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apply some pressure
bob/brian
NC-17
2976 words
i wrote this for that porn battle, with My Chemical Romance, Bob/Brian, control as the prompt, but then i realised i am too late to that party /o\ however! i decided to finish and post it anyway. it literally has no plot whatsoever. lots of thanks to boughtarecord for the beta, because for real, porn makes me pull my nervous face! in my head, this is set around the time gerard was getting sober.
to summarise: boughtarecord: still wriiitiing?
onneonlights: i am, i am! i appear to have sort of accidentally started writing rimming? idk idk
boughtarecord: WITH BOB AND BRIAN?
boughtarecord: dude
onneonlights: YES
onneonlights: IT. IT WASN'T MY INTENTION
onneonlights: I DIDN'T SET OUT TO WRITE THIS
onneonlights: IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED
It’s not a steady thing, and it doesn’t happen everytime they’re in the same space as each other, but Brian’s looking fried and worried and is chain smoking off the hotel balcony, free hand tap tap tapping away on his packet of smokes like he can’t keep any part of him still. Bob waits until he’s had a shower, because some things are always going to have top priority on tour no matter what, but then he walks up to Brian, slowly and deliberately, and takes the pack off of him, then the cigarette.
“Hey,” Brian says, but he doesn’t sound too affronted, just a little annoyed. Bob takes a drag off of the cigarette for himself before handing it back without the rest of them. Brian rolls his eyes, which makes Bob smile a little and wonder if he’s been spending more time then usual around Mikey, but he doesn’t complain; he just closes his eyes and leans back into Bob a little, when Bob brings his hands up to rest on Brian’s shoulders, digging his thumbs in around his shoulder blades. The set of Brian’s shoulders makes him feel like he’s wound up too tight, and it’s no fucking surprise, but Bob wants to help anyway.
“You’re allowed an evening off, you know,” he comments lightly, and Brian huffs out a laugh.
“Never a night off with you guys around,” Brian says, but there’s a little hitch in his breathing between the last two words as Bob starts to move his thumbs in firm, small circles. Bob kind of wants to get Brian on one of the beds, lay him out flat on his stomach and give him a proper massage until all the tension has leaked out of him, but he’s pretty sure Brian would kick up too much of a fight about it if he said a word, and he still hasn’t finished the cigarette, anyway. They’ve all learnt from Gerard and Frank about how the bare minimum of smoke is needed inside a hotel room before the alarm will go off.
Instead he drops his head down to press his lips lightly against the skin on the back of Brian’s neck. Brian’s exhalation is both audible and visible, a long stream of smoke floating away from the two of them. He jabs the filter of the cigarette almost viciously into the ashtray he’s got resting on the lone chair out there, but the movement is completely at odds with the way he sags a little, back against Bob’s chest.
“You should get one, though,” Bob says plainly, because Brian should, and he maybe deserves a night off more than anyone else, in fact. Brian just laughs again, and doesn’t protest at all when Bob uses his grip on him to turn him around slowly, so they’re facing each other.
They don’t kiss until Bob has stepped back and tugged Brian with him so they’re actually inside of the room, because otherwise it’s probably asking for trouble, with the recognition My Chem is slowly getting from people everywhere nowadays. Bob doesn’t think they’re at the levels where people will hang around looking out for them, especially not for him, but he’s not going to take any chances. Once they’re safely inside, though, it’s simple, the way it has been every time before. Bob leans down and forward and Brian’s lips meet his on the way, his mouth opening easily for Bob to bite lightly on his bottom lip before sucking lightly on his tongue, keeping it slow and easy.
His hands are still resting on Brian’s shoulders, and Brian doesn’t feel quite so tensed up under his touch but he still isn’t relaxed, not really or as enough as he should be. And Bob still wants to get him on a bed, only now it’s for a little more than just a massage; it’s been a while, but Bob still remembers how Brian feels beneath him, as Brian slowly remembers he doesn’t need to be in control of everything and everyone all the damn time.
“Hey,” Bob mutters as they break apart to breathe, still close enough for Bob to feel Brian’s breath skating hot over his chin. “Hey.” He turns again, still holding Brian so Brian has to turn with him, so Brian is facing the bed, and then moves behind him, walks him forward slowly until his knees practically hit the frame. He stops. “Take your shirt off.”
“You think I’m that easy, Bryar?” Brian asks, but Bob can hear the smile and Brian does it anyway, even though it means Bob has to step back just a little for him to pull it over his head. Brian starts to turn around, then, maybe to kiss Bob some more, but Bob reaches forward and rests his hands on Brian’s hips before he can.
“Lie down for me?” he asks, and this time he does actually make it a question, because he wants - it’s Brian, so obviously he wants, but that’s not entirely what this is about. Brian does it for him, though, twists his head right before he does to shoot Bob a look before lying down, flat on his stomach just like Bob was hoping.
Bob could sit on the bed next to him to do this, but he doesn’t. He rests one leg either side of Brian’s hips so he’s straddling him, not resting all of his weight on him but not exactly holding off, either, because it’s going to be really obvious this way, when he gets turned on past this point, but it’s not as though he has to hide it from Brian anyway. He smoothes the flat of his palm lightly over Brian’s back, and traces the ink on one of his arms almost absently with his other hand until both are at the right level, and then he presses his fingers firmly into the flesh of his shoulders again. Brian breathes out kind of shakily and Bob briefly wishes they had some oil or something, something to make it smoother and hotter all at once, but it’s alright like this anyway, and it’s not like he’d want to move away and get it. This works just fine.
“Seriously Schechter,” he says conversationally, as though he’s just carrying on from earlier, “you need to fucking relax, man.”
Brian just makes a vaguely agreeable sort of noise, and then breathes in a little more sharply when Bob leans forward to kiss the back of his neck again. Bob kisses along the slope of his shoulder then, letting his tongue dart out occasionally, and it’s not hot enough in the room for Brian to be sweating but Bob imagines he can taste him anyway, a little of the salty tang he’s come to associate with the drag of his mouth across Brian’s skin.
He keeps his mouth open, after that, sucking a faint mark on the joint of Brian’s neck and shoulder. It means he has to lean closer, press down a little on Brian’s back, and Brian shifts beneath him; whether he is or not, Bob imagines him rubbing a little against the mattress, getting a little friction, and it sends a shot of heat straight down through the pit of his stomach to his dick. Brian’s fucking gorgeous like this, is the thing: pale skin and dark ink and only half of his face visible where the other half is pressed against the pillows. Bob moves his hands down, and lets his mouth take over the space he’s left vacated and reaches for Brian’s arms. He curls his fingers lightly around Brian’s wrists to move his arms up so they’re stretched up over his head, and scrapes his teeth over the space between Brian’s shoulder blades, more prominent now his arms are in this new position.
“Bob,” Brian says quietly, and Bob smiles against his skin. His voice is a little lower and a lot more relaxed, the one syllable slowed down and muffled a little by the pillow.
Bob hums in acknowledgement, not really wanting to interrupt his steady path of slow, wet kisses down Brian’s back until he gets to the waistband of Brian’s jeans. He has to slide down his body a little awkwardly as he goes, but it’s worth it, just for the soft, pleased sounds Brian lets out every now and then and for the press of Brian’s legs against Bob’s cock through his pants, as well; he’s hard now and Brian’s got to know, but that’s okay. That’s pretty much the point. He lets go of Brian’s arms when he has to stretch too much to reach them, but Brian keeps them where they are. Whether it’s because that’s where Bob left them or because he simply can’t be bothered with any more movement, Bob doesn’t know; Bob doesn’t really care, because it’s fucking hot either way.
“Yeah,” Bob says then, lifting his head just a little to look up at Brian, and the top half of Brian looks relaxed and totally at ease, lying on the bed with his eyes half-mast, looking down at Bob as much as he can from where he is. His hips shift restlessly beneath Bob occasionally, working a little against the sheets, and Bob allows himself a pleased grin as he slips his hands under Brian’s hips and shifts back completely so he’s hovering over Brian’s knees. It makes it easier to lift Brian’s hips a little, slide his hands around him so he can unbutton his jeans, pull down the zipper and then hook his fingers underneath the waistband of Brian’s boxers, as well, so he can tug the two items of clothing down in one go, pressing his palm over Brian’s cock as he does.
Brian’s hips jerk a little against the mattress, because Bob’s hand has already gone. “Bob,” he says again, and his voice sounds a little less relaxed but for different reasons entirely than it did earlier. Better reasons, by far.
“Uh huh,” Bob says, and he’s never been the type of guy to beat around the bush with regards to anything, so he wastes no time resting his hands on where Brian’s thighs curve up into ass and spreading him open just slightly, ducking his head to mouth over one of his cheeks, letting his lip ring press against the sensitive skin there before licking from the spot behind his balls right up into him.
The sound Brian makes at that sounds an awful lot like a whine, higher pitched than anything so far and verging on a little needy. “Fucking Christ,” Brian says as Bob moves up to kiss the small of his back and then right back down again, and he sounds surprised and turned on and just slightly, slightly wrecked already. They’ve done a lot before, on and off over the months, but never this; Bob thinks he kind of loves doing it already, just for Brian’s reactions, the way Brian’s hips rock forward into the mattress but then right back against Bob as Bob slowly circles his entrance with his tongue.
Brian’s never a loud guy, not really, not in the way that people Bob has been with before have been, but he doesn’t seem to be able to hold back the moan as Bob slowly presses his tongue inside of him. Bob can’t help it, at that, and he has to let go of him with one hand and press his palm over his dick, still trapped inside his pants and so fucking hard it’s almost painful like this by now. He sits back a little to undo them and pull them down, just enough to free his cock and allow him to wrap a hand loosely around himself even though the parts of him that aren’t focused on that resent the lack of contact.
Brian resents the same thing, if the annoyed noise that sounds like it’s coming from trapped up inside the back of Brian’s throat is anything to go by, but it’s abruptly cut off when Bob licks a finger and presses it steadily inside of Brian; it goes easy and slick from where Bob’s tongue was there before, and Brian pushes back on him. He leans down again to lick around his finger, crooking it inside Brian until he finds the right spot that makes Brian’s back arch and him gasp Bob’s name. He presses his tongue in beside it for a few moments, stroking and flicking his tongue at the same pace and his own cock actually fucking throbs, at the noise Brian makes, but he’s more interested in using the hand that was down between his legs to spread Brian’s ass a little more and slide another finger into him, to draw more from him.
“Bob,” Brian says. “Bob, Bob-” and he sounds like he’s close from just this, his hips moving in small twitches, alternating between rubbing his cock up against the mattress and pressing back onto Bob, but his arms are still where Bob left them and he’s not touching himself, at least not yet, and this is what Bob was fucking after, this whole time: for Brian to forget everything and surrender himself, let Bob take care of him for once instead, all of the things he will never, ever say to him.
When he lifts his head this time it’s with a wet sound. “Brian,” he replies, and Brian breathes in shakily as Bob keeps crooking his fingers, twisting them inside him and rubbing over his prostate. “You look so good like this,” he adds, and maybe it was better when his mouth was on Brian rather than left free to talk too much, because he’s pretty sure he can’t be held responsible for what he says when Brian is spread out beneath him like this. “I want to fuck you like this,” he admits, “so bad,” because he does, he wants to pin Brian into the mattress and plaster himself along the entire length of Brian’s body and fuck him until neither of them can speak or think or even breathe, until they can’t do anything but feel.
“You can,” Brian tells him with a gasp, but Bob shakes his head, even though Brian can’t see him, like the movement will knock the sentiment further into his brain.
“No,” he says simply, because that’s not what this is about. Not right now, anyway, and so he just reaches up with his free hand. “Here,” he says, and even though he’s not particularly clear on things Brian clearly gets him, because he flings an arm down to meet Bob’s hand almost desperately, and Bob’s not going to make him ask: he just moves Brian’s hand so he can wrap it around his cock, and then wraps his own hand around Brian’s, letting Brian’s movement set the pace for both of them.
“Oh shit, shit, Bob, motherfucker,” Brian says as he arches into their hands, the words running together and coming out too garbled for Bob to pay much attention, and it doesn’t take long for Brian to come after that, with Bob crooking his fingers inside of him still, rubbing a third just around the entrance and both of their hands moving fast and hot and slick up and down his cock. He can feel Brian’s thighs shaking with it.
Brian doesn’t even make any kind of sound of acknowledgement with Bob pulls his fingers out of him. He just lies there under Bob, boneless and sated and trying to catch his breath a little bit like he forgot how to for a while there, and Bob moves off of him completely, into the space next to him instead and wrapping his hand around his cock immediately. His hand is still slick from Brian’s come and his cock is leaking anyway at this point, so it moves easily, feels fucking wonderful. He’s so hard he’s aching and it’s almost painful, really just from the fucking sounds Brian was making, how he looked and felt and even tasted, so he’s not going to last long, but he doesn’t give two shits, because Brian’s rolled over to face him and is watching him with dark, intense eyes, his breathing still not entirely steady.
“Come on, Bryar,” Brian says, and Bob grunts in the back of his throat as he fucks up into his own fist. All it takes is Brian reaching out then, rubbing his thumb over the head of Bob’s cock and then meeting Bob’s eyes as he slowly, deliberately flicks his tongue over the pad of his thumb, and that’s all it fucking takes for Bob to come, hard and fast, spine snapping straight and rigid. He’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a couple of seconds, until Brian has fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck to tug him to down to kiss him, slow and pleased and sloppy. “Fucking hot,” Brian mumbles, right into his mouth, and Bob doesn’t know if Brian means one thing specifically or if he’s talking in general terms, but Bob seriously fucking agrees with him.
Bob thinks about Brian’s cigarettes when they stop kissing to just breathe together, for a few moments, wherever he even left them, and it would be kind of nice to have one now, pass it between them and slowly remember how to be remotely coherent again. But getting one would mean getting up, and would mean going outside and staying out there for a while, and even though they’re kind of gross and the sheets are fucking messy now, he’d still much rather lay back instead, tug Brian closer to him and close his eyes so all he can feel is Brian, relaxed against him. Brian’s breathing is steady, and his hands are still.
bob/brian
NC-17
2976 words
i wrote this for that porn battle, with My Chemical Romance, Bob/Brian, control as the prompt, but then i realised i am too late to that party /o\ however! i decided to finish and post it anyway. it literally has no plot whatsoever. lots of thanks to boughtarecord for the beta, because for real, porn makes me pull my nervous face! in my head, this is set around the time gerard was getting sober.
to summarise: boughtarecord: still wriiitiing?
onneonlights: i am, i am! i appear to have sort of accidentally started writing rimming? idk idk
boughtarecord: WITH BOB AND BRIAN?
boughtarecord: dude
onneonlights: YES
onneonlights: IT. IT WASN'T MY INTENTION
onneonlights: I DIDN'T SET OUT TO WRITE THIS
onneonlights: IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED
It’s not a steady thing, and it doesn’t happen everytime they’re in the same space as each other, but Brian’s looking fried and worried and is chain smoking off the hotel balcony, free hand tap tap tapping away on his packet of smokes like he can’t keep any part of him still. Bob waits until he’s had a shower, because some things are always going to have top priority on tour no matter what, but then he walks up to Brian, slowly and deliberately, and takes the pack off of him, then the cigarette.
“Hey,” Brian says, but he doesn’t sound too affronted, just a little annoyed. Bob takes a drag off of the cigarette for himself before handing it back without the rest of them. Brian rolls his eyes, which makes Bob smile a little and wonder if he’s been spending more time then usual around Mikey, but he doesn’t complain; he just closes his eyes and leans back into Bob a little, when Bob brings his hands up to rest on Brian’s shoulders, digging his thumbs in around his shoulder blades. The set of Brian’s shoulders makes him feel like he’s wound up too tight, and it’s no fucking surprise, but Bob wants to help anyway.
“You’re allowed an evening off, you know,” he comments lightly, and Brian huffs out a laugh.
“Never a night off with you guys around,” Brian says, but there’s a little hitch in his breathing between the last two words as Bob starts to move his thumbs in firm, small circles. Bob kind of wants to get Brian on one of the beds, lay him out flat on his stomach and give him a proper massage until all the tension has leaked out of him, but he’s pretty sure Brian would kick up too much of a fight about it if he said a word, and he still hasn’t finished the cigarette, anyway. They’ve all learnt from Gerard and Frank about how the bare minimum of smoke is needed inside a hotel room before the alarm will go off.
Instead he drops his head down to press his lips lightly against the skin on the back of Brian’s neck. Brian’s exhalation is both audible and visible, a long stream of smoke floating away from the two of them. He jabs the filter of the cigarette almost viciously into the ashtray he’s got resting on the lone chair out there, but the movement is completely at odds with the way he sags a little, back against Bob’s chest.
“You should get one, though,” Bob says plainly, because Brian should, and he maybe deserves a night off more than anyone else, in fact. Brian just laughs again, and doesn’t protest at all when Bob uses his grip on him to turn him around slowly, so they’re facing each other.
They don’t kiss until Bob has stepped back and tugged Brian with him so they’re actually inside of the room, because otherwise it’s probably asking for trouble, with the recognition My Chem is slowly getting from people everywhere nowadays. Bob doesn’t think they’re at the levels where people will hang around looking out for them, especially not for him, but he’s not going to take any chances. Once they’re safely inside, though, it’s simple, the way it has been every time before. Bob leans down and forward and Brian’s lips meet his on the way, his mouth opening easily for Bob to bite lightly on his bottom lip before sucking lightly on his tongue, keeping it slow and easy.
His hands are still resting on Brian’s shoulders, and Brian doesn’t feel quite so tensed up under his touch but he still isn’t relaxed, not really or as enough as he should be. And Bob still wants to get him on a bed, only now it’s for a little more than just a massage; it’s been a while, but Bob still remembers how Brian feels beneath him, as Brian slowly remembers he doesn’t need to be in control of everything and everyone all the damn time.
“Hey,” Bob mutters as they break apart to breathe, still close enough for Bob to feel Brian’s breath skating hot over his chin. “Hey.” He turns again, still holding Brian so Brian has to turn with him, so Brian is facing the bed, and then moves behind him, walks him forward slowly until his knees practically hit the frame. He stops. “Take your shirt off.”
“You think I’m that easy, Bryar?” Brian asks, but Bob can hear the smile and Brian does it anyway, even though it means Bob has to step back just a little for him to pull it over his head. Brian starts to turn around, then, maybe to kiss Bob some more, but Bob reaches forward and rests his hands on Brian’s hips before he can.
“Lie down for me?” he asks, and this time he does actually make it a question, because he wants - it’s Brian, so obviously he wants, but that’s not entirely what this is about. Brian does it for him, though, twists his head right before he does to shoot Bob a look before lying down, flat on his stomach just like Bob was hoping.
Bob could sit on the bed next to him to do this, but he doesn’t. He rests one leg either side of Brian’s hips so he’s straddling him, not resting all of his weight on him but not exactly holding off, either, because it’s going to be really obvious this way, when he gets turned on past this point, but it’s not as though he has to hide it from Brian anyway. He smoothes the flat of his palm lightly over Brian’s back, and traces the ink on one of his arms almost absently with his other hand until both are at the right level, and then he presses his fingers firmly into the flesh of his shoulders again. Brian breathes out kind of shakily and Bob briefly wishes they had some oil or something, something to make it smoother and hotter all at once, but it’s alright like this anyway, and it’s not like he’d want to move away and get it. This works just fine.
“Seriously Schechter,” he says conversationally, as though he’s just carrying on from earlier, “you need to fucking relax, man.”
Brian just makes a vaguely agreeable sort of noise, and then breathes in a little more sharply when Bob leans forward to kiss the back of his neck again. Bob kisses along the slope of his shoulder then, letting his tongue dart out occasionally, and it’s not hot enough in the room for Brian to be sweating but Bob imagines he can taste him anyway, a little of the salty tang he’s come to associate with the drag of his mouth across Brian’s skin.
He keeps his mouth open, after that, sucking a faint mark on the joint of Brian’s neck and shoulder. It means he has to lean closer, press down a little on Brian’s back, and Brian shifts beneath him; whether he is or not, Bob imagines him rubbing a little against the mattress, getting a little friction, and it sends a shot of heat straight down through the pit of his stomach to his dick. Brian’s fucking gorgeous like this, is the thing: pale skin and dark ink and only half of his face visible where the other half is pressed against the pillows. Bob moves his hands down, and lets his mouth take over the space he’s left vacated and reaches for Brian’s arms. He curls his fingers lightly around Brian’s wrists to move his arms up so they’re stretched up over his head, and scrapes his teeth over the space between Brian’s shoulder blades, more prominent now his arms are in this new position.
“Bob,” Brian says quietly, and Bob smiles against his skin. His voice is a little lower and a lot more relaxed, the one syllable slowed down and muffled a little by the pillow.
Bob hums in acknowledgement, not really wanting to interrupt his steady path of slow, wet kisses down Brian’s back until he gets to the waistband of Brian’s jeans. He has to slide down his body a little awkwardly as he goes, but it’s worth it, just for the soft, pleased sounds Brian lets out every now and then and for the press of Brian’s legs against Bob’s cock through his pants, as well; he’s hard now and Brian’s got to know, but that’s okay. That’s pretty much the point. He lets go of Brian’s arms when he has to stretch too much to reach them, but Brian keeps them where they are. Whether it’s because that’s where Bob left them or because he simply can’t be bothered with any more movement, Bob doesn’t know; Bob doesn’t really care, because it’s fucking hot either way.
“Yeah,” Bob says then, lifting his head just a little to look up at Brian, and the top half of Brian looks relaxed and totally at ease, lying on the bed with his eyes half-mast, looking down at Bob as much as he can from where he is. His hips shift restlessly beneath Bob occasionally, working a little against the sheets, and Bob allows himself a pleased grin as he slips his hands under Brian’s hips and shifts back completely so he’s hovering over Brian’s knees. It makes it easier to lift Brian’s hips a little, slide his hands around him so he can unbutton his jeans, pull down the zipper and then hook his fingers underneath the waistband of Brian’s boxers, as well, so he can tug the two items of clothing down in one go, pressing his palm over Brian’s cock as he does.
Brian’s hips jerk a little against the mattress, because Bob’s hand has already gone. “Bob,” he says again, and his voice sounds a little less relaxed but for different reasons entirely than it did earlier. Better reasons, by far.
“Uh huh,” Bob says, and he’s never been the type of guy to beat around the bush with regards to anything, so he wastes no time resting his hands on where Brian’s thighs curve up into ass and spreading him open just slightly, ducking his head to mouth over one of his cheeks, letting his lip ring press against the sensitive skin there before licking from the spot behind his balls right up into him.
The sound Brian makes at that sounds an awful lot like a whine, higher pitched than anything so far and verging on a little needy. “Fucking Christ,” Brian says as Bob moves up to kiss the small of his back and then right back down again, and he sounds surprised and turned on and just slightly, slightly wrecked already. They’ve done a lot before, on and off over the months, but never this; Bob thinks he kind of loves doing it already, just for Brian’s reactions, the way Brian’s hips rock forward into the mattress but then right back against Bob as Bob slowly circles his entrance with his tongue.
Brian’s never a loud guy, not really, not in the way that people Bob has been with before have been, but he doesn’t seem to be able to hold back the moan as Bob slowly presses his tongue inside of him. Bob can’t help it, at that, and he has to let go of him with one hand and press his palm over his dick, still trapped inside his pants and so fucking hard it’s almost painful like this by now. He sits back a little to undo them and pull them down, just enough to free his cock and allow him to wrap a hand loosely around himself even though the parts of him that aren’t focused on that resent the lack of contact.
Brian resents the same thing, if the annoyed noise that sounds like it’s coming from trapped up inside the back of Brian’s throat is anything to go by, but it’s abruptly cut off when Bob licks a finger and presses it steadily inside of Brian; it goes easy and slick from where Bob’s tongue was there before, and Brian pushes back on him. He leans down again to lick around his finger, crooking it inside Brian until he finds the right spot that makes Brian’s back arch and him gasp Bob’s name. He presses his tongue in beside it for a few moments, stroking and flicking his tongue at the same pace and his own cock actually fucking throbs, at the noise Brian makes, but he’s more interested in using the hand that was down between his legs to spread Brian’s ass a little more and slide another finger into him, to draw more from him.
“Bob,” Brian says. “Bob, Bob-” and he sounds like he’s close from just this, his hips moving in small twitches, alternating between rubbing his cock up against the mattress and pressing back onto Bob, but his arms are still where Bob left them and he’s not touching himself, at least not yet, and this is what Bob was fucking after, this whole time: for Brian to forget everything and surrender himself, let Bob take care of him for once instead, all of the things he will never, ever say to him.
When he lifts his head this time it’s with a wet sound. “Brian,” he replies, and Brian breathes in shakily as Bob keeps crooking his fingers, twisting them inside him and rubbing over his prostate. “You look so good like this,” he adds, and maybe it was better when his mouth was on Brian rather than left free to talk too much, because he’s pretty sure he can’t be held responsible for what he says when Brian is spread out beneath him like this. “I want to fuck you like this,” he admits, “so bad,” because he does, he wants to pin Brian into the mattress and plaster himself along the entire length of Brian’s body and fuck him until neither of them can speak or think or even breathe, until they can’t do anything but feel.
“You can,” Brian tells him with a gasp, but Bob shakes his head, even though Brian can’t see him, like the movement will knock the sentiment further into his brain.
“No,” he says simply, because that’s not what this is about. Not right now, anyway, and so he just reaches up with his free hand. “Here,” he says, and even though he’s not particularly clear on things Brian clearly gets him, because he flings an arm down to meet Bob’s hand almost desperately, and Bob’s not going to make him ask: he just moves Brian’s hand so he can wrap it around his cock, and then wraps his own hand around Brian’s, letting Brian’s movement set the pace for both of them.
“Oh shit, shit, Bob, motherfucker,” Brian says as he arches into their hands, the words running together and coming out too garbled for Bob to pay much attention, and it doesn’t take long for Brian to come after that, with Bob crooking his fingers inside of him still, rubbing a third just around the entrance and both of their hands moving fast and hot and slick up and down his cock. He can feel Brian’s thighs shaking with it.
Brian doesn’t even make any kind of sound of acknowledgement with Bob pulls his fingers out of him. He just lies there under Bob, boneless and sated and trying to catch his breath a little bit like he forgot how to for a while there, and Bob moves off of him completely, into the space next to him instead and wrapping his hand around his cock immediately. His hand is still slick from Brian’s come and his cock is leaking anyway at this point, so it moves easily, feels fucking wonderful. He’s so hard he’s aching and it’s almost painful, really just from the fucking sounds Brian was making, how he looked and felt and even tasted, so he’s not going to last long, but he doesn’t give two shits, because Brian’s rolled over to face him and is watching him with dark, intense eyes, his breathing still not entirely steady.
“Come on, Bryar,” Brian says, and Bob grunts in the back of his throat as he fucks up into his own fist. All it takes is Brian reaching out then, rubbing his thumb over the head of Bob’s cock and then meeting Bob’s eyes as he slowly, deliberately flicks his tongue over the pad of his thumb, and that’s all it fucking takes for Bob to come, hard and fast, spine snapping straight and rigid. He’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a couple of seconds, until Brian has fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck to tug him to down to kiss him, slow and pleased and sloppy. “Fucking hot,” Brian mumbles, right into his mouth, and Bob doesn’t know if Brian means one thing specifically or if he’s talking in general terms, but Bob seriously fucking agrees with him.
Bob thinks about Brian’s cigarettes when they stop kissing to just breathe together, for a few moments, wherever he even left them, and it would be kind of nice to have one now, pass it between them and slowly remember how to be remotely coherent again. But getting one would mean getting up, and would mean going outside and staying out there for a while, and even though they’re kind of gross and the sheets are fucking messy now, he’d still much rather lay back instead, tug Brian closer to him and close his eyes so all he can feel is Brian, relaxed against him. Brian’s breathing is steady, and his hands are still.