Who: Handsome Bob/One Two
What: Handsome Bob wants to try something a little different tonight...
Word Count: 1,385
Warnings: NC-17; language, sexuality, PWP
"I want you to come just by the sound of my voice." He lowers it, too, until it's sex personified; until it's a scratchy-smooth caress the other man can feel slithering its way between his joints.
One Two doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with Handsome Bob's big stupid head, but when his best buddy is leaning against the headboard of his bed and is so fucking turned on that his cock is straining against his pants, well, the Scot sorta loses a bit of reality in the space in-between.
He swallows all thick and heavy, and grapples with his racing heart.
"Well?" Bob says after a moment or two, then lightly pats the empty spot on the bed beside him. "Are we gonna do this, or what?"
"Bob, I don't think this is a good ide--"
"Aw, come on, you promised."
He had, hadn't he? He'd promised Bob they could do whatever he wanted for his birthday, and the sneaky little Brit had told him he'd hold him to that promise for a later time. Well, now was later, but One Two thinks the request is all a little...
"What? Feeling out of your league?"
One Two clenches his teeth, strides quickly towards the vacant side of the bed, and slumps down with an almost petulant harumph. He crosses his arms, unwinds them and lays them by his side, then crosses them again.
"So, how d'ye wanna start?"
"How about with your hands rubbing me off? I've always liked having your hands on me, One Two."
The Scot swallows, eyes falling half-lidded as his attention strays from Bob's sinful lips (spilling sinful words into the air) to the oh-so evident arousal he can see straining against the other man's pants. Subconsciously, he licks his suddenly dry lips, has the urge to do what Bob says, but resists because, fuck it all, Bob's first rule had been no touching. He wanted to see if they could get off just by talking to each other, and though One Two has his doubts, he can't deny that the thought does turn him on.
"Yeah?" One Two asks, clenching his fingers in the bedsheets.
"Yeah," Bob replies, his voice a husk of dry desire.
There's silence between them, and then One Two tentatively begins.
"What else a' mine d'ye like havin' on ye'?"
His Scottish brogue deepens to a rough, somewhat sticky quality. He's always known that Bob likes his voice, likes the way he says his syllables when he's driven to the peak of any emotion.
Bob dips his head back until his adam's apple is arched forward.
"Your lips," he finally breathes through a stifled gasp, eyes closed as if he's imagining just that. "Love havin' your lips on me, suckin' me off. You've got a cocksucker's mouth, One Two. I know you're straight an' all -- well, mostly -- but god your mouth is just perfect."
The tips of One Two's ears turn a deep shade of red, and he has the strong urge to turn away and hide his embarrassment, but Handsome Bob isn't looking anyway, and he's finding it difficult to take his eyes off of the Brit's clothed dick.
When the silence stretches between them for another good few minutes, One Two finally breaks it with a guttural moan.
"Fuck, Bob, ye can't give me all the credit. You've got a tight throat yer'self. Love..." he shudders, fingers flexing, "... love fuckin' it."
And then Handsome Bob does that moan of his -- that deep, rumbling sound -- and One Two doesn't even know what to do with himself.
"Love suckin' you off," Bob says, digging his heels into the mattres and thrusting up into the empty air. One Two watches, mesmerized. "Love havin' your cock in my face, in my mouth. You taste so fuckin' good, One Two, you don't even know. So fuckin' good."
One Two growls, his vocal cords rasping against barbed wire, and reaches up to palm himself through his pants, but a quick hand snatches up his wrist before he can make contact, and pins it to the bed.
"Ah-ah," Bob says, clucking his tongue together, which only draws attention to his mouth, and fuck if Bob thinks One Two doesn't know he absolutely did that on purpose. "No touching," he says, then lets go of the Scot's wrist. "I want you to come just by the sound of my voice." He lowers it, too, until it's sex personified; until it's a scratchy-smooth caress the other man can feel slithering its way between his joints.
It's One Two's turn to dig in and arch up, to try and use some kind of leverage to seek out a source of friction that isn't actually there. His jeans rub teasingly against his cock, and it isn't enough -- it's not nearly enough -- but he'll have to make due.
"Fuck," he says, unravelling. "I want ye, Bob. I want ye so fuckin' bad. Want ye wrapped around my dick, begging me to fuck you faster, harder, like ye always do. Ye always beg for it the best, ye know. The best I've ever had... god, yer fuckin' voice, askin' me to pound ye into the bed, the wall, the fuckin' floor."
His tirade is interrupted by a long, trembling groan.
"Yeah," Bob's saying, stilling his hips in the air and grinding up, mimicking the motions he would make if One Two were above him. "Yeah, One Two. Fuck me faster... c'mon, I know you've got more in those old bones 'a yours."
"It's not my bones ye should be wantin' more out of," he says, but he pushes up harder regardless, suspends himself, digs his skull into the headboard.
"You close?" Bob asks, eyes clenched tight. "I'm so hot, One Two. You got me so worked up, I'm about to fuckin' come. Gonna come all over your stomach -- you want me to spill it on you?"
"Fuck yeah," One Two replies, lost in the fantasy they'd created for themselves. He can practically feel Bob's heat and tightness closed around his dick, can imagine watching the younger man come undone on his cock and spill his cum all over both their stomachs. "Want ye to fuckin' come all over me, Bob. Want ye to lose control."
"Nnng, yeah, you want it, One Two? You wanna see me come?"
"Yeah, fuck yeah."
"Then you've gotta pull out, you've gotta come all over my face."
"Nn, anythin' ye want, Bob. Anythin' ye want."
"Just you, One Two. I just want you."
It's that last part that does it for him.
One Two hunches forward then spindles back, his head thumping heavily against the backboard on the bed, fists clenching in the sheets. He can hear Handsome Bob moan beside him, can practically feel the energy of the other man's orgasm, and it's the words, the subtle scratches of feeling, how his epidermis becomes a conduit of vibration, that topples him over the edge and into the void beyond. The bed shakes beneath the collective force of their trembling hips, both of them striving for the end of completion.
When everything settles down and their pants are slick with their desire, Bob rolls on his side and curls up next to One Two, one arm slung across the Scot's torso, the other clutching his side. It's almost a natural response for One Two to cradle him, hand sliding between the other man's shoulder blades, rubbing them gently.
"Five minutes," Handsome Bob says suddenly, around a yawn. "Five minutes, then it's on to the real deal."
One Two leans his head back and groans, even as a spike of pleasure between his legs guarantees his interest.
He was in for a long night, but, well, he had promised.