He whispered it on a gasp, fingers fumbling with the band of Oliver’s sweats as he tugged them over the swell of his ass.
Barry thought about it, once or twice. What it would be like to have Oliver spread out over his bed. But they were just fleeting thoughts, barely even entertained, hardly considered. And yet there Oliver was. There for him to take and indulge in, something he once could barely even imagine happening, suddenly a reality.
He wrestled Oliver’s ankles from his sweats, tossing them to the nearby chair and when he turned back to the bed he couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of Oliver grabbing one of the pillows and jamming it almost carelessly beneath his raised hips.
It was almost too much for him to take in, so he opted to distract himself instead. “Should we discuss like, safewords or something?”
He ran a hand through his hair as he sat in the space between Oliver’s knees. He didn’t quite know why he couldn’t bring himself to look where he wanted to look the most. So his eyes wandered. He drank in the sight of those wide, muscular shoulders, covered in gnarled scars and faded ink.
Somehow Barry resisted the desire that creeped up in him, telling him to scrape his teeth along the impossible dip of Oliver’s spine, to kiss the skin pulled taught by the stretch of his arms above his head. Instead he let his fingers brush up the back of Oliver’s thigh, trail with mounting hesitance, catching on the light hairs as they got thicker and darker.
“It’s not necessary,” Oliver said, drawing Barry out of his reverence, and Barry nearly forgot that he had asked a question. “The whole point is to do whatever you want. Just… no penetration.”
Even if he knew Oliver couldn’t see it, Barry nodded, throat too dry to come up with words. He couldn’t quell the almost overwhelming feeling that threatened to take over as Oliver lifted onto his elbows, bowing his back even more.
He was unsure what to do first, where to touch, where not to touch, so he placed his hand as gently as he could at the small of Oliver’s back. He found the skin there damp with sweat, little beads smearing as he brushed his thumb in soothing circles, just within the cleft of his ass.
Oliver hitched his hips at the teasing contact, the muscles of his thighs tightening for only a moment before he relaxed and dropped back down to the pillow. And just the sight that, the tension drawn so tight at just a suggestion left Barry knowing almost immediately what he wanted to do.
He sidled up closer, nudging Oliver’s legs further apart as he spread his fingers, light as he could, over the muscles of his ass. Perhaps Oliver expected it, because he didn’t tense a second time. Barry eyed the back of his head as he gave the cheeks a firm squeeze together, only to pull them slowly apart. The hair there was too dark to reveal what Barry wanted to see, so he used his thumbs to bear Oliver’s hole.
He could have very well have eased Oliver into it. Could have brushed his finger through his cleft, place biting kisses to his cheeks and thighs. But he chose to skip the preamble and leaned forward. He only glanced up at Oliver for a moment before he pressed a tentative lick to his hole. It certainly earned a reaction as Oliver bucked his hips back against Barry’s face. But he didn’t protest, didn’t say no or stop, so Barry just did what Oliver wanted him to do. Which happened to be whatever Barry wanted to do.
He buried his face between his cheeks, pressing hard, heavy laps, massaging into the tight furl before alternating with tickling light circles with the tip of his tongue.
He could have gotten lost in the sensation, wondering how much Oliver enjoyed the attention, how good it made him feel. He moved a hand back up, brushed it slowly up Oliver’s back, fingers pressing into the notches of his spine until suddenly his hand was yanked away.
He sat up, wrist held tight in Oliver’s grip where he had twisted half around to level Barry with a glare.
“What are you doing?” Oliver gritted out, nostrils flared.
“I’m doing what I want to do,” he said, prying his arm away. Oliver turned away from him, dropping back to his stomach.
“That’s not…” Barry watched as Oliver scrubbed a frustrated hand over his buzzed head. “You don’t seem to get what we are doing here.”
But he did. He remembered it, the agreement they made just after Oliver got out of the shower, just before he hopped in for his own. Oliver telling him wanted to be used, that he didn’t want to enjoy it, didn’t want to get hard, didn’t even want to come.
Barry glanced down between Oliver’s legs and he could see it, the evidence of where he went wrong. Oliver’s erection laid sandwiched between his stomach and the pillow, his balls drawn up tight.
“Fine,” he muttered, wiping his mouth of the saliva that had collected on his lips and chin. He realized that if there wasn’t going to be any penetration, he was going to have to get a little creative. At first he considered just fucking Oliver’s thighs, going so far as to use his knees to knock Oliver’s legs together, but at the last minute, he found himself lining his cock up to the cleft of his ass.
He fit almost perfectly, snug between Oliver’s cheeks as he used his thumb to keep himself aligned. It took him a few thrust before he got fully hard, but once he got there, he couldn’t help but revel in the slow steady thrusts as he slipped so easily along his cleft. The angle suddenly got better once Oliver dropped from his elbows to his chest, and acknowledging the lack of protest, Barry assumed that the building thrusts were a little closer to what Oliver wanted.
He felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge and hated himself for getting so wrapped up in it all, for being the reason it was all going to be over so quickly. Perhaps he could have slowed down, spent more time enjoying it, but he hooked a tight grip around one of Oliver’s shoulders and treated him to harder thrusts that nearly had him slipping from where he wedged himself in Oliver’s cleft.
The movement and friction was almost enough. When he focused on the way Oliver’s ears and shoulders got redder and redder, the way his chest expanded with each heavy breath he sucked in, the way one of his hands shot out to claw up a handful of sheet, he could almost pretend he was pushing into him. It was the thought of that tight, wet heat taking every inch of him that had him barreling into his release. Barry pulled away almost frantically, pushing hard at one of Oliver’s cheeks in time to aim his released just over his exposed hole. He shuddered out a gasp, wringing out as much as he could from his cock as that red pucker flexed under the attention.
Barry leaned back then, resting on the back of Oliver’s thighs as he slowly caught his breath. In a moment of realization, the enormity of what he just partook in slammed down on him and all he could do was watch with numbness as Oliver steadied his own breathing and made to get out from beneath him and up from the bed.
“Oliver,” he rasped out, eyeing where his cock hung, heavy and hard and flushed between his legs. Oliver ignored him and just as he made to stand, Barry grabbed his hip and tugged him back to the bed.
“Just leave it.” Oliver gritted it out between clenched teeth, but his face was so flushed and Barry didn’t think he could let go of Oliver even if he wanted to.
“Just let me clean you up,” he said and could have sighed with relief when Oliver relented and leaned back down to the bed.
There was something a little bit different about seeing Oliver on all fours in comparison to seeing him stretched out on his stomach. It stirred interest in Barry, made him wonder if there would be a second time, or if Oliver would even look at him again after what they just did.
He took a moment to push Oliver’s cheeks apart once more, his mind blanking at the sight of his semen clinging to the dark hair. Without thinking, he lifted a finger and gathered up all that he could and massaged it gently around Oliver’s hole. “Do you want a finger?” He asked, surprised at himself for even speaking up.
Barry lifted his other hand to brush gently over one of his cheeks. But Oliver didn’t answer, in fact he remained entirely still and Barry wished painfully to know what kind of expression he made as he deliberated over an answer.
“Yes or no, Oliver.” He massaged his hand into the muscle, kneading firmly before treating it with another gentle brush. When Oliver finally spoke up, it was quiet, barely audible. “I didn’t hear you,” he said.
He tapped the pad of his finger against Oliver’s hole, the little wet sound the only noise to fill the room until Oliver barked out a breathless, desperate yes.
Without missing a beat, Barry slid his finger inside and Oliver all but dropped to the bed, pressing his face into the sheets. He slipped in so easily, he contemplated suggesting he added a second, but he opted instead to draw it out and gather up the remaining drops of his release and push it gingerly into his hole.
“How close are you?” He asked, drifting the fingers of his free hand down over his flank and over to Oliver’s ignored and untouched cock. Oliver didn’t answer, and without giving him any warning Barry pressed his thumb, feather light and teasingly gentle, to the stretched length of his frenulum. It earned a sharp jolt from Oliver as he gasped out a wordless groan and clawed blindly for the headboard. But Barry pulled away, leaving the only point of contact between them the singular finger that pumped slowly into his ass.
“If you really want to come, you should do it yourself. That’s what you wanted right?” He drew out his finger, only to thrust it back in with enough force to rock Oliver’s body forward the slightest bit. “To jerk off later? Thinking about how I used you?”
He wondered how long Oliver would hold out as he took up a more punishing pace, looking up the length of Oliver’s tense back.
Apparently it took about a minute because Oliver seemed to break like a flooded dam after that. He shot one of his hands down between his legs to take his own cock in hand. Barry shouldn’t have been surprised that, like in many other aspects of his life, Oliver was efficient about bringing on his own climax. Perhaps Barry should have felt pity at the sight, watching Oliver teeter towards his end with such desperate self-loathing. How a man could work so hard to bring about his own pleasure, whilst hating himself for it, Barry didn’t know. But instead of pity, only fascination and some perverse sense of understanding filtered through him as he watched Oliver’s fingers tighten around his cock and work it with frantic strokes. All he could do was work his finger, massaging into him as Oliver brought on his own shuddering release, wrenched out with a stifled groan.
The air between them became quickly subdued with each second that passed. Oliver’s hand slowed, his come clinging in heavy drops to his fingers as he slowly came down. His entire body seemed to loosen, the muscles of his back no longer tense as he finally dropped his hand back to the bed. Barry drew his finger out, slowly and gently.
“Oliver,” he said. It was more like a dry croak.
Oliver didn’t reply, but he didn’t get up to leave either. Oliver tentatively laid out on the bed and before he could tell him he should leave, Barry stretched out the length of the bed behind him and watched him for some kind of sign about what came next.
“I’m fine now,” Oliver said eventually, words directed to the wall, or perhaps the nightstand, or the window. Anywhere that wasn’t Barry. “You can go.”
Barry thought it would be a cold day in hell before that happened. But he also didn’t know what to do, what to say, what it was that Oliver needed. All he knew was that Oliver needed something. So he looped an arm over Oliver’s stomach, rubbed soothing circles into his chest until Oliver eventually fell asleep, and hoped that was enough.