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“I've been in love. I went down that rabbit hole.
You know what I discovered?
It's not who you wanna spend Friday night with.
It's who you wanna spend all day Saturday with.”
~Friends With Benefits
It doesn’t seem to Robbie like he’s had that much beer. He doesn’t feel squiffy or befuddled, but what else would explain that, on his first free Friday evening in three, long, hectic weeks, he’s sitting on the couch with James, watching a silly film? A silly romantic comedy, at that.
James had been flipping through channels during a break in the football match and stopped, presumably to gawp at the stunningly beautiful actress wearing very little clothing. And daft as it is, they’d never even checked back for a score on the match. Instead, they’ve watched almost all the film, laughing at the improbable situations and turns of plot and never once at themselves.
Maybe it's just that he's aled up, as his granddad would have said, but at the moment, there’s no place Robbie’d rather be on a Friday night than drinking with James and listening to his running commentary on a silly film. He’s not sure what that says about the state of his life.
This time six months ago, it would have been him and Laura. It’s shameful to admit, but...he suspects that he wouldn’t have enjoyed himself half as much. They would have been drinking wine instead of trying one of the newer bottled beers, and they probably would have never bothered to watch something like this. If they had, he’s sure Laura, who prefers silence from the audience while she’s watching telly, would have neither provided nor appreciated James’s acerbic comments.
Robbie sometimes regrets that things didn’t work out with Laura. He misses her sometimes. But, mostly, it’s just a relief to be on his own. It’s lonelier, but it’s easier at the same time, and they’re both more satisfied. And they sure as hell like each other better, now that they’re slowly coming back around to that place where they were good as friends.
He takes another drink of his beer and taps his fingers to the beat of the song playing in the film. And chuckles to himself as he wonders if the day might come when he and Laura could be friends with benefits.
That might be...interesting. It would certainly be less lonely than a cold bed and his own hand. But does it ever really work in real life? Can two people, especially two people who already have a history, really manage to make the physical side of things work without allowing emotional expectations to creep in? He doubts it, and apparently, Hollywood agrees.
On the telly, the couple kisses, happily ever after. The music swells and credits roll. James sighs as if he’s sorry to see the end of it. He points the remote at the screen and lowers the volume to almost nothing. And, as if he’s reading Robbie’s mind, he asks. “So...are you and Laura friends with benefits?”
His tone has changed, from acidic and droll to almost studiedly casual, so Robbie knows it’s not a wind-up. James is genuinely interested. Despite what he’s just been thinking, Robbie answers seriously. “Nah, lad. Best for us to just try to be friends, I think.”
James gives a little grimace, perhaps in sympathy. He’s sprawled on the couch like he hasn’t a bone in his lanky body, big head lolled back like it’s too heavy for his neck, and he nods without lifting it. And he keeps on nodding, mouth turned down at the corners. It looks like he’s got a rhythm going to some beat Robbie can’t hear.
‘Too much beer for him, too, then’, Robbie thinks, although the sure-fire evidence that James has had a bit too much—the drooping eyelids and slightly slurred vowels—isn’t there.
Robbie’s not really drunk enough for his tongue to be so loose, but once James asks, once the ball is rolling in his mind, Robbie can’t seem to stop himself. He twists a bit so that he can see James’s face clearly and asks, “Have you ever had a friend with benefits, then?”
Even after all their years as partners and friends, James can still be tight and closed off about personal details, but he doesn’t seem to mind the intimacy of this question. He shakes his head by simply rolling it back and forth on the back of the couch, his neck still boneless and lax. Back and forth. Back and forth, like a patient on a hypnotist’s couch.
It makes Robbie a bit dizzy.
“No,” James says, “I’d need a friend first.” His voice isn’t maudlin, or slurred with drink, or filled with pity for himself. Just...heartbreakingly down to earth. Like he’s stating a simple fact. At least, a simple fact as he sees it.
Robbie’s heart twinges, as it always does, at the difference between the way James sees himself and the way Robbie sees him. And he protests, “Well, I’m your friend.”
James goes still, and he looks at Robbie without lifting his head from the couch, just twisting his long, elegant neck. And his lovely, changeable—sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes an extraordinary combination of both—eyes flash with some emotion Robbie can’t read.
James’s gaze moves over him with the weight of a caress, down his body and back up again to his mouth. The pink tip of James’s tongue slides along his bottom lip, leaving it shiny and wet. And James smiles at him, lazy and speculative.
Robbie sits up a little straighter. He’s not so drunk that he doesn’t realize how the words that just spilled out of his mouth must have sounded. He’s not so pissed that he doesn’t understand how they could be misconstrued. And James has misconstrued what Robbie said, hasn’t he? There’s no doubt that’s what that flirtatious, heated gaze means.
But, then, there’s a little quirk, quickly controlled, at the corner of James’s mouth.
And Robbie relaxes back against the couch, smiling and shaking his head.
James got him with that one, didn’t he? He does, most every time, with his teasing. Always making Robbie blink before he remembers that James has always gone on like that. Always pretend-flirted with coy gazes and playful smiles and his gently mocking phone-sex voice. ‘It’s a good thing we found each other then, Sir.’ ‘I think you’d better explain, darling.’ ‘I couldn’t figure out how to break up with you.’
But this time...there’s no teasing sarcasm after that little quirk of a smile. James just keeps looking at him. Staring at Robbie like he’s waiting for something.
Robbie concentrates, trying to focus the hazy edges of his brain. Trying to figure out whether he’s missed something. Because something about this, about the way James is looking at him, feels different from that pretend-flirting. This feels real.
James’s smile is more predatory than sarcastic, and his eyes are sparkling with intensity. And his tongue trails a line of shine along up his upper lip to match the one on his lower lip.
And, no, Robbie realizes, it’s not a pretence at all! It’s not a teasing game. James is staring at him as if he’d like to devour him. How long since anybody has looked at him like that?
A sizzle that’s a bit like touching super-heated metal with a wet fingertip simmers along Robbie’s nerves. And he wants, with a sudden ache that pierces through to his bones. His fingers clench with anticipation. Longing heats him from the inside out, flushing across his skin like flowing sunlight.
He wants...without knowing precisely what he wants, and the shock of realizing it, the shock of admitting it, is astounding.
It must show on his face, his surprise, the sudden flare of desire. It must be evident in his sudden, sharp intake of breath. Because James bursts into motion and sits forward. Deposits his beer bottle on the side table. And then, slowing again, giving Robbie plenty of time to protest, James turns, slides back, leans down.
Slowly. So slowly, so carefully, he puts his face in Robbie’s lap and nuzzles him through his trousers.
Robbie’s shocked enough, pissed enough, that he doesn’t react, not even when he sees his friend’s head in his lap. But he’s not so drunk he doesn’t know he should react, even if time has suddenly gone weird, and he’s moving and thinking as if his brain is ten seconds behind everything that’s happening.
He knows he should reach down and thump James on the back of his big blond head. Give him a shove. Laugh and make some rude comment. Make it all a big joke. Before the slow hum of arousal that’s stirring in his blood becomes a shout. Before he’s too hard to pretend this isn’t what he wants.
Because he might not have known a moment ago, but he knows now. This is what he wants. Exactly what he wants. James’s passion and daring. Robbie wants someone to want him like this. He wants James to want him like this, with his cheeky, bold hunger.
A slow, sultry arousal curls up and out of his gut, skating along the edges of his bones, waking skin and nerves. And doesn’t his breath sound odd? Slow and even, but laboured and loud in the quiet room.
James breathes audibly, too, huffing hot air through the layers of Robbie’s trousers and pants.
Blood, slow and thick, shifts in Robbie’s veins in rhythm to the slow, grinding throb of his heartbeat. His cock swells, responding to the feel of James’s mouth, to the warm, humid breath sifting through the layers of fabric.
He raises his hand. There’s still time to push James away. To stop the slide of James’s hand up his thigh. To cover his zip so that he can’t feel James’s cloying, hot breath, curling around him.
Everything is moving so slowly, there’s still time. He’s getting hard, but there’s still time for sanity.
His hand hovers in midair while he sifts through his thoughts, trying to choose between common sense and insanity. Like lines on an off-kilter map, the choices overlap, twist, fork, the paths between what he should do and what he wants to do splitting off in opposite directions.
James’s teeth fracture any chance Robbie had of taking the sane path. Not James’s breath, swirling hot and sultry around him. Not the grip of James’s fingers, sliding up his thigh, curling around his hip, thumb digging in. James’s teeth. Teeth scraping across his jeans, following the curve of his erection. Teeth biting down, just past the edge of gentle, on the head of his cock.
Robbie’s breath slams back into his lungs like he’s been slapped, and arousal surges through him. No sultry swelling, no slow, sexy throb of heartbeat and pulse now. This is as jagged and hot as an electrical charge. As sharp and piercing as incisors and canines.
It’s terrifying and thrilling. Pleasure washes through him and wipes out any chance he had of being smart, of being wise. Of anything more than the most primal thought.
Every muscle in his body seizes and his hand clamps down on the back of James’s head. Robbie groans, shoulders pressing back into the couch as he rolls his hips, pressing up into that sharp, dangerous pressure. Wordlessly begging for more. His other hand comes up to cup the top of James’s head.
As if his body shoved into James’s face, his hands holding James’s head in position, the sounds scraping out of his throat, aren’t answer enough, James rasps onto his cock, “Do you want me to?” Tilting his head so those fiery eyes glitter up at him, full of heat and mischief. Daring him. Wanting him. Demanding that he acknowledge his own desire.
Robbie knows what his answer should be. But he’s too far gone to resist the challenge, the passion, in those eyes. It’s daft. Foolhardy. And he can’t remember the last time he wanted something so badly.
He grates out, “Yes,” rasping and gruff, and lifts even higher, tilting his hips, begging for James to keep touching him with his beautiful mouth, his hot breath. His sharp white teeth.
James smiles up at him, catlike and evil, and unzips him. Drags his cock out through his flies and swallows him down. No finesse, no gentle build-up. Just a greedy gulp that slides the tip of his cock along the roof of James’s mouth, into the rippling confines of James’s throat.
Robbie’s hips jerk forward and his head snaps back. And, Christ!, it’s all he can do not to shout. He’s had blowjobs before. Spectacular ones. But no one’s ever taken him all the way down like that with one greedy, sliding gulp.
Stars explode behind his eyelids and his heart balloons like it’s been filled to bursting, then settles to a punishing, pounding rhythm. Pleasure like lightning spangles out across his hips and up his back.
Robbie curses and has to force himself not to shove up. Not to thrust his cock even deeper into the wet, sucking heat. Everything tightens, thighs, fingers, balls, muscles contracting. He’s going to come. Just that fast. Just from that one greedy, nasty, wet slurp.
As if James realizes how close he is, he backs off quickly. Mouth sliding away with a lazy twist of tongue. James slips his fingers inside Robbie’s clothing and tugs at his balls, stroking, caressing, easing him back from the edge of orgasm much more gently than he shoved Robbie towards it.
The hard, tight burn eases, recedes to a glowing ache. Becomes a fire that needs to be stoked before it can flame. Robbie groans in protest and pushes his knees wider apart. Wanting...more. Everything. Wanting that intense sensation back, the breathtaking, screaming pleasure of being sucked all the way down like that.
But James only settles to stroking and teasing the length of him with his tongue and rough, callused fingertips. Slowing Robbie down, starting the climb all over again.
James presses sucking kisses along the underside of his shaft. Blows puffs of air over the saliva-slickened skin. The warmth flashing to cold sends shivers up and down Robbie’s spine.
James rubs just the front of his teeth along the curve of Robbie’s cock, then nips him with only the soft touch of his lips. Gentle. Playful. No teeth. No pain. Only the remembered threat of sharpness.
Robbie gasps, heat racing over his body, and freezes. He knows James would never hurt him. He knows. But...the risk is there. The possibility is there. It makes his heart thud, sweat break out in the small of his back. He holds his breath, quivering, fingers flexing on James's head as he waits for what comes next. Fearful, anticipating... Wanting a danger he didn’t even know he craved.
And James laughs. Soft and low. Like he knows that Robbie’s hovering between pleasure and fear. Shocked to be aroused by it.
James nips again with his lips, then soothes the spot with a touch of tongue so light it’s like a brush of butterfly wings on Robbie’s skin. And then swallows him down again, rough and perfect.
Robbie has to remind himself to breathe. Tension building again, slower at first, but then speeding again as mixed sensation—hint of sharpness that never comes, fluttering tongue, rough one moment, slick and soft the next—scatters across his skin like fiery glitter. Silver, spangling heat arcs over his whole body as James finds the sweet spot on his cock with quick, delicate flicks of his tongue.
Robbie tightens his fingers, moulding to the pleasing curve of James’s skull, as he tries to hold James’s head in place, guide him. He begs in a rough, shattered tone, “There. Right there! James, for god’s sake.”
James hums laughter down the length of his cock. Swallows the length of him down again. Wanton. Lewd. Moaning around his cock as if he likes what he’s doing as much as Robbie likes him doing it. James’s mouth slides off him, tongue dances over him, teasing. Flicking. Licking. Pressing. Doing what Robbie wanted, then dancing away.
Robbie’s never been with anyone who could do this. Keep him balanced, quivering, on a knife edge between fast and slow, rough and gentle, and never quite enough of either. And with a rush of lust that makes his face flush even hotter, Robbie wants to see James doing all that to him. He shifts, tilting his body and pushing at James’s head.
And James knows. The way he’s always anticipated what Robbie wants.
James shifts, turning his shoulders so that Robbie can see him run his tongue from the base all the way up to the tip of his cock. James suckles him, tugs gently at his foreskin, then dips inside to circle just the tip of Robbie's cock, tongue extended so that Robbie can see what he’s doing.
James watches him as Robbie watches. Takes the thick length into his mouth. Cheeks hollowing. Slowly. Slowly. Vulgar and sensual and scorching. Lips sinking down Robbie’s cock. And then slowly, agonizingly, pulls away. Lets him go with a lewd pop. James does that slippery, circling move with his tongue again at the tip of Robbie’s cock. He flicks his tongue and air dances on Robbie’s skin.
It’s a sexy, nasty, entrancing performance, all for Robbie’s benefit. And the whole time, James’s gaze is on him, eyes narrowed and wicked. And it’s too much, the heat and challenge in those bright eyes. There’s no way Robbie can pull it back now, the rush of orgasm, because everything James is doing, with tongue and fingers and breath, with his sinfully glittering gaze, is magical. Fire and ice and shining, sweet heat.
Robbie gasps as every muscle in his body contracts like a switch has been thrown. Every nerve ending lights up with pleasure. He has time to groan a warning. “James...”
But instead of pulling away, as Robbie expected, James shifts back to his original position and swallows him again. The ridged, hot, slick roof of his mouth slides across the tip of Robbie's cock, tongue dancing and curling along the underside. James hums a hungry, greedy sound, and swallows around him, making his intention, his desire, clear.
Robbie groans, “Oh, god...” and explodes. Burning, electrifying, pulsing sensation. Good, so good. Washing over him. Good. Through him. Good, good, good. His thighs tremble with the tension, and his balls draw up so tight it hurts. The small of his back twinges a warning as he twists, lifting his hips higher.
Heat engulfs him as he comes, holding James’s head and thrusting roughly into James’s mouth.
James moves with him, accommodating his thrusts, and moans his approval. Rippling, swallowing sensations as James drinks him down. And that sends another rush of pleasure crashing through Robbie.
Ecstasy rips up his spine and his body contracts again, harder, muscles that are already tight and knotted bunching even tighter. He has to jerk his hands away from James’s head to keep from fucking James’s mouth even harder.
He shudders, breath bottomed out in his lungs. Gasping, but there’s no air getting in. Fire blazing along his nerves. It’s so good it’s almost too good. So good it hurts. So good he’s going to disappear. Go up in smoke.
And just when he thinks he can’t take any more, the sensations ease. Drop off.
He feels like he’s climbed and climbed and then been flung, screaming, down a steep slope, and now he’s hit the bottom and levelled out. Moving slower and slower. Rolling to a slow, throbbing stop. His muscles un-knot, one by one. Lengthen. And he slumps back onto the couch, limp and wasted, shivering with aftershocks.
James sucks at him gently. Soothing him with lips and tongue. Cleaning him gently with little cat-like licks and soft kisses. Lapping at him until it’s too much, and he has to put his hand on James’s neck and squeeze gently to let him know to stop.
James pulls back and rests his head on Robbie’s belly. Both of them, gasping in unison. Hot gusts of air caress his softened cock as James gets his breath back.
Robbie strokes the soft, bristly curve of James’s skull. It’s something he’s always wanted to do, touch James’s hair. Run his palm against the grain and feel that stubbly rasp of short, short hair. It’s softer than he thought it would be. If it wasn’t so short, he imagines James’s hair would feel like silk flowing between his fingers.
He sighs.
James sighs with him, rolling his head under the caress of Robbie’s fingers.
And Robbie’s suddenly back in the present. Suddenly aware of where he is. Of what he’s done.
He’s just let a man go down on him. Just had a friend’s mouth on his cock. James’s mouth. He just came in his friend’s mouth. Shoved him down and held him while he pumped his mouth full...
Heat flushes his face. Shock cramps his belly. His fingers spasm on James’s head.
James shifts, sliding back to sit up.
James’s chest rises and falls as he breathes, quick and shallow. His lips are parted, flushed from friction and use. Wet with saliva and semen. His pupils are contracted to pinpricks, all stunning blue and green, like he’s been out in bright sunlight. He swallows, tongue darting out to touch his bottom lip...
And he’s gorgeous. Robbie’s never seen him more beautiful than he is right now. Sex-rumpled and flushed, lips red and swollen from the way Robbie’s used him. James swallowing. James’s tongue moving on him... Robbie’s face gets hotter, circles burning on his cheekbones.
James leans back, gaze locked on Robbie’s face. Reaches down to adjust himself in his trousers.
And, oh...
Oh.
Of course.
James is hard. His erection pressing up, obvious in his tight jeans.
Robbie can tell from the way James’s hand lingers that he’s aching. Can tell from the way James’s gaze is locked on him what he’s wanting. That he’s waiting.
James pushes his knees wide apart. Inviting... Wets his lips again. Enticing... Waiting. His gaze holds Robbie’s prisoner.
Desire that should be slaked and sleeping leaps in Robbie. That pre-orgasm drumbeat starts up in his chest again. His breath stutters in rhythm with his thoughts, uncertainty and doubt fluttering against his skull. He’s never done this. Touched a man like this.
But his body is ahead of his brain. Again. He reaches out, not quite believing he’s doing it, not quite ready to do it, but moving anyway. He puts his hand on James’s thigh.
James’s eyes slide closed, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.
And it’s easier now, with James’s eyes closed. Easier without the burning scrutiny.
The muscle under Robbie’s palm contracts, the hard curve inviting him to slide his hand further.
He slides his hand under James’s hand. Cups the bulge in James’s jeans.
And that’s...Robbie huffs out a breath...impressive.
James’s skin is radiating heat, even through his clothing. And James’s cock is rock hard and has to be even longer than his.
Robbie suddenly, improbably, wants to see. Wants to touch with his bare hands, not through layers of denim and cotton.
James must be reading his mind, because he slides his hand back under Robbie’s and makes quick work of his button and zip. Impatiently shoves his jeans open and down. Tugs the hem of his t-shirt up above his navel.
No pants. James isn’t wearing pants.
Robbie swallows, a little tingle of near arousal slithering down his spine. It’s sexy, thinking that James has been beside him all evening, no pants on beneath his tight jeans. How often has James done this through the years, walked down the street with him, sat beside him, at work, eating dinner, watching telly, with his cock bare, rubbing against the underside of his zip?
If Robbie had known...would he have thought about doing this with James before now? Would it have made him hard?
He shivers. Shivers again as James’s hands slide away, and his naked cock springs up against Robbie’s naked palm.
Robbie sucks in air through his teeth. His mind skitters sideways. There’s a hard, hot cock in his hand. Not his own. Another man’s cock in his hand. James’s cock in his hand. It’s the only one, except for his own, that he’s ever held.
His fingers curl around it automatically. Squeeze and slide along the length. His hand knows what to do, even if his brain is careening wildly inside his skull.
And he was right. James’s cock is longer than his. Leaner and paler, with a head like a dark pink plum. Flushed with blood. Shiny wet and glistening with precome. It’s gorgeous. James is gorgeous, sprawled back in the corner of the couch, the muscles in his flat, hard stomach rippling with each breath, flush spreading down from under the edge of his t-shirt and painting the sharp edges of his hipbones.
Robbie strokes him, testing the weight and heft of the rigid shaft, the smooth, hot skin. It feels...different, somehow. The same, but different from his own.
James groans. Pleasure and entreaty. Lifting his hips, the way Robbie lifted his, in invitation, encouraging Robbie to continue.
Robbie’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he contemplates...doing more than just touching another man’s cock. His mind might be coming around to touching James this way, but he’s not sure about doing more.
But it’s only fair, isn’t it? Considering what James just did for him...
He leans down, tentative. Gathering his courage.
James stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that if you don’t like it.” His voice is husky and hopeful, his touch hot and trembling. “Your hand’s good.”
Robbie looks at the cock in his fist and realizes he does want to. His mind is pulsing with a mix of uncertainty and nervousness, but he’s excited, too. Quivering with anticipation.
He wants to. He just doesn’t have a clue how. But...he’s a good detective, right? He can figure this out. He knows what he likes to have done to him. And he’s just had a damn good lesson in how to do it right. Surely he can follow James’s example...
He bends down, awkward and unsure, bracing his weight on one elbow, and tastes. Just a tentative lick at the tip of James’s beautiful cock.
Shock sizzles down his spine. James tastes good. Salty and almost sweet.
He leans closer and tries to copy that circling movement that James’s was doing with his tongue. Remembering the way it made him curl his toes and arch his back.
And he likes the heat, the smooth, silky roundness of the tip of James’s cock beneath his tongue. He likes the way a shiver passes through James. The way he moans. A soft, throaty, sinful sound.
He can do this. If it will make James moan, make his beautiful voice curl, low and rasping, the way his breath curled around Robbie’s cock, then he can do this and more. Will do it, just to hear that sound again.
Robbie’s shocked at how eager he is, at how much he likes it, as he uses his lips and his tongue. Pressing kisses the way James did. Following with his tongue. Licking across the heat and hardness, searching for that spot on James’s cock, the one that will make him moan.
Robbie finds it, that sweet spot, lower on the shaft than his, and James hisses, arches up. Fingers clenching into fists as he presses them into the couch cushions.
Shocking, how much Robbie likes what he’s doing. How he’s shaking with excitement. Elation rushes through him as he closes his mouth on the tip of James’s cock, and James whispers a long, drawn-out, “Yes.”
Robbie dares to look up.
James is sitting up high, no longer slumped. His back is arched, shoulders pressed into the back of the couch. And his gaze is locked on Robbie. Watching Robbie’s mouth move on him.
His fingers open slowly, unclenching. He lifts one hand to Robbie’s shoulder and his fingers work convulsively, nails scraping at Robbie’s shirt. “Don’t stop,” he says, his voice hoarse.
Robbie understands, now, why a man would do this. Take another man’s cock into his mouth. Caress him and whip him and goad him with lips and tongue. There’s power and strength in it, the giving of pleasure this way. It’s exhilarating to taste James. To make him shiver and moan. There’s heady pleasure in knowing that he can make James sound like that, make him fall apart.
He tilts his head back down and takes James in his mouth.
James gasps and threads his fingers through Robbie’s hair.
Robbie shudders at the sensation, at the pressure, at what he knows is coming. James is going to use him, the way he used James. ‘It’s only fair...’ a little voice whispers in his mind.
James’s hands open and close on his scalp, press, gently at first, then roughly. Guiding his mouth. Begging with fingertips. Do that. Move this way. Do that again.
But James doesn’t push too hard. James’s hands aren’t nearly as rough on him as his were on James. James is just demanding enough to send a thrill through him. Just forceful enough to make him wish James would be a little rougher.
Robbie shivers as he imagines James using him a little harder.
But it’s good that James doesn’t. He’s not as expert as James. Not yet. Robbie doesn’t dare use the threat of teeth, even carefully shielded, the way James did. He doesn’t dare attempt the little nips with his lips.
And he can’t take the length of James’s cock down his throat. Not yet. But he remembers a girlfriend, decades ago, who couldn’t swallow his cock very far down, and the way she compensated for his length and girth with her hand.
And James likes that. Robbie’s hand, circling his cock at the base, giving short, half strokes while he uses his tongue, circling and teasing, the way James did to him. It makes James shudder and moan and arch his long spine. Gasp, voice husky and wrecked, “Oh, god,” and “Robbie,” and “Please. Again. Like that. Again.”
Other words that Robbie can’t understand. Latin or Italian or maybe French, maybe just nonsense, garbled with pleasure. But he doesn’t have to comprehend the words to know what they mean. To know that he’s pleasing James. To know that he’s winding him, tighter and tighter, bringing him closer to orgasm.
James likes it even better when he strokes, rough and tight, while he teases the sensitive spot on the shaft with his tongue. He urges, “Harder! God, Robbie, harder!” And then, “That’s— Yes. That’s... Oh...” Under his hand, James’s thigh bunches, goes rock hard. And his trembling and moaning stutter to a stop.
James’s hands tighten on Robbie’s skull, and he warns, “Robbie! I’m...”
James’s cock jerks in his hand. A strong, muscular twitch.
And before Robbie can decide whether he wants to pull away, James groans and spills over his fingers and tongue. The taste is bitter and altogether enticing when his mind tells him it shouldn’t be. It’s thick and salty, hinting at a musky, funky sweetness, and disgustingly slick, all at the same time. And Robbie slides his mouth over as much of James as he can, and he sucks and swallows.
James groans his name and his fingers tighten painfully in Robbie’s hair.
It's enthralling, experiencing James’s orgasm. Hearing James say his name that way. Feeling James arch and twist, shove himself towards Robbie’s mouth.
Robbie’s not as good at swallowing as James was, and semen spills out of the sides of his mouth, down over his fingers. Wetting them. Slicking the movement of his hand on James’s shaft, and James shudders. Gasps as if he likes knowing that Robbie’s strokes are suddenly slick and easy because of his own semen.
The texture is disgusting, but the taste isn't bad, and the idea, that he’s sucking a man’s cock and swallowing his come, is surprisingly, shockingly exciting. Electrifying. James’s obvious pleasure, his body stuttering and rocking as he shudders through an intense orgasm, is exhilarating. Addictive.
James groans one last time, and then his fingers relax and his body slumps back on the couch.
Robbie starts to pull away, but remembers the soft, humming pleasure of James’s tongue on him as he was coming down from his orgasm, and he teases gently, carefully, at James’s softening cock.
Robbie’s better than James was at reading body language, though. He senses the moment his caresses go from pleasurable to too much, and he stops before James has to push him away. Rests his head on James’s lean belly and tries to get his breath back.
He’s surprised to find that he’s gasping. That his heart is thundering. His lips feel bruised and sensitive. He’s hyperaware of the heat of James’s skin against his face, the thump of James’s heartbeat against his ear, the rasp of James’s breath, slowly returning to normal. Of James’s hands, cupping his skull gently. Of James’s fingers, moving, massaging his scalp, stroking the back of his neck, his shoulders.
It feels good. Nice. But it’s not enough to keep him from feeling the ache in his jaws. And so much more. Aware of what he’s just done. Of what they’ve just done. Of the taste of James in his mouth. Of slickness smeared across his cheek and down his chin. Between his fingers.
It’s easy to stay there with his head resting on James, even though his back is protesting the way his spine is twisted, and the slickness on his face and fingers is quickly cooling to sticky and itchy. Because as long as he stays where he is, James will keep rubbing his shoulders with those long, soothing strokes. And he won’t have to face James. He won't have to figure out how he’s supposed to react. How he feels about what they just did. How he feels about how much he enjoyed it.
He won’t have to figure out what he’s supposed to say now. Do now. Should he sit up and be casual? Laugh it off? Pretend he’s drunker than he is? Because he doesn’t feel drunk right now on anything other than what they’ve just done.
Maybe...maybe the first step would be to sit up. To let go. He’s still slumped against James with James’s softened, warm, slightly sticky cock lying nestled in his equally sticky hand.
Robbie twitches, pulls his hand away.
And James surges into movement. Helping Robbie to sit up with a push on his shoulder. Tugging his jeans up over his narrow hips, holding the edges closed. Standing and walking away, mumbling that he needs to clean up.
Robbie watches James’s retreating back, disappointed for no reason he can fathom. But what did he expect? That they’d cuddle after, like new lovers? Put their heads together for pillow talk like an old married couple? But that’s what Robbie knows. Kisses and cuddling. Sweet nonsense whispered against fragrant skin. That’s what he accustomed to, after sex.
Is that why he’s feeling let down? Because that’s daft. It’s easier this way, right? James walking away gives him a minute to breathe. To put himself back together. Figure things out.
Robbie stands and starts to rearrange his trousers and realizes that if he touches himself, he’s going to smear the remains of what they’ve just done all over his clothing. He flushes hot with embarrassment as he goes into the kitchen and washes his hands and his face.
He can hear the water running in the bathroom. James probably doing the same thing, washing Robbie off his hands, washing his semen off his belly where Robbie’s inexperience let it spill and streak. The idea causes a gnawing sensation in his belly, almost like he’s hungry.
His shirt feels like it’s twisted around his ribs, and he straightens it, smoothes it down into his trousers. His cock is sensitive, like his tongue, achy like his jaws. His face burns even hotter and his hands shake as he tucks and straightens and zips up.
Robbie gets them both a fresh, cold beer from the fridge. Backtracks to pour the old, warm ones down the drain and throw the bottles into the trash. He’s shocked to find that they’ve both had only three beers each, plus what they’d drunk from the partial bottles he just poured out.
So they weren’t as pissed as he thought. Maybe...what happened can’t be blamed on lowered inhibitions? Almost four bottles of beer, consumed over the whole evening, with takeaway, is not enough beer to allow him to do what he just did. Not enough beer for him to be able to lay the blame on the doorstep of too much drink.
What the hell is he going to say to James now?
He takes a couple of big swigs of his fresh beer, but it doesn’t wash the taste of James from his mouth. As he drops back down into his spot on the couch, he realizes he doesn’t particularly want it to. Delayed embarrassment and shaking hands aside, he doesn’t really want to drop into a pit of regret. And he doesn’t want to pretend that nothing happened. Or berate himself for foolish behaviour.
It was different and strange, but he liked the way James tasted. The way James moved under his hands and his mouth. He liked being able to make James gasp with pleasure.
It’s even more of a shock than what they’ve just done, to realize that he doesn’t want to let go of the way touching James made him feel. To realize that he’d like to have James’s mouth on him again. The weight of James’s hands on him again. James’s gaze, burning him. Daring him.
He hopes... What? That James feels the same way? That they can do it again? Does he want to do it again? Should he be even considering it?
James comes back into the room before he can figure any of it out.
Robbie’s sitting on the edge of the couch. Thinking. Thinking so hard it feels like his forehead is creased with it. And he doesn’t know what to say, or the answers to any of the questions he’s been asking himself, and even if he did, he’s not sure he would know how to tell James.
Except...looking at James, hesitating there at the end of the couch, he knows one thing with strength and certainty. This doesn’t feel wrong. Foolhardy, maybe. Even a little dangerous, reckless in the best sort of way.
But touching James, being touched by James, will never feel wrong. Feeling James come apart with pleasure under his hands will never feel wrong. And with that acceptance comes the certainty that, no matter what, it’ll be okay. He and James will always find a way to be okay.
Robbie points to the beer he’s set on the table. “Got you a fresh one.” And he relaxes back on the couch. Discovers that, underneath his nervousness, there’s a bone-deep, delicious relaxation. He drops his head back on the couch. The tension drains out of him.
James quirks an eyebrow at him. Unsure. Questioning.
Without raising his head, Robbie pats the spot on the couch beside him. And that seems to do the trick.
James drops down beside him with an ‘Oof!’, like he’s boneless and tired, too. He picks up the cold beer and takes a drink from it. Rests it on his knee.
From the corners of his eyes, Robbie watches the way James’s throat moves as he swallows. His gaze traces the lovely, elegant curve of James’s neck and throat.
James slumps, dropping his head back onto the couch, mimicking Robbie’s boneless sprawl. His knee and his elbow bump up against Robbie. His elbow shifts, almost a caress, then moves away, but his knee stays.
They sit there in silence, knees touching. Both staring at the ceiling.
Robbie wonders what James is thinking, but he feels too shy to ask. Which seems silly, considering what they’ve just done.
He shuffles through all the things he could say. Tries to decide whether he should say something wry about what they’ve done. Or maybe he should start a new topic of conversation and ignore what happened. Or say nothing. Reach for the remote and see if there’s anything interesting on the telly.
But 'wry' comments are more James’s department, and nothing comes to mind. And the latter choices seem sort of like an elephant-in-the-room thing. He can’t ignore the fact that he just gave his best friend a blowjob. His first one ever. He can’t pretend that he’s ready to stop thinking about the way James’s mouth felt on him.
He shivers a little at the memory. At the idea of doing it again. And so the first thing that pops out of his mouth is tinged with admiration and a bit more flippant than he intended. “That was bloody amazing. Where did you learn to do that?”
There’s a slight pause, like James is a bit surprised, too. Like maybe he was expecting something else. “Cambridge,” he answers, dry and maybe a bit sarcastic. “Where did you?”
Robbie hesitates, blinded by an image of James—on his knees in a library, shelves of books receding away into the distance, with a cock in his mouth, some faceless young man’s hand splayed across his head. James’s head is bobbing, his cheeks hollowed. His mouth is a breathtaking pink O, moving, sliding… Because James didn’t learn to do that, that well, without practice, did he?
Competing stabs of jealousy and desire spear Robbie’s gut. He has to force the image away so he can concentrate on how he’s going to answer James’s question. Should he give some glib, sarky response in return, or should he tell the truth? If he tells the truth, will it be a big thing? Will James accept it and laugh about it?
Regardless, Robbie doesn’t want to lie. He speaks without looking at James. “Learned it from you.”
James sits straight up and stares at him. “What?” Voice filled with disbelief.
“I copied what you did to me. Threw in a bit of me own...innovation, so to speak. And a bit of technique from a girl I knew, back when I was a lad. But, mostly, I just followed your lead.”
“Are you telling me...? You don’t mean—! You’ve never...?”
Robbie can’t tell which comes closer to making a perfect, shocked ‘O’ shape, reminiscent of the fantasy image he’s just shaken off, James’s mouth or his bluegreen eyes.
Robbie shrugs. “Nope. I’d never.” He gives a little half-smile. His face feels hot. He wants to ask how he did. Whether it was good. But that’s just daft vanity, isn’t it, considering the evidence of James’s orgasm. The way James had sounded. “Never done anything with a bloke, have I?”
Robbie flushes as he thinks of James’s husky voice, the pressure of James’s hands on his head, the way his body had arched. The heat of him. Robbie touches his tongue to the corner of his mouth before he can stop himself. Remembering the feel of James, coming under his hands, spurting in his mouth. The taste of him.
James stares at him, eyes still wide and round, mouth gaped. But his gaze follows the flick of Robbie’s tongue. And his own tongue mirrors it.
And Robbie realizes if he wants this to be light and easy, laughable, he needs to take the lead. He needs to set the tone. He bumps James with his knee and gives him a lopsided grin. “But I’m a fast learner, yeah?”
He watches the succession of expressions flit across James’s face. He knows James is running through the options...shock, acceptance, laughter, heat...just like he did, deciding whether to make a big thing of it. Or let it go. And maybe James is remembering how Robbie felt and tasted, too.
James gives a little shudder. Then peers at him. Reads him. Like he always does. He flops back down on the couch. “Damn, Robbie. You could’ve just said.” He stares at the ceiling again. “You didn’t have to.”
“Wanted to,” Robbie admits, some of the heat in his face creeping downward. Curving down his jaw onto his throat. Slipping down until the back of his neck feels flushed.
James’s hand slides over. Rests gently on his thigh. His palm is warm. After a minute or so, he clears his throat. “So...how was it?”
Since truth worked so well before, Robbie says, “Salty. Messy. Kind of slick and disgusting, really. But...exciting.”
James gives a quirky little smile and nods without lifting his head. “Yeah, I remember that reaction.”
“I could get used to it, me,” Robbie admits shyly.
James’s fingers tighten on his leg. Squeeze. His palm slides up and down a little. Almost a caress. “I’d have never guessed you hadn’t done anything before. You seemed so...into it,” he says, teasing and a bit flirtatious.
Robbie flushes even hotter, but he can’t deny it. He grins. “You’re a fine lad to be throwing stones.”
And James laughs. Low and throaty.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Robbie covers James’s hand with his. James’s hand is cool on top, and his knuckles slowly warm against Robbie’s palm.
“So...” James says thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on Robbie’s thigh, “...maybe there are other things you’d like to learn?”
A shivery thrill of sensation tugs at Robbie’s bellybutton. Quivers its way down into his groin. It’s been a long time, years, since he was quick off the block for a second go-round, but that sensation hints that he might respond faster than he usually does. The idea sends a silvery tingle over his skin.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Be a shame to waste all that higher education you’ve accumulated...”
James shivers, the sensation passing to Robbie via their hands. James shifts a bit so his shoulder is against Robbie’s.
Robbie smiles. Sighs at the warmth flowing off James. At how comforting and familiar it is.
James shifts a bit closer. Rests his head on the couch so that his temple is almost touching Robbie’s.
They’re silent again for a long while.
Robbie thinks back to what started all this, watching the film and their questions afterward, and he chuckles.
James turns his face towards him, not lifting his head from the back of the couch. “What?”
James is so close Robbie can feel warm breath across his cheek.
“Friends with benefits,” Robbie says. Laughter threatens to bubble up into his voice.
James’s smile is something to behold. A thing of beauty. It crinkles the corners of his eyes and lifts the corners of his normally straight mouth. It lights up his face.
It lights up Robbie’s heart.
James closes the slight distance between them and touches his mouth to Robbie’s.
After what they’ve both just done with their lips, the kiss is surprisingly innocent. Gentle and tender.
James shifts, tucking the beer bottle into the cushions of the couch so that it will stay upright, so that his hand is free to cup Robbie’s cheek. To slide up into his hair. James’s hand and the tips of his fingers are cold and damp from the bottle.
Robbie mimics him, cupping James’s skull in his palm. Pulling James closer as he kisses him. And kisses him. Lost in the touch and the feel of James’s soft lips moving on his. Roughness of evening beard rasping against his chin. Silky stubble whispering across his palm. The contrasting scent of him, sweet and clean as the air after rain, but with a hint of beer and cigarettes, smoky and dangerous, underneath.
Kissing James tenderly is every bit as exciting as taking James’s cock in his mouth and making him moan. It’s different...warm and golden...but just as good. And so sweet.
And then James’s tongue swipes across his mouth, teasing him into parting his lips, and the sweetness burns away. Flares up like paper touched by a flame. Ashes whisked away by a swift gust of arousal.
Robbie gasps and James’s tongue slips between his lips, touches his tongue. He tastes beer and salt. The musky, salty scent of himself on James’s breath. The sensation is gold shot through with silver.
James groans. “God, Robbie, I can taste myself on your tongue.”
They shudder in unison, fingers clenching on each other’s heads.
Robbie feels like he’s drowning. Swirling and toppling, end over end. Swept away and struggling with what he feels. Because this isn’t just sex, is it? It’s sex. Oh, it’s definitely sex, but it’s more, too, this whirring and throbbing in his heart.
James draws back. Breathing hard. His eyes narrowed and flashing with heat. And something else Robbie can’t read. “Want to take this somewhere more comfortable?” His voice is low and husky, smouldering.
Robbie hesitates. Because he wants James, naked and moaning, in his bed. He wants James to teach him all the things he learned at Cambridge. He wants them to learn new things together.
But he wants more, and he’s only just realizing it. And this is all moving so fast, there’s no time to adjust. No time to settle the fluttering in his gut.
James strokes his neck, fingers lingering over the artery below his ear. “It’s okay,” he says hesitantly, “if you don’t want to.”
Robbie catches his hand. Kisses the calloused tips of James’s fingers. Is rewarded with a flush of satisfaction when James sighs.
“No... I mean, yes. I do want to, me. But...not just that.”
James misunderstands. He tilts his head, nips at Robbie’s jaw. At his lower lip. “What then? We can do whatever you want.”
And the husky dark promise in his voice takes Robbie’s breath away. The promise of those sharp teeth take his mind away.
James plunders his mouth, kissing him and pressing him back into the cushions. Hands roaming down his chest. Back up across his nipples. Teeth worrying at his throat, fingers following behind, soothing the nips and sucking bites, pushing his collar open to expose fresh skin to the edges of teeth.
And Robbie groans and tips his head further back. He may have only fooled himself into thinking he was drunk before, but he’s drunk now. Drunk and dizzy with James’s touches and caresses and how thoroughly he seems to know what Robbie wants.
He has to shove himself up through the fog of growing arousal. Because this is important. This is more than friends with benefits, and he needs to make sure James understands. That James agrees.
He pushes on James shoulders to move him back a bit. To get away from his intoxicating kisses. His dangerous teeth. “Maybe—” His voice comes out a rasp, and he has to clear his throat. Focus. “Maybe you could spend the night?”
James nods. Traces his fingers tracing over Robbie’s lips. Watches his face carefully.
“And maybe...we could spend the day together? Tomorrow, I mean.” Robbie holds his breath, not sure James will get the reference. It was, after all, just dialogue in a silly film, though it was the part that rang the most true for him. But he doesn’t even know how much attention James was paying.
“Saturday?”
Robbie nods.
“You’re saying you want to spend Saturday with me?”
Robbie nods again, breath still caught in a hard knot in his chest.
After a moment, James smiles. It’s like a bright light just came on in the room. Like the sun just crested the horizon. “I’d like to spend Saturday with you, too. All day.”
Robbie’s breath releases, and he waits for the cymbal crash of heartbeat, the thundering of pulse that should answer James’s declaration.
But what settles over him, through him, is a profound sense of peace. A smooth, warm sense of comfort and quiet. And bubbling underneath, the slow burn of arousal, simmering anticipation for the Friday nights and the Saturdays to come.
He smiles and leans towards James for another kiss.
###