Spontaneous Generation of a fic : Fandom : RocknRolla || Beauty is a cruel mistress
No matter how many times One Two kept repeating in his own head that what had happened between Handsome Bob and himself was only because the man was heading for incarceration the next day, it seemed he could never stop his prick from hardening whenever he thought about that night.
It’s not like he didn’t know that it was perfectly normal for a man to enjoy having a few fingers up his arse. After all, he’d got women do it for him. It was the fact that he had enjoyed doing it with Handsome Bob that was nagging at him. It was the fact that every time he thought back about that time, he’d wank off trying to recall the feeling of having Bob’s prick up his arse.
Sure, he’d told Mumbles all they’ve done was dancing. Sure, they had actually danced. But how could he ever tell someone, anyone, a guy of the Wild Bunch, that what he had agreed to do was actually to give him a job as well.
Alright, it had started like that. Mumbles just didn’t need to know it had gone further. Didn’t need to know he had then laid on his back for him.
It had taken six good, awesome beers in almost a straight line until he had gotten around being able to do anything at all. But after the sixth, he had let himself slide down the chair he was on and pad across to where Bob was waiting, legs sprawled. His hands had immediately gone for Bob’s belt buckle and the two of them had managed to get his pants down to his ankles. It had been weird, having Bob’s prick in his mouth, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know what to do to please a man, or at least, what pleased a man.
He’d heard Bob pant before, but not in the same circumstances, not in the same way. And certainly not moaning at the same time. The sound of it, the twitching heat in his mouth, his bollocks in his hands and the too high alcohol content of his blood had outdone him, and he had pushed himself up and caught those lips.
The kiss had been rough, messy and needy. It had elicited the deepest of moans, second only to the one that escaped his lips when Bob had managed to get his hands into his own jeans and wank him a couple of times. It had made him tremble.
Before he knew it, he was on his back and Bob was taking his jeans off. And before long, he felt slick fingers enter him. They were scissoring around, stretching him like he’d done so often on a woman, when they brushed against his prostate and sent him rocking against the couch.
Bob had moved him, pressing both his legs together to get a bit more place on the couch. And that’s when he had entered him, filling him up and especially, splitting him in two. He had to bite his lower lip to the blood so he could keep the pain at bay. It hadn’t worked, not until Bob had grabbed his prick and wanked it off.
In the end, it hadn’t taken many of those long and sweet thrusts and wanks, but the bastard was good, bloody good. He knew exactly how to hit it, pressing down on him as he kissed him again.
Truth be told, it had been amazing. And his body had immediately remembered it when Bob had sweet-talked to him while his hands covered his eyes in that bloody basement room. It had scared him, the strength of his reactions, and made him stand back. It had scared him, having him there. He was supposed to be away, safely tucked away in a prison cell for a few years, during which time he would have found himself a nice woman to make him forget all about that night; but he wasn’t. He even thought talking to Mumbles had made it better, and it had, but for a fucking short amount of time. Until he realized what he wanted wasn’t to be inside a fucking hot accountant, but to have Bob inside of him.
So he’d showed up at that apartment again. Bob had that cocky grin on his lips, but he’d made no comment about it. Instead, he had just kissed him as he’d pushed him inside.
“Did you fuck that fucking lawyer to get the papers?”
He knew there was much more anger in that sentence than it ought to.
“I see.” The only thing he only saw was that grin on his face. When had Handsome Bob started being so in control? “Well,” he ran a finger down his back, and that set him afire, “if you’re good, I’ll tell you, Frasen.”
Fin
Alecki