“This ass,” I answered, swatting my hand lightly across his cheeks. His red plaid boxers were tight enough that the thin cotton fabric stretched across his globes. When I kept my hand there, squeezing his thick rear, he let out another groan.
“This old thing?” Frankie teased, wiggling his butt back and forth.
“This old thing,” I answered, grabbing a handful of each cheek and squeezing.
Frankie kept moaning, and desire bubbled up inside of me. It had been days since we found the time to fool around, and my balls were thick and heavy. I adjusted my cock, freeing it from my boxers and letting it plop down against Frankie’s backside with a slap.
“How could anyone turn this down?” I growled as I lowered his boxers. Fuzz grew on his round ass, and his cheeks naturally squeezed my shaft. “You get hotter every year, Frankie. You really do.”
“So you say,” he groaned, pushing back harder. “But my gray hair…”
“Your distinguished silver flare?” I asked, spitting in my hand.
“And my wrinkles…”
“You earned every one of them,” I added, stroking saliva down my cock, then spitting again to rub a finger along his hole, the creased skin already twitching.
Frankie pressed his hands against the bed, then arched his back. His broad shoulders stretched, and I grabbed another handful of his curves, thrusting myself slowly along his crease and over his hole. A drip of cum was already forming on my tip, and a growl escaped my lips as I fought the urge to plunge straight into him.
Sweat was beading on my chest, and Frankie’s whimpers were growing louder. Still, I wanted to make sure he heard me, and that he understood how desirable he was. For a man as drop-dead handsome as Frankie, I hated the idea that he was letting his own insecurity hold him down.
“Any man would be lucky to ride this ass,” I said, teasing his hole with my tip. “Most men just wouldn’t be strong enough to handle all you have to offer.”
“Mmmhhmmm,” Frankie groaned. “But you already ride it so good.” He jerked his hips back, rubbing his hole against my crown. With only saliva and precum, the friction was hot, and he tightened, resistant to letting me in.
I spit again on his crease, then again. “And I’ll keep riding it,” I said, arching my back and then grabbing at my balls with a free hand. “Anytime you want it, baby. I’ll ride you hard.”
“I don’t need another top,” Frankie groaned. “You’re all I need.”
Desire and pleasure were pulsing like heatwaves from my balls, and when I finally pushed my tip past his tight entrance, I gasped. “Mine,” I said with strained breath, thrusting into him. “Mine.”
“Yours,” he growled back as his hand found his dick. “Only yours.”
We kept gyrating together, my cock stretching his hole and my vision blurring as the orgasm grew at my base. I squeezed my balls, tugging them down to make myself last longer, the scent of Frankie’s musky sweat and precum hitting my nose at just the right moment. “Fuck!”
“Fuck me, Rory,” Frankie moaned desperately, jerking at his shaft. “I’ll only ever bottom for you.”
“Yeah,” I growled, precum leaking into his hole. “You going to be a good boy and fuck a younger guy for me?”
The words came out so quickly, I didn’t even really have to think about them. But as soon as they were in the air, Frankie’s hole tightened like a vice around my cock, and we both tumbled forward with a moan.
“Yeah,” Frankie moaned. “I’ll be a top, just like you taught me, Rory.”
I jerked my hips, thrusting against his prostate and crashing again and again at the edge of the orgasm. “Just like this,” I growled, slamming into his tender spot. “Just like this!”
“Fuck!” Frankie buried his face in the pillow as he let out a string of obscenities. His hole clamped tight, and my shaft thickened as I unloaded inside him. I fell onto his body, my sweaty chest slapping against his back and his hole still tight around my cock.
“Oh wow,” he said when he caught his breath. “What did we just say?”
I laughed as I pulled myself slowly out, then shifted my weight to hold him from behind. With his whole body pressed to mine, I could feel the trembles of his muscles and the rise and fall of his breath. “We just said a lot of things,” I answered, kissing his neck. Then I reached around and traced my fingers through the warm, sticky jizz that Frankie had sprayed across his stomach, playing with it and trailing it through his curly hairs.
For the past two decades, Frankie and I had been comfortably and happily set in our roles. I was the top, with slightly dominant tendencies, and he was the hungry bottom, ready to scratch the occasional submissive itch. Neither of us had ever even considered departing from those roles. And yet…
“Maybe we even said some things we should consider?” I added.
Frankie cuddled closer to me and pulled my arm across his chest. “It was like the words just started flying out of my mouth,” he said. “But then I heard them, and I knew it was me talking.”
“It was hot,” I said, letting my voice drop low and knowing how much he loved the rumble in my chest. “You were hot.”
He reached back, and his hand landed on the back of my thigh. “You, too.”
We laid like that, both still sweaty and warm.
There was so much more I thought about saying, so much more that probably should have been said. But with the moon inching across the sky, I figured all of that could wait.
“I love you, Frankie,” I said, stroking his stomach and his chest both.
“I love you, Rory,” he answered.
Which was, I realized, the only thing we really needed to say anyway.
Chapter Eight
Asher
I woke up to the sound of a familiar car horn, blasting on the street outside the apartment.
Daryl? Could that be you?
I kicked out of the sheets and pulled my naked ass to the window to peer through the blinds while I scratched my balls. And sure enough, there was Daryl, chilling in his old Mustang.
I yanked up the window, then stuck my head outside. “Hey! What the hell?”
Daryl stuck his head out the window, his face obscured by a big pair of sunglasses. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!”
I groaned. “Hold up!” I shouted. “I’ll be right out!”
I cursed as I shoved on a pair of shorts and a long-sleeved tee, then stumbled my way toward the street. It was typical of him to just show up at my place out of nowhere, making whatever fucked-up demands he wanted to make that day. But last I saw Daryl, he was still in Los Angeles, lingering to deal with the fallout of our last job while I skipped town.
I came to Seattle to get away from all that, so why the fuck was my old partner waking up half the neighborhood on a Thursday morning?
I walked out to the street, and Daryl was leaning back on the hood of his car. He had the same sandy brown hair I did, but his was buzzed down so short you could see his scalp, and he carried a lot more muscle on his body than I did. With a black tank on, his colorful tattoos were visible in the morning light, and as I approached, he popped a cigarette between his lips and flicked a lighter.