"I don' think I like this game much," a hot and bothered Rick bucks under his best friend. The man is straddling his lap and the heat he feels through his jeans is furthering his arousal. He's so used to touching and feeling and groping that he's come so close to almost losing their game at least three times already. But his yearning to do well at any and everything, especially when it involves Shane, has him set on holding out longer than his long-time lover.
"I play your games, don't I? I think it's 'bout time you make up for it, Rick," Shane's voice has that same, cocky tone he adopts whenever they're in situations similar to the current - during the times he knows (and he knows) he has some type of control over Rick. All his pleasure rides on the man's actions and it makes him feel empowered.
"You know, I think you should'a been a male dominatrix 'stead of a cop," he delivers with a grin.
"Maybe that'll be our next game," replies Shane, which forces a mumbled curse from Rick for unknowingly suggesting it. He didn't know if he should look forward to that or not; Shane was sneakily creative when it came to anything sexual and sometimes it left Rick flabbergasted (along with a craving for more). Rick decides he's had enough of the control and flips them over with one of his overused cop techniques, but Shane only wraps his legs around Rick. No matter what, the man seems to know how to dominate even when he's being dominated.
"Fuck you, Shane," Rick speaks those rare words with humor, placing his hands near either side of his head to support his weight as he pushes hard into his thighs. The harsh phrase felt weird as it left his tongue; he wasn't used to cussing as much as Shane was, in fear that Carl would repeat whatever he heard his father say.
In response, he leans up and breathes hot against Rick's lips, all hints of a laugh completely diminished. "Oh please do, Rick."
Those words, particularly the way he speaks his name, shoot a tingle up his spine and it subsides in the head of his fully aroused length. The restriction of his pants are getting to be too much. He needs them off, he needs to be free.
"I got'chu, boy," Shane breathes in an unsteady whisper, turning their bodies over again and immediately moving to pull Rick's shirt up with his teeth. Somehow he knows what Rick needs - he's gotten good at that through their detailed past of fucking each other - and even undoes his pants with his mouth. He doesn't have to ask where he had learned that, for he already knows the answer: years of practice with nearly half the girls he'd met since high school. If only Rick could be that talented.
"God dammit," Rick groans at his own mouth's clumsiness. He can't get a good grip on Shane's clothes to pull them off quickly, as Shane did with his, and the man feels his discomfort enough to strip himself bare. He would've asked him to do that sooner, had he known it wasn't against the 'rules'. Rick does the same but is stopped by Shane's leg wrapping around him while in the middle of pulling his pants completely off. They rest at his knees and that's where they'll stay.
Pushing his cock into Shane without his hand as a primary guide proves to be even more difficult. His fumbling that has the end grazing Shane's balls constantly causes patient grins to invade the man's lips while Rick concentrates on what he's trying to do. He eventually pushes the tip in - feeling like a million bucks at both the accomplishment and the feeling of Shane hot and tight around him - and when he looks up at Shane, he sees the man's brown eyes set directly on his. His face is straight and his brows are knitted in his own focusing, whatever it may be on.
"Rick," Shane whispers as if he doesn't have anything else to say, but that's okay, keeping his gaze set on the man inside of him. Their long, intimate moment of only staring at each other is motionless until Rick pulls half-way out just to slam his hips forward. Shane's eyes widen for a split second but he keeps eye contact.
Rick finally gets used to keeping his hands to himself, and Shane had been a whiz at it since the start. They'd been in the forest for at least two hours, and most of it was spent rolling around on the wet, swampy grass. They were both covered in mud but didn't stop meeting each other's thrusts, grunting and gasping. "Touch me," Rick hears and looks at Shane with wide eyes. "Touch me, Rick," he gasps again, but Rick doesn't. There's no way he'll touch him after so long of keeping himself together and playing along with his game. He couldn't give in. He repeats it, over in over begging more and more with each phrase. Shane finally snakes his arms around Rick's neck and brings their foreheads together, speaking those words one last time before Rick listens.
He drags his palms down the torso of his lover and uses both to get Shane off, stroking his dick with one hand and roughly rubbing his tightening balls with the other. They come together with Rick's seed leaking out into the other and Shane's making its home on his stomach and chest.
After such a long, pleasurable battle, Rick finally won.
They don't speak for ten minutes, and instead use that time to massage the sore muscles they'd both gained from a long session of thrusting. "We ought'a get back to the group," Rick breathes deeply after he pulls himself from Shane. "They'll be wonderin' where we went off to."
"Nah," Shane shakes his head coolly, making that familiar 'n' shape with his lips. "Fuck 'em. They get you playin' leader all day. It's my turn to have you." Rick smiles widely at his words, but it fades and he licks his lips when Shane speaks again. "Now what was that you were sayin' about me bein' your Master?"