Celebration
by Jen

 
The way he's bending over it, rubbing up against it, breathing in the scent of the leather, makes my cock hard all the way.  He's not just fucking himself against it – he's making love to the damn thing.  I'd be jealous of that couch if I didn't know how much he loves to be fucked.  I swear, when that boy gets going he just loses it; so long as he's got something up his ass to hump, he doesn't care what it is.

Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.  He loves taking it up the ass, but more than anything else in this world he loves my cock.  He was born to take my cock, and we both know it.

Just like I know every inch of that lean body that's waiting for me, legs spread open as his ass pleads for me.  I know he's almost hurting with need, which is why I take my time as I start to undress.  He's been needing this almost since we left the city this evening.  Certainly since he sucked me off in the Ram on  the way out here.  It's not as bad as it sounds: I'd pulled off the road by the time he got my dick out.

He must've known from the moment we left the city that my mind wasn't on the road.  He must have known what was going on the minute we left Inez's and ran into that crowd of students off to a fancy dress party.  Or maybe the Rocky Horror show was on somewhere.  Whatever it was, it meant there was a whole group of them, built like football players, wearing fishnets, high heels, basques, little mini skirts, and bright red lipstick.  Course, my initial reaction was one of tolerant amusement.  I've always thought it looks kind of pathetic, even while I realise they've got balls to dress like that.  But then, I'd never been up close like I suddenly was then.  One minute they were walking towards us; the next, they took no notice of the patented Chris Larabee personal space signals, and I was surrounded by muscles and lipstick and fishnet stockings and underlying it all, the unmistakable smell of fresh sweat and musk.

It was like one of those dreams when you know you've entered a different reality, and I found myself staring at the way the lace and leather strained over male bodies that weren't designed to wear the clothes, the way  the stockinged legs disappeared under mini-skirts that should have looked ludicrous but somehow didn't.

And then they were gone as suddenly as they'd come, and I was left sucking in air and wondering what the fuck was going on and why my dick was just about ready to climb out of my jeans.

I didn't know I'd been obvious, not until we were out of Denver and the road was quiet, and Vin just unbuckled his seatbelt and moved across on the seat, his hand on my thigh and his mouth suddenly on my neck.  Everything I'd tried to damp down came flooding back, and as his lips worked my neck and then his tongue slipped into my ear, I was coming up hard and fast and pressing myself against his hand which had found its way to my crotch.

Couldn't have been more than two minutes after that that his head was heading south and those long, clever fingers of his were attacking the zipper of my jeans.  I pulled off into a rest area just as his tongue swiped across the head of my cock, and switched the engine off as he started to go down on me properly, his warm wet mouth heaven on my cock.

I couldn't see his face because of his hair, but I could hear the sounds of him sucking me, and knew what his face looked like, lips stretched wide around me, eyes closed at the pull and push of my meat in his mouth.  He loves to suck cock, almost as much as he loves to take it up the ass.  And then I started thinking what he'd look like with that red lipstick on his lips as they were tight around my cock, and all I could do was twist my hands in his hair and shove him down as I thrust up faster and faster into that open wet red mouth.

Afterwards his voice was huskier than usual and I think I might have hurt his throat, but he just grinned at me and said, "You sure needed that, Cowboy."  He knew why I needed it, but he knew I wasn't sure about it, so he didn't push it.  See, Vin knows me as well as I know him.  That's why it works.

We don't often do that sort of stuff where we could get caught.  It's not just the potential embarrassment of ATF agents being picked up by Denver's finest for licentious behaviour, or whatever they want to call it; it's the fact that if we did get caught, Travis would know that we're fucking, and one of us – probably me – would have to walk.  If I had to choose between the job and Vin, I know what I'd choose, but I don't want to have to.  So we're careful.  It's a damned shame, though; sometimes, when we're out with the boys after work and I've had a few beers and he's wearing those jeans – the one with the rip just below his ass cheek – it's all I can do not to haul him into the bathroom and do him against the wall.  Or bent over the sink.  Or even on the bar.  Inez wouldn't mind too much, that's for sure.  She's got a thing for Buck, however much she denies it, but it doesn't stop her checking out Vin's ass when he's got those jeans on.  And she's not shy about checking me out either, once in a while.  Somehow I don't think she'd mind seeing us in action, seeing my cock up Vin's ass.

Fuck.  Trying to distract myself from that body just isn't working if I'm going to have thoughts like that, and the buttons on my shirt are suddenly too big for the buttonholes.  Leastways, they're causing problems.  So I turn round and go into the kitchen to get myself a beer from the fridge.  Problem is, it's a long-necked bottle and it sure isn't helping me calm down too much.  Sucking on it's reminding me too much of Vin sucking my cock, and when I try not to think of that, all I can think of is using the bottle to open him up for me, sliding it up inside his ass and listening to his startled noises at its coldness changing to moans as he starts to fuck himself on it.

Fuck, Larabee – get a grip.  And not on him.  Yet.  He hates me making him wait, but he loves it too.  He sure didn't argue when I told him to go in the bedroom and get himself ready for me while I took my time, locking up, putting the dishwasher on, anything to prolong the moment.  I love making him wait.  I love walking around with my dick half-hard, maybe slipping my hand into my pants to give it a quick rub and a promise as I make him wait, knowing that he won't be touching himself, that he knows the rules better than that.  And since we moved that couch into the bedroom, it's even better, knowing that he'll have driven himself into a frenzy by the time I get to him.

It's weird, this thing Vin has for leather.  I didn't find out about it till after I'd bought the couch, or otherwise I could have saved me a fortune on what's turned into nothing more than a glorified sex toy.  Then again….. we've had some pretty wild rides on it, so maybe it was worth the money.  Vin told me his first time was in a tack room, and for a while I wondered if that was why he reacts to leather as he does.  But then, my first time was on the football field late one night, and the smell of mown grass doesn't do to me what leather does to him.  Maybe I've got it the wrong way round and his first time was because of the smell of the leather.  Whatever the reason, it was clear pretty soon after I'd bought and installed it that my prized leather couch was either going to have to move from the living room, or we'd have to be more careful about seating arrangements when inviting the boys round.  Don't know if they knew why Vin suddenly started making a fashion statement, wearing long shirts that he kept buttoned up when they were round, just in case the only place left was on the couch, but when Orrin joined us for drinks to celebrate his promotion and Vin still had the same problem, it was clear something had to be done.  And hell, moving it into the bedroom saves us having to clean it up as thoroughly.  A bit of staining's only natural when you sit on leather after having had a shower, right?  Luckily the master bedroom's big enough to take a couch without it looking strange.  The replacement fabric-covered couch does fine in the living room, and I have to admit, just sometimes it's nice to lay back on it and watch the game without Vin jumping me.

Still, I think I've teased us enough for now.  I switch the lights off in the hall and walk into the room to see him spread for me.  I can see how excited he is from the way he's rocking himself against the couch, pushing his body up against the black leather he loves so much and breathing hard.  Damn, he's hot for it.  I can see the glistening trail his cock's leaving on the soft black leather as he moves.  I press up close behind him, letting him feel my hardness against his ass, and he pushes back for a moment.  Then I wind my hand in his hair and pull him up, looking past him so our eyes meet in the huge mirror that just happens to be positioned on the wall so that it reflects back from just about anywhere in the room.  I know enough about interior design to know mirrors make places look bigger.  I know enough about myself to know I love to watch me fucking Vin Tanner.

God, he's hot tonight.  His cheeks are flushed and his eyes in the mirror are pleading with mine.

"Looks like you've made a bit of a mess there, cowboy."  He shivers as the rough whisper moves warm air against his ear.  Or maybe it's because he knows what's coming.

"Think you'd better clean it up, Tanner, if you want to be fucked tonight."

He's kneeling now, his face pressed against the back of the couch as he begins licking at the shiny trails.

Fuck.  I don't know if it's the sight of his tongue, licking so desperately, the  look of rapture on his face, or the way his swollen dark cock is weeping with what he's doing, but' I'm suddenly so hard that I know if I don't get inside him any minute now, I'll explode.  I'm undressed before I even know it this time, and then I pull him back up and bend him back over the couch.  He makes a soft noise of loss as I do so, but then I push up against him and the noise he makes is one of pleading.

"D'you want it, Tanner?  You want my cock opening you, big and hard all the way inside you, fucking you."

If I stopped to think about it I'd know I sound like a bad porn flick, but with Vin there's no stopping to think about it.   'Specially when he's like this, shuddering and desperate.  And while he loves leather, I know it's not the only reason why he's in this state.  I know that I'm the only one who can bring him to this, that he trusts me.

And thinking that, thinking about what I can do to show him how much he means to me, I realise that while he's desperate, he's not on the edge yet.  I can hold on just a bit longer if it means it's even better for him.

I take a deep breath and step away from him, then walk over to the chest of drawers and pull the top drawer open, looking at the toys I keep there.  Vin's suddenly stopped moving.  I don't think he's even breathing now, as he waits to see what I've got for him.  He knows the sound that drawer makes as it opens.  I stand still, watching him, his every muscle tense as he strains to hear what I'm doing, till he has to breath and takes in a gulp of air and lets it out again with a sound that's not much more than a moan.

I glance at the mirror as I walk back towards him and see to my satisfaction that his face is still hidden against the couch, his hair falling around to hide his face.  I know it's because he's breathing in the smell, maybe even licking it, but I also know it's because he knows the rules.  Damn, if anyone'd ever tried to tell me that Vin Tanner was submissive I'd have laughed in their face.  But with me, when I need it, when he needs it, he is.

I put on the back of the couch what I'm holding, except for the thin black leather gloves.  As I slide them on, I get an idea of what it is about leather that gets him going.  It caresses me, warms to me quickly, and yet I can still feel everything through it.  I wrap a hand in his hair and pull him upright again.  His eyes are dark on mine in the mirror, and then when I pull him back closer against me and my hands start to move over his body he whimpers and I see in the mirror the way his cock moves when he finally sees what I've been doing.  I gotta admit it's doing things to me too, watching as well as feeling as my leather-clad fingers pinch and twist at his nipples.  He watches but then his head falls back onto my shoulder as I tongue his ear and all he can do is groan.  I bring my hand up to his face, letting my index finger play along his bottom lip, and he sucks it in with a desperation that makes me realise he's even more ready than I'd realised.  I slip another finger into his mouth and as he sucks and licks and moans, my other hand moves to his cock.  I can't hold back the smile at the groan that escapes him around my fingers as the warm leather spreads the moisture around the head of his cock and his hips buck helplessly.

Enough.  I take my hand away from his mouth, and he moans my name in disappointment.  Then as I bend him back over the couch, I hear him beginning to beg.

"Chris, please.  Please."

If I try to tease him much longer, I'm going to lose my load before I even get inside him.  I hold on just long enough to grab the lube from where I balanced it on the back of the couch and get some onto my hand before I do what he's longing for, and slide the two fingers deep inside his ass.  He cries out, then pushes back against them, loving the cool slickness, loving the knowledge that it's leather stroking deep inside him, hungry for more.  Hungry for me.

He's more than ready, open and willing around my fingers.  I pull them out, loving his groan of loss, and then walk round to the front of the couch.  His head raises and he looks at me through his tangled hair.

"You want this, Cowboy?"

I stroke my dick slowly, teasingly, right in front of his face and almost lose it as I see his tongue run over his lips.

"Please."  It's hoarse, and desperate.  But not as desperate as he's going to be.

I reach to the back of the couch, and pull out the condom from the foil packet.  A couple of less than happy experiences has taught me to tear open the foil before putting the gloves on, but I know they're sensitive enough to cope with putting the condom on.  And then I put one knee  up on the seat of the couch so the moist head of my cock is only inches from his lips and start smoothing the black studded condom down over myself.  I don't normally wear them, but when I saw these, I knew Vin'd love them.  Specially when I saw the leather-flavoured lube….  And fuck, was I right.  He's desperately reaching towards me, pushing himself unforgivingly against the couch in his need to reach, inarticulate noises escaping him.  But all the time he's obediently not moving his hands from where they're held still against the back of the couch.

I smooth the black leather glove down my dick once the condom's on, and watch him.  He's making noises constantly now – little moans and pleas coming out with every breath.

Taking pity on him I lean forward a little more, just enough so that his tongue can reach me.  I let him lick me once, twice, only, then move away.  By the time I get round to the back of the couch, his face is buried in the leather cushion but not fully muffling the sounds that are coming out, and his thighs are wide, every muscle quivering.  I pull him back a way, just so his cock isn't pressed up against the couch any longer – it's mine - before I open him up further, running a leather-clad finger over his hole just once, feeling him jump and then swear huskily at me, before I begin to press inside him.

And as I slide smoothly all the way into him, my own head falls back and I have to look at the ceiling to stop from coming then and there.  Doesn't stop him writhing on me and pressing back, groaning all the time.  And God, I love being the one to drive him to that state.

That damn ceiling just isn't enough to hold me back, so I admit defeat and start fucking him, hands on his hips holding him steady, leather-covered fingers biting in to his flesh.  And then I'm looking down again, watching my cock splitting him open, watching the way his ass just opens up for me and knowing it's for me, only me that he does this.  I can see in the mirror his face is sideways against the cushion, enough so he's getting air, but still close enough for him to smell and taste and feel the leather.  Leather in his face, leather against his tits, leather in his ass.  And knowing what he wants, what he needs, I reach round him with my right hand and close my leather-clad hand round his cock.  He cries out and thrusts forward, helplessly, then back onto me, impaling himself even deeper on my cock.

It's nearly enough to set me off, but I need to be deeper, to be all the way inside him so that he can never forget the feel of me, and I start to slam into him with everything I've got, watching in the mirror as my hips thrust deeper and deeper.  His mouth is open, letting the sounds escape, and I can't help it, I suddenly get a flash of him wearing that red lipstick again.  It shocks me, but what shocks me most is the tugging in my balls that results, and I have to have him, have to make him come for me, have to forget the images of Vin in fishnet stockings up those lean muscled thighs.  My hand's working faster on his cock and his name escapes me between the grunts that are being forced out of me every time I slam into him, and then he's jerking helplessly, moaning, crying out my name and his cum spatters the black leather beneath him as I lose it deep inside him.

We just stay there afterwards, me leaning against him, trying to stand upright still but failing miserably.  It's some time before I can move, and then as I'm walking across the room and stripping the condom off, he moves more carefully than usual, so I guess he's maybe stretched a few muscles.

I go into the bathroom to flush the condom, and catch sight of myself in the mirror.  One flushed, well-fucked, and very hot and sweaty Chris Larabee stares back at me.  Deep in his eyes there's a peace that I hadn't seen in him for far too long before Vin happened.  And I know, as I make my own rather careful way  to the bed, that he'll still have that peace tomorrow morning.  He may have a few pulled muscles as well, but as Vin says, that's what lets you know you're alive.  And it strikes me, as I slip into the bed and take an equally hot and sweaty but very contented Vin into my arms, that this Chris Larabee likes being alive again.
 
 

End