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It’s barely mid afternoon, just after lunch, with a responsible amount of time to let food digest. Jordie is on hands and knees in the center of Jason’s mattress, trying to crawl forward just enough to grasp the headboard. Jason is behind him with a hand on either hip, caressing the cut of hip bones with his fingertips as he rocks forward.
Jason is not even close to balls deep inside of him yet with his insanely beautiful cock. Not that Jordie has been a particular judge of penile aesthetic, but there is something about the way Jason is put together in general, especially his dick that deserves praise. His cock is just pretty. Jordie is used to his own cock, uncut and thick, and by all rights he should be thrown or put off by the Jason’s circumcised knob, but fuck if the thing doesn’t lean to either side, just sticks perfectly equidistant against his flat abs when he’s hard. The ridge of the head is meant to be licked and stroked with his thumb during blow jobs. The underside vein is thick and well defined. There’s not a lot of hair to get choked up on. It’s a sexy shade of rose pink with skin as smooth as silk and soft, warm, and the right kind of plump.
Mainly, Jordie gets this introspective and verbose over things like hockey, pick up trucks, or Star Wars, but he almost wants to build a fucking shrine to Jason’s cock and laments regularly that more people will never know the true beauty hidden beneath his shorts.
“Ungg,” Jordie moans and drops his head, trying to catch his breath as Demers drives deep into him, nudging that famed spot inside Jordie.
Jason echoes the moan and stills to a lazy pace of shallow thrusts. Jordie remains still and breathes slow and deep to regain control.
“I love fucking you so much. You’re so tight for me. You feel so good.” Daddy may be the master of oral on all the sexes apparently, but his dirty talk is a little bit late night cinemax unless he’s waxing poetic in French.
“Cock,” Jordie pants, “Your cock. So thick. Fuck.”
He grinds back against Jason and moans again. They both do.
“I need it.” Jordie means to say it softly and with urgency, but it comes out a growl instead.
“You need what?” Jason asks genuinely sweet, but deceptively demanding as he is sliding in slow, squeezing a handful of ass cheek as he does.
Jordie loses his breath and manages to reply in a semi-steady voice, “You. To. Fuck. Me.”
For two highly athletic pro-hockey players in their career primes, they are both glowing with sweat, flushed and breathing like they’re dragging monster truck tires by chains through the desert in some bizarre crossfit torture boot camp - kind of resembling out of shape lifting bros trying to dominate a step climber.
Jason puts his palm to the small of Jordie’s back and tilts his own hips, drawing his cock out until just the tip is nestled in Jordie’s slick hole. He drives back in smoothly, releasing a slow shaky breath. The noise it draws out of Jordie is one for the record books.
Jordie clambers forward and grabs at the headboard, clutching it in one fist for a few brief seconds before his hands slides down the fabric upholstery and he tips forward so his ass is in the air while the rest of him is smothering in pillows and sheets.
“Don’t die on me, Darth.” Jason encourages massaging the small of Jordie’s back with the heel of his hand.
It wouldn’t be the first time Jason used his knowledge of the ache associated with Benn-back to his advantage.
“Jesus Christ,” Jordie slobbers into the fabric and pushes back against Jason, forcing the thrust to strike deeper inside him. “Fuck, yes, oh. Fuck yes. Please.”
Jordie twists his head to the side so he can take a breath and be heard. Jason obliges the rest and begins fucking Jordie in earnest, stepping up his pace and starting to lose a little of the control he’d been demonstrating. The crest of an orgasm is in the not so far distance.
Jordie is grunting with each thrust, at the tone where pleasure is on the cusp of pain. His fingers twist in sheets and clutching pillow top mattress. Jason’s giving his back some sweet counter pressure and massaging the tight lower back muscles that have been plaguing him with stiffness and distracting pain.
There’s a litany of curse words flowing from Jordie’s lips, but in a grateful overwhelmed tone. Demers doesn’t slow his thrusts. He keeps pounding Jordie from behind despite any concern that Jordie is inching steadily forward toward the head of the bed and is probably going to start headbutting it soon if Jason doesn’t calm down a little.
Jason tips back his head, looks up at the ceiling, and tries to keep his eyes open. Just looking down at Jordie splayed out is taking him closer to the edge a lot faster than he intended. The beautiful expanse of flushed, freckled back, and that supple squeezable freckled ass are just about too much. He can ignore the arms with their muscles and ink and the knowledge they’ve been used to pin Jason down a plenty, manhandle him around the room, up against walls during heated makeout sessions and somehow still his hips during a pretty much brain sucking blow job thanks to Jordie’s pink bearded cheeks and puffy, soft lips. Not to even mention that quick tongue, which, in Jason’s humble opinion should oust the maple leaf from national honor the way it can draw out what feels like every drop of cum stored in his balls.
Jason looks back down and his rhythm stutters and it’s almost painful like he just bent his dick in half. He can’t stop his hips from swiveling and thrusting back on track so quickly that he would think maybe Jordie didn’t even notice. Demers moans when the rhythm is back on track and he’s sheathed back in hot tight undulating ass.
“Touchez -vous pour moi.” Jason breathily demands, “Fais-vous une branlette.”
Jordie’s brain shorts out instantaneously as it all starts to make sense. Touch yourself for me. Fist your cock / Jerk yourself off. But it sounded so refined and tasteful in the package of French. That’s never going to get old - being ordered around in that second language - being told filthy kinky shit like a secret code between them, just for them, just for that moment.
Jordie’s compliantly shifting his right arm and slinking his hand down the mattress, when Jason let’s go of Jordie’s back and roughly grabs his hip again. He holds him firmly and his thrusts increase in intensity, working up to torturously hard pounding. Jordie grunts, spitting in his hand and wrapping it around his aching hard cock. He jerks himself roughly until the slick of his precum eases the friction and puts his weight on his other shoulder and arm for balance. Jason keeps slamming into him, grunting with each stab, his groin flush against Jordie’s ass cheeks which are cool compared to the hot skin of Jason’s thighs.
Jordie feels the tears hot and fresh running from his eyes. He doesn’t dare turn and look back at Jason. He strokes his cock in time with the unchecked drilling that he’s receiving.
“Close, Daddy.” Jordie’s voice is scratchy now that he’s huffing and puffing through his mouth and nose.
Jason’s releases Jordie’s hip and reaches over, grabbing a fist ful of Jordie’s hair just at his crown and tugs his head back.
“Jason!” Jordie corrects, and Jason rewards him, letting his head go with almost a careless shove forward and slaps the meat of Jordie’s ass once, leaving a faint pink tinted handprint.
He slows his pace just a hint, rolling his hips so they end with a snap. Jordie cries out, his forearm bent in a curl so tight, the blue vessels are prominent against his skin. He pushes his foreskin with his fist and strokes his thumb over his sensitive needy slit, flicking the nail against it.
“Jason,” Jordie begins voice shaky as everything inside is tightening like a spring coil being drawn back as far as possible, full of tension and the promise of a violent release of energy. “Jason, Jason, Jason.”
Jason doens’t seem to respond to the chanting of his name by Jordie who is panting and moaning, trying to rock back and give as good as he’s getting.
It’s too much to handle. Jordie is mere seconds away.
If Demers leans slightly to the side he can see Jordie’s cock in his fist, angry and leaking - for him, because he’s fucking Jordie in earnest and he knows just the right way to do it. He can take Jordie to this place, this whole other level, and have him screaming or crying, begging to come. He can take him out of his head and get there by starting something as simple as a tickle at the back hem of his shirt or whispering something filthy and french quietly in his ear, then laughing like he just made an average quip.
The more he thinks about it, the impossibly more aroused it makes him imagining what they’d done, what they were doing, and all the amazingly hot shit he wanted to do in the future - fuck Jordie with Jordie gagged, fill Jordie’s mouth and throat at the fitting room in some store, get pounded by Jordie in some bar bathroom holding on to the grimy tile wall with a commode between his knees while the more adventurous Benn fucks him from behind.
“Baises, baises, baises, BAISES!” Jason is screaming by the end and Jordie feels him go tense and still inside him, not sure if Demers is even aware he’s cursing in French, moaning and shouting ‘fuck’ as he thrusts his way through orgasm.
It’s the right amount of hot combined with the furious stroking he’s inflicting on his own leaking erection. Jordie’s eyes pinch shut and he sucks in a breath, gasping Jason’s name letting it become a warm heady purr while his back arches and he comes in hot spurts on the sheets beneath. Jason is slumping forward onto his back and with little preamble Jordie is down flat, chest and abs being ground down into the cum with Jason on his back, trying to catch his breath. He gives him a gracious thirty seconds to regain some composure before unceremoniously tilting and dumping most of Jason’s upper body off him and on to the mattress.
Jason pulls out slowly and with care and whines as he rolls over onto his back, lazily attending to stripping off the filled condom.
“Have I ever told you how fuckable you are?” Jason muses, tying off the stretchy latex sheath in his hands.
Jordie grunts, cheek pressed to the pillows and eyes drooped shut. The complement is awesome, for sure, but so is riding out the wave of bliss and endorphins without moving an inch.
Jason rolls onto his side and throws an arm over Jordie’s damp back, rubbing his fingers in slow circles. He should be on his way to passing out, but the slack jawed expression on Jordie’s lips and drool pooling at the corner of his mouth against the pillowcase is way more interesting and ego affirming to pass up. He runs his hand from back to shoulders and then traces the bristly line of his jaw covered in soft ginger beard.
Jordie purrs his moan and Jason continues stroking over his beard and cheek a few more times. He leans in and kisses his parted lips. Jordie is nearly unconscious and Jason knows more than likely he’s sort of lying in cum and sweat. The courteous thing to do would be to get a wash rag, roll him over, clean him up and try to haul him off the bed to change the sheets. However, that seems like an entirely too huge amount of work to undertake at the moment.
Jason runs a hand through his own sweaty dark hair and over his face and chest, sighing and wraps a leg around Jordie, pulling his own body in closer. When they wake up out of their sex stupor maybe he can worry about cleaning Jordie up, cleaning the bed up, but his eyelids are heavy and rest sounds much more appealing.
“So perfect,” Jason whispers and receives no audible response, meaning Jordie may have already passed out, “Sweet dreams. Je t’aime.”