Author's note: Hi! This is the second chapter of this saga, and things are only heating up. Thanks for reading, and I’d love to hear what you think., or who do you think should be a victim of Andrew`s charm.
Since I’m not a native English speaker, I’ve used AI mainly to help calibrate character accents and double-check some football terminology.
This is a fictional story, not based on real events or on the actual sexuality of any real people mentioned. It’s intended for adult readers only, whatever the legal age is where you live.
Home Game
Life with magic powers is way less exciting than you might think, at least when you're suffering from a major case of guilty conscience. The news that Declan was a married young dad, and not just a star player for me to play with, had ruined my week. His text message was still unanswered on my phone, brewing a totally new kind of anxiety in my life. Great. Not even the fact that I just had gay sex for the first time in my once-straight life bothered me this much. I guess the wish had its way of flattening everything to a level of normality. Yeah, I was gay now, but it wasn’t the end of the world; that was just who I was. I was handsome, so what? And the voice thing, sure, I had this immense power, I could start wars, could rob a bank, could make everyone pamper my every need, but this would be too much, a bit over the top. Just because I could do something didn’t mean I had to. I could still spend days without using it.
Okay, if I have to be totally honest here, I have to admit I still used my "power" frequently, mainly at work. I prevented myself from doing anything terribly illegal, but ended up creating my own comfortable work environment. My boss trusted me now, which was more than enough to improve my job 200 percent, but I also added a couple of perks just to make things easier. Two-hour lunches, an increased tolerance for any tardiness or early exits on my end. If I wanted a day off? I got it. Work-life balance had just skyrocketed.
Back at the flat, the other consequence of my wishes also had a surprisingly positive effect. Without matches streaming 24/7 on the TV, Leo started going out more, and we became way closer after my sudden discovery of football. We watched a Newcastle vs. Crystal Palace match at the pub, and together we suffered through each one of Newcastle’s five goals. The only good thing, besides our camaraderie, was the ego boost I got from the three napkins with phone numbers sent in my direction. Although not interested in it at the moment, I had to admit that the previous Andrew would have loved that level of attention.
Anyway, all these good things didn’t cure my guilt. I’d let myself follow the perverted desires of my mind and could’ve ruined a guy’s life. And for what? A groundbreaking orgasm? Yes, but still not enough.
“Andrew!” My boss’s voice pulled me out of my mind. Duty called.
“Sorry, I was thinking about the new version of the debentures model and got distracted.”
“No worries, young padawan. Have any lunch plans today?” Robert asked, giving me that British finance-bro look of his.
I answered with a cautious, “No,” fearing what kind of demand was coming.
“Great. You and I are going to have a proper lunch with His Lordship John Crowell from the Crowell Fund. I need my trusted padawan by my side if I’m going to meet a Sith Lord in the flesh.”
I felt my spine go cold.
John Crowell’s reputation preceded him. He was the boogeyman in every analyst’s and junior exec’s nightmares. Usually, after a “good” meeting with him, a team leader would lose a fifth of his bonus. And the analyst? He’d be lucky to keep his job. His fund was the largest privately owned fund in the firm. He made the others look like plankton compared to a leviathan.
Robert, surprisingly, had good terms with him. Some Eton or Oxford connection. In any case, he was the only one who had survived a full year handling the guy’s money. Even still, if I had any sense of confidence going into this, it was 100 percent thanks to my new mind-controlling voice. Without it, I would’ve been trembling in a puddle of my own piss and tears.
“Great,” I said. “Let’s charm that fucker.”
“That’s what I like to hear from my Yankee padawan!” Robert cheered, mimicking lightsaber moves with his hands.
John Crowell was tall, thin, and possessed that undeniable English physiognomy. He was the kind of man who looked down his nose at everyone as if he’d stepped out of a dusty Clue box.
“That, John, is my analyst, Andrew Steele. Imported directly from the colonies,” Richard said with a grin.
“Oh, you know, Richard, I usually don’t fancy proximity with Americans, except when they’re dealing with my money,” John replied. “I tend to think their financial unscrupulousness compensates for the crudeness in their behavior.”
He said this with a proud look in my direction, as he’d just granted me the greatest of compliments.
Lunch progressed dreadfully with every bite of overpriced chicken. His lordship wasn’t just the worst of the posh British elite. He was the worst in the entire world. One of the main topics Richard was supposed to tackle was the firm's new push toward environmentally friendly investment projects: half “let’s do good in the world,” half eco-wash reputation stunt.
When Richard subtly brought up the topic, John cut in with a scoff.
“Oh, don’t tell me you bothered to schedule this meeting just so you could push that hogwash ESG initiative your company’s been peddling to anyone with a shilling to spare.”
The abrupt interruption made the junior executive swallow dry and visibly recalculate his next move.
“John, you insult me by thinking I’d come to you with that,” Richard replied smoothly. “The point is, with this sudden interest in ESG portfolios, there’s now a vacuum in the more ‘traditional’ investment sectors. We believe you could benefit in this scenario and increase your presence in mining and oil. After all, that’s where the real money is.”
It was sickening. Our world was being gutted by conversations like these, happening quietly in restaurant corners all over the world. And yet, watching the aloof Richard reveal his polished cunning was almost admirable.
From that point on, everything ran smoothly. Smooth, except for the growing list of atrocities, human rights violations, and ecological disasters I had to hear about, coming straight from the mouth of a man wearing a personalized Patek Philippe.
It wasn’t fair. This terrible person had such absurd power and money, using it to casually destroy the planet just so he could buy his hundredth mansion.
I had to do something.
The opportunity came when Richard excused himself to go to the loo. I was left alone with John, who was mid-sentence, describing the day he shot a rhino.
I reached across the table and touched his arm. “You’ll develop a change of mind in the next few days,” I said, loud enough for him to hear clearly. “You’ll become aware of the world’s problems: ecological, social, and humanitarian. You’ll start acting on them. You’ll use your money and influence to do good, for a change. And when the firm asks what changed your mind, you’ll say Richard was very convincing.”
There. The world, and even Richard, would profit from a single touch of mine. But what would I get out of it? Leaning into that thought, I added:
“And you’ll tell Richard the truth when he comes back that I’m your beloved American godson. That you were trying to stay impartial so they wouldn’t treat me differently at the office. You adore me. Always have. And because of that, you’ll give me unlimited access to your money, your properties, and your connections. You’ll never deny any of my requests.”
There. Done. A little something for me. A fair trade. After all, I’d just created the world’s richest ESG activist.
Richard returned to the table, looking far too satisfied with himself. Probably thought his little oil and mining pitch had sealed the deal. He slid into his chair, adjusted his cufflinks, and glanced between us. “All good here?”
John Crowell looked down at his napkin for a beat, his expression unusually soft. Then he folded it slowly, placed it back over his thighs, and let out a long sigh.
“Richard... I must come clean. I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
I saw Richard flinch, just slightly. His throat tightened above the collar of his tailored shirt. For a man who’d spent years dancing with financial devils, this was his worst fear. That somehow, despite all the charm, this meeting had just gone to shit.
“Come on, John,” he said, trying to keep the smile alive. “If this is about the ESG …”
“No, no. It’s not about that,” John interrupted, lifting a hand. “It’s about this young man sitting beside us. I can’t pretend anymore. Sitting here at this table, talking business, acting all formal, it’s hurting me.”
John turned and looked at me with something that might have passed for affection. “You see, Richard... this boy is my godson. My beloved American godson.”
Richard blinked. Twice.
John continued, almost wistful. “I know, Drew. I know you didn’t want to be treated differently. That’s why I’ve kept quiet. I wanted you to earn their respect fairly. But I’m too proud to keep it in. Watching you work, listening to how sharp you are... I simply can’t act aloof any longer.”
Richard turned to me so fast his neck cracked. “Wait, what?”
I shrugged, feigning modesty. “It’s true. Didn’t want to cause a fuss.”
Richard’s face did a full emotional loop in two seconds: suspicion, awe, envy, and finally... relief. “Well... fuck me. I mean, well, I had no idea. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
He turned to John. “You never mentioned he’s your godson?”
John nodded gravely, as he’d just revealed I was heir to a kingdom. Richard leaned back in his chair, a little dazed. “I thought this was a good day already. Turns out I’ve been working alongside royalty.”
“He’s not in the business,” John added. “Drew likes to make his own way. Independent spirit. Can’t blame him. I wish my sons were like that.”
Richard stared at me as I’d just grown a halo. “You’ve been sitting next to me in meetings this whole time, never once said a word...” He laughed, not bitterly, just stunned. “And here I thought I was mentoring you.”
“You’ve been great,” I said, smiling. “I’ve learned a lot.”
“Bloody hell.” He drained his wine glass. “I need another drink.” John waved the waiter down and ordered champagne, like this was a celebration. And maybe, in a way, it was.
I wasn’t leaving the firm. But I had just cracked open a vault most men would give their souls to touch.
And I did it with a single touch of my finger.
The ride back was filled with questions.“How did your parents know Crowell?”
“Is John as tough in his personal life as he is in business?”
“What’s the most absurd present he ever gave you?”
I tried to be vague about it. The last thing I wanted was to tangle myself in a web of specific lies. When the friendly interrogation started getting boring, I touched his shoulder lightly and said, “Richard, I think that’s enough. Please don’t tell anyone. Treat this information like a footnote about me and let it be. Agree?” My boss nodded. By the time we were back at our desks, everything was just as it had been. The only exception was the billionaire contact now saved in my phone, and the email asking me to confirm my information so the bank could send a new credit card in my name, as requested by His Lordship.
Life had just become a lot easier.
The sun was still up when I got out of the cab. (I could afford not being squeezed in the tube from now on.) I thought about inviting Leo to dine out, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t tell him about my new kin. But as I closed the door, Leo appeared from his bedroom, covered in a mist of cologne. “Oh, nice, you’re here. Is this fit good or is it trash?”
That was odd. Leo never asked me things like that, but in his defense, he was usually wearing sweats and jerseys.
“It’s solid. Try putting on a jacket, and it should do the trick.”
“Thanks, mate. I’ve got a date with that girl from the gym I told you about. It’s been a while since I went on a proper date. Usually I just meet girls at the pub, and we’re already drunk.” He said while fixing his hair meticulously in the mirror door of the microwave.
It was nice to see Leo going out and living for once. I had to admit he’d grown on me a lot over the past few days. Maybe, in the karmic balance of things, I’d done more good than bad with my new powers.
So yeah, I didn’t have to flinch away anymore. I would mend what I had done and move on.
Hey man, sorry for not answering sooner. Are you free? I need to talk with you face-to-face,
I typed the message to Declan and dropped my phone on the couch like it was flaming hot. Realistically, I was just anxious about the response. Maybe it’d be a “Fuck you” or “I’m reporting you to the police, perv.”
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. The screen lit up a few minutes later with a message: “Thought I’d been ghosted 😂 Just finished training. Send me the address, and I’ll meet you.”
I stayed on the sofa, freshly showered in my grey sweatpants and white t-shirt, trying not to create any scenario in my mind. The sudden buzzer interrupted the silence that had reigned ever since Leo left for his date, and put me on my way down to open up the door. Awaiting me, 6 foot 2 in an Adidas tracksuit, was the reason for my guilty conscience. A smile appeared on his scruffy face, softening the usually hard expression. “Hey, stranger,” he said, pulling me in for a bro hug. The proximity to his body awakened something in me, slowly. We broke apart and stepped sideways to let him in, and closed the door behind us. We didn’t talk much while climbing the stairs; my heart beat loud as a jukebox, at least in my head.
“Welcome, feel at home,” I said to my guest as he took it all in. I had tried to tidy it up before showering, but looking again, I saw a giant list of things I didn’t take care of. “I know it’s a mess, sorry, my roommate works from home, and today he had a date, so he was all over the place…”
“Oi, chill out, it’s a great place. It looks lived in, in a welcoming manner. Like we can just sit on the sofa and crack open a beer like we were best friends. That’s not an easy thing to do; soccer players' houses are always so sterile. When you are single, the house is bleak, or everything is new, bought by a designer/architect and has no soul, then you settle down, and suddenly your wife transforms everything into a doll house for a perfect doll family.”
The words family and wife weighed in my mind like a bad omen, activating my defense mechanism: humor. “That’s a British way of saying you want a beer? I can get you one.”
“Oh, fuck off. I truly meant what I said. You have an awesome home.” He looked at me for an instant too long before opening up the zipper on his jacket and taking it off, revealing a black tank top. The navy tracksuit fit him just right, clinging to his thighs, tapering around his calves, and outlining the kind of body you don’t get from just showing up to the gym twice a week. But the sleeveless shirt let his arms out, arms that looked almost carved in marble, veiny and hard. I could smell something in the air, cologne, but I wasn’t sure if it was his or a remnant from Leo’s earlier routine.
He looked like he was going to say something else, then stopped, rocking slightly on his heels. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna text,” he said eventually.
“Yeah,” I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. “I almost didn’t.”
“I thought I’d maybe said or done something wrong.” He laughed softly. “Almost messaged again, but... didn’t wanna look like a dork.”
I gave him a small smile and gestured to the couch. We sat, not too close, an empty cushion between us. He laid his arms over his knees and gazed down. “That whole thing was mad,” he confessed, “that day.” I nodded, unsure if I should interrupt, “but in a strange way, I kept thinking about it these past days.” My attention increased exponentially. “After that, when I went home, I was in a quiet state of mind, nothing bothered me, and I slept like a baby, like I haven’t in ages. Even my wife said that. Then I went to training the next day, more focused, more assertive. My trainer pulled me aside to tell me that whatever I did before to perform like that, I should do every day.”
I swallowed dry. “That’s good, but also a little tiny bit fucked up, no?”
“Yeah,” he asserted, “I tried to recreate it, on my own, you know?” The flush on his neck was impossible to miss. “Didn’t do the trick, it wasn’t the same. I even stuck a finger there, not gonna lie, it was fun, but not even close. So when you didn’t text me back, I thought that was it, a one-time thing, I had a glimpse of my best version and then poof, gone.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve texted earlier, but I was ashamed.” He looked at me with those blue eyes filled with confusion. “I felt like I crossed a line. I didn’t know at the moment that you weren’t wearing any ring, you are so young, I thought you were single, or maybe only dating. Not Mr. Young Daddy.”
He scotched closer and faced me. “Whatever you did, I let you. You didn’t have to blame yourself for any of it.” Oh, how easy it would be if it were this simple.
“Thanks. But I invited you today for me to end things up, mend over my mistakes. I can’t do this to you.”
His head nodded to my sentence, with his right hand placed over his chin and lips. Before, in a quick movement, he turned to me with the flirtiest grin I had ever seen on his face, “And here I was, thinking we would do a repeat.” This shook me to my core, and I knew he noticed by my demeanor, “I even took a proper shower, scrubbed every inch just to be sure.” He raised one arm slowly, elbow bent, exposing the curve of his bicep and the soft shadow of hair under his arm. “Wanna smell for yourself?”
I hesitated, eyes flicking to his face, looking for a laugh, a dare. But he just looked at me with something halfway between playful and earnest. Reluctantly, I leaned in.
The scent hit me like a bullet. Warm skin, fresh deodorant, and something clean but sharp that wasn’t synthetic, it wasn’t a cologne. It was him, and fuck did that change something in me. I felt the pull, deep and low, before realising that my lips were pressed to the soft skin of his pit. Kissing it once, then twice, then lingering. He inhaled through his nose, like he wasn’t expecting me to do that, but didn’t stop me. I moved upwards, tasting my way through his neck, feeling every vein and tendon, fighting my urges to give him a hickey. The scruff on his face contrasted with my clean-shaven jaw on my way up, causing enough friction to create a spark. His hand found my waist when our lips finally touched. Urgent tongues battled, sliding between our mouths while breaths were exchanged like confessions.
Declan’s hand moved upward, climbing from my waist to the back of my head, pulling me in deeper as the kiss got rougher. It was like all boundaries were blurred, we didn’t exist as different bodies anymore, we were one big thing moving over itself.
In a smooth movement, he grabbed my hips and shifted me over, guiding me to straddle his lap. I gasped a little at the sudden movement but didn’t resist, his hands at my lower back giving rhythm to our kiss and making me feel him beneath me.
His cock was hard; there was no denying it. Even with the fabric layers between us, I could feel it nudging against my ass. Trying to cave his way out of the confinement. I humped him slowly, once, just to tease and curious to see what would happen.
He exhaled, eyes fluttering and fingers pressing harder on my skin. We were lost in ourselves, but still synchronized enough to pull apart at the same time with the same intent. Undressing.
I got up and started to take my shirt off. At the same time, his black tank top revealed the body sculpted under floodlights and rigorous training. He tumbled to his feet and, in a quick movement, put his pants down; the lack of underwear made his hard dick smack against his lower abs with a wet noise. “Going commando, I see. Eager much?” I teased him.
“I told you,” he said with a cocky grin, stepping out of the puddle of navy fabric. “I came waiting for a reply.”
He sat again on the couch, his erection demanding some attention that I was eager to provide. Without further ado, I dropped my sweats and my boxers and kneeled between those powerhouse legs. “I guess it would be rude of me to deny you one,” I massaged his calfs, sensuously “after all,” my hands started traveling, going over his knees, feeling the sparse hairs and hard muscles “ you got so out of your way to be here” my fingers now close enough to his knob to feel the wet residuous of his previous excitement.
His palms covered his eyes, and he leaned his head back. “Bloody hell, stop teasing me,” he pleaded, and I, compassionate as I am, decided to accept it and, for the second time in my life, put the head of the seven-inch snake of the Arsenal midfielder in my mouth.
He hissed in pleasure when my tongue started exploring his anatomy. It definitely was an acquired ability, cause this time I moved way quicker than that first time in the locker room. I started bobbing lower, taking more, feeling the tip nudge the back of my throat, one of his hands reaching for my hair. I found a rhythm, letting him slide in and out, wet and deep and smooth, harvesting every moan and grunt as a precious flower.
When I pulled off with a pop, a string of spit connecting us for a second, he looked down, eyes glassy and mouth parted. “That mouth of yours...” he muttered, his fingers still curled in my hair. I grinned, and before he could say anything else, I got down again, going lower this time. Licking his balls and quickly munching on them just to tease him. With my hands, I opened his legs further, and that was enough for him to understand what I had in mind and raise those muscle columns, his ass now at the edge of the couch. I opened the asscheeks with care and once again saw the tender pink rosebud waiting for me. The sight was like gasoline to a fire. He let out a shaky breath when my tongue made first contact. “Shit…” his lips murmured to my delight.
The first press of my tongue against his hole made him exhale sharply. I circled it once, then again, soft and teasing, like I had all night. The Londoner let out a soft grunt, hips rocking forward just slightly. That was all I needed. I pushed in deeper, licking into him, opening him up with slow, deliberate movements. “F fuck, Andrew …” the voice breaking, one arm holding his left thigh upward while the other resting in my hair, not pulling, just holding, like if he needed someplace to ground himself
I buried my face between his cheeks, fucking him with my tongue, working him open, letting the slick heat build. I pressed my thumbs to the sides of his ass, pulling him wider, moaning into him as I devoured every inch. He writhed now, chasing the sensation, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Deeper… Drew. Fuck, please.”
The sound of his voice, cracked and pleading, went straight to my cock. I pulled back just enough to spit on my fingers and brought one to his hole. He didn’t flinch. Just pushed down, hungry for it. “Yeah?” I asked, now finally able to speak.
“Yeah, mate. Do it,” he gasped. “Give it to me.” I slid one finger in slowly, letting him feel the stretch. He moaned, head thrown back. The couch creaked beneath us as his thighs twitched again. “More,” he said, without shame, apparently, the curious finger he mentioned earlier had been a regular visitor more than he was proud of. I added a second. He sucked it in like he’d been waiting for this all week.
I tongued him between thrusts, driving him toward the edge, fingers working inside him, mouth sloppy and relentless. He was humping now, grinding down into my hand, into my mouth, chasing every bit of friction he could get. “Fuck, Drew, don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop.” His cock slapped against his stomach, untouched but heavy with need.
I pulled back, just enough to breathe, chin soaked, fingers still buried inside him. “We’re not done,” I said. “Get up.” He blinked, dazed and wrecked, as I stood and took him by the hand. “Come on,” I said. “We’re taking this to the bedroom.”
He followed me in silence, stopping in front of me at the foot of my bed, where I was thrilled to kiss him with the same mouth that gave him so much pleasure. The nasty debauchery of it all flowed straight to my dick, which throbbed, hoping for some attention.
Just as he had surprised me by pulling me to his lap, I surprised him, pushing his muscular frame to the mattress, making him lie on his back. He understood the assignment and pushed further up, so his head could rest on a pillow. I turned my back to him just so I could get my lube bottle from the dresser drawer.
His expression was tinted with doubt and desire when he saw the bottle in my hand. “If you wanna stop, we can, but what I have in mind should be way better than my fingers.” I tried to appear nonchalant, but I was actually trembling with horniness inside
“I’m not sure,” his voice cracking to my despair. “You know I never did anything like that, but I also never did anything that we did already, and everything felt surreal,” he sounded conflicted.
Anxious for the answer, I tried to influence the decision by applying a few drops of lube on my fingers and poke his ass slowly. The warm, velvety hole, wet and worked open, accepted me with ease.
“Oi, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” he stared at me, the blue eyes and entertained face being taken to heaven the moment I found what I’ve been looking for, his lovely love nut. “Hell, for fucks sakes, Andrew, what are you doing with me?”
I didn’t respond, not verbally, but I intensified my assault on his pleasure spot while climbing upwards to steal a kiss, his moans fading away in the mess of our tongues.
“You promise to be gentle?” he inquired after we parted our lips, “Or stop if I say so?”
“I’m a gentleman,” I gave him a peck on his cheek. “I only want to give you pleasure.”
“Fuck, let’s do it, fuck me.” There it was, I was gonna fuck the first man of my life, and he happens to be one of the greatest football players in the country.
I stroked lube over my cock and went between his legs, lining myself up to his entrance. “Look at me,” I said, my voice quieter now, surprisingly confident, although being new to this man-on-man play as much as he was. I pushed in, slowly, watching his expression for any flicker of discomfort. And I saw it, a crease in his brow, a sharp exhale through clenched teeth.
“Breathe,” I whispered, leaning over him. “Let it happen.” He nodded, eyes locked on mine as I eased in deeper. The stretch was real, I could feel it in the tight grip of his body, the tremble in his thighs. He winced, fingers digging into the sheets. “You okay?”
“It’s… intense,” he said, jaw clenched. It definitely was, the soft warmth of his inside was making my already hard dick now infuriatingly hard. I stilled, holding myself there, barely moving in the confinement of his no longer virgin hole.
Tell me when,” I murmured. It took a moment, but he nodded. I started moving, not deep at first, just a rhythm, slow and careful. His body tried to resist, then gave in, inch by inch. His hand came up, grabbing my back, grounding himself in the contact.
“It’s better,” he said, breath shaky. “Keep going.” With the green light, I started increasing my rhythm. In his expression, I saw that pain hadn’t already subsided, but with time, something new appeared at the surface. It showed first as a light in his blue eyes, almost like lightning, or a flicker, almost a ‘you have to be looking for it to see it’. I kept my pace, nothing crazy, but reaping the benefits of momentum, and the growing slipperiness of his opening. Together with the tension, this was the main difference between fucking a girl and fucking a guy. Usually, if you did your job right, a girl would be wet, and sliding in would be easy. Now, in a guy, at least in Declan, even with lube, it was rougher; you had to create the wetness, per se. Luckily, I always precummed a lot, so as my pleasure grew, so did the friction dissolve, and I was able to move freely, in and out, increasing both of our pleasures in a lovely exponential way.
The moan brought me back to reality; the Londoner below me was mouth open and closed-eyed. “There. YES. There,” he pleaded with hips moving, seeking my crotch. The shift in demeanor was quick, “so fucking good,” he muttered, sending chills down my spine, and motivating me to go at it harder. The blue pools of his eyes faced me with a needy grin at his swollen lips, his hands traveled from my back to my neck, pulling me closer to a full kiss, the mood carnal and passionate. “Speed this up, loverboy, you are fucking an athlete for god’s sake”.
“Your order is my command.” With that, I started properly fucking him. I pulled back, almost leaving him completely just to push back, further and harder, his moans escalating together with my intensity. The player’s hard cock, long and red, swinging with my movements, was drenching both of our abs with precum.
“GOD YES!” he let out with fierce enthusiasm. “This spot … there … YES”. His hips were now buckling, anxiously trying to anticipate my trust, the moans growing more and more incomprehensible. I was fucking him into oblivion, but I didn’t want this moment to end so soon.
I stopped completely, forcing him to open his eyes and look at mine with urgency. “Get up,” I told him while removing myself from his chute. Even without understanding, he obeyed me, standing tall. I lay on his previous spot, feeling the heat and sweat on the sheets and letting my legs rest on the mattress. I laid one of my hands on my glistening knob and tapped the other on my upper thigh. “Come on, let’s ride, cowboy.” The confusion dissolved into excitement as he climbed on top of me, me between the muscular, long legs of his. He slowly crouched, one hand at my chest and the other together with my own, trying to guide the meatslab back into his not-so-tight-anymore hole.
“Uh, it goes deeper this way,” he said when his buns met my groin. If the new position made my dick reach further, he soon got used to it and started buckling up and down, increasing speed and grunts constantly. “OH … DREW … FUCK” he grunted to my satisfaction.
“You are so tight,” I said to him when his intensity reached a new maximum.
“Yeah? Do you like this tight hole?”
“Absolutely, so hot.”
“Do you think this hole likes you?” He asked, Tighten it so it would create more pressure on my cock.
“YESS”.
“So show me”.
The dare brought back the movements of my hips, and together, both of our intensities combined a new wave of pleasure for us to ride on. And soon, without even realizing, his insides started to spasm, and the angry red cock, forgotten between our bodies, hardened up even more and, facing me, started to cum. The first 3 volleys hit my face, drenching me in white batter. The next covered my chest and abs. The alkaline smell was like a trigger, and inside him, I started coming too.
Declan lay on me, my dick flopped out of his tender, sloppy hole, adding more groin to our skin. The combined sweat joined the other fluids, drenching us completely. We were spent. I kissed his forehead, bringing back his attention, his blushed face overjoyed. No words were spoken; we didn’t need to.
The shower mist helped to ease the smell that by now had faded slightly through the small gaps in the windows. It felt abnormal to see a star player coming out of my bathroom, damp hair and white towel, just like when I met him in the locker room, while I waited in my clean briefs at the foot of the bed.
“So, that was … intense.” I had showered first, just a quick rinse while Dec regained his strength. And while I waited for him, changing sheets and retrieving his clothes from the living room, I grew worried that he would regret it.
But to my surprise, his expression was soft and relaxed. He came closer and pulled me up with a finger under my chin till I was on my feet. Our blue gazes face each other. “Intensely hot,” he whispered in my left ear, making me giggle like a schoolgirl.
“I was worried you would have second thoughts,” I confessed.
“What I want is a second time, I told you I came here with a mission, and I’m leaving fulfilled. There is no need for you to worry and no fucking reason for you to ghost me.”
“I promise that I won't ghost you.”
“Good!” he said in a confident manner, his arms now at my sides, pulling our bodies together once again. “Because next time …” his hands traveled to my ass cheeks, groping the cotton-covered mounds “... I will return the favor,” his voice full of mischief and sincerity.
It wasn’t a one-time thing anymore.
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