untitled smut
Tiny, untitled piece of Shatnoy smut, culled from the kinkmeme.
They have learned to be quick about it.
Back against the door of the stall, jeans unzipped, breath short and quick; hurry hurry hurry 'cause De's getting another round in and it took them more effort to drag him out here than they care to remember; Len's mouth on Bill's throat; Bill's hand in Len's pants; dirty filthy breathless tingle of guilt between their legs. They move fast, savagely; quick fingers - hot skin - smooth slick-sticky glide: Len's fuck - fuck - fuck against the hollow of Bill's throat. Coming hard and quietly, lips bitten, legs shaking; it is all so horribly familiar, so 1969 in that neon-lit bar downtown. Bill's hand in Len's hair, disarranging it the way he always does; Len's fingers in Bill's mouth, afterwards, emerging clean.
God, they are good at this.
When they leave the bathroom, they're neat and sharp and clean: ordinary. De, setting three beers on the table, doesn't notice a thing.
They have learned to be quick about it.
Back against the door of the stall, jeans unzipped, breath short and quick; hurry hurry hurry 'cause De's getting another round in and it took them more effort to drag him out here than they care to remember; Len's mouth on Bill's throat; Bill's hand in Len's pants; dirty filthy breathless tingle of guilt between their legs. They move fast, savagely; quick fingers - hot skin - smooth slick-sticky glide: Len's fuck - fuck - fuck against the hollow of Bill's throat. Coming hard and quietly, lips bitten, legs shaking; it is all so horribly familiar, so 1969 in that neon-lit bar downtown. Bill's hand in Len's hair, disarranging it the way he always does; Len's fingers in Bill's mouth, afterwards, emerging clean.
God, they are good at this.
When they leave the bathroom, they're neat and sharp and clean: ordinary. De, setting three beers on the table, doesn't notice a thing.