“You know what you want, do you?” Drin says behind him. Dance turns in his arms and looks up. He can’t stop smiling, his cheeks hurt from it. He’ll let his face relax, and then the sight of the freckled arms, Drin’s graying hair all awry, red-and-white beard shimmering in the light as its wearer shovels omelet into his mouth– and he’s smiling all over again.
Emma burst out with her most raucous and vulgar laugh, threw her napkin at Dance, and announced she’d be out of the house for the rest of the day running errands like a silly chook molting feathers, and they could find some way to effing make it up to her later.
“Oh, yeah, we do, we want everything.” What joy, to say this to someone! “Rubbing, sucking, and fucking.”
“Which do you want first?” Drin’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “You don’t want to hurt me, too much all at once.” Dance doesn’t want to hurt him, he’s so much older, too thin for his big frame, and last night he seemed so breathless and fragile. But then, Dance was pretty breathless too, last night.
“Maybe all just fine with us, not caring all that much,” Dance says now, elated at his own rudeness. “If our Drin can’t keep up–”
Drin starts walking, pushing Dance ahead of him down the hall and straight into the bed, and Dance doesn’t even think to hold back the whimper of need. He dives to the mattress, pushing his face into the pillows, and grabs big handfuls of the sheet. He lifts his hips so that Drin can yank his sweats off, lifts more, getting his butt up there so there’s no possible way Drin can mistake his meaning. Drin’s big bony hands stroke heavily up his back, pushing the sweatshirt in a bunch up his neck.
“No question as to what’s first on the menu,” Drin says huskily. “Take this off, lover.”
Dance scrabbles at the back of his neck until he can shove the tight neckhole over his head, flings the fabric away. He looks back, at the man who will release him from this anticipatory state, and finds him rummaging in the inner pocket of the dress jacket he flung aside. “We– I am– safe, we have never– I have never been with anyone else,” he says.
Drin rips the top off of the foil packet. “I have, though,” he says. Dance is mesmerized, watching Drin’s hands lifting his own cock, the shining latex as it rolls over the ruddy flesh. “I’m nearly certain that I’m disease free, but there is no way on earth I’d endanger you.” He pops a small packet, and lets the lube run into his hand. That’s all Dance sees, because Drin has laid a gentle hand between his shoulderblades, and Dance gets to flatten his chest to the mattress, blindfold himself in the bedclothes, and raise his ass as high, spread his legs wide, as far apart as he’s ever wanted. He wants a hand stroking his tight-stretched buttocks, he wants to hear Drin groan behind him, the slick touch of a lubed finger running around his hole. He keens, high and inaudible as another man touches him. Inside.
“More,” Dance says, “Fast, just– real fast.”
“Fine,” Drin makes the word into a harsh sound and Dance’s yell is strangled in his throat at the gorgeous burn and stretch, sending prickles everywhere, the red heat running up his spine, god—
“Again!” He hears himself gasping. “Again, do me now –”
“Oh, God.” Drin groans. “Oh goddamn, Dance shut up, I’ll never last–”
Someone else’s fingers pulling out, and the heat of someone else’s thighs against his own as Drin gets into position, the weight of him there, and this feels…
More pressure, Drin’s penis is a lot bigger than his fingers were. Dance already knows how to push out, which pulls in, and he can feel every bit of that cock sliding into his body, and Dance is doing it. He’s getting fucked. A man is pushing into him and pulling out, and has dropped all of his weight onto Dance’s grateful back, and Dance tightens his butt muscles hard, grabbing down on Drin’s cock as it moves, and Drin is making a noise in Dance’s ear that might make him want to cry except that there’s too much sensation going on, not only his cock, his burning hole and his ringing prostate, but his ribcage, and the soles of his feet–
“Ah fuck,” Drin gasps. “Sorry, sorry–”
Dance reaches back to grab Drin’s hip, won’t let him get away. The fullness is enough, really. It’s Drin. Dance rolls his hips. Drin grunts, his cock getting jerked around like that, but he presses up tight against Dance’s ass, staying hard inside him. Hitting there. That deep spot.
Drin’s hand flattens on his hip, grips him steady, and then it comes sliding around, gripping tight, finding the rhythm for him.
He feels wet kisses on his shoulders and neck. Dance slowly lowers his body, revelling in this, being pressed between his lover and the mattress. All that solid body, this man’s weight, just where he’s wanted it, for years.
“My God.” Drin stirs, lifts his hips just slightly, and he slides to the side. Dance watches the way those capable hands strip the condom off and tie it. Dance takes it to lob it into the little can, pleased when his aim is right, and rolls to face his lover. His.
“I thought I’d last longer, but…” His hazel eyes shine into Dance’s, a smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “This old man’s going down for the count. We’ll try again later, I promise.”
Dance snuggles in, tucking his face into the freckled shoulder. “Are we– am I being too much for you?”
“You are…” The susurrus of breath stills for a moment. “More than I ever hoped for.” Hands stroking his hair grip tight for a moment, tug at him.
“Our Drin smells so good,” Dance says, in a dazed bliss. He licks Drin’s collarbone, up the rough beard along his throat, up softer skin over a thumping artery. Buries his nose behind Drin’s ear, panting. Kisses him on the cheek, and blinks, still breathing hard. “We– I– don’t want to be too much for you, really.”
Drin puts up his big hand, grips Dance’s jaw, looks at him. Looks at his face, looks in his eyes, looks up at the part of his hair, looks at his ears. “C’mere,” he says, and pulls him in. Kisses Dance on the ear. Breathes into it, tickling. Kisses him on the jaw, just in front of his ear. On the end of the brow. Breathes on his temple, and kisses his hair. And then, very lightly, just a brush, on his mouth. “Dance,” he says. “You get to be too much, I’ll tell you. Trust me, I’ll tell you. You will hear me complain when that thick cock of yours makes me rip the sheets to shred and then walk funny for a week–” and he grins. “I’ll let you know all about it, lover. I am not proud.”
It’s a fight to get breath. “Our Drin would– you want–” He sounds silly, his accent out of all control. “Wanting– me to– fuck you.”
“Hell yeah,” Drin says, chuckling softly into Dance’s ear. “Oh hell yeah.”
Deep breaths. Harder, even than workouts in the dojo. He smiles then. Fantasies crowd up demanding to be shared. “We will just have to fuck without sheets. Bend over the end of the bed. On the couch in the living room. In the shower– well, maybe not in there, it’s too small–” which makes Drin chuckle down so low in his chest that it vibrates.
“You might be surprised,” Drin murmurs. “Flexible as you are, get your knees up over my hips– well, no, that’s still me entering you–”
“Yes please more of that too,” Dance mumbles into his lover’s chest. Dance kisses the man’s ribs, rolls his face into the furry chest. Breathing into it.
“On the couch over at my place, at night, with all the city lights,” Drin says.
“Can we suck cock there, with the lights, too? And make out in the fancy leather car on the way over there? And–”
Drin chuckles. “Pick you up after a concert. Start getting you out of that tux, get my hand down those pants on the way, stop and get you into the back seat, and find out what we’re in the mood for. It’s a date, lover.”
Dance gives a little whimper of surprise. “We– never– not like this–”
“Oh yeah you are.” Drin’s hand slides up, firm and quick and expert. Exploring the length of him, rolling back his foreskin, and sliding a thumb across the head of his penis. Drin rolls up onto an elbow, breathes on it.
Dance groans, arching his hips into it.
“Gimme your hands.”
“What?” He doesn’t even wonder, he just gets them up to be examined.
“Will you look at these calluses? Amazing. No, I’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry.” Drin lowers his head. Brushes his beard on Dance’s chest.
Starts kissing his hands. Licks the soft skin between the fingers, the inside of a wrist, the veins on the back of his hands.
Dance gives the first hoarse yell of surprise when cool breath sweeps over his wet forearms, the next at a heated tongue in his armpit.
Oh, but Drin isn’t done with him by a very long way.