knock me to my knees ++ beckham.
everettx:
Everett sort of wished he’d worn something more…impressive. Something that’d really make the daddies look his way. But then again, he’d initially come down to try and drink his troubles away Brooks and Dunn-style. The male attention was an unexpected bonus, but he figured he might as well make the most of it. Who knew when this would happen again? He’d gladly take any compliments as long as they weren’t from Beck. He knocked the rest of his drink back, licking his lips exaggeratedly. His tongue darted out to drag over his upper, then lower lip, tasting the remnants of the sweet and sour; Beckham’s dropped gaze to his mouth wasn’t lost on him and he smirked. “Oh, come on, you really think they wouldn’t want me even after you? You forget who’s got the better ass between you and me?” Of course he’d always found Beckham attractive in every way, but the simple fact was that Rhett, despite all his working out and the muscle he’d developed from working on the farm, had an almost feminine figure, which did include an ass. One half of his mouth curled up in a grin, he nodded to the daddy he’d picked out. “He’s still gonna want this. How ‘bout, since you were mean and scared 'im away, you go over there and say sorry and bring him back over here so I can fuck him, 'kay darlin’?” He smiled, grin wide and showing all his teeth as he heard, dimly, his accent getting thicker as the alcohol took control. Batting his lashes prettily at the bartender, Rhett leaned forward, deliberately arching his back as he bent over the bar to coyly ask for another drink. To his great surprise and chagrin, he was denied. Denied! Pouting, he sat back down with a thump, glaring at Beck as though it were somehow his fault. “They’re not letting me have any more drinks.”
Beck had to blink several times to free himself from the trance of Rhett’s mouth. He’s a man with needs and an intoxicated man at that -- it isn’t Beckham’s fault he’s picturing all the things that mouth can do, the way pretty pink lips look when they’re stretched just so and... Everett clearly knew exactly what he was doing but instead of covering up his own actions, Beckham let himself be a little shameless. He was testing the waters, perhaps. “I think that I could wear anyone out to the point where they won’t be back at the bar for seconds anytime soon, yes. No matter how great your ass is.” He wasn’t about to deny Everett’s curvaceous figure -- it was one of the things that had initially attracted him from a visual standpoint, before he’d even so much as breathed a word of greeting to the boy -- but his own stamina and lean muscle could surely prove themselves in the bedroom. Beck’s gaze went steely as Rhett drawled out his request. It was nothing like he’d suggested and certainly nothing that Beckham was likely to oblige. His ex must know as much, especially considering the suggestive way he’s bending over the bar to order his drink. Cut off, how cute. The pout that graced Rhett’s lips could be defined as such as well and Beck folded his arms with a slow, thoughtful grin. “You know, I didn’t make anyone leave. It’s not my fault they all gave up easily -- kind of sad, really. They were so threatened by me and I wasn’t even after the same thing as them.” He wasn’t lying; he didn’t come to the bar to fuck Rhett. Although... he couldn’t resist reaching out and cupping Everett’s face in one of his warm hands, brushing fingers affectionately along his cheek. “Poor thing wants another drink? You could have some of mine, if you’re good.” His own accent lilted playfully with the flirtation, despite the glare he’s been given by the bartender.
