Little Vows

Erotic short. An exhausted father of two meets an old uni friend for sex.

Rated E, cis M/M, 3k. Neil drops his girls off for their piano lessons and goes across the road for his regular appointment — getting himself fucking railed over the kitchen counter. Infidelity, anal, dirty talk, DILF4DILF and bear appreciation, doggy, overstim, mentions of barebacking and creampies.

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“Okay, have fun,” murmurs Neil as he kisses Kat’s temple and then leans further down to kiss Bobbi’s, and he pats them on the shoulder as they go into the tutoring room, Bobbi hopping up onto the sofa to sit and watch as Kat takes her place on the piano stool first. “Be back in forty-five?” he asks Catriona, who gives him a thumbs up before tapping the page for Kat to show her the week’s practice.

God, he can’t fucking wait for her to finish this next exam coming, because if he has to hear this fucking Minuetto many more times, especially the same 6-bar fragment of it, he thinks he’ll fucking snap.

She loves the piano, and that’s a relief, that’s great, it’s been so easy to find the girl things she likes and wants to do because she takes to anything like a duck to water, she’ll have the focus to concentrate for hours on the thing, but fuck, he wishes he couldn’t hear it when she did. Bobbi isn’t as fussed on it, and her not wanting to practise is its own problem, but still.

He leaves the car outside Catriona’s as he goes across the road and through the gate into Micah’s — it’s a dim, drizzly afternoon and there’s no one outside to see him, but honestly, he’s all but given up giving a fuck about it by now. He should care. He should be more careful, should at least pretend to go to a café or move the car or something, but it’s been near seven months now and no one’s ever said anything, no one’s ever noticed.

Why should they?

Neil hadn’t talked to Micah since they were at uni when Micah had seen him dropping the girls off, leaned on his gate and invited him in for a coffee. He hadn’t even meant to, hadn’t even fucking thought about it, he’d just been pleased to see an old uni friend and then after ten minutes, half a mocha from Micah’s fancy little coffee machine down his throat, he’d been in Micah’s lap just like it was old fucking times again, and he’d been so desperate for it it’d not even occurred to him to feel guilty until hours after.

He’s never mentioned him to Sharon, even to say he was an old friend, to say he lived on Catriona’s street.

He’s never mentioned any man he’s ever been with to Sharon — just the way she wrinkles her nose and looks so fucking distasteful whenever it comes up in a TV show, two fellas getting off together, he wouldn’t ever dare float it, wouldn’t fucking mention it. Sharon has announced on a few occasions as well that she doesn’t believe in this whole bi thing, that they’re just straight and confused or gay and in denial.

He doesn’t know which she’d think he was.

He goes straight in now, setting an alarm on his phone as he goes, and when he goes into the kitchen his breath catches in his throat because Micah has obviously been to the gym and has stripped his clothes right off, is tossing them into the drum of the washing machine before setting it to run.

His skin glistens with a shine of sweat, and Neil looks over his arse, the thickness of his thighs, the thickness around his middle of the muscle under the fat there, and Neil knows even before he reaches out how it’ll feel, how fucking strong he is, how powerful. He’s not one for social media and that sort of shite but he’s looked at Micah’s stuff, has seen him laughing with boys at his gym as they do keg tosses, flip barrels, move those big steel ropes and that sort of thing.

Micah was never skinny at university, but he was softer, didn’t have so much strength rippling under his skin, was never so much of a bear as he very much is now.

“Fuck me,” mutters Neil under his breath.

“Alright,” says Micah evenly, giving him a grin over his shoulder. “Giz a tick, and I’ll get right on that.”

Neil swallows, moving over to the sink and running himself a glass of water from it, sipping at it, guzzling greedily from it, and Micah comes up behind him, presses his naked body against Neil’s and fuck, fuck, he’s already hard and Neil can feel his cock against his arse through his trousers and he needs it.

“D’you ever feel guilty?” asks Neil as Micah reaches around and unbuttons his belt for him, and his arms are strong and solid and God, fuck, no one touches him like this anymore but Micah, no one holds him, no one slides their hands over his body while they’re undressing him, squeezes his thighs, groans with want against his neck, grinds their body against his because they want so badly to touch him, because they fucking desire him.

Micah’s cock slides between his arsecheeks and he whimpers, a breathless little keen in the base of his throat, and Micah laughs as he grabs handfuls of his arse, shoving his cheeks apart and prodding his cock, fat and hard and ready, between them, wet against his hole and fuck, fuck, Neil can feel his Micah’s heartbeat in it, feel its little jerks.

“Guilty? For what? Making you come?” asks Micah, his voice low and husky, and his hands slide up under Neil’s shirt and squeeze his belly, run through the hair on it and then up to his chest, grabbing hold of his tits and squeezing, his thumbs and forefinger pulling at each side and tugging down. Neil lets out a sharp noise, thrusting into the air, and he wants it, he needs it, his whole fucking body rippling with it. “Making you spread your legs like this? Making you fucking want me?”

“Fuck,” gasps out Neil, grasping at the counter to keep from falling to the floor as his knees go weak, his thighs spreading further apart. He leans forward, puts back his arse, and Micah’s fingers slide forward, playing over the muscle around his arse, tapping against the puckered skin around his ring. It makes him gasp, the tap of the pressure, the tingle that runs up his spine.

“Or do you mean the bit about making a married man beg for my cock over my kitchen counter? Do you mean that bit?”

“I’m not begging,” gasps out Neil.

“Not yet,” says Micah. “And I’d remind you I’m not the one breaking vows here.”

There’s lube dripping between his arsecheeks and the cold slick of it makes him gasp, his thighs jumping wider apart even as it does, and then Micah’s prodding against his arse, slicker this time, smoother with the condom on.

“I could make a vow or two, you know,” says Micah, and Neil tries to concentrate on the moment, tries to concentrate on the smoothness of the formica under his fingers, the coolness of the countertop and the slight dig into his right thigh of the drawer fronts, and not on writing his own vows, spending weeks fucking pouring over them for Sharon’s dad to joke about how wet he sounded making them.

Neil had mentioned it the other week, and Sharon had laughed — he’d been doing the washing up while she was cleaning out the fridge — and said, “Well, you are wet, aren’t you, Neil? You were then, you were now.” He’d felt like crumpling into dust, and it had felt like a thousand hours had passed, although it couldn’t really have been longer than a few seconds, before she’d added, “I’ve never minded it.”

Which wasn’t the same as I like it or I love it or And I love you or And don’t listen to my dad, he votes DUP and we both know he’s a raging prick.

“Vow?” he manages to repeat shakily, because Micah has pressed his arse cheeks together and is sliding his wrapped cock between them, through the dripping lube, and fuck, fuck, it’s warming it up, but it’s also turning his fucking brain to slurry, the thick weight of it, the feel of it pressing and dragging between his cheeks, rubbing over his hole. He’s already a bit open from this morning, when he’d showered thinking of driving the girls to piano at four-thirty and knowing that he’d actually be getting touched later, that someone would be touching him like they actually fucking wanted him, wanted him like meat, wanted his body, wanted to fuck him.

“Vow, yeah,” says Micah, and the thick head of his cock nudges against Neil’s hole and he gasps, because it’s thicker than fingers, it’s so much fucking better than fingers, than his own fingers. “I can stop fucking other lads.”

“What?” asks Neil, blinking rapidly at the thick nudge and tug of Micah’s cock against his hole, putting pressure on the muscle and making him throb, making his cock jump and jerk underneath him. He can’t quite fucking concentrate right now, focus on whatever this abstract dirty talk is. “I’m not about to go about asking you to do that, to, to be my actual… You think — You think that’s what I want?”

“I think you’d like it, yeah,” says Micah. “If you know I’m not fucking other lads, you’ll know for certain I’m clean. Means I can fuck you bareback and send you home with me dripping out of me.”

Micah chooses this precise moment to line himself up and actually start to slide himself in, just as Neil clenches down and the stretch is so perfect, so overwhelming, that he feels like he’s being spit in two — Micah slides in smooth as butter like he was meant to be there, and Neil feels every fucking centimetre as his body opens up to take him, to welcome him in, and he’s gibbering out sobbing noise instead of words because all he can imagine is Micah’s raw cock in him, Micah’s come pumping into his hole, feeling Micah warm and buried in him, feeling himself not just open and a bit wet from the lube but soaked in Micah.

Micah’s laughing above him as his hips make contact with Neil’s arse, his hands gripping loosely at Neil’s hips to steady himself — the counter’s just a little bit too high for him to bend over comfortably and Neil’s slightly up on his toes, so when he falls back his weight suddenly lets Micah sink into him even further, and he hears Micah’s groan of pleasure and it makes his cock give a greedy jump.

“Thought you’d like that,” he says huskily, sliding back and then shoving forward, and again he moans, low and deep. “God, your hole is so fucking perfect, Neil, just right, fucking tight and wet. I don’t see how your wife doesn’t take a strap to you.”

“Don’t, don’t,” gasps out Neil, cringing at the memory of it just being in a TV show, what she’d said after, because he loves her, he does, he loves her and she loves him and they’re good parents, they’re good parents, together, and every time he idly thinks about divorce just because she doesn’t touch him, just because he misses sex that had never been the point of his and Sharon’s relationship anyway, because they’d gotten together because of her smile and the way she talked and how patient she’d always been with him no matter that he was shy, it seems — Worse than selfish, it seems stupid.

“Sorry, sweetheart, sorry,” says Micah, and that makes him shudder, the way Micah says sweetheart, so low and rich and so much like dirty talk even before he goes on, “I should concentrate on what you’re here for, hm? Fuck this hole of yours open, fuck you until you’re fucking sobbing.”

“You couldn’t make me cry if you tried,” Neil gasps out, and Micah laughs and it feels wonderful, the juddering movement of his cock in Neil’s hole as he leans over him, licking a stripe over the back of his neck and then layering kisses over his shoulders, big and hot and strong and surrounding him.

“Wanna take a bet on that?” asks Micah in his ear, and his hips make the most incredible slapping sounds as they make contact with Neil’s arse, Neil desperately trying to shove back for more.

Micah’s hand is under his shirt again, is pinching his nipple and rolling it in his finger and Neil’s body ripples because he wants to lean into both touches at once — he settles for gasping out, “Please, please, I’ll come if you do that — ”

“Maybe I want you to come,” murmurs Micah in his ear, grabbing at the side of his belly with the other side, taking a great big handful of him and Neil feels hot and too oversensitive until he hears Micah’s grunt and moan that comes after, the mutter more to himself than to Neil, “God, your fucking body… Anyway, maybe I want you to come, sweetheart, maybe I want to see you remodel my kitchen cabinets in white, and then I’ll keep having you until you do the floors as well.”

“Fuck,” Neil hisses, and he grabs at Micah’s hand, leans on his forearm as he takes hold of the hand playing with his tit and shoves it more roughly against him, encourages Micah to grab hold of it and squeeze, touch him roughly.

“That’s it, that’s it,” rumbles Micah, chuckling again as he starts to go faster, go harder — the tension is driving him mental, the fucking coil up in him, the jump and jerk of his cock, the tightness of his balls. “Shall I, eh, Neil? Get tested, delete my Grindr? I’d be so fucking horny, not fucking anybody else — I’d just have to fuck you harder, make the most of it, come so deep inside you I’d be sending you home pregnant if you were the wife.”

“Fuck!” whimpers Neil, shoves his arse back against Micah’s cock, desperate for more of him, and Micah fucks him harder, moaning, and that’s all it is for a while, just both of them moaning, the sound of slapping skin, and then he hears Micah grow more strained, feels his thrusts stutter. He puts all of his weight on Neil as he comes, mouthing at the side of his neck and still rubbing, massaging his chest, and Neil imagines it without the condom, imagines Micah in him, feeling it all afternoon, watching it wash out of him in the shower as Sharon knocks on the door and demands how long he’s gonna be.

“Turn around,” murmurs Micah. “I’ll suck you off.”

“No, no, Micah, please,” whispers Neil, “can you just — can you stay like this? And just keep, keep touching me, keep your body on… on me?”

“You like my body?” asks Micah, and he knows the answer, but Neil’s cheeks still burn because Micah’s going to make him say, he’s not gonna tell him he sounds dirty or stupid or pathetic, trying to say it — Micah’s softening inside him and he’s still pulling and playing with Neil’s chest, spitting on his hand before it comes to wrap around Neil’s cock.

“Yessss,” whimpers Neil, can’t help the hiss that comes out of him as he thrusts into the tight grip of Micah’s hand, feels the perfect fucking pressure of it, his eyes fluttering closed. “Love your fucking, so fucking strong, love your, you on my back — ”

“Like my weight on top of you,” agrees Micah. “You’re like a bitch in that way, Neil, did you know that?”

How is it that Micah saying that so casual, like he’s asking Neil to pass him the salt at dinner, sets off sparks in his brain? He moans and he shudders and he fucks himself into Micah’s hands, back against Micah’s body, wishes he’d taken his shirt off, wishes he could feel Micah’s chest hair, feel his skin on Neil’s, but this way, this way, when he goes home his shirt is gonna smell more of Micah than him, and he knows that tomorrow morning before he shoves it in the laundry basket he’s going to have a quick wank with his nose buried in it, imagining Micah’s fucking him in the bathroom.

“Say it,” says Micah.

“I’m a bitch,” chokes out Neil.

“That was quick, didn’t take much convincing, did you?”

“Please, please — ”

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” laughs Micah. “You’re a bitch — you’re my bitch, Neil. Mine to fuck, mine to play with, mine to grab at and squeeze and lie on top of. Gonna come so deep inside you you’ll taste it before I let you fucking leave, gonna come so deep inside you you’ll still have me dripping out of you when you come back the following Thursday.”

Neil yelps at a sudden twisting jerk of Micah’s hand, and he’s coming, his brain blank and perfectly dark on the inside, his entire body converting thought to pure electric sensation, skin-on-skin, hand-on-cock, body-to-body and balls-to-balls, and Neil rides it, thrusts desperately into Micah’s grip as his other hand goes back to grab clumsily at his body, at his chest, his arm, his hip.

After, he’s breathing heavy, his head fucking spinning.

“How long?” he asks.

“Got another fifteen,” murmurs Micah. “You get two minutes to recover while I take a piss, and then I’m gonna suck you off for the remaining minutes. Understand?”

“Fuck,” whimpers Neil, and Micah laughs, delivering a wet raspberry of a kiss to the side of his neck, making him laugh and squirm.

He feels so fucking empty when Micah pulls out of him, and he reaches back as Micah pads down the hall, feels where his rim is wet with lube and still just a bit open, touches the lube there and wishes there was fucking more.

“Fuck,” he groans to himself.

He’s halfway wiping down the front of the kitchen drawers when Micah comes back and shoves him down on his back on the tile, dips his head and wraps his lips around the head of Neil’s soft cock, his hips pinning him firmly down to the floor, and Neil screams so loud he has to muffle it against his elbow.