“I am going to prove to you I can make anything hot.”
“What?” I look up from my canvas, spattered and bewildered.
“Hot. Awesome. Anything. You will want to fuck there,” he promises, and I pick a fleck of paint from my curls. Blue against dark brown; not the best of looks.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Landfill site.” He grins at my stare. “Not really. The pond.”
“As in the one covered in kids and toy boats?”
“As in the one that’s closed right now.”
“What?” I look outside, surprised by the dusk. I’ve been working for hours, throwing paint in bursts and thick brushes. Beside me there’s a single blob of scarlet floating in cold tea. Ahead…
…He’s dark haired too, but that’s the only part of him that’s straight. I fucking love that. He’s wearing our usual: jeans, a white shirt – pristine, unlike mine – flip flops. Good build: the gym is one of “our” times. He’s looking at me with bright blue eyes and a grin that’d melt granite… and above all, a bulge in his jeans. I can’t refuse that, ever. I lay down my brush. “Challenge accepted.”
“Great.” He takes my hand, snatches up keys and crams them into his pocket (I’m always surprised there’s room), and we head down the stairs to the front door. He grabs a black carrier bag too, but doesn’t say anything about it; instead he chats happily about what he’s seen while I’ve been working. I let it wash over me, all the while looking at his cock, watching it stiffen under his jeans. Then I’m sure: whatever he’s got planned, it’ll be good. I feel myself grow hard, too.
We stop just by the gate – locked, of course, but that doesn’t faze him. He looks at the brickwork either side, then at me, then back at the wrought iron gate; then he shrugs, “Not too hard,” and he’s up it like a squirrel, his ass bunching tight under his jeans. I look through the gate. There’s only dark for a moment, until suddenly there’s a blur of blue and pale, and he’s standing on the other side. He reaches through the bars, hands cupping my jaw, pulls me close, kisses me hard. He tastes of coffee. I can feel his cock through his jeans, twinning my own. I’m breathless when I pull away and start up the gate, and not from the climb.
The bars are firm under my sneakers. It’s one of those Victorian ones, you know, made in a more socially innocent time, and easy even for me. The ground is loam under my feet, dry, and it thumps softly as I land. Now we’re alone in the dusk, he takes my hand, leading me: his grip is dry and firm. I think of it around my cock, can’t help it... but it fades when I look ahead. Bobbing inanely are three white pedalboats. Then I know.
“You are joking.”
His grin flashes like limelight. “Nope. Come along, Pond.” He jogs over to the middle one. “Hop in,” he continues, and I go, but grumbling. There’s a small puddle of water on the floor under my set of pedals. I try not to look at it. Instead, I watch him as he pulls apart the loose coils of rope, and leaps in with an easy grace. “Right. We’re aiming for the middle.” He points, and we start. It doesn’t take long. For a moment there’s only the low lapping splash of water, and that lulls me a little. Then even that stops, and there are only our breaths, loud to me now.
He pulls himself up, sitting on the back, and pulls off his shirt with an easy stretch. “Come join me.” It’s not a request. I’m up before I think. He unbuttons my shirt with a practiced ease, casually brushing my nipple, grinning at my shiver. He pulls me back and we lie down together, belly to belly. The warmth is at odds with the air, but I like it, the contrast, I like it a lot. I let out a low moan that echoes across the water, cut short by another kiss, this one much harder. His hand snakes around my throat. The moon breaks through clouds, spilling light on us like semen. We’re both smiling, both hard. I let out a laugh at the absurdity of it. So does he. It echoes the waves that hiccup beneath us.
“Remember that bag?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to use what’s inside.”
“Fuck.”
“Just so.” He snakes back into the seat, reaches down. “Take off your jeans. There’s only us,” he adds, killing my glance around. “But I think you’d like it if there wasn’t.”
He knows me. I love the thought that someone is enjoying this as much as me. I tug them off, pants too, shivering a little in the cool, naked and floating. I look up, then down with a start: he’s strapping on a thigh dildo, thick and short, much like his cock. Just as casually, he lubes it up with one hand, beckons with the other.
I carefully clamber down, and on the way he tilts his head back, licks my shaft. This time my moan bounces back from the shore. I need him, suddenly: I straddle him, ease myself down, hands dry and trembling on bare muscled shoulders. It’s an agony of joy, even after all this time – I’ve worked to keep it that way. I rest for a moment when it’s all the way in, pebbledashed, full, still hungry. There’s a faint scrape of stubble as he shifts to my ear. “Ready?” he murmurs, and I nod, even though I’m not sure for what. I don’t care. My cock feels like it’s made of magma. I grip his with both hands. He mirrors me. I feel his legs swing forward, and settle, and then they move.
And so do we.
And so does the cock in my ass.
great story good delivery and sexy.
ReplyDeletegreat story good delivery and sexy.
ReplyDeleteI don't know...
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