“Lube us up,” he said when he turned around with the bottle in hand. “So you can drive your cock deep into me.”
Chris swallowed, his dick hardening more. He wasn’t sure if the bassist was doing all this on purpose—the kissing and the touching, speaking to him like that without following through to the finish line. After sucking him, they’d had quite an erotic make-out session while he jerked Chris off on the couch before they moved to the bedroom. He was on the edge. It was so bad even his brain was itching.
Reaching for the bottle, he uncapped it and squeezed some of the cold gel on his palm, immediately wrapping it around his shaft. The guitarist closed his eyes and hissed at the contrast in temperature, but soon eased into the sensations pinching his skin when Marc straddled his lap again. His cock, his balls, and even his damn nipples were begging for attention. And the bassist definitely got the message as he bent down and sucked on them.
“Oh fuck, that feels good…” Chris moaned, pressing the back of his head into the pillow while he bucked his hips up.
“Yes… Keep making those noises for me.”
A part of Chris wanted to cringe at the dirty talking. It was pretty mild—had heard and said way worse—but it still felt strange hearing such a deep, gruff voice telling him those things. Fortunately, he was slowly getting better at ignoring this first reaction that switched on the absurd response of rejection he’d learned when growing up. They were just two people acting on their desires for the other. Nothing more and nothing less.
As he continued pumping himself, drowning the voices in his head while his friend tugged on his nipples and nibbled the skin of his chest and neck, Chris began leaking once again—the third time already.
“How are we gonna do this?” he asked, trying to be considerate because in his mind he had a pretty good idea of how he’d like to go at it.
“Position you mean?” Marc wondered, wrapping a palm over Chris’s and thumbing the drop of precum.
“Yeah.”
The bassist brushed their mouths together; hot, ragged breaths mingling as one. “How would you like to fuck me?”
Chris raised his head a little to have a full taste of that sinful mouth, but Marc moved upward, smirking.
Gripping his nape, the guitarist pulled him down again. “From behind,” he rasped against his lips before sucking on them.
He would not dare to say it out loud yet. Didn’t feel confident enough with this new side of himself to voice half of the thoughts that had crossed his mind since their night together in LA. But Marc had a great ass. Round and strong. Like that of a cyclist. Chris was kind of dying to see how it’d look spread with his dick drilling into his hole.
After letting their tongues entangle in a fierce fight for dominance again, hearts beating furiously and breaths coming out sharp, they shifted their positions. Marc lay on the bed on his stomach, sweeping his silky black hair to the side as Chris wedged himself between his legs.
He reached for the lube, and with a hand pulling a cheek apart, he squirted some over Marc’s hole. The bassist stirred a little but didn’t say a word, simply propped his head on a palm and looked back at him, expectant, grinning like a fucking idiot.
Mentally rolling his eyes, Chris blocked the stupid expression out of his visual field and focused on his task. That shit had made his self-consciousness peak again.
Before, except for a second where there had been a bit of surprised tension, Chris had eased a finger into this ass pretty smoothly using just saliva. Some people, even when liking anal, got a little apprehensive at the beginning, and it wasn’t so easy to loosen them up. It required some actual work. But this dude was here, with two fingers inside, as if it were nothing. At least he was letting out soft whimpers as the guitarist moved his hand back and forth. Otherwise, he would think he wasn’t doing a good job.
Chris started feeling lightheaded when he added a third finger. Hazy and so fucking turned on. None of this felt real. Marc looked like he was almost grasping another orgasm, judging by the way he was breathing now, and all the guitarist wanted was to shove his dick inside of him. He couldn’t get enough of his labored sounds and the subtle motion of his hips seeking more.
“Schmidt, I’m more than ready,” Marc rasped, his tone cracking open between commanding and begging.
“Are you sure?” Chris surprised himself panting like a dog.
“Yeah.”
Spurting some more lube over his ass and coating his own dick with it as he ran it between Marc’s buttocks, Chris echoed his moan. They weren’t there yet, but they were both trembling with need. Breathing heavily. Sweating. If their pulses were speeding up equally fast, they were both probably close to suffering from tachycardia.
“Okay… Relax for me now, Zimmer,” Chris rasped, nudging his legs together as he straddled him.
“Fuck me good, baby,” he responded in such a sultry tone, the urge to push his dick into his ass and make both of them come had Chris burning.
Marc turned his face away and lifted his hips just slightly. Without giving it a second thought, Chris grabbed his cock and brushed the head over the puckered hole. Another wave of scorching electricity bashed all his muscles. Nervousness and anticipation morphed into one. And then…Fuck. Then the piercing and the crown of his dick disappeared, being eagerly sucked in.
Both men exhaled a moan.
Although there was a small amount of resistance at the beginning, the bassist soon relaxed, and Chris drove his shaft in a little further.
He rotated his hips while gently moving back and forth, feeling himself gliding deeper. His entire body was shuddering with the need to thrust hard and plunge himself into his friend’s ass. Something told him he could have done so and Marc would still have taken him perfectly, with no discomfort or any kind of pain. But he was enjoying every second of this. The tightness in his lungs. The tingling in his arms. The shivers tearing through his skin.
“You feel incredible,” Chris blurted, groping one of the bassist’s asscheeks and admiring how good his dick looked halfway inside of him.
