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Russell’s hand itches inside his glove. He’s got it on Gamby’s thigh, right over the naked curve of it, and the sweat is just building and building up against his palm the more vigorously Russell works over Gamby’s dick and balls with his tongue and bare left hand. Gamby had bitched and moaned about Russell leaving the glove on, and about him not taking his clothes off, and on and on, but now he gasps when Russell’s crooked gloved fingers trace little shapes in his thick leg hair, and when Russell grinds his clothed cock against Gamby’s shin, knees pressed against the floor in front of his shitty armchair. He’s so reactive that it makes Russell’s mouth curl up into an awkwardly shaped smile, just for a moment, while he runs his tongue up the underside of Gamby’s fat, turgid dick up to the head of it.
Still, his hand fucking itches, so he pulls away from Gamby’s dick, a long line of spit stretching out between the ugly mushroom head of it and Russell’s lower lip before it snaps. Gamby makes an objecting noise and starts saying some shit like “Russell, you withholding motherfucker,” and “don’t just leave me like this,” and all that bullshit, so Russell flips him off. He bites the leather of his glove and pulls it off his damaged hand, spitting the glove out on the floor, and sure enough Gamby shuts up. Good.
“Quit bitching,” Russell says, running his bare scarred palm up Gamby’s thigh.
“You’re the bitch,” Gamby mutters, but he sure shuts up quick when Russell leans in and takes Gamby’s cock in his mouth, laving his tongue over the big ugly vein there. Gamby lets out a strangled noise and grabs at Russell’s skull with one hand. The other hand, though, comes down on Russell’s useless gimpy fucking tiger-scarred hand, Gamby’s blocky thumb resting right over the biggest ugliest scar, curling down from between his ring and pinky fingers.
Russell takes him down to the root, Gamby’s big fat cock hitting the back of his throat, and Russell determinedly doesn’t choke. Every time he takes Gamby all the way down, his nose squishes against the fat of Gamby’s stomach. His stomach knots up at that. Gamby’s a big old fucking walrus of a man with a tacky couch and sour tasting precum and his fat belly makes it so Russell can’t even breathe properly through his nose when he’s letting Gamby make pathetic little thrusting motions, fucking into the back of Russell’s mouth like he’s trying to make Russell puke on his dick again. Fucking inconsiderate dick. Russell grinds his throbbing clothed cock down hard against Gamby’s ankle. Shit, that feels good, little tingling sensations running right up into his ribcage.
He humps at Gamby’s leg, hips moving furiously like some pathetic little horny dog. He would disgust himself, in theory, except Gamby’s hands are in his hair and he can hear his moans, saying something that sounds like his name, Lee, Lee, over and over like a prayer. They’re both disgusting. So Russell presses his scarred mangled hand against the meat of Gamby’s thigh and wraps the other around the base of Gamby’s thick cock, his thumb brushing against Gamby’s balls. He feels sloppy, spit rolling down his chin, cock tenting his nice pants, heat churning in his belly.
“God,” Gamby groans, “Lee, Lee, your mouth.” He curls one hand around the shell of Russell’s ear, his palm hot and sweaty, his fingers caressing. His other hand fists in Russell’s hair, just hard enough to send lines of pain across his scalp. Russell, in return, slowly drags his mouth up to the head of Gamby’s cock and pulls off with a pop. It swings away from him and smacks into Gamby’s belly.
“Jesus, Russell! What!?” Gamby’s hand falls away from his ear, but his other hand stays in Russell’s hair, hot palm right near his bullet scar.
Russell looks up at him, drool running down his chin, lips all sensitive. Gamby’s face is all red, his hair a little disheveled, sweat running down from his hairline. His chest is all red too, flushed under his curly chest hair. Russell leans in, hands braced against Gamby’s thighs, and says, “Cum on my face.”
Gamby blinks stupidly. “What?”
“You heard me, motherfucker, don’t make me ask twice!” He presses his cock against Gamby’s leg again, hard. “Can’t have you jerkin’ on my hair like that, I’m gonna go bald.”
“You’re already going bald,” Gamby says, and then immediately blanches. Russell huffs. Closes his eyes. Imagines biting Gamby on the thigh, hard. The taste of blood in his teeth. Files that thought away for later. Breathes out through his nose. Opens his eyes.
“You gonna jerk off, or are we done for the night?” Russell says through his teeth, smiling prettily. His cock is still rock hard against Gamby’s hairy shin, and by the looks of the way Gamby’s cock is drooling all over his belly he’s not done.
“Don’t see why you can’t just suck it,” Gamby grumbles, but he does what Russell says. He leans forward and takes himself in hand, jerking off fast and rough. Russell grinds down against Gamby’s leg, watching transfixed as Gamby’s big hand moves, making slick wet noises as it does.
“That’s it,” Russell gasps, “that’s good. Doing what I say like an obedient little… little…” He can’t quite wrap his tongue around the words. So many nasty things he wants to say about Gamby, but they won’t come loose. Gamby pulls at his cock with one hand, but his other falls back over Russell’s mangled hand. Where Gamby’s soft chest heaves, flushed, Russell can see the pink bullet scar turning redder. His cock is so swollen and red, almost purple, leaking everywhere, and Russell feels ready to pop. “You’re so good,” he manages.
“Lee,” Gamby gasps, urgently, clenching at his useless hand, and then he’s coming in great spurts. His load hits Russell’s face first, streaking across his nose and mouth. As it starts to drip down his chin alongside his drool, the heat in Russell’s gut swells and bursts, and a sticky warmth begins to spread at his crotch as his cock goes soft. He’s spent.
With a great huff of breath Russell falls back on his heels. Gamby is still holding his hand. There’s jizz dripping down onto his nice suit jacket, and more blooming darkly against the fabric of his trousers. He’s filthy.
“God dammit, Gamby,” Russell says, sharp and irritated. “You ruined my suit, you imbecile!” And he only sort of means it.