“Flip. Get that ass in the air for me.”
Fucking hell, but bossy Spencer was a sight to behold, and Bacon reveled in his commands and the hard edge to his voice. He rolled, resting his head on his folded arms, ass up as requested.
He expected more of Spencer’s fingers, but maybe Spencer wasn’t as patient as he seemed as the next sensation was Spencer’s latex-clad dick sliding up and down his crack.
“This what you need?”
“Yes.” He tried to rock back onto Spencer’s hard cock, but he stopped him with a hand on his him.
“I’m driving here. I’ll get you where you need to be, promise.”
“Ungh. Now.” He almost didn’t recognize the whines coming from his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been this desperate, wanted someone this much.
Spencer started a slow, torturous slide in. He had a long cock with an elegant left-leaning curve to it, and he absolutely knew how to use it, stretching Bacon slow and steady until he was panting and begging.
“Fuck me. Hard. Need to feel it.”
“Need this?” Spencer finally gave him a hard thrust, balls slapping against Bacon’s ass. “Tell me, Del. Tell me what you need.”
“Need your cock. All of it. God.” And in that instant, he was Del, the needy fuck, the emo guy who craved Spencer’s dirty commands more than air, the shuddering collection of nerve endings being slowly turned inside out by Spencer’s relentless authority.
“Need this?” Spencer started a hard but slow rhythm, deep punishing thrusts, each pushing another whimper out of Del’s chest.
“Faster. Please.”
“I go fast, I’m going to come. You want that?”
“God, yes.” He wanted that more than he wanted his own climax even, wanted to feel Spencer come apart while he owned his ass.
“Get a hand on your dick. Show me how much you like this.”
“Fuck.” It was like Spencer had pried him open, found a playlist of all his kinks, and was now masterfully exploiting every last one of them. Del almost didn’t need his hand to get there. “You’re gonna get me off.”
“Good. I want to feel you come. Want to hear it too. Tell me you need this.”
“Fuck, yes. Need your cock. Get me off, Spencer, please.”
Spencer responded by finally speeding up, a series of thrusts so accurate it was like he had a beacon for finding his gland. Del felt the climax building, starting with tension in his legs and shoulders, spreading to his back, whole body starting to vibrate with need. It was different than the sort of adrenaline that came with a hard workout. This felt almost more than he could handle, like he was coming apart at the seams. Happily. Joyously. As if he couldn’t wait to see what was left after he shattered.
“Come on. Come for me,” Spencer urged, voice hard, and it was that harshness, the way he made Del feel taken, owned that got him off.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” His voice broke as slick fluid coated his fist. Then Spencer was groaning too, losing control in the way he’d craved so much—hammering hard, fingers digging into Del’s waist as he came with a shout.
“Del. Fuck. Del.” Spencer was surprisingly gentle as he pulled out and then gathered Del to him as they both collapsed onto the bed. This blend of tenderness and control just worked for him, so much, made it easier to just soak it all up. Spencer pressed kisses along his hairline. “You okay?”
“More than.”
“Good. I had plans for going slow and gentle—”
“Fuck that,” he groaned with no real ire. “No fun in that.”
“You’re...something.”
“Guilty,” he yawned. “And fuck, now I’m tired.”
“Rest.” Spencer kissed his shoulder. “I’m going to start dinner.”
“I should help—”
“You should rest,” Spencer said firmly. “Even if you don’t drift off, just rest. You need it.”
No more arguments, he floated along in that happy space between sleep and waking for a long time until he realized with a start that he’d actually fallen asleep. Darkness had settled over the room with good smells drifting in through the open door.
Not sure what the dress code was here, he retrieved his boxers from the bathroom after cleaning up, then went in search of Spencer, who was wearing a pair of gray pants and no shirt and stirring a pot of something on the stove. Instrumental jazz came out of speakers near the entertainment center.
“I...I should go get dressed,” he said awkwardly.
“No way.” Spencer gave him an exaggerated once-over before pointing to a bar stool. “Come here and look pretty while I finish the food.”
Spencer was the pretty one—gray hair damp, like he’d taken a second shower, chest peppered with hair and pebbled pink nipples that made Bacon’s mouth water. He wasn’t bulky at all, but his lean, corded muscles were sexy as fuck, especially when they flexed to drain a pot of ravioli.
“I went with chicken, not salmon, in deference to your tastes, but otherwise I thought I’d keep the same menu as I described in the email.” The tips of Spencer’s ears went pink, and something equally warm heated in Bacon’s insides. He liked knowing that Spencer had gone to trouble for him.