It struck him, not for the first time, how much of a contradiction Arthur was for his size and stature. His hands were as broad and powerful as the bear paws Arthur would be rooting around in the dirt with later on in the evening, Erron reckoned, yet his fingers could be every bit as soft and nimble as Erron's own when he was of a mind. Arthur must have driven many a lucky woman to distraction in his lifetime the way he was teasing with that mouth and those fingers of his; the top half of the buttons of his shirt undone with precision that made Erron wonder, most importantly, just how good he might've been with that revolver of his at hand.
Erron unfastened and shrugged out of his vest whilst Arthur set about their britches, his own hands flying down the front of himself to unbutton and spread out the rest of his shirt. Faint yellowing bruises littered his ribs and abdomen from wrestling men down into the mud, from boots skidding around for traction and, failing that, tumbling down onto his side. Erron had had himself a good old time — but this was better, more visceral by a country mile.
A rare and thrilling pleasure to reach out and wrap his hand around another man's cock, feel it harden against the palm of his hand on the upstroke, stem to stern 'til the tip was blood warm and pink as he pleased. Erron hadn't had the time before to figure out the particulars, the subtleties in how Arthur liked best to be handled, but he was confident enough always in spectacle and spectacle he could do.
"Thought about you too, handsome. Thought about you every which way..." Tried to anyway, just to find himself haring straight back to where his traitor mind always got off to when he didn't discipline it good and proper, but Arthur didn't need to know that. He just needed to see Erron reaching back with his free hand to brace up against the back of the chair, feel it when he brought their cocks together and thrust himself upward in the circle of his hand.
He didn't get the chance to watch for Arthur's expression, the silk soft glide of the underside of their cocks too great a sensation not to screw his eyes shut and chew at his lip to stifle the growl rumbling up out of his chest. He bucked up again, sinuous as a serpent in spite of how hard his muscles had to strain just to lift Arthur less than an inch, the downswing artless by way of comparison but for the slow drag of Arthur alongside him.
Erron swore under his breath the second his jaw loosened up enough to let his lip slip free from between his teeth and confessed as men only ever did when the all blood shrank away from their higher faculties: "I reckon I want to make a mess. I want y'to give me somethin' I can feel, handsome. I want y'to make me remember when yer through with me."
no subject
Erron unfastened and shrugged out of his vest whilst Arthur set about their britches, his own hands flying down the front of himself to unbutton and spread out the rest of his shirt. Faint yellowing bruises littered his ribs and abdomen from wrestling men down into the mud, from boots skidding around for traction and, failing that, tumbling down onto his side. Erron had had himself a good old time — but this was better, more visceral by a country mile.
A rare and thrilling pleasure to reach out and wrap his hand around another man's cock, feel it harden against the palm of his hand on the upstroke, stem to stern 'til the tip was blood warm and pink as he pleased. Erron hadn't had the time before to figure out the particulars, the subtleties in how Arthur liked best to be handled, but he was confident enough always in spectacle and spectacle he could do.
"Thought about you too, handsome. Thought about you every which way..." Tried to anyway, just to find himself haring straight back to where his traitor mind always got off to when he didn't discipline it good and proper, but Arthur didn't need to know that. He just needed to see Erron reaching back with his free hand to brace up against the back of the chair, feel it when he brought their cocks together and thrust himself upward in the circle of his hand.
He didn't get the chance to watch for Arthur's expression, the silk soft glide of the underside of their cocks too great a sensation not to screw his eyes shut and chew at his lip to stifle the growl rumbling up out of his chest. He bucked up again, sinuous as a serpent in spite of how hard his muscles had to strain just to lift Arthur less than an inch, the downswing artless by way of comparison but for the slow drag of Arthur alongside him.
Erron swore under his breath the second his jaw loosened up enough to let his lip slip free from between his teeth and confessed as men only ever did when the all blood shrank away from their higher faculties: "I reckon I want to make a mess. I want y'to give me somethin' I can feel, handsome. I want y'to make me remember when yer through with me."