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Floyd couldn't tell you now what it was he'd said that made Earl's eyes turn dark and hungry. They had been talking aimlessly in bed on a lazy Sunday morning when Earl pulled Floyd down into a burning kiss. When they broke apart, already breathing heavily, Earl pleaded, "Speak French to me."
Floyd panicked for a long moment, scouring his brain for long-lost high school French. He figured he owed Earl at least the effort. He'd had used some truly horrifying come-on lines on Earl, especially in his drinking days. He had a foggy recollection of growling "You want fuck?" at him. Turned out he did, but the guy maybe deserved a little more romance than that.
"Je t'aime," he whispered into Earl's mouth and kissed him again. Earl melted against him. That worked. Good, good, now what? He had to stall for time. "Parlez-vous francais?" Earl started pushing Floyd's shirt up and off and stroking his chest. So. Earl didn't understand a word he was saying, but he was digging it. Good, Floyd thought, pressure's off for correct conjugation. And for remembering that since they were groping at each other, he could probably use the more informal tu rather than vous.
In his best smoky voice, he asked "Ou est la poste?" and slid a hand down the back of Earl's pajama bottoms. Earl answered something like "Gnnnnuhhhh," and shivered. "Nous devons acheter les timbres," Floyd continued, squeezing Earl's ass. Earl squirmed up against Floyd. Alright, that's a yes on buying stamps.
"Baby, don't stop," Earl begged between kisses to Floyd's neck. He pinched at Floyd's nipple in that way that made him just a little crazy. Floyd arched into it. Earl bent down and sucked and bit in that way that made him a lot crazy. He was hard as a damn diamond and tenting his shorts.
"Un moment, s'il vous plait," Floyd asked as sexily as he could and reached for the bottle of lube. (Lubrifient personnel, he noted, according to the bilingual label.) "Pour ton confort et ton plaisir," he assured Earl, slicking up his fingers, sliding them down the cleft of Earl's ass and stroking across his entrance. Earl sighed in pleasure, slid his pajama pants off and draped a leg over Floyd's side, giving him more room to maneuver.
"Le stylo est sur la table," Floyd purred in Earl's ear and gently pressed the pad of a finger into him. He was running out of phrases. Earl wrapped his arms around Floyd, pressing his cheek to Floyd's chest. His cock was hot and slick, pressing into Floyd's bare thigh. Floyd shifted so that he could rub between Earl's legs. Earl made a gratifying high-pitched whimper at the added friction and started thrusting.
"Le singe dans l'arbre," Floyd said, his voice thick with desire for this beautiful man grinding up against him, "combien est-il?" He pushed two fingers deeper in, loving the tight heat, and started a long slow in and out. "C'est trop cher," he answered the hypothetical monkey salesman, wistfully, "dommage." He just brushed Earl's prostate, earning him another incredible moan. Earl thrust faster, sliding his cock forward along Floyd's leg and then pushing back onto his hand. Earl's skin was slick with sweat and Floyd was drunk with the feel of it.
"Baby," Earl panted into Floyd's skin, "baby I'm close."
"Craquelins de riz. Ananas. Bluets. Haricots verts." Floyd was reduced to reciting a list of groceries, but he could feel Earl begin to flutter and clench around his fingers. "Le Choix du President! Flocons de Maïs! Blé soufflé! Avoine grillée en O!" Floyd fucked his fingers into Earl faster. Earl keened and shuddered. Floyd felt Earl's come spill hot along his thigh.
"Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'adore." Floyd whispered, pressing kisses all over his face. He leaned down and licked sweat from Earl's shoulder. He started to slide his fingers out of Earl's ass, but Earl stopped him.
"Please. Stay inside me a little longer," Earl begged. Fuck, Floyd thought, how can he be so sweet and filthy at the same time? I'm too lucky by far.
They stayed like that for a long time, kissing each other, licking skin, purring and sighing. Earl let Floyd slip out of him with a tiny moan. He pushed Floyd flat on the bed and straddled his hips. "Um cantinho e um violão," he said, trailing a hand down Floyd's side, "Este amor, uma canção." He slid a hand into the waistband of Floyd's shorts and pushed them down. Floyd quickly pulled them the rest of the way down and kicked them off.
He knew he was sticky, sweaty, and probably had horrible bed-head, but Earl was looking at him like he was the most handsome man in the world. "Pra fazer feliz a quem se ama," he murmured before he bent down and gently sucked the head of Floyd's dick into his mouth. He slid his mouth down, consuming Floyd's whole length. Floyd lost the ability to think anything other than hot wet tight good yes yes please more and say anything other than "Hnnnnnnnnng."
Earl pulled off, leaving Floyd's cock shining with his spit and Floyd protesting wordlessly. "Muita calma pra pensar," Earl assured him, laying a finger across his lips, "e ter tempo pra sonhar." He slinked up the length of Floyd's body and breathed into his ear, "sa janela vê-se o Corcovado." Floyd felt a shiver right down to his bones. He slid his hands up Earl's back, but Earl gripped his wrists and pressed them to the bed above Floyd's head. Earl looked deep into Floyd's eyes and said, "o Redentor que lindo." Floyd had no idea what he was saying, but it was definitely sexy. Earl kept one hand pinning Floyd's hands and reached the other behind himself and wrapped it around the base of Floyd's cock.
He guided Floyd up and in, and sank down, still slick from Floyd's fingers. "Quero a vida sempre assim com você perto de mim," he moaned, taking Floyd to the hilt, "até o apagar da velha chama." Floyd whimpered and pushed his hips up, the only movement he could make. He had to fight against the blissful instinct to close his eyes. He didn't want to miss a seeing second of Earl fucking him like this. Earl's face was slack with ecstasy, both hands now pinning Floyd's arms down. Earl slowly pulled himself nearly off Floyd's cock, then thrust himself back, hard. He repeated the motion until he built up a rhythm.
"Oh, god, oh yes, please, please, please, you feel so good," Floyd babbled. He was held tight at the wrists and his ribs were pressed between Earl's knees. His body was jolted against the mattress again and again. He was helpless and desperate for more.
"E eu que era triste," Earl moaned, his breath hot on Floyd's skin, "descrente deste mundo." Floyd could feel every muscle and fiber in his body tense up as his orgasm built. "Ao encontrar você eu conheci," Earl continued over Floyd's shout as he came, thrusting as hard and fast as he could, "O que é felicidade meu amor." Floyd wanted to save this feeling forever, pumping Earl full of his lust and his semen, feeling raw and open and alive and like his heart could burst from love.
They kissed, they untangled themselves and tangled up again. "O que é felicidade, o que é felicidade," Earl whispered over and over. Floyd wrapped himself around his lover, held him and never wanted to let him go.