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“Okay so, like, I've never actually done this before.”
Robert's head makes a suspiciously hollow thunk as he lets it fall back against the arm of the couch, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling of his living room. It's really fucking dusty up there. Maybe he should get a swiffer or something. “Yeah, well, it's not fucking rocket science, Einstein.” He says, lifting his head up briefly to glare down at the dumbass crouched between his spread legs. He's starting to feel a little ridiculous now, naked only from the waist down with his pants and briefs still tangled around one of his ankles and his socks still firmly attached to his feet, but like fuck is he putting even more of a pause on things to take anything else off.
“I know that, dickhead, but some fucking instruction might be nice?”
“Instruction? You- you just, you lick! Like, fucking ice cream, I don't know-”
“Oh, great, now any time I eat ice cream after this I'm going to think of-”
“My pussy? You're welcome.”
Silence hangs between them for a long moment, their eyes locked, until both of them burst out into a round of giggles. Robert notices for the first time how Flambae's eyes crinkle softly at the edges when he really smiles, not that stupid self-satisfied smirk he usually has, and it makes something palpitate weirdly in his chest. Maybe he's going to have a heart attack soon. Best not to dwell on that.
“You're so stupid, oh my god.” Flambae scoffs, his hand settling on Robert’s lower stomach, large and warm and grounding through his thin shirt. He shifts a little lower down the couch, one of his legs sliding off the side to kneel on the floor and put him at a more convenient height. He huffs out a breath of overly warm air, still hesitating, like somehow if he waits long enough Robert is going to say, ‘sike!’ and produce a pamphlet on box munching, diagrams and all.
“So, is your new superhero name going to be Performance Anxiety Man?” Robert quirks up an eyebrow, tucking an arm behind his head so his neck isn't straining quite so much. Flambae scowls, and there goes that pretty softness to his face that Robert was just starting to admire. The jab seems to get him a little more fired up, though, literally. The air immediately surrounding them seems to raise a few degrees in temperature. Flambae tucks a few stray hairs behind his ear, flips Robert off, and then goes for it.
Seems like he takes the licking advice to heart, because the first few swipes of his tongue are broad, flat, and all-encompassing, a firm pressure against his clit which has already started to fatten back up to where it was before the unfortunate detour their foreplay took. Robert’s lips part slightly, a soft sound falling out as he reaches down to push his fingers through soft, thick hair, tugging even more of it out of the loose ponytail to get a good grip.
“Yeah, that’s good,” he sighs, arching his hips a little which, oh, makes Flambae’s tongue catch on an especially nice spot right under the head of his clit. Flambae huffs a breath out of his nose like he’s annoyed but his eyes are doing that soft thing again, eyebrows knitted in concentration. The praise seems to be working, so Robert keeps it up. “You’re, mm, totally a natural.”
Flambae shifts his position on the couch a little to lean forward more heavily, his nose pressing into the soft frizz of Robert’s bush, his breath tickling slightly. Robert tugs on the hair he has clenched in his fist, rocking upwards to grind against Flambae’s tongue when it's not moving fast enough for his liking. A whine vibrates against his cunt, so he pulls again, harder, and watches as Flambae’s long eyelashes flutter, one strong arm snaking around the back of Robert’s thigh to grip and drag him impossibly closer. So that’s fucking hot.
“That’s- yeah, good boy. Suck it, too,” Robert gasps, eyes heavy, biting his lip until it reddens. The first real, genuine moan that he can't possibly help to contain is pulled out of him when Flambae dutifully follows his instructions. The suction around his clit is fucking heaven at the temperature of hell, the feverish warmth of Flambae's mouth seeming to only ramp up by the second. The AC is humming away to keep the apartment at a moderate 72 degrees, but apparently Flambae doesn't give a shit about his electric bill, because the heat rolling off of him in waves has Robert sweating through his shirt, the creases of his elbows and knees sticky with it, and the air around them absolutely scorching.
Shockingly, Robert doesn't have to provide the next step for him. Flambae sucks in a deep breath through his nose, and slides down a couple inches, taking away the delicious feeling of his mouth around Robert’s clit. He’s about to vocalize his frustration, but all that comes out is a choked-off grunt, when instead that hot tongue presses inside his cunt.
“Ohhhh, fuck,” he groans, yanking harshly on Flambae’s hair to get another muffled noise out of him, slipping down the cushions and spreading his legs open wider. His hips twitch and grind his cock against Flambae’s perfectly placed nose and he thinks he would probably die happy if a meteor crashed right through the roof of the building and crushed him. “Yes, yes, fuck, oh, shit put your fingers in me too,” he cries, voice rising in volume and pitch, chest heaving as it tries to keep up with sucking in the hot air around him.
There's a frantic little shuffle, a gasped inhale from between his legs as Flambae pulls away from his cunt with what seems like reluctance so he can slide his free hand into the right place. Robert doesn't have the brain space to even pretend to be embarrassed by the noises that come out of him when two thick, hot fingers slide inside of him like they belong there. Apparently there's no instruction booklet needed for finger blasting like there is eating someone out, because the hesitation from before has melted away along with any dignity and ability Robert held to show his face confidently to his neighbors after his loud cries of “Oh my god,” and, “Holy shit, right there!” start echoing off the walls.
There's a look of total concentration on Flambae's face that almost makes him look angry, which is hotter than Robert thinks it should be, or would, if he could think anything other than more, more, more!
“I'm sofuckingclose,” he sobs, words slurring together, tongue feeling heavy and clumsy along with the rest of his body. That seems to kick something into gear and remind Flambae of the original goal here, because he wiggles his shoulders and repositions himself and dives back in to latch his mouth around Robert's reddened, twitching clit. The slurping, sucking sounds coming from his mouth are obscene, and are absolutely going to play in his head the next time he jerks off.
He's probably going to regret whatever it is he's saying when this is all over but luckily he can't hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His head lifts from where he's tossed it back against the couch with a monumental effort. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he can't tell if it's sweat or tears stinging his eyes. Rough fingers batter away at his insides in a way that's going to hurt like hell later but feels like fucking bliss right now, his fluttering half-focused eyes lock with determined, flaming orange ones and he's gone. Thighs clamping down on broad shoulders, hips twitching, his core tightens almost painfully as he cums harder than he has in years.
Flambae works him through it with his tongue and his fingers. Through it and then some, until all the tension that had seeped out of his body with his orgasm racks up, up, up, and it's too much. Robert actually has to rip Flambae's mouth off of him, holding him by the hair, which has mostly fallen out of its ponytail thanks to all the yanking. For the first time in a bit, he really gets a good look at him. His face is shiny wet from his nose to his chin and he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon with one leg tied behind his back, hair a total fucking mess. Mouth open, jaw slack like he's been struck totally fucking dumb, and Robert has never wished harder in his life for a camera. There's a charged, tense few seconds where they're both just panting in the same sweltering air before Robert chickens out.
“I think that’s the longest you've gone without running your mouth since I met you.” His voice is hoarse and thick, mouth tacky dry from all the heavy panting. The moment shatters into little pieces, the dopey look that had been softening Flambae's face twisting up into a frown.
“Shut up. My mouth was running plenty. Fucking sprinting, actually.” He draws the back of his arm over his wet mouth and shakes out his wild hair, looking unfairly gorgeous when he does. “And I'm pretty sure the customary response when someone gives you head and makes you cum your stupid bitch brains out your ears is ‘thank you’, so, you know, you're welcome.”
Robert lifts up an eyebrow, his eyes sliding down over Flambae's body until they land on the painfully obvious bulge in the crotch of his jeans. “I can think of a better way to say thank you.”
A wicked grin splits Flambae’s face wide open. The couch creaks dangerously under their combined weight as he climbs fully back on to it, practically pouncing on Robert. He leans in to press their lips together but Robert stops him with the palm of his hand against his mouth before he can get close enough.
It's impossible to stop the laugh that bubbles up in his chest when he opens his mouth. “But, first, if you could just like, draw me a diagram? So I know what I'm doing, it would be really helpful-”
“Oh, fuck you.”