"Fuck, you're a slut for it. I like that. I love that," Sebastian snarls and shoves his hand down the back of Peter's pants. Peter cries out as two fingers press against his dry hole. "Lube, baby?"
"I don't have any," Peter says roughly.
"You're kidding."
"No, I… no."
"Get off me. Jesus. Get your pants down. I'll be back," he says and shoves at Peter.
Peter rolls off him, and Sebastian gets to his feet, adjusts himself, and leaves, heading back down the stairs. Peter toucheshis neck, the indentations of teeth, relishes the sting, and then gets up, looking in the mirror. It will be purple soon. Bruised up by his… whatever Sebastian is.
Nothing as sweet as a lover.
He undoes his pants and toes off his shoes. He yanks off his socks and shucks his pants, underwear, and shirt, trying to think as little as possible. His whole life has just been obliterated. The last five years of his life have been for nothing. He's been in the closet, living a puritanical life as the required payment for having his job, and now he's thirty-five and has to start all over again. Can't he have one experience with a sexually aggressive, gorgeous young man?
Is it really so inappropriate when he's the one about to get fucked?
"Oh my god. He's going to fuck the hell out of me," Peter says just as Sebastian comes back up the stairs with a bottle of olive oil.
“Is that… will that work?” Peter asks. He’s almost positive oil is not safe to use with condoms.
“Do you care?”
“I should,” he says. But, he doesn’t know what his decision will be if this is the only option. He’s willing to take the risk.
“Oil is bad with latex. My condom is polyurethane which is fine.”
Peter is in over his head.
"Fuck. Look at you." Sebastian ogles him and takes off his own shirt. "Get a towel. This is gonna be a mess. You want to get fucked in your bed?"
"Yeah," he says, staring at Sebastian's chest. He's a lot more muscular than Peter would have thought. A smattering of chest hair, his stomach defined but not like Peter's. Softer with youth.
He's horribly beautiful. Peter won’t be saying no to this. He wants it too badly. They both do.
Peter goes to get a towel and comes back. Sebastian's shoes and socks are off, and he's undoing his pants. He shoves his pants and underwear down, sits on the bed to take them off, and Peter stares hungrily at his cock.
He's big and long. Peter isn't small. He's slightly above average. Alas, the rest of him is broad and muscular enough that he always thinks his cock looks a little too small.
It doesn't draw the eye like Sebastian's does.
"Jesus, you're so fucking pretty," Sebastian says, looking Peter over. "How much time do you spend in the gym? No wonder this country is going to hell. I could fuck those tits."
The crudeness of it, how willing Sebastian is to say anything he thinks, makes Peter feel crazed with lust. It's also funny. His life has been so fucking serious for so long that the irreverence is funny. Charming.
His father would have hated Sebastian. "Do whatever you want to me," he says.
"You're sweet. I will." Sebastian spreads his legs. "You want my cock. You're practically drooling for it. Go on then. I can see how it is with you," he says, stroking himself.
"Why is it sexier the more obnoxious you are?" Peter asks and drops to the floor to obey. His mouth opens as he moves in close.
"Because you're a fucking masochist and I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you," Sebastian says and slaps him lightly across the face.
"Fuck!" Peter gasps, his cock jerking between his legs. For one horrible second, he thinks he's going to come. Spontaneously. From being slapped. He grips himself tightly in one hand, squeezing ruthlessly, and kisses Sebastian's thigh. "Anything you want."
"Oh, I know. I can tell. You're a fucking cock slut. This is like Christmas, Peter. I think I get to rip you open and play with you whenever and however I want. What do you think?"
He presses his forehead to Sebastian's thigh, stroking himself furiously. He needs to come. He's never needed anything so badly in his entire life.
