James blinks and looks down to find Bobby staring up at him, chin resting against his chest. “So are you,” he says, more comfortable returning the compliment than thinking about the reality that Bobby Mason thinks he’s pretty when he comes.
Fucking hell, Bobby Mason just made him come. And by the way Bobby slides up his chest, the way he hooks his thigh over James’ hip, the way he leans down to take James’ mouth, he’s going to make him come again.
And again and again and again this week if James has any say as he loses himself in an absolutely wonderful snog. Because this—the feeling of the two of them together—is more wondrous than anything he’s ever felt before. Even discovering the pleasures of the flesh as a young man, he didn’t feel like this.
What could be minutes or hours or seconds later Bobby finally pulls back, both of them breathing heavily. James opens his eyes, body straining, and they stare at each other, mouths plump, faces flushed. Bobby winks at him and then rolls to the side.
James admires his nimble, muscular form as Bobby crawls across the bed. James follows enough to realign himself, so they’re at least somewhere close to the pillows. He watches in confusion as Bobby rummages through his bedside drawer, and then grins when he returns with a small bottle of oil.
“If you want to,” Bobby says, shrugging. “No pressure or anything.”
“Give it here,” James says, holding out his hand, becauseof coursehe wants to.
Bobby beams and passes over the oil before flopping down onhis back. James can’t help but admire him again, from shapely legs, to hardening cock, up to that eager smile. He’d like to know everything he can about Bobby Mason, from how he feels in hand, to what it’s like to be inside of him, to how he looks when he sleeps.
So he lets himself admire. Lets himself take his time, situating himself between Bobby’s legs and lifting his hips. Lets himself enjoy the press of Bobby’s thighs against his knees as he splays his legs.
James oils his fingers and studies Bobby’s every groan and sigh and moan. He makes it languid and takes pleasure in every frustrated look Bobby gives him before his head tips back on another whine. He’s beautiful, and glorious, and just the effort of making him ready has James ready too.
“Do you want to be on your back?” he asks.
Bobby blinks his eyes open, staring up at James. “Oh,” he says, thinking.
James waits. He’s never done anything he truly didn’t want to do. But so often there’s not time, or affection enough, to make choices just based on taste. He’s received often enough to know what he doesn’t like, but a coat closet rarely provides enough space to make a real decision.
“I’d like you behind me,” Bobby says, and James can hear both that it’s what he wants, and that it’s costing him something dear to admit to it.
James smiles, shifting back to allow Bobby to turn over. He slicks himself as Bobby rises up on hands and knees. He leans over him, letting every inch of himself wrap around Bobby’s body, relishing in the warmth of Bobby’s back against his chest, and the way that, like this, he can surround Bobby, even though Bobby has so much height on him.
“Please,” Bobby says, shifting his hips in a way that nearly steals all of James’ resolve.
James kisses Bobby’s shoulder and then straightens up, taking time to allow Bobby to adjust as he presses close and slowly, achingly, enters. He breathes through his nose, following the shallow rock of Bobby’s body, listening to his whines and sounds and watching the tension in his back, until he sees Bobby relax.
The tight, hot, gripping welcome of Bobby’s body almost makes him black out. He steadies himself in the sound of Bobby’s heavy breathing, in the feel of his hot skin, in the light smell of sweat that hangs around them. And then he begins to move. The sound Bobby lets out, low and gorgeous and full, is almost as good as the way it feels to be enveloped in him.
James runs a hand up and down Bobby’s back as he angles his hips, searching for the spot he found with his fingers. Bobby muffles a shout and James groans, moving faster. He adjusts to glide his hand down Bobby’s flank, curling inward until his hand finds Bobby’s cock. But the movement changes the angle of his hips and Bobby grunts.
Then suddenly Bobby rears back so they’re both kneeling together, James driving into Bobby as his back presses into James’ chest. Like this, with them moving together, everything is deep and tight and warm. James plants sloppy kisses on Bobby’s shoulder as he moves his hand in time with his thrusts, using every bit of his self-control to make sure Bobby feels as much pleasure as humanly possible. Because he knows the minute he lets himself go, it’ll be over in four short pumps.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bobby says, arching against James.
“You feel incredible,” James says, not quite tall enough to reach Bobby’s ear, but just right to press open kisses to the side of his neck.
“I— Oh, God, I’m going— I can’t,” Bobby stammers, rocking into James’ hand as James keeps moving steadily, pushing Bobby toward the edge until he comes with a loud groan.
His hips stutter into James’, and James keeps going, wringing every last drop of pleasure from Bobby until he feels him go slack, shuddering against his thighs. James kisses his shoulder and guides Bobby back to the bed, so he can rest, spent, face buried in the pillows. James waits, his whole body straining, the angle almost unbearable.
After what seems like a cursed eternity in heaven, Bobby opens one eye and looks back at James. His lips quirk into a dazed smile and he turns his face into the pillows. Only then does James let go, focusing on his own pleasure, and the blazing, gripping, white-hot tautness in his groin that snaps with a ferocity he’s never felt before.
He collapses down on top of Bobby after surely the longest, most spectacular orgasm of his life. He rests there, breathing heavily, his sweaty cheek pressing into Bobby’s shoulder blade, where nothing but pleasure and Bobby and a buzzing euphoria exist in the world anymore.
“Good?” Bobby mumbles, turning his head to look up at James with one squinted eye, his face still flushed, hair matted to his forehead.
“Fucking brilliant,” James rasps without hesitation. “For you?”
“Fucking brilliant,” Bobby repeats, a sweet smile lifting the corner of his lips.
James bends his neck to press a kiss to the apple of his cheek and then starts to pull away, only for Bobby to whine and scrabble a hand at his hip.
