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Stuart can’t even remember what the argument was about, least of all how it started. Everything just seemed to vanish the moment his back hit the wall. Not because the power of it winded him, or pain, or blinding rage, but the shock of it being Steven Finn before him. His slender fingers grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and somehow managing to make that one inch they differed in height a whole lot more. The shock quickly settled into confusion because suddenly fighting was the last thing on Stuart’s mind. And the last thing on Steven’s as he dashed from the room a moment after the blonde fell wide-eyed and silent.
Sinking to the floor soon afterwards, staring at the blank hotel wall opposite him, Stuart keeps on replaying those pivotal seconds endlessly. And always finds his breath catching on the one when Steven leant in with his eyes burning with such a different passion to the norm. The words he hissed fell onto dead ears, but the heat and taste of his breath so close and venomous was simply entrancing. He feels a familiar tingle that’s a blurred line between numbness and over sensitivity. And whilst want is something he’s no stranger to feeling when it comes to his teammate, the utter hunger for that fire of Finn’s is alien and disorientating.
He’s always been the one in control. The one to guide and dictate; to watch that face beneath him twist in abstract pleasure and he’d always revelled in it. The brunette was always giggles and adoring smiles; almost constantly searching for Stuart’s approval. He is Stuart’s not-little puppy and that is the man he first fell in love with. But in those few seconds, Stuart had found himself at the mercy the man who, on the pitch, took devastating wickets, and he loved it. A desire for anything other than the harmless Finn he knows has never crossed his mind before. But then, this side of Steven is something he never knew existed.
Stuart sits, over-thinking, in silence until the tension in his body wears off but his shock is ever-present. It’s frightening in a way: no longer understanding his own needs and wants. No longer understanding himself. He’s not usually the type of person to talk about his troubles, mostly as they’re self-inflicted, or a belief that no one could relate or aid him. But in this… in this he knows someone who could.
With a twist to his lips, both of premature regret and annoyance, Stuart pushes himself to his feet. Every step he takes to Alastair Cook’s room is one he spends trying to convince himself he’s making a stupid mistake. Perhaps he could even go ramble into Matt’s ear and be told he’s being stupid, and suffer a few jabs and jibes about it every now and then when they hang together. As great as it sounds, and far more preferable, it won’t cure the itch that has now settled under the blonde’s skin.
He can’t stop thinking just how much he wants to drag his lips across the firm and taut muscles of Steven’s set jaw and feel those strong hands grasp and push and pull him to his whimsy.
The Captain’s door isn’t locked, as is the usual case – ever one to affirm his laid-back, amiable approachability – so Stuart slips straight in but locks the door behind him. The man is reclining on his bed, barefoot and casually-clad in sweatpants and a shirt much looser around his waist than it is his torso. He’s reading and only looks up when Stuart clears his throat, but the motion is curious and cautious and Stuart knows why. There’s only two occasions in which he’d invite himself into Alastair’s room – One, to talk about matches and Two… two he hadn’t done in a long, long time.
He bites his tongue, just knowing he’s made the biggest mistake of his life because this is definitely going to be misconstrued as an occasion Number Two. In which he comes to Alastair for sex. And the worst part is that Cook sits and patiently waits for him to ask for it.
Which he is not going to, so he’s completely bewildered why he deliberates, opening and pursing his lips like he’s ashamed of what he wants to ask. Because he shouldn’t be ashamed. It’s why he came to Alastair in the first place. That one person who knows and cannot judge any wants or preferences when it comes to sex.
If anyone could explain his sudden urges and keep them a secret, it would be him.
If anyone could give the guidance he needs, it’s definitely Alastair.
“…can you help me?” he finally manages to murmur with very little strength because it’s still so hard for him to utter those words.
Alastair surveys him for a moment before putting the book down and crawling across the mattress towards him. “I can help you with anything you want, Stuart,” he smiles, just as cat-like as he moves. And whilst the words should sound comforting, there’s still some mockery, some threat that comes from misunderstanding.
Stuart makes a point of standing when Alastair glances to the mattress beside him. He crosses his arms and puts every effort into appearing as obstinate and stolid as he can, but it’s not the best of ideas, knowing what Alastair’s like when he thinks he’s in for some fun.
“Now my interest is piqued,” the Captain smirks, but then he stares; frowns and sees something in Stuart’s face he either doesn’t recognise or does recognise and doesn’t like “What’s happened?”
The question is much softer and calms Stuart’s frayed nerves. For a moment, it’s something like talking to his sister and he feels more open to disclosing this newfound secret. Handy, considering that’s why he’s here in the first place.
So he opens his mouth and the words just tumble out. Cathartic, in a way, but worrying in another because he’s just not normally that kind of guy, and comforting because Alastair just sits and nods as he babbles on and on about all the stupid little things his mind had focused on in those brief moments Finn had lost his temper. The Captain is almost unfazed as Stuart details Steven’s posture and expression that even an anal-retentive would cringe at. He’s unfazed until a wry smile creeps across his face.
“You totally want him to fuck you.”
Such a simple statement stuns Stuart and he falters for a response. An excuse why it’s not true because he suddenly realises that it’s the last thing he wants to hear. Perhaps he should have gone to Matt. Because Matt would convince him that all’s fine and normal and maybe it’s just a phase that will pass in a few hours because Steven would be back to his boring, average, adorable self.
But what if it wasn’t… what if the urge lingers and burns and breeds and grows until… Oh, that’s why he came to see Alastair. For help.
To his silence, the Captain chuckles, probably further misunderstanding his lack of reaction for denial. “Have I just sat here and listened to your sexual fantasies for nothing? C’mon, Stu,” the brunette scoffs and cards a hand through his hair. “You totally want him to fuck you and there’s nothing wrong in it.”
The more Alastair says it, the more Stuart imagines it and he starts to feel sick. It’s not any shame or disgust at the thought of being under Steven – in fact his heartbeat races – but a fear that he can’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps it is just the change; something new that neither of them have thought about and something so important that it seems almost suicidal to spend on a whim born from a squall of a fight.
“You’re afraid,” comes a gentle, quiet murmur and Stuart looks up from where his blue eyes had fallen to the beige carpet to see Alastair rising to his feet. “You’re afraid that you won’t enjoy it as much as you think you will. You’re afraid that’ll hurt him, aren’t you?”
It sinks in and makes total sense. The more sense it makes, the more the cloud of helplessness that Stuart had found himself trapped in lifts. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, now that he feels like he can breathe. Strange how Alastair can tell him things he should already know. In that way, maybe he does deserve the Test Captaincy because he truly does know and understand his teammates. “Yeah.”
“So you’ve come to me to find out how much you will enjoy it?”
His eyes open again and it’s like that calm, sympathetic Cook of the last few minutes had never existed because that feline smirk of dark eyes and simmering sexual confidence is stood before him. Every shred of his pride commands for him to turn and leave because he’s seen this Alastair before and promised himself that he never would again. But that part of him so stupidly in love with the 6’7slash8” fast-bowling puppy that is Steven Finn begs for him to stay.
He doesn’t react when Alastair takes that extra step closer and quickly diminishes the space between them to nothing. He doesn’t react when the batsman’s long fingers thread into his short hair and urges his head down to an angle that much more suits a kiss. For a second, he stiffens as Alastair leans in, but remembers that there’s never any affection in his kisses. They are fuelled purely by an understanding of arousal. They’re just a tool; an empty part of casual sex as much anything else he does.
“I’m doing this for Finny, okay?” he mutters sternly when there’s just a breath between their lips. “Nothing else.”
Alastair’s lips curl and his fingers twist, and when Stuart gets his eyes to focus, he finds one black eyebrow arched upwards. “I know, I know,” and to silence any other comments Stuart could make, the Captain lunges in for another, hungrier kiss.
It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone but Finn but he soon gets over any apprehension and takes a firm hold of Alastair’s shoulders and rubs his thumbs into the muscle that is much more defined than he remembers. As he starts to push Alastair back towards the bed, the brunette breaks the kiss, scoffing.
“Whilst power-bottoming is the best thing in the world, Finny will simply assume you’re seizing the Top, so,” he takes another kiss, and his hands wander down from Stuart’s head and shoulders to roam about his chest, teasing him into sexual excitement. “Either you get Finny so fired up he throws you around, or you lay down slow and sexy, and spread your legs without words so his dick does the thinking, okay?”
Stuart nods, hissing in sharp breaths as Alastair’s well-practiced fingers draw little circles over his nipples through his shirt. Without words, he follows his captain’s instruction and slips around him to settle down just as instructed. It’s so strange, so weird to find himself in the role he’d always played spectator to. He cannot count how many girls had stripped off for him before and laid down, offering up everything they had with crude words or a gesturing finger. He even thinks to those few times Steven had done so, giggling all the time and wriggling restlessly as Stuart teased him by waiting.
For a moment, Alastair just stands, staring with an appreciative sneer. Just as he did a few years ago when the blonde had laid breathless and dazed in the aftermath of an orgasm. He reaches out slowly, one hand firm upon Stuart’s groin and starts to massage his cock through his jeans. And it’s just as he remembers: shameless, guiltless, string-free sex. Stuart frowns, snapping his legs closed sharply – not out of shyness, but a sudden hesitance. “Finny can’t know you’ve fucked me, okay? Okay?” he barks and Alastair chuckles under his breath.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he replies, still smiling as he draws his hand back and calmly walks around the bed to the table beside it and opens a drawer. “Your cherry will remain Finny’s, don’t worry. Now, take off your trousers and pants and stop worrying.”
Stuart scowls at being patronised, especially by a man who – in essence – was his equal and is only above him because of his talented hands and mouth and whatever else he did to earn his post. He watches Alastair pick his way through a selection of lubricants as he unfastens his jeans, finally sliding out of them as the batsman comes to a decision.
An unexpected triple-knock on the door has Stuart scrambling up the bed and out of sight of the doorway, wide-eyed and never more frantic but Alastair rolls his eyes and calmly paces over to the door – still with the blue, branded bottle in his hand.
“Hey—”
“Hey, bit busy at the moment,”
“Anything I can help you with?” Stuart frowns when his ears register a soft South African accent. And the expression only deepens when he notices the lascivious heat in it.
“No,” Alastair replies and it’s clear he’s grinning and clear he’s being coquettish. “Captain’s business,”
“At this time of night? …with lube?” Kevin questions. Then his voice suddenly hardens to something Stuart is much more used to hearing. “Is it that little blonde kid again becau—?”
The Captain laughs, slow and with an infinitely pleased inflection. “No, but let’s pretend it is. Think all your jealous thoughts and let them fester. I’ll come as soon as I’m done here.”
Kevin grunts what sounds like acquiescence and Stuart hears something that sounds like a languid, deep – oh God, Cook’s humming – kiss. “Don’t be too long. Never know what beast I’ll become.”
“Oh, I’ll be a while if that’s the case.”
The flirting and the mental images Stuart’s mind provides are the type that makes him feel like gagging. Both hilarious and disgusting and completely confusing because here he is thinking Alastair is only capable meaningless sex. Before he knows it, he’s subjected to more kissing noises before the door shuts and locks again and Alastair returns to the bedside looking far too smitten for someone with his reputation.
“I’m not gonna ask, because I don’t want to know,” Stuart says flatly even though Alastair shows no signs of indulging him with an explanation.
“Good,” Alastair glances at the door, then shakes his head with a smile, and fiddles with the bottle he holds. “Now, hurry up and get your pants off.”
His impatience is something completely new and although surprising, still welcome. Something leisurely would detract from the entire purpose of why Stuart is even here. He’s not on his back and pushing his boxers over his half-hard cock because he wants to; he’s on his back and kicking his boxers off his feet because he needs to be.
Remembering Alastair’s earlier instructions, he spreads his legs again. Shame is something hard to feel when Stuart thinks back to the few times he’d had the Captain like this, or even how many others had been like this on this bed before him and since.
Alastair kneels on the mattress between his legs and generously squirts the clear lubricant onto his hand. He leaves the bottle on the mattress and immediately surges forwards, left hand on Stuart’s thigh and the right curling around his cock.
“Finny will no doubt be different, but if he’s unsure, you could always start doing this yourself,” he smiles and starts to pump the blonde’s shaft in long, sure strokes. “No way he could sit back and just watch,”
Stuart lays back and listens, not only guiltily enjoying the confident caress of Cook but knowing that he’ll have to concentrate to take in what he says. Yet, the latter becomes increasingly harder to focus on the more aroused he gets, and he does so quickly. Then his focus goes into keeping the Captain’s name off his lips; spilling out short pants and groans.
“Fuck, I forgot how pretty you are,” Alastair mutters and cranes up to kiss Stuart on the mouth. Just a simple contact of pressure, but when Stuart probes his tongue against Alastair’s lips, the Captain pulls away.
He sits back completely and takes the lubricant up again. Stuart bites his lip as he watches Alastair pour a generous measure into his palm, feeling the first niggles of apprehension because he knows what’s coming. But he also knows how Steven’s always enjoyed this, and imagines what wondrous things Alastair will show him that would only spice up sex with his boyfriend in the future – of course, with that will come the need to find excuses as to where he learned these new genius techniques.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never switched before,” Alastair all of a sudden starts in a conversational tone.
Stuart looks up from the man’s hands, perplexed, and his brows furrow when a new question bubbles up in his mind. The seriousness of it all but completely ruins the moment – this entire charade. “What if he doesn’t want to?”
“Oh, he will want to,” the Captain replies and haphazardly balances on his cleaner right hand to peck a few kisses around Stuart’s mouth. No doubt just to comfort him. “You’re far too pretty not to fuck into.”
“…have you ever…with KP?”
Alastair doesn’t even look perturbed in the slightest, not even sardonic. For a moment, it’s like whatever he has with the other batsman isn’t a secret, or wrong, or that it’s like everyone knows that the casual nature of their affair has become something more. “No,” he says and then shrugs “I don’t want to. I like Kev because he’s so—ya’know, this is meant to be about you, not my sexlife,” he laughs to himself, shaking his head and starts to slather the lubricant liberally over his two forefingers. “Finny loves you for you, so, it’s just natural to switch.”
“Natural, right.”
“Yeah, you never know, maybe all this time he’s been secretly craving something hot, tight and wet to stick his dick in,”
Stuart laughs with a hint of scorn colouring his voice. Because it hides and distracts him from the insecurity that maybe Steven had been craving, and he’d been a terrible lover in not knowing, and being selfish in not even asking. “I think I prefer the professional you.”
“I’m still your Captain,” Cook scoffs, “Now, shut up, lay back and listen to me.”
He does as he’s told, settling to stare up at the whitewashed ceiling and feeling Alastair palm the remnants of the lubricant from his left hand over his hole. The feeling is so new, and the desire to even experience likewise that he tenses, unaccustomed and fearful. Had Steven been like this the first time they tried it, and hidden his discomfort with his giggling? Suddenly, he feels very small for questioning his boyfriend’s intentions and sincerity, if that was the case.
“Relax, Stu,” Alastair coos gently, waiting at a considerate distance. “You know I won’t hurt you.”
Stuart slides his eyes shut and places his hands on his abdomen, conscious to keep his breathing calm. There’s nothing much else he thinks he can do until he gets used to it. And Alastair helps, of course, gently rubbing his fingertips against the puckered muscle of his entrance.
“You’ll have to make sure he does this properly, Stu, you’ll be so tight he co—”
Whilst the words are said with genuine caring, Stuart feels invaded and uncomfortable. Here he is with his captain fingering him and being made to think about the boyfriend he’s technically cheating on. He snaps, curling his fingers because he’s one second away from calling this off. “You don’t have to tell me how to fuck my own boyfriend.”
Alastair laughs, low and deep in his throat. He places his left hand above Stuart’s shoulder, drawing himself upwards and in-level for a kiss. “Then why are you here?”
There are times when Stuart could quite happily punch him and now’s one of them. Smugness is just too intense on that face because of its handsomeness and how predatory he can look with those eyes as dark and as bottomless as a shark’s. He hates how Alastair can always manage to out-do him in some way and reluctantly gives up the war he’ll never win of words and simply catch Alastair’s mouth in a determined kiss.
Before he realises it, he’s humming and lifting his hips in a search for more from those fingers. Though he knew the soft skin of his bottom was sensitive, he never suspected that such a simple thing feels so good, making him hungry.
So he’s ready when Alastair, without warning, presses a little harder with his index finger and worms a slick digit inside. In a way, the blonde’s grateful he wasn’t given notice to the intrusion because that way, he couldn’t tense and couldn’t convince himself that it would feel anything other than pleasing. Alastair only ventures about an inch before gently pushing in an out a few times, getting him ever-more used to it.
“Don’t look so strained,” the Captain murmurs with the placidity of a schoolteacher. “You’ll scare Finny for sure.”
And Stuart can imagine it already: Steven’s hesitance, barely making a move without pausing and asking if it was okay. Then double checking it was okay, Never quite having the confidence to do anything lest it hurt. Perhaps that’s why they had never discussed switching, and Stuart’s still guilty because he never really thought Steven capable of control. Until he saw that darker, angry Finn that had thrown him against the wall and boxed him in to make a point that he was right.
After a minute, Alastair slides his finger in to the third knuckle. All the blonde can do is let out a shaky breath and smile lazily as the batsman starts to move into a rhythm. It’s slow and deep, simple and still just serving the purpose of acclimatisation. And when that comes, Stuart starts aching for more. The tension in his body is not dissimilar to being cockteased, like yearning for a mouth instead of a hand, or to thrust his way into Steven rather than simply rocking against him. He wriggles his hips, pressing against Alastair’s slender hand.
“Now you’re getting it,”
Almost like a reward, Alastair works his second finger in with the first. It’s a squeeze that isn’t quiet discomforting, but actually quiet pleasant. The sensation of fullness so novel he can’t find anything wrong with it. He still can’t find anything wrong after a few slides. In fact, it’s so good, noises start to bubble up in his throat. Hums become moans and he bites his tongue to concentrate on keeping his dignity. Movement above him vaguely registers and then he’s kissing Alastair again, languorous and wet.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Broady,” Alastair murmurs against his lips, all the while keeping the penetrative motion of his fingers consistent and careful.
Stuart’s hands fall to the mattress, fisting the sheets as his voice gets a little bit louder. He feels Alastair’s fingers spreading inside him, working him loose and ever more pleasured. He rocks his hips keenly in the search for more sensation.
“Yeah, that’s it,” the Captain urges in whispers, lips still brushing together. “Don’t beg for it. Know what you want, but don’t take it. You’re submissive, Broady,” that word catches in Stuart’s mind and feels so gloriously liberating it spreads a dull throb in his gut. He’s always been so dominant that a change is exhilarating. “Let Finny know how much you want him, but don’t be needy – no one likes a whiner.”
When his fingers slide without resistance, Alastair curls them and there’s no way Stuart could have ever prepared himself for the bolt of euphoria that sweeps white-hot and fantastic through him. “Oh, my—fuck,” he moans, head back and gasps for breath.
“Yeah,” Alastair grins and sits up a bit. He shuffles on his knees and when Stuart lazily glances down, he’s sporting an erection in his black trousers. It’s a gratifying sight and he settles back into the pillows. “Welcome to the pleasures of bottoming,” and with that wolfish expression, he rubs his fingertips back into Stuart’s prostate and steals his breath deftly. “Feels fucking great, doesn’t it?”
He nods like he has no idea what he’s agreeing to, and in a way, he doesn’t. All he feels is that intense pleasure so much like his cock fucking into a tight hole he’s sure it’ll make him come in next to no time. No wonder Steven writhes and screams when Stuart does this to him. That’s all he can think, and then it twists to an eager impatience to finally switch. To be that one, with Steven’s long fingers working their magic; to moan and gasp and give back all those wonderful sights and sensations Steven’s always give him.
“—better with a cock, trust me—” Alastair’s voice keeps on drifting through his mind like waves against the sides of ship, both calming and yet distracting. “Get lost in it—let him take you—fuck—”
The feeling ceases and Alastair is hovering over him again, flushed-faced and staring with hazy brown eyes. His fingers are ever present, though significantly less filling now that the muscles are stretched and relaxed around them. “Do you want to come?”
“No,” Stuart whispers without even thinking, and he knows why. He’s so charged, excited, aroused and craving a cock that he doesn’t want to waste this virginal, beautiful feeling on some hollow release. It has to be Steven.
“Good,” Alastair nods sharply, beaming, and withdraws his fingers. He could’ve been gentler in doing so, but the sudden loss only exaggerates Stuart’s desires. “Then fuck off,” he practically jumps off the bed and grabs a couple wetwipes from a packet on the bedside table to clean his fingers.
Stuart is slightly more lethargic because he’s unsure of his legs. Alastair must misunderstand it for hesitance or sheer laziness because he scurries around the bed and flings the blonde’s boxers at him.
“Seriously, fuck off. Just put ‘em on, no one’s going to see you.”
The brunette stands at the door, visibly thrumming, handle in one hand and the bottle of lubricant in the other. He’s absolutely childlike in an uncharacteristic energy and excitement and Stuart shakes his head in bemusement as he pulls his pants on.
He slips from the room first, and like Alastair said, there’s no one around the see his near-nakedness, bulging cock and tell-tale flush. The Captain immediately takes a turn to the right, towards the Kevin’s room.
“Have fun,” the blonde calls in a hushed voice. With a smile, it’s as much a thanks as he’s going to give at the moment.
Alastair pauses when the door’s half open, grinning and almost winking, “You too.”
He’s gone in a second and if Stuart hears the thud of his back hitting the door, he pretends he doesn’t. Finn’s room isn’t that far, thankfully, because he can still hear movement and voices within the rooms he passes. The constant threat of someone ambling out keeps his strides long as much as his eagerness for sex.
He almost moans with relief when he finds Steven’s door open and the room darkened to only one lamp. The place is a tip and he hears the soft breathing he’s gotten used to roaring in his ears as he tries to go to sleep. Quietly, he shuts and locks the door and strips down completely as he makes his way into the bedroom.
Steven’s sound asleep in bed; the sheet crumpled at his hips, revealing the musculature he’s been working on for a while. He barely even stirs when Stuart crawls up onto the mattress, straddling those endless legs with a restlessness so very different to nervousness. There’s no doubt in his mind that he won’t enjoy this now. No doubt in his mind that his adorable puppy will turn him down.
At least asleep, Stuart can keep that darker, violent Steven Finn in his mind, cheekily fantasising as he pulls the bedsheets down. There’s a sternness to Steven’s face as he sleeps. Perhaps just his dark eyebrows, or the shape of his nose made much sharper when there isn’t a glittering smile to detract from it. But he’s still the handsome bean-pole of a man Stuart loves.
And craves to the point he thinks he’s going to combust.
Wriggling Steven’s pants down is a struggle Stuart wishes he could have done without. Though the younger bowler is a deep sleeper, he doesn’t want to risk waking him too soon. Stuart’s still a little afraid that Steven would stop him – stop this. Not because he thinks Steven would reject him, but because he sees it leading into a discussion that his lusts just would not survive.
Those lusts are amplified when he finally casts the garment to the floor and settles down with his hands cradling Finn’s flaccid cock. Carefully shuffling down the mattress enough that he can bend comfortably, Stuart gently presses kisses along the shaft.
Whilst Steven stirs, his cock wakes quickly, filling and growing hard enough for him to wrap his lips around. He sucks lightly, bobbing slowly because he doesn’t want Steven coming, and because the longer he takes, the more aroused Finn’ll be when he finally comes round – and therefore completely unable to start talking.
And the longer he takes, the more Stuart feels himself grow restless. His own cock feels wet against his thigh, so when Steven’s face contorts in a mix of confusion and pleasure, he hums with genuine excitement. The vibrations all but shock the brunette’s mind into lucidity and he cracks those chocolate-coloured eyes open wearily.
Upon seeing him, they widen drastically, “Woaaah, what’re you…” he trails off as he blinks slowly, letting out a shaky breath. “God, don’t stop, Stu.”
Stuart gazes deep into that handsome face, silently amused at the dreaminess of it and he swears he can almost see him doubting if he was really awake. Two hands thread into his thick blonde hair and he returns his focus back to the cock in his mouth, working with that same patience.
Steven makes all sorts of quiet little noises: sighs and groans and Stuart listens to each and every one. Not only enjoying it, but to hear when the pitch changes – and when it does, he starts to pull back. Steven’s fingers immediately twist in his hair – and for once it’s even slightly painful – to keep him down, keep his head moving. But Stuart determinedly pulls away and looks up, smirking.
“Stu,” Steven all but whines, his face as flushed as his cock. He’s so beautifully undone that Stuart bites the inside of his lip. Long-fingered hands reach out for him, brushing his lips momentarily before sliding back around his skull. “Stu, c’mon, come back,”
Tilting his head but keeping that wicked curve to his lips, Stuart makes to settle back down like he’s resuming, but only just peppers light kisses along the underside of Steven’s length. He absolutely adores the way the brunette gasps and clutches tighter to him, and how he positively writhes when Stuart slips one hand between his legs to draw dry lines across the nerve-laden skin there.
Only ten minutes ago, Stuart had been in Steven’s place, and the memories are still too fresh: of sensation, and then that glorious pleasure of his prostate… it bellows the fire in his gut until it roars. It doesn’t matter if Steven’s not dark and assertive, because he just loves him whatever he chooses to be. He loves him and wants to show that.
“God, Stu,” Steven groans and keens his hips up, at the perfect angle for those gentle fingers to slip inside him and Stuart’s glad he’s past the point of caring for lubricant (though he’d never dare hurt his boyfriend in such a way) because it means it’s time. “Stu, shit, hurry up.”
Suddenly pulling back up, Stuart grins widely when Steven literally sags into the mattress with disappointment. He shuffles up on his knees until he’s straddling Finn’s hips and that grasps the brunette’s full attention. Those brown eyes widen, knowing but totally not believing what’s happening. And maybe some little part of that brain disregards it as teasing.
“Let’s try something new,” the blonde murmurs, positively vibrating with the excitement. Steven just lays still in shock, eyes flicking down as Stuart reaches to hold his cock still before he sinks down onto it. As he’s breached, he fights to keep his blue eyes as trained on Steven’s face because he wants him to know just how much he wants this and how much he won’t regret it. But the pleasure of it is a little too much, and his eyes roll back and shut as he bites into his bottom lip.
“Oh my god,” Steven gasps. His hands wrap around Stuart’s thighs; head pressed back into the pillows as Stuart pushes all the way down. He has really never felt anything like it, and it steals his breath too. Alastair’s fingers might he loosened him up, but Steven’s girth stretches him but it doesn’t hurt and it’s Steven and it’s Steven’s voice calling to him, “I love you, I love you, ugh fuck, I really love you.”
He has never felt anything like it and he can’t even think of anything but that feeling: the pleasure of being filled and just how much he loves senseless words coming from Steven’s mouth.
“I love you.”
Stuart manages to chuckle, reaching blindly for Steven’s hands and intertwining their fingers on his legs. He’s sat completely, comfortably, on his lap, taking a moment for his muscles to give up their stupid protests of resistance. His body wants this as bad as the rest of him, he knows, just from how his cock aches with an arousal that hasn’t been so strong in a while.
He bends at the waist to kiss Steven, who leans up to spare him half the effort and discomfort like he knows exactly what it feels like – because he does, and his appreciation for this gesture is so evident and glitters in his eyes like fairy lights. And it seeps into the kiss: a deep thing with slow-burning, searing passion; more tongue than anything else. “’Love you too,” he finally replies when they part, spit-slicked lips and hazy eyes.
Gently, Stuart starts to raise his hips. Steven gasps and clutches tightly to his hands. “Shit, not yet. I’ll come if you move.”
So they sit in relative silence for a long minute. Stuart finds how he adores the speed of Steven’s breathing, not only for the sight of it with that chiselled chest and little bronze nipples, but how each breath turns into tiny little gyration inside him. When his heartbeat slows, the first thing the brunette does is holds Stuart’s hands to his lips and kisses each knuckle in turn. The tenderness makes him smile, just as he feels the cock inside him start to move. It’s a ridiculously shallow motion with there being little room between their bodies, but it’s enough to say that Steven’s ready.
And finally, Stuart feels set to let go of the control he’s harboured for much too long. It’s hard though: maybe just through force of habit. He dictates the pace, rising and sinking his hips in a gentle motion because they’re both more or less new to this so it’s strangely like being virgins again – which they never had been when they met each other. That thought fills Stuart with the normal fluffy warmth that makes him chuckle at his own stupidity. But also highlights how well suited they are, foolishly and hopelessly in love.
Steven only thrusts up on occasion, like it’s more a reflex than attempting dominance – at least he doesn’t apologise for it. But when he does move, it’s like the buck of a horse, all lean muscles and fluid strength and it’s so good, Stuart can do little more than throw his head back and moan. He doesn’t care how loud or how often because it’s just too amazing.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Steven says lowly. It’s not out of breathlessness and Stuart looks down and sees a new but familiar look upon that face. Fire. Their clasped hands tighten and Steven jerks his hips up again, disrupting the established rhythm.
A groan of unadulterated arousal bubbles deep in Stuart’s throat and he rocks down with more force and speed. But Steven is now adamant to be involved in the pace-making and catches Stuart off-guard every now and then. If the blonde isn’t mistaken, then Steven does it partly to earn strangled, loud noises and he loves it. When he’s fucking into his boyfriend, the moans are rewards that he keeps close in his memories. And they’re really being earned right now.
Control being taken from him.
Dazed by the revelation, before he knows what’s truly happening, Stuart feels their hands tear apart, and instead Steven’s got those long fingers around his waist. Then, in a tumble of movement that disorientates him for a moment, his back’s against the mattress and Steven’s stroking down his hips as he withdraws just enough that only the head of his cock is left buried inside. He slides back in with a force and confidence that five hours ago, Stuart would have found preposterous.
“You’re driving me mad, Stu,” the brunette all but growls into the shell of his ear. He manually, firmly, wraps Stuart’s legs around his lean waist and never once stops or falters the pistoning of his hips. Every thrust is angled to his prostate with a perfection that surely comes from experience and fuck, Alastair is right: it feels so much better with a cock than before. “You like it, don’t you, baby?”
Stuart can barely find his tongue to reply but thinks over and over in his head fuck yes. He wraps his arms around Steven’s shoulders and tilts his head until he finds his mouth for an utterly voracious kiss. “So good,” he mumbles, distorted by the second tongue in his mouth.
Steven just smiles against him, but the usual open curl to his lips feels sharp and twisted. It’s so odd because this is a man so different to what Stuart’s used to, but he tastes the same, smells that same, and he knows all the little calluses that he feels against his skin as the brunette’s hands wander.
Something changes in his mind and he no longer cares to analyse this because it’s just Steven Finn whether he’s a puppy or a stallion. He no longer cares because he can feel his climax building deep in the pit of his stomach. The man he loves is so ardent to please him never once ceasing or even tiring; endlessly giving sensation and driving him towards that edge.
“Stevie,” Stuart groans, and if he says anything more he hasn’t a clue what it is. His hands slide down Steven’s shoulders, nails painting shallow lines as the man kisses the length of his throat. He’s so unbelievably close he can’t believe the pressure. And it seems to weigh physically downwards because Fiin’s cock feels even thicker inside him. Yet the force remains constant, the aim, the smoothness, the pleasure that tingles in his extremities.
“Stu, ugh, Stu,” Steven starts to pant under his breath. His eyes are half closed and chin tucked against his chest. Stuart’s eyes are shut, head pressed back into the pillows and they call blindly to each other like owls at midnight.
A sharp intake of breath heralds Stuart’s orgasm and in the split second before it hits, he hears likewise in his ear. It strikes him very differently to any he’s had before, because it feels like it’s coming from a much deeper place. It’s not weaker or stronger in anyway, just new and Stuart grins as he moans and convulses because he loves it. He loves how Steven thrusts into him shallowly, grunting his name.
They both collapse to the damp sheets, panting. And then kissing, hissing breaths through their noses. Stuart sighs when Steven pulls out from his body and curls his arms back around his torso. It’s clingy, but even if it wasn’t just the sort of thing they usually do, he can’t remember feeling so close to anyone before. Because Steven is the first person he’s shared everything with.
Pulling away softly, Steven smoothes back Stuart’s hair and beams into his face. That cotton-soft, adorable, bright and heart warming smile. “You’re amazing,”
Stuart blinks lazily and grins back. He’s just about to lean up for another kiss when the brunette slides off him and all but falls to the floor with his gangly, jelly-like limbs. He rolls his eyes at the childish giggle that erupts out into the darkness.
“You’re an idiot,” he grumbles and turns his head to see Steven peeking over the corner of the mattress. With this light, it’s something like a child trying to wake a parent on Christmas morning because his eyes are sparkling mirth and he’s still flushed with excitement. “But you’re mine. Now get back here.”
One eyebrow raised, Steven chuckles. “I’m getting a washcloth first, because you’ve made a mess!”
Stuart flinches as Steven pokes the tip of his nose to exaggerate the swap in their positions. He glances down at his stomach and purses his lips. It really is quite a mess, and now that he’s noticed it, it’s growing uncomfortably sticky. Watching the younger bowler nigh-on skip into the bathroom is a welcome distraction. Steven’s obviously feeling immensely pleased with himself, as much as he must be lingering on the high of climax.
Stuart shakes his head and laughs because despite it being only minutes ago, that forcefully dominant and hopelessly erotic Steven Finn has vanished without a trace. But he doesn’t miss that new persona. Because he knows exactly what he has to do to see him again.
And he most certainly will.