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“Oh fuck, I could come just like this.”
“Yeah? Do you want to?”
“Yes, fuck, I wanna come, I wanna come,” Richard whined. He started humping up his hips, encouraging, demanding, but Jared kept up his same controlled, methodical technique, all delicate finesse, until Richard surrendered to the orgasm.
His cock jerked, and his semen pulsed out in several hot bursts, most of which Jared caught in his hand. He brought it to his mouth, making effective work of the cleanup with a few laps of his tongue, up his palm and into the spaces between his fingers. Then—there it was—that spark of possessiveness jolting through Richard as he reached around to the back of Jared’s head, holding him by the hair and bringing his face down to finish off the cum that had landed on his stomach or pubes, still glistening in pearls or clinging wet in the hair.
Jared’s work earned him a long, low, post-orgasmic groan. Once he finished cleaning, Richard loosened his grip, but urged him back up. He reached into Jared’s soft pajama bottoms, no underwear beneath, took hold of his cock, slender like him and circumcised. The angle was awkward like this; he was stretching the elastic taut. But he wanted Jared to come, he wanted Jared to come so bad, he was stroking and stroking.
Come on, come on, why isn’t it coming? He let go and pulled out, pushed down Jared’s pajama pants over bony hips and gangly limbs. But when he grabbed for him again, it was still the same way Richard pleasured himself—those fast, desperate death grip strokes. He tried slowing down, playing with the grip. Loose, but still tight enough to move the skin.
“Let me see it, come on, come on.” He was begging, begging to see Jared come. And Jared, military-obedient and eager to please his captain, came with a moan like a sob. Outside their window, the lights and shapes of the San Francisco skyline went completely unappreciated.
They weren’t dressed up, not for TechCrunch Disrupt, but even in that hideous letter jacket, the guy was still drowning in pussy. Busty booth babes in tight-fitting T-shirts printed with startup logos, nerdy girls in glasses and hoodies who actually did coding. Maybe it was his usual spiteful jealousy, maybe it was the fact that he was three highballs in, but he closed his tab, marched right over, and said, “Jared.”
“Excuse me, ladies.”
The hotel bar was crowded, but after weaving their way through they lucked out with an empty elevator. He hit the button for their floor, and mashed the door close button. Since that button doesn't actually do anything, the doors slid closed on their own, and they started the ascent.
“Jared, you're mine.” Even in the small cubic footage of the elevator, he crowded him further in, felt him up. He wished those fangirls could see Jared now. “Whose are you?”
He couldn't properly answer with Richard's fingers in his mouth, but he nodded and moaned.
Ding—they reached their floor and the doors slid open. Disoriented from the ride, and not least from the liquor, Richard took a second to reference the plaque on the wall before turning toward their suite. He pulled out his key along the way, and slid it into the lock when they reached the door. Too slow, fuck. He fumbled with it a couple more times before the lock lit green and he could turn the handle.
As soon as they were through the door he had Jared up against the wall again, face forward this time. He stripped Jared’s Pied Piper jacket, tossed it deeper into the room, then reached back around to play with his nipples, fondled them and got them stiff through his shirt. His hands drifted down his stomach, down to the front of his chinos, but…
“I, Jared, you're not even—”
“Oh, that, it's, it's not unusual, you know, when you're on bottom… and the alcohol…”
Well, that's just not good enough for Richard, now is it?
He spun him back around, and palmed the outside of his trousers again. If he kept it up, he got a slight reaction, so he started groping along the contour. A real outline started to swell—he was making Jared hard for him, alcohol be damned. He snaked his belt out of its buckle, popped open the button and unzipped the fly. He grabbed Jared’s underwear and pants together, pulled them down enough to free Jared’s semi. A few good strokes got him fully hard, then Richard went down to his knees to put it in his mouth.
He bobbed his head to let the glans rock, silken, between his tongue and his palate. When he started to notice clean-tasting precum, he teased more out with his tongue. He took it deeper, but at full hardness the length was huge and overpowering, and he choked up and sputtered more than once when he triggered his gag reflex. His curls bounced with the motion: Jared knew that he didn't like for his hair to be touched when he did this.
The little trash can was within reach, but he swallowed. What the fuck is the point of spitting it out if it's already in your mouth? Besides, it's too much like vomiting.
Richard screwed up a line of code, and muttered “fuck me” under his breath before going back to fix the bug.
But his laptop was soon forgotten on the hotel nightstand, cursor left blinking away in his IDE, as he begged “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me” while he got fingerbanged into the mattress.
With two fingers in, he could really feel the stretch. It hurt, a little. But he knew it was for his own good, and that made him like the way it hurt. He recalled Jared’s familiarity with poppers and their euphoric anus-dilating properties, but for Christ’s sake, he’s already having gay sex, he’s not gonna start doing drugs, too.
“Gosh, you take it so beautifully. Can you do another? I don’t want to give you more than you can take.”
But he didn’t want Jared to go easy on him; his pride wouldn’t allow it. “I can take it. Please.”
He felt the press of a third long finger, erogenous stimulation at his rim, then a further stretch, slick and smooth but tight. Erogenous, but not enough to make him come, not just from this. Not any stimulation to his prostate, not even any real thrusting, just getting him nice and prepped, wet with lube and stretched enough for a—for Jared’s—“I want your cock, I want to ride it,” he begged, “Let me… grab a condom…”
“Right here.” Jared answered, fishing one out of the box after he’d withdrawn. They’d been packed in the suitcase together with the lube, so he must have unpacked them both. Smart, Richard thought. It had lube on it already, but Jared pumped more onto it, then reached between Richard’s legs again with the excess to keep him slick and open. Richard straddled his lap, lined up for a final stretch, and sunk down until he was fully penetrated.
“Holy shit.”
He really knew how to work those fingers, but his cock was on a whole nother level. Even though Richard was still getting used to the feeling of being filled up, he started moving as soon as he could, shifting around a little to find where he needed it. He was rewarded with an exponential curve of pleasure, a superstimulus that made him bounce back up so he could chase it again. He bounced faster, greedy, a greedy little slut.
“Oh gosh, oh fuck, I’m gonna come.”
“Inside, come inside for me.” He rode it out until he could feel Jared pulse in his insides. Jared pulled out before his erection started to go down, letting Richard sink back into the plush hotel blankets and pillows. He wandered off to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, soon to return with a warm, damp cloth to clean the two of them up.
Richard felt so good like this, wet and used, and he would have liked nothing better than to pull his husband back into bed with him. But there was really no time for round two—he had a Startup Battlefield to judge.