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A gasp escaped his lips, followed immediately by a sharp whistle of breath and a muttered curse as Robert smirked at the now-shaking “hero.” Maybe it was that throwaway comment about his ass being flat. Maybe it was the buildup of having to stand next to this pompous prick day after day, listening to his stupid accented drabble like a mosquito in his ear. Or maybe it was the need to prove that he did, in fact, “still have it.”
Whatever the reason, all Robert knew was that one moment Flambae was in his face bullshitting about how he’d lost his tooth, and the next they both had their dicks in each other’s hands, competing to see who could get the other off faster.
Robert forced his breathing to stay steady, fingers sliding deliberately down toward the base of the other man’s erection. Much as he hated to admit it, this felt good—too good—and he could already feel the tension building low in his stomach.
It wasn’t like this was the first time Robert had done something like this. Being a depressed teenager with a dead parent and a legacy to live up to messes with you. It shoves you toward anything that might drown out the noise—alcohol, smoking, drugs, psychedelics, porn, sleeping with someone of the same sex. He’d lived through all of it.
Still, Flambae clearly wasn’t new to this either. Robert stifled a groan as the man dragged a thumb over the slit, sharp nail scraping lightly against tender flesh in a way that made his hips twitch.
“Getting close, bitch?” Flambae taunted.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Robert shot back, letting his hand drop to the other’s balls. The cocky Afghan dick had the same—if not more—experience than him. And the fact that Robert was usually physically repulsed by the asshole should’ve played a bigger role in shutting his body down. This shouldn’t be so close. But the tightening in his gut said otherwise.
Time to step things up.
He kept fondling Flambae’s surprisingly hairless balls with one hand, while bringing the other up to stroke his shaft again. This time he added a twist—rough, because that’s exactly how the bastard would like it—picking up the pace until he felt the ponytailed menace thrusting into his grip. He was rewarded with Flambae’s eyes fluttering shut and a bitten-back groan pressed between his whistling teeth.
Not too long now. The contest was as sure as—
Suddenly Flambae grabbed Robert’s hoodie, yanking him forward so quickly Robert’s breath hitched. The tongue shoved between his lips caught him off guard. Their teeth—one perfect, one gapped—clacked together as Flambae kissed him with a brutal, possessive hunger, forcing control from Robert in one swift move.
There was something in the way the other man’s tongue slid against his, how tightly he held him, how aggressively his lips claimed him. It had him frozen, his hand going still against the pulsing flesh. It was overwhelming, domineering—like if Robert dared pull back, Flambae would just chase him, keep them locked together. The back of his his knees still pressed against the weights bench while Flambae's hand kept jerking him, relentless, determined, until—
With a sharp moan, Robert came in hot spurts over Flambae’s hand.
Flambae finally broke the kiss, pulling back only when Robert’s body started to sag. He shoved him lightly away from his hairy chest, letting Robert fall back against the bench, cock still dripping against the cold PVC leather as he tucked his still hard member back into his suit.
“I win,” Flambae panted. “Now clean up my bench, bitch.”