Robert's body had changed, in the years he'd been in prison. Aaron loved every change in Robert’s body - the way his shoulders seemed broader, now, strong enough to carry bales of hay, and Aaron himself, on one particularly memorable occasion; the soft curve of his belly he’d never lost, the way it flexed and tensed underneath Aaron’s determined touch.
Most of all, Aaron loved Robert's thighs.
ao3 link
took a week off fic writing and have come back on the lords day with some thigh riding. roberts legs deserve the love, please enjoy.
start the show
[emmerdale. robert/kev. kinktober day 4: free use. explicit.]
It wasn’t a conversation, but Robert got the idea quickly enough the first time Kev pulled him close in front of two of the kitchen lads, pawing at him as they fumbled with the supplies they owed him, looking through Robert like he wasn’t there.
He’d understood entirely the first time Kev’d guided him to his knees next to his bunk as he continued playing cards with his right hand man, only letting him go after he’d come down Robert’s throat and won two hands.
It wasn’t a conversation, but it was worth it.
@ AO3
a/n: heed the tags on this one, pals. but, uh, also. somehow this became a character study on a version of the robert/kev prison dynamic? just. with free use. suspend your disbelief idk what i'm doing anymore.
Rating: Explicit
Relationship: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden
Additional Tags: Body Worship, Begging, Praise Kink, Crying During Sex
“Stay,” he says again once he’s sitting on Robert’s lap. Looking down into green eyes that have been the backdrop to Aaron’s dreams since he was 22. Robert’s hands fall on his hips like they are pulled by a force. Something outside of the two of them puppetering. Like they were made to fit there. Regardless of how much both of them change.
“Aaron-” Aaron shakes his head because Robert’s face hasn’t changed. And he can feel the bile rising up his throat again.
“I can’t be here. Alone. I can’t Rob, please” He says the words like they were punched out of him. A single breath that barely holds sound by the end. “I need to-” Aaron shakes his head and it’s so immediately a bad idea. Closes his eyes for a second until the room stops spinning “I need to take him off these walls Robert. This couch. My bed.”
( Read on ao3 )
Yes, Body Worship is day 24 and this is extremely early. But, I have no clue what's gonna happen to them next week and just in case things get Real Messy™, I wanted to get this out there based on the insane spoilers of Aaron asking Robert to spend the night with him in his apartment lmao.
The picnic was, surprisingly, Aaron’s idea. He’d arrived at Moira’s to take Robert for a long lunch as planned, but instead of them going to the cafe or the Hide, he’d suggested Annie’s Field
“What’s the point in having your own land if you can’t use it?” He’d said, holding the bag of food up enticingly. “Come on, I want you to myself for a bit.”
So now the two of them are sprawled out on a blanket in the middle of a field, hands loosely intertwined as they lie back and look up at the blue sky. Robert is so content that he could easily fall asleep right here, eyelids falling closed before he can stop them.
“Napping in the middle of the day?” Aaron’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence and Robert feels a shadow blocking out his sunlight. He cracks one eye open to see Aaron looming over him with an amused grin on his face. “You’re so old, Sugden.”
Robert opens his other eye to glower at him properly. “Try showing a little respect to your elders then.”
Aaron just laughs and swoops in for a kiss – one that starts fairly chaste before quickly turning filthy when Robert reaches up and yanks on his hair, keeping him right where he wants him.
He flips them both over easily, pinning Aaron to the ground and arranging him until he’s happy – both hands pressing him down by the biceps and calves twisting until they’re tangled together, confident that Aaron couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
“Fuck, Rob,” the whine comes from the back of Aaron’s throat and god, Robert’s still getting used to hearing that sound again but he loves it. “I ever tell you how hot it is that you can do that now?”
“Once or twice,” Robert smirks down at him before leaning back in, pressing his groin down into Aaron’s just to enjoy the reaction he gets.
They kiss hard and messy for long minutes, Robert slowly rocking down and Aaron thrusting up until they eventually part for breath, both of them rock hard against each other. Eventually, Robert leans back a little and admires Aaron’s face, cheeks flushed and eyes nearly black.
“You’re so perfect,” he breathes and Aaron practically jolts beneath him. Robert grins.
“Is it sad to admit,” he murmurs, mouth against Aaron’s neck. “That I’ve been thinking about having a shag out here since the day I bought this place?”
“That depends,” Aaron’s hand comes up to grip the back of Robert’s neck, fingers digging in like he needs an anchor. “On who you were thinking about shagging.”
Robert huffs a small laugh and bites at Aaron’s pulse. “Like you have to ask.”
“Then no.”
No longer slow, their hands move at lightning speed as they frantically push and pull at each other’s clothes, tops flying somewhere to one side and trousers shoved down to their ankles. The not-entirely warm breeze is a shock on Robert’s skin and it causes a rush of adrenaline to fly through him like electricity.
Because it’s not like the time they fucked after their picnic on the cricket field, or the times they met up in barns all those years ago. Yes, it was public then and it was risky, too, but they still had somewhere more private to go, could always move inside. They were still tucked away behind a closed door and four walls.
But here, they really are out in the open, completely exposed in broad daylight without even a measly tree to hide behind if anyone happened to come near. It’s a little terrifying and a lot thrilling and –
“Hey,” Aaron’s hand comes up to hold his face, thumb stroking through the stubble. “Okay up there?”
“Yeah, just… this is really fucking sexy.”
Aaron blinks up at him for a moment and Robert has to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands because Jesus Christ. He used to be suave, dammit.
Eventually, Aaron cracks a smile and lets out a short laugh, almost a giggle, really (not that Robert would ever tell him that), and pulls Robert’s head down to bump their foreheads together.
“Yeah, it is,” he whispers against Robert’s lips, thighs coming up to wrap around Robert’s hips. “So if we could do something about that, I’d really fucking appreciate it, actually.”
As much as Robert would like to fuck Aaron until neither of them can walk, there’s no lube in the bag Aaron brought (“I didn’t know it was gonna be that kind of picnic, Robert!”), so they waste no time getting their hands on each other’s cocks instead, their movements not rough exactly, but not soft either. At some point their bodies somehow shift from the blanket onto the grass, the soft blades tickling Robert’s legs and apparently Aaron’s back, if the breathless laughs he releases into Robert’s mouth are any indication.
He wants it to last forever but it can’t, not at the pace they’re going, and before too long Aaron is tensing under him and groaning loudly into his neck as he comes under Robert's touch. It’s barely more than a couple of seconds before Robert’s following him, the rush of pleasure like a gut punch taking the wind out of him.
“Fuck,” he grounds out as Aaron twists his wrist once more and strokes him through it, trembling arms eventually giving out under him as collapses against Aaron’s chest.
“Ow,” Aaron manages to pant out, wriggling under Robert until he can get his arms out and flop them out onto the grass.
The two of them lie there and catch their breath, sweaty bodies rapidly cooling in the breeze until Aaron flails around to grab the blanket and pull it over the top of them.
“So,” Robert eventually says against Aaron’s shoulder. “We’re definitely fucking here again, right?”
Aaron just nods wordlessly, one foot stroking against Robert’s ankle. They lay there for awhile until Robert’s phone rings from somewhere to the left of them, startling both out of their reverie. He snakes a hand out from under the blanket and manages to grab it, groaning when he sees the time and Vic’s name flashing up.
“Shit, I’m late.”
“I thought you said you had a long lunch.”
“Not this long.”
They regretfully disentangle from each other, cleaning themselves with napkins and scooping up their clothes. At one point, Robert catches a glimpse of large green marks Aaron’s back and bursts out laughing. Aaron turns to him with a frown.
“What?”
“You’ve got grass stains all over you.”
“Well whose fault is that?” Aaron throws his t-shirt on with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not like Vinny will see.”
“I should hope not, otherwise I’ve got some serious questions about what you’re getting up to in that cabin.”
Aaron smirks at him. “Nah, my cabin shagging days are over.” He snags Robert by the waist and pulls him in for a kiss. “Unless you fancy visiting me at work sometime?”
“It’s a date.”
“Cool. Until then, you can help me wash this stuff off tonight.”
Robert laughs and kisses him one more time, steadfastly ignoring the phone in his pocket ringing once again. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Emmerdale (TV 1972)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden, allusions to kevbert but they are not in it
Characters: Aaron Dingle, Robert Sugden
Additional Tags: Body Worship, thigh fucking, Intercrural Sex, Hand Jobs
Summary:
Aaron rinses the shampoo out of his hair, grabbing the loofa to lather up his body in shower gel. Robert rests his forehead on Aaron’s shoulder, letting his hands mindlessly run up and down Aaron’s torso as Aaron washes him.
Aaron is bigger now than when Robert went to prison, with a rounder belly and fluffier cheeks. Robert hadn’t thought it was possible for Aaron to get any more beautiful than he already was, but seeing this new body up close - the shape and size of it, the strong muscle still detectable underneath the fat - had proven him wrong. Maybe it’s the fact that Robert had spent six years longing for him, or maybe the mental images he’d kept of him could never measure up to the real thing, or maybe he’d had a thing for bears all along - either way, Aaron was more gorgeous now than he had ever been, and Robert gets to touch him, which makes him the luckiest man alive.
Written for @dales-kinktober day 31: shower sex (substitution prompt)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
title: the overalls effect
word count: 4.5k
rating: mature
pairing: aaron dingle / robert sugden
warnings: smut
summary: written for the kinktober prompt 'uniform kink'; aaron finally gets to witness farmbert in action. turns out the whole 'staying away from his ex' thing is a lot harder after that
There are probably laws against this sort of thing, Aaron muses, can’t bring himself to stop nonetheless.
When Mackenzie had called ‘round this morning begging for him to put a shift in up at the farm, Aaron had been hesitant. Not because he’s afraid of a bit of hard graft — on the contrary, nothing clears his mind quite like a spot of overexertion — but because of who would be there, shearing sheep or milking cows, or whatever it is that Robert does when he isn’t trying to win back Aaron’s heart.
And Aaron didn’t condemn Robert back to a stint behind bars to avoid the temptation of him just to steer himself right back into Robert’s path, thank you very much.
Except Mack looks at him all pathetic, doe-eyes and pouted lips, and Aaron finds himself being strongarmed into a pair of ill-fitting overalls before he’s even registered how they made it up to Butler’s.
“Thank you for this, Aaron,” Moira says, all sincere and maternal like the good old days when his best friend wasn’t her brother but her son — when he was young and not exactly carefree, but before everything spiralled out of control.
“Don’t mention it,” replies Aaron. He means it — he hasn’t told John where he’ll be spending the day, can’t be bothered with the hassle of it all because he knows what his husband will say and he won’t be wrong, per se, but Aaron just really isn’t in the mood to hear any sanctimonious truths today.
There’s a broken tractor that needs checking over, so Victoria leads him out to it after they’ve indulged in a brew and a conversation about something that went in one ear and out the other. She’s looking around, seemingly nervous, as they trek up to the vehicle in question, parked just outside one of the barns, a scattering of parts around it where someone’s obviously taken a crack at it before giving up.
“Well, here it is,” Vic says, gestures at the tractor like Aaron might’ve missed the great, hunkin’ thing otherwise.
“I can see that.”
Vic rolls her eyes. “Alright, smart aleck.” She pauses, glances at the barn then back to Aaron, bottom lip caught between her teeth. When Aaron shoots her a withering glare, she sighs, finally says, “Rob’s in there, just so you know. Shiftin’ some hay, I think.”
“Right,” drawls Aaron, does a stellar job of keeping his voice steady and his face impassive despite the sudden uptick in his heart rate. “And I care because…?”
“Just don’t be so,” Vic cuts herself off, thinks for a moment then finishes with, “you. He had a rough night.”
It’s none of my business, Aaron reminds himself, bites his tongue to stop from asking for details that he has no right to know. He doesn’t care — Robert isn’t his problem anymore.
He was never a problem. Except for when he was, Aaron thinks, hates himself for the fondness he feels when he remembers what a nightmare Robert was and how much he loved him for it.
“Weren’t plannin’ on shootin’ the breeze with him, don’t worry.”
“Alright. Well, if you need me I’ll be helping Moira box some deliveries, yeah?”
Aaron nods, turns to survey the damage to the tractor as Vic takes her leave. It’s a pretty easy fix, he soon learns, just a loose fan belt. Nothing a wrench and a bit of elbow grease can’t solve.
He knows Robert could’ve fixed it up in no time considering he’d once owned the garage and been a decent mechanic by all accounts, but everyone’s snowed under by the looks of it — even Ross is makin’ himself useful, running amok with Matty as they chase sheep, Ross clutching a red plastic spade for reasons Aaron daren’t question.
It’s nice to use his hands again, in all honesty. Working at the scrapyard is still very hands-on, but it’s mostly stripping cars down to the basics or taking a sledgehammer to kitchen appliances and the like., so it’s a pleasant change of pace to be putting something back together again for once.
Makes Aaron feel less destructive, more productive. Like he’s actually being helpful for a change instead of a hindrance to everyone around him.
So, of course, that good mood comes crashing down around him moments later when he hears a loud grunt coming from the barn.
He knows it’s Robert — hasn’t heard any other voices coming from inside, would know every sound Robert makes like the melody of his favourite song — and all of his instincts scream for Aaron to walk away, out of the field and out of Robert’s life.
It’s all he wants, except for the fact that his feet are carrying him over to the little window at the back of the barn without conscious thought, like they've got a mind of their own.
Just a quick peek, Aaron vows to himself, rationalises it by thinking of how devastated Vic would be if Robert was hurt and nobody rescued him in time. It’s the only reason he looks through the window. Honest.
The good news is that Robert doesn’t appear to be injured — simply groaning under the weight of a particularly heavy bale of hay. The terrible news is that he looks delectable as he lifts — biceps bulging, shoulders broad and trembling, bended knees reminding Aaron of times gone by when they’d do the same in a much different scenario.
Aaron’s overalls look terrible on him, the navy blue denim swamping him, sleeves folded over, muscle definition lost in the swarm of excess material. In contrast, Robert looks positively sinful in forest green, his overalls perfectly form-fitting, showcasing the definition he’d built up during his time in prison.
Now that he can clearly see that Robert is fine, Aaron should really move away.
There’s a million and one things to get done ‘round here and he’d promised Mackenzie that he would be a valued member of the team, but Aaron finds himself rooted to the spot, gaze glued to Robert’s body as he lifts and drops, lifts and drops, squats down low to really throw his back into it.
Suddenly, he’s grateful for the horrendous fit of his clothing — anything to hide the way his cock stirs to life, half hard in his underwear from the mere sight of Robert in all his farming glory.
It suits him. Aaron hates him for it.
He watches for a couple of minutes, ducks out of sight when Robert turns to face the window. He feels like some sort of pervert as he spies on his ex husband, but convinces himself that it’s fine; Robert wouldn’t mind, he enjoys being admired and Aaron isn’t doing anything wrong, not really.
Until Robert makes that noise again from low in his throat and Aaron yanks his zipper down in record speed, palming himself through his boxers.
It’s weird now, he acknowledges, wonders if he might get arrested for public indecency or stalking, or some other treacherous crime that he’d have a field day trying to explain to his current husband, who probably would’ve thrown a party if Aaron had checked the barn only to find Robert dead on the ground.
Aaron shakes his head as though he can physically banish any thoughts of John from his mind — he doesn’t want to think about him right now, not when his body is so aware of another Sugden brother.
The muscles in Robert’s back ripple when he lifts, supported by the broad swell of his thighs and the clunky work boots he adorns that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but Robert has something of a gift for carrying off the most unflattering outfits with ease.
Aaron has only seen Robert wear overalls once before, a decade ago, and the sight of him was enough to have Aaron kickstarting their tumultuous affair all over again, falling back into a cycle that he’d never thought would end.
He’s ten years older now, more mature and settled and a master of self-restraint but fuck.
He wants Robert.
And nothing good ever comes from that.
Sidestepping the window, Aaron turns to lean his back against the wall. He lets his eyes drift, focusing on nothing as he imagines his hand is Robert’s; calloused now from long days at the farm, large and warm and wrapped around Aaron’s cock, the strokes slow and gentle.
Robert would take his time with him, of that Aaron is sure. It’s been so long since they’ve had their hands on each other — their kiss on the bridge doing nothing to douse the flames of desire that set them both alight from the inside, hot and passionate, burning through Aaron’s sensibilities without remorse.
He thinks Robert would make love to him, and if it were anyone else Aaron might cringe about it, but it’s Robert and the thought of him worshipping his body again — tongue lapping at the faded scars on his stomach, teeth grazing Aaron’s inner thighs, thick fingers stretching him open — has Aaron panting, breathless, as he picks up the pace, twisting his wrist to get a better angle.
“Mm,” he moans, bites the knuckles of his free hand to stifle the sound.
I’m going to hell, he thinks, can’t bring himself to repent for his sins, instead runs head on into the flames like he always has where Robert’s concerned.
It’s the definition of insanity, isn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.
The universe shouldn’t make the thing look as gorgeous as Robert if they didn’t want Aaron to keep going back there, quite frankly. It’s cosmic bullshit.
There’s precome beading at the head of his cock, a pearly sheen that Aaron swipes his thumb through, smearing it over his shaft to improve the glide as he picks up the pace, squeezes his eyes shut.
“Robert,” he whimpers, feels the mild summer breeze fanning his cheeks and tricks himself for a moment into thinking it’s Robert’s warm breath.
He can practically smell the heady combination of sweat and Robert’s expensive shower gel, hear the ragged way Robert would always breathe when he watched Aaron coming undone, awed by the sight of him.
He’d always seen Aaron, had Robert. Even when he hadn’t wanted him to.
Maybe especially then.
“Jesus Christ, Aaron.”
Aaron’s eyes snap open, instinctively drawn to Robert’s own wide-eyed stare.
He’s standing opposite Aaron, stock still, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. Aaron feels like one — he would’ve bolted straight out of there if he didn’t still have his cock in his hand, drinking in the sight of his ex husband like a man dying from dehydration.
“Robert,” he whispers, suddenly unable to think of any other words. His brain is empty, his entire world reduced to this one moment: Robert standing in front of him, invading his senses, ruining his life.
“What are you doin’ here?” Robert asks, voice strangled like he’s swallowed his own tongue.
They both know the obvious answer to that — can see the tip of Aaron’s cock, flushed red and angry, twitching at the abrupt lack of stimulation as if to draw attention back to itself. Like either of them could be focused on anything else, even if they’re avoiding looking.
Still, Aaron gestures to the tractor with his head. “Fixin’ the fan belt on that thing.”
“Mechanics really has changed a lot since my day,” Robert observes, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, just beggin’ Aaron to step forwards and taste the smugness.
He doesn’t. It’s a close thing.
Instead he squares his shoulders, puffs out his chest, and declares, “I was just leavin’.”
“No you weren’t,” refutes Robert.
When Aaron releases his cock, his hand feels inexplicably empty. He starts to tug his zipper back up, plans to flee and not look back, maybe run off back to Italy and let the two-bit mafia finally end his suffering.
Except Robert’s hand flies out, wraps itself easily around Aaron’s wrist.
“Don’t let me stop you. I might take it personally.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” This was a mistake, he almost says. A monumental one, at that.
Aaron doesn’t wrench himself free from Robert’s grasp, even though they both know he could if he wanted to.
“Didn’t realise tractors got your motor going.”
It’s a stupid joke. If anyone else had made it Aaron would’ve just blinked, not even cracked a smile, but it’s Robert so he laughs, feels it rumble up from his chest. He can’t remember the last time he’d let himself laugh over something stupid like this, but it’s nice.
Robert’s responding grin is blinding — brighter than the late morning sun, warming Aaron all over.
Aaron takes his distraction to look Robert over up close, and God, he looks divine. For someone who has committed so many sins, Robert looks like an angel with blonde hair glowing in the sun like a halo and cherubic features softened by his laughter.
A lot of things about Robert are the same: forest green eyes darkened by lust, constellations of freckles dusting sun-kissed skin, plush lower lip Aaron wants to sink his teeth into.
There are differences, too. In the way Robert carries himself, his frame bigger now but somehow he makes himself small, like he’s hiding away the parts of himself that he doesn’t want people to see.
He can’t hide from Aaron, though.
The main difference, Aaron concludes, surging forwards, is that Robert has stubble now.
He feels it scrape against his own, the prickle of pain nothing in comparison to the wave of pleasure that crashes over him as Robert’s tongue nudges against his lips, asking for permission like it hasn't stormed the castle and claimed the throne a thousand times before.
Like it doesn’t belong to Robert, even after everything.
Robert’s hands frame Aaron’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, fingertips lightly scratching the fine hairs on his nape. He cradles Aaron like he’s something precious, breaks down every wall Aaron’s been steadfastly building around himself for the past six years in the process.
Fisting the lapels of Robert’s overalls, Aaron pulls him ever closer, backs them up until they’re hidden inside the barn, his spine digging into the wall as Robert crowds into him.
“I saw you watching me,” Robert admits, the confession hot against Aaron’s ear as he mouths along his cheek, a trail of wet kisses that culminate in him sucking lightly on his earlobe.
Aaron flushes, knows he’ll feel mortified later when the adrenaline has worn off and Robert’s touch is nothing more than the ghost of a memory. He can’t bring himself to care now — not when Robert is looking at him like that, like he might just say fuck it and devour Aaron entirely.
It would solve a lot of Aaron’s problems in fairness.
“Enjoy the show, did ya?”
“Mhm, like you wouldn’t believe.”
Aaron reaches down to brush his hand against Robert’s clothed erection, very much does believe it when the proof is right there, twitching against his palm.
He wants to wrap his hand around it, strip their cocks together until they’re coming over his fist, heads resting on each other’s shoulders in the way they’ve done so many times before.
But this is the last time, Aaron vows to himself, and Robert has already given him so much — the visual of him like this, the sexiest farmer Aaron has ever seen, sorry Mackenzie, enough to sustain his wank bank through this lifetime and the next — and he decides to indulge in rewarding him for it.
Robert seems to have a similar idea, moves to caress Aaron’s balls but jerks his hand back when Aaron slaps it away. “First of all, ow!” he exclaims, brow furrowed, wrinkles prominent. It’s another change, proof that time has passed, but Aaron likes it. “What did you do that for?”
“Don’t act like I decked ya, mate. Grow up.” They aren’t mates; they aren’t anything anymore, are they? A strange concept considering for years Robert was everything. “I’m not gonna come in my pants when I’ve gotta give these things back, cheers.”
Robert grimaces, concedes the point. “So what are you gonna do?”
Aaron smirks, lets his actions speak for him as he slowly unzips Robert’s overalls, pushes them down his shoulders — and if he lingers for a beat too long just to feel the wide set of them flexing beneath his fingers then that’s nobody’s business but his own.
His hands travel down the length of Robert’s body, tweaking his nipples through the thin cotton of his undershirt, gliding down his torso, ‘round the back to cup his arse, squeezing just so.
Robert throws his head back, growls low in his throat. “Get on with it, Aaron,” he snaps, the effect of it lost by the pleading edge.
“Thought you were supposed to be winnin’ me over,” retorts Aaron because two can play at this game. “Not feelin’ very wooed right now.”
“You would be if you stopped takin’ forever.”
The familiar banter brings a smile to both their faces, annoyance forgotten when Robert’s overalls finally pool around his ankles, boxers following a moment later. Robert’s cock is as beautiful as it ever was, standing to attention like a loyal soldier.
Aaron drops to his knees. The ground is cold and hard, and he doesn’t recall the appeal this had for him in his twenties until he flattens his tongue to lick a hot stripe along the underside of Robert’s cock and thinks yeah, that’s the reason.
“God, Aaron. Go on, take me like I know you can. Always so good at this, weren’t you?”
Aaron’s body vibrates with the praise, his nerve endings abuzz with electricity. Struck by lightning, he thinks back on his conversation with his Mum on the bridge, about how Robert is the only thing in this world that has ever made Aaron feel truly alive.
Like he wants to be.
He relaxes his throat, swallows Robert down to the base like it’s muscle memory. He drags his tongue along the shaft once, twice, three times, tongue swirling around the glistening head, tasting of salt from the mix of sweat and precome.
Robert’s fingers attempt to grip Aaron’s hair but he pulls off with a pop before he can because, delightful though this may be, Aaron wants something else from this encounter.
“What are you —”
Aaron uses his strength to grasp Robert’s thighs and turn him ‘round, bending him down over the tower of hay bales he’s been stacking. It gives Aaron the perfect view of his lovely arse, the pert roundness of it a sight that makes his mouth water.
“Oh.”
It’s the only syllable that Robert seems to be able to get out in the moments following Aaron spreading his cheeks apart with his hands, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks — not that anyone else will see; Aaron’s going to make him come so hard that any thoughts of other hookup attempts melt out of his dick.
His tongue laps at Robert’s hole, languid strokes choreographed to draw out a chorus of high keens and low groans, a symphony to Aaron’s ears. “You sound wrecked,” Aaron murmurs, his own voice muffled as he bites down on the left arse cheek, soothes the sting with his tongue. “Wish I could record you and hear those pretty sounds on repeat.”
“You know where to find me if you want to hear them,” replies Robert, the barest hint of a challenge in his tone. “If you want the reward, you’ve gotta put the work in, Aaron.”
It feels more like play than work — a genuine feeling of joy coursing through him as he dips his tongue into the tight ring of muscle, feels the resistance where Robert hasn’t been treated like this in a while.
He lets himself believe he was the last person to know Robert this intimately, doesn’t dare ask and risk shattering the illusion.
Aaron pulls back, admires the smattering of marks left behind by teeth and fingers and stubble.
Robert has always possessed the sort of beauty that artists are inspired by, but he’s Aaron’s masterpiece to work on: to paint, to stroke, to erase and recreate in the image of his own whims.
“I was thinkin’ about you out there,” he finds himself revealing. He knows the admission will go straight to Robert’s ego, considers it a parting gift that’ll survive after the physical signs of their intimacy have faded.
“Mm? What about me?”
Aaron collects spit on the tip of his tongue, lets it drip down into Robert’s hole. “About how good you look when you’re wearin’ those,” he says, cuts himself off from waxing poetic by shoving two fingers into his own mouth, suckling them until they’re coated in saliva.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They suit ya — don’t act like you didn’t know.”
He slides the first finger in, revels in the gasp it draws out of Robert. It’s mesmerising to watch the way the digit disappears right up to the knuckle with little resistance, Robert opening up nicely for him.
“Wanna touch myself,” Robert whimpers, and it’s only then that Aaron realises Robert’s fists are clenched in the hay, clearly itching to do something. He cranes his neck to look down at Aaron, “Can I? Please.”
“Only ‘cos you look so hot when you beg for it,” Aaron allows.
It’s more than he should say, but all of this is too much so what the hell? Might as well make it worth it.
Still, Aaron thrusts his tongue back into Robert’s spasming hole, matches the pace he sets with his finger until he feels confident enough to add a second.
Robert’s knees are trembling as Aaron ravishes him, wanking himself with no real precision, like he’s too far gone to establish a proper rhythm and will happily settle for any available friction.
“I need you,” he whimpers, voice strangled. “Please, Aaron. Need you inside me.”
Aaron takes pity on him, doesn’t quip about already being inside him because he knows exactly what Robert is asking for and his own straining cock aches for the same.
“Gonna fill you up,” Aaron reassures, scissoring his fingers quicker, harder, sharper until Robert cries out.
“I’m ready, please.”
“So polite when you’re beggin’ me to fuck you,” Aaron marvels.
He clambers to his feet, knees protesting already and there’s no way he isn’t going to be feeling the effects for days after this. A reminder with every step he takes that he’s been unfaithful to his husband because he was weak and selfish and powerless to resist the red string of fate that’s been pulled taut between Aaron and Robert since he was twenty-two years old.
Draping himself across Robert’s back, Aaron nuzzles his cheek into the crook of his neck, sucks a bruising kiss into the soft flesh. He can smell Robert’s shower gel and whatever cheap body spray he uses these days, the chemicals burning away all thoughts of John — he’s got no place in this, Aaron decides.
Today he’s getting Robert out of his system; tomorrow, and every day after, he’ll work on committing himself to his husband.
It still hurts that Robert and husband aren’t synonymous anymore, but he’s happy with John.
Truly, he is.
Aaron gives himself a couple of firm strokes, knows he won’t last long as he aligns himself with Robert’s hole and teases the head in, agonisingly slow.
“Shit,” curses Robert, head thrown back onto Aaron’s shoulder, eyes closed and teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
Aaron reaches up to free it, doesn’t stop Robert when he sucks his thumb into his mouth, curling his tongue around the intrusion with a contented hum.
When Robert makes no move to pull away, Aaron takes it as his cue to ease the rest of his cock inside, guides it home inch by inch, feels the way Robert shudders with every movement.
“You take me so well, Robert,” he praises. “So tight, so hot.”
“You can move,” Robert replies around his thumb. “Fuck me, Aaron.”
How could he ever refuse?
It’s over about as quickly as Aaron had anticipated — a few well-aimed thrusts, a frantic kiss that’s more clacking teeth than anything else, his hand placed over Robert’s as they work his cock together.
Robert comes first, practically sobs through his orgasm as his come coats their knuckles.
His walls contract around Aaron’s cock as he puts a hand on Robert’s hip, slamming him back as he drives forward, and he falls headfirst into the sort of release that makes your whole body quiver, boneless and incoherent, incapable of doing anything aside from spurting thick white ropes into the cleft of Robert’s arse.
Some of his load spills out and Aaron tries to stuff it back in, licks the excess of his fingers, watches rivulets of come trickle down Robert’s thighs and onto the crumpled heap of his overalls.
Knowing that Robert will have to wear them for the rest of the day — wear Aaron — makes his heart rate spike, vindictive pride swelling in his chest.
Nobody else is allowed to touch Robert like this. He’s Aaron’s, even when he isn’t.
They’re both silent for a while afterwards.
Regret comes creeping in slowly, an unwelcome guest at this reunion party. Not about what they’ve done, per se, but knowing that it would crush John, who is kind and patient and everything Aaron should be grasping onto with both hands.
His fingers are like magnets, though, attuned to Robert’s body, constantly searching for their opposite pole.
“Is this the part where you tell me it was all a mistake?” Robert’s voice is quiet, impossibly soft considering the way he’d been screaming out just a few short minutes ago.
“No,” Aaron answers, pulling his overalls back on and zipping them up. Even with the way Robert’s made his chest swell, the material still drowns him. “Doesn’t mean it can happen again, though. I’m married, Robert.”
Robert scoffs. “When’s that ever stopped us before?”
“Never. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? We’re terrible when we’re together.”
“Are we? Or are we actually terrible when we’re apart?”
Aaron doesn’t answer. He’s got nothing more to say, too busy trying to rationalise this in his own head to let Robert start throwing logic into the equation.
Still, he doesn’t pull away when Robert, fully dressed once more, steps into his personal space and presses a chaste kiss to Aaron’s lips. It feels like a welcome back and a goodbye all at once — neither option quite enough, both also too much.
Later, when John is snoring beside him, Aaron’s phone pings. He checks it with a confused frown, unsure what other tormented soul would be awake at almost four am. Should’ve guessed it would be Robert.
It’s a picture.
Aaron clicks on it, smiles despite himself when he’s greeted with the image of Robert in his work uniform, hair windswept but his grin as wide as it ever is these days. There’s a blue sky above him and the green rolling dales in the background, and Robert looks in his element.
Overall, not a bad look, he captions it — a terrible, endearing pun that makes Aaron snort.
He doesn’t reply, just saves the image and tries to pretend he has any hope of making it out of this unscathed.
