Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: eeyore9990From: snegurochka_leeTitle:
Er- muscles. See Notes.Other Warnings/Content:
Nah, just the muscles. And the, uh, arm wrestling.Word Count:
Kingsley knew his muscular body was the subject of many fantasies, but smaller men just didn't do it for him. Where was he supposed to find his own muscle man?Notes:
Dear prompter, during claiming I found myself unable to scroll past your desperate plea for, "Muscles. Serious, huge, rippling muscles. Ridiculous hipbones and thighs and pecs and... yeah. MUSCLES." Not much more to say. Thank goodness for Kinky Kristmas and PWP! ;) Happy Holidays! Many thanks to the wise one who looked it over for me. :)Muscle Men
The burn of exertion drove deep through Kingsley's shoulder as he lowered the barbell one more time. He clenched his teeth, trying to remember to breathe through his nose and keep the oxygen flowing to his strained muscles.
"Twelve," he grunted, curling his bicep up. He lowered the massive weight slowly, giving his arm time to adjust, and set it on the floor. That should do it for today; he wasn't interested in building muscle anymore, just maintaining what he had. He grabbed a towel from the nearby bench and wiped his face, then rooted around for a shirt to pull on with his tracksuit bottoms. If he hurried, he should have time for a half-hour run before heading to the Ministry.
Before he could locate his shirt, though, his Floo flared, and a magical voice announced an incoming call.
"Answer," said Kingsley in a clear voice. The flames swirled.
"Hey, glad I caught you. I know it's early, but I just wanted to run these numbers by you before meeting with the Magical Creatures reps at... oh..."
"Harry. It's fine. I was just on my way in." Kingsley had been rubbing the towel over his bare chest to wipe away the stray drops of perspiration. Merlin, that left shoulder burned. He rotated it, wincing. Maybe he'd overdone it. When he glanced back at the Floo, Harry was staring at him, his mouth open. "All right?"
"What? Oh." Harry swallowed. "Sure. Yeah. Of course. I... God, I'm really sorry to bother you."
"I said it's all right," repeated Kingsley, slightly irritated. "The senior Aurors need to have access to me at all times, and you too, since you might as well be one of them. I've told you and Robards before that you can call day or night. Now what's wrong with the figures that we can't sort it with Higgins in..." he checked the clock on the wall. "...two hours?"
"Nothing," Harry hurried to say. "We'll sort it when you get here. You're... oh God." He was a bit breathless. "You're working out?"
Ah. Kingsley glanced down at his torso, but refused to be embarrassed by being caught without a shirt. He'd encountered this reaction before, although he wouldn't have expected it from Harry. "I'm a busy man. I have to take the time when I can. Six a.m. usually works fine." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you, Auror Potter, of the importance of physical fitness to mental agility and good decision-making." He folded his big arms over his chest.
"No, sir," breathed Harry, wetting his lips. "It's important. So very, very important..." He made a strangled noise. "I, uh, have to go."
But his head disappeared from the flames, and Kingsley rolled his eyes. That his body was often the subject of sexual fantasy for men and women alike was not news to him. He wasn't vain, and he hadn't been lying to Harry – he really did believe in fitness as a means of maintaining good health and sharp mental energies. As an Auror, physical fitness had been crucial, and while it might not matter as much for the Minister for Magic, he refused to sit at a desk all day and go limp like those old buggers who had held the post before him – Scrimgeour the only possible exception.
He pushed his stack of weights to the far side of the living room and rolled up his mat, before heading to the kitchen for a carton of juice and some toast.
The problem was that he didn't want a man to be in awe of him every time they were together. He didn't want his pectoral muscles traced with light, hesitant fingers; he didn't want to have to worry that he was crushing his partner just by pinning him down and moving one of his meaty thighs between their legs. He didn't want to hold himself back, and he didn't want to be worshipped like a bloody statue.
He wanted a man who could match him, who could pin him
if he was in the mood, and who would appreciate him for who he was – the whole package – not just for what he could bench press.
He'd been looking a long time, though, and he had yet to find that man.***
Kingsley usually tried to get to the office early, to have some time to himself before the busy day began. He was running a bit late today, though, and when he arrived, his floor was neither peaceful nor quiet. The Auror division took up half the floor, with senior administrative offices occupying the other half. Most days, Kingsley appreciated being close to the Aurors. Their emergencies had to be his too, after all. But today...
He paused in his step, surveying the bullpen of junior Auror cubicles. This didn't seem to be any emergency.
"Come on, Ron, put your back into it!"
"Rip his arm off!"
For eight a.m., this was a remarkable amount of activity for a crew that often either worked night shifts or otherwise drank hard and slept late. The catcalls and jeers filled the entire floor, earning glares from the secretaries over in the admin half. A couple of them caught Kingsley's eye from their desks, nodding with approval at his apparent intent to intervene. A group of rowdy onlookers were huddled around one of the conference tables.
"Oh! Minister." Arthur Weasley ambled up to him, looking sheepish. "So sorry for the commotion. My boys." He gestured apologetically. "Charlie's in from Romania for the week, and he, well..." Arthur sighed but cast a fond look towards the ruckus. "...he tends to cause a bit of a stir wherever he goes."
Pushing down his irritation at the disturbance, Kingsley gave him a polite smile. "I should say hello, then. Don't think I've seen Charlie since the war, have I?" And even then it was only the occasional Order meeting, both of those elder Weasley boys young and eager but not too well-versed in the tools of the trade. Boys playing at being Aurors, Kingsley and Dawlish used to chuckle to each other when they were on watch in the middle of the night, downing a fifth of scotch to keep warm outside Death Eater warehouses while the Weasley boys snored in their beds. In the end, of course, the Weasley family had given more than was fair to the war effort; he knew that.
"No, I suppose you haven't," said Arthur. "Boys!"
Just then, the group of spectators erupted into applause, and Kingsley saw Ron Weasley slump over the table, moaning.
"Fuck! Thought I had him this time," said Ron, raising his head with a grin.
"How could you possibly think that?" someone called, laughing. "Look at his arms!"
As the crowd parted, he caught a glimpse over their heads of Ron with his arm bent back against the table, limp. His brother grippd his hand and kept pressing him down, leaning forward with his bicep bulging. Without meaning to, Kingsley wet his lips.
Well, then. Someone had grown up a fair bit – and filled out – since the war.
He cleared his throat. "Arm wrestling?" he called, his voice carrying across the floor. He kept it authoritative but not angry; nonetheless, several guilty eyes lowered. Ron let go of his brother's hand and stumbled to his feet.
Kingsley folded his hands in front of his body, standing with his feet slightly apart. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.
"Sorry, sir. We were just–" Ron jerked his thumb over his shoulder, his face flushed.
"Now, now. Surely the Minister can't object to his Aurors keeping up their strength, can he?"
Kingsley turned to see Charlie grinning at him, his victorious arm resting easily on the table while the other was propped on the back of a nearby chair. While most of the Aurors around him wore robes, he was clad only in jeans, scuffed boots, and a dark t-shirt. The worn cuffs of the sleeves snapped around his biceps and the thin material stretched across his broad chest. Kingsley's eyes travelled up. He had a thick neck and a strong jaw, and his ginger hair was cropped short, but there was still enough of it to run fingers through...
...which he was now doing, raising both thick arms in the air and clasping his hands around the back of his head.
"No," Kingsley said, giving Charlie a polite smile and trying to keep his roving gaze in check, "I never object to strength training. Let's just make sure everyone can get their work done, hm?" He nodded back at the secretaries levelling furious gazes.
"Sure," said Charlie. "Back to work, everyone. On one condition." He leaned forward, pushing his already short sleeves further up his arms.
Kingsley raised a brow.
"You and me."
There was a stunned silence in the room, before the hoots and hollers descended. The crowd filled in around them again, laughing and barking encouragement at Kingsley. Oh, he could still refuse. It had been years since anyone had cornered him into doing something he didn't want to do. But something about Charlie was making him want
to engage in physical combat. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes off Charlie's muscular body, thrumming with masculine energy and nearly bursting out of his t-shirt.
Without a word, Kingsley unbuttoned his robe and pushed it off his shoulders, then started in on his starched dress shirt underneath. When the crowd realised what he was doing, their cheers escalated to a dull roar. With a small smile, he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his sleeve up, pushing it as far above his elbow as he could. The ridge of muscle in his upper arm distorted the fabric, tightening it and making it a little bit uncomfortable, but he drew the line at taking his shirt off completely.
He kicked Ron's vacated chair out and turned it backwards with his boot, then straddled it. Charlie watched his every move, his lips parted and his eyes dark.
"Well, then," he called to the crowd, his eyes not leaving Kingsley, "looks like he might just know what he's doing, eh? Maybe I should be scared." But he gave Kingsley a sly smile.
The crowd fell silent as the two of them shook hands, established the rules, and then positioned themselves with their elbows on the table and their hands clasped. Charlie's palm and fingers were rough, calluses dotting his grip. Someone shouted out the countdown, and then they were off.
Kingsley felt instant pressure against his palm – not everything Charlie had, he'd wager, but enough to keep him from losing in the first five seconds. He lowered his shoulder a fraction and anchored his elbow against the table, focusing on maintaining a steady, even hold, rather than trying to surge too much and make himself vulnerable. He could instantly tell that Charlie was a sprinter, not a distance runner. Charlie pressed further, his chest muscles tightening under his revealing t-shirt and his arm bulging.
He managed to move Kingsley's arm a fraction, and Kingsley let him do it. No better position for the enemy than thinking he was in the lead. That was when a man tended to let his guard down. Charlie pressed his advantage further, maybe one fifth of the way to victory. Kingsley kept breathing steadily through his nose, his jaw clenched.
He'd been watching their hands intently, but for a moment he glanced up at Charlie's face. He found him gazing right back, his bottom lip under his teeth and his chest heaving.
A surge of arousal slammed through Kingsley's body, more acute than he'd felt in years. He wanted to give up this stupid contest and just rip Charlie's shirt off his body and press him down over this very table. He wanted Charlie to fight every step of the way, working a muscled thigh in between Kingsley's and tugging at the waist of Kingsley's trousers with this same big hand until they flew open.
With a surge of strength, he groaned and shifted his elbow, working his arm steadily forward. His rolled-up sleeve dug into his bicep in a painful twist, but Kingsley kept up his steady push until he had Charlie more than halfway there.
"Fuck," Charlie muttered, trying to regain the upper hand. Past halfway, though, it was no contest. Kingsley pressed slowly, watching Charlie's arm fold back, exposing the freckled underside of his bicep, until at last it hit the table.
Panting, Kingsley gave him a little grin, wetting his lips.
Those bright blue eyes held him rooted to the spot. "Looks like you've got me pinned," murmured Charlie, his voice low. "Minister
Kingsley felt a slow flutter deep in his body, the warmth from Charlie's hand and that look on his face sizzling down his spine. "So I do."
"Rematch?" Charlie raised a brow, but Kingsley slowly released his hold, backing away and flexing his fingers. The entire floor was watching, their chatter filling his ears now that sound had filtered back in. Merlin, what was he doing?
"Maybe another time. I have a meeting." He stood and grabbed his robe, the crowd parting for him. He glanced back at Charlie, who was looking up at him with a grin, still making a show of the way his defeated arm sat limply on the table. He wasn't fooling anyone. It still bulged through the cuff of his t-shirt, the vein under his bicep pulsing.
"Magical creature reps?"
Kingsley paused, and a slow smile spread across Charlie's face.
"I'm your delegation, mate."
With a practiced nod that gave him time to school his features back into neutrality, Kingsley turned again to go. "Glad to hear it," he said briskly. "Ten minutes, conference room adjacent to my office."
As he headed for his office, rolling his sleeve back down and trying not to think about the look of invitation and private triumph in Charlie's eyes as Kingsley had worked Charlie's arm down to the table, he heard Hermione hiss –
"He's the Minister for Magic, Charlie! You can't just chat him up like he's some club boy!"***
"We about done here?"
Kingsley glanced to the side. "Are you in a hurry?"
Charlie only leaned back in his chair, giving him a bored look. Kingsley cleared his throat and addressed the group.
"Yes. I think we are. Report back in one week, everyone. Thank you for your time." He nodded at each of the others as they gathered their papers and rose. Charlie didn't move. Finally, Kingsley swivelled his chair towards him, folding his hands across his stomach.
"How do you do it, mate?" Charlie asked him, tilting his head to the side. His legs were splayed wide in his chair, and Kingsley couldn't help but drop his gaze to take in Charlie's body. His thigh muscles stood out even through his jeans, as if he'd done his best to find a pair that fit his body but couldn't comfortably do it. He folded his arms over his chest, which only accentuated his biceps where the cuff of his t-shirt snapped around them.
"What's that?" Kingsley answered, keeping his voice even.
Charlie leaned closer. "Guys like you and me don't do well sitting in meetings
all day, yeah?" He let his gaze fall slowly down Kingsley's body, even hidden beneath his robes. "What do you bench?" he added.
Kingsley cleared his throat, turning to gather his papers and rise from his chair. He glanced down at Charlie. Oh, what the hell. "Two ninety."
Charlie's eyes still roved over Kingsley's body now that he was standing. He let out a low whistle. "I've been pushing two sixty-five for six months now, but I can't get it higher than that with this shoulder." Annoyed, he rotated his right shoulder, looking away. "Damn thing kept me out of the pro leagues, too."
"Two sixty-five is nothing to be ashamed of," said Kingsley with a low laugh, even as his stomach clenched a little at the very thought. Merlin. He'd never met a man who could nearly match him in strength and size.
Charlie stood up and stepped towards Kingsley. "I bet you've got three inches on me, though, so that explains it, too."
They were nearly chest to chest, Kingsley's slightly bigger frame still covered by his tailored robes while Charlie's was right there on display, his tight t-shirt showing every curve of muscle. Kingsley bent his head a bit as if to assess. "Maybe two," he decided. Then, feeling mischievous, he added, "Or maybe I'm just stronger than you."
Charlie laughed, throwing his head back. "Well, then, Minister," he drawled, "that'd be the first time I've heard you actually say something honest, not just this horribly polite bureaucrat-speak I've heard all morning." He stepped closer, one hand moving slowly from Kingsley's thick shoulder down his upper arm, squeezing.
Kingsley couldn't help it. He flexed.
As Charlie's fingers widened to accommodate the new burst of muscle underneath them, his eyes went dark and his lips parted. Slowly, he brought his gaze back to Kingsley's face, leaning in close. "I like my men strong," he murmured.
"I've heard that one before," said Kingsley pointedly.
Charlie's grin only deepened. "Ah. Yeah. I bet you have." He reluctantly pulled his hand away, shoving both of them in the pockets of his jeans. "Wispy little things with a size kink, right? Yeah, me too."
Kingsley smiled, ducking his head down. "Not really my
kink to crush some poor scrawny bastard between my thighs."
Charlie's laugh turned to a groan. He lodged one hand in his hair, his eyes twinkling. "Don't give me that image," he moaned. But then he gave Kingsley a steady look. "I don't crush easy," he murmured.
Kingsley tried to hold his arousal in check, leaning back against the conference table and folding his arms over his chest. He regarded Charlie for a long enough moment that anyone else would have turned away, intimidated. But Charlie lifted his chin and held his gaze. Finally, Kingsley leaned forward. "I get propositioned a fair bit, you know. Comes with the job." He nodded around at the room. "I'm not eighty, and I clean up well. People like powerful men."
Charlie gave him an easy smile. "Sure, and I'm one of them. But you could shovel dragon shit for a living for all I care," he said. "I don't want you for your office, Minister." He stepped forward again and slid his hands up Kingsley's broad chest. "I want you for this
His hot breath tickled Kingsley's ear. "I want you to wrestle me to the bed, and I want to win, and I want to pin you down, Mister I Bench Two Ninety
, and I want those thighs of yours around my shoulders, and I want those big hands around my cock, and I want you to try it
– just try
to crush me when you fuck me."
Kingsley closed his eyes. So much for self-restraint. "Jesus," he muttered, turning his head to the side. He fisted his hand in Charlie's t-shirt before he could stop himself, feeling Charlie's pectoral muscles tense. "It's eleven o'clock in the morning," he added weakly.
Charlie laughed, low at Kingsley's ear. "When was the last time you fucked someone who could actually take it? Hard as you can," he added, his big chest heaving under Kingsley's hand.Never
, Kingsley didn't say. With a groan, he tore himself away from Charlie and strode to the door, leaning out. "Liam!"
"Yes, sir, what can I get you, sir?"
"Nothing. I have urgent business with the Magical Creatures reps. Cancel my lunch with Darton."
"Yes, sir." He scribbled on a pad. "What about your two o'clock with the goblins?"
"They can wait. I'll be back at three."
He stepped back inside, cutting off any further questions.
Charlie was leaning against the table, grinning like the cat that had got the canary, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "Liam," he called without even moving towards the door. "He won't be back by three."
With a groan, Kingsley only slammed the door shut and hauled Charlie through his private Floo. ***
They stumbled out into Kingsley's flat, Charlie still laughing, but it quickly turned to a groan as he shoved Kingsley up against the broad brick wall behind the fireplace and pressed his body in tight. In place of a kiss, Charlie sucked Kingsley's bottom lip between his and bit down, light enough to grasp and tug. He bared his teeth as he did it, looking at Kingsley with dark eyes.
"If you think you're important enough to seduce me in the middle of a workday, you'd better get started," Kingsley reminded him against his mouth.
Charlie stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head, bunching it in one big fist. He spread his hands, putting himself fully on display and letting Kingsley take a good look. "Oh, I'm sorry," he teased. "Were the goblins gonna make you a better offer?"
Kingsley's mouth went dry. God, he was utterly perfect. His chest was broad and well-defined, his abdominal muscles carved deep, and now Kingsley could appreciate what he'd only seen whispers of before: Charlie's chest, arms and shoulders were decorated with bright, gorgeous tattoos. Flames leapt down his back; scales wrapped around his shoulder; and the fierce, piercing eyes of a Horntail slithered over his pectoral muscles, making him look even bigger than he was and definitely more dangerous than his easy-going nature would ever allow.
He didn't bench two sixty-five or have that much ink in order to intimidate, Kingsley realised at that moment: he did it just because it felt right. Because it was who he was. Kingsley had to respect a man like that. He was the same, after all.
In one stride, Kingsley shoved his hand around the back of Charlie's neck and dragged him close, his mouth hot over Charlie's and his heart beating wildly. He kissed him fiercely, spurred by the promise that he could do this, hard
, and Charlie could take whatever Kingsley gave.
"Get these– fucking– robes off." Charlie tore at him while trying not to break the kiss, his big hands mauling Kingsley's buttons until his robe tore open and Charlie could shove it off his shoulders. His button-down shirt came next, Charlie's fingers making quick work of it while his mouth moved down over Kingsley's throat and collarbone. When he finally got inside, he pressed both hands over Kingsley's chest as his shirt fluttered open.
Charlie spread his fingers as far apart as he could with each hand, still coming nowhere near covering all of Kingsley's broad chest. Charlie's thumb caught one of his nipples, though, and a deep groan rumbled out of him. At that, Charlie gave him a sly grin... and did it again, hard
Kingsley's stomach muscles clenched with restraint, and Charlie's hands drifted lower, tracing every dip of muscle till he got to Kingsley's trousers.
"I hear you know how to handle a man," murmured Kingsley, his arms at his sides as he waited to see what Charlie would do.
Charlie curled his fingers in the waist of Kingsley's trousers. "I hear you don't need to be handled," he shot back. Ignoring his own words, he shoved Kingsley's shirt the rest of the way off, letting it dangle from one wrist before dropping it. He was on Kingsley in a flash.
With their chests bare, Charlie pressed up against him again and let his hands rove everywhere
– around Kingsley's waist, pressing up his back, squeezing his big arms. Kingsley basked in the bolt of arousal that shot through him from feeling Charlie's powerful chest against his. His cock was hardening quickly, and he could feel Charlie's bulging in his jeans. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do first – swallow Charlie's cock down whole or wrestle him to the bed and try, just try
, to crush him.
He rather liked the thought that he might not be able to.
Charlie broke away at last and kicked his boots off before unbuttoning his jeans. He slid them down his hips, freeing the sculpted line of his arse and thighs, his quadriceps like tree trunks. His briefs followed, and he bent to step out of them before standing in front of Kingsley again, not the least bit intimidated by his gaze. He turned at last and sauntered down the hall away from the living room.
"Bedroom this way?" he called.
With a laugh, Kingsley strode after him, his hands flying on his belt and zip as he followed. He kicked his own boots, trousers and underwear off inside his bedroom door and caught Charlie before he climbed onto the bed. "Ah-ah," he muttered. "It's not wrestling if you just lie down sweetly by yourself and spread your legs, now, is it?"
Charlie curled an arm around Kingsley's waist and drew him close. They were both naked now, and Kingsley could feel Charlie's muscles flex against his own, his nipples hardening as his pecs slid against Kingsley's. "I don't think I ever said anything about lying down sweetly and spreading my legs," whispered Charlie, tugging at Kingsley's earlobe and holding his earring between his teeth for a moment before kissing over it. He backed Kingsley against the footboard and devoured his mouth, working a thigh between Kingsley's legs and letting his hands drift down to cup Kingsley's arse.
Kingsley let him explore, let himself get pressed down... but a moment later, he reversed their positions, slamming Charlie back against the chest of drawers and grasping his cock. With a deep groan, Charlie pushed up into his fist. Kingsley's cock pressed into Charlie's hip, and after a moment he opened his hand and took them both in together, squeezing until Charlie bit down on his shoulder.
"God, you should work outdoors," breathed Charlie, his hands grabbing Kingsley's arse to pull him closer. "Fucking criminal, a body like this hidden under all those layers."
"You handle dragon scales in the nude?"
Charlie walked him back towards the bed, laughing. "No, but when the work's done and the chaps come off... shirts, at least, tend to be optional for a game of chess or a couple of drinks in the mess hall."
"Ah." Kingsley let Charlie push him down to the bed, crawling over him and straddling his thighs. "The truth comes out: you're not there for the actual dragons."
"Oh, I'm there for the dragons." Charlie leaned down, his hands pressing into Kingsley's shoulders and his mouth moving down his chest and stomach. "But I'm also there for the big men who know how to handle themselves, yeah?"
Kingsley pressed on Charlie's shoulder to get him lower, a firm statement of where he wanted Charlie's mouth. "You want to keep talking about other men right now?" he growled.
Flashing him a grin, Charlie ducked his head down and took Kingsley's cock in his mouth, one hand pressing on Kingsley's clenched abdomen and the other digging into his thigh. Kingsley arched up, pleasure racing through him. He dug his fingers into Charlie's shoulder and thrust up into his mouth. In response, Charlie pressed down even more with his hands, holding him down
Kingsley groaned, basking in the hot pressure of Charlie's mouth and the sensation of Charlie taking control of him.
But this wouldn't quite do. He sat up, dislodging Charlie but pulling him in for a kiss. Then he flipped them, trying to catch Charlie off guard. It didn't quite work – Charlie only laughed a moan into his neck – but he landed on the mattress with a grunt, the headboard knocking against the wall from their combined weight. Kingsley pressed him down on his stomach, straddling the backs of his thighs.
"Looks like I've got you," he murmured, his mouth hot at Charlie's ear as he leaned over him. His cock slid up Charlie's lower back, and he felt Charlie inch his legs apart, squirming underneath him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, working himself up on his elbows. "Still not pinned," he teased.
Charlie exhaled, his eyes closing. He fought his way up to his hands and knees, pressing Kingsley back to make room, and lust shot through Kingsley's body. God, Charlie hadn't been kidding. He'd let himself be handled, but then he was going to do it right back, making sure he was getting exactly what he wanted. The push-pull of it made Kingsley's head swim. Charlie's body was a work of art, and he knew just how to use it.
Kingsley was done for
The smooth expanse of Charlie's back spread out beneath him, broad and sharp, and Kingsley found himself tracing his fingers over the ink swirling in elegant designs over Charlie's skin. Then he Summoned the lube and began working Charlie open, his other hand rubbing over Charlie's thick arms and the twisting muscles of his back.
"Fuck," breathed Charlie. "Come on. That's good."
Kingsley held him open with one hand while the other guided his cock, settling the head in Charlie's cleft and pausing to spread his palms over the sculpted muscles of Charlie's arse. When he pushed forward, Charlie's back arched and he moaned, deep and gritty. His shoulder blades tightened, and Kingsley slid his free hand around to feel Charlie's abdominal muscles clench.
"Yeah," Kingsley instructed, his voice low. "Take me in."
Charlie groaned, but then he threw a glance over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. Without warning, he shoved backwards, slamming Kingsley's cock in deep. "Not gonna break," he said, exhaling. Kingsley covered him completely, his broad chest hot against Charlie's back. Charlie reached one big hand behind him and grabbed Kingsley's arse, pulling him in deeper.
"Bossy," Kingsley murmured, dragging his teeth over Charlie's shoulder blades, and Charlie half-laughed, half-moaned.
not pinned," he challenged over his shoulder, his eyes dark and his face flushed. His triceps stood out as he locked his elbows and held himself up, absorbing each of Kingsley's thrusts. God, he felt incredible, his body gripping Kingsley with every slow, steady press inside.
Kingsley worked Charlie's thighs further apart, nudging him with his own until he was spread wide, and then he locked his arms on either side of Charlie's shoulders and pressed down. Charlie resisted for a moment, throwing another grin over his shoulder, but Kingsley kept going. Finally, Charlie dropped to his elbows and then lower, spreading his arms to the side and mashing his cheek into the pillow. Kingsley covered his thick arms with his own, curling his fingers into Charlie's.God
. Charlie was still thrumming with energy and strength beneath him, but he'd let himself be flattened to the bed, Kingsley pistoning his hips to drive into him steadily. His thighs squeezed around Charlie's hips, and he shuddered when he felt one of Charlie's feet curl up and stroke over his calf muscle. He held himself up on locked arms like he was doing push-ups, driving deep into Charlie's body with a roll of his hips.
Charlie moved with him, letting himself be worked over but also flexing underneath Kingsley, pressing up
every time Kingsley pressed down, and Kingsley soon felt the sweat break out on his brow, as if this were a work-out. He nearly laughed at the thought, feeling open and free and really bloody aroused. Charlie was making the most delicious noises, fisting the sheets and arching his back to get Kingsley inside him even deeper.
The hot pressure around his prick built steadily, as Charlie clenched around him and the slow grind of their bodies worked him closer to the edge. He moved his hands up Charlie's arms to his shoulders and curled his fingers in, hauling Charlie back on his cock.
Charlie grunted and pushed back once more, nearly dislodging Kingsley as he rose to his knees again. "Fuck," muttered Charlie. "Hard
Every inch of muscle between them tensed as Kingsley increased his pace, slamming in deep as Charlie met him with every thrust. His rhythm began to falter. With his chest heaving and his fingers tight around Charlie's hips, he let himself go. Buried deep, he came with a low groan, Charlie's name on his lips. His cock pulsed and Charlie clenched down around him, keeping every drop of come inside.
With a moan, Charlie pulled himself free, working Kingsley out of his body before dropping back down to the bed. He turned over onto his back, Kingsley kneeling before him still trying to catch his breath, and fisted his cock. He pulled it to full hardness again as Kingsley hovered over of him, bending to move his mouth up Charlie's throat.
"God," whispered Kingsley, his palm sliding over Charlie's chest. "Never fucked anyone like you."
," Charlie moaned, and Kingsley bent his head to watch as thick ropes of come shot up Charlie's tight stomach and over his fist, dripping down his wrist. Kingsley captured his open mouth in a kiss, his tongue tangling with Charlie's as they both fell back down to the bed.
They lay there panting for a long moment, chests heaving and legs tangled in the sheets, before Charlie glanced over and grinned.
"It's nowhere near three yet, you know."
Kingsley covered his face with one hand, wiping his mouth. "Don't remind me. Delinquency is not in my nature."
"Aw, live a little."
Laughing, Kingsley nudged his elbow into Charlie's ribcage. "How long are you in town?" he asked quietly.
Charlie gave him a sideways glance, but before he answered, he rolled over and swung one leg over Kingsley, straddling him and leaning down. "Long enough," he murmured, his mouth hot at Kingsley's throat, "for that rematch."
His big arms wrapping around Charlie's back to keep him close, Kingsley closed his eyes to sensation again. FIN