13 - SMUT BEGINS HERE!
Rhys has found Andy in the spare room unpacking with abandon, just like his mother had said before waving a hand in the direction of the stairs, engrossed in her Coronation Stret.
Rhys steals into the room to find not only the door suddenly slammed closed but Andy pressing him against it like a fucking strip search is about to take place. And ya know… Rhys would not mind one bit.
"You'll just go along with it even if I say I'm in a healthy relationship with Gwen?" Rhys rumbles. "That's dangerous. People can lie. Do you trust me? With all the shit behind us? Torchwood? Miracle Day? Gwen?"
"I don't care, I know she's a bitch and this is not the time to play games" Andy whispers with a wide grin, trying to lean forward again, only for Rhys to tighten his grip in Andy's hair and stop him short. There's a pleading glint in Andy's eyes when he rasps, "I trust you."
"God damn it, Andy," Rhys breathes. But he only lasts three seconds before he's letting go of Andy in favour of unbuckling his belt and opening his fly. The instant he releases his cock is such a relief he almost groans… and then he catches a glimpse of the focused hunger in Andy's eyes, and he momentarily forgets how to breathe.
He threads his fingers through Andy's hair again, getting a grip before Andy can lean in. The needy little sound Andy whimpers in answer sends a bright shot of desire through Rhys, and he drags in a harsh breath.
"You sure about this?" he asks.
Andy nods, and the gesture tugs at Rhys's grip.
"Tell me if you need to stop," Rhys says, then pulls him inexorably forward. Andy's mouth opens, eager and obedient, and Rhys slides easily past parted lips. He's careful not to push too deep, humming his approval when Andy's lips seal around him, Andy's cheeks hollowing with encouraging suction.
He certainly wouldn't admonish Andy for trying to participate more actively, but Rhys is delighted when Andy just watches him. Waits for him. Holding still with Rhys's cock in his mouth, letting Rhys set the pace. His gaze is locked on Rhys's face in this incandescent moment of stillness, and Rhys drags in a shaky breath at the impossible sight… even better than before… because now Andy's mouth is wrapped around his cock, and he looks utterly wrecked even though they've barely begun.
There's no way the stillness can last.
Rhys needs this too desperately, and so he guides Andy into motion, fucking his mouth with a contradictory balance of selfishness and care. His breath becomes a panting staccato as he takes what he needs… as Andy grips his thighs and yet makes no effort to push away. Andy's tongue teases along the underside of his shaft as Rhys forces him to continuous motion.
Every once in a while, Andy breathes an obscene little noise around Rhys's length— swallows involuntarily—tries to nuzzle closer despite the relentless grip of Rhys's guiding hand. It takes Rhys several minutes of this hot, wet perfection before he realizes just how much experience Andy is bringing into play.
The swipe of his tongue isn't unsure, and there hasn't been so much as a fleeting brush of teeth. Another handful of thrusts and Andy's eyes flutter closed, finally releasing Rhys from the intensity of his heated gaze. He looks enraptured, and Rhys speeds his pace with a helpless surge of want. Andy grips his thighs more tightly, and even now it's like Rhys can feel him trying to get closer. Trying to demand more. As though Rhys's rough, relentless touch isn't already a force to be reckoned with.
Rhys is trying so, so hard to maintain the necessary control… but his hips stutter forward in a moment of weakness, forcing his cock all the way to the back of Andy's throat without deliberate intent. He curses, guilt rising instantly as he retreats, but… Andy doesn't gag.
The slide of Rhys's cock seems to startle him, and yet he takes it smoothly, throat gurgling with a wet sound as he takes the uncomfortable thrust in stride, not making any effort at all to jolt against Rhys's stern hand. With a ragged gasp, Rhys pulls Andy back. His cock slips from between Andy's lips, but he keeps him close… forces Andy's head back so that when he blinks up at Rhys, their eyes meet and hold.
Rhys's other hand has gone white-knuckled in its grip on the edge of the dresser, and he is shaking with the desire to utterly ruin the beautiful young man kneeling at his feet. They're both breathing hard, and Rhys sounds lost when he asks, "How many times have you done this?"
Andy licks his lips, but otherwise he makes no effort to wipe away the mess Rhys has already made of his face.
"Enough." He's clinging to the backs of Rhys's thighs now, and his fingers twitch and tighten, gripping harder as though he has no other way to ground himself. Rhys considers this. "Can you take more?"
"Yeah." Andy looks so eager as he breathes this one word into the quiet room. His pupils are dilated, his hair dishevelled, his lips stung red from the rough slide of Rhys's cock. A debauched angel, begging Rhys to wreck him. And god, Rhys isn't half strong enough to resist the temptation.
He forces Andy forward with unnecessary strength, panting his pleasure when Andy melts in submission. Wet heat closes once more around Rhys's cock, and this time he doesn't stop. He drags Andy down and down, and when his cock slips into Andy's throat without any sign of choking, he keeps going. He buries himself to the hilt, only stopping when he has Andy's face crushed against his belly. For a moment, Rhys just holds him there, a filthy groan shaking from his chest as he marvels at the incredible sensation of being fully sheathed down Andy's gorgeous throat.
Andy's eyes are closed, but his brow is smooth, and what little Rhys can see of his expression is blissful concentration. Fucking beautiful. God, Rhys doesn't care if he goes to hell for this; the price of admission is worth it. How?
How could he possibly have guessed that Andy would have such a talented goddamn mouth? How is he supposed to live with this knowledge and not take liberties at every conceivable opportunity?
He guides Andy back, long before there can be any concern for air, giving him just enough time to breathe before thrusting deep again. The rhythm Rhys establishes is smooth but demanding, filling Andy repeatedly, fucking his throat at a relentless pace.
With every effortless slide, he marvels at Andy's control… the practiced skill of something that Rhys knows from experience is not at all intuitive.
"God, Andy," he groans, speeding up now, making no effort at all to hold himself back as the steady crest of pleasure rises inside him. Andy breathes a needy sound in a moment between deeper thrusts, wordless and muffled around Rhys's length.
His voice cuts short when Rhys rides deep again without warning. A hitch … not quite choking, but Rhys senses it's a near thing… shudders through him, but Rhys is too close to slow down. His hips rocking forward to meet the way he's dragging Andy ceaselessly along his cock. This time, an especially deep thrust does make Andy gag. But he's still clinging desperately to Rhys's thighs, and he makes no move to push away as his throat spasms around the intrusion. It's devastating and impressive, how quickly he regains control, calming even before Rhys moves to withdraw… and then the next deep slide is as smooth as the rest, Andy taking it beautifully.
With difficulty… and with a throaty groan … Rhys makes himself ease back so that only the tip of his cock rests on Andy's tongue.
"Look at me," Rhys growls, and Andy obeys, peering up with eyes that glisten wetly, unshed tears that should not make Rhys feel even hungrier. Rhys drags in a shuddering breath. Then another. Finally, he steadies himself enough to ask, "Do you need me to pull out when I come?"
Meeting his eyes with intimate ferocity, Andy slowly… deliberately… shakes his head no. There is no possibility of holding back after that.
Rhys gives in to the fever burning through him, driving forward and savouring the way Andy's throat works around him. The noises escaping into the room are wet and filthy, as Andy struggles… mostly successful… to keep up with Rhys's increasingly unpredictable rhythm.
Again, and again Rhys slides deep. His breath has turned shallow and panting, his skin hot all over with mounting need. He's gripping too hard, pulling Andy's hair, but it would take an actual push of resistance to stop him now. He is so desperately, frantically, gorgeously close. When at last he reaches the precipice, he drags Andy flush against his belly and lets the shock of orgasm overtake him.
The pleasure is almost too much.
It rolls through him, dragging a fractured groan out of his chest, making it nearly impossible to keep quiet. Noisy as the telly continues downstairs, a tiny fragment of Rhys's mind is still aware of what a disaster it would be if anyone overheard him debauching Andy.
He has just enough control to clench his jaw and swallow back a louder cry as ecstasy rolls through him, and he spills his release directly down Andy's trembling throat. Only when his cock begins to soften does Rhys ease Andy back and let his spent length slip from between reddened lips. Andy's eyes are feverish, hazed with unmistakable lust, and he doesn't seem to care that his face is a complete mess. He's bewitching.
The sight of him like this makes Rhys's chest ache with a possessiveness he knows is a feeling he has never possessed before…. And never wants to let go of.