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Lars was due home from church any minute now, and Driver still hadn't figured out what to make for lunch yet. He'd had the thought when he woke up in Lars' bed, sunlight streaming through the front window, and realized that his sweet, soft Lars had let him sleep through church once again. Lars loved when Driver came to church with him, loved holding his hand through the sermon and holding a hymnal open for both of them to look at even though Driver never sang. But Lars especially loved when Driver was comfortable, and well-rested, and when he felt safe enough to curl up next to him in a loaned pair of too-big pajama pants and sleep. So the least he could do to repay Lars' kindness towards him was make him lunch.
Driver rummaged through the fridge, then the pantry, and then the fridge again. Most of the quick, easy meals he cooked felt too heavy and warm for the balmy August heat. Even as an L.A. native, the weather had him stripped down to a white tank top and Lars' lightest cotton sleep pants. His jacket hung on the hooks by the door, next to Lars' blue and tan parka, not having been worn for a solid few weeks due to the heat wave. Karin had even been kind enough to bring over a box fan she and Gus had found in the attic, alongside a plate of cookies and an invitation to dinner. Driver liked having dinner with the Lindstrom family.
Eggs, milk, ground beef, lemonade, lunch meat… If they had bread, sandwiches might be a good idea. Something lighter, cooler. Lars probably wore a few too many layers for the weather, as he usually did, so it'd be easier on him than a hot meal would. Driver pulled the produce drawer open, spotting some lettuce and tomato. Oh, that could definitely work. Maybe he could even find a bag of chips in the pantry? He didn't remember if he'd seen them when he swung the pantry door open.
"Hello. I'm home!"
Lost in thought, Driver hadn't noticed that the front door had been unlocked and open. Lars had walked in, a darling closed-mouth smile on his lips, and waved stiffly at his roommate. Well, so much for his grand plan.
"Hello, Lars. How was church?"
"It was nice. Mrs. Gruner told me to tell you she says 'Hello,' and that she hopes you're eating well and staying cool."
"That's nice of her."
Lars stood in the doorway, blinking hard, and bent down to wrestle himself out of his boots. Driver really didn't understand how he wore so many layers, even with the sun beating down and warming up their shared living space. He could see the slightest peek of the flowery pink undershirt Lars adored, the one from his mother that he always insisted on handwashing in the sink. It might be a little too tight for him, but Driver would never complain about that.
"Are you hungry? The fridge is open. I can make us something."
"No, that's okay. I was gonna try to make something for lunch for you before you came home from church. Lost track of time, I guess."
Driver closed the fridge and walked over to Lars, basking in the gleam in the taller man's eyes that only got brighter the closer he got to him. Gun to his head, Driver couldn't tell you exactly what the relationship between him and Lars could be called. He did know they felt safe with each other, and that was really all that mattered to Driver. Lars had been nothing but soft, kind, gentle, shared anything and everything with him without a second thought. That didn't need a label. It spoke volumes, and it made sense to them.
"That's okay. I'm not very hungry anyways. I would feel bad if you had cooked something and I couldn't eat it."
Lars blinked down at Driver, his hands opening and closing at his sides while Driver stared up at him. Lars never held eye contact long, which was fine with Driver. He liked watching Lars' eyes move around the room, trying to find a satisfactory place to land. Driver held up one hand, palm facing Lars' chest, and waited patiently as Lars focused on his fingers. He always asked before touching Lars, no matter how many times Lars told him that his touch didn't burn anymore.
"Oh, um. Yes, please."
Lars' voice wobbled on the 'please', eyelids fluttering in anticipation. He loved Driver's touch. loved that Driver was fine with them never touching if that's what Lars wanted. Driver never pushed too hard, never crossed the lines. He was simply patient, solid, willing to wait for hours, days, years if needed. Driver let his hand rest over Lars' heart, feeling his heart thumping faster even through his many layered shirts. He can't help the smile that blooms across his face, or the way his fingertips trace the striped pattern of Lars' dress shirt.
"Can I touch you too?"
Driver's half-lidded eyes snapped open, looking up at Lars' face through his thick eyelashes. Before he could stop himself, he was nodding rapidly and leaning forward, almost desperate to feel Lars' big hands on him. Lars smelled like sunshine and aftershave, a tinge of sweat at the edges. He could see Lars' hands shake slightly at his sides before they both lifted up and settled on the soft curve between Driver's shoulders and neck. Lars' fingers splayed out against the exposed flesh, warm and exploratory, and soon he was running his hands down Driver's arms towards his hands.
"You're so beautiful. I really like being able to touch you."
Oh. Oh. Was Lars flirting? Intentionally? It sure felt like it. He had his fingers wrapped around Driver's wrists, kneading softly into his flesh. His nose had landed in Driver's hair, inhaling the scent of their shared shampoo deeper and deeper with each breath. Lars' hands traveled back upwards, circling over his shoulders, and began wandering down his back towards his hips. It was almost too much, too quick, but Driver loved the thrill of it. He could feel himself melting into the touch, brain going fuzzy, heart beating erratically in his chest and between his legs. Lars' hands were steady on his hips, one of his thumbs finding its way under the hem of his tank top to rub circles into his hipbone.
"Lars…"
"I want to touch you more. Can I, please? You feel so good."
Fuck. How is Driver supposed to say no to that? He nods again, mouth falling open in a silent prayer that Lars' lips will find his. They don't kiss often, at least not as often as other couples do, but Driver loved feeling Lars' mustache press into his top lip, had to bite back a whine every time Lars' tongue ghosted over his teeth. Lars' hands had fully snuck under his shirt now, pressing into the lithe sinew under Driver's skin in gentle circles. Did he know how intoxicating he was to Driver? Could he sense how wet his touch alone made him? The thought had Driver whining before he could stop himself, the hand on Lars' chest barely steadying his wobbling.
"I'm going to take you over to the bed, okay? You're shaking. I don't want you to fall."
Under the innocence, the care, Driver could swear he heard a tinge of satisfaction in Lars' voice. A barely-there purr of contentment, smug gratification and hunger. His hands lowered down to rest on the swell of Driver's ass, lifting him with complete ease as he meandered over to the double bed and set him down. Driver's legs flew together the second he was seated, squeezing lightly to alleviate the throbbing heat in his cock. Lars felt impossibly tall standing in front of him, eyes wandering over every inch of Driver while his smile pressed the apples of his cheeks up. Even now, Driver's chest aches with how adorable his Lars is.
"Can I see more of you, please? I want to see your skin. Is it okay if I take your shirt off?"
"Yes, fuck— Wanna see you too."
This earns him another one of Lars' harsh blinks, a sweet pink flush creeping over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Driver had never been shy about how attracted he was to Lars, never saw a point to it. Even if he'd never verbalized it, Lars would've figured it out with how openly Driver ogled him when he chopped wood, how his eyes lingered on the soft dusting of hair on Lars' rounded stomach when he was fresh out of the shower. Oh, and Lars' hands. God, he loved Lars' hands. The way they flexed as he undid the buttons of his shirt, slow and methodical. Driver kept his gaze locked on them as Lars folded the shirt, laid it nicely at the foot of the bed before pulling at his floral undershirt and doing the same.
"I'm going to take your shirt off now, okay? Yeah."
Driver smiled softly, raising his arms pliantly as Lars bent down and pushed his fingers underneath Driver's tank top. He ran his hands upwards at a snail's pace, savoring every inch of Driver's skin under his palms. The thin white fabric folded over itself the higher he went, exposing Driver's torso rising and falling with anticipation. Lars' hands pressed deeper into Driver's flesh as he reached his chest, grinding the heel of his palm into Driver's nipples to bring out the melodic sounds he usually kept under locked lips.
"L-Lars— f-fuck, that's—"
"You're really sensitive here. I like it. When I touch you here, you make such pretty sounds."
Driver groaned, his hips twitching mindlessly as Lars lifted his tank top over his head and folded it nicely atop his own shirts. Lars knelt down carefully, settling onto his knees in front of Driver with a grin that bordered on giddy. His hands returned to Driver, soft and steady, holding Driver's cheeks as he leaned upwards and pressed their lips together with a soft moan. Kissing was still a little new to him, something he didn't seek out often, but Driver loved when Lars gave that part of himself to Driver. Something only they shared.
"I like seeing you in my clothes. Even if they don't fit you the way they fit me."
Lars pulled back from the kiss, barely enough to speak, and Driver shivered at the brush of his mustache against his spit-slicked lips. He felt completely surrounded by Lars, caged in by softness and strength. His hands were wandering again, fingers running over Driver's nipples again with purpose. Lars' mouth moved down, lapping at the stubble peppering Driver's jawline, the crook of his neck, down his sternum. It was so earnest, so raw, like Lars wanted to eat him whole. Driver would let him.
Lars left one hand on Driver's chest, the other dipping down to steady Driver's hip as he lapped at one of his nipples. A growl rumbled out of Lars' throat onto Driver, sending sparks through his chest and down to his swollen, ignored cock. He couldn't grind his thighs together anymore, not with Lars' solid mass between his knees. He could feel his arousal leaking into Lars' pajama pants, probably into the sheets— but something about Lars' tongue on his skin made it worth the lack of stimulation.
"Lars, please— fuck, t-touch me—"
"I am touching you. Don't you like it?"
Driver whined, letting his head fall back between his shoulder blades. He'd braced himself against the mattress, arms shaking with the effort to stay still. Lars hadn't told him to stay still, but his hand on Driver's hip felt absolute. His mouth wandered to Driver's other nipple, clumsily swapping his grasp to Driver's other hip so he could rub wet circles around the puffy bud he'd left behind. God, it was overwhelming. Driver felt like he'd fall apart if Lars stopped touching him.
"La-ars…! Please, please—"
Lars' teeth closed around Driver's nipple, just on the edge of too harsh, and Driver nearly screamed with the wash of molten pleasure surging through his veins. Is he going to cum from this? Is that what Lars was after? To make him cum nearly untouched?
"I can smell you, sweetheart. You really like this. I do too."
Lars' breathy whispers sent waves of warm air over Driver's saliva-soaked nipple, pulling a reedy whine from his throat. He was past caring if he was too loud, too greedy. Lars was pulling him apart at the seams with a smile on his face, and he was all too happy to let him. He'd hoped for Lars to touch him last night, to roll over and put a hand down his pajama pants on Driver's body and find nothing but skin, nothing but Driver begging for it. He'd wanted Lars to pull them off his legs, push them aside, press himself into Driver's aching cunt— but they had simply slept, Driver pressed into Lars' back. The wait was worth it, Driver decided, if it meant that it had spurred Lars into acting like this.
Lars chewed at his bottom lip, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Driver almost guiltily. His face was covered in a soft pink blush, snaking down onto his chest in beautiful blooms.
"You're really wet. Are you close?"
Driver nodded, too lovedrunk to speak coherently. Lars' face curled up into a pleased beam, his face pressing back into Driver's chest with renewed excitement.
"I want to keep doing this until you finish. Is that okay, sweetheart?"
"Mmh, y-yes, that's— I want it so bad, Lars, please—!"
Lars' mouth wandered up to Driver's neck, his teeth grazing into that perfect curve where throat met chest. He liked leaving marks there, somewhere only he'd see when they were at home together. His mark, on his Driver. He was the only one to make Driver moan like this, shake and twitch and beg. The thought brought his hands back to Driver's chest, pinching at the puffy pink nubs with unbridled greed. Driver was panting, hands grasping at the bedsheets like a lifeline. The heat pooling in his stomach was nearly unbearable, sending shivers of adrenaline-fueled pleasure through his legs. He was dangerously close to the edge, but he'd gladly let Lars lead him there.
"So handsome. I like hearing you whine like this. It's… so sexy…"
Lars bites down on his last word, barely hard enough to pinch, but Driver swears at the sensation and bucks frantically into the air. He'd never tried this before, never tried making himself cum just from playing with his nipples, and he curses himself for never trying before. It's obscene, it's perfect, and somehow, Driver gets the feeling it's only possible when it's Lars doing it to him.
"Gonna— Lars, fffuck, gonna— gonna cum—!"
"Please, sweetheart, cum for me?"
How could Driver ever refuse, when Lars had asked so nicely? With a final, whining yelp, Driver arched his back and clenched around nothing, tears streaming down his face. He was dripping down his thighs, sweating, crying out for Lars like a prayer. Lars simply held him, mustache rasping against lovebitten skin as a smile crept across his lips.
"You did so well, I'm so proud of you. Did it feel good?"
"Uhhh— Uh-huh—!"
Driver slumped down, head falling towards Lars with a glassy sheen of pleasure clouding his eyes. Lars could see a thin line of drool mingling with the tears falling down Driver's face, tempting and divine. He had done this to Driver, had brought him pleasure from his hands and mouth alone. He wanted to do it again.
He would do it again, soon. For now, Driver needed to eat something. Lars had already had his lunch.