here, have some wild night away fic. iâm rusty and pressed for time these days but it had to be done
a snapshot between rounds two and three
In the time it takes Aaron to piss and rinse his mouth out under the bathroom tap, his heart just about settles back to its usual pace.
The scene in the bedroom put paid to that pretty quickly though, and Aaron allows himself the luxury of loitering in the doorway to survey the absolute mess theyâve made of the place.
There are pillows strewn across the floor (one very carefully positioned over by the mirror in the wardrobe door - put there by Robert to protect his old man knees, obviously.)
Thereâs a half empty bottle of poncy imported lager tipped over by the window, dark stain soaking into the carpet. Aaron has a vague memory of dropping it there when Robert had first started to tug his shirt free from his waistband, winter pale flesh under forgiving, expensive lighting.
The bedâs the star of the show right now though, once-pristine white sheets wrinkled and rucked up around the outline of Robertâs body. Heâs sprawled right where Aaron left him, starfished across the centre of the bed, face still tucked into the crook of his elbow. He hasnât even moved his knee down, legs still spread around the ghost of Aaronâs thighs. If it wasnât for the mess on his belly, cock soft and red against his thigh, Aaron would think he was still waiting for it.
âAre you just going to stare at me all night?â Robert asks, muffled.
Aaron shrugs even though no one can see him. âThinking about it. Viewâs half decent.â
He watches Robertâs chest shudder with the laugh he huffs out. Tries not to think about the come-dark patch of hair flattened under Robertâs belly button, what that would taste like, whether Robert would try to kick him away or drop his thighs even further apart for it.
Turns out a night away is all it takes these days to turn Aaron into a teenager again, if his own dick fattening up again is anything to go by.
He drops a hand to pull at it, canât help himself. And heâs most of the way to fully hard by the time he realises Robertâs looking at him now.
âNot that I mind being objectified,â Robert says. âBut are you planning on doing anything with that or should I sort myself out?â
Aaron rolls his eyes fondly. âWhen have you ever sorted yourself out?â he scoffs.
âDonât tell me youâve forgotten about the Swindon trip already,â Robert says, but heâs curling a hand around his spent dick, ring finger dipping down behind his balls, to where Aaron knows heâll still be wet with Aaronâs come, probably still stretched open.
âYouâre not listening to a word Iâm saying are you?â
Aaronâs gaze flicks flicks back up to Robertâs face, but he doesnât feel guilty, and Robert doesnât look offended.
âSorry, were you talking?â Aaron asks, drags his eyes as deliberately as he can back down the length of Robertâs body.
Thereâs a bite mark on the inside of Robertâs left thigh, high up where the skin is thin. Aaronâs suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to heft those thighs back up over his shoulders and remind Robert exactly whoâs in charge here.
Robert doesnât need to make room for him when Aaron knees his way back on to the bed, but he does somehow anyway.
Robert looks down at him, eyes dark. âYou could probably just put it in,â he says. âIf you wanted.â
Aaron wants. But there are other things he wants more than getting his end away for the third time in as many hours. He wants Robert panting, wants his head tipped back, hands braced on the fancy headboard. Wants to look up the long line of Robertâs exposed throat, watch him struggle to swallow. He wants Robert as overwhelmed as Aaron feels right now.
And thereâs only one way to do that.
Aaron palms Robertâs knees, shuffles closer, holds Robertâs gaze as he very deliberately strokes his thumb over the flat of his tongue. Itâs worth it for the way Robert curses, air punched out of him.
âAaron,â he says, that half-panicked, anxious voice that means Aaronâs going to get exactly what he wants.
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