I dropped to my knees.
The carpet was rough against my skin. I was eye level with his hips, with the way the costume left nothing to the imagination. His fingers caught my chin and jerked my face up.
"I haven't showered." His chest was heaving. "Been sweating in this for hours."
I turned my head and mouthed at his hip through the fabric. Salt and heat soaked through onto my tongue.
"Red."
"Yeah, I heard you." I ran my lips along the outline of his cock and it twitched against my mouth. "Don't care."
"I'm disgusting right now."
"Joel." I looked up at him. "I've been sitting in this room losing my mind for two hours. I watched you do that thing on TV where you touched yourself and winked at the camera. I'm so hard I can't think straight." I pressed my mouth against him again, open and wet through the costume. "I want you disgusting. I want to taste it."
His head dropped back. "Jesus Christ."
"That a yes?"
He didn't answer with words. He just peeled the costume down enough to free himself, and I breathed him in. He smelled like sweat and skin and hours of exertion, the raw animal scent of a body that had just done something extraordinary. My mouth watered.
"Look at you." His voice had gone dark. "Desperate for it."
"Shut up and let me suck your dick."
His laugh came out sharp, startled out of him, and I took him in my mouth before he could say anything else.
The taste flooded my tongue, salt and musk and the bitter edge of pre-cum. I groaned around him and his hand found my hair, gripping hard enough to sting. I worked him slow at first, then took him deeper until my throat spasmed around him.
His hand tightened, but he didn't thrust. He let me have this, let me set the pace, and the trust in that made my cock throb against my thigh.
I pulled back to breathe and looked up at him. His face was slack, his lips parted, his chest heaving under the damp costume. The medal swung with each breath, catching the light.
"You're good at that," he said. His voice had gone hoarse.
"I’m good at a lot of things." I licked the head.
He pulled me off by the hair.
I made a sound of protest that I'd be embarrassed about later. My lips were swollen, my chin wet with spit, and I was breathing hard through my nose.
"Not yet," he said. "Not like this."
"Joel—"
"Bed." He was already stepping back, peeling the rest of the costume off as he moved. "I've been on my feet for six hours. I've earned the right to lie down."
He crossed to the bed and collapsed onto his back, arms spread, the medal pooling in the hollow of his throat. He was alllong lines and golden skin, except for the way his cock lay hard and wet against his stomach.
"Well?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "I'm waiting."
I stripped as I crossed the room. By the time I reached the bed, I was naked and he hadn't moved an inch, just watched me with that satisfied look like I was exactly where he wanted me.
"The medal," I said. "Keep it on."
His mouth curved. "Planning to."
I climbed onto the bed and straddled his thighs. The medal was cold against my palm when I braced my hand on his chest. He sucked in a breath as I dragged it across his skin, the ribbon pulling taut around his neck, the edge of the gold scraping over his nipple.
