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He makes a ridiculous laugh-snort at Lars’ retorts. ”Really, that long? Well I can fix that.” He takes in the very pink cock deep into his mouth, sucking his lips immediately around his circumference. It’s already a full feeling but he wastes no time trying to fully take him, and as he figured his neck pulses with a few gags. They don’t deter him and only make him moan extremely loudly, his face pressing against the boy’s lower torso as he lets him sit in his throat. He grips Lars by his hips and starts to slowly bob his head, but making sure to always take in his entire length, low moans cascading constantly from him.

“Y-Yes, that long-- What’s so funny about that? Ya jealous I can keep a boner for that long?” He snaps, though his petulance is very short lived as his pulsing erection becomes the star of a disappearing act, performed by the famed magician Marty DeMayo. Teeth dig into his bottom lip to stifle a moan, tiny fangs pricking the skin and urging magenta blood forth. He hates the way his voice sounds so he’ll do anything to silence his obnoxious cries.  “F-Fuck...”, is about all he’s able to manage the moment he allows himself to speak, letting the word fall back into his throat and rattle around as he fidgets in place, muscles tensing as the pads of his fingers roughly grip at the other’s scalp. His arms comply with the other’s movements, they can’t seem to do much of anything else at the moment.

“Th-That feels so f-fucking good...” He groans, rolling his hips. Marty’s momentum is good, really good-- but sometimes when he pulls back Lars hasn’t had enough so he pushes forwards. Sometimes there’s this certain angle when the head of his cock scrapes the back of Marty’s throat, and it feels so good. Better than good. Sometimes he can’t help himself.

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Watching Lars’ gorgeous pink cock sway between his limbs is hypnotic to the promotor, unaware of his mouth still agape and drooling its contents as he gazes, worshipping the spent length with his eyes. His hazy stare is shaken awake when then younger boy has closed their distance again, the touch of his hands to Marty’s cock makes him suddenly aware again just how incredibly, painfully aroused he’s gotten and he’s throwing his head back to moan, which can be fully heard now.

Every tiny little motion of Lars’ hand as it beings to pump him is electric to the hypeman. The way the bandaids and bands make soft scrapes over his skin just adds texture and sensation that he now needs so bad. Marty’s lost the energy at this point to squirm in the uncontrollable way he normally would as he gets lost in pleasure, but he does have the energy to continue to make long drawn out groans as his dick twitches under Lars’ fingers.

The second Lars’ hot wet mouth has taken in the tip of Marty’s cock he’s shouting mixes of Lars’ name and some unintelligible babble. He tangles one hand in the boy’s hair and with his other hand he’s grabbing at his shirt. Lars’ mouth is so hot and so perfectly wet; his tongue feels incredible to the hype man as it laps at him, cleaning him up.

Marty is shaking. Lars’ mouth focused on his most sensitive spot and his talented hand stroking him slow has the older man going crazy. He feels a warmth inside his stomach that is about to burst, it matches the incredible heat around his dick head. “L-Lars…Lars! Ughn…oh, God, yes, Lars, Lars I’m, it’s too good, I can’t last–” He manages to get a sentence shouted out before his shaking peeks, his cock pulses rapidly, cum shooting out of him fast in thick, huge globs. He’s whimpering as his hips try to settle and his balls ache from being utterly drained completely.

He’s conscious of Marty’s moans, the steady increase in their frequency and volume. He’s aware of them, but barely registering what any of it means. He’s dedicated to his task as well as still stunned by his own euphoria, which lingers throughout his body, leaving him with a foggy mind and a tingling midsection. The sensation is heightened by the pro-motor’s taste, by the feeling of his warm cock heavy in his head, by the weight of the head of his dick pressed against his tongue. There’s nothing to think about. His senses are absorbing only the most visceral of things. 

He doesn’t think, either, when he hears Marty’s telltale cries as he approaches his climax. The way his voice fragments and he ejects Lars’ name from his mouth in something akin to a scream. His body simply knows, and he isn’t surprised when his mouth begins to fill with hot, creamy liquid. He continues to suck diligently and swallow each wave of the viscous fluid as it enters his mouth in spurts, feeling each ribbon of cum drape over his tongue and splash against the back of his throat. 

His hand slides all the way down to the hype man’s balls, massaging the swollen mounds as they’re depleted of their savory broth. His palm weighs against them, as if he can force more of it out, before the appendage attaches itself to his aching length, gripping it tightly as he inches up the shaft slowly, his actions again hinting at his wicked intentions. 

Once he’s sure he’s obtained every last drop he allows Marty’s cock to slip from his mouth, a dribble of cum clinging to his lips and forming a bridge between them and the slit of the older man’s phallus. It’s broken as Lars straightens his back, fixing his catlike eyes to the pro-motor’s gaze.

“Sh-Shit, that was fun.” His voice trembles, it’s been a while since he’s spoken. He can feel the velvet of Marty’s cum still glazing his throat. “Wasn’t I supposed to, like, rate how good of head you give, because it’s like... a billion out of ten or something.” A snort, cheeks tinted magenta. “Now you rate my cock.” His hand is still idly stroking the hype-man’s dick.

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Marty’s breathing comes in hot, wet, irregular gasps from his nostrils. He’s no longer the forward, teasing, talented visage that started off sucking deep on Lars’ dick; now he’s an utter mess, tears and snot dripping onto his face, and there’s no control left. Except, it’s exactly what he wanted, so is he really powerless? He revels in their sexuality and in how vulnerable he is but with Lars everything feels right and so hot. Lars is so close and Marty can feel that neediness coming from the pink boy, it’s tangible, heavy in his mouth.

That last thrust has Marty moaning disgustingly loud as the pressure against his teeth digs in deep and just as quickly as the sensation happens, the hype man’s choking as he’s pressed flush against the younger boy and held. He wants to moan but it just comes out as strangled gasps as he hastily swallows the immediate excess flowing freely down the back of his throat. His nose snorts desperately for a breath of air and he continues to lap down any of that sweet pink cum as Lars just continues to empty into him.

As the wave of orgasm seems to slow inside Marty’s overflowing mouth he’s able to slack his jaw, slightly. He’s using his tongue now to guzzle down what he can, but he’s also so utterly exhausted that any semen dripping down his chin is just left to fall with his drool, some of it onto his hard, exposed cock. The older man is looking up at Lars, trying to smile faintly in all his fatigue. His eyes are hazy but wet and he sighs contentedly; really he must be a mess of a sight.

His grip has loosened, lanky fingers trembling as they press into Marty’s hair, holding him only with the firmness necessary to steady his head so he can pry his still pulsing cock from his throat. He jerks his hips back and his massive length is pulled over Marty’s teeth one last time, exiting his mouth with a wet pop, still dribbling cum as it bobs between his legs at half-mast.

He’s woozy, unsteady on his feet, eyes partially lidded and failing to fixate on anything in particular. He blinks heavily as he attempts to regain coherence, the moist warmth of his breaths pushed over his lips with the labored rise and fall of his chest.  He forces the blurriness from his vision and focuses on Marty, watching the cum continue to ooze from his mouth and spill over his neglected cock before it finally pools between his legs. Lars drops to his knees without grace and ambles towards him, those longs fingers, flecked with neon-colored band-aids and dime-store rubber-bands, coiling around the pro-motor’s cock. They shake as they hold it, drawing it inward so it settles against his palm. His hands are soft, with an errant callous here and there, inherited from the handle of a mop and his video game controller. They were there before he died so they stayed with him, like all the precious white scars that littered his wrists and thighs. He would have liked for his hands to have been rough, a working man’s hands, something that betrayed his personality. All he’s ever done is bake. He begins to pump his hand along Marty’s turgid cock before finally bowing his head and taking the tip of it into his mouth. He tastes only his own essence before finally cleaning it away with his eager tongue. His hand continues to slide along his length, slow and gentle, as his mouth stays wrapped around the head of his cock, hungrily sucking. His free hand rests on the hype man’s thigh in a meager attempt to support himself.

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He’s glad that Lars answers the obvious for him because his attempt at speaking was a garbled mess. Marty whines though in response, his mouth is stuffed with cock and his dick is wet and it makes him whine both in enjoyment and for release. There’s so much force hitting him and he loves every inch of skin in his throat, hitting his chin, it was sensational.

As much as Marty enjoyed coming onto the baker and making his knees quake from a sudden deep throating he also loved getting held and face fucked by him, making today his lucky day. 

The hypeman could always tell when Lars was reaching his climax. There was a way his breathing changed and got louder, and it made Marty excited and determined. The pull on his hair hurts, technically, but mixed with the scenario it just heightens the sense of belonging to the pink boy. His body is for his kitten to use as he needs.

His hands fall to his sides, he’s too focused on the quickening pace and wanting Lars to cum for him. It’s so fast now, he’s concentrating on making sure every thrust into his mouth is met with as much attention and sensation he can deliver. Razor teeth inevitably prodding at almost every push the thick length forces. His own erection is practically swollen, a testament to how much he enjoyed their activity.

He’s really hammering into him now, leaving Marty with little to no time to react, or even process what’s happening anymore. When you reach that point even the slightest bit of hesitation means everything unravels and you have to start all over again. So he can’t. He’s forgotten if Marty even needs to breathe, he can only concentrate on his own mounting pleasure. With each thrust the tension builds and he’s at his precipice. Everything’s ready to explode, it’s all about that last little tickle that brings forth his release. He’s got good momentum, forceful and demanding. He wedges himself just right into the pro-motor’s throat with each slam of his hips, drags his pulsing meat over his teeth without regard for his own safety. It’s not as if that’s something to be of concern to him now, and the teeth are part of the equation that ensures his climax. He feels it now, the heat, the throbbing-- everything in his body tightens, and with his grip-- Marty’s head steady in hands as he effects one last powerful thrust, burying himself as deep as he can into that strangling passageway that cradles his big, pink dick just so. He lets out a grunt at first, low in his throat, gurgling before he’s shouting a cacophony of fuck’s intermingled with the hype man’s name. He can feel all of his muscles tense to the point of aching as he paints the pro-motor’s throat with wave after wave of hot sticky cum. He empties his balls into him to the point of overflow, the creamy pink substance flooding the man’s cheeks as it struggles to find a cavity to accomodate it, squeezing past the girth of Lars’ cock pursed between his lips and oozing down his chin. Tension turns to trembles and his legs are jelly as he deplete himself, his bellows diminishing into whimpers as his cock continues to deposit molten hot globules of strawberry milk into the other man’s already filled throat. 

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Marty’s mind is fuzzy, lost in the jerking rhythm he’s held into, riding every wave of it with an enthusiasm as if he is starved and he can only survive on Lars’ thick cock. The pink boy’s noises make the older man’s hips buck uncontrollably, electric pleasure sparking through him. There is something about Lars being unable to stifle his moans that on their own get Marty to the edge.

The hype man moans even louder, more wanton and shaking, as he’s spoken to. He attempts feebly to utter out an agreeable response but it comes out as a “ehyyeaush”, the inflection the only thing to possibly decipher what he was saying.

He lets his tongue work itself over the boy’s cock, every which way it can, there’s no pattern to it or delicacy. He laps at every inch of skin as it passes over the wet muscle. It causes drool to pool and drip out of his gaping mouth, spilling out over his pointed teeth.

His breathing is erratic, every other breath seems to skip and gasp as he snorts through his nostrils. He’s playing with his foreskin now, not really able to comprehend his mannerisms; he just feels an uncontrollable urge to fondle himself, but he wants to be hard every second Lars is, being hard feels so good, and he knows how to slowly and methodically achieve both.

“You like that, huh? Y-You like the way it feels, don’t you?” It was hard not to have a surge of confidence when you were pummeling someone’s throat with your cock. Especially when you could see it creating an unsightly bulge in their neck each time you pressed your pelvis flush with their mouth-- The confirmation he had been looking for when he first approached the hype man asking for his opinion on his size. 

What better way to prove to Lars that he was huge than to gag on his tumescent cock?  “Shit, y-yeah, you fucking love it.” He confirms for him, since it’d be impolite for Marty to speak with his mouth full. The Off-Color is reaching his peak, which is demonstrated by the fervency of his actions as he wildly bucks his hips, his balls slamming into the hype man’s chin with a hard smack every time. That wandering tongue hits every spot it needs to, sending poignant shocks of pleasure through his already pulsing erection. It’s getting to be too much as he forces globules of drool from the corners of Marty’s mouth with every thrust.  His grip on the pro-motor’s hair becomes painful, another clear indication of what’s to come. He’s almost there. Almost.

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Marty loves the way Lars’ hands feel against his head, the slight pressure of them describing what the boy needs. His hand that had been massaging the baker’s hip now serves to keep him upright as his head bobs become more minimal, not wanting to interfere with Lars’ work. Marty’s focus is on taking his length every thrust, the way it feels like a smack past his uvula and it makes his dick warm. There’s still an occasional gag on a particularly sudden push, which he tries to stifle, but he smiles through it, he loves how he practically chokes on Lars.

He revels in the use of his face and while he tries now to keep staring into those beautiful cat-eyes he finds his own eyes keep rolling back. A gooey tear pries itself a quarter way down the pro-motor’s cheek; it had been welling up over time with his gags and finally fell out.

The hype man has become a mess of long drawn out groans that must vibrate over the pink cock inside him. He feels so hot and so good, and he has to let it out by moaning.

He undoes his jeans by now, just enough to only have his cock breath. It’s dripping pre; down itself, onto the fabric. He thumbs at the tip, slow but with pressure.

He tries to keep his focus on Marty’s face, reading his expressions, desperate to see what he was doing to him, trying to glean how it made the pro-motor feel to be used to sate his voracious appetite for pleasure. How it made him feel to have ten inches of cock wedged down his throat over and over. He doesn’t disappoint, but it grows harder to fix his gaze on him as his actions grow more barbaric. It’s reached that point where it feels good, but it could be so much better if he went just that extra bit further.  He grips the hype man’s hair on either side of his head, giving it a harsh tug as he fixes to keep him stationary. He thrusts more fervently down, sending Marty lurching back each time he slams his hips forwards despite the desperation with which he grasps at him. It’s inevitable when that much force is involved.  A gurgling noise rumbles in his throat, creating something that sounds like a watery purr and he’s too consumed by his arousal to damn himself for the noise. He always reaches that breaking point where it just doesn’t fucking matter anymore. 

“Sh-Shit, yeah...! Your throat is so tight... S-So wet and so w-warm... It feels so good squeezing my cock...” He huffs out as he continues to abuse his mouth, all the while oblivious to Marty’s sneaky hand tending to his own erection. 

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Marty smirks his lips around Lars’ cock at the boy’s little outburst, his grin is both a genuine laugh at the response but also triumphant in how quickly he was quieted. Well, not so much quiet as turned into a mush of moans. 

He continues his deliberate rhythm, just slow enough to savor the baker’s taste, feel, the scent of his groin, sheer weight of the erection against his throat muscles, but also deep enough to light the boy on fire in pleasure.Breathing deep through his nose and exhaling every time in a contented gritty moan. His moans get louder when Lars pushes back against him. There’s the occasional tooth to skin contact with Marty not entirely in control of the thrusts; really a toothless blowjob from him is going to be impossible regardless.

He pulls back for the smallest second when he has the chance, making sure a hand comes down to massage that beautiful length so for no part of time it’s left alone. “Do you wanna fuck my face, Laramie? Don’t be shy, I can take it.” His voice  is seductive, and he always has a way of almost-singing Lars’ name. Marty takes the baker’s length whole again, watering eyes also staring deep, encouragingly into the other’s as he tries to keep his jaw relaxed.

Every sound the boy makes causes the pro-motor’s cock to ache. Working over Lars with his mouth gets Marty worked up more than anything. His hand that had been fondling the boy had fallen to his side, but it starts rubbing the crotch of his jeans in small strokes.

He loved those teeth though. They were hardly a deterrent. Lars liked to play with fire and knew well enough if you did so you were going to get burned; but some people like that, some people think it feels good. 

He had a pretty high tolerance for pain regardless, and being dead only encouraged his reckless behavior. It didn’t matter if he got cut up, it’d heal instantaneously. Sometimes that proved to be a nuisance. He didn’t get to savor the pain the way he once had when he was alive. He liked it when the razor edge of one of Marty’s teeth would snag on his tender flesh. He’d feel it tug on his foreskin and scrape down it, leaving a searing red mark. It’d burn with unpleasant heat and intermingle incomprehensibly with waves of pleasure, resulting in a dizzying sensation that left the Off-Color dazed.  Marty speaks and Lars releases a whine he wasn’t aware was cradled in his tongue. His hands feels good but there’s a distinct contrast when compared to the moist warmth of his mouth. “Y-Yeah, I do. I w-wanna so bad.” Choppy breaths deliver his words in fragments. He’s completely overwhelmed.  He hates the way Marty says his name. Hates, hates, hates it. He hates it because it never fails to make him blush. Catlike pupils flicker as they meet their stormy grey counterparts and he presses his palms flat against the back of the hype man’s head. A soft grunt as he begins to rock his hips slowly, sneakers scraping against the pavement as he steadies himself. Back and forth, back and forth, past his lips, over his tongue, down his throat. Jerking back until the head of his cock hits the roof of Marty’s mouth, then plunging forwards again.