Five. Fucking. Times. Andrés had been married five fucking times. Five fucking wives. Only to find himself inside a man.
But this wasn't how it started. Andrés said it was impossible. His dick was hard from kissing Martín and his lips were swollen from kissing Martín but it was impossible.
"I understand" Martín said, and Andrés was almost relieved yet disappointed. "Believe me, I know. One can't do something… I understand." He smiled. His eyes found Andrés' erection. "Look. If…"
He sighs. Now isn't the time to use words that would frighten him off, that would cause gay panic. Yet he won't use euphemisms like one of Andrés' women.
"If you really don't want it... If you don't cum, I swear I'll never talk about it again." And he means it. Almost?
Andrés is shocked, his cheeks blushing as if he hadn't realized how hard he is, how far they have gone. If he wanted to keep it above the belt, Martín won't let.
"Martín…" he smiles, apologetic.
"Don't turn your charm on me" is all Martín says, his hand finding the bulge and gently stimulating. Andrés closes his eyes, gasping.
"No, you look at me." There is a challenge, so Martín rises to the occasion. Too easy to think of some girl doing it. Even he understands. But Martín embraces him, not forcing him to look at his hand when he untucks him, exploring the hardness.
Andrés is actually embracing back, or at least holding onto him. "You smell good," he says, strangled voice as a strong hand explores his manhood. "So good" This may be about how that feels.
Andrés is entirely hard, entirely too quick. So much for impossible
Martín's lips seek his neck as Andrés buries his face against him. "You're burning me", Andrés murmurs, but it sounds… not like a complaint.
He pulls and rubs, gives it his best show of talent. He massages precum onto the tip so it slides into his fist. Andrés is fucking against him, thrusting… he thinks. How better it would be if he was fucking inside him, not just inside his fist, but…
"You there?" he teases. Andrés' erratic breathing is enough.
"Well, you might need more. Next time…"
"No," Andrés protests still.
"...I'm sucking you, so I hope you like"
He has no time to finish the sentence. The image is apparently enough for Andrés to come all over himself and Martín. He rests there, his eyes discreetly peering down and shivering at the image, the real image, of Martín's strong hand around him. Martín ponders that Andrés won't be able to stand through a blowjob, shivering he is now. He will have to help him lie down, to open him, to taste him everywhere… He wonders if a beginner would rather a handjob and a warm mouth eating him out, or a finger as he gets jerked off, the only way he can feel Andrés inside, where no woman has been. Too much. This is too much too.
Andrés cringes theatrically when Martín brings up his hand toward his mouth and tastes his cum. Martín wants to offer some but he's not ready. Still he surprisingly captures his lips and kisses him deeply. He thinks he can taste himself. He thinks he can only hate it.
"I should…" but when he looks down, he sees no more of the bulge, and there is a stain. Martín has come touching him. The implications aren't lost on him. He has never been desired so. That only does it for Andrés, but everything did it for him in this. He liked everything. He fears that means it will happen, again. And he fears the physical will only crystallize the feelings.