Work Text:
Formaggio was a truly fascinating man. His ability to find common ground with almost everyone was astonishing. Or frightening. Mainly for his own safety.
Mostly, it consisted of dumb jokes, indifference, and, occasionally, cheap beer. But somehow, surprisingly, it worked.
It seemed like this man could, if he wanted, wheedle a raise from the Boss, or even the status, if given four hours and two bottles of whiskey.
But when, one evening after a successful mission with the duo, he handed over a piece of creamy pink chocolate, a sharp contrast to the nearby trash cans and the drunken homeless man at the door of their base, and said, "Look what Melone and I got," certain questions arose.
Especially when Formaggio himself was hard to distinguish from the homeless man.
Gelato was in no hurry to do anything with this... treat.
Certainly not after Formaggio revealed the true ingredients, awkwardly trying to repeat the clever phrases he'd barely remembered from Melone.
But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested.
– What would you say if I found drugs by accident on the road?
Sorbet fell into a stupor for a moment, briefly plunging the room into silence, broken only by the sound of lips parting. A thin wisp of tobacco smoke escaped and disappeared into the evening street, mingling with the cool breeze.
He didn't turn around immediately, leaving the ambiguous question hanging between them for a moment.
– ...You found the drugs?
– In theory. Remember Ghiaccio and Melone found 120 grams on a mission a month ago?
That answer elicited nothing more than a roll of the eyes, a disappointed turn back to the window, which was now filled with the unpleasant smell of cigarettes, and continued smoking, only occasionally flicking the ash.
– Yes. And we got rid of them.
Gelato chuckled softly, taking in the stern arch of the back, the slender fingers firmly clutching a cigarette, short black hair shining slightly after a long day and a stale hairstyle.
This precious sight, which he enjoyed perhaps every day, couldn't help but push him to finally reach for his pocket, where the faint scraping sound of a small package could be heard.
The sweet twirled lazily between his fingers, tempting and alluring.
– Yes, that was stupid.
Sorbet merely hissed dryly in response to him, shifting from one foot to the other. Acrid smoke slowly drifted from his nostrils, somehow brightening the empty streets outside the window.
The soft creaking of the not-so-new sofa echoes through the room as Gelato stands. He walks leisurely toward Sorbet, approaching from behind and deliberately hesitating slightly, knowing full well he hates being approached from behind.
A professional reflex.
Or perhaps a psychological intolerance. It was... hard to say.
A rough, calloused hand descends lightly on a thin, elongated thigh, tracing its tips, slowly sliding higher, toward a strong waist, ribs, until he brings their faces level, leaning down next to the windowsill and wrapping his arms around the tense neck.
They briefly locked gazes, their eyes locked, as if this were the most intimate thing they could do with each other.
If only Sorbet hadn't soon interrupted this modest romantic moment, blowing tobacco smoke into Gelato's face.
– And what are you hoping to gain by making eyes at me?
Amid a dry cough, Sorbet inquired, guiding cigarette with slender fingers toward his lips for another drag.
– Making eyes?
Gelato grinned triumphantly, having overcome the possibility of suffocation, causing the blue eyes opposite him to roll back and slide to the side.
However, Sorbet's attention was quickly drawn to a sudden, more distinct rustling sound, caught by a bright spark of moonlight reflected off the packaging.
His gaze flickered in confusion toward the small square between his fingers, looking completely out of place in such a setting.
– Formaggio went out for a drink today. Brought a small gift.
– So, Formaggio brought chocolate instead of beer?
Gelato merely shrugged.
Tearing the edge of the packaging with his teeth, he held out a wedge toward Sorbet, who glanced down briefly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.
Well, it's stupid to refuse. Especially when it's free.
Clicking his tongue, he finally reaches out and breaks off a smooth piece along the line, with a dull but delicious, almost enticing crunch.
– Pink. Wow.
The chocolate doesn't stick to his fingers. Surprisingly. He was smart enough to realize this wasn't a cheap one. Formaggio would never buy something so insignificant for good money.
There just isn't any.
– What a fag shit.
– Yeah, isn't it...
A barely perceptible laugh escapes Gelato's lips, as if afraid to scare him off. Although he wasn't sure that was even possible.
Tapping the ends of the chocolate together like a small, formal toast, they placed it on their tongues almost simultaneously. Sorbet chewed and swallowed it almost immediately, returning to his cigarette, while Gelato watched his reaction, slowly sucking on the chocolate.
The chocolate melted pleasantly on his tongue, the taste creamy, with a slight strawberry aroma that unfolded towards the very end. It could have been better. Although, perhaps, this was the best one could expect from such a sweet.
– Strawberry...
Sorbet began, wincing slightly, clearly not appreciating the confectioner's decision.
– Absolute shit.
Gelato continued, making the same expression. Perhaps he should feel old or stupid since this flavor didn't evoke any burning passion or romance, but he'd rather leave that to saccharine teenagers.
– Are you sure Prosciutto didn't buy this? Only he could have thought this shit could be tasty.
Hissing through his teeth, exhaling tobacco smoke, Sorbet grinned, unable to disagree with what was said earlier.
The effect... isn't immediately noticeable.
Not immediately at all.
Gelato frowns, his eyes wandering over Sorbet, who is calmly smoking and casually flicking away the burnt portion. He even finishes his cigarette, studding it out on the worn wooden windowsill, which miraculously hadn't yet been eaten by termites.
He doesn't resist when they leave him standing alone by the window, irritably tapping his fingers and eyeing the annoying passersby on the street.
With a deep sigh, he finally pulls away and walks to the sofa where he'd been sitting earlier, casually falling back.
Well, apparently tricked. Either Formaggio, or Formaggio had tricked him.
Both options made sense.
At least, that's what he thought until he heard a light cough coming from the kitchen. It wasn't harsh, but dry, like a dry throat. And apparently Gelato wasn't the only one who thought so, because immediately afterward he heard the splash of water filling a glass for a drink.
Cheap cigarettes, he thought.
If only he hadn't realized later, shaken from his thoughts, that he himself had begun to taste a strange bitterness.
He hadn't smoked yet. Certainly not cigarettes.
The tingling sensation burned slowly, like a predatory anaconda, and sank heavily, enveloping and spreading through chest, twisting in stomach, right down to the bottom, until burst forth from him a quiet
– Fuck!
Sharp as lightning, Sorbet interrupted idyll by a sharp hiss that pierced the entire room.
– What the fuck did that brat give you?
Gelato barely has time to turn his head in the direction of the rough, almost floor-shattering footsteps before his coat tightens around his throat, pulling him tightly, causing him to lose his balance and jerk.
– It feels like a military firefight in my mouth, what have you fed me?
Gelato doesn't rush to react to the venomous spit directed at him. He's far more interested in the fleeting, albeit subtle, sheen of sweat on Sorbet's forehead, his heaving chest.
His gaze drifts lower, and he notices the more distinct outlines of the curves on his black trousers, right between his legs.
And it really does work.
This was more surprising than he expected.
Perhaps Formaggio isn't such an idiot as he seemed.
– I'm not sure yet.
Sorbet seemed ready to explode at this answer, more irritated by such blatant carelessness and damnable indifference to the shit he was shoving into his mouth.
It was even worse than the idiotic statement of fact: "It's strawberry chocolate."
But the slight upturn of the corners of his lips, that dumb, crooked grin, still knocked the aggression out of him. Even more so from the feeling of a palm pressed through the fabric against the semi-hard bulge, forcing a careless exhale from him through clenched teeth.
– But we'll discuss this later anyway, right?
Sorbet doesn't answer, doesn't say anything directly. But the thrust with which he pins Gelato to the couch with one hand speaks louder than any words.
Closing eyes, he presses his other hand heavily against the back of the couch opposite him. The persistent friction, the massaging of his already aching erection, hardening with a slight pulsation right into the palm, involuntarily drew choked sighs from him through parted lips.
– Is this a drug?
Gelato hummed thoughtfully. More to stall for time, pressing his thumb over the more defined outlines than to actually think through an answer.
– Technically, no, as far as I know... Although, considering who got it, I think it quite possible is.
One of these movements touched the particularly sensitive edges of the swollen head, instantly shocking Sorbet, but only making his cock throb more, pulsing with the caresses and hardening so much that it began to hurt with each passing minute.
Especially when he's being teased so vilely, if not actually bullied.
– We'll talk later.
Sorbet snaps, almost growls, slamming his foot down hard on the edge of the sofa with a loud thud. Gelato jerks back in surprise, before he's not only forced back into place by an uncontrollable grip on his hair, but also pinned, controlled. And he seemingly doesn't resist at all.
– I told you so.
The belt of black pants comes undone with a soft clank. Gelato grins contentedly as he undoes the belt and lowers the hem of Sorbet's pants, along with his underwear. Not all the way down, not even to the knee. Even that was too much for either of them right now. He lowers them just enough for the eager organ to spring to meet him.
The reddened cockhead, the veins visible beneath the taut, thin skin, the tip already glistening with precum. The full length twitches toward the warm embrace, squirting another drop as his hand, rough from friction and scars, grasps the girth.
– Shit..
The sound echoed in his own ears as Gelato cursed this time. Scooping up the dripping fluid with his hand, he made the first steady thrust and paused briefly, as if fully aware, enjoying the process. Only after a subtle hint, given by the grip on the unruly hair, he set the initial pace, simply smearing the pre-cum, distributing it over the entire surface, every curve, every elastically taut muscle.
Sorbet's thighs trembled, like a virgin for the first time in 40 years.
Gelato isn't rushing. But he's not slowing down either. Mainly because he's starting to lose his ability to concentrate.
His hand closes tightly around the throbbing head, releasing a small, translucent stream with each thrust. Sorbet's hips reflexively push against the tight pressure, pushing and fuming at the unsteady pace, as if the hand on the cock were doing everything and nothing at once.
But all this was only because Gelato was beginning to succumb to the aphrodisiac sensation too.
Hot sweat broke out on his forehead, the pressure in his temples spiked, his mouth went dry, and his lower back ached as if his balls had been ripped off.
– You're gonna drown in your drool.
Sorbet grins. His thumb slides over his throbbing temple, his hips gently moving forward, pushing cock closer to the trembling lips.
And this gesture is finally getting mind.
Licking his dry lips, Gelato finally leans down. The tip of his tongue extends, pressing and circling the rim of his cock, tasting the bitter tinge of pre-cum, only hitting him harder.
With a groan, he gives in almost immediately, taking a good half of it into mouth. Breathing heavily, his lips envelop the curves, lingering for a moment before Sorbet takes control. Literally.
With a firm thrust, Sorbet pushes himself deeper, right down to the base, impaling clenched throat further on the spurting cock, seemingly ready to cum just from this hot, wet, already familiar tightness.
His clenched balls rose hotly toward the chin, where protruding tongue pressing against them every other time.
Gelato's other hand isn't idle. It reaches down to his own horribly tight pants. Trembling fingers trying to hook the fly, unbuttoning, and impatiently squeezing aching cock as soon as he manages to slip his hand inside underwear.
As soon as the hand closes around him, he immediately pushes, replicating those miserable thrusts that had eaten a hole in his stomach.
Sorbet can't ignore this.
The sight of Gelato choking on both saliva and his cock, trying to swallow as much as possible, destroys any remaining sanity and sobriety he might have had after all these years.
He can't help but feel his throat tighten around the head, swallowing.
It's just unbearable.
Grinding his teeth, he tugs at Gelato's hair, forcibly pulling him away from his own cock.
They lock eyes, heated and sweaty, until Sorbet breaks the awkward silence and almost literally sinks his teeth into reddened lips.
Grinning, biting, and licking the drool dripping down his chin, sharing each other's tastes on their tongues.
Sorbet presses closer, slender fingers burying themselves in tousled hair, squeezing, pulling closer, and deepening the kiss. Two hard cocks rub hopelessly against each other, mixing precum.
Giving in to the pressure, Gelato, unable to wait any longer, grabs black shirt, yanking it out of unbuttoned pants and lifting it higher over the stomach, finally touching the skin, damp with a thin layer of sweat: back with its hollow spine, the strong waist curve, ribs.
A protesting grunt rings out as contact is broken by a sudden jolt as Gelato flips them both over, falling to his knees and pinning Sorbet back against the edge of the sofa, nearly breaking him in half under their combined weight.
Sorbet braces himself with his bent arms against the edges behind him, grunting as crooked teeth close around his neck, right on the protruding muscles, with a force so intense that it almost draws blood, causing his pulse to spike.
Rough hands lift his shirt to chest level, irritated enough to rip it. The jingle of buttons popping off rings past both ears.
The consequences of this realization will come later... much later.
Looking down as his hands trailed down his body, albeit with some difficulty, he raised himself up on half-bent arms, bracing himself firmly against the pillows, and allowed Gelato to pull down his pants and underwear, which were left hanging on one leg, without even bothering to remove his clothes completely. Fortunately, he managed to kick off his shoes while his position was changing.
With trembling hands, Gelato guides Sorbet's hips as they sit on him, receiving in return the kind assistance of spreading his legs apart and pushing them against the floor.
Wrapping his arm around himself, he guides the head of his cock, slick with biological lube, between relaxed buttocks. Sometimes they wiggle, almost imperceptibly, excitedly, not to escape, but to adjust, persistently holding back the emotions seething in his chest, accepting the pressing pressure.
The thrust doesn't come immediately, despite the same desire consuming him inside, intensified by the chocolate.
His hips press, sliding sideways once, eliciting a gasp from both of them, but immediately returning straight to the quivering hole. Sorbet hisses unpleasantly through clenched teeth and throws head back, breaking into a piercing growl as the first centimeters of tight opening.
Without hesitation, Gelato leans down, pressing chest to chest, feeling their racing heartbeats jostle against each other. He softly kisses quivering Adam's apple, gradually pushing the rest of his length inside with claw-like movements until he presses his hips against flat backside, and almost immediately, with a fleeting hesitation, he makes first full thrust.
Sorbet's arms ache from the unnatural position, especially with the mindless, lustful bulk pressing down on him. It's forcing him to finally change position, this time bracing his elbows on the sofa and tilting head forward, almost colliding with Gelato's forehead if he hadn't pulled away.
Despite the sharp sensations piercing the entire body from the overly rapid stretching and the immediate thrusts, the pain was dull, spreading evenly throughout the body, tugging at fingertips. But body seemed to be rejecting it, filled with the shape, heat, and force with which his hips were thrusting inside.
Even tongue was slurred, unable to utter a proper curse.
Gelato grips slender hips firmly with both hands, lifting them slightly casually. His cock pleasantly rubs against the tightly clenched walls.
Bringing his knees to the floor, he finally begins to thrust more deliberately and precisely, sometimes pushing himself in all the way, sometimes halfway, not allowing Sorbet to get used to it and thus only intensifying the sensation.
One hand gradually shifts to the side, toward the leg where his pants have finally fallen off.
Sorbet doesn't know what to do with himself. His ass grinding against the skin pushing into him, gasping from the sound of the slaps, his sunken stomach sinks almost to his spine with each slap, unable to think of anything except the fact that he can't touch his own cock without losing balance and hitting nose on the floor.
– Gelato...
He croaks. And Gelato responds to the call almost instantly.
Throwing Sorbet's leg over the shoulder to free his hand, he reaches for his cock and, after a moment, begins rhythmically thrusting in time with his hips, causing Sorbet to break into full-blown, ear-grazing moans.
– Will you cum?
He exhales quietly, focusing his circular movements around the overly sensitive head, coating his fingers with pre-cum. Sorbet convulses as thumb moves over the tiny opening, pressing against his urethra more in blissful torture than in any attempt to help.
Receiving no answer, no, no reaction at all to the question, Gelato leans down, hovering over and briefly increasing his tempo, just enough to make the voice crack, before his cock slips deliberately out.
The muscles of his thighs slam against clenched buttocks, settling his length into the hollow of lower back.
Sorbet's gaze instantly changes, lifting with a distinct and hardly humorous threat.
Before he can say a word, the hand on his cock slips with a soothing sound, pinning his legs together.
Wrapping other arm around, pressing him tightly against his own body, Gelato presses two fingers between wet buttocks to the stretched entrance. His fingertips find the slick, swollen ring, pressing in and pushing all the way inside.
The length was perfect for reaching the prostate, the impact causing sparks to fly before Sorbet's eyes.
His nails leave light marks as they scratch the sofa, and his leg muscles spasm reflexively, hitting Gelato right between the shoulder blades as he begins to thrust his fingers inside with an intense, deliberately merciless pace, terrorizing his prostate. There was no reaction to the blow.
Sorbet groans with difficulty, holding his mouth open and bared for several seconds, unable to make a sound.
He throws his head back and braces his hand against the tense shoulder opposite him, clutching this damn coat in an open, albeit unconscious, hint of approaching climax.
His throat goes dry, insides tighten, his hips tremble convulsively, moving with the pressure on his prostate before pausing for a moment, and then thrusting upward with force. The first shot lands on his own chest, stomach, a thick, hot spurt of seed.
Gelato doesn't stop. He insistently continues to curl his fingers, probing and deliberately pressing, massaging, tracing the sensitive nub. This persistence drives them both crazy. Sorbet chokes on his own tongue, drawing white patterns on the skin.
Cramps hit his stomach and legs until the pain begins to take hold, cramping muscles so much that this time the leg blow hits Gelato in the head.
Thankfully, it doesn't knock him out, but it still subtly hints that it's time to stop. He slowly withdrew his wet fingers, stepping back before a white flag.
Well, maybe not a flag. But definitely white.
Mixing their labored breathing, Gelato examines the trembling body. His thumb slowly circles the buttock, gently pulling it aside to reveal a stretched hole, glistening with precum smeared across the walls, contracting and opening with a sudden emptiness.
He barely has time to lick his lips, seduced by the enticing image, when everything gives way to an even more intense act. Sorbet roughly grabs him by the hair and yanks forward, colliding their lips.
Gelato moans softly into the kiss, leaning closer, pressing against him. Their tongues intertwine deeply, as if they hadn't eaten in weeks, while desperately stroking his abruptly abandoned cock, still unfulfilled.
But the quiet moan suddenly turns into a growl, his balls tightening from the first spill of blood. Sorbet bites down on him, deliberately and cruelly biting through his lip. The blood spreads across their tongues with metallic taste, mixing with saliva.
Gelato would almost be lost in the intoxicating aroma, if a nudge on the back of his head hadn't driven his nose into the pillows. He even loses himself for a moment.
– Asshole, I feel like a fucking teenager.
Sorbet spits on top. His eyelashes, matted with sweat, prevent him from blinking properly, but even so, he deftly pulls off pants and underwear. He even gets help, which significantly cuts down the time.
Bracing one arm against the sofa to avoid breaking his nose, Gelato reaches under himself with other hand to undo the belt and buttons on his coat.
– It must have been tough in the army?
The distinct sneer was immediately followed by a punishment that filled the room with a resounding slap of a palm against a buttock. Teeth clenched involuntarily, chattering against each other and bit down on an already wounded, now bleeding lip, the taste of which still lingered in both their throats.
Gelato's cock twitched shamelessly in response to the rough treatment, staining the floor with spurting precum, feeling nails digging into his skin after the blow, seemingly ready to tear him apart.
– You know what happened in the army.
Even so, Gelato smirked briefly in response to the usual dark voice, which clearly wavered midway through, interrupted by a new wave of drawn-out moaning from another searing slap.
Sorbet himself was still damn hard, so hard as if he hadn't just come, or hadn't ever at all.
But the vengeful desire to tease was too strong, almost breaking his rotten nature from within, stronger than any aphrodisiac, to teach him a little lesson for this childish joke.
With the coat hanging loosely at his back, Gelato lifted his T-shirt with his free hand. Revealing his slowly rising stomach, with a golden streak running up to his navel, he arched his neck with a deep sigh, bowed head, and rested his sweaty forehead on the edge of the sofa. The sight of his cock, reddened, swollen, hard with pre-cum, and aching from bone-crushing arousal, began to drive him crazy.
He felt no better than a dog in heat.
And Sorbet doesn't improve, only worsens the situation.
Or rather, his tongue, unobtrusively sliding between ass cheeks, up a clenched entrance.
His thumbs roughly spread clenched buttocks, thin lips softly kissing the folds, wetly tracing the puckered hole. The tip glided around the edge, a fleeting warning before pressing against the very center.
– Fffuuu-ck…
Gelato howled, clutching the fabric of his shirt and closing eyes, his eyelashes stuck together from the sweat rolling down the forehead.
– Sorbet, this isn't enough... it's so little...
However, the plaintive howl was completely ignored. Even the silence seemed less cruel than the assenting moan, vibrating through his body and muffled by the mouth buried in his tailbone with tongue gusto working.
But Sorbet takes pity.
After all, he's had the chance to cum earlier.
Reaching one hand under Gelato's belly, he cups the thick organ, burning his palm. As soon as his fingers tighten around it, his palm begins to rhythmically push, alternately stretching and gathering the skin. Working in perfect tandem, his tongue caressed and pressed against the entrance, burying itself only deeper as Gelato thrust his hips forward, pumping, and then rubbed his ass against mouth, which, coupled with his hand, only further teased him.
– Sorbet.
Gelato's wheezing became more insistent. He folded his hands in front of him on the couch, his forehead pressed against them, and watched quietly through his damp hair, breathing through mouth, as fingers dripping with pre-cum slowly pushed his cock, clearly deliberately squeezing the flushed head.
A soft groan escapes, like relief, with a tart sound deep in his throat as the tongue smooths his folds one last time, trailing between buttocks before releasing a betrayed organ.
– Finally...
He whispers to himself, quietly, so as scared to startle. Ignoring the pain, he sinks his teeth into lower lip and clenches fingers, adding to the collection of scuffs on the sofa.
His cock strained in anticipation, long ready, as the still-hard head pressed against his saliva-coated entrance. The sensation involuntarily pulled his wounded lips into an undisguised, satisfied grin.
Sorbet's hand, dirty from an earlier wank, clutched the perpetually unkempt golden hair, not pulling, but rather pressing his head tighter.
The head of his cock slowly sank into the entrance, trembling not from pain, but from the inability to wait any longer. He could feel the slightest pulsation inside the body, brimming with energy and blood boiling beneath the skin.
– Fuck...
Sorbet was already moaning. The organ slowly sank into the tight passage. First the edges of the head, then half, pausing for a moment, only to thrust the rest inside, accompanied by the rough ringing sound of hips slapping against the tense ass. Almost simultaneously, they let out a muffled sob.
– I can't reach you. Jerk yourself off if you need to.
Sorbet exhaled with difficulty, almost harshly, like an accusation, almost without a break, which neither of them needed right now. He set an unsteady, testing pace, trying to adjust and find the right angle, comfortable and most pleasurable for both of them.
His second hand moved to Gelato's tailbone, tracing the taut muscles and pressing his thumb into the spine for added effect.
And Gelato reacts hastily, with a drawn-out moan, his weakened limbs trembling, choking on his tongue with every thrust. His crooked teeth mindlessly dig into the skin of his arm, unable to believe he's finally released that wild excitement that had him ready to lose consciousness, feeling his insides twist and turn.
Perhaps he really is a bit old for this.
Although Sorbet seems to be bursting with energy, despite the negligible age difference.
Reaching his hand under the belly, he confidently grasps himself, stroking restlessly, more like a schoolboy learning about masturbation.
– Faster. I can't take it anymore.
He chokes on his saliva, muffled by the skin still clenched between his teeth, and Sorbet responds.
Not with words, of course.
But almost immediately he begins thrusting more vigorously, slamming with resounding slaps.
Gelato, teeth clenched, squints until his vision blurs, growling and arching his back, nearly dying from the approaching peak lodged in his stomach.
A metallic taste spreads through his mouth, and the sound of blood dripping onto the floor is interrupted by a ragged groan, plunging into the long-awaited orgasm.
Hardly believing it, he uncontrollably thrusts his hips forward, toward the fist, then back, impaling himself on the throbbing cock, coming painfully onto the floor and into his fist. His lungs refuse to pump air, no less shocked by the crashing sensations that strike sharply inside his spine.
Everything inside him tightens, pulsing around the still-deeply buried cock, causing Sorbet's limbs to momentarily go limp, shocked by the suddenly increased pressure.
– That's not all.
Without giving him time to recover, Sorbet, on the verge of a stroke, no less, roughly grabs him by the neck, yanks him back, and presses their bodies together, albeit through the irritating layer of clothing.
Scratching shoulder, he blindly pulls the coat off one of Gelato's arms, inhaling the sweat-soaked, blood-soaked scent.
– I want it too.
He doesn't slow down, only deepening and shortening the thrusts to increase their frequency.
Gelato throws his head back under the pressure of hand on the neck, pressing the back of his head against shoulder. His trembling fingers hook over the thrusting hip behind him.
Breathing heavily over ear, Sorbet reaches up, lifting a wet-stained T-shirt and cupping firm breast in his palm. His fingertips gently squeeze the hardened nipple, pulling. He’ll definitely take care of it later.
Sorbet bites into the fragile earlobe, pressing into the skin, the gold earring clicking against his own teeth with a blissful purr. A final, intense thrust hitting with spasm against the rubbing ass, filling it from within.
They both feel a churning sensation inside, rising to their chests and shooting through their temples.
Exhausted, they fall to their knees.
Gelato shudders as cock jolts from the sudden movement, surrounded by hot seed coating his insides. The soft heat sends shivers down their spines, ragged breaths intertwining before their gazes meet, trying to focus on each other, on anything at all.
– You're still hard.
Sorbet breathes out in a whisper. His fingertips slowly slide down Gelato's rounded chest, along his stomach, tracing navel.
– You too.
– Yes…
Sorbet clicks his tongue in response to the statement of fact, lowering his gaze and slowly tracing the V-shaped muscle of thigh until he reaches the base of the stone hard cock, which still reacts vividly to the slightest contact.
– You know what I'm planning to do?
– Suck me off?
Gelato, looking pleased, catches the narrowed blue eyes, furrowed brows, and smirk, suddenly flinching as a hand closes around his cock.
– That too.
Sorbet lazily plays with a reddened nipple with his index finger.
– But first, I'm going to make you regret this shit.
He presses his lips to Gelato's ear, forcing a heavy exhale from him, feeling a wave of goosebumps run through him.
– And then Formaggio.
They exchange a few quiet chuckles before their lips collide again.
– We have to get up in an hour and a half.
Gelato said reluctantly, lying in bed. He partially covered himself with the blanket for the sake of any sense of comfort in this den, burying one hand under the pillow and exhaling tiredly upward.
His whole body ached.
A pleasant ache. But in a couple of hours, his sober mind would let him know the true sensations.
Although the bites were still bleeding slightly, giving off a slight, unpleasant throbbing. Especially the chest, bitten on all sides.
The silence, reeking of sweat and sex, was broken by Sorbet's surprisingly successful attempt to light a cigarette with a half-empty lighter.
Glancing at his watch, he took a deep drag and, after holding it in his throat for a moment, exhaled to the side, waving the smoke with his hand.
– Still plenty of time.
He sat hunched over, occasionally flicking ash onto the floor.
– We won't be up by then...
– We won't.
Agreeing, he lazily held out the slowly burning cigarette to Gelato.
While he was taking a drag, Sorbet lay down next to him. However, a slight tilt of his head motivated him to move closer, rolling over onto stomach and resting his head on the chest, swinging his arm to the other side.
– Are you mad?
Sorbet hums softly in response, taking a deep breath and gently stroking the hairs on his chest with fingers.
– Nah. It's been a while since we've had a rest.
– Wanna do that again?
The sudden, dark gaze that rises to him can't help but elicit a few quiet chuckles, emphasizing the lack of sincere intent in his words with a slight gesture. His other hand tugged at Sorbet's tousled, still-damp black locks.
He'll definitely need to shower in the morning.
Twice.
Stubbing out his cigarette, he finally leans back against the pillow and closes his eyes. The sight of Sorbet, equally exhausted and about to start snoring, couldn't help but beckon him to sleep.
– By the way... I think it's Melone got the chocolate after all.
– WHO.