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They’re not that big. That was Sonny’s initial reaction. They’re normal-sized for a guy who works out as often as Luca does, they’re something to be super proud of because they’re a sign of a healthy body and an even healthier mind. They’re cool. They’re hot.
They’re hot. That’s the only compliment he says, the only one that makes it out of his tongue-tied mouth. Nice to see and probably really nice to touch. It's where his eyes keep going, down the shy V of Luca’s collar, loose from all that careless wrangling he liked to do, hyperactive fingers always playing with the chains and ring around his neck. It’s an abused, wide-open collar, and through the window is the valley that the girls had once joked about as the career progression line. The one most indicative of one’s true potential.
They’re here right now anyway, and Sonny doesn’t need to keep his admiration at a distance. He’s been invited, no, welcomed, to touch. Luca doesn’t mind. He’s made a bed out of Sonny’s body himself and had closed his eyes for a shut-eye in an uncharacteristically calm and mellow state of mind. He couldn’t even be sure if Luca had really fallen asleep.
In fact, he’d really rather Luca be awake for this. He exhales, getting rid of the last of his hesitation. Reminds himself, again, that they’d come this far (literally — they have their own houses but they’ve both chosen to meet up on this special day in this dinky three-star hotel room far and away from anyone who might know them). None of this was an accident, or a bout of confusion, or anything silly or half-assed. All of this is premeditated, planned, and they booked this two-person-one-bed room for the whole entire night.
He lowers his hand onto Luca’s chest, veering right, holding one half of that legendary, infamous piece of Australian pride in his humble hand.
No reaction. Luca doesn’t move. Even that chest that Sonny’s cupping doesn’t move, which is pretty much what gives it away. “You’re not breathing,” he points out. And the statement cracks the veneer of tension that had gathered in their stale room air. Sonny half-hiccups, and then he bursts into full-on laughter, and Luca’s eyes crack halfway open before a smirk creeps over his features.
They laugh, dispelling a good amount of that geeky awkwardness, and Luca then goes, “What? You scared?”
Faster than he could think, faster than he could speak, his right hand squeezes that pectoral that had been grasped rather loosely in his hand, hard enough that Luca’s apparent lack of physical reaction this time is especially suspicious. He does react, but not with his body (which remains all chilled out and unbothered and heavy) but with the expression on his face, which now seemed to be at a halfway point between amused and provocative, exactly like he’s waiting to see how Sonny plays this one out. Waiting to be entertained.
“I’m not scared,” Sonny tells him, too little and too late. His polite and soft-spoken voice has been exposed for the façade that it is by none other his own two hands.
Because his other one had wondered over as well, this one sticking through the underside of Luca’s crossed arms. The left side is rounder because of his pose, firmer than the right but still so soft and nice and warm. Still a booba, still the best kind in the world.
Sonny’s, that is.
He’s thinking again, looking at Luca’s now fully-opened eyes. Those irises are similar yet different than his own, more lilac than violet… Beautiful, so beautiful. Should he ask Luca to take off his shirt, or can he simply help himself?
He feels the press of hands at the back of his neck, tugging his head down. Luca sits a little taller — an effortless adjustment of his posture, that’s how good his core strength is — and then lips are on him, still tasting like the coke and bubblegum from their afternoon. Sonny lets him have his way, docile and non-resistant. His hands are busy after all, they have a whole mind and agenda of their own. He pulls up Luca’s shirt, eyes a glimmer of perfectly ripped washboard abs — and fondles like a blind pervert all the way up to his precious chest.
To those two babies in the middle, sitting there, waiting for him, flexed stiff from all of Luca’s maneuvering, god-blessed, awe-inspiring, a modern-day miracle…
When he swipes his thumb over a nipple that’s when Luca really reacts. Like a sleeping lion that had finally sensed the mouse sneaking over him. Teeth sink into Sonny’s lower lip, pulling his attention back to their kiss; and half a beat later his legs move, coiled around by Luca’s as though to say don’t think I’m done with you.
He blinks owlishly at Luca when he pulls away. He could taste rust in his mouth, and he could see a drop of red on those lips. That grin is feral and utterly unapologetic. It makes Sonny feel less bad when he properly pinches that nub between his fingers this time round.
Luca elbows him for that, and he huffs out a laugh, cutting short his tease so that he could say—
“Pierce them.”
Sonny hears his own voice, and in any other situation than this present one he would have felt worried or embarrassed about the way he was coming across. Being commanding wasn’t something that came naturally to him; it was in the characters he did, in the idols that he emulated. It’s not the normal Sonny Brisko.
Which is also to say, this Sonny Brisko is not the normal one.
This one is different, as this one is Luca’s.
“You can do that later,” Luca says to him, his eyes narrowing with something as he twisted around in Sonny's lap. It's always illicit mischief with Luca, always unstoppable brute force challenging Sonny's thin and loose principles. You can do that. Later. He puts Sonny's hands back on his body, returning them to their shameless business of groping. Sonny can feel the press of fingers behind his own, two layers of joined and clammy hands groping around under Luca's shirt. Luca fills Sonny's hands with weighted roundness, with the physical, solid, and tangible sensation of an idea that Sonny had coveted from far for so freaking long. Luca is the one that clips those perkish nipples between fingers, scissoring with a manner of familiarity and growing them tall and proud; he’s the one that sinks his not-to-be-outdone equally marvelous ass deeper into Sonny's crotch, all heat and friction beneath their clothes.
"But first... you're gonna suck me off."