A heatwave, the meteorologist warns, standing before a map swimming in splotchy lakes of red, dark oranges, meager trims of yellow. Sizzling temperatures… excessively hot… high humidity.
The air conditioner has conked out, titters and huffs, rattles and clangs whenever it's turned on for even a second. The ceiling fan is whirling as fast and as hard as it can; a steady, muted whirring of blades blanketed in dust cutting through the thick, sweltering heat.
But it's just not enough.
So Alfred can feel it. All of it. In the muggy air that lies still around them, thick and invisible like the film of perspiration that clings to the heated skin of their moving bodies. On the couch, of all places, where they make the leather sticky until it clings, peels away when they come apart and slide together again, flushed with warmth and lust alike.
An irritating noise barely heard over the sound of a groan, a whimper, the dirty, wet smack of skin against skin. The slap of Ivan's balls against the reddened cheeks of his ass. He cries out with each drilling thrust, punctuates each drag of Ivan's stomach against his full cock with a mewling hng or a pleading ah.
Don't, Ivan had said when he reached a hand between their bodies, circled shaky fingers around the base of his arousal and stroked in a hazy rush, already so close to orgasm. And he'd obeyed, a breathy sigh being his only indication of displeasure because he's good.
So he busies his hands elsewhere. He traces the length of Ivan's back, feels the beading rivulets of sweat on his skin, feels the slippery muscles flexing, contracting beneath his scrabbling fingers, nails that dig in and anchor them together. His knees pitch inward, pinch into Ivan's ribs along his sides, closing against the overwhelming waves of pleasure that hit too soon. The slick drag of Ivan's cock in and out of his body that makes him weak.
"Please, please, please!"
He moans; a squeaky, broken thing Ivan forces out of his throat by coaxing it up and through his body. It catches and snags, following the jagged pacing of Ivan's hips against his own, the sharp thrust when he gets the right angle and Alfred can't help but to sob. And Ivan swallows it down, tasting it with his tongue, teasing—desperate.
Giving him sloppy, sloppy kisses. Like electric on his trembling lips, a current of arousal on the tip of his tongue. A jolt that knocks him ramrod straight until he melts like the gentle mouth that drops soft caresses down his tilted neck, and he arches inward against the tingles racing down his spine. In toward the nibbling bite against his collarbone and the warm fingers that flick across his nipples.
His legs slip, fall from their place around Ivan's body as he tosses his head back against the armrest, clutches him close enough to whisper needily into his hair damp with sweat, "I-Ivan. Fuck me. Fuck me."
Ivan curses, hisses and groans at the sting of Alfred's nails drawing lines of scarlet down his back. Red, red, red: the hottest color. Red on his bitten lips, red high on the apples of his cheeks, red in the blood pulsing through his cock, sensitive and heavy against his belly, smearing wetly across the chiseled hills of Ivan's abdomen when he lifts his hips for more. Always more.
"God,please. More," he whines it.
More—he get its. Takes it in the form of Ivan plunging deeper, harder, faster into him until he's crying from the stimulation, dripping a puddle just above his belly button that has nothing to do with rising temperatures or a sudden heatwave.
Clutching fingers paint bruises on his thighs just behind the knee, pressing Alfred back, forcefully spreading him wider, holding him open to the relentless pounding that makes him shake.
"Keep them there," Ivan commands, as if he has a choice with so much weight bearing down on him, in him.
A hand slaps his ass hard enough to sting and he sobs with want, clenches and shoves that cock that much deeper into his body when he rolls his hips. Sobs louder, more fervently because it hits him just right.
Ivan wrenches out of his slackened grip and leans back, stares down at him with eyes lidded by desire. Their hands find one another, digits interlinking before being pinned above Alfred's head. Then Ivan is tugging out, leaving him wanting and empty.
"I-Ivan," he begs, so close to breaking completely. "Please. Please, I—A-Ah!"
He chokes on a startled gasp when Ivan does as asked, gliding smoothly into him. Unhurried. Alfred lifts his head to stare, mouth hanging open, watches the glistening head of Ivan's cock penetrate him, slide deeper and deeper until he can feel the coarse curls of pubic hair. Until there's nothing left to give and he's taken it all.
They moan together; Alfred whimpering, Ivan giving a shuddering groan.
Using their combined grasps as leverage, Ivan withdraws slowly, snaps back in with a pace that's ruthless. A harsh, mechanical push and pull that drives him into Alfred, starts an ache in his hips as he plunges against the sultry squeeze of Alfred's lower body. He steals the splintered words from his throat, renders him a speechless, weeping mess and puts a quake in his spread thighs.
Still, Alfred ruts against every thrust, releasing little hiccuping moans, tossing his head left and right as he loses it. Ivan yanks free one of his hands to grab Alfred's swollen cock, tease a finger along the underside, circle around the head. He jerks the flesh sloppily with a twisting wrist, made uncoordinated by his building pleasure.
Alfred shatters immediately, spilling in quick bursts across his chest with a weakened cry. Ivan eases him through it, slowly as he grunts in exertion, nearly whimpers as Alfred practically sucks him in and clenches down until he's filling him with everything he has, too gone to stop it.
They collapse in a sweaty heap. A lot hotter than before.
"Ugh," groans Alfred. "We really have to get that AC fixed."
author's note: i tried to write smut. i am ready to be crucified. i don't think i'll ever do it again.