The planes of his chest are rigid and deep like the face of a cliff. The dip of his sternum and rib cage rumbles underneath the soft pad of his fingertips as he moves languidly down the length of his chest and torso until the ridge of his hip jumps. His hand encompasses the thick cock that twitches with every breathy hiss in his ear. He can’t make out whose moans send chills up his spine, but he doesn’t much care. One pump, two, and a third, have the other man so hard beneath the silky palm of his hand that Charlie struggles not to rut against him.

There’s a hand on his head, tangled in the locks he keeps long and groomed. He’s encouraged down to his knees and when they connect with the cement flooring he doesn’t have time to dwell on the ache against tired, overworked joints. It takes him only a beat to wrap the offered cock around his pillowy tongue. He moans and so does the the man coaxing him to move deeper and faster with every sharp tug of his hair.

The back of his throat is nothing more than a barrier of warmth as its met with jerky thrusts. Charlie swallows around its length, and runs the flat of his tongue along the shaft. He’s made for this, for sucking cock on the floor of a dingy club with the soft tones of thumping music filtering through the dark, hidden alcove.

His fingers curls around the man’s thighs as he holds his body steady. He’s hard and desperate with every jut at the back of his throat. The movements are faster, shorter, more demanding with every eager gasp above him. He’s held in place, the leaking cock climaxing so quickly that his throat muscles struggle to swallow it down.

Charlie is yanked up from the floor. His belt is unhooked, trousers fall to the ground. The hard body in front of him spins and plants itself against the wall. His arse is out, begging to be taken and who is Charlie to refuse? His fingers explore the crease of his arse, dip inside, and he’s sheathed within seconds with a throaty growl.

He’s still, enjoying the heat the grips him so deliciously that Charlie’s damn near delirious with the feel of it. His hands steady him on the wall above broad shoulders and he thrusts once, twice, three times to gain momentum. He’s lost after that, brain foggy in sheer ecstasy as he takes him hard and fast.

“Fuck, Charlie,” the man - familiar, gritty, desperate - groans and pushed back against him.

He’s momentarily stunned. He knows this man, has coveted him from a distance as his relationship to a woman flourished. How he’d wound up here, being fucked against a dank wall, Charlie isn’t sure. But it hardly matters as his speed increases and his hips move erratically. He’s riding the line between climax and wanting more, more, more, that even as Neville begs him to fuck harder, Charlie slows and allows him to fuck himself back against his straining cock.

“Fuck me, Neville,” he hisses as his lips meet Neville’s ear. “Just like that, yes.”

His hands find their way to Neville’s shoulders and he uses them for leverage. Fingers curl into clavicle. Nails graze the hard bone sharply as he nears his release.

He’s done for in half a dozen strokes. Cock spent and twitching as he extricates himself and forces Neville to turn around. His hand locks around Neville’s jaw and pulls him in for a searing kiss. When they break apart, Charlie can hardly move far enough away to speak without mumbling into his lips.

“Fancy a nightcap at mine?”

Neville smiles, a little devious thing that turns up the corners of his lips.

“Fancy a bit more than that, to be honest.” His voice is rough around the edges, like he’s raw from all the noise he’d made moments ago.

Charlie wraps his arms around Neville’s shoulders, takes a step forward, and spins. As that familiar hook tugs at his navel, he’s sure the rest of Christmas break in England is going to be far better than whatever he might have done in Romania.