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feasts to satisfy

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Tater’s hips are starting to hurt a bit by Saturday evening. He has absolutely no idea how Bitty can still be as energetic as he is when they’ve fucked upwards of seven times already, and that isn’t even including yesterday’s shenanigans. Somehow, Bitty is still just as feisty as when he opened the door for Tater the day before, ready to go at any particular moment.

For now, Bitty is in the kitchen, putting together a recipe he found that morning. Tater’s mouth waters a bit at the idea of vatrushkas, the comfort of a familiar food enough to make him think he can handle anymore Bitty throws at him that night. He’s flopped down on the couch, in all of his naked glory, and Bitty’s wearing nothing but an apron in the kitchen. It’s enough of a sight to make Tater’s dick interested again, but he doesn’t know if he can handle another go just yet.

The TV is on and playing some ABC show Tater isn’t paying attention to. He’s got his phone in hand and he’s looking at YouTube videos mostly, texting his own group chats now and then. He shoots off a couple messages to Jack, asking how he handles things when his body is so sore.


Zimmboni: When I’m tired but still wanna do it I just let Bits have the lead.


The advice seems sound, at least to Tater, but the only time that day he’s encountered Bitty wanting to take the lead is that morning. Granted, it was a very good experience, but Tater hasn’t fully encountered that again yet. The last few times have been Tater finding himself with his arms full, Bitty opening up beautifully for him on the bed, or in the bathroom, or on the counter. He’s curious about what Bitty can do.

Speak of the devil.

“You alright, hun?” Bitty asks when he comes into the living room. His apron is gone and it looks like he’d gone and gotten a pair of shorts from the bedroom. These are more modest than the tiny things he wore yesterday and certainly more accessible at the same time.

“Mmm, fine,” Tater says. He opens his arms, because Bitty is absolutely a cuddler, and winds up with them full of Little B. Bitty grabs the remote and changes the channel to some cooking show. He gets nice and snug against Tater’s chest and Tater wraps an arm around Bitty to use his phone one handed.

Bitty keeps up a steady commentary while watching his show, absolutely shit talks the host and his baking skills. Tater thinks Bitty is unforgiving in the way he picks apart every little thing, right down to the man’s tool choices. It’s kinda hot to listen to, since Tater’s so used to Bitty being the sweet little thing he is when other people are around.

Bitty shifts against him and Tater feels how hard Bitty is now. Really and truly, it’s astonishing that one person can have such a high libido. Tater wishes his hips didn’t hurt so much or he’d turn them around and fuck Bitty again.

Instead, he pats Bitty’s lower back in a silent request.

“Tater?” Bitty frowns, but moves as he’s asked. Tater turns so that he’s on his stomach, arms pillowing his head, plump hockey ass on full display for Bitty.

“Oh, sugar, you don’t have to,” Bitty murmurs, even as he slots himself down against Tater, the tent in his shorts fitting in perfectly between Tater’s cheeks.

“I do all the work. Your turn,” Tater responds, grinning. Bitty raises an eyebrow at him.

“I wasn’t the one puttin’ my dick everywhere, Tater,” he says. He sits back on Tater’s thighs, runs his hands up Tater’s legs. The weight of Tater’s fat ass is enough to completely fill Bitty’s hands. He gives Tater a swat, watches the way the flesh jiggles beneath him.

Tater’s breath hitches and he bites his lip. Bitty notices (of course he does) and grins a little himself. He thinks he’s just been presented with a golden opportunity, and how many gay men can say they spanked an NHL defenseman who was begging for it? Bitty thinks the answer to that is a very slim number.

“I see now I can handle all those infractions from yesterday.” Bitty’s grin turns into a devilish little smirk. Tater glances back at him and feels like he’s looking into the face of a beast.

A hard slap comes down on Tater’s left cheek, making Tater jerk beneath Bitty from the force of it. It stings but feels so good Tater has to muffle a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Bitty doesn’t stop there, though. He’s meticulous almost, giving each of Tater’s cheeks the same treatment, bringing down a heavy hand that leaves Tater’s ass cherry red.

Tater’s dick is absolutely back in the game by the time Bitty delivers one final blow to him. He’s leaking against the couch, the rough fabric stimulating the head of his cock in ways Tater didn’t know could feel good. He groans low in his throat when Bitty’s hands gently massage his ass now, kneading and soothing the pain.

“If you cum against my couch, Alexei Mashkov, you will never get another pie from me,” Bitty threatens. Tater wonders if Bitty would stay true to his word, but he knows he has no reason to doubt his smaller companion. Eric Bittle could be cruel and vindictive, if anyone dared to truly oppose him.

“Very mean of you, Little B,” Tater huffs.

“Everyone gets the same treatment, darlin’.” Bitty shrugs. “Even Jack.”

Tater doesn’t entirely believe that, but he can’t find himself complaining much longer when he feels Bitty shift down his thighs and teeth gently grazing his ass. He wants to tell Bitty not to bite him, that he thinks that technically classifies as a lower body injury, but Tater is also in it for the thrill and he wants Bitty to mark him like that.

Bitty has no plans to do so, though, and instead Tater is treated to the feeling of his cheeks being spread apart and feather light kisses being pressed around his hole. Now Tater’s vibrating with excitement, eager to be rimmed for the first time in a very long time. His cock is twitching from each little touch of lips against him, and drools just a bit more when Bitty finally kisses his entrance.

The thing is, though, that Bitty doesn’t just kiss Tater’s asshole. No, Bitty starts in with a full on make out, taking Tater by surprise with how sudden it is. He kisses like he’s just met a lover long lost and absolutely eats like he’s been given a treat. Bitty’s tongue licks into Tater, insistent and a bit impatient now. All Tater can do is feel while Bitty takes what he wants.

Bitty’s got more power in his body than Tater usually gives him credit for, so really Tater shouldn’t be surprised when Bitty’s strong arms wrap around his waist and hoist him closer, letting Bitty really get into him. Tater breathes heavily, sensitive now as Bitty gives him kitten licks, followed immediately by Bitty’s tongue spearing into him and fucking him in quick motions. Tater’s dick throbs from the pleasure of it.

“You keep treating me like this—will definitely come,” Tater manages to say, his eyes half closed and his body shaking a bit. Bitty doesn’t even look up from his prize. He seems to already have a solution for Tater.

A hand catches Tater unawares when it wraps tightly around the base of his dick. The pressure of its squeeze is painful and Tater feels like he could almost cum just from the roughness of it.

Bitty keeps at his task, alternating between licking and sucking now, the noises completely obscene. They linger in the air along with Tater’s heavy panting, the occasional please slipping past Tater’s lips.

Tater devolves into a mixture of Russian and English when Bitty’s other hand comes back to gently insert a thumb into him. Bitty knows what he’s doing; his thumb gets just deep enough to be a gentle pressure rubbing circles against Tater’s prostate, his other hand loosening its grip enough to give Tater a few quick jerks.

Tater feels an orgasm building rapidly in the pit of his stomach. His hips move of their own accord, pushing back to get more of Bitty’s tongue but also thrusting forward into the hole of Bitty’s hand. It’s a special kind of torture, he thinks, because just as Tater is cresting on the edge of cumming Bitty’s hand locks tight around his dick again and Bitty’s devilish tongue licks him open.

Bitty decides he’s finished another five or so minutes later. When Tater can hardly speak a language that’s comprehensible, Bitty pulls away. His face is covered in spit and Tater’s hole winks up at him.

“Goodness, I didn’t mean to get so carried away!” Bitty licks his lips. Two of his fingers replace his thumb in Tater’s ass. “Jack only lets me do it during the weekend anyhow, and I’m a little pent up I think.”

Tater makes a noise between a moan and a growl, one of his hands coming down to grab Bitty’s wrist. Bitty pulls his fingers out of Tater and gives his ass another hard swat. The grip on his wrist immediately loosens.

“Behave. Lord knows you won’t otherwise.”

Bitty’s hand reaches between the couch cushions, rooting around. He pulls out what he’s looking for and Tater manages to get a look at it. Lube.

“You and Zimmboni fuck here all the time?” He asks, cheeky.

“Me and Jack fuck wherever convenient, hun,” Bitty retorts, squirting some of the lube onto his dick. He coats himself with a measured sort of precision; two quick strokes over himself (when had Bitty’s shorts disappeared? Tater didn’t realize he’d missed so much) and then he’s lining up.

Tater bites his lip, trying not to make it obvious that he wants Bitty to show him no mercy. Bitty seems to be aware already, though, because he thrusts forward so fast and roughly that Tater can’t contain the shout that slips past his lips. Bitty closes his eyes and moans, the softest noise Tater has ever heard from him.

“Oh, oh, you’re still so tight after that?” Bitty gasps. He rocks forward and Tater’s breath hitches. It’s not an unfamiliar stretch and burn but Bitty’s fun earlier had loosened him up more than Tater thought. It’s been at least a few years since he bottomed last and this was a really good change of pace for him.

“Tighter than Zimmboni?” Tater inquires,, wanting to provoke Bitty.

“Don’t get cheeky with me, Mister Mashkov, or I’ll find Jack’s cock ring,” Bitty warns. He pulls out a bit and then thrusts back in. “You are very tight but we’ll fix that.”

Tater makes a strangled noise when Bitty starts thrusting in earnest. He barely gets a second to breathe properly with the way Bitty fucks him; every thrust is deep and borders just this side of painful. Tater belatedly recognizes that the hand on his dick is gone, but he’s too focused on the feeling of Bitty driving into him to care.

Bitty moans like Tater’s the one doing the fucking, like he isn’t knocking the air out of Tater’s lungs with every fevered thrust of the hips. Tater pushes his face into the arm of the couch, trying to find anything to ground him, wishing he could wrap his legs around Bitty and stay full. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he leaves Monday, but he thinks maybe he won’t make it to practice.

He’s back to begging in Russian and finds himself surprised when Bitty responds.

“I know, sweetheart, just a little more,” he says after Tater begs to cum, please.

Bitty focuses squarely on Tater’s ass now, still pounding away like his life depends on it, the sound of skin against skin prominent in the living room. Tater knows he won’t last long, but he tries to stave off his orgasm because Bitty told him not to, and Bitty’s treating him right, and he wants to be good.

Bitty’s hips stutter in their steady rhythm, get to a point where it’s all grinding. Tater can tell Bitty is close now and he wants Bitty to fill him up.

Bitty keens high in his throat and Tater feels his dick throb as cum fills him. Tater’s own cock is still woefully neglected, dangerously close to spilling because of the fucking he’d just received. Bitty stays completely still behind him, breath coming in harsh pants, but Tater could only handle it for so long before he began to squirm.

“Oh, hun, I’ve got you,” Bitty says, smiling. He pulls out and makes Tater turn onto his back. “We’ll be quick.”

With practiced precision, Bitty lifts Tater’s legs and thrusts right back in. Tater doesn’t even last a single thrust beyond that before he’s losing it, cum streaking up his chest in thick ropes. Bitty looks very pleased to see Tater cum on his terms.

“See? Barely even took a second,” he giggles. He gives a few more thrusts through Tater’s aftershocks, and is only stopped when Tater throws a hand up to push at Bitty’s torso. Bitty mercifully pulls out again and that’s when his kitchen timer goes off.

“Oh! Desserts done.”