Work Text:
Al stirred the spaghetti sauce thoughtfully, bending over to sample a bit on his tongue. After considering a moment, he added a dash more oregano, and continued stirring. Gazing out the window over the sink while he cooked, he watched the sky start to turn to the gold of sunset. Evening waited in the wings to take over from a weary day.
Al's sixth sense alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone a moment before the kitchen door opened and Sam came breezing in. He dropped a plastic water bottle on the table, and headed for the refrigerator. "I'm back," he told his lover unnecessarily.
"Have a nice ride?" Al asked with a grin. He had a pretty good idea of how it had gone. His eyes lingered on Sam. The man was dressed in gray shorts that accentuated the bulge in them nicely, and a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, showing his muscular upper arms. The letters PQL were emblazoned on the front of the shirt, from pec to glorious pec. He was breathing hard, and sweat ran down his arms and neck. In short, he looked irresistibly gorgeous.
Sam grunted in reply to the query, taking out a carton of orange juice. As he tipped his head back and drank deeply, Al avidly watched the neck muscles in the act of swallowing.
"I haven't ridden a bicycle in years," Sam complained when he had sufficiently quenched his thirst. "I'm wasted, and sore!" he gestured toward the seat of his pants.
Al's smile became a grin; when Sam walked within range, he slapped the seat of his pants playfully.
"Hey!" Sam yelped, rubbing the offending area.
"I told you to start getting ready for the race earlier, and take it a little at a time," Al reminded him.
"Yeah, well, just don't expect me to put out tonight."
Al smirked as Sam took the wooden spoon from his hand and sampled the sauce. "Not bad," he commented, bending very near Al as he took the taste.
"Neither are you," Al said, taking his own sample of Sam.
"I'm gonna go grab a shower."
"You should make it a hot soak," Al said, and pinched his rear end as he was on his way out. Whistling an old Italian tune, he turned his attention back to dinner.
XXX
Dinner was a fine affair, spaghetti with home-made sauce, thick Italian bread, and a mellow wine. After a bit of television, they both coincidentally decided to turn in at the same time.
In the bedroom, Sam collapsed on the bed face down, groaning as his overworked muscles complained.
"Poor baby," Al tsked, watching from the doorway.
"I don't get no sympathy," Sam muttered in a bad impersonation of Rodney Dangerfield.
"That's respect," Al corrected.
"That, too."
"Hey," Al complained, sitting down beside Sam and starting to rub some of the tension out of his back, "I always respect you in the morning. And sometimes, I respect you even more the night before."
Sam chuckled, stretching into the therapeutic touch.
Al's hand moved down to his buttocks, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the soft, abused mounds.
"Feels good," Sam murmured; and unspoken plea for Al to continue.
"Raise up," Al directed. Sam lifted his bottom half so that Al could slide the shorts and underwear down to his knees. He collapsed back onto the mattress, and Al continued his massage of the warm, bare skin.
He enjoyed the feel of Sam's ass under his fingers, as sweet and yielding as the man himself. He rubbed one buttock, then slowly moved on to the other, lingering in the crack between for a pleasant moment.
Sam sighed and shifted in the bed, raising himself slightly to press against the ministering hands. Gradually, knowingly, the hands that felt so good awoke an ache in Sam. Despite the soreness, he longed to feel the touch become more firm, more purposeful. He raised up into them, knowing Al would read the unspoken words.
Al's touch became rougher, squeezing the flesh and delving further into the hidden passageway. Sam pulled in a sharp hiss of breath. The soreness felt wonderful, he wanted more.
"Al," he pleaded.
"I thought you weren't putting out tonight," Al teased, removing his hand, only to have Sam raise up again in an attempt to regain the delicious contact.
"Shut up," Sam growled, rising to his knees in a position he knew Al could never resist.
Sure enough, he was rewarded by the sound of heavier breathing, and the drawer of the nightstand opening. He cataloged sounds and sensations while waiting expectantly. A zipper and rustle of clothing being removed, the bed dipping, bouncing. Finally the fingers were back, slick and probing carefully.
"Sure you're not too sore?" Al asked solicitously.
"I love being sore," Sam reassured him.
The fingers played him like an expert, trailing fire wherever they touched. Finally, he heard a long shuddering sigh. The tip of Al's cock pressed against his anus, hard, big, and already driving him wild.
"Feel what you do to me," Al murmured. "You get me as horny as a teenager again."
Al slid in gradually. The pressure was exquisite torture, Sam cried out as he was filled. Once fully sheathed, Al began the familiar dance, thrusting in and out slowly, caressing Sam with the length of him. He reached under Sam to tease his erection.
Sam bucked back for more, unconsciously taking the lead and stepping up the pace. His head reared back with the waves of pleasure, as he cried out with wanton abandon.
Al left Sam's cock to grasp his hips as he pounded into him, his grunts harmony to Sam's cries.
"Fuck me," Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he saw bright pin-pricks behind his closed lids. "Fuck me..." he moaned, over and over again in a litany of desire, in time to their natural rhythm. When thought was gone, when the edge of the cliff loomed right ahead, he grabbed his own cock and stroked it. Feeling Al's body tense, frantic with desire, Sam's touch on himself became more purposeful. Several hard jerks, and he felt his toes tip over the edge, followed by the rest of his body, free-falling back to earth. At the same time, he felt Al reach the same plane, shooting inside him with a hoarse cry.
Ever the considerate lover, Al didn't linger as he sometimes would, but slid gently out of his sated body. Sam could feel his muscles thrumming, throbbing with the pleasurable ache of spent passion.
In a tender gesture that brought a lump to Sam's throat, Al bent over and kissed one of his buttocks, before sliding his shorts the rest of the way off and covering him with the blanket. When he had crawled up by his side, Sam turned enough to allow the obligatory post-climax kiss.
"Regrets?" Al asked.
"You know better," Sam chastised, stretching and curling against Al's body.
Al helped him get his shirt off, and pulled the blanket the rest of the way up. Too exhausted to do anything else, Sam listened in contentment as Al finished undressing himself and shut off the light. Before long he was back in bed. Sam's limbs entwined with his immediately.
"I love you," Sam sighed, already nearly asleep. He might be sore tomorrow...but now he'd smile every time he felt a twinge.
"I love you, too," Al echoed. For a few moments, there was silence. "If I'd've known riding a bike would turn you on this much, I would have suggested you start long before this."
"You know how I've always felt about riding," Sam retorted wickedly.
Al leaned closer to breathe into his ear. "Yeah, the surprise was finding out how much you like to be ridden," he quipped, licking behind the ear for good measure.
Sam shivered, despite his tiredness. "Get em' up, Scout," he murmured, his hand going out to find Al in the darkness, wondering if tonight would be a night of repeats.
When he found Al, he realized he'd probably be doing a lot of smiling tomorrow.
the end
12/8/94