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It had been a usual day, a day in which followed his routine nicely. He had the morning to himself, giving him time to finish off some previous work which was supposed to be completed some time ago - even earlier if he hadn't grown too used to having Gallagher by his side all the time, basking in the attention of the other man.
Which he had finished off, thank you very much. His day followed in a similar pattern, as he was now walking himself to some fancy café his mother had requested him to join her to. It had been the first time in a while since he had actually found the time to join her company, especially knowing that he and Gallagher were to spend the coming evening together before Sunday's schedule became uncomfortably busy again.
So when he’s met face to face with his mother and Gallagher, Sunday can’t help the strangled noise that leaves his throat upon seeing the man’s appearance - the slight confusion as to why his boyfriend was also sat with his mother quickly following.
“Aeons, Gallagher. I thought you threw away that shirt? It barely fits you.” Is the first sentence to leave his mouth.
The man raises an eyebrow at him, obviously not expecting the random outburst about his attire. “I'm sorry?”
He stood awkwardly between the main line of the queue and their table - his mother taking quick action to offer Sunday one of the empty seats by her side. They share a quick greeting between them both, though his attention is quickly averted back to his boyfriend when he then notices the mismatch of his gloves. “Gods, did you even take the time to dress yourself this morning?”
His words are quickly met with the sharp clearing of his mothers throat, cutting him short from aggravating the man further. She glares at him, a silent telling of upset for his rather unwarranted attitude - though, could you blame him? Gallagher had not worn clothes this rough since the first time they met.
It’s quite the sight before him, his mother and boyfriend sat as if they’re sharing a cup of coffee together. It makes his eye twitch slightly.
Robin makes herself known with the scraping of her chair against the tile, seating herself by Gallagher's side, altering him from the daze of Sunday's nit-picking. The older man is quick to swat her hands away, an eyebrow raised as she signals her head in Sunday's general direction. “Did my brother already have a go at you?”
It causes Sunday to choke on his tongue slightly, turning to glare at his younger sister for the sudden accusation. She’s not wrong, though he hadn’t assumed for her to guess he would do so. She hasn't even said ‘hello’ to him. “Don’t give me that look, I heard you chide him earlier.”
He flushes. “I did not chide him. I just simply brought attention to the state of his outfit.”
“And you regarded it well I'm assuming? Aeons, Sunday. When will you learn to actually keep your mouth shut?” Her words say more than none - if anything also brings attention to the state of Gallagher's outfit. It doesn’t look bad, just… worn.
He’s speaking of it with more worth than he naturally would. “Of course not. Did those clothes at least fit?” He then asks, directing his words back to the older man who sits across from them.
Honestly, Gallagher just looks entertained by their sudden back and forth. He raises an eyebrow at Sunday, his previous comments from before now thick in the air. “About ten or so years ago they did.”
“And it hasn’t even crossed your mind to perhaps throw them away?” The matter sounds more incredulous than it already is. “The buttons don’t even align anymore, the skin of your stomach is more prominent than it needs to be.”
And Gallagher just.. smirks at him. “Is it distracting you?”
Is it? The question then rattled within his head, the tips of his ears burning at the sudden accusation. Had the hair of Gallagher's stomach really nerved him this much?
Robin laughs besides him, the faint smirk of his mothers lips evident too, even if she tried to hide it. He’s blushing now. “Of course not. It’s just—“
Gallagher then leans back, the fabric across his abdomen stretching, revealing more for the watchful eye to see, watching as Sunday becomes easily distracted by the sudden display. Sunday coughs then, regaining an amount of composure. His eyes now focused on the cold tea in front of him.
His words cause Robin to quirk up again. “I’m sure my brother would be more than willing to give you some advice on how to appeal your appearance to him more.”
Gallagher seems to consider it for a moment - they both know Sunday has already gushed more than enough about Gallagher's appearance to contradict her sentence. “Is that so?”
Sunday shakes his head. Robin nods her own.
The action causes Gallagher to laugh. Sunday shoots a glare at Robin while she simply sticks her tongue out in return.
“If anything I'd be more than happy to oblige to whatever uniform you need me to appease. My closets quite dry.” Which is a lie. Sunday knows what Gallagher's closet looks like - the majority of it resides within Sunday's own.
He internally curses. There’s no way of getting out of this now. “I’ve noticed.”
Their mother laughs besides them, a reminder of her presence, obviously in reaction to Sunday's lack of composure. “I myself tailor a lot of their clothes, I wouldn’t mind helping you find something which fits you better.”
If Sunday could leap with joy right now he’s sure he would. He almost hugs his mother out of pure love for dragging him out of such a hellish conversation.
Gallagher looks slightly disappointed at her words, though it’s hardly noticeable. He just sweetly smiles and accepts her offer, watching as she makes a note of reminder for the fitting of his outfits. There's a shared look between the three of them, a glare from Robin as she lies in the loss of teasing her older brother, an obvious look of confusion from Sunday at Gallagher's rather bizarre presence, and a smirk which paints Gallagher's lips.
Sunday feels the warmth against his back before he even sees the man, the scent of Gallagher quickly greeting him as he derives his attention from the warmth of the shower in front of him. “My mother should know better than to tailor your clothes.”
His words are a reminder of the sudden introduction of his boyfriend to his mother. Gallagher just laughs against his shoulder. “Mh, maybe. Though who’s to say? Robin also said you’d help my closet too.”
Sunday hums, a faint quirk of his lips following, interlocking their hands which laid against his stomach. “Robin says a lot of things. I hadn’t expected you would wear that upon meeting my mother.”
“Was it that bad?”
Was it? He fakes contemplation for a moment, far too knowing of Gallagher's antics. “I think you just wanted to aggravate me.”
Which he does. Sunday doesn’t think there’s been a day freely passed where his Gallagher hasn’t bothered him one way or another. “Maybe, maybe. Though Robin did nerve you too. You both bicker more than I thought you would.”
His words make Sunday laugh. “Be prepared, she will start annoying you soon too. Maybe I should join her.”
Gallagher just hums, expecting the unexpected. And Sunday uses this moment to turn in the older man’s hold, their bodies now chest to chest with one another. “Any particular reason why you’re in the bathroom with me while I'm supposed to be showering?” He asks, eyeing the bare expanse of his boyfriend's stomach as he rids himself off his shirt. Sunday's hands now caressing over the hair of his stomach, muscle evident against his hands through the slight chub of Gallagher's torso.
“The same reason you’re giving me attention right now.” Gallagher retorts, leaning forwards to press a kiss against Sunday's lips.
Sunday simply melts into it, the warmth of his boyfriend being far too welcoming. A free hand comes to caress his wings, soothing along the feathers he recently preened - the action causing Sunday to moan into Gallagher's mouth, the sensation far too overwhelming.
It’s something Gallagher is too aware of. The sensitivity of his wings became increased after a recent grooming; something the older man uses to his advantage in moments like these. His hand tracing along the spine of his wing, welcoming the quiet whimper Sunday leaks against his lips.
He’s far from the right mind to push Gallagher away, his senses overloading with each touch against his body. A mere cry when the older man slotted his thigh in-between Sundays own, a pressure against the cotton of his pants, chafing his swelling length.
It’s far too much, and he faults himself for the slight grind of his hips against said muscle - chasing the friction his clit so desperately wanted. He pulls back from the kiss, his eyes entirely too unfocused and breathing far too deeply.
Gallagher gives him a moment, moving his hands to softly caress the skin of Sunday's cheek. It soothes him, though the dilation of the other man’s eyes is telling, a deep flush painted across the expanse of his cheeks. The mess of his hair too appealing, and Sunday can’t hold himself back from pressing his lips to Gallagher's own once again.
Sunday urges the kiss on, his free hands continuing their feel of the skin of Gallagher's body, cupping the mass of muscle at his chest before ghosting a nipple with his thumb. The action causes Gallagher's breath to hitch, their kiss stuttering for a second as Sunday repeats the movement, gasping against Sunday's mouth as he twists the nub.
His touch then suddenly falters with the press of Gallagher's length against his own, their cocks now fully strained against the cotton of their briefs. He breaks the kiss with a glance down, the tip of Gallagher's cock showing against the waistband of his briefs. It’s certainly a sight, something Sunday quickly etched into his mind - his hands now pulling at the pants, letting Gallagher's length spring free.
“Doll, look at me. Fuck—“ Gallagher gets out, a groan falling from his lips as Sunday lathers the pre-cum over Gallagher's tip. Sunday's movement stuttered in response, his eyes diverting upon the older man’s words. “Here?”
His words make Sunday far too aware of the running shower besides them - the shower Sunday was supposed to have before Gallagher barged his way in. “After. We can shower after.” He says, giving one final tug to Gallagher's length before awkwardly tucking him back into the confines of his briefs.
Gallagher simply gives him a dopey smile. “We?”
Sunday ignores him, watching as Gallagher busies himself with turning off the shower. Interlocking their hands once the older man is done, dragging them both out of the stuffy confines of his bathroom and towards his bed. Gallagher is quick to take the initiative, his hands placing either side of Sunday's hips as he dives forwards with a shared kiss. He then pushes Sunday against the cover of his bed, a hand pressing against his chest, his back now flush against the duvet. There’s a moment of silence shared between them both, a moment of pure appreciation.
Sunday sprawled before him, his hair entirely too messy and undershirt much too ruffled for his own good - it’s a look you wouldn’t even assume for him to have. A faint mark paints the underside of his jaw from a night spent together previously, something Sunday had forgone covering. Followed by the sheen of sweat which layers his skin, a strand of hair curling inwards from the sudden dampness.
Aeons, Sunday looks—
“You look absolutely breath-taking.”
His words are met with a hitch of breath, the younger man’s spine arching as Gallagher runs a hand up the exposed expanse of his stomach. Fingers soothing over the trimmed hair of his lower abdomen.
Enraptured by the legs which now circle his hips, the muscle of Sunday's thighs squeezing him closer towards his laid body. It hadn’t even been a full week since they saw each other — Yet, Sunday seems entirely desperate.
His attention is diverted with the pull of Sunday's hands on his jaw, dragging him forwards in another kiss. The chub of his cock flushing rough against Sunday's waist, the stutter of his hips far too knowing with the grind of his hips. It causes Gallagher to moan into the kiss, reeling in the touch of Sunday's hands as he grips at muscle of his backside, slotting their hips flush against one another.
They both then moan into the kiss, a faint wetness seeping through the cotton of Gallagher's briefs. He moves his hips again, his cock dragging across the length of Sunday's clit before repeating the motion once more - Sunday's hips following in a similar pattern as he rubs himself against the length of Gallagher's cock.
“Aeons— Gallagher, please,” Sunday whines, breaking away from the kiss, his words more babble than coherent.
They’re both close. Close enough that Gallagher is sure Sunday might come any second now. He steadies himself, hips pulling away from the relentless throb of Sunday's cunt.
Though the feeling is quickly depleted, his hips now grinding against air, cock throbbing against the cotton of his pants. Another whine falls from his mouth. “You— Ah, why on earth did you stop?!”
He feels entirely too harsh, and Gallagher finds it extremely difficult to hold himself back as he watches Sunday try and pull him closer with a stray hand. Though, it’s a plea Gallagher knows no reason behind, his hand trailing the growing dampness of Sunday's boxer shorts. “Please what?”
Sunday whimpers, arching his hips closer to the warmth of Gallagher's body, blood pulsating thickly to his clit. Its friction greatly desired, and Sunday can’t help but grind his dick against the pressure of the older man.
Gallagher smirks at this, his quirk being met with a glare. And Gallagher takes this moment to crowd himself against Sunday's smaller body, his arms slotting either side of the younger man’s head. It’s a movement which aligns the evident bulge of Gallagher's pants against the warmth of Sunday's cunt, though only slightly.
He watches as Sunday's mouth widens wantonly, his eyes now squeezing shut as he pulls Gallagher's hips closer towards his own once again. The throb of Sunday's cock far too distracting, a groan easing its way out of Gallagher's mouth.
It’s a battle Gallagher knows he’s lost, though he can’t help but still try. “Please what? You keep saying, ah— please.”
A sentence which sounds more like Gallagher's beg than Sunday's own, yet the flush which paints Sunday's face is far too knowing than not. He tries again. “What do you want, angel? I’ll give it to you.”
Sunday's arms now loop round the expanse of Gallagher's neck, fingers clutching the ruffled locks of his hair. There’s a hopeless look in his eye, and Gallagher can’t help the overwhelming feeling of pride which fills him.
Though, he lies determined. He tugs faintly on the brown of his hair. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question, hound?”
His words are breathless and entirely too uneven, said in a tone Gallagher hopes has only been left for him to reveal. He grins, leaning forwards to press a wet kiss to the expanse of Sunday's neck before nibbling the skin slightly. Leaving a trail of kisses on his way, softly biting the jut of his adams apple. It’s a sequence which leaves Sunday tightening his grip around Gallagher's neck, fingernails leaving crevices down the muscle of his back. The wetness which seeps itself through Gallagher's becoming pants far too knowing, and he can’t help but station himself away from the grind of Sunday's hips.
Another whine greets him, the muscle of his back seizing as Sunday digs his nails into his skin with a gripping vice. “Whatever are you doing?!”
It’s a cruel way of teasing, though Sunday still hadn’t answered his question. He hums. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Sunday looks at him in a daze, his cheeks entirely flushed and eyes blown wide. A line of dribble meandering down to the angle of his jaw. It takes all of Gallagher's might to cut his response short with a kiss to his lips.
“You mutt.” Is all Sunday says, his hands now grasping at his biceps, pulling him flushed against Sunday's front.
And then Gallagher's lost. A war fought graciously as he loses to the warmth of Sunday's mouth. His tongue now crowding the confines of Gallagher's mouth, dominating the kiss entirely. It’s a kiss which fills the room, the sloppy sound of their mouths slotting together bouncing against the wall as they share their desire.
It’s a kiss lead by Sunday, and Gallagher can’t fault himself from trailing a hand down the expanse of Sunday's stomach, hands teetering across the faint show of muscle there before resting his hand against the cotton of Sunday's boxer shorts.
Sunday is quick to moan into the kiss, his back arching as Gallagher works his fingers against the jut of his clit - his dick hard and throbbing with each press of Gallagher's hand. A soaking feeling engulfs him, Sunday's response of their kiss soon slowing as he whines into Gallagher's mouth, an overwhelming sensation as Gallagher teases the tip of his clit through the cotton.
It’s a sensation that doesn’t stop, not even as Gallagher slowly pulls away from the kiss to nip at his jawline before descending further. A stray kiss pressed against the pink scar which teases itself past the expanse of Sunday's dress shirt. It’s a kiss which has Sunday reeling, the grip within his hair tightening as Gallagher looks up at the younger man - already looking at him as he moans through gritted teeth.
A place entirely intimate to Sunday, though he urges Gallagher on, urging him towards the faint pink of his nipple, a stray hand pushing away the material which barricades his chest. Breaching the moment in waiting as he kisses along the wing of his scar, sucking faintly against the bridge which has Sunday urging him on further. A dark purple which now presents alongside the light pink of his scar.
Sunday arches into his mouth as soon as he reaches his nipple, his tongue lapping over the bud, biting the nub before pulling it with his teeth. The hand in his hair clutches tightly, another now placed against his cheekbone, thumb caressing the area as another groan eases its way around the room.
His fingers continue against the warmth of Sunday's cunt, dragging his hand under the waistband of his briefs before sliding further. It’s entirely sloppy, and he can’t fault the moan which escapes Sunday as he finally starts to stroke his length. Gallagher knows how sensitive the other man gets, especially as he teases the head of his cock with his pointer finger - dragging an amount of wetness down the length, repeating the stroke of his hand.
“I’m- Im close. I’m close. Fuck. Gallagher—“ Sunday babbles, reaching a hand to Gallagher's own which resided by his hip and interlocking their fingers.
Gallagher doesn’t stop the attention to his nipples, continuously sucking on the sensitive nub as Sunday's wails fill his ears. Nor does the hand submerged in Sundays cunt either. Rather, he quickens the pace of his fingers, a harsh tempo which seizes Sunday's body entirely - his voice cracking with one final curse as he reaches his orgasm.
He pulls away from the chest in front of him, glancing up at Sunday as he feels the slight grind of the other man’s hips continue against his fingers. It’s a sight before him; Sunday's eyes squeezed shut, a wing resting awkwardly over the expanse of his mouth as he breathes deep, the deep sea of bruising which now batters his chest.
It’s a sight which urges Gallagher to ease his fingers deeper into Sunday's cunt, spreading his folds as the warmth of the other man’s release swarms his fingers. The action caused Sunday to whimper, a bead of sweat falling from his exposed forehead and down to his neck.
“Sensitive. I’m sensitive.” He whines, his body arching away from Gallagher's touch as the man basks in overstimulating his lover.
Gallagher hums, giving one last tug to Sunday's softening length before removing his hand from the confinement of Sunday's briefs, sucking the release which then stains his fingers. It’s an action easily unnoticed, though Sunday simply gapes at him, his pupils dilating as he watches.
“Fuck, Gallagher. You are,” he huffs, body still reeling from his high. “Going to be the death of me.”
Gallagher gives one last lick to his finger, smirking at the other man as he does. “Yeah?”
Sunday frantically nods, the hand in his hair pulling his head closer towards Sunday's own. A deep blush paints his cheeks and Gallagher is sure the same could be said about him. Sunday leads them once again, interlocking their lips, tasting himself on Gallagher's tongue. It’s a moment quickly cut short by the stutter of his own bulge against Sunday's briefs, friction which overwhelms the state of his neglected cock.
An arm which now loops around Gallagher's neck pushing him closer, legs tangled around the bone of his hip as Sunday urges the grind of their hips - urges Gallagher to chase his release. Even with the knowing state of overstimulation does a look of determination plague Sunday's eyes, a shared groan in response as the tip of Gallagher's cock presses against the growing hardness of Sunday's length. He quickly falls into Sunday's neck, his breath hot and stuffy against skin as he nears his climax. A hand coils within the hair at the base of his head, holding him in place as his hips continue with a stutter.
“Cum for me.” Sunday whispers, mouth biting along the lobe of his ear. A tone more commanding than none, a tone that Gallagher had become entirely too used to from the other man. A tone which leads him closer. “Hound. Now.”
It’s an order, an order which Gallagher would never deny in following. And with one final grind of their hips, Gallagher comes, mind blanking as he finally reaches his high. The hand within his hair soothes him, along with the press of soft kisses across the scruff of his jawline.
One final kiss presses to the scruff of his jaw before his gaze is tilted upwards, eyes interlocking with Sunday's own - breath warm on one another’s lips. Gallagher's sure he looks fucked out, Sunday does too. Though he smiles at him, petting the skin behind his earlobe. “Good boy.”
Sunday's words hit him like a truck, rattling within his brain over such praise. A term which guides the press of his mouth against Sunday's own: kiss entirely hungry and full of need. Tongue dominating within Sunday's mouth, a string of saliva connecting them once he pulls away - the wetness within his pants slowly becoming uncomfortable as he regains his senses. It doesn’t bother him.
He descends once again, his tongue raking over the ridges of Sunday's ribs before nosing at the hair around his belly button - inhaling the younger man’s scent, kissing the area as he does. It’s an action which causes Sunday to giggle faintly, and it urges Gallagher to raise an eyebrow at him, his attention fully diverted on the other man as he smiles fondly at Gallagher.
Gallagher can already feel the flush of his face, his lips quirking into a grin, sharing the sentimental moment before speaking. “What is it sweetheart?”
Both of Sunday's hands now hold his jaw, Gallagher's chin resting against the waistband of his pants as he allows the younger man to caress his skin. It’s an action far too sweet for their current predicament, though Gallagher leans into the touch, a forefinger soothing over the hair of his moustache.
“You always smell me, you were right. I just never noticed.” Sunday then says, referring back to when Gallagher has noticeably inhaled his scent before.
He nods, grinning as he does. “Even covered in sweat do I want to ravish you.”
Sunday laughs at his words, pinching the skin of Gallagher's cheek. “Don’t be crass. I couldn’t possibly smell nice right now.”
It’s a challenge of words, and they’re both more than aware of it. And all it takes is for Gallagher to smirk up at the younger man before gripping at the waist band of Sunday's pants before pulling them down. He takes his time with it, sitting himself back with a squat as he gives room to comfortably pull off the other man’s pants, folding them at his side before sitting himself between Sunday's legs once again.
He takes his time then, slotting Sunday's legs over his shoulders before trailing kisses along the skin of his thighs, biting the area as he does. A muffled groan falls from Sunday's mouth as he urges Gallagher's head closer towards his crotch, cursing as the older man continues the transaction of marking his skin.
It’s a plea without words, and Gallagher can’t help but smirk against his thigh as he glances up at Sunday: a free arm strewn across his mouth to evidently try and muffle his moans. Gallagher would usually fight against it, though the hand gripping his hair guides him more than none.
A broken moan fails to muffle against Sunday's palm as Gallagher places himself flush against the other man’s crotch, his breath hot against the hardened length of Sunday's clit. He emphasises the moment by breathing in the trimmed hair of his crotch, the deep smell of Sunday's sweat being something Gallagher could consider himself drowning in.
“Please, darling.” Is all Sunday reacts with, a hitch in his words being far too telling as Gallagher watches the throb of his cock.
It’s an easy process, one they’re both extremely acquainted with - Gallagher has to stop Sunday from grinding his clit against his nose before speaking. “Hey, wait. You sure?”
“Oh for—Gallagher. If you don’t fuck me soon I’m kicking you out and jerking myself off.” Sunday bellows, his glare fierce as his incredibly crass words tumble from his mouth.
It’s a plea of desperation, and Gallagher cannot fault him for it - though the idea of Sunday urging himself to release from Gallagher's own fault renders him silent for a moment. However, the thought cuts short as he finally relishes in the cunt before him; his tongue lapping over the length of Sunday's clit as his mouth quickly fills with the other man’s cock. And Sunday preens, a whine following.
“Gods, finally.” He whimpers, legs properly wrapping around the expanse of Gallagher's shoulders, caging him in.
He works his tongue down the underside of Sunday's clit, giving a faint lick to the base before sucking on the tip - an area Gallagher knows Sundays most sensitive. The buckle of hips soon greets him, as well as the slight shake of Sunday's legs as Gallagher hollows his mouth, bobbing his head while Sunday's cock fills his mouth.
Glancing up at the younger male as he does, reeling in the gaze which quickly catches his own. Sunday's gaze which keenly watches each press of his tongue, lips held together by the bite of teeth. He looks in a daze, completely immersed by the sight before him.
He uses a free hand to run up the expanse of Sunday's leg, feeling the muscle of his thigh before reaching the underside of his own jaw. He takes no time then, fingers spreading the folds of Sunday's cunt, slicking his fingers before teasing the hole which easily welcomes him. He eases the pace of his fingering to the press of his mouth, suckling with each scissor of his hand.
The sound of wetness sits alongside the mess of Sunday's moans, breaking with each curse which he directs aimlessly. He knows Sunday is close - his mouth agape, breath coming out in hot flushes. He feels it in the stutter of his arch, flushing himself closer and closer to Gallagher's mouth. His legs now wrapped tightly around Gallagher's head, caging him in. He then hums against Sunday's clit, the vibrations causing his hips to jump slightly.
It’s a sight in which Gallagher wishes he could see from an outsider's perspective: Sundays thighs convulsing with every press of Gallagher's mouth, two fingers opening him with each bob of his head. He feels himself throb in his pants at the thought, a free hand coming to finally free himself from the uncomfortable confines of his cum-stained pants.
He grunts into Sundays cunt as soon as he holds a fistful of himself, smearing an amount of pre-cum down his tip and past his foreskin - the thrust of his hand following in similar pattern to the scissoring of his fingers.
Sunday realises his movement far too well, the hand within his hair pulling Gallagher away from the length of his cock. He feels slightly dazed, hips stuttering once Sundays knowing glare interlocks with Gallagher's own eyes. He simply raises an eyebrow.
“Inside,” Sunday begins, his voice airy yet demanding. “I want you to come inside.”
“Fuck— Yeah, alright doll.” Gallagher manages to get out, the legs around his neck dismantling their grip. He looks at the sight before him, two fingers still stuffed inside Sunday's hole, soaking as Gallagher slowly retracts them. A whine greets him at the sudden loss, the throb of Sunday's cock far more telling than not.
He then stands on shaky legs as Sunday reaches for the lube at his bedside table, watching Gallagher with dopey eyes, a look too innocent. A look which Gallagher falls for time and time again. A distraction from the hand which now engulfs his cock, stroking his girth with the disposal of lube.
Sunday's hand which contradicts greatly with the width of Gallagher's cock, two hands stroking along his length, pulling at the foreskin to tease at the tip - another spurt of pre-cum dribbling freely as he does.
“Angel, I might come too soon if you continue that.” He gets out through gritted teeth, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind Sunday's ear as he does so. The other man just simply smiles at him - again, far too innocent.
Gallagher grips the base of his cock and squeezes, postponing the orgasm which Sunday too easily offers him. Something that Sunday watches with keen eyes, his hands following the action and resting above Gallagher's own.
They both easily melt into the touch, easing Sunday onto his back as Gallagher pulls at his legs and loops them over his shoulders before kissing the skin of the other man’s ankle, biting the area as he does.
Though the moment is quickly cut short by the hand which still rests along his cock, pulling him forward with a careful grip and towards the warmth of Sunday's cunt. An alignment which Sunday reels in, the tip of Gallagher's girth nudging against the hole of his cunt. He grinds slightly, rubbing the head against his folds before reaching his clit - the press of each other's cocks causing them both to moan in unison, the shake of Sunday's legs welcomed by the slight thrust of Gallagher's own hips.
It’s something he finds hard to tear his eyes away from, the guiding hand of Sunday's own as he uses Gallagher's length as if he were some toy. Teasing the tip of his rim before aligning Gallagher's cock with his hole, welcoming the breaching of his size. Movement faltering as his cunt finally swallows the head, clamping down tightly around the older man’s cock.
He moans, pressing his face into the muscle of Sunday's thigh to muffle the whine which escapes him, warmth enrapturing his length as he slowly pushes forward with the grind of Sunday's hips. He thrusts then, his cock bottoming out as Sunday's cunt swallows his length. He feels the throb of Sunday's cock against his own, pulsating around the base of his length.
“Move,” Sunday groans, his tone demanding - hips swivelling in a circular movement to adjust to Gallagher's cock. He places a hand atop his lower abdomen, pushing down slightly, a moan tumbling from either of their lips as the pressure of Sunday's hand teases them both. “Please, Gallagher.”
And where is Gallagher to deny such a sweet request? The sound of skin slapping against skin soon fills the room, followed by the whimper Sunday lets out upon the sudden stroke to his length. Head thrown backwards as Gallagher teases the head of his clit, mismatching the stroke of his hand with his thrusts to just slightly overwhelm the man.
Which he does, and the grab of Sunday's hands against his bicep is expected, dragging the hand away from his cunt with a shaky grip, interlocking their fingers as he does so. The mere display of overstimulation overwhelmed Sunday completely, his cunt clenching down on Gallagher with each thrust to his cunt - the base of his cock dragging slightly over the head of Sunday's own length.
Gallagher leans down then, halting his movements slightly as he does so, crowding Sunday's vision. Pressing a faint kiss to the dampness which covers his jaw, nibbling the area with his teeth before reaching the younger man’s lips with a kiss. Sunday whines against his mouth, hands gripping tightly around Gallagher's biceps as he continues the grind of hips against his own, thrusting himself on Gallagher's cock.
It’s an evident display of desperation as Sunday fucks himself on Gallagher's cock, his hips stuttering with every thrust on the length. Holding Gallagher down each time he bottoms out, warming himself with the girth of Gallagher's length. Sunday preens, an amount of drool falling from his mouth as Gallagher pulls away from their kiss, basking in the fucked-out appearance of the other man.
Wings which lay still either side of his head, twitching with each thrust of Gallagher's cock - the sound of Sunday's cunt squelching as Gallagher quickens his pace, hands resting either side of Sunday's hips as he guides the thrust of his cock.
“Deep,” Sunday breathes. “Ah - You’re so deep.”
Gallagher grunts in response, his hand worming its way to Sunday's own which laid against his lower stomach - hand engulfing the smaller as he pushes, a pressure which connects with each thrust of Gallagher's cock. Sunday moans, tensing against him, legs shaking with every press of Gallagher's hand.
“Beautiful, you’re so,” Gallagher groans, voice verging on a whine, hips stuttering as Sunday's legs tighten around him. He presses a kiss to the side of his leg, eyes interlocking as he speaks. “Gods, Sunday. You’re so gorgeous.”
Sunday moans, back arching as he reaches up to Gallagher's face, pulling him forward with a kiss. It’s an angle which has Sunday folding in on himself, his legs flushing against his chest, giving more room for Gallagher to thrust deeper into him.
The hand in his hair falters, legs seizing against him. “Coming—“ Sunday grits out, chasing Gallagher's lips with his own. “Hah, Gallagher. I’m—“
Gallagher groans, urging him on with the force of his thrusts. A free hand coming to stroke the throb of Sunday's cock, teasing the tip before fisting it with his hand. Then, Sunday tightens around him, warmth engulfing his cock as he orgasms. Mirroring Gallagher's thrusts with the roll of his hips, basking in the stimulation of his release.
Sunday kisses him sweetly, softly, even through the waves of overstimulation as Gallagher continues the brute force of his thrusts. A whimper escapes him once Gallagher bites down on his lip, muffling a groan as Sunday continues to tense around him, and with it, Gallagher comes, spilling inside of Sunday's warmth.
The slow guide of their kiss finalised with the press of Sunday's hand against his abdomen, legs shaking with the warmth of Gallagher's cock. He whines, a silent plea in that it’s just too much. Gallagher is quick to follow, the cold air engulfing him as he pulls out, mesmerised by the release which soon drips from Sunday's hole.
It’s a sight before him, though Sunday pulls him closer, arms wrapping around his neck as he lays flushed against Sunday's chest. They bask in the warmth of one another, a hand soothing up the muscle of his back, a moment of steadying themselves.
“You alright, angel?” Gallagher then asks when Sundaes breathing evens out, voice entirely gruff. A free hand entwining with the strands of the other man’s hair, pushing away the locks which stick to his forehead.
Sunday makes no effort to move, though nods faintly against Gallagher's shoulder, basking in the touch of another. He simply lays within Gallagher's hold, recomposing himself after the daze of his orgasm.
“Please don’t make my mother tailor your clothes.” Sunday then says, his voice quiet against Gallagher's ears.
He sounds truthful, that’s for sure, and Gallagher can’t help but laugh fairly into Sunday's neck. “Might I ask why?”
The sudden movement of Sunday shocks him as he pushes him onto his back, repositioning himself on Gallagher's torso, legs bracketing either side of his stomach as he glares sleepily at the older man. He looks too cute for his own good. “She will dress you as if you are noble. I’m sure of it. Please don’t ever agree to that.”
His words are slightly frantic yet genuine. “You don’t want me to dress smart?”
Sunday nods his head, contradictory, a yawn following his movement. “I’d rather I tailor your outfits than her. I know what she’s like.”
Gallagher simply raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”
“Don’t give me that. You seriously think I would willingly let someone else dress you?”
He speaks as if Gallagher can’t dress himself - which he can. Though he knows Sunday would rather have him appeal to the general standards of outwear, even if his outfit distracts Sunday in more ways than none.
His words are merely a display of possessiveness. Gallagher can’t help but lean forwards with a kiss at Sunday's words, smirking against his lips as he does. “Doll, I'm only messing with you.”
Sunday hums, repositioning himself so Gallagher can align himself as the bigger spoon against his back, arms entwining around his middle. “Good,” he yawns, “please don’t ever agree to anything she says.”
It’s an assumption of words, though Gallagher laughs faintly, tightening his grip around Sunday, pressing a faint kiss to his shoulder while the other man yawns again. “I promise you. Now sleep.”
Sunday soon stills within his grip, breathing evening out as the time slowly ticks by. He just stares at the other man for a moment, basking in the warmth of his lover. A reminder that even if this man may not admit it - he’s undoubtedly obsessed with Gallagher.