Slowly, his expression relaxed too, and a wide smile cracked his lips. “Move,” Crank said. A command, a request, a burning desire that had to be met. It didn’t matter which it was, and for me, it was all three. I obeyed. I tilted my hips – the slightest thrust – wedging myself deeper in his ass.
He moaned loudly. I dug my fingers into his thighs as I rolled my hips, undulating beneath him. He rose on his knees, sliding up my cock. When he paused halfway, I thrust up to meet him. I ran my hands up his legs to grasp at his hips, steadying him as I pulled him down onto me.
“Oh yeah,” Crank said through a moan. He rose, pushing up on his knees. “Do that again.”
I did. Of course, I did. As he rose, I thrust and pulled him down with me, only for him to rise again, tempting, demanding, craving another deep stroke. I bucked my hips and he dropped his weight to meet me, taking my length into his tight passage.
Digging my heels in, I continued the rhythm he set, following him up, dragging him down, and watching the ecstasy snap over his features each time I hit that little bundle of nerves that most men never learn to experience. Watching him ride me, recognizing the pure pleasure in his expression, his posture, his movements, suddenly I felt a jealous twinge. I wanted to know what it was like for him when I fucked him. I wanted Crandall to bend me over the bed and pound me into a state of euphoria. I could trust him to take it easy given my lack of experience. We might argue now and again, and stubborn was an understatement when it came to something he’d already decided, but he does care for me. Of that I have no doubt.
“More,” Crandall moaned. “Fuck yeah.” He slammed down on me, craving it rougher, harder, and deeper. He liked it that way, no matter the position, and I couldn’t complain. I loved the hell fire he became in the sack. He had the same raw, sexual energy on stage too, but there, under the lights, I could only beat on my drums, and not ream his sexy, round ass.
“C’mon, man,” I whispered. I had to force the words out, though they played through my mind. He liked to hear them, and I loved his reaction when I remembered to voice my desires. “C’mon, Crank, fuck me good.”
“Louder,” he said. He swiveled his hips as he hit down, grinding against me before rising up again.
“Fuck me,” I said louder. I groaned as he crashed down on me. “I’m not going to last much longer.”
He grinned briefly, another moan cracking the expression. “Me – ugh – neither.” He gasped, and then the keening started, low and rhythmic, but quickly increasing volume each time we came together.
I kept one hand on his hip, guiding his movements, while I grasped him with the other. Rubbing my thumb over the leaking mushroom head of his prick, I slowly squeezed and then started stroking to the same frantic beat. Three pulls later, his muscles tensed around my cock and he slammed down and froze, pinning my hips to the mattress. His cries echoed through the room as warm spunk shot over my chest.
My fingers tightened on his hip as I milked him until he ran dry. I rocked my hips up, driving deep, my own orgasm chasing his. As my hand stilled, dropped from his cock to his hips to hold him to me, I wedged myself deep one last time spurting my load into his ass as he rocked from the intensity of his own release.
“Fuck, yeah,” he said. Trying to catch my breath, I had no reply other than to loosen my fingers and rub the spots I’d probably bruised when I came. He traced patterns in the cum on my chest, and when I’d recovered enough to raise a questioning look, he grinned and lifted a finger to my mouth leaving a smudge on my lips.
As I lay there like a discarded rag doll, Crandall reached around to hold the condom as he lifted off my fading hardness. He eased back and removed the rubber, and then tossed it in the tiny trash can we’d bought just for such disposals.
“Thanks,” I whispered. I hooked my arm around his waist and pulled him down on top of me. “You are fucking amazing.” I didn’t swear much, but the compliment needed the extra emphasis. For all of our strange, stilted bickering that often translated into foreplay, he always satisfied. No matter how hard I worked for it, he made the sparring worth my while in the end.
He kissed me, still somehow full of energy. Then he sat up and gave me a friendly shove. “Don’t fall asleep, Mike. You promised me pancakes.”
I chuckled and let my eyes drift shut. “Yes, I did,” I said. “Just give me five minutes.”
Up Next: Crandall’s Interlude, part one