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After hours of training outside with the squad, Trent was already hard. You couldn’t really blame him, though. For 3 hours, the only thing on his mind were the long and hard stares he was receiving from a specific brunette man that very much “disturbed” him.
“Wait for me when we’re done,” Dominik whispered in Trent’s ear while they were on their way to the showers. A wave of emotion went through his body. Maybe it was a relief? Or maybe he was just nervous to see him. Whatever.
——————
No matter how anxious Trent was, Dominik was far more anxious than him.
Dominik considered himself an insecure guy. After your long-term girlfriend cheats on you, you really don’t know what to think of yourself, do you? He also had this feeling in him that constantly eats him alive, lingering inside him but only coming out whenever he interacts with Trent.
Of course it happened because of Trent.
Admittedly, he thought Trent would open the door and walk around the side of the car. But he’s already in the back, and Dominik is still sitting dumbly behind the wheel, slick lips parted and hands still shaking with all the anticipation he’s been keeping buried deep. His wait earns him a desperate look through the dark-turning air, and Dominik quickly turns off his car, shoving his keys in the console as he climbs back after Trent.
“Light,” he mumbles out, falling unceremoniously against the armrest.
Immediately, Trent reaches up and hits the backseat light. It paints him in a gaudy, artificial glow, but Dominik still thinks he looks beyond perfect. Slightly out of breath, he reaches for his face, and they mesh back together in another messy kiss of rush-less haste.
They kiss, and they kiss, and Dominik is pulling Trent onto his lap and Trent is letting himself be pulled until their bodies melt into each other and into the creases of the hot backseat where heat starts making its way up to them. They kiss, and it hurts, and Dominik feels a new kind of pressure building up from his gut, and it crawls across his ribs and up his throat and around his neck, holding like a vice with finger-sized bruises made of reds and purples and yellows.
He trails his lips down to give Trent the colors to match.
And his teeth aren’t friendly, but they’re still so full of love, and he seeks admiration down the shape of Trent’s throat with a sticky mess of burgundy and shattered violet. And Trent’s head tips back, and he lets him have it, and he grips broad shoulders tighter than he needs to with airy little breaths punching through the air that say more, more, more.
Dominik grips his tiny waist tight and heady. His fingers slip up under the hem of his shirt, skin against skin for the first time other than faces and exposed arms. It’s different when it’s like this, when it’s under clothes and above-tightened waists when they’re isolated and hidden and close.
It will have a new sinful effect, now. And Dominik will drink in all those pretty little noises, trying to push out more and more, and he will drag his teeth along sensitive skin just to see what kind of mark it leaves.
Nothing ever felt like this before. Not as much adrenaline and rush, a haste that seems misplaced, the congenital urge to take their time while, at the very same time, to hurry up and go faster. And only at that moment, does the world feel as if it was paused apart from stuttering breaths and burning silence loud enough to be heard in their ears.
It’s poison. Sweet, painless, guilty, poison. Dominik drinks it down just as eagerly as his lips move and rush, and he feels where it crawls down the back of his throat smooth and sinless. He holds Trent’s hips just a little harder, knocking bruises into hidden pale skin in tandem with the ones he wants to be seen, his puffy, swollen lips pressing down against collarbones where sharpened flesh was, without the care that it would slightly ache.
He lifts one hand to hook two fingers into Trent’s collar. And he pulls down, gentle with urgency, pressing a kiss to the space between two collarbones as an apology that came so.. Easy.
Trent grinds his hips down against Dominik, mumbling a desperate “hurry up,” with his face tilted up towards the ceiling, exposing his neck and the marks that beautifully cover it. Harsh flesh buzzes against Dominik’s lips, and he groans, slightly coming up off the seat to meet Trent in the middle when he grinds back down again slowly.
“Fuck,” Dominik moans, finding that at one point, their lips once again clashed together. Two fingers roughly press down against the spit still smeared between Trent’s collarbones. “Tell me how you want it.”
With hands carding through Dominik’s already messed up hair, Trent breathes ragged against his parted lips. The silence of the car grows hot and heavy, and Dominik is already losing his grip, the last thread of hold he has on his composure running thinner, thinner, thinner.
“Inside me,” Trent mumbles under his breath.
“Can't hear you,” Dominik teases, pushing Trent to his limit.
“Inside me. Please Dom”, and everything inside of Dominik snaps.
“Clothes off,” he instructs, in a rough tone. “Now.”
Trent tumbles out of his lap. He lands on the hot upholstery right beside Dominik, wrangling and tugging at his clothes where they sit uncomfortably against his body. Dominik does the same—even if he really does want to watch Trent strip in a flurry—starting with his shirt and letting it fall to the floor before he wrestles with his shoes and the shorts tucked around his waist.
He sits in nothing but his boxers. Glancing over at Trent, he finds that he fares the same, fingers toying cautiously with the waistband around his hips.
Dominik swallows just looking at him. Mournfully, he tears his eyes away, reaching up across the front seats until he can reach the glove compartment. There’s a little half-empty bottle of lube buried beneath all the junk he can’t care to remember the origin of.
Tossing it into the angle of the backseat, Dominik reaches for Trent. He’s giving the man an accusing look, though he lets all his newly exposed skin be touched and caressed and worshiped, a slow look in Dominik’s eyes that cries with adulation.
But even through all the tension between them, Trent still manages a quip. “You keep lube in your car?”
Dominik scoffs, though his cheeks are tinting pink beneath the freckles. “Shut up.” He glides his hands along Trent’s sides, pausing at the waistband of his boxers. “Feel lucky I have that with me right now.”
Trent hums, content and equally teasing. “Oh, I’m very lucky.” He reaches for Dominik’s shoulders, tugging him forward with a weight that knocks them both into the locked back door. “Very, very lucky.”
They laugh into each other’s lips, amusement gliding over tongues with the rush of stammered desperation. Nothing can move fast enough, but at the same time, it’s too fast entirely, and Dominik is reaching for skin he can’t quite reach with lips that drool and move in a stammer.
He situates his knee between Trent’s legs, pressing up where he feels his hardened cock weighing against the thin fabric. A whine slides along his tongue, lewd and golden, a noise he swallows down quickly before he dives back in for more, more, more.
Silence has never felt so loud. Dominik is here, and he’s bent at an awkward angle to chase the sugar on Trent’s lips, he thinks if he lifted his head up right now it would knock against the ceiling. It’s perfect, this is perfect, they’re perfect. Dominik wouldn’t trade this moment for the world if he had to.
They live in it together, loud silence and all. Dominik takes what he wants and Trent gives him more to take.
He grabs Trent’s hips and drags him down, taking the surprised rush of breath from his lungs that comes with sudden motion. But Dominik drags him until he’s laying flat on the backseat, cramped into a space he barely fits in with blown-out eyes and spit-slick lips. He stares up at Dominik, waiting, knees bent into his body without account for the tight-fitting space.
Dominik hesitates for a moment, leaning down to press a kiss against Trent’s pounding sternum. “Have you ever done this before?”
And he’s buried deep enough in soft skin to feel where breathe hitches, heat against his lips and tongue where it pokes through. He halts for a moment, holding himself steady with hands on Trent’s waist, two deft thumbs trailing circles across the skin above his waistband.
As his gaze ticks slowly up to Trent’s face, he finds his head thrown back with averted eye contact. Maybe he’s attempting to hide the obvious flush to his face, too, which would work if it wasn’t spreading down his neck.
“Not with a guy,” he mumbles honestly, and there’s a hasty fervor given to the thumbs against his hips.
Dominik’s breath hitches in turn. “Oh.” He felt awkward. Like he was stripping a flower's bare petals off of it.
A laugh escapes through Trent’s bitten lips. It eases the tension still hovering thick in the air, hot air crawling stream across the windows when neither of them cares to look.
“Don’t worry I trust you,” Trent says softly, bringing his head down to look Dominik in the eyes. Large hands come to caress an easy-going face, long fingers grazing over pale stubble. “I do that anyway.”
Smiling on his swollen lips, Dominik leans up to kiss Trent on the mouth again. And they melt into each other, slow with drooling confidence, the practice of learning their way around each other coming easy with sweet perylene. They kiss in melting sugar, lips moving soft and slow, the discomfort of a cramped backseat fading away, away, away into the oncoming night.
Dominik lets his fingers slip into Trent’s waistband, hovering between familiar fabric and hot, hot skin. There’s a dirty anticipation between their tongues, hips slotted together in a filthy grind of urgency and lust, every last drop of careless red coming tangled with sick-rotting love.
Cautious admiration glides down the sides of Dominik’s face, left etched along every line Trent traces with the intent of careful fingers. And Dominik gives it all right back to him, something heedless to slide down against his tongue, a catch at the top of his throat that grates so much like sin.
For once, Dominik pulls away first, intoxicated by the way Trent lifts to follow him up. A whine titters off his desperate tongue, a hot little sound that licks up Dominik’s spine graciously, leaving a new kind of heat to rattle at every last one of his muscles.
Breathless, he stammers, “Turn over for me.”
Perhaps unexpectedly, Trent frowns at the request. “But I like…” he starts, bordering on whiny, gentle hands slipping down the corners of Dominik’s face. “I like seeing you.”
A whistling giggle passes through Dominik’s nose, far more fond than it is amused. “I know,” he murmurs, landing a kiss beneath Trent’s jaw. “And you will. Just for now, while I prep you.”
He taps a gentle hand against Trent’s side to encourage him. With a lazy smile, he looks down at his newfound lover, perhaps memorizing every last curve to his frown before it’s buried down into the seat.
And Trent turns over in spite of his frown, bracing himself on forearms and bent elbows with eyes aimed down into upholstery. Defiant, he mutters, “Fuck you,” but he’s arching his back anyway.
Dominik grunts, gliding a red-hot palm down the length of Trent’s exposed back. “You don’t mean that,” he argues, stopping when his fingers hook into an elastic waistband.
He hears when Trent’s breath catches. Slowly, he sinks further into the seat.
“Just hurry up,” he offers, words muffled where lips sink into his arm.
Laughing once more, Dominik gives an experimental tug to the waist of Trent’s boxers. “I want to take my time with you,” he says, and he does, and he thinks they have all the time in the world. Trent whines, but he doesn’t protest any more. “Can I take these off?”
In lieu of a verbal answer, Trent lifts his hips up off the seat. Dominik wrangles him out of the last of his clothes, leaving him naked on the narrow expanse of the seat—naked and wanting.
Reaching for the lube discarded on the seat, Dominik holds his breath. The bottle sits against his palm with a recognizable weight, but everything seems so much heavier now, now that he’s sitting in the backseat of his car miles away from home with the man he loves spread out in front of him. And he’s exposed, and he’s vulnerable, and he’s quite safe for the muddled breath coming off his lips.
This is everything Dominik has ever wanted and more. He won’t live with himself if he somehow manages to ruin it.
So as he’s uncapping the half-empty bottle, he asks slowly, “You’re sure you want to do this?”
He thinks his hands are shaking. There is not enough time in the world for all the deep breaths it will take to make them stop.
“Yes, Dominik, I’m sure,” Trent answers, and he sounds sure, even when his words get muffled by his lips on his skin. “I’ve been sure.” Raising his hips up, he mumbles, “Please don’t make me wait.”
It sends a hot spike of something through Dominik’s turning gut. He almost throws caution to the wind right then, feeling where the last shreds of himself start slipping through shaking fingers, but he maintains composure. Pressing the top of the lube bottle against the pads of his fingers, he maintains composure.
“And you’re sure…” he starts, frowning at his own implication, “here?”
Verdant eyes dart nervously around the crowded car. The fogged-up windows, the god-awful light, the glove compartment that fell open when Dominik didn’t latch it quite right. The sky is turning dark on the other side of the windshield, and absently, Dominik wonders which stars will reveal themselves once it’s all inked in black.
Looking back at Trent, he finds a pair of stable eyes staring right back at him.
“I would want this anywhere as long as it’s with you,” he promises, reaching back to hold Dominik’s wrist for a single, fleeting moment.
When his head falls back into his arms, all the air in Dominik’s lungs rushes forth with bruised relief. He can still feel where fingers had just pressed, a creeping sensation across skin and bone that makes him feel no less than alive. With his newfound assurance, he lubes up two fingers, allowing his breath to go stolen away once more at the renewed sight of Trent all spread out beneath him.
There’s a part of him that wishes they could be doing this in bed.
So he takes it for what it is—because he’d do this anywhere as long as it’s with Trent—and he presses the tip of his middle finger against his desperate rim.
It already earns him a whine. Dominik breathes, deep and slow, patience waning thin with the twitch of his finger against vulnerability. Trent pushes back against him, but Dominik follows the motion with an equally slow retreat.
“And you’ve never…” Dominik starts, trailing off, and he hopes the press of his shaking finger is enough to fill the empty gap.
Trent stutters out a breath. “No,” he answers, and Dominik thinks they’re talking about the same thing. “But I want you to. Preferably now, please.”
His urgency draws a laugh through Dominik’s lips. With a murmured, “Okay,” he gives in, sinking his finger until the first knuckle with the assistance of a little too much lube.
At first, he thinks it feels easy. But the resistance comes as quickly as Trent’s whine, and Dominik is rotating the tip of his finger slowly—too slowly—giving a cautious stretch he doesn’t need to learn how to hesitate over. And he watches, all too attentively, gaze following the trail of excess lube where it seeps out between the gaps and trails effortlessly down Trent’s burning skin.
It borders on mesmerizing. Dominik blows out a breath, the opposite hand sinking low beneath his waist to press down against his erection.
And Trent starts to squirm. There’s a part of Dominik that wants to draw his hand away to hold him steady, but the rest of him is far too desperate to care, so he keeps pressing down against himself with a bitten-back urge to rut up against himself.
“Don’t just stare at me,” Trent whines—and he knows, without even having to look over his shoulder—“it’s fuckin’ weird.”
Filthy amusement murmurs past Dominik’s shaking lips. He sinks his finger in just a little bit deeper, watching where Trent swallows him down to the second knuckle without protest, an insatiable whimper tumbling out against the car seat with a whisper of a certain sin.
“Just let me know if it gets too much,” Dominik says, ragged and desperate, finger twisting slowly inside of Trent. “Okay?”
“I will,” Trent answers without missing a beat. “I will.” He rolls his hips back against Dominik’s intrusion, fingers digging into palms above his head. “For now, give me more.”
With a breath, Dominik obliges. He moves his finger faster and thrusts it in and out with a crook that seeks to stretch, free hand digging the heel of his palm down into a leaking erection. Trent rolls his hips back to meet on his every downstroke, making for a sweet motion of tandem that cries out together, together, together.
He takes it slow and intentional until he feels steady-stretched around the lone finger. With fingers curling around his own throbbing cock, Dominik presses his index slick against Trent’s rim, stolen breath and stolen time running hot against his tongue.
“Ready for another?” he asks softly, staring interested at the way Trent tightens around him.
“Please.”
So he gives it to him. Slick, stretching, and slow; he gives it to him. Trent whimpers, and he pushes back against what fills him, knees slipping against upholstery when there’s not quite enough room. Dominik stammers out a noise of his own, squeezing himself with finality before he dips his hand into his own loose-fitting boxers.
There’s an arousal racing through him that he’s never felt before. Hot, all-consuming, tangible—he feels it everywhere, coursing through every last one of his veins, speckling down to the tips of his fingers where they disappear slick and new. It sits heavy on his shoulders, and waits, dragging a whine out past his tongue the moment fingers graze against oh-so-sensitive skin.
It’s impossible. Dominik has never felt so swallowed whole before, and he never could’ve dreamed of everything feeling so good when the only touch he gets is tightness and his own left hand, but it’s perfect.
His hand closes to a circle around his weeping cock, and he moans properly, slipping forward until one foot presses hard against the neglected clothes thrown on the floor.
Trent whimpers, high and with a turn. “You are touching yourself,” he barely manages, words strained across hot pleasure. And he doesn’t sound accusing, or insulted, or displeased—only positive. Perhaps prideful, a little assured, spurred on to roll his hips back into Dominik’s fingers with vigor. “You’re dirty,” he insults, but it’s mottled with a filthy lilt, “fucking dog.”
Amusement whistles past Dominik’s bitten lips. He crooks his fingers, all too practiced, carving his name into Trent’s insides with a murmur and a promise. “Don’t start,” he argues, voice just as weak as the one thrown for him. “You were the one begging for my cock, no?”
It earns him a mewl that lacks defiance. Dominik twists with hasty finality, heat pooling molten in his gut with the tightness of a palm around his cock.
Without any warning, Dominik pushes in another finger, infiltrating Trent’s hole.
Trent screamed. “Fuck.”
Dom carries on with his previous actions, slow and angled and intentional, the bend of tightened fingers that comes with stretched intent and a heady need for preparation. Dominik wants to hurry, wants to sink inside him properly and make Trent feel him.
He breathes a ragged breath into the heavy air. Dominik has never held his own cock with such a lack of motion that feels so much, and he knows it has everything to do with the man laid out before him and the wicked hold he has on every piece of him.
Dominik parts his three fingers slowly, forging gaps between hot skin, drawing a hurry out through muddled breath that comes with reddened nudity. The gaudy backseat light paints them sick and not-quite-golden, but they take it just as well as the summer sun, hot and sticky with raspberry filth cutting down the jut of cheekbones.
Dominik squeezes down on himself while twisting his fingers, growing to understand the urgency on Trent’s lips as he wordlessly chases more, more, more. His grip on a waning composure slackens even more, desperation dripping past his lips in throes that muddle so easily.
He hastens with gentle movement, an unstable slowness still crawling down the ladder of his ribs in spite of the rapid beat of his heart. It hammers, blood surging through every last one of his tangled veins, a laden of certain stardust painting him cobalt and strictly new beneath the hazy light of the half-hidden moon.
“Are you ready?” Dominik asks, breathless, crooking his fingers inside of Trent with a press and a bitten tongue.
“More than,” Trent rushes, and Dominik decides that’s too many words. “Domi, please.”
He pulls his fingers free with a slick empty, the intoxicating whimper on Trent’s lips jolting pleasure all up his spine. Haphazard, he tugs his boxers down and shakes them to the floor, stains of hot precum coating the wrong side of fabric and his tremor-riddled fingers.
He grabs Trent’s legs and wrangles him back into a former position, back against the seat with cloudy eyes at the dirty ceiling. But he settles spread thighs over his own, one foot planted on the cotton-covered floor while he holds bruised hips alive and steady. For a moment, he forgets his desperation, the weight between his legs, distracted by the lovestruck look thrown up to him in panted breath and sweat-sticky chests.
Trent is beautiful. And Dominik gets him all to himself, spread out and open and wanton, all for him and no one else.
He holds him. Presses fingers down into his hips for no reason other than tangibility, chases the twist it gives to his pretty face when it’s not quite the touch he desires.
“Baby,” Dominik whispers, a name coated thick in fondness. “Trent,” he tries on.
The words repeat in his head, again and again and again. Trent reaches for Dominik’s hands where they sit shaking on his hips, swiping thumbs over rattled skin with a soft smile on his twitching lips.
“I’m here,” he promises like he knows all that Dominik is thinking. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”
And not because he can’t, and not because the stars aligned in a pattern that told him to stay, and not because he has to; Trent stays, permanent and eternal because he wants to. His presence reigns voluntarily, and Dominik holds him close because he offers himself up to be near, and their breath and skin tangle in the heat of a crooked parked car because they want to.
“Not going anywhere,” Dominik repeats, though he thinks it’s more a declaration of his own vicious desires. “Right here,” he promises, “however you want me.”
To that, Trent pleads, “Inside.”
Dominik’s hands move in a flurry. They pull away from Trent’s waist, grappling for the lube sitting forgotten in the crease of the backseat. And when the cool translucency drips over his cock, he hisses, a startled sound to rip through his teeth in frigidity. Careless, he drops the bottle onto the floor, barely hearing the sound it makes against forgotten rubber.
When he drags a palm over his weeping cock, he can feel Trent’s eyes on him. They watch, steady and interesting, all the same as Dominik was when his own position was far less incriminating. Now, Trent sits, hands on his own shaking thighs, and he watches.
Dominik grins despite the shake to his lips. “You’re staring,” he manages despite a strain, head cocking to the side with a weight he can’t quite place the intention of. Lilted and lust-strung, he adds, “Weirdo.”
Trent huffs out a laugh but it sounded more like a moan, reaching for Dominik’s lubed-up cock. “Please,” he argues, weak-voiced and keening. “Just fuck me already.”
Still failing to expect his vulgarity, Dominik falters. But he replaces the hand against the tip of his cock with his own, shifting cautiously against the car seat to re-align himself in a way that won’t knock his head into the ceiling. When his head presses against Trent’s rim, they both make a noise, Trent’s infinitely higher than the timbre buzzing through Dominik’s chest.
It’s Trent who hooks his legs around Dominik’s back, ankles crossing at his waist. Trent pulls Dominik forward, impatient, and knocks him the first inch in.
They groan in tandem. Dominik braces himself with a hand splayed out on Trent’s chest.
“Good?” he asks, as if Trent doesn’t look more blissed-out than he’s ever seen him.
With nails digging slowly into Dominik’s straining biceps, Trent begs, “More.”
Dominik thinks he’d have to be insane to deny that request.
So he sinks in, slow but sure and intentional, watching every inch of Trent’s face shift the further he pushes. He slows like they have all the time in the world, and perhaps they do, slivers of soft moonlight seeping in through the fogged-up windows in a haze. Dominik doesn’t cut his attention until he’s seated to the hilt, still watchful of Trent’s burning face and all the red that loves beneath it.
His head tips back against the seat, eyes closed gently with the flutter of long lashes against his cheeks. Burning carmine sits in place of a familiar sunburn, far darker and far more needy, the scarlet of careful sin drooling with a far different heat than the sun. And Dominik sits close enough to kiss him, but he doesn’t, lips kept to himself in a part that waits patiently for the nails against his arms to stop biting so deftly.
They stay like that for a moment. Content, together, as close as they’ve ever been. Dominik swallows shades of red and the sweat of cloudy air, hair messy against his forehead in a way that lacks discomfort. He stills with a racing heart and giddy lungs, eyes flicking everywhere they can reach across a face he’s dreamed about for years.
And just as he thinks this is as good as the world can get for him, Trent hastens a request.
“Move.”
Dominik starts slow; of course, he does. He was dying to speed up though. He shifts minutely, barely pulling out with a snap that drives him back in, the shake to their connected bodies coming with expectation. When Trent’s breath shudders over a moan, Dominik does it again, feeling the way the other clenches down around him, holding steady like a vice that never wants to let go.
But Dominik moves, a bit faster and steadily, hands digging bruises into the plush of soft pale hips. His breath splits ragged over the crest of parted lips, eyelids fluttering in a wrap of pleasure that drools so thick, dirty-murmured promises painting the fogged-up windows rich with sin.
He fucks into him with intent, love, and rapid lust living diligently beneath every thrust. Airy little sounds punch past Trent’s lips on every downstroke, intoxicating and lascivious by design. The interior of the car grows hotter—if at all possible—sweat gathering on the bend of his eyebrow in all vices aside from burning summer.
Trent moans, and he arches his back, and his neck cranes exposed and pretty with bruises seldom colored down the column of his throat. Dominik lurches forward to swipe his tongue over blood-tugged skin, hooking bent elbows underneath his knees to bend the body beneath him to a better angle.
And he drives into him with newfound ferocity, chasing the pretty noises on Trent’s lips while his own groans muffle into burning-hot skin. Teeth nip at shattered bruises with a twisted intent to spin darker, bodies jolting into each other with a glide that could never come fast or close or urgent enough—but it’s perfect, and Dominik chases it, and he swipes his tongue over veiled-in bitemarks with a slackened heat.
Trent keens. It’s intoxicating.
“Do you feel good?” Dominik asks, breathy, voice buzzing around the edges. He trails his slick lips up towards Trent’s ear, bare chests sliding together with the warmth of not enough, too much, not enough. “Tell me how you feel, Trent,” he pleads. “Talk, baby.”
A groaning breath meets his ear in place of words. Dominik sits up, back still arched to avoid the weight of the ceiling, and he looks. Trent stares up at him, nothing short of desperate, mouth slacking open in a trail of saliva skating down his cheek.
“Good,” he manages, and Dominik fucks him faster. “So good.”
So Dominik hastens, and he rushes, and he fucks. Heels hook into his back to pull him forward, pull him closer, and it’s maddening. Every last inch of Dominik’s skin cries with lovesick lust, mind lost to the wind skating past their windows and the moon that cuts the fog.
They’re close, and they get closer, and he gives it everything in him. Exhaustion trickles across his ribcage, bridging gaps in sticky certainty with a stretch like icing sugar. His bones tick, waist snapping thin, filthy hands that seek bruises and the blood of fruitless skin.
Pressure builds, and builds, and builds. Hot, white-knit, tandem. It builds, unrelenting and molten-heavy with weights between their bodies. Dominik groans, open-mouthed and empty, tongue weighing bloody between his teeth.
Close, close, close.
“Too much,” Trent whines, “can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can,” Dominik assures him, fucking him for his own pleasure now. “I’m close.”
He holds out. Dominik watches, eyes locked on Trent’s wavering gaze, and Trent watches back. They hold each other steady, pent-up lust and years-old love drooling out from the gaps between their skin. They hold each other steady, both moving at the same rhythm, attempting to reach their climaxes.
"Trent," he groans. He could feel him tightening around his cock in an attempt to make him cum. It's so good that Trent can hardly even comprehend Dom’s loud groan as he pushes in one final time and spills his warm release inside him.
When Dom begins to pull away, Trent’s face cringes, pain shooting through his body as his hips buckle and he falls completely onto the seat, Dominik groaning behind him. When he lifts his hand to push back his hair, it shakes, and at the same time, he could feel Dominik’s cum seeping out of him, out of his hole.
They both pause to catch their breath, giving themselves a moment to catch up before continuing. And after a while, Trent quietly says, "Fuck," to end the silence.
“We should do this again.” Dominik suggests with a hesitant look on his face.
Trent never agreed to something so quickly.