Roy’s fingers fumbled on the first button of Dick’s shirt. A shaky laugh escaped him, a puff of air against Dick’s jaw. “Nervous?” Dick murmured, his own hands gripping the hem of Roy’s shirt, feeling the hard planes of his stomach beneath.
“Shut up,” Roy breathed, but there was no heat in it. He finally slipped the first button free, then the next, his knuckles brushing the hot skin of Dick’s chest. Each point of contact was a brand.
Dick lifted Roy’s shirt, the fabric dragging up over taut abs, a dusting of red-gold hair, the defined ridges of his pectorals. He pulled it over Roy’s head, letting it drop to the floor. The lamplight played over Roy’s torso, highlighting the scars—a pale line across a rib, a puckered mark on his shoulder—a map of a life lived on the edge. Dick’s throat went tight. He’d seen Roy shirtless a thousand times. In gyms, med bays, safehouses. But never like this. Never with this intent.
“Your turn,” Roy said, his voice rough. He finished with the buttons and pushed the dark fabric off Dick’s shoulders. It slid down his arms and joined Roy’s shirt on the floor. The cool air of the loft kissed Dick’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Roy’s gaze roaming over him. He felt exposed, more than just physically. He felt seen.
Simone’s voice floated from the armchair, a low, hypnotic command. “Slower. Look at him. Really look.”
Roy’s eyes, dark with desire, traced the lines of Dick’s collarbones, the swell of his chest, the deep cut of his obliques. His gaze was a physical caress, lingering on the trail of dark hair that disappeared into Dick’s waistband. Dick did the same, drinking in the sight of Roy’s lean, powerful frame—the corded strength in his arms, the narrow hips, the way his jeans hung low, emphasizing the fierce erection straining against the denim.
“Touch him,” Simone instructed. “Not there. Not yet. Everywhere else.”
Roy’s hand came up, palm flattening against the center of Dick’s chest. The touch was electric, sending a jolt straight to Dick’s core. He could feel Roy’s heartbeat, fast and strong, under his own skin. Dick mirrored the gesture, splaying his hand over Roy’s sternum, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. The skin was hot, slightly damp. Alive.
They began to move, hands exploring with a reverence that felt stolen. Dick’s fingers traced the hard line of Roy’s shoulder, down the curve of his bicep, over the rough texture of an old tattoo. Roy’s thumbs brushed Dick’s nipples, circling once, twice, until they pebbled into tight, sensitive points. Dick gasped, his head falling back.
“That’s it,” Simone purred. “Learn him.”
Roy’s hands slid around to Dick’s back, fingers digging into the dense muscle there, pulling him closer until their bare chests met. Skin to skin. The contact was a shock of pure sensation—the slide of sweat, the scratch of chest hair, the overwhelming heat. Dick’s hands gripped Roy’s hips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his jeans. He could feel the tremble in Roy’s thighs.
They were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. The world was reduced to touch, scent, sound. The rustle of fabric as Simone shifted in her chair. The low, hungry sounds neither of them could suppress.
“Now the rest,” Simone said.
Roy’s fingers went to Dick’s belt buckle. The metallic click was obscenely loud. He undid it, then the button of Dick’s jeans, the zipper a slow, grating descent. Dick did the same for Roy, his own fingers clumsy with need. They pushed the denim down over hips, letting it pool at their feet, stepping out of it without breaking contact. Now, only their briefs remained, thin barriers stretched taut and damp over their arousal.
Simone stood. She moved to a small side table, retrieving a clear bottle of oil. The sound of the cap twisting open was deliberate. She approached them, her hazel eyes gleaming.
“Kiss,” she commanded, pouring a generous amount of the slick, warm liquid into her palms.
Their mouths crashed together again, a messy, desperate reunion. This time, there was no hesitation, only raw hunger. Dick’s tongue plunged into Roy’s mouth, tasting him, claiming him. Roy’s hands were in Dick’s hair, pulling, holding him close.
Then Simone’s oil-slick hands were between them.
One cool, slippery palm closed around Dick’s cock through his briefs. The other found Roy. She stroked, a firm, knowing pressure that made them both cry out into the kiss. The thin cotton was instantly soaked, clinging to the shapes of them, the friction transformed into something slick and maddening.
“Oh, god,” Roy choked, breaking the kiss, his forehead dropping to Dick’s shoulder.
Simone worked them, her hands moving in tandem, up and down, her thumbs pressing against the swollen heads. The sensation was unbearable. The cool oil, the heat of her grip, the rough-wet drag of the fabric. Dick’s hips jerked, fucking into her fist. Roy was doing the same, a ragged rhythm against her other hand.
“So eager,” Simone whispered, her breath hot against Dick’s neck. “So hard for each other.” She hooked her fingers into the waistbands of their briefs and pulled them down in one swift motion.
The air hit their exposed cocks, a fleeting coolness before the heat of the moment swallowed it. They were both fully naked now, utterly vulnerable. Simone poured more oil directly into her palms, then took them both in hand, skin to skin this time.
The feeling was catastrophic.
Her slick fist wrapped around Dick’s length, her other around Roy’s. She began to stroke, her grip tight and perfect. But it was the proximity that was destroying Dick. The side of his cock was pressed against Roy’s, separated only by the slippery glide of Simone’s moving hands. He could feel the thick, hot length of Roy, the pulse of his blood, the way he twitched with every stroke.
“Look,” Simone urged, her own breathing becoming uneven.
Dick looked down. The sight was profoundly erotic. Her slender, oil-glistening hands working their cocks, the dark red of Roy’s against his own, both leaking pre-come that mixed with the oil to create a slick, pearlescent sheen. His stomach tightened, a coil of pleasure winding impossibly tight.
Simone increased her pace, her wrists twisting on the upstroke. Roy groaned, a deep, broken sound. His hand shot out, gripping Dick’s bicep, nails digging in. “Dick… I can’t…”
“Not yet,” Simone commanded, but there was a strain in her voice. She was watching, enthralled, her lips parted. After a few more devastating strokes, she suddenly let go.
The loss of her touch was a shock. They both gasped, their cocks standing out, slick and desperate.
“Now,” Simone breathed, stepping back, her own dress now rumpled, her eyes wild. “Do it yourselves.”
She didn’t have to explain. Roy understood first. He turned fully to Dick, his hand, slippery with oil, wrapping around both of their cocks together.
The contact was electric, blinding.
Dick’s vision whited out for a second. The feeling of Roy’s hard flesh pressed flush against his own, both trapped in the tight, slick tunnel of Roy’s fist, was beyond anything. It was intimacy amplified, pleasure shared, a feedback loop of sensation.
“Fuck,” Dick gritted out, his own hand coming up to cover Roy’s, interlacing their fingers, tightening the grip.
They began to move. A slow, grinding slide at first, their lengths rubbing together, the sensitive heads catching and dragging. The oil made every movement fluid, sinful. A shudder wracked Roy’s frame. He buried his face in the crook of Dick’s neck, his hot pants echoing in Dick’s ear.
The rhythm built. It wasn’t a stroke, it was a frottage, a full-body grind. Dick’s free arm wrapped around Roy’s back, holding him close as they moved together, their hips rocking in a ragged, syncopated dance. Cock against cock. Stomach against stomach. The wet, slick sounds filled the quiet loft, a obscene soundtrack to their unraveling.
Dick was lost in it. The smell of Roy’s skin, the taste of salt on his tongue where he licked a stripe over Roy’s shoulder, the incredible, building friction where they were joined. Every nerve ending was on fire. He could feel Roy’s climax approaching in the tightening of his muscles, the hitch in his breath, the frantic, jerking thrusts of his hips.
Simone watched, one hand between her own legs, moving subtly under her dress. “Yes,” she hissed. “Just like that. You’re beautiful. Come on.”
The pressure in Dick’s groin was a live wire, sparking, sizzling, about to snap. He was so close. Roy was trembling violently against him.
“Roy,” Dick gasped, the name a plea, a prayer.
Simone’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and clear. “Roy. Bring him. Make him come.”
The command landed like a lightning strike. Roy’s head snapped up. His green eyes, glazed with pleasure, locked onto Dick’s. He understood. With a guttural sound, he changed the angle, his grip tightening almost painfully, his strokes becoming shorter, faster, focused entirely on the swollen head of Dick’s cock rubbing relentlessly against his own.
It was too much. The visual, the command, the feel of Roy’s determined hand, the wild look in his eyes.
“I’m— Roy, I’m gonna—” Dick’s warning was a ragged sob.
Roy’s answer was to kiss him, hard and deep, swallowing his cry as the orgasm tore through him.
White-hot pleasure exploded up Dick’s spine, bursting behind his eyes. He came in thick, pulsing stripes, his body seizing, his knees buckling. Roy held him up, his hand still working, milking him through it, their mixed release adding to the slick mess between them.
Dick was barely coherent, shuddering through the aftershocks, when he felt Roy’s body go rigid. Roy tore his mouth away with a shattered cry, his own hips stuttering wildly. Dick felt the hot rush of Roy’s climax join his own, a second wave of wet heat spilling over their tangled fingers, their still-throbbing cocks.
They clung to each other, panting, sweating, spent. The air was thick with the scent of sex and jasmine. Dick’s head rested on Roy’s shoulder, his entire body humming, boneless.
From her chair, Simone let out a long, satisfied sigh. She stood, smoothing her dress. Her gaze was triumphant.
“Good,” she said, her voice a smoky purr. “Very good.”
She walked toward a hallway, pausing at the entrance. She looked back, her eyes lingering on their entwined, glistening bodies.
“Clean up,” she said. Then, with a slow smile. “The night is young, and so are you. You're just getting started."
