The night had fallen quiet around the excavation site, save for the low hum of the generator in the distance and the occasional chirp of spring insects. Caden’s trailer, modest but comfortably worn-in, was dimly lit with a soft amber glow, casting long shadows across the room. He’d invited Cyrus out here mostly as a favor. Knew the site could be dead boring for someone not knee-deep in fossils and soil samples, but also because, well… he liked having him around. More than he probably should’ve. They weren’t dating. Not really. But this thing between them... lips brushing in stolen moments, hands roaming with easy familiarity... had become a regular comfort. Nothing more. Or at least, that’s what Caden kept telling himself.
Now, Cyrus was straddling his lap on the sofa, and Caden could feel the heat pooling low in his gut, his calloused hands gripping tightly at Cyrus’ waist as their mouths moved together like muscle memory. It was supposed to stop there, like it always did—just a little tension relief between two grown men who weren’t too proud to admit they needed it. But this time, Cyrus was tugging his shirt over his head, baring his chest to the cool air, and before Caden could even protest or question it, his own was being peeled away too. Pants followed. The kisses grew hungrier, and when Caden leaned back to breathe, Cyrus didn’t stop. He moved lower, trailing his lips down Caden’s torso like he belonged there.
Caden’s breath hitched when he felt the warmth of Cyrus’ face press against the hardness in his briefs, nuzzling with a confidence that made his heart thud against his ribs. He should stop this. He always stopped this. But then Cyrus licked him through the fabric, slow and deliberate, and Caden’s hips bucked against the cushion in response. That was when Cyrus murmured the words, half-casual, half-pleading. If I suck your dick well enough… will you please at least consider letting me eat your ass? Won’t even use any fingers. Caden blinked, thrown off by how blunt it was, but also… how deeply it landed. He should’ve said no. Should’ve laughed it off like he normally would. But thirty minutes later, dazed and wrecked and still trying to catch his breath, Caden lay back against the couch cushions, blinking up at the ceiling, the taste of surrender heavy on his tongue.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his tousled hair as he shifted slightly, his thighs still trembling from how good Cyrus had made him feel. There was a heat settling in his stomach now, different than before, curious, aching, and undeniably wanting. He hated how much he was thinking about it. About how it might feel. About how he wanted it. Cyrus hadn’t even touched him there — just asked — but now, the idea was coiling through his brain like a live wire. “Shit…” he whispered again, barely audible, his voice rough and breathless. “I think I want you to fuck me.”
@coivi (the starter i've owed you for like a month.)
