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It had been a while since Robert had made himself up with such a heavy hand, following a half-formed, impulsive notion that this television performance needed a more dramatic, theatrical approach. He’d painted on clownish red lips and smudged his eyes black, and in the dressing room mirror his face had looked unfamiliar and nearly garish. He’d played with his image before, but he’d experienced a moment of self-doubt, of hesitation, wondering if he’d overdone it.

But now, post-performance, post-celebratory drinking binge, the look was having an altogether different effect on Simon in the dim light of Robert’s bedroom.

“Fucking beautiful,” Simon whispered as he cradled Robert’s jaw. His fingers traced the haphazard curve of his mouth, then pushed inside, and Robert whimpered as he sucked.

His reaction was automatic, and he was glad, because he was still reeling at the fact that Simon had come home with him, that he’d kissed Robert against his front door before they’d staggered further into his flat, that they really seemed to be doing this after all these years.

Simon withdrew his fingers and reached for Robert’s hips instead, bringing them together, kissing Robert again.

Robert kissed him back, moaning as he pushed his tongue into Simon’s mouth. Now that he could, he couldn’t get enough of touching him, roughly grabbing at his shoulders, his back, clutching the hem of his shirt. He was so hard it was nearly maddening, and he pressed closer, rubbing himself against Simon’s own erection.

It was heady, intense—but it didn’t last. Suddenly, the kiss was faltering. Simon was slowing down considerably, and his grip on Robert was changing—less pulling him close and more keeping him at bay.

“It’s okay,” Robert murmured against his lips. Simon was still hard against him, and Robert had wanted this for so fucking long—they both had, Robert was certain of it. He kissed him again, firmly, but Simon’s reluctance was growing more pronounced, and he turned away from Robert’s mouth.

Robert’s heart raced with something close to panic. He’d experienced this before with so-called straight men—men who were up for kisses and groping and filthy whispers in the dark, but balked once it was actually time to do the deed. And for all of the glances in Robert’s direction and the little touches that Robert had furtively tried to imbue with meaning, Simon had never expressed any attraction to other men and had almost certainly never acted on it. Robert had been watching; he knew. He had only ever seen him with girls. Beautiful girls. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the problem here.

Fucking beautiful, Simon had called him, and Robert wanted to laugh.

Instead, he nuzzled along his jaw, bringing his mouth close to Simon’s ear. “I know you’re straight,” he whispered. “But it’s okay. I’m a girl.”

He’d meant it jokingly, an attempt to diffuse the escalating tension. But Simon sucked in a shaky breath, his fingers digging into Robert’s hips, and Robert felt his cock pulse heavily between them.

And, oh. Oh god, Robert could work with this. He knew this game. He had played it before.

He pulled back slightly and bit his lip, softening his expression and easing his grip.

“It’s okay,” Robert repeated, and this time his voice was deliberately breathy. He kissed Simon again, gently, barely touching him. Simon was motionless, but it meant that he wasn’t turning away, and Robert kept going. His tongue flicked against Simon’s lower lip and then retreated, teasing, inviting, and he made a small, girlish sound when Simon’s tongue followed. He tilted his head and opened his mouth, offering himself up, and Simon kissed him hard, hands on the side of his face to hold him just so.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. It was a relief to have Simon holding him, and Robert let him set the pace and tried not to squirm. They were still pressed together, and Robert could still feel him, but there was no rubbing, no friction, nothing for Robert to get off on.

Simon appeared to be back on board, but he didn’t seem to know how to advance things. It felt like they were stalled, perpetually kissing, and as much as Robert loved to kiss, he wanted more. He wanted to make Simon feel good, so good that he lost control, let go of every remaining inhibition.

The situation felt extremely fragile, but Robert had slept with straight men before. He knew what they wanted from him.

“I’ll suck your cock,” he murmured, lightly stroking his fingers up the line of Simon’s zipper.

Simon exhaled harshly and grabbed his hand, pushing it against his cock, and they both moaned as Robert gripped him.

The bed was right behind them; they made it the last couple of steps and tumbled onto the mattress together. Robert didn’t waste any time, shoving Simon’s shirt up to his armpits and undoing his fly, working Simon’s cock out through the opening.

He was heavy in Robert’s hand, hot with blood, and Robert’s own cock blurted wetness from the tip at the thought of having Simon inside him, stretching him, fucking him until he ached. He wanted to tell him, but he thought better of it almost immediately. He didn’t think Simon would flee, not with Robert about to go down on him, but he didn’t want to push too far too fast.

So he settled himself between Simon’s thighs and lowered his mouth to his cock, lavishing attention on the head, licking and sucking, being a bit noisy about it.

Simon grunted, his hands in Robert’s hair, on his neck, on his shoulders. He grabbed fistfuls of Robert’s shirt and pulled, and Robert sat up and tugged it the rest of the way off. Simon blinked up at him, breathing hard, and Robert only let him look for a moment before he bent down to Simon’s cock again, humming as he sucked him.

Simon’s hands were back on him, pushing the hair out of his face—out of the way, Robert realized. He glanced up, glad that Simon wanted to watch, because Robert knew how to make it showy, how to make it look as good as it felt.

Simon’s trousers were still bunched around his hips, restricting Robert from what he really wanted to do. He paused just long enough to tug them the rest of the way off, then he descended slowly down the length of Simon’s cock, inch by inch, until his lips were wrapped around the base.

Simon watched him, groaning, his face a mixture of surprise and pleasure as Robert deep-throated him again and again. Robert suspected not many people had been able to do that for him; it tested the limits of his own skill and coordination, and he was straining a little, moaning softly with the effort.

Simon’s hands twisted in Robert’s hair. “I want to fuck you,” he panted.

Robert shuddered and pulled off. “You can. I’ll let you,” he breathed. He licked across Simon’s balls, then up the underside of his cock. “I need you in me.”

Simon exhaled, his breath hitching as Robert took him back into his mouth, giving him a couple of last luxurious sucks before pulling off for good.

He shoved his own trousers down and off, then crawled to the side of the bed and fetched the lube from the dresser drawer, because he wanted this to be wet, wanted it to be easy for both of them. When he turned around, Simon was staring, his hand idly stroking the head of his cock.

Robert kneeled over Simon’s thighs and reached between his own legs, cupping his balls and lifting them out of the way so that Simon could see as he slid his fingers inside—two, and then three, and then four. He whimpered, shivering again as he touched himself in front of Simon’s wide, dark eyes. Simon was jerking himself off with purpose now, and Robert knew he couldn’t linger over this part.

“Let me,” he said, biting his lip as he withdrew his fingers and reached for Simon’s cock, smoothing lube up and down the length of it and then shifting into position.

Robert lowered himself slowly, digging his teeth in harder at the stretch. It felt like all the air was being forced from his lungs, and he used his remaining breath to whine softly as he finally bottomed out in Simon’s lap.

Simon laid his hands on Robert’s thighs, restless fingertips stroking across his skin, and Robert inhaled unevenly.

“Fuck, you're big,” he whispered.

Simon groaned, and Robert started to move, tangling a hand in his hair and pitching his voice higher as he moaned. Simon was watching, grunting each time Robert sank down onto him, and even though Robert hadn’t received much in terms of foreplay, the reality of having Simon between his thighs at long fucking last was turning him on more than any amount of sucking or fingering ever had.

Simon was starting to push up to meet him—small twitches of his hips at first, but gradually thrusting deeper and harder, his hands smoothing up and down Robert’s sides from thigh to ribs.

Straight men were all the same that way, in Robert’s experience—once they had someplace hot and slick and tight to fuck into, they tended to catch on pretty quickly.

Simon’s movements were forceful now, a bit erratic, and Robert was struggling to maintain a rhythm. Eventually he went pliant, letting Simon do what he wanted, letting Simon hold him and move him this way and that.

Simon’s gaze moved lower, to where they were joined. He didn’t try to reach for Robert’s cock, but it didn’t matter. He was so big, he was getting Robert just right inside without much effort, and the constant pressure was pushing him to the edge.

Robert had been fucked hard before, but this—this made him tremble, made his head spin, so full of Simon’s cock that he could barely think.

Robert cried out, coming all over himself and all over Simon, his body wracked with aching, clenching pleasure. It lasted and lasted, Simon’s insistent thrusts forcing more out of him than Robert thought possible.

“Oh, fuck,” Simon grunted, grabbing onto him even harder, and Robert sobbed, tipping forward slightly and bracing himself on Simon’s shoulders as Simon fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

Simon groaned, his voice breaking as he began to come, his hips jerking almost violently against him.

“Yes,” Robert whimpered. He wanted all of it, wanted Simon to make a mess of him. “Simon, fuck.”

Simon’s chest was heaving, shiny with sweat and splattered with Robert’s come, and the wet slap of skin against skin was so loud that Robert moaned, even as Simon’s movements began to taper off. Simon practically melted into the sheets, his grip falling away, and Robert took over, rocking his hips slowly, deliberately, drawing out Simon’s orgasm until he shuddered, oversensitive.

“Jesus Christ,” Simon gasped, and Robert stopped moving.

Simon was breathing hard, and his eyes fell shut as he pushed a hand across his forehead and into his hair, letting his arm go limp above his head.

Robert observed and waited. If this was going to end in regret—or, worse yet, panic—it would likely manifest now.

But very little happened. They caught their breath. Robert looked at Simon. Simon looked at nothing at all.

Robert was still holding himself up on increasingly boneless arms, and finally he pushed himself back so that he was sitting upright in Simon’s lap. Simon cracked open his eyes, and Robert froze. He felt exposed, the game well and truly over and no frenzy of arousal and pleasure to hide behind. It was just Robert, for better or worse, and he had no idea what Simon would think of him now.

“Should I—” he started, beginning to lift himself off of Simon.

“No,” Simon blurted, reaching for him again, and Robert hissed as he pulled him back onto his lap, onto his cock. Simon was wide-eyed, his hands suddenly gentle as he stroked across Robert’s hips. “Are you alright?”

And that—that wasn’t the reaction Robert expected. Robert wanted to look down, at where Simon was touching him, but he couldn’t look away from Simon’s face. He wondered if he was bruised. It felt like he might be. He crossed an arm over his chest, nervously rubbing his shoulder under Simon’s scrutiny.

“Robert? You alright?” Simon repeated, and now he was frowning, raising himself up onto his elbows.

Robert felt hopelessly off-balance, and not from Simon shifting beneath him. He’d been so worried about how Simon would react that it hadn’t occurred to him that Simon might react by being worried about Robert.

He nodded, swallowing, and finally found his voice. “Yeah, I’m alright. And you? Is this—did you like it?”

“Did you like it?” Simon asked, and he looked so absurdly concerned that it took Robert a moment to respond to the question.

Robert looked down and gestured at the mess he’d made between them, the substantial evidence of his pleasure. “I did,” he said, and couldn’t help giggling.

At the sound of Robert’s laughter, some of the tension seeped away, and Simon smiled and sank back against the pillows.

“Did you like it?” Robert asked again softly.

“I wondered what this would be like, with you,” Simon admitted. “Turns out I really liked it.” He was grinning now, and he covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he laughed. “I’ve never come that hard in my fucking life,” he said eventually, and that last bit of information made Robert smile back at him, ducking his head.

Simon’s hand reached out for Robert’s, where he was still clutching at his shoulder, and he tangled their fingers together and unfolded his self-conscious, defensive posture.

“Robert, come here,” he murmured, tugging him down.

Robert went, curling into his neck, lips pressing against his skin until Simon sighed and fisted a hand in his hair, tilting his face into a proper kiss.

They would have to move eventually; as nice as this was, Robert’s knees and hips were already starting to protest. But Simon wasn’t making any effort to shift him or pull out, and Robert was content to stay like this a little longer.

And the makeup, Robert decided, could stay as well.