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'Anson Gor,' Alton purrs, looking at Anson with half-lidded eyes and Anson just stares at him because what the fuck is that all about anyway. Alton calls him AK, not Anson. And just where the fuck did the whole Anson Gor thing come from anyway? Alton's older than him to begin with. Someone has a kink?
'Tak-zai, you're drunk,' Anson says, placing a hand on Alton's shoulder, with every intention to push him away. Instead, Alton takes it as his cue to move closer, slipping a hand underneath Anson's t-shirt. 'We shouldn't be—'
'Speak for yourself, Anson Gor,' Alton says, frowning. 'Anyway. You protest too much.'
'What do you think I should do instead?' Anson retorts. So yeah, fine, he's had a couple of drinks too. He's feeling slightly buzzed, far too hot where Alton's hands shouldn't be but he's still clear-headed enough to realise that all this would be an extremely bad idea by the time morning comes. And of all places to be, here Anson is, trapped underneath Alton on a king-sized bed while Alton's hands wander all over his body.
Alton grins. 'This,' he says, smiling beatifically, and he leans in and kisses Anson on the lips.
Anson Kong is not a quick shot. It's the alcohol in his veins, he supposes, because Alton has barely done anything and he feels like he's this close to an orgasm already.
'You like this, don't you?' Alton asks, voice reverent, looking down at Anson. He's got that look in his eyes, like he cannot believe that he got this lucky and he's right here in this bed fucking Anson Kong and oh, fuck. 'Anson Gor, you like this, right?'
Fuck, so when Alton calls him Anson Gor, it goes straight to his dick. And so what? He's entitled to liking that, right? Anson smiles, razor sharp, clenching down on Alton. 'You're barely doing anything,' he says. 'What's there to like?'
'Knew you'd say that,' Alton says, voice lilting. His grip on Anson's thighs is hard enough to bruise and he pulls out completely before slamming into him again, causing Anson to yell, yanking hard at the bedsheets. 'How about now?'
Anson ends up coming all over himself as Alton fucks him. Alton continues thrusting into him, unrelenting, and Anson's pretty sure that he's unable to take any more but Alton ignores his protests.
By now, Anson's lost any form of coherency. He clutches at Alton's shoulders, sinking his fingernails into his skin. No more, he thinks, he's already had an orgasm, it shouldn't be possible for him to have another one this quickly. It's far too much, Alton's hand wrapped around his cock, Alton's cock filling him up, splitting him open, the bedsheets beneath his ass, Alton's fingers on his skin—
Anson's cock leaks all over himself in spurts. There are tears at the corner of his eyes, he's struggling to breathe but Alton's still going.
Oh, fuck.
In the morning, Anson wakes up with a start to a pounding headache and Alton's head buried in his chest. They're both in varying states of undress and Anson groans as he tries to move because fuck, he's pretty sure that he's got dried come on his stomach, among other things, and it feels nothing short of disgusting. He gets up, causing Alton to roll off the bed and he groans, clutching at his head.
Wait a minute. Just what the fuck happened the night before again?