#sugarmonkey

Altair was accepting of anything that allowed him to get laid.  He had put up with a lot of shit in the years since he’d finally gotten his hands on Malik’s body (again, and for the first proper time).  He’d waded his way through the layers of nonsense prejudice and shame that his husband had built up in his own brain.  He’d followed the rules that were given to him; he’d argued like a professional lawyer to make sure that there could never be excuses that would end their sex life.  And he’d done delightfully stupid shit to keep his sex life lively and constant.

The only thing he couldn’t tolerate, the one thing that pissed him off, was--

“Sorry,” Malik gasped.  He had been (but was not presently) riding Altair’s cock.  His knees were making dents in the couch and his hand had been clutching Altair’s shoulder like a handhold.  They were celebrating the joy of being alone and revisiting the freedom of years gone by when they could fuck wherever they pleased, at whatever time of day the mood struck them.  And Altair had been enjoying that.  He’d been loving it.  “I don’t know why it won’t stop going off.”  

And now his husband was leaning to the side, sliding half off Altair’s cock, reaching for his stupid phone on the coffee table that wouldn’t stop vibrating like someone was going to die.

And someone had better be about to die.  Altair leaned forward with Malik, and used the benefit of two arms and facing front to grab it first.  Kadar (his favorite brother in law) was calling them.

“Hey,” Malik said, “I could be imp--”

Altair thumbed at the screen to answer the call, held it up to his face as he wrapped an arm around Malik to pull him squarely back down onto Altair’s dick.  His husband’s head fell forward against his shoulder as he muffled a sound of shock-and-pleasure.  “Is someone dying?” Altair demanded.  

“Uh,” Kadar said, “not over here, not sure about over there.”

Altair shifted on the couch, lifted up just enough to turn them sideways and drop Malik on his back.  He followed him down, hips tucked in as tight as he could manage because the ordeal of getting his dick in was too much effort to do twice.  “Nope, all alive,” he promised, “if you interrupt me one more time, I swear to God,” and he didn’t have an end to that threat because all of his threats were better left implied.  

Kadar made a noise, or an objection, or maybe he was going to ask a question and it didn’t fucking matter ot him at all.  Altair threw the phone back toward the table, or the floor or through the TV.  He braced one hand on the arm of the couch and grabbed Malik’s leg to pull up it up higher.  

His husband was pink faced and outraged, looking sideways at where his phone had landed, “did you hang up?”

“Kadar’ll do it,” Altair whispered.