#queer fic

The friction is almost immediately too good with his thigh pressing against your hot center, particularly when he shifts, making the seam of your jeans rub right against your clit. It makes you hiss as you dig your nails into his arm, and he responds by rocking against you, using just the right amount of pressure. You’re throbbing at how quickly your arousal spikes, the slow grind so good that it’s almost dizzying. “God, Frankie…”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, swallowing your words with another kiss as he reaches for your zipper, and in no time he has your loose fitting jeans pushed down, over your shoes, and he helps you step out of the denim. It gives you some relief from the stimulation, but that reprieve is quickly replaced by his fingers stroking over your underwear. 

An almost embarrassingly needy sound escapes from you, and he chuckles as he sinks down to his knees, knowing he’s already won you over. “Let me have you, baby…”

“We don’t have time,” you protest weakly. Any further coherent words die on your tongue though when Frankie tugs your panties to the side for more access. He runs his thick fingers reverently through your wet curls, more than pleased at feeling how turned on you are.  

“So wet already. Fuck, you’re so… I’ve really fuckin’ missed you.” His words are practically a groan as he tugs your underwear off too, shoving it in his pocket immediately with a devious glint in his eyes. “I got you,” he assures you as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. 

His breathing catches slightly as he spreads your legs further for him, and you shiver as he licks his lips in anticipation. He loves eating you out like this, up against a door or a wall, where he can hold you in place with his hands while burying his face against your pussy - often doing just that before he fucks you in bed or on the couch. It’s also one of your favorite positions when getting head, even though his intensity will make you weak in your legs so quickly. It’s the ideal position to grab a hold of his hair like this, guiding him exactly where you want him, while you get to watch how much he’s enjoying it. 

He’s one of the few guys you’ve been with who really loves to eat pussy, and it’s been a revelation to see just how hot it gets him. That glassy look in his eyes when he’s completely pussy drunk, whispering filth as he fucks you open with his tongue and fingers. The first time you saw him jerk himself off while eating you out, you almost came right there, breathlessly watching him fuck his fist while feasting on you.

Generally you’re a much better judge of whether the setting and timing allows for that. The sensible part of you argues that the venue where Benny has his big fight is far from an ideal place to have Frankie go down on you. But there was something thrilling about fucking in a locker room, particularly with the roars of the audience and MMA Fighters one floor above yours. The charge in the air is always electrifying during Fight Night, no matter what - and Frankie seems just as riled up as you are. 

He takes a breath as he blows cool air over your heat, then rubs his nose slowly but firmly right against your clit, making you absolutely throb. 

“Please,” you beg him almost desperately, and he chuckles as he nods - both of you unaware of the sound of approaching footsteps somewhere down the hall, outside of the locker room. You grind yourself against the curve of his nose as your breathing picks up, and it’s likely because of his pleased growl that your mind is on tape delay. 

You do hear the creaking of door hinges, but somehow it doesn’t occur to you that means someone is approaching.

Suddenly Santiago’s voice rings loudly, accompanied by a quick rap of knuckles against the metal lockers. “Fish? Are you guys still here?” 

Frankie freezes on the spot, but the tremble that runs down his spine is unmistakable. As is the sound of his breathing picking up, in that particular way that immediately makes it clear how turned on he is. His fingers dig deep in the fat of your ass as his grip on you tightens, and you whimper as he flicks his tongue over your clit, making pleasure shoot through your body.

“Oooh, you slut”, you gasp, overwhelmed and apparently lacking any filter all of a sudden. He moans at your words, his tongue hungry and demanding as he eats you out even more fiercely, slipping a finger inside when you whine for more. The wet sounds of your pussy welcoming him inside sound like an obscene squelch, and a giggle you’re unable to stop blooms in your chest. You know that you should stop him before Santi walks in - but it’s too good, all of it, the endorphin rush getting in the way of rational decision making.

So you roll with it. Especially when Frankie’s finger curls inside of you, pressing against you in that way that devastates you. You clench hard around him, choking back a sob as he runs his tongue over your most sensitive spots. Just when you think you can’t get even more aroused, you hear it: the clang of his belt buckle being undone, followed by the hasty sound of a zipper. The low groan moments later confirms to you that Frankie has his cock out and is touching himself, and you feel the heat pool low in your stomach.

“You like that?”, you pant at him, tightening your grip on his curls as you tug at them, wondering how long you have until Santi actually walks in. Frankie’s breathing shudders as he nods, eyes black with desire, and you gasp as his tongue pushes deep inside of you, making you dizzy with pleasure. You don’t need any words to know what’s going through his head, and why he’s eating you out with even more vigor than minutes earlier.

It’s been an unspoken thing since you started dating a year and a half ago: the way Frankie’s eyes tend to linger on Santiago, generally when he thinks nobody is aware of it. Especially late at night after several drinks or having smoked weed. It’s just glances, never any words or actions. You get it, because… well, you get Frankie. It doesn’t occur to you to worry about it, knowing well how fiercely loyal he is. 

But that unresolved thing between him and Santi never quite leaves the room. It sits there and simmers, some days stronger than others. You’ve never asked him about it, but maybe that’s because it hits a little too close for comfort. 

Because there are days or nights that you find yourself glancing at Santi in a similar way. When he’s challenging Frankie about some dumb thing, or having a mock argument with Benny. Or when he’s laying in the sun like he’s a fuckin’ cat, basking in the light and warmth. Eyes closed with those obscenely long lashes casting shadows on his face, sometimes accompanied by a quiet but content sigh. 

That’s another thing: Santiago doesn’t sit still easily. He doesn’t do ‘quiet’ a whole lot. He has a restlessness in him that almost makes him skittish, which is why he often disappears for a while, be it for work or otherwise. So watching him nap, or lay around in the sun - it’s rare, and precious, and it drives you fuckin mad how looking at him resting in the sun, even when he’s fully asleep and not doing anything, can leave you soaking wet. 

You don’t bring it up with Frankie though. Ever. “Your best friend, that guy you clearly have feelings for, really gets me hot. And sometimes I imagine what it’s like to make out with him,” doesn’t seem like something you should drop on him. Especially not when he’s clearly still working through his own thing regarding Pope.

It also makes it really fuckin’ hard to stop Frankie right here and now, from giving you what just might be the best head you’ve ever had in your life. Because it’s not just him who went feral upon hearing Santi; you know that you soaked his face even more in that moment, too. But you really, really should pull away. You’re in a fucking locker room during Fight Night, and if you don’t stop now… 

“Francisco?”, Santiago calls again.

Frankie’s groan is loud and desperate, and you gasp as you grind hard against his face, chasing the pleasure. If the situation wasn’t so dire, it would be hilarious how strongly you both respond to Pope’s voice - not to mention him using Fish’ full name. You curse as you shake your head, looking down at Frankie as you try to say the opposite of what you actually want - but your body betrays you as you clench again.

“We should stop, we…”

“NO.” 

You gush at Frankie’s growled, desperate command. What really wrecks you though is the sight of his hand on his leaking cock, jerking himself off furiously while he holds you in place with his other hand, keeping his mouth secured to your cunt. Your heart is beating so damn fast, and at that moment you know there’s no turning back. It’s a metaphorical car crash in slow motion, seconds before it happens, where you know there’s no turning back and all you can do is scramble for damage control.

“Get out, Pope!”, you practically sob, just when Santi turns the corner, fully unsuspecting of what he’s about to walk into. For a moment it feels like everything stops, including the loud noises from the floor above you - except for Frankie’s heavy breathing and his tongue so deep inside of you.

You’ve rarely seen Santi truly surprised or shaken by something until just now, you realize. He looks dumbstruck and flustered, his hand rasping over his stubble as he does when trying to compose himself. He shakes his head as he takes a step back, clearing his throat. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t…” 

His voice trails off, and then his gaze moves down to Frankie, who is still kneeling on the floor, face buried against your cunt, hand on his cock. You don’t know if Pope can see him touch himself, but either way his eyes turn almost black, even more intense than they usually are. He licks his lips subconsciously as he stares, and it’s striking how quickly the surprised expression on his face morphs into pure, unadulterated desire.

It’s also so absurdly hot that it makes you gush on Frankie’s tongue.

“Fuck off or lend a hand”, you practically snap at Santi without even thinking, immediately wondering what the fuck is wrong with you to just blurt out something like that. Frankie makes a choked up sound against your pussy, as clearly you’re not the only one in disbelief about what you just said. When you look down at him, you see his expression is utterly dazed: he’s clearly drunk on pussy, not to mention the thrill of Santiago’s interruption, even though his back is still turned to him. You whine as Frankie flicks his tongue over your clit, and you grab his hair harder to keep him in place. But instead his mouth leaves you as he leans back to look up at you, cradling your thigh that’s resting over his shoulder. 

He looks completely fucked out, and stunning with his lips so swollen and red, making it impossible to resist him. So you reach out, brushing your thumb over his lips as you gather some of your slick, enthralled by how he immediately chases it. He laps playfully at your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, sucking on you as he holds your gaze. 

It makes shivers run down your spine, and all you can think of is how you need that mouth back on you immediately. “Damnit Frankie, I need– oh, shiiiit…” 

The feeling of his fingertips tracing your wet cunt makes you arch up, and you moan as he teases the rim for a moment, then slips his index finger inside of your heat. “You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he breathes in awe, then withdraws, only to slide two thick fingers inside, rubbing you right where you need them. “More, huh?” 

You nod frantically as the last of your inhibitions slips away. When he leans in to lap at your clit again, the dual stimulation is exactly what you need. You barely manage to choke out his name when he moves his fingers, testing out the pace you need right now, as he starts to fingerfuck you right in front of his best friend.

The room is quiet for a long minute, maybe even two, until Santi finally speaks again. “God. You sure look pretty like that,” he says hoarsely, and you clench hard at the way his voice breaks on the word ‘pretty’. 

You’re not sure whether his words are directed at you or Frankie, but the possibility that he means both of you makes it hard to breathe. All you can do is shamelessly stare at Santi, your mind flooding with everything you’ve ever wanted to do to him, and a whole lot of other things you haven’t even allowed yourself to consider - not until now. 

The tilt of his head makes it clear he knows, too - can probably read it all over your face and in your body language. More than that, you can tell that Santiago likes how you’re watching him, as a slight smirk tugs at his lips, and he greedily lets his eyes wander all over you in return. It makes you feel giddy, hurling you even faster towards a release - and when it hits, the orgasm rocks you to your core as you shatter on Frankie’s fingers and tongue. 

Santi takes it all in from across the room, casually leaning back against the lockers with his hands in his pockets, a sparkle in his eyes that’s impossible to overlook. You’re not even sure what riles you up more - having him check you out, or that look that crosses his face when his glance drops down to Frankie again. It’s clear he’s hard in his jeans, you notice as you catch your breath, and you try not to whimper when Santi subtly adjusts himself just slightly. 

Fuck. 

You want him. 

You want him to have Frankie, too.

When Frankie slides his fingers out of you, you almost wince at the loud, wet sound of your cunt. But he seems enraptured, his eyes hazy and dark as his hand is soaked - so much that your arousal is pretty much dripping on the floor. He hums as he slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together by the sight of it as you’re still aching for him.

A pleased smile spreads over his face, and before you know it, he dives back in with gusto. “We’re not done yet, baby,” he promises, and the wet shock of his tongue pushing back inside of you makes you cry out again. This time he takes over and is fully in charge, not waiting for any direction as he knows exactly how to get you there again. 

It’s too much and too fast, but you still want it all, despite how everything now feels so much more overwhelming. It’s not just you either: the expression on Santi’s face is also a lot more tense now, almost pained as you see him adjust himself again, and your fingers are aching to help him out and explore him. 

“Pope...,” you breathe eventually, and his dark eyes meet yours, clearly showing the internal conflict he’s experiencing. You get the hesitation, not in the least because of the location - hell, even you aren’t sure about any of these, fully aware that when the daze of arousal and orgasms is over, things won’t be all that simple anymore. But with Frankie between your legs and Santi watching from across the room, everything is intoxicating enough to shove away rational thinking and just stay in the moment. 

Sparks start to explode in the back of your mind as Frankie’s tongue pushes you further and further, licking the sanity right out of you. You’re a puddle under him, boneless and so wet, holding onto his shoulder and hair to stabilize yourself. He slips his fingers back inside of you as he drags you right to the edge of a second orgasm, and this time you’re sobbing when he finds your clit again, swollen and overstimulated. Except it’s not Frankie’s name you’re crying, but Santi’s call sign falling from your lips again. 

The cheering of the crowd one level above you bleeds into the locker room and Santi glances at the ceiling, shaking his head slightly as he takes a deep breath to compose himself. “I should go,” he finally says, his voice soft and regret showing on his face. “Ask me again when there’s more time, hermosa.”

You nod mutely, and maybe you should’ve felt more awkward about it all. But bruised ego be damnit, you’re too far gone to properly think as you clench around Frankie’s fingers, so damn close now. Santi’s eyes roam over you one more time and then pause at Frankie’s back, clearly drinking in the sight of him. Frankie, who was not only about to make you come, but now also had his hand back on his cock to get himself off.

“Morales”. Santi’s voice is gruff this time, heavy and dark with authority that you haven’t heard from him before. Frankie’s breathing hitches in response, and he sucks on your clit before he lets go, raising his head slightly as if to indicate that he’s listening. 

“Give her another finger.” 

And Frankie fuckin’ whimpers.

It’s not like you need another finger to get you off. But at the end of the day, Frankie is a trained military operative who knows how to take orders. Loves taking orders, often even more than giving them when fucking. So you’re not in the slightest bit surprised to see his eyes light up at the command, knowing you’re wet enough to take it. 

“Look at him,” Frankie practically groans, then smacks your ass to emphasize his words. If that wasn’t enough reason to oblige, then Santi’s sharp intake of air surely is. He looks wrecked, biting his lip as you hold his glance when Frankie slips a third finger inside your pussy, spreading you further open to take him, the stretch making you shiver. It’s so much, all of it - the attention of both of them on you, the thickness of Frankie’s fingers, the way your body is quaking, and your mind running wild with so many mental images. 

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore as you gasp, and your head bangs softly against the lockers when your body seizes. The release hits you so hard that for a moment it makes you lightheaded, clamping down on Frankie’s fingers, and you feel his free hand grab you tight by your waist, making sure you don’t lose your balance as you ride out the wave of a second orgasm. 

When you open your eyes again, Santiago is gone. 

You didn’t even hear the door bang on his way out, and it makes something twist in your belly that you don’t quite know how to name. Frankie lets your leg slide off his shoulder, then buries his face against your stomach, slightly trembling against you. His curls are damp with sweat, brushing against your skin, and he makes a quiet noise when you stroke his hair back lovingly. 

“What the fuck just happened?”, he asks softly, but you can tell it’s mostly a rhetorical question. To be honest, you aren’t quite sure how to answer it, still feeling dazed yourself as the cheering crowds one level above you make it all feel more surreal.

“We should get going,” you suggest gently as you pet his hair some more, knowing that Benny’s fight must be about to start, if it hasn’t already happened. Frankie sighs under your touch and gets up to his feet after a moment, looking absolutely wrecked. His mouth is bruised, your slickness all over his face, and his hair - thanks to your hands - is a mess, as he stands there with his jeans undone. 

He’s soft now, but you can clearly see he’s gotten off too, evidence of cum still sticky on his dick and hand. If you had more time, you’d have been tempted to lick him clean, but for now you go for the easier option; paper towels from the dispenser near the sink, both for him and you. You clean up quickly and put your jeans back on, foregoing your underwear as you can’t quite remember what happened to it.

Frankie already has himself straightened out, clothes back in place and his trusty cap securely resting on his curls as always. He’s leaning against the lockers as he watches you fix your hair, a careful expression in his eyes that he generally doesn’t have around you. The folded arms are a dead giveaway too, but if there was ever a bad time to go into stuff, it’s now - and you weren’t going to push him on something he had never brought up for discussion before.

“Ready to go find the gang?”, you ask him, feeling tired but loose limbed and satisfied. 

He hums and nods, taking your hand as he gently pulls you close to him. “Did you-...” He pauses, then starts over again. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. If it was too much…”

You shake your head resolutely. “No. I could’ve stopped you,” you simply say. There’s no doubt in your mind that he would’ve immediately listened if you’d indicated that you wanted to stop. “But I didn’t want that.”

The relief practically radiates off him in waves, and he nods as he leans in to kiss you. “I liked it,” he breathes, and the tone of his voice makes shivers run down your spine. “I don’t know how or– but.. Yeah.”

“Me too,” you reassure him, and something flutters in your chest at his confession. You didn’t expect him to say this, not now, and it makes you wonder if he’s been thinking about this lately.

When you and Frankie find the other guys upstairs in the crowd, the roar of the audience is deafening as Benny gets into the boxing ring. 

“Where the hell were you?”, Will yells at Frankie, who shakes his head as he gives him a hug, then joins in to cheer on Benny. 

Santi is already shouting encouragement at the younger Miller brother, balancing a couple of beers in his hands. When he turns back to the group, he grins when he sees you and gestures for you to grab the glass with a clear beverage. You’re grateful for the drink - any liquid would do at this point, and pleasantly surprised to find out it’s a vodka soda, one of your favorites. 

Santi passes a few beers to the other guys, then presses one into Frankie’s hand, saying something to him you can’t hear among all the noise. The guys exchange a knowing look with each other, then Frankie nods as he answers before chugging down half the glass. A wide smile plays over Santi’s face and he presses close to Frankie, his hand casually groping his ass as it slides over the denim of his jeans. Frankie seems surprised as he looks back at him, then suddenly blushes as he nods rapidly. He takes whatever Santiago presses into his hand, shoving it deep into the front pocket of his jeans. 

It’s like Pope feels you staring at the two of them, because he turns around and then gestures for you to lean in closer. “Wasn’t getting fresh, hermosa,” he says into your ear, but the chuckle in his voice is clear. “Your panties were hanging out of his pocket. Figured he didn’t mean to show everybody.” His tone is light as usual, but you hear the real question underneath his next words. “You good?”

“Yes! For sure.” You laugh as you take another sip of your drink, wondering how you had forgotten that’s where he had shoved your underwear or missed it sticking out of his pocket. For a moment you hesitate, then rest your hand on Santi’s back as you lean in to say something in return. “I’m not the one who walked away with a hard on and blue balls, pendejo.”

The shit eating grin you get in return is almost too wide for Santi’s face, and his eyes sparkle as he wraps an arm loosely around your waist, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek. 

“Malo,” he tells you, and you like how somehow that warning feels different tonight than it ever did before. “Better watch that mouth of yours, pendeja.”

next chapter: part 1 >

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i saw the new dob shoot and my brain remembered the hoech one and went ping! this is for @wulfnerd seeing as they came up with the wonderful Broderick as Derek's full first name in the tags of a post of mine who knows how long ago...

Winter. KY. Rooms 632 & 709.

Tim's eyes snap open, a halo of sweat around his nape despite the snowstorm raging on outside the window and Dave’s insistence on the AC running inside the room. He raises his head from the damp pillow to study the outline of Dave’s shoulder rising and falling steadily in the dark. Asleep, he assumes. 

Staring at the ceiling, minutes pass and his erection strains against the light sheets. Unable to bear it, he flips onto his stomach. Allows himself one slow grind of his hips to take the edge off, his forearm smothering the grunt.

Nicotine. Juggle a craving. Make your mouth useful in some way. He reaches down to the floor, patting around for his trousers until he hears the clink of his Zippo against a fresh box in a pocket. 

“You awake?” Tim calls out in a whisper, pack in hand before really committing to throwing pants to light up on the balcony.

“Yeah,” Dave rasps back immediately. “Been awake. Why?” 

Tim drops the cigarettes back to the floor. He rocks into the mattress again, sheets clinging to his skin now where he’s been leaking. Slices of the dream he woke from play behind his eyelids. Everything was warm flesh and urgent gropes. He played the star with an over accomplished mouth, adept at wringing someone dry of excited moans. 

“I want your cock in my mouth,” Tim states matter of fact, like it’s natural. Casual. A perfectly normal thing to say at…whatever time it is. “Want to suck your cock, yeah. That’s all.”

“What?” Dave’s voice notches higher with genuine surprise. Sheets swish as he twists his body further into Tim, squinting then and searching for signs that this is all sleep talk. 

“I had a dream about it,” Tim explains, all soft eyed resting his head in the ditch of his elbow. 

“Bullshit.”

There’s no bite. Tim thinks he even hears a smile in his voice, the twin bed creaking as Dave inches closer still - so, not complete rejection. 

“I’m serious. I’ll make it good, I promise.” 

Navy blue shadows paint the walls, the curtains only allowing a small sliver of silver light to bleed into the room through their edges. It’s enough. Tim can still make out the sharp line of Dave’s jaw, darker with some shadow now and the slight pout shaping his lips as he thinks over the offer. Waiting, his fingers search beneath the light sheets, fanning over Dave’s chest and ribs, picking up his quickening heartbeat before finding his cock, already swelling against his palm.  

“Yeah. Okay,” Dave says against the seam of Tim’s lips, pinning the blame on jetlag for his delayed response. Brussels to here, security lines to insipid presentations - more sleep would be wise. But Tim’s mouth is convincing, more tempting somehow now that he’s overtired. It opens half a breath later and Dave’s tongue sweeps across his upper lip, tracing the curve of it. Tim’s “I promise” echoes. How absurd it is for a tone as tender as that to come from someone with shoulders so wide and paws that. Hooks his arm around his neck to deepen the kiss, decides then that it will be good. 

Tim props himself up, muscles still weighty with sleep, knotty with an excited energy that makes his movements clumsy at first. His nose bumps against the hollow of Dave’s throat, breathing in deep lungfuls of his sleep-warm scent, as his tongue draws patterns along his neck. Soft breaths fill his ears as his stubbled cheeks scrape across Dave’s chest, whiskers leaving a pleasant burn. Lower, mapping his body with four functioning senses, his mouth finds a nipple and he bites gently. Finds that fine line of pleasure and pain but Dave’s spine curls off the bed, with a rich rumbling in his chest, a pleasure soaked whine. The sound echoes in Tim’s ear, makes his cock pulse and spill against Dave’s thigh. Tim apologises, craning his head to capture Dave’s mouth, his tongue sliding inside to soothe the sting.  

As Tim makes his way down Dave’s body, the room is swimming in a drowsy haze. Sounds seem much louder, bodies more responsive in the predawn. The hitch in Dave’s breath when Tim’s tongue dips into his armpit, the static catching in the rustling sheets as Tim settles his weight between Dave’s parted legs.

“What happened in your dream?” Dave asks, interrupting Tim from licking along the dome of his bicep.   

“I told you. There was no… plot. It was just like this, in a room - a hotel room, probably. How it always is and my mouth was filled with your cock.”

“How do you know it was me?” 

“I like to think we know each other. In some ways, at least,” Tim mumbles into Dave’s thumping jugular. 

“It was a dream. Could have been anyone.” 

“Could have been, sure. But I’m telling you it wasn’t. The sounds you made were the same.” 

“I don’t make sounds,” Dave says flatly, struggling to keep cool as Tim sucks lazily at his collarbone.  

“York,” he smiles, nipping along his jawline. Dave shivers involuntarily, can’t cage it, when Tim sucks on his earlobe. “My turn to call bullshit. Don’t lie to me, please.” 

Dave gulps down a moan whole. Lets his ears fill instead with the smack of Tim’s lips as they press another open mouthed kiss into his stomach, the wet slither of his tongue as it snakes over his happy trail until it’s drenched. The scratch of fingers pulling fibres, bunching into the sheets when Tim inhales deep into the dark thatch of hair on his pubic bone, both of them groaning on the exhale. A flash of the whites of Tim’s eyes against the dark and Dave giving in, gasping when Tim’s mouth traces the apex of his thigh, so hot that he breaks out in goosebumps after another lap. Then he’s growling from the back of his throat, squirming as that heat covers one ball. Tim draws it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it with the perfect pressure until his head begins to swim.

“Fuck. Again,” Dave begs, mid breath. 

Tim does the same with the other, grinning as he does. His palms splay across Dave’s thighs, pinning him open as he licks and sucks. Above him, the outline of Dave’s cock bobs against his stomach, veiny and glistening at the tip. 

A starved noise escapes Tim as his hand slides upwards over tacky skin, soft muscle twitching. He can’t get enough, the urge to touch Dave everywhere is simmering to a boil beneath his skin.  

“Look at the mess you make,” Tim murmurs, dumbstruck at his thumb circling Dave’s cockhead, collecting the small pool of precum that’s gathered and trickled onto his stomach. The slick sound of it is drowned out by a desperate rush of air leaving Dave’s nose. “See? Look,” Tim lifts his hand to Dave’s mouth, the pad of his thumb pressing between Dave’s parted lips until it lands salty in the valley of his tongue. 

“Dream, my ass,” Dave grumbles, slurring around Tim’s thumb, “you’re just thinking back to a few hours ago - to before we slept.” 

“No. This is different. This is better.”

Hot breath ghosts over his cock and Dave forgets to argue for a moment. There’s something about mornings he prefers, before the sky lightens and his brain can’t work out if it’s yesterday’s fading cologne or today’s new skin that he smells first thing. He likes how close he has to get to Tim to even try. Clothes already out of the way, finally removed after hanging off shoulders to hold onto as one of them slid in and pooling around ankles only minutes after dinner ended, but now, Dave’s flesh already feels oversensitive, scorched the way Tim seems hellbent on pulling him apart. Fuck. His dick pumps out another bead of precum as Tim’s hands roam to roll his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before he can think about taking a real breath - he needs him now. 

“Did you tease me this fuckin’ much in your dream, too?” 

Tim laughs, swallows down a mouthful of saliva and says, “Forgive me.”

Tim eases him in, dipping his tongue into Dave’s slit, feeling the slight jerk of his hips as he gets a taste. Dave reclines back into the sheets, eyes fixed onto Tim’s broad silhouette with a hooded gaze as his foreskin is pushed back by a set of plump lips, eyes rolling back into his head at wet heat. 

Dave’s fingers comb through his hair as Tim builds rhythm, steady unlike his breathing. Tim circles the head, flicking the tip of his tongue against his frenulum, making Dave’s thighs tense either side of his shoulders. He groans with relief when Tim drags his tongue from root to tip, soothes him with the firm pressure while his hand wraps around the base to pump him slowly. 

Tim can’t recall the details of the dream - it’s dissolved into nothing now. Meaningless. His mouth was full, sure, but this is much more vivid - he has control over what happens here. Lucid. Feels a surge of pride that he can make Dave whine when he opens wider, making him watch, glassy-eyed as another inch slides into his mouth. Power follows, staring up through wet lashes as he hollows out his cheeks, suckling at the underside as Dave’s composure decays. The little tugs at his scalp turn into a sweet sting only make him more dizzy with want.

Cockdrunk, his own dick throbs between his legs, neglected and painfully hard now. He rolls his hips, seeking some friction, against the sheets, Dave’s calf - anything. But he can’t focus long enough to get a decent rhythm, can’t tear himself away from the sight of Dave - writhing, veins bulging in his neck, tremors rippling across his abdomen, all from the wetness of his mouth. Knows that if he could see his eyes, pleasure would have turned them black. Just a little more - another swipe of his tongue to make him buck up into his mouth, to feel the heft of him on his tongue, let him brush against his soft palate. Tim stretches his jaw around the girth of him to make sure that this is reality - that Dave is splayed out in front of him and ready to come - then he can worry about himself.

“Did we fuck?” Dave breathes, chest heaving. “In your dream, did we fuck?” His voice cracks, desperate, as he tries again. 

Tim answers with his mouth full, humming a perfect “nuh-uh” sound around Dave’s length, the vibration rippling through his throat at the same time Dave’s cock hits the back of it. Tim feels his entire body shudder as he bobs up and down. Good, Dave thinks, clutching at his hand that rests on his stomach, wouldn’t last thirty seconds if we tried now.

“Where…” he pauses to take a deep breath, composing himself until another turn of Tim’s tongue sends him rambling. “Where’d I finish? Where’d I come?” 

Tim slips off his dick, allowing them both to think for a moment. 

“I don’t know - never made it that far before I woke up,” Tim says, holding Dave’s cock by the base, thumb idly stroking back and forth across the thick vein running up the underside where Dave’s pulse is hammering. “Where would you like to come?” 

Dave pushes his head back into the pillow at the sound of Tim’s voice - groggy and fucked out from his cock filling his mouth and stretching his throat. Makes his hair stand on end. Small puffs of air pour over his thigh where Tim lays his head, catching his breath. Dave peers down. Fuck. His lips, puffy from use, a hint of a satisfied smile pulling at the corners. He almost hates it - how he had never considered another man’s mouth to be typically pretty. Useful, but never pretty. 

There, he decides. He wants to ruin Tim’s mouth. Flood it until it spills over.  

No words needed. 

Dave’s palm finds the back of his head, guiding him down until eager lips seal around the spongy tip again closing with satisfied groan. Pressure builds fast at the base of his spine, a fiery heat as Tim deepthroats him easy. Can’t hold back whatever moans slip out through his jaw, slack now as Tim’s tongue is relentless, finding all of his sensitive spots all at once. His stomach clenches, flexing until he has to squeeze at Tim’s wrist as the pressure peaks and it’s the best kind of too much. 

“Fuck–y-yeah,” Dave grunts, pulsing into Tim’s mouth in warm spurts. He manages to tilt his head to watch as one milky drop trickles from the corner of his lips, dripping down onto Dave’s belly. He swallows then quickly cleans that up - one broad lap across his flesh as Dave’s whimpers die out. 

Both panting into the dark, Tim rises up on his knees, hovering over Dave’s spent body. Two gentle taps against Dave’s bottom lip with his index finger. Not a question. Dave is still riding a high, breathing still fucked up and aware that he’s operating on instinct - he wants what’s next and his jaw opens. Tim leans down, letting a pearly stream of Dave’s release slip from the tip of his tongue back into Dave’s mouth. Tim waits, hungry for it, for another sound he said he didn’t make. He gets it instantly, the mewl that slips out once it slides down his throat.  

Tim rests his head against Dave’s forehead.

“God, you fucking…” words fail him as soon as he starts speaking, almost delirious staring down at Dave’s mouth working. Tasting. Swallowing. “You like that so much,” he says in near disbelief, tracking another bob of his Adam’s apple. 

Beneath Tim’s wet eyed gaze, Dave stirs under his weight, puffing out his chest with a deep inhale to steel himself. Without warning, he wraps his fist around Tim’s cock as Tim tries his best to keep holding himself up. 

“Don’t you?” 

Tim's thighs tremble at the firm grip, at the slight twist in his wrist on the upstroke. He’s close, he’s been close but heat curls up fast in his groin. There’s a smirk creeping into Dave’s voice, he can hear it, and it sounds even more dangerous in the dark. 

“Fuck. Yeah. I do. Too much, maybe,” Tim admits, stumbling from word to word as his eyelids turn so heavy with lust that he drops his head, burying it in the crook of Dave’s neck. 

“Poor detective. Must be so hard, waking up early just to stuff your mouth,” Dave whispers faux sympathy in his ear, still swirling his thumb around Tim’s leaking tip. “To choke on my cock.”

Fuck. The words and movement turn his mouth dry and draw his balls impossibly tight, his chest firing out a choked sob behind a grunt. He grits his teeth against Dave’s skin as his orgasm rocks through his body, erupting in hot bursts over Dave’s chest. Dave hums, content as each rope lands warm on his skin. The tiny broken whines coming from Tim’s mouth pair so well with his own come down. Smirks to himself a little then as Tim’s still fucks up into his fist, not wanting to stop even though his muscles are starting to jump under his skin, overstimulated with greed. 

Tim folds eventually, curling into Dave’s side, looselimbed. 

“Five minutes,” Tim mumbles into Dave’s shoulder, tasting his salt damp skin with every word. “Just five and I’ll…” he trails off into a yawn that makes his jaw crack, “get something to clean us up.” 

“Should sleep while we can,” Dave says, already pulling the sheet up over their bodies, over the streaks on his chest. 

Tim’s eyebrows knit together - clean up was routine, a cool remedy for hot skin and soothing marks before they bloomed to full spectrums of crimson and purples. “Yeah?”

A drowsy “mmhmm” is all Dave can manage. 

“Oh, hey,” Tim nudges Dave’s leg with his knee. “Sweet dreams.” 

Light wells in the dimple in Dave’s cheek and Tim catches a flash before he turns away.

“Shut up,” Dave tells him, face pressed into his pillow to mask a grin.