Second Skin
It's that soft pull of fabric that gets him every time. Whether it's the blue plastic sheen of trackies or that grey thin cotton that skims his skin like droplets of water, Steven's body in a pair of joggers is a sight like no other. They cloy when he moves, stuck to that cushiony soft peach of an arse when he stretches. It moulds to him, settling a line down his crack, like it crafts to his warmth and won't let go.
He's in the kitchen, fussing. And Brendan's just home from the gym, tossing a bag to the couch and thanking above that he showered before leaving because he needs to smell good if Steven's going to give in to a little rough play in the kitchen.
He's hard as a rock already when he saunters over. Steven's do-do-ing to the radio in his own little world, rushing suds off the dishes and stacking them high. He doesn't hear Brendan come in, doesn't hear him push down his gym pants. A plate slips out of his hand, slopping water everywhere, as he yelps, shocked by Brendan's sudden presence. Brendan's pressed up against him at the counter, cock making itself comfortable against the grubby grey second-skin of jogging bottoms.
Ste's head falls forward when Brendan's teeth drag along the nape of his neck and a growl forms in his throat, Ste's arms bracing around the work surface. Brendan inches back and takes his hands across the rump of him, large fleshy handfuls of arse. He can't get a good enough spank like this, but he feels like bliss anyway. He draws his finger in a rough line down the centre of his crack and realises, with a groin-aching delight that Ste's not wearing any underwear. The hussy.
"Brendan, what you doing?" Ste says, his head rolling to the side. He feels Brendan's arms slide around him, one hand swooping up his t-shirt. His fingers make broad and uncalculated strokes until they reach his nipples and it soon becomes a slow and tortured strategy of circles and pinching. Steven lets out huffed oh sounds; he loves nothing quite like his nipples being played with. That was one of the first things Brendan learnt about him and isn't forgetting anytime soon. His other hand pushes into folds of fabric, nudging the space open with his palm and flexing out his fingers until with a satisfied grope, he pulls Ste's dick free and watches it swell in his grip.
Ste grunts and his head knocks back against Brendan's frame. "I'm supposed to be washing up, right, before the kids get dropped off." His voice barely reaches a whine through his stuttered jerks of breath. He feels Brendan behind him, hips rutting and rubbing himself off.
Brendan still has the gym's adrenaline pumping through his system and Ste's like a sleepy suburban dream with his arms wet up to the elbows and a doziness from a lazy habit of sitting in front of the TV. Sometimes it suits him when they're at odds like this. Of course they can switch it up, mornings mostly, Brendan's the waking tiger and Ste's playing with himself ready, puppy dog eyes and a fuck-me position.
He's in no mood for Steven's domestic excuses. In fact, he sees it as a challenge on occasion, if Steven doesn't want spunk all over the carpet, having just cleaned it, then Brendan will make damn sure he's coming all over it.
So what, there are dishes to be done? "I don't care," he tells him and sees his cock make a patch of damp grey on Steven's joggers. The door's locked and he has no intention of stopping or taking too long. He manhandles the joggers down until they flap pathetically around his knees and scores two saluted fingers against Steven's hot rim. The vibration of them makes him pucker and open ever so slightly.
"You know what you do to me wearing them," Brendan says right into his ear. He flicks the head of his cock against Steven's arse cheek. He's walked in from the gym before when Steven's home alone and with the day off and he's got the daytime TV on and his hand in his pants. It turns Brendan on to just stand in the door way and watch him. Steven's embarrassment and followed swiftly by grinning mischief makes the hairs on his neck stand.
Ste's angled forward, hands scrabbling for grip on the edge of the sink. He's panting. "You're like some sorta animal." There's a disbelief and a lust in him and he'd touch himself if he could get away with being sneaky about it, but Brendan's made it clear who's in charge this afternoon.
Brendan spanks him across both cheeks, warm laughter curling Steven's toes. He lowers to his knees, thumbing the newly pink cheeks open and breathing in shallow, hungry breaths through his slack mouth, tongue hanging loose. When he first licks him wet, coating him with saliva, he can't tell if it's just Steven moaning, or if his own are murmuring straight through the core of Steven, his mouth suckered so close against his ring. He's noisy and forceful as he rims him, squeezing chunks out of his cheeks and thighs, making his tongue roll loose into his heat. He lingers long enough to fuck him, with tongue and finger combined, and he hears Steven thump his fist against the counter, crying into the echoes of their kitchen. There's a softness in him from this morning's slow ride, where he yearned on top of Brendan, like a porn star with the dirtiest mouth imaginable.
Rising to his feet, Brendan covers the head of his cock with saliva. His mouth opens under Steven's ear and kisses him just there, like he's sensitive to. His arm eases around Ste's middle to bend him into place and Ste makes a flirtatious comment about his muscles building and cranes his head to the side, hunching over. He's locked against the resistance with eyes closed and mouth ajar. He can feel the head of Brendan's cock just pressing against his hole and he exhales, ribs lining up against Brendan's arm. He says - "Yeah, yeah," – and Brendan thrusts into him.
The sensation hits him like a shockwave of pleasure, rippling through every nerve ending. Steven's hot and dark and clenches against him. He loves hearing the babbling curses and the cries that rip through him uncontrollably. He revels in his quivered body taking inch after inch and the mottled blush that creeps through him.
Brendan's fierce with him, pounding away like a man starved. Dishes jolt in the sink and it feels like the hinges of the kitchen creak at the weight of their fucking. Of course, they've fucked damage into this grimy little flat before. The bedroom is a warzone of their fucking. Beds have told the tale. It wasn't built for something this intense.
Brendan's panting groans into Steven's ear and he loses part of his grip on Ste just to feel his thick cock in his hand. He doesn't think Ste knows exactly what he does to him. The way his spine arches and his lips pout full with blood and what they look like dark red and wet with spit and cum. Brendan balls him in his hand in a beating rhythm, burying himself into Steven's moans. Brendan jerks him, slippery, from root to tip, his mouth bleating against his clothed shoulder.
Steven's arms stretch out in front of him, stunned into keening pleasure by Brendan's pulse. He staggers against the counter, dimly aware of the sounds of the estate outside the netted window. He hears Brendan grunt and resist climax, a loud clatter of ceramic as he pushes the dish rack away with frustration.
Brendan drills white teeth marks into Steven's neck and strips his dick clean, soft howls of satisfaction as his hand coats with semen. He lets Steven finish himself on and licks his sticky hand, pressing his back down, fucking his arse until he's filled him with cum and his chest and stomach's knackered over the sink. He stays still inside him for a moment, skin thumping with heat. He kisses Steven's jaw when he withdraws. "I love you. I love you," he says. They're breathless as Brendan holds him and pulls up the joggers around him.