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If Bob touches the dial on the radio one more time, Rooster is going to push him out of the car.
Ever since they left the beach covered in sweat and sand to head back to the house they’re sharing, Bob hasn’t been able to sit still. Playing with the radio, fiddling with the fabric of his clothes, squirming in his seat… side-eyeing Rooster when he thinks he isn’t looking. You name it, Bob’s done it in the last ten minutes.
They go from shitty pop to classic rock and back again, snatches of songs there and gone. When Bob reaches for the dial a fourth time Rooster grabs his hand and forcibly redirects it to Bob’s lap, squeezing. “No. No more, man, you’re driving me nuts.”
Rooster pulls back his hand and takes his eyes off the road long enough to watch Bob’s cheeks flush.
“Sorry! I, uh –” Bob twists his fingers around each other and squirms in his seat some more, clenching his thighs and then spreading his legs and then clenching his thighs together again. It’s exhausting to watch, especially after the football game they just played. “Sorry,” Bob mutters again, red up to his hairline now.
At a guess, he’s either high or horny, and they’re not exactly allowed to have drugs on base. So. Playing football on the beach, so many shirtless guys and gorgeous women all touching each other… It’d be hypocritical of Rooster to judge Bob for feeling a little affected by it all.
Rooster grins and reaches across to ruffle Bob’s hair because he wants to and isn’t in the mood to deny himself; Bob squawks in surprise and flinches away, bright laughter carried away by the wind ripping through their open windows. “Hey!” he shouts as he glares at Rooster half-heartedly. It only makes Rooster laugh, the expression so out of place on Bob’s sweet face.
He expects Bob to reach for the dial straight away just to spite him, but he doesn’t. Bob listens, sitting perfectly still and polite. He doesn’t fiddle with anything, he doesn’t squirm; he keeps his hands in his lap exactly where Rooster put them.
The one thing that Bob is still doing is sneaking glances at Rooster. He’s not very subtle about it, turning to look out the window every time Rooster glances back at him. It makes Rooster grin and sit up straighter as he sings along - deliberately badly - to whatever shit is coming out of the radio, just to see if it’ll make Bob laugh.
It does, and even better, Bob sings along too, until they’re both shouting the lyrics instead of singing by the time they pull up to the house, lungs hurting and faces red from more than the sun. Bob grins breathlessly at him and Rooster’s in a better mood than he’s been in for a while; he doesn’t want the night to end.
“Come on. I think we deserve a few beers, don’t you?” Bob opens his mouth like he wants to protest; they’re not allowed to drink during missions, either, and Bob’s nothing if not a stickler for the rules. Rooster grins slyly at him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
They’re not scheduled to fly until the afternoon tomorrow, either, or Rooster wouldn’t be making the suggestion. He’s not an idiot.
Bob flushes prettily and nods, his smile shy. “Yeah, okay,” he says. He laughs when Rooster lets out a hearty whoop! and jumps out of the car.
He could use a shower, his skin gritty with sand, but that can wait for later. Right now he just wants to relax with a cold one and not think too hard about whether he’s getting picked for the mission. Trying to figure out if that would be a good or bad thing makes his head - and heart - hurt.
So: illicit beer.
Rooster tosses his keys and sunglasses onto the little table inside of the front door and kicks off his shoes before heading into the kitchen. “Turn the TV on, yeah?”
There’s a random football game playing when he comes back with their beers. He presses the cold bottle against Bob’s cheek over the back of the couch and laughs when Bob nearly squeals, his entire body recoiling. “Asshole,” he exclaims, but he’s laughing when he takes the beer from Rooster.
It’s fun to stir him up, is the thing. Rooster collapses onto the couch next to him, their knees knocking. Spending so much time out in the sun has him feeling lazy and relaxed, lassitude settled into his limbs. He sprawls, legs spread with an arm along the back of the couch, and tries not to go to sleep.
If he stretches out his fingers a little he could probably play with Bob’s hair. The temptation to do it just for the way Bob might react is there, but Rooster ignores it.
Despite neither of them going for the teams playing they get into the game anyway, shouting and jostling each other whenever anything remotely exciting happens. The heat of Bob next to him on the couch is more distracting than it should be. Rooster blames the lingering looks Bob was giving him in the car for the direction of his thoughts now. Bob probably didn’t mean anything by it, and besides Rooster has caught Bob giving Phoenix some serious heart eyes more times than he can count. He shakes his head at himself and goes to take another sip of beer only to find that he’s empty, which serves him right. He sighs and gets up, heading for the kitchen.
He peers into the fridge. Bob’s been keeping pretty good pace with him, so there’s a chance that he’s out too. “D’you want another one?” he shouts. The TV swells with noise - someone just scored a touchdown, probably - and swallows any answer that Bob might have given.
Rooster turns around, planning to go back out and ask him again, only Bob is right fucking there looking nervous as hell. It puts Rooster on high alert straight away. “What’s wrong -”
Bob surges forward and kisses him, hands fisted in the fabric of Rooster’s muscle tee.
He’s got to stand on his tiptoes to do it, which Rooster is sure he’ll find endearing when he’s finished thinking what the fuck? He kisses back instinctually, hands falling to Bob’s waist and squeezing. Bob presses closer and makes a high noise in the back of his throat, needy. It switches Rooster’s brain back on as sure as tone in the cockpit would.
“Woah, woah,” he says, pushing Bob back a step with a hand on his chest. “I thought you were -” straight, “- into Phoenix?”
Bob flushes a dangerous shade of red. His mouth is pink and Rooster is having a hard time looking away from it. “Oh, I am! I am. And you’re… I know you and Hangman -”
“Wait, me and Hangman? There’s no me and Hangman,” Rooster insists. His ears are ringing; his cheeks probably match Bob’s right now. Where the fuck did he get that idea? He and Hangman have barely spoken a civil word to each other the last two weeks.
Like that thought hasn’t occurred to him, Bob raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Sure," he says, the word dripping with sarcasm. "My point is, I don’t want a relationship with you!”
God. Rooster laughs and closes the angrily beeping fridge so he can lean back against the door. “Gee, thanks.”
Bob groans and pushes his hair back from his face again, nearly knocking his glasses askew. “That’s not – fuck. I just mean…” He sucks in a breath like he’s steeling himself and looks Rooster full in the face. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way you touched me on the beach.”
Oh, is that how it is? Rooster feels his mouth tugging up into a smirk; Bob freezes like a prey animal and it shouldn’t be turning Rooster on, but here they are. “Oh yeah?” he asks. It’s pretty obvious what Bob is referring to in particular, but it’s always good to get a bit of clarity. “You sayin’ you liked me picking you up, Bobby?”
He sort of expects Bob to stammer, or blush, or deny it. Instead Bob just nods. “Yeah,” he breathes out, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, looking all the world like he’s just waiting for Rooster to do what he wants with him. It’s hot as hell, is what it is.
Rooster steps forward and tips Bob’s face up with a finger underneath his chin. Bob gasps, a soft little thing, his eyes starting to close in anticipation. Rooster grins as he leans down and kisses him, more than on board with whatever Bob wants from this, especially if he's not gonna be doodling hearts around Rooster's name at the end of it all. Bob immediately opens his mouth for Rooster’s tongue and presses close again, hands warm even through Rooster’s shirt.
If Bob likes being picked up, Rooster’s more than happy to oblige him.
As soon as he crouches down a little to wrap his hands around the back of Bob’s thighs Bob gets the memo and hops up, wrapping his legs easily around Rooster’s hips. It’s nothing to hold him; Bob is muscular, sure, but he’s slight compared to the rest of them. Rooster lifts heavier weights in the gym.
He can feel the swell of Bob’s dick against his stomach, three layers of fabric separating them. It feels like he’s chubbing up already and Rooster groans into the kiss as he walks forward to press Bob against the nearest wall with his hips. It leaves his hands free to roam and he uses the opportunity to get them underneath Bob’s shirt, fingertips skating across warm skin and muscles only slightly softer than his own. Rooster wants to see.
“Oh, god,” Bob pants when Rooster pulls away from his mouth to suck kisses into his neck instead. A hand in his hair tries to tug him back. “No, come on, they’ll see!”
That’s the point, Rooster wants to say. He shifts his hands to squeeze at Bob’s ass, a generous handful. It makes Bob tremble and pant, using his grip on Rooster’s hair to direct him into a kiss he’s all too happy to give.
“What do you want, Bobby?” he asks when they pull apart to breathe. Bob’s hips hitch forward. The friction against his dick must be bordering on unpleasant underneath his shorts. Not to mention he feels big, which would be a frankly hilarious development. Is he wearing underwear? Rooster wants to find out.
“I… couch?”
It’s not really a surprise, to hear him sound uncertain. Rooster isn’t saying he’s thought about it, but Bob doesn’t seem like the type of guy with a ton of experience. The problem isn't that he's unattractive, because he's got that boyish charm and bashful smile thing going for him. It's that he's so earnestly polite - to everyone but Hangman - and shy, more likely to duck his eyes and stammer when a girl talks to him than he is to try his hand at taking her home. Rooster knows how to play nice, how to be gentle. He can work with this.
“Okay, baby,” Rooster says. Bob’s breath catches at the endearment and it makes Rooster grin. He kisses Bob again, clumsy with it as he walks them back into the living room. He considers laying Bob down and covering his body with his own but he doesn’t want to spook him, not when they’ve got a good thing going here.
Instead he sits back down, Bob in his lap. He figures that this way Bob can control the pace, kiss Rooster as much or as little as he wants. Grind down against his dick as much or as little as he wants.
And Bob wants.
As soon as they’re settled he starts hitching his hips forward, sweet pressure against Rooster’s own rapidly hardening dick that has him tightening his hands on Bob’s hips, thumbs digging into the soft skin of his stomach. Like that small touch is enough to do it for him, Bob’s head tips back a little as his mouth drops open, his hands squeezing at Rooster’s shoulders.
The long line of Bob’s neck right in front of him is like torture when he’s not allowed to leave a mark. He needs a distraction. “Can I take this off, huh, kid?” The word sounds like an endearment as it tumbles out of his mouth, and judging by the way Bob's breathing hitches, he doesn't mind any. He tugs on the fabric of Bob’s yellow shirt. “Gonna let me see?”
Bob flies on a different schedule to him; they haven’t been in the locker room together, and Rooster would be lying if he said he isn’t curious. From the brief touch he got before he knows that Bob is built, but is he as built as say, Hangman? Curiosity eats at him. He plays with Bob’s shirt some more and blinks up at him, waiting. Eventually Bob nods, teeth worrying at his bottom lip again, and leans back so he can pull the fabric over his head.
As soon as Rooster gets his eyes on the expanse of Bob's torso, not touching him isn’t even an option; Rooster sure as shit hopes Bob isn’t married to the no marks rule. He’s all pale skin with a faint dusting of blond hair that gets darker as it heads towards his waistband, abs less defined than Rooster’s own and pecs that Rooster wants to get his mouth on desperately, rosy nipples just begging to be darkened by his teeth. He gets his hands on Bob’s waist and squeezes.
“Jesus, baby, look at you,” he groans, rubbing his hands over Bob’s torso. Goosebumps break out everywhere he touches.
Bob blushes and ducks his head. Rooster noses at his cheek until Bob turns his head to be kissed. Rooster keeps it slow at first, but when Bob strains against him he deepens it in response to his own arousal. Bob moans shakily when Rooster sucks harshly on his tongue, then full throated when Rooster thumbs at his nipples.
“Can you - fuck,” Bob pants against Rooster’s cheek, entire body trembling as Rooster continues to play with his nipples. When Bob pushes his chest forward into Rooster’s hands he takes it as permission to lean down and take one into his mouth, skin warm and salty from the sea air despite Bob keeping his shirt on the whole time.
Bob swears colorfully and tangles his fingers in Rooster’s hair, gripping more than trying to direct him any particular way. With his hands on Bob’s hips he guides him into a rhythm, grinding down against Rooster’s own hard dick. Can Bob come like this, Rooster’s mouth on his nipples and the barest amount of good friction?
From the way Bob whines when Rooster laves his tongue over his nipple, it’s looking like the answer to that question might be yes. He drags his tongue from one side of Bob’s chest to the other, worrying at Bob’s right nipple with his teeth lightly.
“Fuck!” Bob shouts, fingers tightening painfully in Rooster’s hair. “Oh, fuck, you’ve gotta - please, Rooster, fuck me, you have to,” he says, voice low and wrecked, with more of a Southern twang that usual. Rooster knows fuck all about the guy, beyond him being a handful of years younger. He'll have to ask when he's got more than a few brain cells to rub together.
Rooster sucks on the nipple in his mouth harshly. Bob flinches away and then pushes forward, a hurt sounding little whimper caught in his throat that Rooster can hear even over the drone of the TV. “I have to, do I?” Bob nods, frantic. He’s still wearing his glasses, his pupils dark pools behind them. Bob’s eager, that much is obvious, but Rooster’s got to wonder… “Have you been fucked before?”
The way Bob freezes again tells Rooster everything he needs to know even before he opens his mouth. “Well… No, but –”
“It’s just that -” he interrupts, his hands squeezing Bob’s ass through his shorts, fingers rubbing along the seam. He kisses Bob’s left nipple then grazes it with his teeth, savoring the hitch in Bob’s breathing. “- my dick isn’t exactly for beginners, baby.”
He’s not expecting Bob to shove at his shoulder and laugh. “You’re such an idiot, oh my god,” Bob says, still laughing. Rooster doesn’t have time to feel hurt about it because Bob pulls him into a deep kiss with hands curled around his jaw, hips rolling languidly forward like he’s lost some of the desperation from before. “Besides,” Bob says, deliberately kissing Rooster’s top lip then his bottom lip. “Sex toys exist.”
The image that puts in Rooster’s mind hits him like a two-by-four. “Fucking hell, Bob,” he groans, pressing his forehead into Bob’s shoulder. From the way Bob’s waist is twitching beneath his hands, he bets that Bob is still laughing at him. He deserves it, probably. Shows him what he doesn't know.
The thought of fucking Bob is more than appealing. Bob’s gorgeous and responsive and clearly wants it, too… but. Rooster has to be responsible, as much as it fucking pains him. “We can’t, though. You’re flying tomorrow.”
Sitting in a fighter jet being compressed by upwards of seven G’s after being fucked the night before… Rooster doesn’t imagine that would be pleasant. Like he doesn’t agree, Bob pouts at him. Actually pouts, bottom lip sticking out. He’s fucking adorable.
“Come on, Rooster. You’re telling me you can’t control yourself?” Bob smirks at him, an expression that Rooster doesn’t think he’s seen on him. It makes him tighten his hands around Bob’s waist. “Just go slow.”
You won’t want me to, Rooster nearly says. He clenches his jaw. Bob is so clearly trying to goad him right now and he’s fucking annoyed that it’s working; there’s no way that Bob circling his hips as they talk isn’t deliberate. Well, two can play at this game. If Bob wants it so badly Rooster will give it to him, just maybe not in the way that Bob is expecting: Rooster figures that after three of his fingers and his mouth on Bob’s dick, Bob will be satisfied and too spent for anything else.
It won’t exactly be a hardship for him, either.
“Well, if you’re sure,” he says. He kisses along Bob’s neck, letting his mustache drag. He’s not allowed to suck or bite, but Bob didn’t say anything about a little light friction burn.
Bob shudders and grinds down harder. “Please.”
Fuck, okay.
Rooster gets his hands underneath Bob’s ass and stands. Bob curls around him, his nose warm against Rooster’s neck as he plays with Rooster’s hair. It’s weirdly endearing considering the present situation.
It doesn’t stop Rooster from dumping Bob on his bed. Bob bounces and grins up at him from his elbows, his nipples dark and puffy from Rooster’s mouth. It makes his dick twitch. He shrugs out of his muscle tee and flicks open the button of his shorts, raising his eyebrows at Bob doesn’t move.
“Oh, right!” Bob says, like he was so caught up in watching Rooster that he forgot he has to get naked too. God, Rooster wants to make him lose his mind. Finally Bob loses the glasses, folding them neatly on the nightstand. Then he squirms around getting his shorts off and Rooster slows down to watch, grinning when he sees that Bob was freeballing it after all.
Bob’s dick is also big just like Rooster suspected, longer than it is thick and flushed a pretty shade of pink. The flared head is visibly damp, like Bob’s been leaking pre this whole time. Rooster whistles. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”
It’s insane, to watch Bob blush and squirm and literally cover himself, strong and capable hands hiding his dick from Rooster’s eyes as he draws his legs up and plants his feet on the sheets. Screw wanting to make Bob lose his mind. Rooster wants to make him cry.
“Don’t be like that,” he croons as he shoves his own shorts down his legs. His dick is too heavy to slap against his abs but it makes a go of it anyway. It's gratifying to watch the way the sight of it makes Bob’s mouth drop open, his hands spasming over his crotch. Bob’s big, but Rooster is bigger, and it looks like Bob might be into that. “Still want me to fuck you?”
He’s not going to, but Rooster isn’t above teasing Bob. Bob, who nods with eyes as wide as saucers and takes his hands away from his dick to clench them in the bed sheets instead, legs spread accommodatingly. “Come on, please, I’ll be fine, I’ll be good,” he says in a jumble that has Rooster’s dick twitching.
“Grab the lube,” he instructs, jerking his head towards the nightstand. Bob scrambles to obey, muscles rippling as he twists to the side. Rooster knee-walks onto the bed and gets his hands on Bob’s thick thighs, thumbs rubbing at the crease of his groin.
Like he was just waiting to be touched, Bob spreads his legs even further. He’s fucking flexible, that’s for sure. When Bob makes a triumphant little noise and turns back around, Rooster leans over him to claim his mouth in a kiss that has Bob pressing up against him. The slide of bare skin against bare skin is perfect after so much buildup and Rooster fucks his tongue inside of Bob’s mouth, hungry for it now. He has to pull back to laugh when Bob shoves the lube into his hand impatiently.
“Do you want something?” he teases. He kisses Bob again, then trails his mouth down Bob’s chest, his abs, until he settles between Bob’s spread legs. “Pillow.”
Bob hands him one and Rooster positions it beneath his hips. What he has planned could fuck up his wrist but he doesn’t care right now, not when Bob’s eyes get even darker when he realises what Rooster is up to.
“Oh, my God,” Bob moans at the first touch of Rooster’s mouth on his dick. The salty-bitter tang of pre makes Rooster want to groan in pleasure but he focuses on Bob’s face instead as he takes him in deeper, wanting to catch every expression that flits across Bob’s face.
Rooster expects Bob’s shyness to persist. It really doesn’t; at the first nudge of his lubed up forefinger against Bob’s hole, Bob squirms around enough to get his leg over Rooster’s shoulder and pulls him in, back arching. He’s fucking gorgeous, so Rooster rewards him by taking him into his mouth all the way and curling his finger inside at the same time.
The throaty moan Bob lets out is like music to Rooster’s ears. He swallows around Bob’s dick once and then pulls off to slow things down by laving at the head as Bob whines loudly. It’s not long before Bob’s squirming, trying to fuck up into Rooster’s mouth and down onto his finger at the same time.
“Come on, Rooster, Bradley, please,” he moans. He looks directly at Rooster as he says it, entire face open with want. How is Rooster supposed to say no to that?
Bob takes two fingers just as easily. The angle really isn’t great - taking Bob’s dick completely into his mouth is difficult when trying to finger him at the same time, but Rooster makes a go of it. It must be working for Bob, if the way he keeps tightening his hands in Rooster’s hair is any indication.
“Better than a sex toy?” Rooster asks. He rests his head against Bob’s inner thigh and twists his fingers inside of him, leaning forward to lick away the pearl of precome that wells up from his slit. Bob’s biting his lips so much that they’re bright red; the thought that he’s holding in even more noises just makes Rooster want to try harder to get them out.
Bob laughs and kicks his heel against Rooster’s shoulder. “Ask me again after you’ve fucked me,” he pants, mouth quirking up into a smirk when Rooster laughs.
God, Phoenix is gonna eat him alive. He’s got a feeling that Bob will love every second of it, too.
For now, Rooster works on getting Bob to make more of those sweet noises. It doesn’t take a lot: Bob seems to like it when Rooster takes him deep and swallows around him at the same time as he fucks inside harshly with his fingers. Bob tries to press into both sensations, body arching beautifully as his hands spasm and twist in Rooster’s hair. He’s gonna look like he got stuck in a hurricane by the end of this, probably.
“Please - ah!” Bob shouts, dick blurting precome across Rooster’s tongue as he curls his fingers to press against his prostate. “More, more, please!”
Rooster moans around his mouthful and ruts down against the sheets, the friction not nearly enough on his aching dick. He needs to make Bob come fast or he doesn’t trust himself to stick to the plan; how much Bob wants it is too hot for words. He retracts his fingers and shushes Bob’s immediate whine. “Yeah, baby, okay,” he soothes.
Slicking up his fingers again, he nudges at Bob’s hole with three fingers. “Yes,” Bob groans and spreads his legs for them, his hole already trying to suck Rooster in. Imagining what that would feel like around him… fuck, Rooster can feel his pulse in his dick. He sinks his fingers inside and starts to fuck Bob with them as soon as he rocks down against the digits.
Bob keeps making these little overwhelmed noises in the back of his throat, interspersed with moans Rooster knows he’ll be hearing for a while. It’s not going to take much more, that much is obvious, not to mention that Bob’s dick is wet just as much from precome as it is from Rooster’s mouth.
“D’you want to come, baby?” he asks, the vibration of his lips against the swollen head of Bob’s dick making him moan. Bob nods and begs for it, a litany of please and fuck. God, he’s a sight to behold. Rooster presses against Bob’s prostate, rubbing against the little bundle of nerves while he suckles at the head of Bob’s dick.
Bob nearly arches clear off of the bed. His eyes screw shut, cheeks flushed and mouth wide open in a silent scream as his dick kicks in Rooster’s mouth. Rooster sucks him down and swallows the first rush of come, throat flexing around Bob’s dick. His eyes close at the taste and he tries to take it all but Bob just keeps coming, endless pulses that have Rooster pulling back and coughing.
As soon as Bob’s whines change in pitch, pleasure becoming pain, Rooster gently withdraws his fingers. Usually he’d push it a little further, see if he can make Bob come a second time before he's even recovered from the first, but if he doesn’t get a hand on his dick right now he’s in danger of coming without being touched and he doesn’t need the knock to his ego. He gently nudges Bob’s leg off of his shoulders and sits back on his heels, wrapping his hand - still tacky with lube - around his aching dick.
Bob has his eyes closed, his muscles twitching with aftershocks. Rooster starts up a brutal pace and lets his eyes rake across the swell of Bob’s pecs, his sweaty abs, his softening dick that’s more than a little covered in come.
It’s a fucking hot image. He tips his head back and groans, squeezing at the head of his dick and fucking into his grip.
“No, no, hey!” Bob shouts. Rooster opens his eyes to find Bob up on one elbow, his other hand outstretched towards Rooster. “Don’t you dare come before you fuck me.”
Rooster’s traitorous dick twitches heavily in his hand, precome dripping down onto the sheets when he pauses with his hand tight around the base. He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, feeling his cheeks redden at how rough his voice is. “I’m not fucking you when you’ve gotta fly tomorrow!”
The noise Bob makes is one of inarticulate rage. Rooster can’t help but notice the redness of his eyes, like Bob had been right on the verge of tears as he came. Fuck, this is such a bad idea. He thinks that even before Bob opens that damnable mouth of his again.
“Please, come on,” he pleads, nearly whining. Practically begging for Rooster’s dick, and isn’t that nice to hear. “I’ll be fine, I promise!” Bob doesn’t see the disbelieving look Rooster gives him because he’s too busy staring at his dick with palpable hunger in his eyes, which is making Rooster feel insane.
“You’re not even hard!” Rooster exclaims. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Bob literally just came and honestly, Rooster doesn’t know how long he’d be able to last with that tight heat around him.
Bob actually scoffs. “You couldn’t,” he insists. “I know you can control yourself!
When Rooster doesn’t move, Bob pulls himself up onto his knees and drapes his arms over Rooster’s shoulders. He kisses Rooster’s jaw, his ear, the scar on his neck. Rooster lets go of his dick in favor of lightly gripping Bob’s throat, coaxing him into a proper kiss when his mouth drops open on a gasp. Bob whines and presses closer, his decidedly not soft dick nudging up against Rooster's abs.
“Bradley, please. I like it, I swear. Just the tip?” Bob begs when they pull apart, a string of saliva connecting their mouths for a millisecond before it snaps. Rooster’s brain makes a go of leaking out of his ears. Bob’s eyes are huge and beseeching, like he really is that desperate for it.
Rooster pushes Bob back with a firm hand on his chest. He grunts and lands back on the sheets, legs spread so Rooster can see everything. He can’t help the way his eyes fall to Bob’s hole, puffy and gaping a little from being stuffed full by three of his fingers. Bob wraps a hand around his own hardening dick and trembles at the oversensitivity before he starts stroking, arching into it.
Good intentions aside, Rooster isn’t strong enough to say no. But Bob’s right: he can control himself. It might just kill them both. “Just remember you asked for it, Bobby. Condom?”
It’s devastating to watch the smile that breaks out across Bob’s face, like all of his Christmas mornings just came at once. He stretches languidly and butterflies his legs, making room for Rooster. “No, thank you.”
“‘Thank you’? Oh, jesus christ.”
There’s no point drawing it out now that Rooster’s said yes. He slicks himself up and positions himself over Bob. Bob’s hand finds its way into his hair straight away and Rooster catches his gasp with his mouth when he rubs the head of his dick over Bob’s hole. Okay, he’s still going to tease Bob a little. “If you change your mind, you’ve gotta tell me, okay?”
Bob shakes his head and bites his lip when Rooster’s dick skates over his hole again. “Oh, fuck – I won’t, I promise, please,” he moans, fingers clenching in Rooster’s hair.
Rubbing his dick from Bob’s perineum to his hole and back again is exquisite torture for them both. Bob moans again shakily and rocks down into the feeling, straining upwards at the same time like he wants to be kissed. Rooster presses their mouths together and rocks his hips forward at the same time, giving Bob exactly what he asked for: just the tip.
It’s hard to say who moans first, or louder.
Bob is silky-hot around him, tight despite Rooster finger-fucking him not five minutes ago. The urgent need to come has dissipated a little, and thank fuck for that. The mortification from coming as soon as he got inside of Bob would have killed him. “Okay?” he asks.
It takes a second, but Bob nods. “Yeah, it’s - fuck,” he says, like he’s already overwhelmed. Rooster’s dick is big.
Bob squirms, his walls fluttering around the head of Rooster’s dick. It wouldn’t take anything to sink inside properly. Instead, Rooster pulls out and then fucks back in, no deeper than before. Bob trembles beneath him, eyelashes fluttering. Rooster kisses him because he feels like he needs to, licking into Bob’s mouth when Bob moans and pulls him closer.
They keep on like that for a few minutes, Rooster barely giving Bob anything and feeling like he’s about to blow his load anyway while they kiss sloppily. Bob keeps trying to rock down against him, to get more of his dick inside. Rooster grabs him firmly by the hips. “Stop it.”
Bob groans and squirms. His dick is fully hard against his abs, the round head flushed. “God. Bradley, please,” he kisses Rooster again, clumsy. “Fuck, I want it so bad.”
No shit. Rooster’s control wavers just that little bit more. How bad would it be, really? To fuck Bob properly? Not hard. Like Bob said, Rooster can go slow. “You sure?”
“How many times do I have to –”
Rooster rolls his hips forward and sinks another couple of inches inside. Dirty pool, maybe, but more than worth it for the way Bob’s eyes nearly cross. Rooster kisses his cheek and then his lax mouth, moving down to nibble at his neck. Bob wraps his arms around Rooster’s neck and clenches deliberately around him; Rooster sees stars.
“Fuck,” Bob groans. “That’s so – I can take more, fuck!”
Bob is greedy. So greedy that he takes matters into his own hands and pulls Rooster in even further with legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into Rooster’s ass. Instead of resisting Rooster lets it happen, lets Bob fill himself up with most of Rooster’s dick in one go.
Bob arches up off of the bed, a gut-punched moan ripping out of his mouth. “Oh fuck, oh jesus,” he pants. He clenches like a vice around Rooster and there’s nothing to do but breathe through it, gritting his teeth. Bob’s dick is leaking so much precome that there’s a little pool of it in between the divots of his abs. It’s fucking crazy to think that Rooster’s the first person that’s gotten to do this.
Gently, slowly, Rooster starts to roll his hips, fucking inside little by little. When his hips come flush with Bob’s ass they both groan. It feels so fucking good. Good enough that he can’t help but grinding forward, nudging right up against Bob’s prostate.
The whine that Bob lets out makes Rooster’s blood run even hotter. “Fuuuuuck,” Bob groans, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s gotta be overwhelming after having come so recently but Bob doesn’t try to move away from it. If anything he presses into it, turning his face to kiss Rooster as he rocks down.
Pulling out completely to hold Bob open on the head of his dick and fucking back in is in a bad idea. Rooster has good self-control, but he’s not a saint. The temptation to bend Bob in half and really give it to him would be too strong.
So this is perfect: pulling out halfway and then grinding forward into Bob’s prostate. It’s slower than Rooster usually likes it but it’s like it doesn’t even matter, sparks already starting to dance along his spine as arousal clenches tight in his belly. Bob’s sweet moans and the way he can’t stop fluttering around Rooster’s dick is helping, too.
“Is this what you wanted?” Rooster asks, fucking in all the way with a controlled snap of his hips. Bob gasps and holds him there with the muscles in his legs. Rooster grinds mercilessly forward and Bob nearly sobs, his eyes clenched shut and his eyelashes clumped together with unshed tears.
Bob nods and bites at his lower lip again. “Yes, yes, it’s so good,” he groans, voice low and thready. Rooster kisses him, fucking his tongue in at the same time as he pulls back and fucks forward again, slightly harder. He’s about to make sure it’s not too much when Bob drags their mouths apart and pants up at the ceiling. “Do that again.”
If he was a better person Rooster would pull out and suck him off, something that isn’t so intense. But Rooster isn’t a better person, and he thinks if he pulled out right now, Bob might kill him.
Rooster does it again.
Again, and again, until he’s up on his knees and holding onto Bob’s thighs, breaking his own rules and fucking into him with quick, sharp thrusts. Not too deep - Bob should be able to fly without hating himself, or Rooster - but enough that he can feel it, enough that Bob’s dick bounces against his stomach before he wraps a hand around it and starts jerking himself off harshly. “That’s so good, fuck, that’s perfect –”
Bob’s dick jerks in his hand and adds to the mess of his abs, thick ropes of come getting fucked out of him every time Rooster thrusts forward. Rooster means to pull out and get himself off with his hand, he really fucking does, but Bob’s hole clenching so sweetly around the head of his dick makes the choice for him.
Rooster’s orgasm slams into him like a freight train. His dick starts to pulse halfway through a thrust and the sound as he fucks his come into Bob is obscene, filthy. “Fucking hell,” he groans, dazedly watching his slick dick stretching Bob’s hole wide as he fucks in deep, trying to avoid Bob’s prostate but not quite managing it.
“Ah!” Bob squirms, clearly oversensitive. A sob catches in his throat and fuck, he’s beautiful like this. Flushed and overwhelmed and covered in come.
“Shit, sorry,” Rooster says. As gently as he can, he pulls out and tries not to stare at his come trickling out of Bob’s swollen hole. He leans over Bob and kisses his lax mouth, thumb at the hinge of his jaw to encourage his jaw wider. He tongues at the tear tracks beside Bob’s eyes and then kisses him there, too, delicate. When he kisses Bob again properly, they’re both smiling.
Bob kisses him back and then shoves him off, surprisingly strong for someone who’s just come his brains out twice. “I think you broke me.”
Rooster laughs from where he’s sprawled in the sheets. “Hey, you asked for it. Repeatedly.”
Bob fucking blushes. “Shut up.”
Rooster rolls onto his side so he can look down at Bob properly. “Better than a sex toy?” he asks again.
It makes Bob laugh, his entire face scrunching up. “Oh my god, shut up.” He keeps laughing, his face bright red. Then he says, like it pains him, “You know it was.”
Rooster grins at him. This was fun, way more than he expected it to be. It also hasn’t changed anything, he bets: Bob doesn’t want a relationship with him, plus he thinks Phoenix hung the moon. Bob’s cute, and a fantastic lay, but Rooster isn’t in love with him.
“You’re helping me remake my bed.”
Bob pouts at him. “Why?”
“Why? You’re responsible for the wet spot, baby.”
It makes Bob grimace and wriggle. When he feels Rooster’s come coating his inner thighs, Bob somehow gets even redder. “Okay. But you’re washing my hair in the shower.”
Considering Rooster thought that Bob would have wanted to shower alone, he’s not going to complain. “As long as you promise to keep your hands to yourself, Bobby. I know I’m irresistible.”
Bob groans and shoves at his face. His legs are only a little wobbly when he stands and heads towards Rooster’s bathroom and the bigger shower it boasts, so Rooster doesn’t feel too bad about fucking him a bit harder than he’d planned to.
“You coming?” Bob shouts.
Rooster grins and follows him into the steam.
–
Like usual, they head into the hangar together. Bob’s been grinning all morning. They slept in separate beds - after Bob helped him change the sheets - and it really seems like nothing is different between them. Rooster’s glad for it, because he likes Bob. It’d fucking suck to have ruined things by having too much fun.
Rooster’s flying first so he heads to the locker room to get into his flight gear. When he emerges it’s to find everyone looking at Bob like he’s grown a second head. Which is fair, considering he’s walking around with an actual spring in his step and whistling.
As soon as they start heading for the briefing room Phoenix matches Rooster’s stride. “What’s gotten into him?”
Rooster doesn’t say anything. He just smirks at her, wiggling his eyebrows. It’s fucking hilarious, to watch the play of emotions over his face when she realizes: disbelief, shock, amusement, jealousy. “Fuck, really?” she exclaims, pulling Rooster up with a hand on his arm.
“What’s the hold up, ladies?” Hangman asks from behind them, impatient but obviously curious.
“Rooster fucked Bob!” Phoenix whisper-shouts.
Okay, so he hadn’t been planning on advertising it. Especially not to Hangman. Hangman, who… looks like he’s going through all of the same emotions as Phoenix. Jealousy included. “I didn’t know you…” Hangman says, green eyes intent on Rooster’s face. Heat curls in Rooster’s belly; Phoenix is staring between them like they’re a TV show.
Hangman shakes himself and storms past, shoulder knocking into Rooster’s. Rooster watches him go until Phoenix socks him on the arm. “Ow!”
“He wants you so fucking bad, you moron,” she says. The words aren’t harsh; she’s smiling too wide for that.
“Oh yeah? I’ll do something about it if you do something about Bob.”
He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Phoenix’s dark eyes light up with the challenge, her smile widening to take over her whole face. “I’ll take that bet.”
Well, shit. Surviving this mission just got a whole lot more interesting.