How could he forget? A million years might come to pass with just as many experiences notched onto bedpost and the recollection would never fail to excite him. Long stretch of hours turned into unending days while Jon was away in London had sent Robb into a deep funk. Loss of his right hand, his better half, the sober Yin to his raging Yang had physically hurt, sharp pain cutting him to the very core. He'd been a flayed man, left raw and wanting but only he knew how far down the long road of mourning he'd traveled. Purposely keeping Jon in the dark throughout had been the obvious choice - already feeling roadblocks far too keenly for his own good his boyfriend would've placed blame solely on himself and hopped the first plane back to U.S. soil at breakneck speed. Tempting at the time but that wasn't what the exercise had been about; they'd needed the separation. Needed to remember how to stand alone to make the homecoming all the more sweeter.
That's it! Had he not been otherwise preoccupied, genuine 'Eureka!' lightbulb moment might've gotten shouted from the rooftops. When I'm with you it's like coming home. Again and again.
Now, though, Robb couldn’t be arsed with silly old feelings of estrangement nor the haunting preoccupation of those confusing dreams coming more and more often. He was too busy trying to milk Jon’s cock for all he was worth in time with thrusting his cock into slick palm so hot and possessive and right- “Jesus Fucking H. Christ, yes!” he howled, body arching like a huntsman’s bow as fingers dug into the sheets, gathering up great wads of fabric to twist and pull same as Jon pulled at barbaric restraints. Feral, unintelligible garble tumbled from Pictish gob - barked epitaphs you wouldn’t need a Rosetta Stone to decipher raunchy meaning. This was Robb McLellan full-blown and without any borders or social niceties. A plaid-wrapped wildling rushing up from the moors, swinging a war-axe and screaming for your blood.
When orgasm hit Robb’s entire body clenched, skeletal system and muscles threatening to tear free of earthy limitations, his flesh suddenly too thin, too tight a covering. Piddling husk of humanity no match for end-over-end stimulation of prick and prostate. Visual addition - archived in USB format no less! - of holiday cum shot painted across Jon’s back then real time ejaculation pumping gooey, molten heat straight from Hephaestus’ forges, splattering lover’s parted lips and dripping from bearded chin.
Then came the light. Glorious technicolor pinpoints sparking behind closed lids. This was proper fucking, by God.