#ruke

This is how they do it. Every time. Robby likes it like this anyway. Likes old school. Old rules. Cowboy laws. Make do with what you got. Likes the half-dry rough pull of it inside him until Duke’s leaking precum enough to slide easier. 

Groaning, Robby feels Duke’s cock slide in further this time. He breathes through his nose as the push goes on, the musty scent of the couch below filling his nose. 

In no time, Duke’s pressed to the hilt in him, rocking in and out in a steady rhythm. Shortly after that, Duke’s hips start moving in a way that has Robby’s over-active, burnt-out brain sliding into the edge of a void. A void where he doesn’t have to think. Doesn’t have to make decisions. Just gets to feel. And fuck does it feel good.

“Alright now, there we go. That’s what I’m looking for, kid. Let me get in there deep. Just relax.”

Robby’s hips push back higher reflexively at the subtle praise, his back arching, head going down further. Duke’s cock strokes in deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Robby stifles his moan.

Robby doesn’t do this. Hasn’t done it. Never fucked men before. Just isn’t his thing. Maybe he's thought about it a time or two but that's it...

How he ended up getting fucked on a couch that’s all surface area, no volume by the guy who fixes up his bike, one of his only friends…Robby honestly doesn’t know.

Gruff, hazy breaths come from Duke as he pumps away, black tar lungs keeping up with the man’s diesel-engine sex drive. 

Calluses scrape against Robby’s skin as Duke’s tan hands grip his hips, strong as they haul Robby against his cock over and over again. Skin slaps over the sound of Aerosmith playing on a junkyard radio, the smell of sweat, sex, and motor oil hot in the air.

Sweat slicks up Robby’s back. He moans into the couch as Duke changes angles, hitting his spot just right. And then -

A slap to his thigh and a groan that’s more ache than moan is the only heads up Robby gets before Duke is stopping and pulling out. “My arthritis is acting up. Switch places with me, kid.” 

A nudge to his hip has Robby sitting up faster. Blood rushes from his head back down before he slowly pushes up to his feet, knees and elbow creaking their protest. He’s not exactly a spring chicken either he wants to point out. Doesn’t. 

Duke leans against the sagging chair arm, spreading out on the couch. Gray hair tufts the man’s defined chest, sweaty and a little red from exertion. Legs butterfly open, long cock jutting up, balls lying on the cushion below.

It’s not a sight that Robby ever expected to send heat through him. And yet it does. 

He’s not exactly at home after a long shift picturing his friend like this. But Duke’s cock feels good, somehow, impossibly good. It’s why this isn’t the first time this has happened. And it probably won’t be the last.

Robby puts it down to his friend growing up in the 60’s, the time of free love. “Holes and poles, baby. You had ‘um, we wanted ‘um. Didn’t care who had what. Spread the love. Pass the Maryjane. And fuck the police. Everyone cares too much what’s in people’s pants these days. Bunch of sissys.” Duke had proclaimed once, several beers in. That was the first night they fucked. Robby was a sucker for a good speech, apparently.

Robby eyes his friend as he figures out how to get back down there in a way this couch will allow and won’t send him to the emergency room before his shift tomorrow. Duke has a jail-yard build. Not the movie kind, the real kind. Halfway to malnourished from his diet of whiskey and cigarettes, but strong as shit from hauling things around all his life. A man who uses his hands and does it well.

“Come on. Back down. Sit on my cock.” Duke slaps a hand to his own thigh, smirking, muscles still prominent even under his aging skin.

It takes some maneuvering, a lot of grunting that is less sex and more protest. “You have got to get a new couch, man,” Robby says, knee aching as it sinks right through the withered cushion to the wooden support beams below. “Hell, I’ll buy you one. My knees can’t take this shit.”

“The couch is fine, princess. Write yourself a script for being a pussy later. Now do you wanna fuck or are you trying to get married? I’ve got a bike coming in at noon that’s far prettier than you. Time’s wasting.”

Robby barks a laugh. “You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”

Gravel rumbles through Duke’s chest as the old man laughs. “That’s what my first wife said. Second one, too, before she threw the toaster at my head.”

They cut the chit chat after that. Robby’s cock is thick and leaking against his thigh, his hole aching to be filled, to be pounded again. He’s got a string of shifts ahead of him and fuck it he needs this.