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Sunflooded

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The sunlight pools into the room, giving every surface a warm golden glow.
250 finds himself sitting at the desk in his bedroom, thinking he must have dozed off, when there is a soft knock at the door.

Without waiting for a reply, the door opens and in comes 300, swagger in his step, trademark toothpaste smile plasted on his face and-

oh.

 

He is in his scotsman garb, kilt and all.

For some reason, though, he is not wearing any shoes or socks, and the sight of his naked feet and hairy calves, combined with the way 300 just smiles at him, makes 250's brain conjure images of all kinds unspeakable things.

He gets up and moves to greet his partner, or ask him what all of this is about, or talk about the weather, anything really, because moving is somehow better than sitting there and just soaking in the sheer eroticism that 300 radiates.

Before he can make any sound, though, 300 has stepped in in front of him, right up into 250's personal space, grabbing fistfulls of his t-shirt, and pulls him into a fierce kiss.

 

Seconds pass, the hamster in 250's brain running franticially in its thought-wheel, torn between lust and the question of what the hell exactly is going on here.

But when 300s tongue forces its way into his mouth, all coherent thought flies right out of the window.
Kissing back with equal frevor, 250 wraps his arms around 300, pulling the man even closer to him.
300 makes noises of approval, and a thought flitters through the edges of 250's awareness, how it's really almost pathetic how turned on he is from this simple kiss, but what the hell, really.

His hands slide down until he can squeeze the firm round muscles of 300's buttocks and for minutes everything is just perfect, until, suddenly 300 pushes him away.

250 stands there, dumbstruck and suddenly painfully aware of the hardon straining inside his jeans.

But 300 doesn't bolt or worse even, scream rape, he just continues to gaze at him, pure animal hunger smoldering in his eyes.

Seconds pass, with them just staring each other down, panting like racehorses.

Then 300 places himself on the bed. His moves possess a graceful, tantalizing slowness, his eyes never leaving those of 250.

He is on 300 in a flash and begins tearing his shirt open, sending several buttons spraying away in the process. 300 doesn't seem to mind.
Straddling 300's hips, he sits up to admire his handiwork for a moment.
300 is lying there, that crooked smile, his arms resting on the pillow above his head, hair mussed, shirt splayed open, revealing the tempting mat of hair.

Marvelling at how he manages to look both vulnerable and predatory at the same time, 250 lets his hands roam 300's chest possesively.

As one of his fingers skirts the edge of an already erect nipple, 300 closes his eyes appreciatively and makes a soft 'mmmh' sound.

250 has never fully understood the workings of his brain, and likely never will, as it once again cooses the least useful moment - this very moment - to relay though the lusty haze that his concious has become the rather urgent message

WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?

To which there really is only one answer: He's about to 'do' his partner.

Oh shit.

Stupidly enough, he can feel the heat rising in his face as he scrambles for the least painful way out of this rather compromising situation.

"Ah-", is all the eloquence he can muster, before 300 silences him by pulling him down into another fierce kiss.

Good god, having the hots for a straight man and his professional partner, no less, he really should know better than this.
But the things this man does to him.

300 is an extraordinarily good kisser. This comes as no surprise, seeing as how wooing all kinds of women seems to be such an integral part of his workflow.
But it's not just the way 300 skillfully works his hot toungue in 250's mouth, nor the fact how damnably hot he looks in his kilt or the accent which makes him draw out the Rs like they are something delicious, or-

none of it!

only all of it, rolled into this one person, currently writhing satisfingly underneath him.

This man is driving him mad, and when he starts to grind his hips into 250's, like he just can't help himself either, 250 can feel something inside him snap.

He breaks the kiss, he will find out about the thruth of what they say about kilts and what is or isn't beneath them.

Suffice to say, he is not dissappointed by his findings.

300 hisses and bucks slightly as 250's hands touch his cock.
A rumbling moan escapes his own mouth, as he gives the straining member a few bold strokes.

This seems to be 300's undoing, as he suddenly growls and pounces 250, reversing their positions with a near-violence that in itself is startingly arousing.

Making quick work of 250's belt and fly, 300 finally, liberatingly, frees his cock from its painful confinement.

The sound he emitts is half sigh, half moan, at which 300 smirks smugly.

Although he remains silent, 250 understands perfectly:

the best is yet to come, my dear

And, god, it really almost is too much.

Wide-eyed 250 watches, as 300 coquettishly lifts his kilt and positions himself right above his cock.

He can't seriously be about to-

The very tip of his cock meets with a resistance, and although 250 would be embarrassed to admit it, he almost shoots his load there and then.
Simply from knowing what is about to happen.
He groans right from the very depths of his soul, as 300 pushes on.

It's really unbelievable, he catches a glimpse of 300's face, scrunched up in pleasure, before his own eyes roll back into their sockets, because his cock has passed that initial ring of muscle.

He grabs 300's hips, not to push, only to make sure that what he feels is really happening. Really finally happening.

This is it.
No use in trying to deny it, as he spends himself into 300's ass with a keening cry and-

A resounding !bang! makes him shoot up, his brain yelling


Gunfire!


only to have him seconds later realize he sent a pile of books, periliously perched on the edge of his desk, flying to the ground.

He tries to catch his breath and calm his racing heart, both spurred to action by the noise and the-

Oh boy, the wet dream he just had.

He covers his face with this hands and leans on the tabletop.

What the hell to do about all this

What to do?