Tom Irwin (
extendedmetaphor) wrote2012-10-10 07:31 pm
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Or, perhaps, somewhere, they did go for that drink.
There was a lot that Irwin was still trying to adjust to. The weather, for a start. The lack of palpable history is disconcerting. He's refusing to address the dinosaurs.
And then there's Dakin. Of course, there's Dakin. Inevitably. Irwin might have been the only one who was actually surprised.
They skirted around it for a few weeks but, in the end, it just felt inevitable. That he'd find himself waiting for Dakin with a drink in front of him.
It was just a drink. And everything would be fine.
There was a lot that Irwin was still trying to adjust to. The weather, for a start. The lack of palpable history is disconcerting. He's refusing to address the dinosaurs.
And then there's Dakin. Of course, there's Dakin. Inevitably. Irwin might have been the only one who was actually surprised.
They skirted around it for a few weeks but, in the end, it just felt inevitable. That he'd find himself waiting for Dakin with a drink in front of him.
It was just a drink. And everything would be fine.
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He dragged his fingers out of Dakin's body and slicked his cock, breath catching when he touches himself.
"On your back," he says, tapping Dakin's arse again. "I want to look at you."
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It came out strangled, the sight of Dakin spread out like that sending an electric shiver from his stomach to his balls. His cock throbbed in his hand. He nudged Dakin's knees wider apart, leaning in between them, pressing his cock against Dakin without pushing inside.
"Now tell me what you want."
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He bit his lip briefly, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath before opening them. It wasn't bad, just very, very different.
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"Okay?"
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"I'm fine."
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His breath caught in a moan against Dakin's skin.
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"Oh, fuck," he breathed, ducking his head to catch Dakin's mouth in a hard, hungry kiss.
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It was all too much.
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Irwin buried his face in Dakin's neck and kept moving. He knew he didn't have much more to give.
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It was perfect. Every part of it.
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He continued to lie there for the time being, briefly running a hand through Irwin's hair, too satisfied and worn out to even consider any real movement. For once he didn't even feel the need to speak.
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"Jesus," he said, finally, with feeling.
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"Is that what it's always like?" The unspoken question was still apparent no matter how he might try not to let it show. What was I like? I was good enough, wasn't I?
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"It was worth it, then, going for that drink?"
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