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Jude is loud.
It’s why they only ever hook up in Erling’s house, where the walls are thick enough to swallow every sound Jude can't help but make. Erling used to like the thrill of secrecy, of storage rooms with dim lights, of locker rooms that smelled of deodorant and bleach. Half the fun of fooling around with teammates was the danger of getting caught.
Erling accepted long ago that likes this better—the privacy. He loves that they don’t have to make it to the secluded space of the bedroom before Jude’s jersey is discarded, before his pants follow, before he’s pulling Erling’s top off.
When Jude finally sinks into the black duvet—restless, waiting for something, and that something is always Erling, his man—the blond gets to watch to his utter fill. He likes the way Jude looks when he is desperate. He likes the way Jude’s eyes track every single move.
Erling doesn't rush. He knows the power of la pausa, of the silence before the action, of the stretch of time where the anticipation becomes a physical weight. He crawls over Jude. A predator. A storm moving in slow motion. He knows Jude wants to be touched. He knows Jude is begging without saying a word.
The taller man leans down, grazes Jude’s jaw, kisses the spot right below the ear, tastes salt, tastes skin. He lingers there. Jude moans—a broken sound. He arches his back. He wants more, everything. His bare thigh rubs against rough denim. Erling had kept his jeans on just to feel Jude squirm from friction—the reality is better than his imagination.
When Erling leans in, finally, the kiss is slow and lazy. Pink mouth slides flat and heavy against Jude’s. Dry lips turning wet as Erling sucks Jude’s bottom lip into his mouth, holding it hostage. Soft tongue slides deep, thick and demanding, filling Jude’s mouth until there is no room left to breathe, moves in heavy, blunt strokes, slick and wet, tasting like heat and desire.
Jude’s fist twists hard into golden strands of hair, knuckles digging into Erling's scalp. The pull is sudden, brutal. Erling lets out a low groan that vibrates deep from his pale throat, but the sound never escapes; it goes straight into Jude’s open mouth, swallowed whole by a desperate, wet kiss.
Then, another brown hand grips Erling’s wrist suddenly, dragging his heavy hand down Jude’s stomach and forcing it past the elastic band of his boxers. Erling lets his hand be guided, his mind hazy with the heat of the kiss as Jude arches his hips upward, guiding those pale fingers lower and lower against bare skin to show Erling exactly where he aches.
It takes a moment for Erling to realize his fingers slide too easily over the skin. Gliding in a single, uninterrupted motion until his fingertips unexpectedly slip on wetness right at the edge of a tight entrance. And only then, as his hand slides effortlessly into the heat, does he realize that Jude is already shaved smooth, already lubed, and has been ready for him.
Erling pulls his mouth back fast, breath catching in his throat, looks down, then looks back at Jude. They have done almost everything else. They have made out until their lips were bruised. They have given each other handjobs in half-empty bathrooms. They have sucked each other off until the world dissolved into white noise.
But there was a difference between looking at the edge of a cliff and tumbling headfirst over it.
“You’ve done it before?” Erling asks breathily. “With a man?” He tries to say it casually, but there is a cacophony of feelings in him as he waits for the answer.
There is the heavy weight of everything they leave unsaid. The unspoken rules of whatever this is between them. They have no labels, no titles, and no promises, but the mere thought of another man touching Jude makes Erling feel murderous.
Jude scrunches his eyebrows. “Obviously not.” Erling ignores the sharp tone, the tight knot of anxiety in his chest suddenly unraveling into pure relief. “But it’s not like it’s hard,” the younger boy reasons.
Erling rolls his eyes. “We have a match in two days, and if you get hurt, you will blame me.”
“I think,” Jude says, shifting his weight to press his pelvis firmly against Erling’s, feeling the hard, insistent length of him, “that you talk too much.”
Erling groans. The sound comes from his chest, low and torn. He drops his head, burying his face into the warm skin of Jude’s neck. One of these days, Jude is going to kill him, it is a fact, but for now, it’s easier to give in to Jude's whims, easier to sink into the tide than to fight the water.
They move together, a clumsy, urgent shuffle until Jude is down on his hands and knees. The blond grabs Jude’s hips. His fingers dig deep into the soft skin above the bone. He wants Jude to feel him with every step he takes on the pitch tomorrow. Let him think of me when he runs. Let him feel me in his bones. There is no room for lies now. The need to fuck Jude is a demanding pressure in his chest.
Erling kicks his jeans away. He does not care where they land. He steadies himself with one palm flat against Jude’s slender waist. With his other hand, Erling hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jude’s boxers, peeling the fabric down to his thighs.
The view hits him like a physical blow. Jude did not shave everything—a light dusting of hair covers his thighs, but around his hole, the skin is completely smooth and bare. He did this for me. He knew I would look. He knew I would want it. Erling trails a heavy thumb around the rim. The thin skin feels like silk, hot and trembling under his rough fingers.
Jude lets out a low, broken moan, his spine arching slightly under the touch. “It’s sensitive,” Jude mumbles, his voice thick and raspy, his fingers clawing at the sheets beneath him.
The younger boy is lean everywhere else, all sharp angles and tight muscle, but here he is supple. Soft and rounded. Skin like golden honey. Butterscotch. Erling wants to dig into him, wants to taste the sweetness until it turns saccharine. Then, Erling wants to leave himself all over him.
“Can I have taste?” Erling asks.
Jude doesn't answer with words. He just groans—a needy, desperate sound. Spreads his knees wider, offering himself up. Between his thighs, his half-hard length sways, slick and heavy, filling with blood. He needs this.
“Can I?” Erling repeats, loving it when Jude is too turned on to speak. He buries his face in the warm skin of Jude's spine, planting a hard kiss right between his shoulder blades.
Jude’s muscles shiver violently under the sudden heat of Erling’s mouth. He rolls his hips back against Erling’s, a demand for more. “Don’t be a tease,” he pants, waiting for the warmth of Erling's tongue.
Erling laughs, getting off the bed to grab lube and a condom from his bedside drawer. He didn’t need them yet but it was better to get them now, before it was impossible to get himself off Jude.
He presses Jude into the bed then rolls him onto his back. “This way is easier.” He says, which might be a lie.
In reality, he just wanted to watch Jude’s expressive face twisted in pleasure. He did that often. Used his superior experience to find convincing reasons for things that had much simple reasons. Like saying it was easier to deepthroat while kneeling but really he just wanted to see Jude on his knees.
Erling grabs the pillow that Jude isn’t resting his head on and tucks it under Jude’s hips. “Comfortable?” He asks while kneeling on the bed, his knees spreading Jude’s thighs.
Jude nods. He would never admit it, but he loved it when Erling took care of him. Thankfully, it was obvious—that raw, tender look in Jude’s eye every time Erling performed an act of service.
“Kiss me.” Jude demands, pulling Erling closer to him using a hand in the blond’s long strands. They kiss soft and slow when their lips meet.
The taller man kisses back for a few seconds to placate Jude and his larger-than-life love for kisses, before moving down to press his lips to Jude’s neck. Goes down further still to find Jude’s chest. Jude shivers when Erling’s hands find his sensitive nipples. Letting out a surprised sound when Erling gets close enough to suck on one. The other nub always got equal treatment, with Erling brushing over it with the gentle pressure of his thumb.
“You’re getting distracted.” Jude says breathily. His hands pull gently at Erling’s hair in an attempt to make him move. The only thing it does is send zings of pleasure through Erling’s spine.
The older man moves away from Jude’s chest after a beat. Jude was right, they had more important things to get to. He uses his strong hands to press Jude’s knees up to his chest.
“Hold them.” Erling instructs. “I’ll send you home if you drop them.” He jokes, to which Jude rolls his eyes.
Jude does as he’s told anyways. Spreading his knees as wide as they can comfortably go and holding them open with his hands gripping his thighs.
“I feel so exposed.” Jude mutters, a chill running through him as evidence to his statement.
“I'll make you glad of that in a second.” Erling replies. He rests his hands on Jude’s inner thighs. Shuffling back until he gets in position that won’t hurt when he leans down.
All Erling does is ghost his breath over Jude’s rim and the latter is already tensing. The first stripe he licks from the sensitive, taut skin of Jude’s perineum down to his hole is experimental. After that, they are all purposeful. There’s pressure and technique and intent when he flattens his tongue against Jude’s rim.
Erling’s never rimmed someone before—all he’s doing is simply what he does when he eats a girl out. Jude doesn’t seem to have any complaints though. Moaning every few seconds. Fingertips digging into the meat of his own thigh. Jude’s dick was fully hard now—twitching every time Erling moved his mouth.
“Why does it feel so good?” Jude pants, his half-lidded eyes finding Erling’s. He looked so turned on and it was making Erling fill up in his own boxers.
Erling leans back to stare at his handy work. Watching Jude’s rim tense up when he circled the wet skin with his thumb. Jude’s hole was slick in a way that made Erling’s fingers—and dick, really—itch to get in there.
The blond raised himself up to a kneeling position.“Want to feel even better?” He asks, leaning down to kiss Jude’s plush lips. Swallowing the moan he gets from the younger boy when his abdomen brushes against Jude’s hard length.
Jude drops his hands from around his thighs to wrap them around Erling’s shoulders. “Just fuck me already.” He says desperately. Too wound up to even consider that he needed to be properly stretched just to barely fit around Erling’s huge dick.
“If you want me to break you.” Erling says mildly, pouring cold lube into his right hand and spreading it around his fingers to warm it up. “You need to be prepped.”
Jude wraps one of his legs around Erling’s hips. “Don’t wanna.” He says petulantly. Bucks up to grind their erections together, making them both groan.
“Don’t be a brat.” Erling says breathily. Leaning down to kiss Jude long enough to distract him. He maneuvers Jude’s leg around Erling’s hips back to the younger man’s chest in the few seconds he gets. “You will take three of my fingers if you want me to fuck you.”
Jude scoffs. “Three is easy.” He says, spreading his thighs around Erling’s hips and planting his feet on the bed.
Jude had found a way to be competitive—fork found in kitchen. The younger boy was more sensitive and vocal than any other person Erling had fooled around with. Yet, he was always making up competitions for him and Erling in bed. Who lasts longer, who can make the other louder, which he always lost.
And Erling actually knew where a prostate was. Knew how easy it was for three of his longer-than-average fingers to find it. Which is to say, Jude stood little chance of not cumming before Erling’s dick actually got inside him. And even if he somehow didn’t cum, it was likely Jude might be too worn out from the prep to have enough stamina to fuck. The sex would turn into Erling doing all the hard work. After, Jude would get angry when Erling brought that up. How Jude’s first time bottoming would go was predictable—Erling could bet his house on it.
The blond huffs out a laugh. “Let’s find out if you can take it then.” He says, smiling fondly at Jude.
“Why are you laughing?” Jude bristles. “I’ve fingered myself before.”
“Really? How many?” Erling teases. “One?”
“Shut up.” Jude mutters, revealing the answer.
Erling laughs again and leans down to give him a placating kiss. “One is okay. Let's see how well you can take three.”
The lube is mostly warm when Erling circles Jude’s rim with his index finger. His other hand strokes Jude’s dick a few times so that when the finger finally enters, the intrusion isn’t so unwelcome. The sun was blazing on Erling, but Jude’s insides were still hotter. Erling opens up the younger man as best as he can with one finger. He purposely avoids Jude’s prostate—the starting strokes in fingering weren't meant to be exciting.
“How is it?” Erling asks. “Painful?”
“It feels weird having something in me.” Jude admits. “Though with how slow you’re going, I might have something in me till next week.”
Erling rolls his eyes. Strokes Jude’s length again before sliding the second finger—his middle—inside. It’s noticeably more tight. Even more so because Erling had long, thick fingers.
Jude lets out a quiet pained sound at the new intrusion. Tensing when Erling tries to move. The older man distracts him by rubbing the tip of Jude’s dick a handful of times. Jude moans from the pleasure. Loosens up from it as well. Erling just has to be slow and steady. Soon enough, the two fingers slide smoothly in and out of Jude. His lean hips twitch in pleasure every few moments. Erling could see he was starting to feel restless from the sensation.
“You’re doing good.” Erling praises, watching his fingers sink into Jude. “Three will hurt a little.”
Erling pours more lube over Jude’s hole. Sliding the third finger inside proves more difficult. It’s like there’s something blocking Jude’s entrance. Erling’s finger slides in jerky motions. Jude groans in pain even as Erling eases the last off it in. One of Jude’s hands rises, squeezing Erling’s bicep when the pain was a breath too much.
When all three fingers are down to the knuckle, Erling pauses for a moment. Letting Jude rest. Erling wasn’t always this patient—sometimes he reached three fingers quicker, sometimes he only used two, sometimes he expected them to come prepared already. But this was Jude. It was Jude’s first time bottoming, but even if it was his tenth Erling was always going to take his time with him.
“Fuck,” Jude says weakly, looking down at where Erling had three fingers inside him. “How are they fitting inside me?”
“I told you already. Three is a lot to handle.” Erling says, because he just can’t help himself. “We don’t have to finish this today if you don’t want to.” He adds. Erling didn’t exactly like being the cause of the grimace of pain on Jude’s face.
“I’m not a quitter.” Jude says stubbornly.
Erling moves his fingers slower this time. Focusing on spreading his fingers and loosening Jude’s rim. Working him open properly and thoroughly. Soon enough, the groans of pain take on another tone. More breathy. More melodic.
It’s not a surprise that having three of Erling’s fingers inside Jude made it easy to hit his prostate. The blond had been watching Jude’s face to gauge how the younger man felt. Slowly—but surely—the tight lipped expression on Jude had morphed into something more relaxed. Less pain, more pleasure.
“You digging for gold in there?” Jude groans, ever impatient.
The anger in his voice is made irrelevant by the way he goes slack jawed and glassy eyed at the next few thrusts of Erling’s fingers. Jude looks fucking stunning like this—lean muscle taut with pleasure, eyes fluttering at every sensation, mouth open in a soundless moan. Erling feels like the king of the world when he realizes he’s the only one that gets to see Jude like this.
“Wait.” Jude says, his voice high and strained. “I’m gonna cum.” He breathes out. His dick twitches in warning. “Oh, fuck, wait.”
Erling stops moving right then. “Should we take a break?” Erling asks, watching Jude calm down before he climaxes. “Want me to stop, baby?”
The prep wasn’t done yet. It would hurt substantially if they fucked now.
Jude doesn’t care.
“Fuck that.” Jude remarks. “Just fuck me.” He bites out, looking at Erling with lust-filled, half-lidded eyes.
Erling is only a man—he couldn’t say no to that. Fuck that, it was impossible to say no to Jude when he looked so fucked out like this. So whatever happens, happens. They’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Erling reaches for the condom on the bed, but Jude gets there first.
“I wanna put it on.” Jude says, sitting up.
He holds the packet closer and looks at the writing on the condom. Rolls his eyes at the glaring ‘XXL’ written across the packaging. Erling was huge enough to earn the title, Jude was just being annoying.
“XXL is stretching it a bit, don’t you think?” Jude remarks.
“Wait till it’s in you.” Erling grins, taking off his black boxers.
“Cocky bastard.” Jude bites, but there’s no heat in his voice.
Now that Erling was naked, Jude’s eyes naturally found themselves staring at the massive package that Erling called his cock. Most people would shy away from it—both its length and girth were daunting. Jude has wanted Erling’s dick inside him since the first time Erling pulled it out. If it hurts, he’ll just have to prep himself better next time.
Right now, Jude’s almost salivating for it.
He wraps his fist around Erling’s dick and strokes it. Indulging in the bitten-off groans that Erling lets out. It doesn’t take more than a handful of strokes to get him fully hard. Jude opens the packet and rolls the long condom over Erling’s length. When he’s done, he settles back down on his back with his head on a pillow and another below his hips. Looking plenty like a lazy cat basking in the sun.
“Missionary? Is that all you know?” Erling teases, even if he also thought it was their best option.
“Shut the fuck up and get your dick inside me.” Jude laughs.
Erling is euphoric as he pours a generous amount of lube over his dick. It still feels unbelievable that this really was happening, that he was fucking Jude. He coats every inch before pressing the head of his dick to Jude’s hole. Gripping Jude’s slim waist as he guides his length in slowly. Savoring the sounds and faces that Jude makes.
Jude looks like he’s holding his breath when Erling fully pushes in the tip.
Seems to only start breathing again when the first 1-2 inches goes past his rim.
“Fuck.” Jude pants, grimacing. The three or so inches that were currently in him were proving tougher to handle than the three fingers he had earlier. He strokes his dick to distract himself from the pain. Enveloping himself in the sensations of pain and pleasure.
Erling pulls out slowly and fucks his dick back into Jude. Still only about half of it comfortably enters, but that was all Jude could safely take today. Erling was patient enough to wait for a time when Jude could take it all.
Being inside Jude felt impossibly warm and tight. Erling could be unmoving for minutes and still be at peace. He thrusts forward and back slowly. The languid pace was mostly to give time to Jude to get used to the feeling for Erling’s girth and half his length inside him. However, there’s a part of Erling that also needed the slowness.
Just to appreciate the moment.
This was very intimate—being Jude’s first ever top. Maybe Erling should have drawn the curtains shut. Lit a candle. Played something soothing and sensual in the background. But this was memorable, too. The bright sunlight kissing Jude’s skin. Every sound from him singled out for Erling’s ears to cherish.
“I can’t believe I’m inside you.” Erling says in wonder.
Jude moans softly, looking down to where they were connected. “You aren’t even all the way in.” Jude complains. “You know I can take it.” He says, which was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. Jude was just willing to stretch himself thin for Erling’s pleasure and his own greed.
Jude loosens up over a couple more strokes. Making it easier to slide in. More pleasurable. Erling groans as something warm and slow builds in his core.
“I don’t need to go all the way when you feel so good around me.” Erling praises.
Jude doesn’t look completely satisfied, but it’ll do for now.
Erling picks up the pace to distract Jude. As expected, it works. The bratty expression on Jude’s face melting into quiet pleasure. Erling had no interest in bottoming, but Jude was a convincing little thing. Made having Erling’s dick inside him look like heaven. Erling’s strokes are shallow, fast and exactly what makes Jude light up inside. The younger man arches his back at a particularly deep thrust, his mouth open in a long broken moan.
“Good?” Erling whispers, kissing the side of Jude’s face.
“So fucking good.” Jude says, his breath hitching after every word. His tip was leaking and twitching as it stood upright. Making a mess on his stomach. His abs were flexing. Thighs, too. Like every muscle in Jude’s body was overworked from the pleasure.
Erling knows the angle is right when Jude practically starts singing. Jude was loud when he’s being kissed, jerked off, sucked off. This is different. Erling wants to make a song from the sounds Jude makes right now. It’s like Jude’s moans are being forced out of him. He couldn't keep quiet even if he tried.
“Erling.” Jude says breathily.
He makes grabby hands for Erling’s face. Erling moves his hands from around Jude’s waist to bracket Jude’s head. Jude finds a way to pull him in for a kiss. It was a habit—Jude always did it when the pleasure was too much. Needed Erling’s lips on his just to ground him.
“Fuck, I’m close.” Jude pants, gripping one of Erling’s forearms for support.
“Already?” Erling murmurs into Jude’s lips. “I’m not close at all.” He taunts.
It was far from the truth—Erling’s thrusts were getting sloppy already. He just wanted to rile up Jude. As expected as a fish in the sea, Jude gets that competitive glint in his eye. He rolls his hips, meeting Erling’s thrusts. But this was missionary—there’s not much Jude can do but just take it. Losing wasn’t an option, though, and climaxing without Erling cumming inside him was exactly that.
But Jude knew Erling like the back of his hand, inside out, like an open book. Erling was someone who found pleasure in Jude’s pleasure. He got hard when Jude was moaning. Got turned on when it was Jude who was deep in the throes of orgasm. This was going to be easy. Erling felt like magic inside him. It wasn’t hard for Jude to make a show of it.
“Erling, oh fuck, feels so good.” Jude moans, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, his hand squeezing Erling’s bicep. “Fuck me. Harder. Erling, oh god.” He was babbling now, saying things he might be embarrassed about later.
Erling’s thrusts have lost some of their rhythm. But they’re faster, slightly deeper now. There’s a shorter pause between each time that Erling hits that thing inside Jude that makes him see stars. Jude can’t imagine having sex any other way again. Erling has ruined him. Jude makes a wet sound like he’s sobbing. That part wasn’t acting, the broken sounds Erling forced from him. Jude opens his eyes—half-lidded and teary—and Erling has that strung-out, glassy look in his eyes.
Exactly like Jude wanted.
“Fucking hell.” Erling swears, his voice is low and slow.
Jude rolls his hips restlessly. Like he wants Erling to pull his dick out of him. Which wasn’t the case, he was just pent up, overwhelmed, too close to the edge. Pleasure was beating on his insides like he’s the one that had locked and caged the fierce sensation inside him. Like it wasn’t something that was done to him. Erling was to blame. Was the one that was filling Jude with burning, flaming pleasure.
But there’s only so much pleasure that Jude can fit inside him.
When Jude climaxes, it doesn’t dribble out of him, it shoots. He’s moaning brokenly when cum lands on his stomach, chest and shoulders. A few drops ending up on Erling’s duvet. He freezes, muscles locking up as the waves of his orgasm ripple through him. It feels never ending.
Erling is still thrusting, pinpricks of overstimulation running up Jude’s spine. Jude is about to wave the white flag of defeat when Erling reaches his peak. The blond goes still as he cums. His arms barely holding him up above Jude. A long groan spills from his mouth as his cock sputters inside Jude.
It’s experience alone that gives Erling the strength to pull out of Jude and fall beside him, rather than on top of him. They’re both boneless and silent for a minute. Nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing could be heard in the room.
Jude turns his head to find Erling. He’s so predictable that Erling is already leaning in before Jude says anything. The angle is awkward when their lips find each other.
Erling pulls apart, still breathing hard. “So, round two?” He rasps out.
Jude shoves Erling’s laughing face away instead of responding.