Work Text:
November 2022,
Pre World Cup.
“Jude.” Trent mumbles. “Not even eight am yet.”
It’s the first thing Trent says when he stirs awake. His eyes aren't even open yet. He can’t see what Jude is doing, but he can feel it. Jude’s lips kissing his neck. Softly brushing over the marks he made last night. Jude’s hips rocking his morning wood into the bare skin of Trent’s lower back. Avoiding the muscle of his ass where Trent is still sore and tender.
“Need you.” Jude says into Trent’s neck, his voice rough with sleep.
It’s insane just how fast those words set Trent ablaze.
But that was simply Jude’s effect on him—always has been.
Trent shuffles against the white sheets. Letting the idea of getting Jude off roll around in his mind. It still felt too early to start anything. The cream curtains were only slightly backlit by the yellow sunrise. Casting a soft glow into the room that made it only barely visible. The world seemed to be holding its breath. Savouring these last moments of tranquillity before the bustle of the day began. If Trent turned to face him, Jude’s eyes would probably still be shut.
Needless to say, they were both still tired.
But Trent didn’t get to enjoy this version of Jude as often—sleep warm and pliable. Like putty under Trent's hands. This wasn’t the immovable wall of muscle Trent usually got. The one that could manhandle Trent like he hit the gym for no other reason. This wasn’t the Jude that would make Trent delirious with pleasure then make fun of him after. Making sex a competition and cumming first the evidence that Trent lost.
Jude like this was rare .
Trent should treat it as such.
When Trent reaches his hand back to wrap around Jude’s length. When Jude groans softly at the action. There’s nothing but contentment that slips into Trent. This would be the perfect start to his day.
“I got you.” Trent says, soft and quiet, when Jude lets out a wounded sound.
Trent tightens his grip almost painfully, strokes up and down furiously. Jude liked it like this—hard and fast. Painful and biting. He never liked things when they came sweetly and easily. Maybe that’s how he started hooking up with Trent—who had a bite as sharp as his bark. Jude wanted to be bitten and who was Trent to deny him that.
“Fuck.” Jude bites out.
“Been a while, huh?” Trent remarks, referring to him giving Jude a handjob.
They used to do it all the time. Back when they first started messing around. A quick mutual handy in a bathroom stall. Longer and sweeter in a locked bedroom at camp. It was easy and got the job done. Exactly what two pent up people needed.
These days Trent mostly used his mouth. Jude couldn’t get enough of it. They fucked when they found the time and location. Jude’s weird sense of sentimentality meant they never did quickies. It’s understandable, mutual—fucking Jude was something that Trent thought should last hours.
“Yeah, been a while.” Jude replies, breathing hard into the skin of Trent's neck.
The groans slipping out of Jude like water carried by a current—without resistance. His hips thrust up into Trent’s hands. One of his hands grip Trent’s waist for support. Leaving half moon dents in Trent’s skin. It’s a wonder that Trent doesn’t have permanent marks of Jude’s teeth and nails on his skin.
Jude could easily cum like this.
But, the angle is weak and Trent, more than anything, wants to see Jude’s face.
So, Trent opens eyes. First thing he sees is Jude’s perfectly untouched bed. Jude would mess up the sheets before they left the rooms. Just to pretend he slept in it when room service came to their room.
For a second, it breaks the illusion clouding Trent’s mind. He had been detached from the reality around him—Jude often made him feel like that. But the sight of the bed jolts him back. It was the little things like this that fucked Trent up. That made him question what they were doing. If it was worth it.
Trent turns himself around anyway. Letting go of Jude’s length in the process. Jude protests with a sound like something a puppy would make. Makes Trent’s heart twinge with fondness. Makes him forget everything else.
“Stop whining.” Trent huffs a laugh, getting his hand back around Jude.
And Trent had been right—Jude’s eyes were firmly shut. Long lashes fluttering against his cheek with every twist of Trent’s hand. His mouth is parted. His moans are long and drawn out when they leave his lips. His hips are stuttering now. No rhythm to them. It’s obvious what’s going to happen soon.
“So soon?” Trent teases. “I’ve only just started.” He says, punctuating his words with a delicious stroke of his hands around Jude’s head.
Any other time, Jude might say fuck you, you cum faster than me, morning wood’s were different.
Instead he says, “Yeah. You make me feel so good. Only you.” It’s soft and hushed and sincere. Something unsaid left between the lines. Trent feels like he’s been shot. It was too early for Jude to unravel his life like this. Trent reserved the what ifs for late nights after a bottle of red wine.
“ Trent .” Jude pants out. He sounds worn thin. Like he would break from nothing but the feeling of Trent’s hands bringing him to climax. It makes Trent feel something beyond words. Powerful—being Jude’s undoing—and scared—witnessing Jude as vulnerable as this.
“I know, baby.” Trent replies, matter-of-fact.
Jude was always needy right before he came. Always wanted Trent pressed close to him. Always wanted to seal it with a kiss. This time isn’t any different. Jude finds Trent’s lips with a hand cupped to Trent’s neck and sheer memory. Kisses like the oxygen he needs can only be found in Trent’s mouth.
When Jude climaxes, it’s with Trent swallowing every single moan of his. Jude trembles from his abs to his thighs as his cum shoots out of him. It lands on his chest. Jude always came like it was the first orgasm of his entire life. That’s what made it so good. That’s what made Trent keep coming back, just to see it in action.
That’s what Trent tells himself.