Two newly married men, and a bowl of frosting.
Taught teased peaks of pink flesh, begging to be nipped, sucked, and fondled.
Hands travelled down that chest, fingers dragging on the slow slide, then dragging the nails back up, and over those hard nipple. Pushed back on shoulders to hold him against the wall, pinning him there, one hand fisted in his hair, his mouth attacking, tongues circling, dancing in and out of their joined mouths. The other hand tweaked a nipple, earning him a moan, which he swallowed greedily, and repeated on the other side, a touch harder this time, which produced an even louder groan than the first time
He drug those nails back down that tender soft stomach skin, and reached to cup his cock through his trousers, kneading slowly, his other hand, which had been fisted in hair, drug nails down his back, until it could cup his arse though those trousers and grab hold tightly.
He tilted his hips, slotting them together, and rubbed his naked front against the clothed one in front of him, making a show of it, groaning loudly.
The hand that had grabbed hold of that glorious arse reached to the side, and dipped his fingers into a waiting bowl of sweet frosting, and rubbed it against his cheek, leaning up to lick it slowly off. He returned the hand to the bowl, scooped more of it up, and began to slather it onto that chest, that lovely tanned chest, just begging to be marked. He licked a stripe of the frosting from sternum to collarbone, and kissed him again, reveling in the sweetness combined with that inherent taste of his lover, his husband - his everything.
"Time to lose the trousers," he said aloud, abandoning his hand from the groping and deftly undoing the zip and buttons, sliding them and his pants to pool on the floor, reaching underneath him to lift one leg, then the other, and fling the offending garments away.
He scooped a bit more frosting, and this time, avoided his chest altogether, and went straight for his lover's prick- long, red, and glistening at the tip. He traced some frosting on it, and stooped to slooooooowly lick it off, relishing the taste, and took him fully in mouth, hand around the base, and sucked once, twice, before backing off again, to add frosting to his lover's stomach, gently teasing the flesh there - that hardened stomach from years of working the beat. He loved to lick those lines of his abs, and traced a frosting-dipped finger along them, following after with his tongue and that finger dropped again to the waiting cock, still hard and begging for his attention. That finger, still soft with the sweetness of the frosting, traced from root to tip and back under, down to his sac, and further back. Where the finger went, so did tongue, claiming all of that frosting, the sweetness of it, and the saltiness of his lover's skin driving him mad.
"Would you like me to?" he asked, finger circling lightly at his cleft, waiting, circling predatorily.
A slow nod was all he needed before pushing in slowly, giving him time to adjust, the slow slide in made easier by the traces of the frosting clinging to his fingers
"Turn," he said, and pushed at his hip with his free hand, bidding him access to his backside.
He turned slowly, and if not for the steadying hand, might've fallen over from the sheer weakness his knees were feeling. That finger slowly worked him, mouth never far away, and when the finger retreated, and slid out, the mouth took its place, lapping up the sugary substance, probing him gently, until the finger returned, the frosting blood-warm against his skin.
"Tell me what you want," he said, voice husky, two octaves lower than normal. He knew his arousal would get to him, but he hoped, by the sheer restraint he had been trying to show, that he would last.
"You," he said slowly, voice gravely with arousal, "'always you."
It was too much, the voice always got to him
He stood abruptly, and slid his finger out, and roughly added another one, stretching the well-used muscles there, sliding back out to add a third when the voice stopped him again.
"Now, no more, just now."
Who was he to argue, especially when his lover had demanded of him the only thing he could never resist - to hold him up against that wall and fuck him until they both came, screaming each other's names.
He reached for the bowl, slathering his own cock with the sweetness he was sure to never look at the same way again, roughly shoved his husband around again, looking him in the eyes, and lifted one leg around his waist, getting their collective balance, and waited until his lover lifted the other one, settled back against the wall, and sank down on his cock.
There were absolutely not enough words in the English dictionary to describe how good it felt to be inside him, amazing, fantastic, wonderful, lovely, all those words poets used to talk about how beautiful things are just paled in comparison to what this felt like, someone should write poetry about this, he thought briefly, before his mind was ripped away in the form of the spectacle in front of him.
"Okay?" he asked, waiting for confirmation.
"Nngh- yeah, now."
It was all the affirmation he needed. He pulled back slowly, letting him brace his hands against the wall, and began to pump, the frosting, god, that glorious frosting, making that slide so sweet, dipping his cock into his husband's wonderful body- fully in, back out until only the tip remained, and then slamming home again.
This is how they loved it, fast, hard, and just wild enough to keep it very interesting.
He picked up a rhythm, leaning away from the wall just enough to aid in the lifting and lowering of his hips, gaining speed and purchase, until he finally saw white, that spot, oh god there it was. He repeated the motion, and pushed harder down, so his lover pushed him harder back against the wall, gliding into him over and over, touching that center of nerves, making spots in his vision
"Guh-gonna-jesusgodi'mcoming-," he shouted harshly. He made a high keening noise, his body in spasms around the cock buried deep inside him, and his lover picked up speed, spurned on by the lovely stripe of come decorating his love's stomach.
He drug a finger through it, the one that had been previously covered with frosting, and stuck it into his mouth. God it was just too much, the sweetness of the frosting, the saltiness of skin and come, and that taste that was intrinsically him. It pushed him over the edge and he groaned aloud, "loveyouloveyougodloveyou," thrusting hard into the pliant body above him, once, twice, three times, until he was coming harder than he had in a long time.
Slowly, his lover lowered his legs, letting the cock slide out of him, and crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap. He soon followed suit, leaning hard against the wall, catching his breath
"That was-god there isn't even words for it," his husband crooned to him.
"Amazing. Spectacular. Fantastic. Best sex ever, they don't seem to come close to what that was."
"No, they sure don't."
They lay there on the floor, clothes rumpled around them, and just enjoyed the bliss of their first bout of married sex, until he noticed the bowl still sitting there, innocently.
He took it down from the table, and looked at it thoughtfully, before offering it up.
"Frosting?"
This was prompted by the lovely UmbrellaAddict. She asked for sex up against the wall. I just added the cake.
Also, this takes place between 19 and 20.
Thirdly, I cannot be held responsible if you can't look at frosting the same way after this. Apologies.
Fourth, this is meant to be ambiguous point of view. I specifically wrote it that way