“What’s a 415A?”|
“You know, I’m fully prepared for my test tomorrow.”
“Humor me. What’s a 424?”
“Police codes can be hard to remember. What about a 445?” Nick stood in the doorway of their bedroom, watching Greg remove his shoes and socks.
“It’s really sweet that you want to help me, Nick, but I think I’ll be fine,” said Greg. He got up from the bed, tossing his shoes in the general direction of the closet before heading towards the door, glaring at Nick when he refused to budge. There was that little furrow in his brow that always appeared when he was pissed at Nick or thinking too hard.
“Just appease your nervous boyfriend by submitting yourself to a quick quiz,” pleaded Nick, lightly brushing his hands on Greg’s arms.
Greg sighed and rolled his eyes.
A wide smile broke out on Greg’s face. “Do I get sex as a reward?”
Nick returned Greg’s smile with his own. “You know for a fact you’d be getting sex no matter what.”
“This is true. But if I get every question right, I want a reward.”
“Fine, if you get every question right, then we’ll play dirty cowboys.”
Greg slipped his arms around Nick’s waist. “I love dirty cowboys.”
“Alright, I’ll play along, but not because I need to be quizzed, because I don’t. I just like being the sheriff to your outlaw.”
“You feel like being the sheriff today?”
Greg ducked by Nick, heading out into the hallway and towards the living room. “Oh yeah,” he said, keeping his back to Nick.
He stood there, frozen in the doorway. It had been a long time since they had last played, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Greg shoving him up against the wall, a bad western accent twanging in his ears. And there was something…something he was supposed to be doing but blood was rushing south awful fast and he was starting to feel light-headed.
Greg turned back, obviously aware of Nick’s absence. “Nick, you alright?” His eyes trailed down to Nick’s crotch. “Oh.” The wicked smirk returned to his face. “You want to play dirty cowboys right now.”
Nick tried to shake his head no, but now Greg’s hand was trailing along his stomach and it was getting very hard to breathe. It shouldn’t get to him this way, Greg shouldn’t have this much power over him, but all he can think is that soon he’ll be bent over, Greg’s chest sliding along his back.
Greg pushed past him again, heading for the closet. He pulled out Nick’s bandana and two cowboy hats. He put one on his head and headed back towards Nick, adopting a swagger.
Nick could only lick his lips and watch.
Greg planted the other hat on Nick’s head and then quickly tied the bandana around his neck. “Are you going to be coherent enough for this, or should I just forget the role play and fuck you now?”
Nick let out a slow breath, gathering the scattered pieces of his brain. “I’m okay, Greg.”
“That’s Sheriff Sanders to you, buckaroo,” said Greg, grabbing a fist full of Nick’s shirt and pulling him all the way into the bedroom, taking on a horrible accent. “We don’t take kindly to your type ‘round these here parts.”
Nick felt the wall hit his back, Greg must have shoved him, but he’s still back at “buckaroo” and the way Greg’s eyes have narrowed, staring at him like a hungry man staring at a pile of steak. But then it hits him, he’s supposed to be role-playing, he’s the riotous outlaw, Greg’s the stern and very horny sheriff. And he needs to wake up, otherwise he’s going to miss out on some wonderful sex, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing.
“Don’t interfere with something that ain’t bothering you none,” he finally managed, letting his natural twang take over his voice.
“Heard tell you been messing with the boys over at the Heart of Gold. Owe them a lot of money. You know they don’t play for free, Silvertongue Stokes.”
“Seemed to be having a good enough time without any green involved.”
Greg gripped his belt loops and pressed their hips together, stretching taller, looming over Nick. “Funny, big rustler like you being sly.”
“Funny, hardass sheriff like you getting all riled up over a man. Would’ve thought you’d be into chasing lace.”
Greg pushed harder against him, his erection deliciously obvious against his own, even through two pairs of jeans. “I prefer leather.” His hands left Nick’s belt loops and trailed up his chest, one stopping to pinch a nipple through his shirt, the other continuing up to cup the back of Nick’s head. Then he backed away, pushing Nick down to his knees.
He likes it this way, likes it when Greg guides him, tells him, shows him exactly what he wants. Then he doesn’t have to worry about thinking, because there’s something about being this close that keeps his brain from functioning.
And now Greg’s jeans are open and at his knees and he can’t remember who did what, but that’s okay too because his hands are moving on soft thighs and Greg’s still smirking down at him, so he must not have noticed.
“Don’t worry about biting off more’n you can chew. Your mouth is probably a whole lot bigger’n you think. I want to see what your famous silver tongue can do.”
And Nick would have laughed, but he was much more focused on Greg’s cock in front of him, lavishing the tip with his tongue. He sucked the head into his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base.
Greg sighed, placing his hands on the side of Nick’s head, pushing him back towards the wall again. He slipped deeper down Nick’s throat, slowly fucking his mouth.
Nick moaned, letting his hand slide down and cup Greg’s balls, letting him take total control. He swallowed around him, making Greg’s rhythm falter, making him groan. Nick sighed as Greg pulled out of his mouth, bringing him back to his feet.
“You know what they say, you can’t tell how good a man or a watermelon is ‘til they get thumped.” Greg grabbed Nick and turned him around, pressing his chest up against the wall. His hands danced down to the waistband of his jeans, opening them and sliding them roughly down his legs. “I’m gonna thump you good, cowboy. Make you my stallion.”
“Bet you can’t handle my ass. Little fucker like you? Won’t even make a dent.”
Greg slipped two fingers into his cleft, massaging his hole and then bit his neck, making Nick hiss and push back against Greg’s hand. Greg’s tongue darted out, soothing the bruised skin.
“Never miss a good chance to shut up, boy,” said Greg, accent slowly but surely leaving his voice. He was losing his concentration.
Not that Nick minded at all, not with two fingers inside of him massaging his prostate. He took his own cock in his hand, squeezing, moving slowly, his other hand against the wall, head turned so he could watch Greg, still in his cowboy hat. He’d somehow lost his somewhere between the wall and the floor, but it wasn’t like it could get up and walk away.
And he really needs to stop thinking about hats because somehow Greg’s gotten a condom and some lube and is pressing inside of him. His hips jumped and he pushed back into Greg, languishing in the slow pleasure and the light twinge of pain.
It was always this way when they played, rough and fast, up against a wall or tossed across the bed. Dirty, sweaty, raw.
Now Greg was fucking him in earnest, hands gripping tight on his hips, leaving fingertip-shaped bruises, panting in his ear. “How’s that, stud? You like my cock in your ass?”
Nick smiled, running his hand over himself faster. “Had better.”
Greg growled, nearly pulling out all the way before slamming back in, “Chickenshit. I see your dick. You love this.” His thrusts were uneven now, each one pounding into Nick, making his knees shake, making him lose his balance, making him clench.
He felt Greg’s breath on the back of his neck, heard him hiss, choke on a moan as he came, shuddering against him. He stayed there, melted across his back, sweating, panting. Greg’s hand left Nick’s waist to join the hand on Nick’s cock, twisting around the head, pulling Nick’s orgasm out of him with a broken yell.
Somehow Nick found his way to the bed, collapsing in a heap, jeans and underwear around his knees, bandana and shirt still on. He saw Greg return from the bathroom with a washcloth and lay there while he cleaned him up, then helped him out of his clothes, placing soft kisses on cooling skin. He could only watch and catch his breath as Greg stripped off his remaining clothes and joined him in bed.
His arms automatically wrapped around Greg, bringing him close, ignoring the ache he felt in his muscles.
“And Nick, by the way, a 415A is assault with a gun, a 424 is a riot, 445 is a bomb threat and 430C an animal complaint.”
Nick laughed quietly, placing a kiss at Greg’s temple. “Well, it’s good to know you earned your reward,” he said, still a little breathless. He turned, moving Greg off of him, so that they were face to face. He saw that little furrow, sitting just about Greg’s brows. “You’ll do just fine tomorrow.”
“I’m not worried about that. I have plenty of confidence in myself. I’m just not sure you do.” Greg wasn’t looking at him anymore, he’d turned to lay on his back.
Nick couldn’t resist leaning over and kissing the back of Greg’s jaw, sucking on the skin. “I have nothing but confidence in you. But I know how bad you want this. I don’t want you to lose your chance just because you forgot to memorize a bunch of three digit numbers.”
Greg turned back to him, the furrow gone, a slow smile building on his lips. “Why is it that I can never be mad at you?”
“Because you love me too much and I let you be the sheriff?”
“There’s no such thing as too much.” Greg put his hand on Nick’s chest, pushing him onto his back as he leaned in for a deep kiss.
“Love you too.” Nick felt the pull of sleep and sighed, bringing Greg’s body flush with his. His eyes drifted shut and he hummed contentedly as Greg’s hand gently drew patterns across his skin.
“And there’s no way you let me be sheriff. I am the fucking sheriff,” said Greg, his bad Texan accent back in his voice.
Nick kept his eyes shut, choosing to respond with his brother’s favorite saying, “Never miss a good chance to shut up.”