times, and wondered if he was even fit to lead anymore. But of course no one actually knew what was happening behind closed doors, adding another layer to his internal turmoils.

Usually the arrangement consisted of Caracalla eagerly touching and rubbing Acacius' cock through his robes, then slowly kneeling in front of him as Geta watched carefully. Acacius wasn't allowed to speak a word during their "play time", as Caracalla called it, unless ordered to. Caracalla was always more attached during these particular evenings, often getting jealous if Acacius looked at Geta for too long or didn't praise him enough.

Tonight, Acacius could feel something different in the air and it made his stomach turn. He knocked on the brothers' bedroom door, four times exactly in a rhythm, as was the code, and felt a chill run down his spine. He wore a simple robe and sandals, the rest of his clothes waiting for him in the stables with his horse. He didn't want to think too hard about getting his things as he left nights like this, eager to get home to Lucilla as soon as possible.

The door swung open and Geta stood before him, looking down on him despite being shorter than Acacius. His lips were pursed and his nostrils were flared. "General," he said pointedly.

"Emperor Geta," Acacius nodded once. Geta stepped to the side and extended his arm in greeting, letting the general enter the room.

"Mmm, you're finally here," Caracalla giggled from the bed. He was naked save for a satin cloth covering him precariously. "You're looking very handsome this evening, General."

A small pit formed at the base of Acacius' stomach, his mouth dry. "Thank you, Emperor Caracalla," he forced out. Flattery towards Caracalla always went well, and despite how difficult it was for him to voice it, it always made the evenings go by more smoothly.

The only sound in the room was the fire crackling and Geta pouring a glass of wine. "You know where to sit, General," he said calmly, placing the pitcher of wine back on the table. Geta took a seat, facing the bed, and drank his wine silently, piercing eyes finally meeting Acacius'.

Acacius swallowed a lump in his throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his bare thighs. Subtly, he pressed his fingernails into the skin, avoiding Geta's gaze. The young emperor's eyes were like a snake's, in Acacius' mind. Any direct eye contact would provoke him, and that sinister streak of his would rear its ugly head in matter of moments.

Caracalla crawled to the edge of the bed, hands roving over Acacius' broad shoulders and chest appreciatively. He leaned over to kiss and nip along the general's skin leading up to the base of his neck, pushing the sleeve of Acacius' robe out of the way. "He smells like sweat, brother," the emperor groaned in pleasure, one of his hands traveling down Acacius' torso. "Were you training hard today, beast?" He asked quietly, hand hovering over the general's soft cock.

Acacius shuddered in disgust, but to Caracalla it probably translated as desire. "Y-yes," he grunted. His brows furrowed the further Caracalla's hand traveled, and his breath hitched once the emperor gripped his cock underneath his robe. The young emperor pouted at his softness, but saw it as a challenge.

Slowly, his soft hand started stroking the general's cock, a small, wicked smile painting his features.

Acacius shut his eyes briefly, exhaling a heavy breath through his nostrils. It always took a while for him to get hard on these nights, and often he had to think of Lucilla or the goddess Venus to get there at all. He wished that wasn't the case, because the sooner he got hard, the sooner this would be over with.

Caracalla leaned over and pushed Acacius' robe to the side. He hummed at the sight of the general's strong thighs and thick cock between them. He'd always preferred the company of men in the bedroom and when he could have one as pretty as Acacius, he took full advantage. His strokes grew quicker, his eyes glued to the fat head slowly twitching to life and pushing through the foreskin. Caracalla groaned at the sight and spit on the tip before covering it with his lips. He hummed happily, bobbing his head up and down, eyes shut in bliss.

Acacius gasped at the feeling, brows drawn together. He grunted, forcing himself not to look down. If he didn't look, then it could be anyone down there, and not the spoiled brat of an emperor. His eyes drifted to the fireplace in the corner. Geta watched his face carefully as he sipped his wine.

"Does that feel good, beast?" Geta asked, voice smooth.

Startled out of his thoughts of Lucilla draped in silk, Acacius blinked rapidly. "Y-yes, Caesar," he grunted, eyes flicking anywhere but below him or straight ahead.

Caracalla moaned around his cock, using his hand in tandem with his lips, stroking him where he couldn't fit.

"Get off him, you slut," Geta hissed. "Do you want him finishing so soon?"

Caracalla lifted his mouth off of Acacius' cock, panting heavily and lips swollen. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused. "N-no, of course not!" He pouted. "Get the oil, brute," he spat, crawling to the middle of the bed unceremoniously.

Acacius' stomach dropped. He slowly made his way to the small shelf of various perfumes and oils. It felt like he wasn't completely present, like trudging through mud to get to the other side of the room. His eyes couldn't focus on the correct bottle fast enough it seemed because Geta sighed angrily from his seat. "Apologies, Caesar," Acacius grunted, grabbing the olive oil bottle and walking back over to the bed. His cock softened some in that time, but it still protruded through his simple robe.

Casting a quick glance in Geta's direction showed that the young emperor had his eyes glued to the area between Acacius' legs, his gaze hungry. It wasn't common for Geta to participate, but it wasn't unheard of and that made the older man anxious. He knew what to expect when it was just Caracalla, but it would often turn into a different evening entirely should the other brother take part. "Disrobe, General," Geta demanded, taking one last drink of his wine before standing. "How do you want him, brother?"

Caracalla hummed in thought as Acacius slowly removed his robe and sandals, eyes blank. "I want his heavy body to mount me, fuck me into the mattress like the beast he is," he giggled in delight. The young emperor got onto all fours, presenting himself to the general lewdly.

A bitter taste filled Acacius' mouth, not unlike the aftermath of a long battle. He stepped closer to the edge of the bed to get this over with. But before he could reach for the young man's narrow waist, Geta gripped his cock in a smooth hand, pumping hard. The older man groaned in response, looking at Geta in confusion. The eye contact made his stomach turn. He did his best to school his features and hide his repulsion.

"You're not hard enough, brute," Geta seethed. He always had a calmer demeanor but a much angrier disposition under the surface during Senate meetings and their "play time" was no different. He stroked Acacius almost angrily, thumbing the head roughly. He released his cock briefly to spit into his hand before resuming. "Is my brother not beautiful to you?" He challenged, head tilted to the side and eyes dark.

Caracalla sidled up to Acacius' side, his small, soft hands rubbing over that broad chest and the swell of his belly. He pouted up at Acacius' face, kissing along his shoulder and neck as he roughly dug his nails into the older man's chest, near the sensitive skin of a nipple. He wanted to be beautiful to the older man, even if he meant he had to force it out of him. Acacius flinched in pain, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Acacius grappled with his words, afraid to break the eye contact from the emperor. "H-he's very beautiful, Caesar," he grunted, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. Try as he might, his body unfortunately started to react to the brothers' ministrations. It was also clear there was a hint of jealousy painting Geta's features, so he did his best to please him as well. "As— As are you," he stammered, cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Caracalla giggled, kissing his way down Acacius' chest to suck a nipple into his mouth. He moaned around the ruddy skin, flicking his tongue back and forth. "Such a way with words, our brute," he hummed happily.

Geta grunted in response, breaking eye contact with the general. Acacius deflated a little, but forced himself not to seem too obvious. "Get on with it," the emperor muttered, releasing Acacius' cock from his grasp.

Acacius swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded, quickly notching the head of his cock to Caracalla's hole. Caracalla moaned and giggled in delight, gripping the sheets in tight fists, anticipation taking over his body. Acacius drizzled the olive oil over himself and thought of Lucilla in these soft, expensive sheets instead. A flash of her unbelievably soft skin passed through his mind, getting him that extra bit harder.

If Caracalla were a different man, Acacius might even do him the decency of preparing him a little better, but he was nothing if not impatient in all things, so once the general was in position, he pushed forward until he couldn't go any further. It knocked the wind out of the young emperor, a weak moan piercing the air and a blissed out smile on his face.

"Oh! You stretch me so well, beast," Caracalla giggled, sweat dotting his hairline and toes curling already.

Acacius decided to play the role a little and just grunted in response, starting up a steady rhythm. Caracalla seemed to like it when he was a little rough, so he gripped the younger man's hair in a tight fist to hold him in place. He went to another place mentally during these moments, forcing himself to disassociate while his body took over. He noticed Geta move on his left and get comfortable on the edge of the bed, watching carefully, but none of it really registered.

As he stared out into the distance, eyes facing the wall in front of him, he thought of Lucilla. He thought of her on top of him, her soft curves under his rough hands and sweet moans and gasps in his ears.

Caracalla leaned down on his elbows and pushed back against Acacius' thrusts, moaning wantonly. "Harder," he whined, looking back at the older man. Acacius was getting a little too gentle for his liking. He wanted to be bruised and tired by the end.

It almost didn't reach Acacius' ears, but he followed the order, resting a foot on the mattress to get a better angle and picked up the pace. The younger man groaned in pleasure, his entire body rocking back and forth.

"Good," Geta hummed, eyes looking over the general's strong body hungrily. He stood from the bed and made his way behind the general, eyes raking over the muscles rippling underneath the strong, but aged skin. There was so much experience and battles won in the scars and markings littering the tan expanse. Geta's eyes fell to the taut muscles of Acacius' ass and thighs and he groaned, unable to help himself.

Long fingers traveled over Acacius' body from behind, startling him out of his daydreams and thoughts of his beloved. Those same fingers ghosted over his skin until they gripped at Acacius' pounding hips. "Keep going, General," Geta hummed quietly. He leaned over and kissed along the general's broad shoulders tenderly. More tenderly than usual, but he knew better than to trust the younger man.

Acacius forced himself to block it out, but it was so out of character that he couldn't help but feel thrown off balance. His hips still kept a steady pace, but he started sweating more, the salty drops falling from his head and down onto Caracalla's back.

Geta lifted his robe, his own hard cock beneath the fabric now on display. He cupped Acacius' muscled cheeks and groaned at the tense skin as he pressed the length of his cock between them.

Acacius burned under his skin, disgust and bile rising in his throat. He forced himself to push it down and prayed to the Gods that Geta wouldn't go any further than that. The young emperor never got involved in this way, or at least never had with him in the room. Goosebumps covered Acacius' entire body as he quickly drove into Caracalla, hoping that he'd finish soon.

"I'm— I'm going to c-come, General," Caracalla moaned weakly, his face buried into the satin sheets and ass held high in Acacius' strong hands. His eyes were half-lidded in pleasure, completely drunk on the general's cock. Acacius had a passing thought for how beautiful the young man looked, so blissed out like this, before he remembered just who he was.

Geta's moans were lower than Caracalla's, quieter too, and the way he rutted against Acacius' ass was similar to that of a novice. It was clear he didn't have much experience and the older man briefly wondered if that's why he didn't get involved much. "Good," Geta panted. "Make us come, beast."

Tears welled up in Acacius' eyes as a weak noise left his body. Everything in his life leading up to this moment washed over him, shame filling him from the inside so quickly the he barely even registered the twins shuddering with their releases. And even less his own. The anger he felt towards himself for letting this happen almost rivaled that shame. He was a respected man in Rome, had worked hard for his status, and this is how he was being treated.

Caracalla fell into a heap on the mattress, breathing heavily as a smile painted his features.

Acacius felt his cock twitching with exhaustion and the aftereffects of an orgasm, but he didn't remember it happening at all. His back also felt colder once Geta stepped away. A chill ran down his spine and the cooling release on his back made him sick to his stomach.

Acacius' limbs felt heavy as he stood still next to the large bed. He stared at Caracalla's heaving stomach and knew that this was his chance to make an exit. They always got tired and didn't have the energy to argue if he left a little too soon by the end.

"General," Geta muttered, clearing his throat. Acacius startled, forgetting where he was temporarily. "You did well this evening, you may leave. I'll take care of him," he said, gesturing to his brother's exhausted body.

Acacius nodded slowly, watching Geta's face for any other orders. When none came, it felt like his body was moving through thick honey as he grabbed his simple robe and sandals. He dressed quietly, the sounds of the twins whispering to each other passing through his ears without registering.

As he made his way to the bedroom door, he stopped briefly and turned back to look at them. Geta pulled away from Caracalla's face, the sound of a kiss dissipating into the air. "G-good evening, Caesars," Acacius said shakily.

"Goodnight, Acacius," Caracalla hummed happily. Acacius winced, shivering at the sound of his name on that tongue. It felt like ice cold water being dumped on his head after being called "beast" and "brute" so much.

Geta said nothing, watching as the older man left the room.

The ride to his home passed in a flash, his poor horse panting once he made it to the stables. One of his servants, a young boy no older than sixteen, helped him get down and took the saddle off his horse. "Night, general," the boy said kindly. Acacius nodded, a quiet grunt leaving his lips in response before turning and making his way inside.

Lucilla. He needed Lucilla.

The smells of his home washed over him as he stepped inside; incense and a faint hint of citrus. Tears welled up in his eyes again and his heartbeat began to quicken.

"Dulcissime?" (Dearest?)

Acacius gasped, head turning quickly in the direction of Lucilla's voice.

"You're back late," she said, standing in the doorway of their bedroom. Worry etched its way across her features, making him crumble almost instantly.

Acacius fell to his knees in front of her, strong hands gripping onto her soft clothes like a lifeline. "I'm sorry— I—" He gasped, voice shaking with sobs.

"Justus…" Lucilla cooed, helping him stand to his feet gently before guiding him into their bedroom. She closed the door as another sob wracked through Acacius' body. "Shh," she whispered, sitting him down on their mattress. It was so much softer than the one he'd just been in.

"Lucilla, I—" Acacius sniffled, eyes red and raw.

"No, my love," she said softly. She cupped his face in her delicate hands, wiping the tears away with her thumbs. "You don't have to say anything. Come here." She kneeled before him, removing his sandals and slowly untied his robe. "Would you like a bath?"

Acacius nodded, breaths hiccuping weakly.

She nodded in return, guiding him to their private bath. Removing his clothes was a slow task, but it gave the water enough time to warm up a little. Once he was seated in the water, he didn't move much save for the periodic shaking of his shoulders as he continued to sob. Lucilla's heart broke with every weak noise or sniffle that left his body. She was always gentle with him, but she doubled her efforts on nights like this, cleaning off the stain of those two monsters.

Once they were back in their bedroom and in comfier robes, she made sure that he got into the bed before her. Strong hands gripped her wrists and didn't let go until she joined him so she complied, crawling into bed with him. With his head resting on her chest, his tears fell more softly, but not less frequently.

Lucilla combed her fingers through her husband's soft curls and it calmed him down significantly. She hated these evenings with every fiber of her being. Her strong, capable husband was brought down to his knees and forced to perform acts so vile it made her sick. She tried to get him to fight it, but they both knew he couldn't deny the young emperors' wishes.

So, that evening, while her husband cried into her chest and fell into a restless sleep, she thought. Lucilla began planning. She had to get her husband out of this, no matter the cost. Rome hadn't been happy in years.

There had to be a way to get rid of those two that would benefit both of them as well as the city.

She looked down at Acacius' sleeping face and gently rubbed her thumb between his brows, softening the furrow between them. She sighed softly, her own brows drawing close in worry.

Oberyn snorted and slowly opened his eyes, those gorgeous pools of umber catching your gaze easily. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he turned onto his side, getting comfy. He didn't bother covering his naked body and neither did you, both of you quite content to let the soft linen and smooth satin of the sheets brush against your bare skin. "No, I don't suppose I do," he chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Must you go to King's Landing, my prince?" You asked softly, turning your own body to face his. You frowned as you watched his face change from one of peace to one of seriousness.

"I'm afraid so, my darling," he sighed, turning away to sit up on the bed. His legs hung over the large mattress as he stretched, his back cracking in the process. You crawled over to him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind. You kissed along his broad shoulders and the back of his neck, silently apologizing for bringing it up, but you had to know. "I made a promise to my brother, you know that."

"I know," you sighed and rested your chin on his shoulder. The palms of your hands rested on his chest where you could feel his sturdy heartbeat beneath. "I wish I could come with," you mumbled.

Oberyn turned in your arms and cupped your face in his large hands. "No," he frowned. "I don't wish to taint you with that shitpile of a city." You laughed, cheeks warming again. "I mean it! I hate it there, and I'd hate for you to leave Dorne. Besides," he smiled. "I want something lovely to come home to, hm?"

Your heart fluttered in your chest when he leaned forward to kiss you, those plump lips of his making you lose your train of thought for a moment. Both of you stayed like that for a bit, kissing softly, but eventually had to come up for air. Oberyn pressed his forehead to yours and breathed you in.

"Alright," you hummed, deep in thought. “My prince,” you started. He looked you in the eye, listening intently. “Do… Do you ever wish that… you loved me?”

Oberyn furrowed his brows. “My darling, what do you mean?”

Your cheeks throbbed in embarrassment. “I just mean… I wonder if we were… lovers, like you and Ellaria, then,” you gulped, not making eye contact with him. “It’s silly,” you shook your head, brushing it off.

Oberyn sighed, brows pinched in concern. “What Ellaria and I have is unique, that is true. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think of you any less than her, my love,” he said gently. 

That made you feel a little better. There was a small part of you that doubted his words, like he was just saying them to calm you down. But deeper than that, you knew, Oberyn wouldn’t lie to you. He never had. 

"Now, I'd like one more round with you, my sweet," Oberyn grinned. "Just to have something to hold me over. I don't imagine the whores in King's Landing will ever hold a candle to you, but I've got a vivid memory," he winked.

Oberyn always had a way with words, and it made you laugh and lightly slap his chest. He looked at you with mock hurt and tackled you to the bed, kissing and nipping along your chest and neck. He tickled you along your sides. Your chest and sides hurt with how hard you were laughing, and when you came down from that high, you looked up at Oberyn's handsome face.

There was a calmness that settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. You reached up to cup his face in your hand. "Come back to me?" You whispered.

"Of course," he said back, eyes full of determination and passion. 

There was a part of you that couldn't shake an uneasiness in his words, but you believed him.

"I think he's camping in the bathroom," Benny sighed. "My shield's fucked."

"Got it."

Slowly, Frankie moved his character up the stairs, looking down the scope of his gun to keep an eye out for the enemy player. He stayed in the doorway at the top of the steps because he knew that if he moved further into the room, the game would give him away by making a loud door creaking noise.

Just then, the player opened the bathroom door, gun aimed towards the couch, and Frankie pulled the trigger. The other player's character fell in a heap on the floor, all his gear and health floating and free for the taking.

"Niiice, Fish, fuck yeah!" Benny cheered, making his wounded character crawl out from behind the couch so Frankie could heal him. Frankie chuckled, brushing off the praise.

"I think he had a shield," he said softly.

Suddenly, the sound of a pin clinking off a grenade filled the air.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Benny exclaimed, trying to get his character to crawl out of the window to safety.

"Fuck!" The grenade went off, and both of their characters died instantly. "Fuckin' forgot we were playing duos for a second. Should've known that dude's friend would be nearby."

Benny groaned on the other end of the call, voice muffled from his hands covering his face.

Frankie watched as their enemy's partner did a dancing emote on their corpses. "He could've at least done a funnier emote," he mumbled dejectedly.

"Man, fuck this. You mind if I bring a friend in?" Benny asked. Their characters were back in the lobby screen and Benny's character was continuously flipping and cartwheeling in place.

"Sure, who is it?" Frankie mumbled.

"Dude's a streamer, so we might end up on his live. That okay?"

Frankie really wasn't familiar with streamers, so he wasn't sure what he was expecting. "Uhh, sure," he shrugged to himself.

"He's real chill and kicks ass on this game, so he'll be a great help," Benny reassured him. He shot his friend a quick message, making his character sit in a chair to wait in the lobby screen. "Should be anytime—"

PopeSantiIII has entered the chat

"Hey, man! How you been?"

"Pope! This is my best friend, Francisco," Benny smiled, sitting up straighter on his couch.

"Tú Latino también?" Santiago hummed into the mic, a playful smile in his voice. (Ah, another latino, huh?)

Frankie blinked, cheeks growing warm at the sound of the newcomer's voice. It was low and velvety and made him fumble a little. "Uh, yeah. ¿Cómo te llamas?" (What's your name?)

"Santiago, pero puedes llamarme guapo," Santi flirted, smirking into the camera for his livestream. His chat was going crazy. They loved it when he was a menace like that. It was also a good way to filter out the shitheads. Something Santiago was known for on his streams was not taking any shit from hateful, bigoted people, and if they couldn't handle a little light flirting, then he'd make it known that wasn't acceptable. (Santiago, but you can call me handsome.)

Frankie choked on a drink of beer, causing him to dribble some down his chin. He laughed nervously and fidgeted a little, despite knowing he wasn't actually on camera, but his voice was. "Vale, guapo," he chuckled, cheeks throbbing. "Alright amigos, let’s fuck up these pendejos."

Santiago laughed, hearty and confident. "Hell yeah. Get us in there, Ben."

Inviting Santiago was a great idea on Benny's part because they won three games in a row. Benny was getting hyped up, shouting, "LET'S GOOO!" as he made his character twerk or do some other trendy dance on his enemies' corpses. Frankie hadn't laughed so hard while sober in a long time.

"This has been real fun, fellas, but I've been on stream for a few hours and I gotta eat something," Santi chuckled, coming down from the high of another win. "Mind if I add you, Francisco?"

"Frankie's fine. A-and yeah! Go ahead," Frankie smiled.

"Sweet."

PopeSantiIII sent you a friend request

Frankie accepted the request right away. He was always happy to make more gaming friends and Santi was a blast to hang out with.

"Alright, I'll see you boys soon?"

"'Course, man! Have a good night," Benny said happily.

"Night," Frankie grinned.

PopeSantiIII has left the chat

"He was cool."

"Yeah, he's awesome. I met him while he was streaming once. We ended up on the same squad on Warzone and he had me laughing my ass off," Benny said.

"I'll have to watch him sometime," Frankie hummed.

"For sure! But I think I'm gonna take his advice and get somethin' to eat too, Fish. You should do the same." Frankie's friends were always looking out for him and he appreciated it immensely. He always had a hard time doing that himself.

"Yes, mom," Frankie rolled his eyes, but there was no malice in his voice. "Night, Ben."

"Night, Fishy!" Ben teased.

AceInOne has left the chat

Closing out of the game and taking his own headset off, Frankie stood from his chair and stretched. He popped his back in the process, making him groan in relief.

PopeSantiIII has sent you a message

The notification on his tv startled him. He squinted at the screen and used his controller to go to the Messages section.

— hey, francisco! just curious but do u have discord? i've got a group of players that can hop in and out whenever they want and i think you'd fit right in!

Frankie bit his lip in thought. He wasn't one for big groups, even online. Before he answered, he decided to pull out his phone and look up what Santiago looked like. It couldn't hurt to know who he was talking to, right?

Wrong.

Frankie's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the chiseled jawline and deep eyes. Oh, this was going to be a problem. Frankie hands got clammy almost immediately and he had to take his cap off to run his fingers through the messy curls while the other hand clutched his controller so tight he was afraid he'd break it.

He took a deep breath and started typing out a response.

— Hey! I have one, but I don't use it all that often. I appreciate the offer, but tbh I'm really not familiar with a lot of that sort of thing

Santiago's response came quick, making Frankie blush.

— that's ok! is it ok if i add u on there at least? i hate using the ps to talk lol

Frankie chuckled. He agreed, using a PlayStation controller to type was terrible.

— Lol yeah. I'm catfish79 on there

— awesome! buenas noches, cariño ♥

Frankie groaned, face burning. He quickly turned his console off and downed the rest of his beer in one gulp. His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him. When he saw he'd gotten a notification from Discord, he snorted, a shy smile on his face.

popesanti has sent you a friend request

a/n: i also made a banner for santi's twitch ♥

"Fuck," Shane moaned into Tim's mouth, biting the older man's bottom lip and tugging. He was seated comfortably in Tim's lap, grinding his dick against Tim's. The apartment was quiet save for the sound of the clock ticking and their heavy breathing.

Tim grinned against Shane's lips, kissing along his prominent jawline and down his neck. He sucked on the collarbone there as he squeezed and pulled Shane's ass cheeks apart lewdly. Shane shivered at the feeling, his cock twitching behind the thin fabric of the pajamas.

"Can… Can I take my shirt off?" Shane panted, pulling his head back a little. Technically the shirt was Tim's (and so were the pajama pants), but he had basically stolen them at this point. They were a size too big and hung off his thin frame in a way that made Tim's head spin.

"'Course, sweetheart," Tim breathed, a smile creeping onto his face. He watched as the boy carefully tugged the shirt off and tossed it on the floor of Tim's bedroom. "Gorgeous," he sighed, eyes darkening just a little as the sight of Shane's pale, tattooed skin shone in the moonlight coming in through the window.

Shane groaned and looked away for a second. He still had a hard time accepting things like that from Tim. He knew he should be used to it by now, it's been five months since they first hooked up, but it was just… hard. Tim was so different than other people he'd seen, had relationships with.

Well, there really wasn't a name on what they had. Not yet, anyway.

"None of that," Tim chuckled, gripping Shane's chin with his thumb and forefinger and forcing him to look Tim in the eye. "You doin' okay, kid?"

Shane huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes before grinding his dick into Tim's again. "Obviously."

Tim groaned in pleasure, but gave Shane a hard look. "Hey, I'm bein' serious. If you don't wanna—"

"I want to, Tim," Shane frowned, tugging on Tim's tank top. He'd only gotten as far as getting down to his undershirt and slacks before Shane had pounced on him.

"Good," Tim smiled and leaned forward to give the boy a soft, lazy kiss as he held his face. Shane would never admit it, but he got butterflies every time Tim did that.

"Wanna try something a little different tonight, if you're okay with that?" Added Tim, hands comfortably holding Shane's thighs.

Shane blinked. "What kind of different? You're not… Bored, are you?" He asked, his breathing picking up slightly.

"No, not at all, sweetheart," Tim frowned, cupping Shane's face in both hands. "I just wanted something. Just communicating with you, honey."

"Oh," Shane blushed, embarrassment dripping out of every pore. Their difference in age always slapped him in the face in moments like this. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Tim said softly, pecking the tip of Shane's nose. "You wanna look at me with those pretty eyes?"

Shane rolled his eyes again, but smiled shyly and looked up at him anyway.

"Atta boy," Tim grinned. "Want you to fuck me."

It took a second for Shane's brain to catch up with him, and when it did, his face turned beet red. "You… You what?"

Tim chuckled softly before repeating himself slowly. "Want you," he paused, a hand cupping Shane's dick through the pajama pants. "To fuck me," he whispered, squeezing for emphasis.

Shane moaned, his dick twitching in Tim's larger hand. "B-but, why? Aren't you supposed to—?"

Tim raised a brow. "Supposed to what? Do the fucking? Sweetheart…" He sighed.

"I-I just—! I thought, well," Shane stammered, fighting for the right words.

"If you don't want to, you don't have to, honey," Tim said gently.

"It's not that! I just… I didn't think you'd… want that?" Shane exhaled, cheeks pink.

That smile creeped its way back onto Tim's face. "Why wouldn't I?"

Shane blinked, not making eye contact again. "I-I dunno, I mean—"

"Why do you like it?"

Shane froze, face turning pinker by the second. He only ever felt like he was under a microscope when it was with Tim. And with Tim was the only time he didn't fucking hate it. "Well—"

"Because it feels good, right?" Tim grinned, pulling Shane closer so he could hug him close.

Shane nodded silently.

"Exactly. Remember what I said about roles?"

"Yeah," Shane sighed. "Sorry, I'm trying."

"I know you are, sweetheart. It'll take some time. Now," he grinned, cupping Shane's face and kissing him deeply. "You know where the lube is."

This was something Shane was a little more familiar with, if he were being honest. Usually the one on the receiving end was someone about half of Tim's size and didn't have a dick, but, well, Shane wasn't complaining. Especially not with the view in front of him.

Tim laid on his stomach, one leg hiked up and bent at the knee. He'd gotten undressed and now his bare ass was on display for Shane's viewing pleasure, his balls peaking out from underneath him.

"Jesus Christ, Tim," Shane groaned, ring-clad fingers curiously rubbing and massaging Tim's cheeks. Tim had substantially more body hair than Shane did and it felt downright erotic underneath Shane's hands.

Tim hummed low in his chest at the feeling and poked his ass out a little more. It had been a long time since another person did this to him and he was so excited it made him worry he'd spend himself too soon. His cock twitched underneath him, constricted by the bed sheets.

"Fuck, do you— God, can I eat your ass, Tim?" Shane's eyes were glued to Tim's hole, nestled between the furred cheeks he'd spread.

Tim groaned, biting the pillow he was cuddling. "Fucking— yes, kid, please."

Shane didn't need to be told twice, spitting lewdly onto the puckered skin before devouring him. He moaned as his tongue pierced into Tim's innermost depths, squeezing Tim's ass in both hands.

Tim gasped in pleasure, burying his face into the pillow to calm himself down. Shane's tongue always brought him to his knees when he sucked Tim's cock, but this was something completely different. The cold rings on Shane's fingers felt like ice against his heated skin and kept him grounded as Shane made him melt.

Shane lifted his head away to catch his breath, eyes shut in bliss as he kissed along Tim's ass and lower back. "Fuck, old man," he giggled, feeling a little drunk. "Why didn't we do this sooner, huh?"

Perspiration dotted Tim's hairline and his breathing was uneven when he tried turning back to look at the boy. "Just— Get inside me, wouldja?" He chuckled, out of breath.

Shane grinned and slapped Tim's ass, knee-walking his way closer. Carefully, he rolled the condom down his dick before tapping the head against Tim's hole teasingly.

Then, finally, Shane slowly pressed the head of his cock inside him, the tightness making the air leave his lungs. "Shit," he gasped. "You're—"

Tim grunted, leaning on his elbows as his head hung low between his shoulders. His hips were still pressed to the bed sheets and he could feel the precome building underneath him. "C'mon," he panted.

"Yeah, yeah," Shane breathed. His knees were on either side of Tim's leg, the one that wasn't hiked up and bent, and it made getting deeper inside a lot easier. Before either of them knew it, he was buried to the hilt inside Tim and it made them both groan in pleasure.

Shane's hands gripped onto Tim's hips as they caught their breath. "Ready?" He breathed, looking at the back of Tim's head. He couldn't believe this was happening right now.

Tim nodded slowly before turning his head again. "F-fuck me." His voice sounded wrecked already.

So Shane did.

Starting off carefully, Shane slowly built to a steady pace, fucking into Tim with abandon. Skin slapping against skin, Tim's low grunts and moans, the sounds in the room were downright filthy. Shane's eyes were glued on where they were connected, Tim's hole stretched around him obscenely, the lewd way his cheeks would ripple with every thrust.

For the first time since they really started… whatever this was, Shane's mind was blissfully empty of any doubt. Any insecurity he may have about whatever "role" he played in their dynamic was gone. All he felt was pleasure and connection. He felt closer to Tim than he ever had with anyone else.

Tim trusted him to do this. He was being vulnerable with Shane, breaking down his walls to let him in; literally and figuratively.

A weak moan and Tim's body tensing pulled him out of his thoughts. "What's wrong?" Shane asked, voice full of concern, but noticeably out of breath.

Tim breathed heavily and turned his head back. "Pull out for a sec," he panted. Shane complied and slowly removed himself from Tim's body. Twin moans pierced the air before Tim motioned for Shane to come closer as he turned to lie on his back. He lifted one muscled leg and rested it over one of Shane's shoulders then sighed in relief, a blissed out smile on his face. "Tha's better," he hummed drunkenly. "C'mon, sweetheart. Back to it," he winked.

Shane's heart was racing as his smile stretched from ear to ear. He looked down between them, gripping his cock in his hand and slowly pushed back inside. They moaned together again, the further Shane pushed inside, the more Tim's body seemed to bend thanks to the leg on his shoulder.

Shane held himself up, one hand on Tim's hip and the other curling into the sheets. Once he was fully sheathed inside, he looked up into the older man's eyes and melted. He looked so at peace.

Before either of them realized, their bodies were rocking together rhythmically. Tim got really affectionate when he bottomed, it seemed, because he kept grabbing for Shane's face and hair, curling his fingers into the inky black strands. He kept kissing at any bit of Shane's skin that he could, moaning openly against the sweaty surface.

"Kid, I'm—" Tim gasped, curling his other leg around Shane's thin waist.

Shane nodded, understanding what he was saying. "Touch yourself for me. Lemme see," he panted, speeding up the pace of his hips a little.

Tim groaned, but did as he was told, curling his fingers around his cock and started pumping in time with Shane's thrusts.

Shane couldn't take his eyes off him, the sight of this gorgeous older man being an absolute wreck underneath him was breathtaking. His normally put-together hair had started to curl and stick to his sweaty forehead, the deep creases in his forehead were pinched together in pleasure, and his plump lips were parted obscenely, vocally letting Shane know that he felt good. Shane was making him feel good.

"Sh-Shane!" Tim gasped, his hand speeding up before he stilled, his back arching off the bed and his torso was painted white. He groaned, voice hoarse, and squeezed down around Shane's cock, trembling underneath him with his release.

Shane went lightheaded at the sight and the sound of his name on those lips and he was done for. He moaned weakly as he fucked into Tim one, two, three more times before spilling inside the condom in thick spurts. His head hung low as he caught his breath, one hand squeezed around Tim's thigh, nails dug into the flesh. The other hand was dug into Tim's hip.

Opening his eyes, Shane was greeted with the sight of Tim's eyes closed, those brows no longer pinched, and his chest rhythmically rising and falling as he, too, caught his breath. He looked beautiful.

"Tim?" He asked quietly, afraid to break the spell.

"Hm?"

Shane chuckled. Tim sounded like a bear when he grunted like that. "D'you want me to, uh…" He said, slowly pulling out, but not completely.

Tim exhaled, like it was the last thing he wanted, but nodded anyway. "Yeah," he hummed.

Once Shane had removed himself and carefully laid Tim's leg down to rest, he crawled on top of Tim's broad torso. He was reminded of all the times Tim had taken care of him after and leaned over to lazily kiss Tim's lips. He crawled out of the bed, removed and disposed of the condom, and quietly left the room. He came back a moment later with a glass of water and the sight of a smiling Tim watching his naked form.

"Such a gentleman," Tim teased.

Shane rolled his eyes and handed him the glass. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it."

"'Course," he chuckled, taking a swig.

Crawling back into the bed, they cuddled close underneath the covers, Shane's head resting on Tim's chest. They settled back into what worked for them easily.

"That was…" Shane started, trying to find the right words. Tim had half a second to panic, like he was worried he'd pushed the kid too far, or he wasn't interested in him like that, before those big deep brown eyes were looking at him like he'd hung the moon. "Amazing. Probably one of my favorite nights with you," Shane grinned.

Tim visibly relaxed, a small smile growing on his own lips. "Me too," he sighed, cupping Shane's face to kiss him, unhurried. They stayed that way for a moment, just relishing in each other, but eventually had to come up for air. "Was worried you'd… I dunno, not like… me, like that," Tim shrugged.

Shane blinked, his own brows pinched slightly. "What? No, I," he paused. "I loved it." It was one of the most earnest things he'd ever said to the older man. He meant it, but he didn't feel afraid to say it, it was… strange.

Tim huffed a shocked laugh, looking at Shane incredulously. "Who are you and what have you done with Shane Morrissey?"

Shane giggled and lightly smacked Tim's chest. "I mean it!"

"I know," Tim chuckled. Quiet settled over them comfortably as they took each other in, basking in their afterglow.

A thought came to Shane's mind. He didn't want to fight it.

"What do… What do you think of… this?" He said softly, eyes glued to the hair on Tim's chest, playing with it a little.

Tim had rested his head back down on the pillow and hummed in thought. "I think a lot of things. What do you mean, sweetheart?"

Shane bit his lip. "Like… When you call me to come over, what does it mean to you? Is it just… Casual?"

Tim looked down at the crown of inky black locks. What was he asking him right now? "I… don't think it is, no," he said cautiously. "How do you feel about it?"

Shane moved his head to rest his chin on Tim's chest. "Possessive," he answered honestly. "I… I don't want to share you. I don't want you to be with anyone else," he said, voice calm as he slowly made eye contact again. Tim didn't see any of that mask he'd seen in the interrogation room countless times, or the wall he'd built up for who knows how many years. He saw Shane for the first time, completely unfiltered.

"Sweetheart…" Tim exhaled, shocked beyond belief. "Are you… Are you asking me to go steady? Be exclusive?"

"Yes," Shane nodded. "I want to… be yours. And you be mine."

Tim grabbed his face with such force that Shane whimpered into Tim's mouth when their lips connected. Tim kissed him fervently, afraid that the boy would disappear if he let go. Once they parted, he pressed their foreheads together. "Are you sure?" He asked, his doubts about their age difference, a full seventeen years apart, at the forefront of his mind.

Shane pinched Tim's nipple, making the older man yelp in response.

“Can I get you something to drink while you wait for your guest, sir?”

Joel jumped in his seat, startled, and looked at the young waitress – must be a new hire – an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “Um, y-yeah. Thanks,” he cleared his throat and set the menu down. “Just some water, please.”

She nodded and took off toward the kitchen. Joel exhaled a heavy breath and shut his eyes, trying to calm himself down. 

“You okay?” Javier asked easily, taking his seat in the booth across from Joel.

“Christ–” Joel startled. “Gonna get a heart attack one of these days,” he mumbled to himself.

“What was that?” Javier chuckled, resting a new cigarette on his right ear.

“Nothin’,” grumbled Joel. “Uh, glad you made it.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Javier smiled. “Have you ordered yet?” “Jus’ some water,” he mumbled, right as the waitress set his glass down on the table.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” She smiled politely.

“I’ll take a beer, sweetheart,” Javier winked. The young girl blushed and nodded jerkily, speeding off to get his drink.

Joel watched quietly, a part of him jealous, and the other amused. Javier didn’t really flirt with him much, but he guessed it made sense since Javi thought Joel hated him before a couple of hours ago. He wiped his sweaty palms onto his jean-clad thighs and sighed softly.

“S-so, um. Jus’ wanted to apologize again for, uh,” he blinked, fumbling for the right words. “Y’know–”

“Joel,” Javi chuckled. “Seriously, it’s okay. We’re good now,” he smiled gently.

Joel smiled shyly and nodded, relieved. “‘m glad to hear that.”

Javi grinned wolfishly and rested his chin on the palm of his hand as he got comfy in his seat. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Joel,” he teased. “Big, scary Joel is nervous because of little ol’ me?” He smirked.

Joel made a face, almost like he was going to fight it, but decided not to. That sort of reaction is what made this hard in the first place. “Well,” he started. “Yeah. You’re… You’re a real catch, Javier. And, well, I’m… me,” he shrugged awkwardly.

Javi blinked, and opened his mouth to respond, but the waitress came back before he could say anything. 

“Your beer,” she said. “Would you gentlemen like to order?”

As Joel told her what he’d be having, none of the words sunk in for Javi. He wasn’t really paying attention, too focused on a mole on the left side of Joel’s neck. He wanted to nibble on it.

“And you, sir?” Javi snapped out of it and blinked, looking down at his unopened menu. “Uhh, I’ll have the same,” he smiled politely.

When it was just the two of them again, Javi took a drink of his beer before saying, “Joel, do you think that you’re not also a catch? God,” he groaned, adjusting how he sat a little, his ass still sore from earlier. “I’m gonna be feelin’ you for days, guapo.”

Joel blushed hard, his eyes going wide. “O-oh, well, I–”

“I’ve been wanting to work with you again for a while, Joel,” he said seriously, making a point of checking the older man out shamelessly. 

Joel blinked. “You have?”

Javier snorted and took another drink off his beer. “Yeah, are you kidding me? God, the scene you filmed with Dave? I didn’t think he bottomed for anyone.”

Joel was sharing a striking resemblance to a tomato right now and Javi thought it was adorable. “Um, well,” he gulped. “M-Max said the– the viewers? They really only like seein’ me one way, so,” he shrugged.

Javi rolled his eyes, and laughed lightly. “I know how that is,” he nodded. The waitress set their plates in front of them and wished them a good meal. They gave her their thanks, and Joel started digging in, trying to keep his hands occupied. “Part of the reason I agreed to do our scene,” Javi continued. “And I’d get to do it with you.”

“How do you do that?” Joel chuckled, the tips of his ears red.

“Do what, guapo?” Javi hummed, taking his fork and stabbing it into his food to take a bite.

“That,” Joel stressed, eyes glued to Javier’s mustache as he chewed. His thoughts drifted back to when it was wrapped around his cock and he had to adjust himself under the table. “Flirt.”

Javier shrugged, as if it was the easiest response in the world. “Just comes naturally to me, I guess. ‘Sides,” he smirked, taking another drink of his beer. “It’s easy to do when you’re on the receiving end,” he winked.

“Christ, Javier,” Joel laughed nervously, covering his eyes with one of his hands. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Javi chuckled. “Force of habit.” A comfortable silence settled over the two of them as they ate their matching meals. Joel had an adorable little smile and pink cheeks as he cut the meat on his plate. “Y’know,” Javier started. “I haven’t been wined and dined in a long time. Usually just have casual hookups.”

Joel made a face at that, chewing his food thoughtfully. Each hand had a utensil, one knife and one fork, but he set them down and wiped his mouth and hands clean before he spoke. “‘m sorry to hear that. But I won’t be upset at bein’ the one to break that streak,” he said, voice low as he crossed his arms onto the table.

Javi’s face brightened before he laughed softly. “See! You can flirt just fine, guapo.”

Joel grumbled something to himself and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

An amused expression crossed Javi’s features. He set down his own fork and gulped down the last of his beer in one swig. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here, yeah?”

Joel blinked, looking up at Javi as he stood next to the table. “B-but–”

Javier gave Joel a suggestive look and licked his lips. “Let’s get out of here, Joel,” he grinned, eyes traveling down to the bulge in Joel’s jeans.

Cheeks flushed and eyes wide, Joel clumsily made his way to the register at the front and paid for their meals.

Joel grunted, moaning into Javier’s mouth as he was pressed to the door of Javier’s apartment. Javier kissed him like his life depended on it, and if you asked him, it did.

“Wanna thank you,” Javi breathed, kissing down Joel’s neck until he got to the pulse point at the base of the thick muscle. He kissed his way back up until he latched onto Joel’s jaw, nibbling and sucking on a spot where his beard refused to grow. “Mmm,” he hummed, eyes shut in bliss.

“F-fuck, Javier, I–” Joel gasped, gripping the younger man’s shirt in his rough hands. “W-what for?”

“Takin’ me out,” Javier whispered, sucking Joel’s bottom lip into his mouth as he kissed him deeper. “Fucking me better than anyone else has in months.” He grabbed Joel’s small, plump ass beneath the rough denim and squeezed. He grinded his hard cock against Joel’s, pushing a thin, but muscled thigh between Joel’s legs. “When’s the last time someone got to fuck you, huh? When’s the last time you didn’t have to be in charge?”

Joel’s entire body was on fire, blood rushing south as his cock twitched in interest. He could barely breathe let alone think of a response to such a question. He made a weak noise at the base of his throat and tried pulling back to look at Javier, but the younger man had other plans.

“‘s what I thought,” Javi grinned. Hands gripped onto Joel’s ass, he guided the older man toward his bedroom with his mouth attached to Joel’s neck. He kicked his bedroom door open and gently pushed Joel onto his back on the bed. They tripped a little, causing Joel to bounce when he landed on the bed, and they both chuckled awkwardly. They didn’t mind though, too preoccupied with the task at hand. 

This is what Javier wanted. This is what he’d been craving. A moment alone with Joel with no cameras, no scripts, no Max. Just pure instinct and shared heat. Crawling onto Joel’s lap, he grabbed the older man’s face and kissed him passionately, moaning openly into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding his cock against Joel’s. “You’re so fucking hot, Joel.”

“J-Javier, please slow down,” Joel gasped. His cock was throbbing beneath the younger man and he was afraid the evening would end sooner than planned. Javier slowed his hips, and chose to kiss all over Joel’s face instead, leaving a peck here and there as Joel caught his breath. “Thank you,” he exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

Javier smiled and sat up, running his hands over Joel’s strong torso. It was covered by a thin t-shirt, but Javier could see the outline of a strong chest and a soft tummy. He wanted to bury his face in it.

Joel’s bear paws gripped onto Javier’s thighs and squeezed, eyes fluttering open. His cheeks were flushed, but he had a twinkle in his eye that betrayed any doubt either of them may have had. “‘m ready when you are, sweetheart,” Joel smiled, rolling his hips up toward Javier’s.

Javi didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed Joel’s t-shirt up until it was bunched up under his armpits. His hands groped and squeezed at Joel’s pecs as he kissed between them, making his way down to that hairy, soft tummy. “Fuck,” he groaned, kissing and sucking along the smooth skin.

Joel’s hips bucked and his body trembled under Javi’s ministrations, unable to hold back what they were doing to him. “Sweetheart, please,” he grunted, tugging on the collar of the polo Javier was wearing. “‘m not gonna make it if you keep that up,” he chuckled breathlessly.

“Alright,” Javier smirked, leaned over to give him one more deep kiss. It stole the air from Joel’s lungs and ended quicker than he liked. He slowly stood up from the bed and rifled through the bedside table for his lube. “Do me a favor and get naked for me, will ya?” He grinned, throwing a wink Joel’s way.

Joel snorted, but did as he was told, tossing his clothes onto Javier’s bedroom floor. His cock stood proudly between his thick thighs as he watched Javier get undressed as well. Precum dribbled down the length as his cock twitched. This was nothing new for either of them; having sex, being naked in front of one another. But it was also completely different. There were no stakes, no pressures from anyone else. It felt far more vulnerable than it usually did, less technical.

Javi crawled between Joel’s legs and lifted them, exposing the older man’s hole to him. He hummed in thought at the sight and leaned over to kiss Joel languidly. “Would you be opposed to me fucking your brains out, Joel?” Javi grinned, nibbling on his jaw again.

Joel groaned in response and nodded jerkily, digging his fingers into Javier’s sides. “Please,” he grunted.

”Mm, lie back for me, guapo.”

Joel did as he was told and got comfy, feet planted on the mattress and knees spread. The first touch of Javier’s lube-covered fingertips startled him. It really had been some time since another person did this for him. But not that long since he’d done it himself. Javier’s middle finger swirled around the rim of his hole teasingly as he kissed and sucked along Joel’s neck.

”Got hair everywhere, huh?” Javi smirked, pressing his finger inside past the tight ring of muscle. Joel’s answering moan of pleasure made a chill run down Javier’s spine. “Atta boy,” he praised. It didn’t take long for his ring finger to join the middle one and start fucking into him.

”Oh, fuck,” Joel groaned, back arching off the bed. His head was pressed to the pillow, the sweat already starting to trickle down the side. He could feel the tension leaving his body as Javier’s fingers fucked him lewdly, the wet squelch filling the room. 

“Oh, I know,” Javi pouted, his tone saccharine sweet. “Been a long time since someone took care of you, huh?” Joel nodded and bit his lip, eyebrows turned down in pleasure. “But this isn’t what you want, is it?”

Joel grunted in response, the precum from his cock trickling down his stomach, and fingers gripping the sheets so tightly he was afraid he’d rip them.

”No, you want to be fucked, huh? Want a cock so deep inside that you forget your own name, right?” Javier’s mouth was just as filthy as the rest of him and it was making Joel blush all the way down to his chest. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything, baby. I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, latching onto Joel’s earlobe and nibbling softly.

Javier’s fingers continued to fuck him for a few more minutes before they were removed, a lewd suck signifying their release. Joel shut his eyes and groaned, turning his head into the pillow. Javier cupped his face and kissed him with so much more emotion than he was used to. He wasn’t sure what he did to be on the receiving end of this Javier but he wasn’t going to question it.

”Breathe for me, baby,” Javi hummed, knee-walking between Joel’s legs. His fingers curled around his cock as he covered it in lube. Joel nodded, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as he watched the younger man.

Joel’s eyes traveled down Javier’s slim torso until they landed on the thick cock between his legs. He was mesmerized by the head appearing and disappearing beneath the foreskin as Javier stroked himself, and it made him shiver.

Javier drizzled some extra lube onto Joel’s rim before rubbing the head of his cock there teasingly. Joel grunted at the feeling, his cock twitching. Javier chuckled darkly, tapping the head of his cock against the tight rim. Joel clenched around nothing, the anticipation starting to kill him.

Joel was so caught up in the moment that he couldn’t even stop it before it happened. His hips bucked and his bent knee jerked so hard he hit Javi’s chin with it. “F-fuck, I’m so sorry–”

Javier was laughing, thankfully, but he rubbed his chin to soothe the mild burn. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Miller,” he winked. Joel groaned and covered his face with his hands in embarrassment. He was a fucking professional porn star and he couldn’t even have normal sex. What was wrong with him?

”Shh,” Javier soothed. “C’mere,” he hummed before slowly taking Joel’s hands away from his face. Joel’s eyes were glued to the center of Javier’s chest, refusing to make eye contact. “Hey,” he smiled softly.

Joel blinked up at him and bit his lip. “‘m sorry, Javier…”

Javier grinned and leaned over, kissing Joel’s lips languidly. They stayed there for a while, Javier holding Joel’s face as he stayed between the older man’s legs. Eventually, Joel’s heart rate evened out and he could breathe steadily again. “I’m okay. Are you?” He asked softly.

Joel nodded, shutting his eyes briefly to take a deep breath. “‘m alright,” he smiled shyly.

“Good,” Javier grinned, slowly pushed inside, and the air left Joel’s lungs. The older man’s toes started to curl and his back arched off the bed. Javier smiled and laced his fingers with Joel’s, pressing them against the bed.

Hovering over him, Javier kissed him sweetly, slowly, letting Joel get used to being filled again. Joel made a weak noise into Javier’s mouth as his legs wrapped around Javier’s thin waist. “Please, move,” he breathed, eyes glossy and face flushed.

Javier nodded, latching his mouth back onto Joel’s, fucking into him slowly. Joel had expected their first time alone to be hot and fast and passionate, but he thinks he prefers this much more. Javier fucked him with so much attention and tenderness that he almost cried trying to remember the last time someone did this for him.

The pace Javier had set was deep and steady, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin unmistakeable in the quiet room, but if anyone were to walk in on them, they would see something entirely different. “You feel so good, Joel,” Javier panted between kisses.

Joel moaned in response, squeezing Javier’s hands in his own. “So do you,” he breathed. His free hand wrapped around the younger man’s neck. He dug blunt fingernails into Javier’s back, the stretch feeling so foreign but so good that it overwhelmed him.

Javier shivered as the pleasure-pain from Joel’s fingernails shot down his spine and settled at the base. His cock twitched hard inside the older man. “Fuck, Joel,” he groaned, his balls drawing up and slapping loudly against Joel’s ass.

“‘m close, Javi,” Joel panted, face flushed and sweaty, brows furrowed in concentration.

A wide smile crossed Javier’s features. “You called me Javi,” he chuckled, picking up the pace slightly. “You want me to come inside you?”

Joel nodded quickly, the throbbing in his cock flooding all thoughts. “P-please,” he breathed weakly. 

“Only if you come with me, guapo,”  Javier groaned, letting go of Joel’s hands to grip his hips. He picked up the pace, fucking into Joel harder and faster the closer he got. Joel’s body stilled and he moaned out loud when the tip of Javi’s cock brushed against his prostate. “Ooh, did I find it?” Javier smirked. He lifted a knee and planted one foot on the mattress to get a better angle. “C’mon, baby. C’mon.”

Joel’s back arched high off the mattress as Javier continued his brutal pace. He curled his fingers around his own cock and started pumping hard, squeezing around the shaft. 

“Fuck,” Javi moaned, eyes locked on Joel’s big hand. “You’re so fucking hot, Joel. Come for me.”

Joel’s legs trembled on either side of the younger man’s hips before he stilled, coming hard all over his stomach and hand. Javier fucked him through it, his hips following the waves of Joel’s orgasm. It didn’t take long for him after that, his hips slapping against him without rhythm with his release. He came in thick ropes and with a shaky breath.

Joel moaned weakly at the feeling, his heart pounding and fluttering in his chest when Javier kissed him again. Javi kissed with so much passion.

They breathed heavily as they came down from their high, Javier’s forehead pressed to Joel’s. “Mmm,” Javier hummed, a smile on his face. “You’re amazing, Joel.”

“Look who’s talkin’,” Joel grunted, eyes shut and chest heaving. Javier laughed and pecked his cheek before pulling out carefully. They both moaned at the feeling. Javier cleaned them both up gently and pulled Joel down onto his chest, rubbing his bare back comfortingly.

”We should do this again sometime,” he said softly, a grin on his tired face. Joel hummed in response, cuddling close to him and squeezing. 

Before either of them knew it, Joel was passed out, snoring softly into Javier’s chest. Javier snorted and kissed the top of Joel’s head.

”Night, guapo.”

Joel felt… lighter. And sore.

When he opened his eyes, he groaned at how bright it was, forcing him to shut his eyes tightly. Then, once his eyes had adjusted, he noticed the painting of a field at sunset next to the window. He didn’t have that… 

He blinked, the memories from the night before came flooding back and his cock twitched under the sheets. His body felt heavy and he smiled, looking over to the side, but frowned when he saw it was empty. Where was Javier?

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Javier rumbled, voice thick with sleep. He walked into the bedroom with a mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was only in a pair of boxer briefs as he made his way over to the window next to the painting. Joel’s eyes were glued to every one of his movements.

“Mornin’,” Joel said softly.

Javier set the mug on the windowsill and opened it, taking a seat next to the mug. He lit up, indulging in his morning routine. “How you feelin’ this morning, guapo?” Javi smirked, breathing out a plume of smoke.

“Sore,” Joel chuckled, rubbing his eyes clear of any remaining sleep. “But… good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Javi hummed, taking a sip of his coffee. “There’s more if you want some,” he said, lifting his mug.

“I’d love some coffee,” he groaned, pulling the sheets off. Javier raised a brow and smirked appreciatively, watching Joel’s bare ass as he looked for his underwear. He shivered as the tight material snapped onto Joel’s smooth skin. 

Joel left the room briefly, and came back with his own steaming cup of coffee. He sat on the corner of the bed closest to Javier and they enjoyed their drinks in comfortable silence.

“So,” Joel started. “What now?”

“Already asking me what we are?” Javier chuckled teasingly. Joel gave him a look, both hands gripping the mug. “Okay, alright. Do we have to put a label on it yet?”

“Don’t s’pose we do, no…” Joel mumbled, taking another sip. 

“But you’d like to.”

Joel shrugged. “No, it’s alright, I just… I’ve, uh,” he gulped. “I’ve sorta had a thing for you for a couple’a years now. Jus’... Didn’t exactly picture this happenin’.”

Javier smiled, watching the journey on Joel’s face. “Is that right?”

Joel just nodded, looking down onto the carpeted floor, his toes digging in.

“You’re adorable,” Javier chuckled, setting his mug down and tossing the remaining part of his cigarette into it. He took Joel’s mug from his hand and set it down next to his own. 

“I dunno about that, I–”

“Shut up, Joel,” Javier whispered, leaning over to kiss him deeply. Joel melted, kissing back and pulling Javier to sit on his lap. Javier dug his fingers into Joel’s messy, post-sex curls and tugged a little, making the older man groan into his mouth.

“Jav,” Joel breathed between kisses.

“Mmm, new nickname,” Javier grinned, kissing and nibbling along Joel’s jaw. The hair scattered there tasted like sweat and it made Javi shiver. 

“Javi.”

Javier pulled away, a little out of breath, and eyes wild with determination. “I like you, Joel. A lot,” he paused, arms resting on Joel’s broad shoulders. “We can start here,” he hummed, kissing Joel’s cheek and slowly making his way down to his neck. “Maybe try a few things,” he kissed Joel's chest and flicked his tongue over a nipple. He pushed the older man onto his back, slowly sliding down Joel’s body. “And just see where it goes from there. Yeah?”

Joel exhaled a heavy sigh, his cock twitching with interest the lower Javier went. He made his way to Joel’s stomach and sucked a mark there. Joel watched, big hands tangled through Javier’s thick locks. “Yeah,” he sighed, the cool morning air hitting his heated cock once it was exposed again. Javier tossed his underwear to the floor and kissed along his inner thighs.

“Good,” Javier hummed, eyes locked on Joel’s as that sinful mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, that mustache framing the girth perfectly.