Except it felt like it meant something.
“Well, then I guess I need to remind you what it looks like,” Bass said as he leaned back. “In case you got me confused with someone else.”
The snug fit of his jeans across his erection had passed pleasant pressure to discomfort a while back. He popped his buttons and hitched up his hips to push his jeans down over his hips. The curve of his cock twitched up toward his stomach, the skin flushed and tight. He wrapped his fingers around the head and pulled down, syrupy pleasure warm in his balls as he squeezed.
Tag watched him touch himself with lust-dazed near-black eyes, as though he couldn’t look away. He reached for his own cock but then let his hand drop onto his thigh instead. “I hit delete,” he said after a wet swallow before he could get the words out. “Not my head. I remember what you look like, Bass.”
“Hotter than your ex?”
Tag finally dragged his eyes away from Bass’s one-cock show. “Bad decisions always look the best, and you’re a bad decision made flesh.”
Bass supposed he deserved that. It still stung, but it wasn’t untrue… or unfair. Hell, even he could tell this whole ride was a bad idea on Tag’s part… although he kinda hoped Tag hadn’t realized quite how bad. Since it had come up.
“You sure you want to make this bad decision?” Bass asked as he let go of his cock. The ache of it pulsed between his legs, but the night was young. And if he couldn’t findsomeoneto fuck or fight—or both—in all of Plenty…. Well, then the town had changed more than he thought, but blue balls had never killed anyone. “I’ll still get you home.”
Tag rolled his eyes and pushed himself upright.
“I thought it was what I needed, not what I wanted,” he said as he wrapped his hand around Bass’s cock. His fingers were soft, uncallused and well moisturized, and his grip was confident as he slowly stroked his fist up and down.
“You know what I mean.” It was Bass’s turn for his voice to creak in his throat, not quite a crack, but only barely. He clenched his jaw against the hot ache that pulled at his balls and stomach. “I’m hotter than your ex, but you’re never gonna take me out to dinner to prove it to him.”
“Good. He’d have me committed,” Tag muttered with a grimace of old, faded irritation. Like it was the fight version of the tired “You had to have been there” couple’s joke. It might also qualify as actually unfair, even after everything Bass had done.
“Because I’m not a doctor?” Bass mocked harshly. He caught Tag’s chin in his fingers and tilted his head back so the moonlight picked out the flush of lust on his cheekbones and in his dazed eyes. “Or because you want Heights trash to fuck you so bad?”
Something bleak twisted Tag’s mouth for a second. “Because… five years,” he said. “And old scars, old promises. Some things predate you and your hot ass.”
It wasn’t an answer, but fuck it. Bass slanted a hard kiss over Tag’s tipped-back mouth. He’d take the “hot ass” remark and stick with that. Then he pushed Tag back and swung his leg, awkward with his cock out and his jeans shoved down to his hips, off the bike.
“Lean forward,” he told Tag as he stepped back. Glass crunched under his heavy boots. “Hang on to the handlebars.”
They stared at each other for a second, and then Tag did as he was told. Cotton stretched over his shoulders as he grabbed the bike’s grips, and he hissed, a sharp exhalation between his teeth that settled into an uncomfortable grunt as his cock was trapped between the hard leather and his stomach.
Bass hooked his fingers into the waistband of Tag’s jeans and tugged. Denim slid down over narrow hips and exposed his ass. The chill of the cold air made the lean curves of muscle twitch in reaction. Bass rubbed an appreciative hand over one cheek and then down to dip between Tag’s legs. He worked his hand under Tag’s balls, tight and hot against his palm, and rolled them in his fingers.
Tag’s whine was a half-strangled, desperate sound as he pressed back into Bass’s hand. He spread his thighs, the long muscles tensed under his skin, and managed a “Please.”
“Please what?” Bass said. He squeezed his handful of tender flesh, and Tag flinched, clearly not sure whether he wanted to jerk away from the pressure or squirm back into it. “If there’s something you want, Doc, all you have to do is ask for it.”
The nape of Tag’s neck was bare and vulnerable as he let his head fall forward, exposed between the collar of his shirt and the short-cropped hair at the base of his skull. “Really?”
Bass chuckled and let go of Tag’s balls. “What? Consent is sexy, Doc,” he said. “Besides, I like to hear you beg… especially for my cock.”
“Fuck you,” Tag said. “But first fuck me.”
It was more of an order. Bass’s cock twitched as a wire-tight string of hot pleasure strung through it and hooked to his spine at how unexpectedly hot it was. Not something Bass was all that interested in—he liked the way he could unravel Tag with a growled word or rough caress—but it worked.
Bass tried to think of an excuse for why he had a strip of lubed condoms in his back pocket for this absolutely unexpected and unplanned-for encounter. He didn’t try that hard, and Tag seemed too distracted to call him out on it.
He caught the edge of the foil square between his eye teeth to peel it open, the sharp, fake, chemical-sweet smell of cherries sticky on his tongue. While he picked out the latex and rolled it down over his cock, Tag ground his erection against the leather of the bike’s seat with jerky, eager thrusts of his hips.
The thought of how many hours Bass had spent in that saddle, until the shape of it softened to fit his ass like a glove, made Bass’s balls pucker with interest. The thought of Tag as he fucked Bass like that, all hunger and impatience, made him fumble as he tried to get the slippery condom snug around the base of his cock.
Maybe next time.
There was excess lube left in the foil packet. Bass scraped it out with his finger until it glistened with sickly cherry lotion, and he worked it into Tag’s ass.
“There’s lube on the condom too, but if it’s not enough,” he said, “say something. I’ll just fuck your crack.”
