“You have to catch that!” Mike threw the remote. It landed with a mocking muffled thud on the worn carpet six inches in front of the TV.
“They can’t hear you,” Crandall said. He had his feet drawn up where he leaned into the corner of the couch watching Mike like he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. A split personality was probably worse. “I can see why you don’t watch sports every other fucking day of the year.”
Mike didn’t respond, and Crandall wondered if he heard anything besides the game announcers and the blood pounding through his brain and making veins stand out in his neck.
“Run? You’re going to run? Are you letting the Giants call your plays?”
Crandall rolled his eyes. Mike tipped his bottle back, but found it empty. He cursed and set it down so hard it tipped and bounced off the coffee table.
“We’re going to punt again. We can’t punt again!”
Mike muttered under his breath while Crandall stared at another car commercial trying too hard to be funny and memorable. When Mike returned with a beer in hand, he huffed out a frustrated sigh and retrieved the remote control. He slouched on the couch, scowling at the television while he gulped down his drink.
Crandall slipped off the couch and crawled. He stopped and sat at Mike’s feet, peering up at him. Mike continued to scowl at the television. When the game returned, Crandall rose up on his knees, staring at Mike. Mike leaned to one side, looking over Crandall’s shoulder. He tensed and then cursed, muttering something about calling penalties. Crandall pressed his palms down on Mike’s thighs. His thumbs rubbed circles near the crease of his hips, but Mike’s reaction was no more than a flicker of a glance in Crandall’s direction. Crandall leaned in, tilting his head to nuzzle under Mike’s chin. He licked a trail up from the hollow of Mike’s neck and nibbled under his jaw.
“What… are you…” Mike looked down. The hand not holding his beer covered Crank’s forearm. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up, Mike,” Crandall said with his lips ghosting over Mike’s throat.
“I’m watching this.” Mike’s hand betrayed his words, sliding up Crandall’s arm and over his shoulder.
“Keep watching.” Crandall lifted Mike’s shirt up to his armpits. He said, “Hold this.” Mike held the shirt up with one hand, glancing at Crandall as he lowered his mouth over Mike’s right nipple.
A soft sigh slipped from Mike’s lips. His torso relaxed under Crandall’s roaming hands and mouth. Inch by inch, he relaxed against the back of the sofa. When Crandall found his way to Mike’s abs, tracing the hard ridges developed through years of training, classes, and fighting vampires, Mike lost his grip on his shirt to run his fingers through Crandall’s mess of red hair.
Crandall grinned against Mike’s skin. He could tell by the flex of fingers in his hair and the breathless whispering of his name, that his distraction technique was working well. He lingered over Mike’s stomach, sucking little marks all around his navel, until Mike reached for his waistband. Crandall batted his hand away.
“I’m not teasing,” he said, his lips never leaving Mike’s skin. He turned his palm against Mike’s groin, rubbing his length with firm pressure to meet the roll of his hips.
Crandall lifted his head. “I try so hard to convince you to make noise without any luck, and now that I tell you to shut up, you can’t be quiet.”
“What? Are you still listening to the game?” Crandall’s hand had slowed, but Mike covered it with his, and encouraged him to move. Crandall pulled his hand away to catch Mike’s wrist and pin it to the sofa.
“Okay, if it makes you forget about that stupid fucking game, talk all you want.” Crandall rubbed his cheek against Mike’s crotch.
“You’re making me forget.”
“So tell me what will work.”
“I think you have it figured out.”
Crandall sighed, and then turned his head and bit Mike’s thigh.
Mike jumped. “Ow, damn it, Crank. What was that for?”
With a shrug, Crandall sat back on his heels.
Mike rubbed his leg, and then rolled his eyes and said, “You’re a pain in the ass. You know that, right?”
“I could be.”
Mike stared at him for several moments, and then pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
“One thing at a time,” Mike said. He popped open his button and yanked down the zipper of his jeans. “Finish what you started.”
“I think I did.”
“You’re going to make me say it?”
Crandall rose up on his knees and licked Mike’s stomach from navel to chest. Mike shuddered. “Oh, yeah baby.” He paused, staring down at Crandall, and then said, “Get those lips around my cock.”
“Was that so hard?” Crandall asked, and then he started licking and kissing his way back down Mike’s body.
“I have something that’s hard.”
“Much better.” Crandall curled his fingers under the waistband of Mike’s boxers. He tugged them out and down. He closed his mouth over the head of Mike’s cock as it bobbed free.
Mike’s groan was drowned out by the noise of the television, but after several minutes of Crandall working his tongue up and down Mike’s length, Mike gasped, rolled his hips, and let go physically and verbally. “My god, Crank,” he said with gasping breath. “You have an amazing mouth.”
Crandall lifted his head and licked his lips. “Better than any stupid fucking football game,” he said, and Mike couldn’t argue.