Work Text:
Flustered. Floyd hadn't felt flustered around someone for years.
When he'd first started working with Earl he'd pegged him as having that bubbly photogenic enthusiasm that seemed to play so well on local news and not much else going on. Then he'd decided Earl was either hopelessly naive or willfully obtuse. He didn't seem to understand the way the world worked. It was out to chew you up and spit you out, to grind dreams down into nothing.
Now, against his better judgement, he found himself wishing he could keep Earl from ever finding out how cold and heartless the world could be. He would be working on a piece on the threat of military coup in Togo, actual serious news, and Earl would be stroll up to his desk and talk about the new trend in rollercising, a restaurant opening in Melonville, or even how he was working on a story about baby ducks. Baby ducks! Earl seemed to be a ceaseless source of optimism and cheer. The fact that Floyd found himself not minding confused the heck out of him. Earl was a little ray of sunshine and Floyd usually hated little rays of sunshine.
Today had gotten a little out of hand. He'd noticed that he was feeling a little lightheaded at the newsdesk. At first he'd figured he was dehydrated or something. Then he realized he had been-- almost subconsciously-- breathing in deeply around his co-anchor. Earl smelled really good. It was making Floyd a little giddy. He tried to focus on the sheets of news copy and ended up sneaking glances over at... well, at Earl's hands. He had long, tapering fingers and a dusting of dark hair that had Floyd wondering if it extended up his arms and... stop it, Robertson! Get a hold of yourself!
Then he was home again, hanging up his suit, changing to jeans and a t-shirt worn into a comforting softness. He clicks on the TV and ends up looking at rather than watching SCTV's movie of the week. I'm probably just horny, he decides, everyone looks good when you're horny. There was no way he was actually interested in Earl. Even if he was, Jesus, a guy like him, all sharp edges and dark thoughts, would wreck a sweet guy like Earl. The whole thing was ridiculous.
He'd just jack off and it would clear his head. He'd be back to normal and could get back to work no problem. He got up off the couch to grab the bottle of coconut tanning oil that was his go-to and got comfortable, leaning on a pile of pillows at the end of the couch. He closed his eyes and went back to the lake.
When he was a kid, his family couldn't afford to go to the pool. When the summer sun got unbearable, they would pile into the station wagon and go to the lake. The water was cold enough to knock the air out of your lungs when you first waded in past the shallow area where the little kids splashed. He'd spent months practicing swimming until he could get out to the floating platform that was maybe forty feet from the shore. The platform where the older boys lay in the sun. He told himself that he just wanted to be like them, cool and distant, wanting to be away from kids his age who seemed so embarrassingly immature. But in his heart of hearts, he wanted one of them to see him, to see that he was so much more than a kid.
And when he was home again, in bed, exhausted, skin tingling from too much sun and lake water he would imagine one of those boys kissing him.
Over the years, the boys on his imaginary lake platform got older, more muscular and much more obliging. He figured he'd probably imagined the lake more often than he'd ever actually been there.
Now he imagines himself moving through the water with long, powerful strokes and pulling himself up on the weathered planks, still breathing hard. He pushes his wet hair back. He can feel the cold water evaporating from his skin under the almost-too-hot sun. A guy is lying on a beach towel, eyes closed behind sunglasses. He's blonde, hair just a bit too long for the fifties, curly, bleached out by the summer sun. He's wearing tight trunks. He's tanned, the hair on his muscular thighs almost white against his skin. Floyd breaks out in goosebumps as a cool breeze blows by.
This nameless man props himself up on his elbow, tips his sunglasses up onto his head, looks right at Floyd and smirks like he can read his thoughts. And maybe he can, because he leans in as Floyd moves to kiss him. His warm hand skims over Floyd's chest, then slides to his back and pulls Floyd down on top of him. Their legs tangle and Floyd deepens their kiss.
On his couch, Floyd pops the buttons on his jeans and slides them down his thighs. He slicks up a hand and strokes his cock slowly.
The blond slips a hand into Floyd's trunks. Floyd rubs a thumb across the man's peaked nipple. He hisses with pleasure and grinds against Floyd's thigh. His skin is hot on Floyd's chest. They kiss and kiss and kiss and the only sounds are the lapping of the waves and their own breath coming faster.
Floyd slides this thumb over the head of his penis and it's a little too much stimulation but it feels so good. He slips down to stroke the shaft with not quite enough pressure to get anywhere very quickly. He pushes his hips up to thrust into his hand.
The man moves his hands down to slide his trunks off. He has a gorgeous dick, plump and curved hard into the trail of golden hair on his belly. Floyd leans down to lick a stripe up the length of it and pushes his own trunks off. The man pours tanning oil into his palm and strokes it over Floyd's cock. Then he spreads his legs and slips his slick fingers over his hole, dipping the tips of his fingers inside as Floyd watches, hungrily. Floyd grips the man's hips and tilts them up so he can press the tip of his cock to his entrance and slowly push in. The man wraps his legs around Floyd's lower back, wraps his arms around Floyd's shoulders and pulls him down into a kiss. His chin is just a little bit scratchy. He smells so good.
Floyd rocks into him, slides in and out, long and slow. The man slides his hands down to cradle Floyd's ass, pulling him into a steady rhythm. The thick, dark hair on his chest is so soft. Floyd strokes his olive skin and slips his fingers through his long black hair. Floyd licks at his thin, soft lips, pushes into his expressive mouth. He feels like he can't get enough. The man slides a long finger over Floyd's hole and it zips like electricity along his nerves.
Earl moans into Floyd's mouth as Floyd pumps his hips faster, fucking for serious now. Floyd breaks the kiss and looks into deep caramel eyes, their pupils wide. They're both panting now, sweat making their bodies slick. Floyd's grunts of effort spin into a long wail as his balls draw up and he comes, hot and hard, filling Earl as he shouts Floyd's name.
Floyd gasps for breath and stares up at the ceiling. Heart sinking, he realizes he is definitely in too deep.