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He likes Chris’s blue eyes, the way they blaze and catch the reflection of the sky, the way they crinkle at the corners as if Chris is already becoming a dangerous old man. He likes Chris’s mouth, which is always chapped with Chris’s darting tongue; he likes the way Chris looks up at him with one eyebrow raised, as if perpetually daring him.
But right now Lee likes Chris’s eyes winced shut, his mouth open and gasping, his tongue spitting profanities; he likes that the dare has gone too far, and that Chris is just enough shorter that Lee can put his weight on Chris’s back and press him into the wall while his long fingers work Chris slick and open.
Lee is strong, and his hands are large and his shoulders are powerful, but Chris gives him quite a fight for all that he keeps saying how much he wants it, biceps bunching as he presses his palms against the wall, back arching until Lee bites him hard on the ear to get him to hold still. So Lee gives up a little too early, pushing in a little too hard, lips curling in something like a snarl as Chris curses and hisses at him.
They’re back of the set, in a disused changing room with sheetrock walls that haven’t even been spackled, so when Chris starts to moan Lee gags him with one hand and reminds him: quiet, they’ll hear, shut your mouth goddammit. Chris is almost as loud gagged, and Lee fucks him extra hard to punish him for it, snapping up into him until Chris is rising to his tiptoes with each stroke and pleading in a high-pitched whine.
And yet when Lee lets go of Chris’s mouth there is such a landslide of filth in his voice— fuck me harder you pussy, you fucking whore, fuck me hard come on fuck open me up with your cock— that Lee has to catch his breath, has to slow his pace for a moment to remind himself that he doesn’t quite want to spill yet. Chris doesn’t make anything easy.
Not even giving him a break from the relentless pounding, apparently— Chris realizes Lee is pulling back and gives a heartfelt groan, begging: please I need it oh god come on it’s so good, it feels so good in me and fuck, who is Lee to hold back when Chris is such a needy little bitch, when Chris is actively trying to thrust his ass back onto Lee’s cock in little stuttering bursts, when Chris’s hands come back from the wall and grope for Lee’s hipbones to force him deeper in?
Fuck that. Lee puts his full weight into him, crushes him against the wall until Chris’s hands scrabble for purchase on the sheetrock; he supports himself slightly with one hand against the wall (most of his weight and force is going into the wall anyway, right through Chris, practically pressing the breath out of him) and the other against Chris’s bicep, wrenching him into a difficult position so that when he picks up speed again Chris is simply borne into the wall with no recourse or support.
No more profanity, no more begging, scarcely any more sound at all besides desperate gasps and the occasional groan; Lee fucking pounds him into the wall, even though he has to bend his knees a little to lower himself to a good angle, even though the slap of his body against Chris’s back has to be audible all the way out to the set. When Chris begins to groan in desperation, Lee gives him just enough space to pull back that Lee can get his own hand down between Chris and the wall, and then he’s back to fucking him, jerking him with quick brutal motions until Chris’s voice dissolves into urgent horrified gasps and his whole body clenches and Chris spills over his fingers, painting the wall, convulsively wrenching beneath Lee’s onslaught until Lee follows him to climax with a groan— feeling his eyebrows draw up into a helpless plea, feeling his mouth fall open and his eyes flick closed, feeling his whole body shudder to a shallow thrusting halt—