Cigarette BreakBy Ika
Page 1 of 1
"Blake," said Avon, "let me in, I need a cigarette."|
The door opened. Blake stood in the doorway, looking slightly puffy with exhaustion and vexation of spirit.
"Avon," he said flatly.
Avon pushed past him into the cabin and rummaged on the desk. "There should be some here... Ah; got them." He threw the packet over to Blake. "Light it for me, will you?"
Blake looked blankly down at the cigarettes in his hand, then up, not blankly, at Avon. He was breathing furiously.
"What do you think you're doing, Avon?"
Avon inclined his head slightly, in a polite/insolent way which simultaneously said *Isn't it obvious?* and caused the light to strike the planes of his face at a particularly flattering angle. He leant himself against Blake's desk and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"You've been jeering at me all day," said Blake.
"You have been particularly provoking all day."
"I'm furious with you."
"I am not enchanted with your behaviour myself."
"Why on earth should you think I want to fuck you?"
Avon shrugged his shirt off, took two steps across the room to Blake, and laid his hand on Blake's cock. It hardened fiercely, shaping itself deliberately like an idle hand curling into a fist.
"Oh," said Blake.
Avon retreated again, keeping his eyes on Blake, then dropping them as he put his feet up, one at a time, on the chair by the desk and undid his boots. He pulled off boots; socks; trousers; and was naked, his cock upright like a red exclamation mark against the whiteness of his body.
They stared at each other.
"Well?" said Avon expressionlessly.
Blake went two steps forward, gripped Avon's forearms tightly until he felt an answering resistance in them, and balanced against that resistance to push Avon firmly and accurately over onto the bed, landing firmly and accurately on top of him. Push-me-pull-you.
They fucked like wrestlers, trying each other's strength; like lions, biting and shoving. They manhandled each other from position to position like workers loading a cargo shuttle. They fought each other for the comfort of skin like kittens suckling. They kissed.
Blake's anger towered, filling his cock, raging against the boundaries of his body. Avon put his mouth over Blake's angry cock, his hands on Blake's hips forcing them still: "*Oh*," said Blake. He was all surface, spread out endlessly, connected to the world only by Avon's tongue as it anatomized him; it gave shape to his cock, mapped the exact proportions of his anger until all that was left was the shape, the fist-tightness of it, somewhere out of his control in the elaborate interface of his cock and Avon's mouth playing over it: soft lips/rough tongue/hard teeth, wetness drying coldly as Avon moved up the shaft, returning warmly as he moved down, and the unsynchronized not-quite-touches of Avon's breath.
"Avon, you bastard," said Blake.
Avon pulled his head up and looked at Blake. "I can stop if you like," he said reasonably.
"*No*," said Blake. "Give me your cock."
Avon touched his tongue to the tip of Blake's cock, making a tiny circle there as he pivoted round to settle his own cock into Blake's mouth. Blake sucked it, hard, combatively, filling himself with it; he was full of fierceness. He wanted to make Avon come. He bucked his hips impatiently, fucking Avon's mouth as Avon fucked his. They struggled against each other for the other's orgasm, collaborators and rivals.
Their movements synchronized, like chained slaves swinging their hammers in flawless rhythm. Four strokes, five: it couldn't last, and Blake felt himself tipped over some precarious edge into a pure, sweet blankness made of pleasure and shaped like Avon's mouth. As he finished coming, he felt Avon's cock twitch and freeze in his own mouth, managed to stay with it, managed to swallow the bitter smoothness he had mined from somewhere inside Avon.
They lay silent for a moment, head to hip.
"You never gave me that cigarette," said Avon.
Blake dropped his hand off the edge of the bed and managed to locate the packet on the floor. He sat up against the wall at the head of the bed; Avon sat up against the wall at the foot of the bed.
They smoked quietly, their feet lying lightly against each other in the middle of the bed.
"I believe that was all I wanted," said Avon, putting his cigarette out. "Thank you, Blake."
"I believe it was," agreed Blake comfortably. He let Avon dress and leave before he started laughing.
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