Each stroke buried his cock deep inside Grade, his ass stretched wide around Clay’s shaft, and Grade pushed back to meet him every time. The long muscles in his legs, taut and strained from the angle, trembled visibly under the skin as sweat dripped down his back. Clay brushed a kiss over Grade’s shoulders, the faint spray of freckles where the sun got through the collar of his T-shirt traced with Clay’s tongue. He could taste salt and a chemically sour smoke that stung the back of his throat.
The driving beat of the music rattled around in the back of his head and set the pace, quick and hard enough to jar a gasp out of Grade. He had to keep both arms braced, the wiry bands of muscle outlined through his pale skin, to keep from being fucked into the wall.
Since he couldn’t take care of it for himself, Clay slid his free hand around to caress Grade’s chest. He pinched the bud of a nipple and then soothed the small discomfort with a swipe of a callused thumb.
“God,” Grade moaned. The word was drawn out over his tongue as he clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles pressed into the paintwork. “Please.”
Pleasure banked—sticky and hot as melted sugar—in his balls. They had a sort of dull heaviness that made him want to squirm and spilled out into the clenched muscles of his thighs and filled his spine up like pressure.
Each stroke spread Grade wider, slid just thatfractiondeeper. He moaned something fast and breathless—directions, it sounded like—as sweat dripped down his face and made his back wet. Clay ran his hand down Grade’s stomach and back to his cock. He wrapped his hand around it and pumped his fist in rough time to the thrusts that jolted Grade’s body.
Grade had asked nicely, after all. That meant he got to come first.
Which was going to be soon. Grade had lost his words, even the curses. All that was left were breathy, hungry whimpers. His body was pulled tight as a tripwire with it, ready to go off if you just… hit… it… right. Clay drove his cock into Grade harder, each thrust almost painful as it made his balls feel scalded because they were so heavy and tender. He could feel the release as it built up under Grade’s skin—flutters in his muscles and the tension in clenched joints.
So close.
Clay kissed the nape of Grade’s neck, right where his spine fed into his skull, and wrung his release out of him on hard strokes and callused fingers. It spilled sticky out of Grade and all over Clay’s fingers. Drops of come splattered on the wall as well.
Pleasure left Grade boneless, sprawled against the wall. Clay fucked him like that for a second, limp dick still handled roughly as Grade moaned. Then he pulled him back off the wall so he was plastered against Clay’s body, with Clay’s cock still thick and hard inside him.
Two steps back put the arm of the couch against Clay’s thighs. He dragged Grade with him and sat down, long legs folded over his. His hands on Grade’s hips—what there was of those—meant he set the pace even once Grade found the presence of mind to brace his feet on the floor. His thighs were rock hard, clenched into knots, as he thrust himself down onto Clay’s cock.
It didn’t take long. Clay had hung on to his control with fishing line and the skin of his teeth. Now all it took was the squeeze of Grade’s ass around his cock—and the hand he reached back to wrap around Clay’s neck—to get him off
He thrust up hard into Grade and came inside him, a wet spill that he felt around his cock as it softened. They stayed there for a minute, Grade slumped back against Clay’s chest and his cock glued to his thigh.
Until it made Clay’s skin start to shrink-wrap itself over his bones. He rolled Grade off him and onto the couch, sprawled out lewdly on the leather.
“I need a smoke,” he said as he stood up. His trousers were stained, and come smeared over his shirt, dried stiff and tacky on the loose tail. He tucked his cock away and zipped up. “Was this it? Or did you need something other than stress relief from me?”
Grade folded one arm back behind his head and scratched the inside of his thigh with the other.
“No,” he said placidly. “That was it.”
Clay grabbed his cigarettes and walked out into the kitchen. He propped the door open and leaned against the doorframe as he lit a cigarette.
That was probably it, he thought idly as he breathed smoke into the murky predawn light. The difference between a fuck buddy and a boyfriend—one of them would hang around even if the sex wasn’t good.
Clay waited to feel something about that, but… fuck it. Like Clay was in this for the conversation, not the cock. Sometimes he had his own stress to work out.
He took another draw on his cigarette and exhaled slowly, his head tipped back and eyes closed.
“I thought you gave that up?” Grade commented as he joined Clay on the doorstep. He smelled of sex and Clay, and the sweatpants he’d pulled on didn’t cover up much.
There was a hint of bleach too. Still.
“Yeah,” Clay said. He offered the cigarette to Grade and was turned down with a shake of his head. Clay took another hit and then flicked the butt into the dark. The red-ember end spun for a second before disappearing in the long grass. “Then I started again.”
He turned around to look at Grade. Clay reached out to cup one hand around the nape of Grade’s neck, his thumb under Grade’s chin.
“How confident are you that your staged crime scenes will completely fool the cops?” he asked.
Since he could—now—Clay started to unbutton his shirt. The tiny mother-of-pearl buttons were clumsy to manage with wet fingers. Once he had them all flicked loose, he pulled the shirt down over his shoulders and let it dangle by the collar from one hooked finger.
Grade stared at him, the confusion obvious on his face. “A bit late to ask now,” he said.
“Indulge me,” Clay said.
