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Evening light is pouring into Jack’s bedroom and painting his gray bedsheets in shades of gold, illuminating his own naked skin, legs outstretched across it.
He’s naked, back propped against his mountain of soft pillows, because he’s too fucking old and contending with too many aches and pains to pretend that one flat military style pillow is enough anymore—and his laptop open between his legs. He has an hour and a half before he has to be at work. He’s ready.
He’s been idly stroking himself to warm up and get ready, although the thought of what he’s about to watch is enough to power him to hardness. He can't wait anymore. Jack pumps some lube into his left hand, and clicks on the new video on his screen with his right.
Theguywiththetattoos71 has been Jack’s go to for four months now whenever he has some alone time. Jack has other regulars, yeah, but no other amateurs, and the only one at all that he’s subscribed to.
The notification that there’s a new one by lights him up every time he sees it, and he started questioning a month or two ago whether it was healthy to have such an attachment to a faceless, voiceless pornstar, little more than a body to ogle…
But he’s had a hard life, he works twelve hour shifts and goes home to sleep in an empty apartment, he’s entitled to any element of a midlife crisis he wants. This is certainly better than buying a fucking motorcycle, unlike some people.
So, Jack drops everything pretty much anytime tattoos, as he’s become known in Jack’s mind, posts something new.
The videos are all more or less the same. The same shot of a man’s torso from the collar down, shown in dim lighting with only a blank white wall as a backdrop. Sitting down, the phone tilted to film his cock and whatever he’s using to get it off that week.
Sometimes he uses just his hand, sometimes he fucks a toy, sometimes he edges it out with a lot of slow breathing and careful movements, sometimes he’s quick and unrestrained.
He never says a word and rarely moans, only letting out heavy breaths and the faint edges of a whimper here and there when he’s close. Jack has learned what he looks like when he’s close. Has learned to time the motions of his own hand in turn.
But there are two main elements to tattoo’s shtick: his tattoos, and his come.
As Jack starts playing the new video and stroking himself, he takes everything in. Jack’s lips part.
Some pornstars cover their tattoos with tape or makeup, but tattoos is the guy’s thing. Hands and arms and chest, all covered in ink. Every heavy breath is one that Jack eats up.
The broad tattoo of wings on the guy’s abdomen, dipping down to point in a v towards his cock. The roses and thorns and leaves in all black on his upper arms.
The words and the chai symbol, the swirling of lines just under his right nipple…the first video of his that Jack watched, he didn’t know where to focus his attention. There was too much to feast on.
He was so turned on by the collection of ink and the way the tattoos would flex on his flushed red skin when he’d move, that Jack didn’t need anything else to come except imagining getting his mouth all over that body, soft and beautiful.
So fucking handsome and so, so hairy, from the thick dark hair of his happy trail leading down his stomach to his cock, chest hair thick enough that Jack just wants to wrap his lips around one of those hard nipples and tug…ugh. He’s so hot. He’s a pornstar, even an amateur, he’s supposed to be hot, but Jack is still losing his mind.
This video is about a vibrating cocksleeve. Tattoos is dragging the thing up and down his cock ever so slowly, everything slick with lube, the sound of the vibrations turned down so you can hear the sound of his heavy breathing a little better.
When the sleeve reaches the head of his cock and his hips jerk into it, whole body tensing for a moment before he relaxes again with a grown, Jack tingles. He bucks freely into his own fist, but it’s hardly enough.
The motion of Jack’s own hand on his cock is almost second to watching tattoos, knowing without a doubt he’ll get there and it’ll feel fucking fantastic as long as he keeps watching. In a strange way, he trusts the guy to guide him through, get him off.
The video is titled Wish this was you. Fuck yeah, Jack wishes it was him getting fucked up and down on that cock, getting used just like tattoos is using that sleeve. Jack would give it to him so good, a huge cock like that deserves all the special attention.
Jack is hypnotized by the movement of that huge, cut, ruddy cock disappearing in and out of the sleeve, getting faster guided by his sure hand. The flash of ink on his wrist with every thrust into it is making Jack hotter and closer.
He strokes himself faster. So fucking hairy, Jack’s salivating…
As the man comes with a final loud gasp, loud enough to include some voice, the white ropes hit the camera lens in obscene drops, dripping down the lens until Jack is tingling.
There’s so much come, always, a fucking flood of it that drenches whatever he’s fucking. Sometimes he lays back and lets it paint his own chest, and that visual will send Jack careening out of his body time after time.
Now, though, what doesn’t get on the camera lens is filling the sleeve as he keeps moving it up and down, moaning so loud and gorgeous, so hot. Jack wishes he was there to be asked to lick up that come with a firm grip on the back of his neck or his hair to guide him. The things he wouldn’t give to give this guy a blowjob and get a facial, Jesus Christ…
He’s so fucking close himself, and he lets his world fade out to the sound of tattoos’ heavy breathing as he comes down. Jack couldn’t help to hold on any longer.
When Jack is done coming, when his breath is slowly coming back and the stars have faded and he can feel it dripping down his chest, all he does is pause the video, like it, and close the window. He never comments.
With that, he uses his crutches to aid his shaky leg with getting into the shower.
Thirty minutes later, Jack is strolling into work to take the handoff from Robby. He’s charting, and Jack walks up to him from behind and slaps his shoulder.
Robby never tenses when Jack touches him like other people do, and Jack relishes that. He has a privilege that he doesn’t take lightly. He wishes he could touch Robby more, get his hands on that skin and give him a hug that lasts longer than a few seconds, but Jack takes what he can get, and porn fills in the rest of his desire. “Hey, brother. How was the shift?”
“Not too bad,” Robby says with a tight smile, turning around to give him a half hug. “How was your day?”
“Got some cardio in,” Jack says, which isn’t untrue, he did go to the gym—just not his main source of cardio for the day. He wonders if the well fucked flush is still showing on him. “Any plans tonight after escaping the cell block?”
“Oh, I think just a night in,” Robby says. Jack nods and gets to work.
When Jack checks his phone the morning, he finds a new video uploaded the night before. This one is of the guy jerking off over the camera, which is positioned below his powerful and towering legs, hairy everywhere. Titled you don’t mind if I use you, right?
Jack groans when he sees the thumbnail, but he’s way too tired and his leg in too much pain to make use of it. Later.
#
There’s no link to tip anywhere in the guy's bio, little information except bisexual, single, and lives in Pittsburgh. There's no age listed, but the speckles of gray in his body hair and the lines on his skin tell Jack that they must be close in age.
Jack takes the single part with a grain of salt—you bring in more viewers if people believe you’re on the market, right? Why wouldn’t someone lie about that? And what kind of man like him would be walking around single, with that log in his pants and those tattoos tucked under some sleeves?
Maybe that’s his own sad, fantastical wishful thinking. Easier not to want what you know you can’t have.
But besides that info in the guy's pornhub bio is a tantalizing little message that's been taunting Jack every time he checks the page:
I take requests.
Jack is fired up and horny, and he has some post nut clarity from finally getting a chance to watch that video of him jerking off over the camera. Jack's watched several videos he's made based on requests from other people—hell, he's watched every single video this guy's ever made at least twice—and the guy never reveals what usernames request what. Sometimes he'll put some text on the screen explaining the premise, but little more.
There have been various requests, such as the one of him on his back with his heavy breathing nice and loud, fucking a sleeve and moving his hips to give the illusion of someone riding him. Another with his hand working over himself while there's a wet sucking sound out of frame, pussy or dick, he's done both, writes on the screen that he loves giving head. Always just a toy, though. He's always solo. Jack wonders if he gets requests to make videos of him actually fucking another person, how many, and if he just deletes them.
Part of Jack wonders if he's spending too much time thinking about this, if it's all too much, but then he remembers his request and his spent dick throbs and he forgets good sense.
Jack types out a request message in a fit of impulse and sends it. If the guy had any hard nos or guidelines, he would say so, right? And Jack’s request isn’t too crazy as far as porn goes. Jack isn't expectng anything to come from it, truly, tattoos has thousands of subscribers and who knows how many requests he gets, he could easily delete Jack's and move on...
It takes three days, and by the time Jack checks his page on a Friday night off, he isn’t expecting anything—but there it is. A video titled POV I'm fucking you in missionary + dirty talk text. Unmistakable.
Jack throws his shorts off and clicks on it fast enough to make the screen buffer.
The camera lies flat on the bed while tattoos is holding himself above it on his arms, knees planted, able only to see his torso and the occasional flash of his bush as he fucks down, breathing heavy, on the edge of moaning. The bed is squeaking, everything's moving, and Jack is so hard he might die.
Jack can’t take his eyes off the screen. The man is doing the POV video that Jack asked for, didn’t even pay for but just asked and now he has it and he gets to watch what it’d look like if this sex god was fucking him. It's all too easy to imagine, all too easy to put himself in that camera's place.
And then there's the text on screen. How does that cock feel? Nice and deep?written out, and Jack has really fucked himself over because he's weak for dirty talk and he should never have asked for it from this sex god.
Want you to come on my cock, is written out. Jack eats up every new piece of yellow text that appears, filthy things about how he's going to fill his partner with come, how there's so much of it and it's going to drip out in an obscene, sticky mess afterwards. Jack actually moans aloud just from that.
With every thrust of the man’s hips downward, every squeak of the bed, his cock and whether he’s actually fucking something or not hidden just out of frame, Jack swears he can feel it. Swears he can feel the bed dip under him from every thrust, swears the heat of that body is blanketing him, eclipsing his whole world.
Those heavy breaths, Jesus...Jack turns it up loud, listening to the edges of his moans, hums, thrusts getting faster as he gets closer. He must be fucking a sleeve or something, right?
Jack is loud, thank god he lives alone. His hand is flying over himself, but he forces himself to stop, because if he doesn’t then he’ll come way too fast, and he wants to last long enough to watch this whole thing.
This precious gift, the request he made that’s now fulfilled. He’s going to watch this video upwards of a dozen times, but this first time is one he wants to savor.
The man comes with a gasping groan, flushing red down his chest, nipples hard, grip on the sheets slipping for a moment before he regains control. That was a real orgasm. Holy shit.
The man lets out a fullthroated, openmouthed moan from the sound of it, deep and pleasured, and Jack is a goner.
#
Jack goes with Robby to the sports bar, realizing how long it's been since either of them have been on a date.
That is, unless Robby has a secret second dating life he's never told Jack about, but Jack is fairly confident that Robby isn't spending his rare nights off away from Jack on a date and not mentioning it. They tell each other everything. They can't hide things from each other.
Except, of course, for Jack's rather pathetic crush on his friend turned into full blown love somewhere along the lines. It used to hurt something awful, but now it's just a low simmering ache when Jack watches Robby laugh from the other side of their table at the sports bar. Jack smiles into his soda water to keep the ache at bay.
He's glad to see Robby happy. Glad to know him. He shouldn't ever need more than that. And when his eyes stick on Robby's lips wrapping around a beer bottle a little too long, when it stirs something in his pants, well...
That's what porn is for. To supplement the physical desire when the emotional isn't enough.
#
Tattoos gets a new tattoo.
It’s on the back of his left hand, and he still has it wrapped in plastic, promising with text on the screen that he’ll show off with it as soon as it’s healed. Jack strips his cock twice before he’s spent, from that visual alone. The visual doesn't leave his head even well after the fact, and he enjoys the anticipation of seeing him without the plastic on, perhaps jerking off left handed.
Maybe Jack could send in a request for him to play with his nipples left handed while the other jerks himself off? It's the next best thing to Jack getting his mouth around one of those nipples himself.
That evening when Jack goes into work for handoff, he finds Robby with his arms crossed in their long sleeves, left sitting on top—and it’s wrapped in plastic. What the fuck. The plastic is too thick to see what the tattoo is of, and his sleeve is even partially covering it, because the man is always wearing sleeves, has for the longest time…but this stops Jack dead in his tracks.
Robby—Robby has a new tattoo? How long’s it been since he’s gotten one of those, or even mentioned it? Jack knows he has them, has mentioned them in passing when he’s been moving stiffly, but he’s never offered to show Jack and Jack has never asked what they are.
Freaky coincidence, but okay. Jack saves lives and sees people brought back to life on the daily, he’s not going to pretend a coincidental tattoo is the strangest thing in the world.
And then, before Jack can even say hello, he blinks and there’s blood spattering out of the patient and all over Robby’s scrubs. Samira swoops in to take care of the patient, Robby refusing to leave until everything is stable, and Jack would step in if it wasn’t clear they already have it handled.
When all is calm again, he follows Robby out of the room as he goes to the scrub machine. “Hell of a way to start the night,” Jack says, and Robby nods to him.
“Excuse me for not giving you a hug,” Robby jokes, and pulls the curtain closed before nonchalantly ripping off his layers. In the moments of unfolding the new shirt, Jack is left to stare at his chest.
And all the ink on it, on his arms, on his wrists. Jack might be drooling, and not just because he’s seeing Robby’s chest for the first time. It makes so much more sense why he’s so guarded about letting anyone see him shirtless.
Holy shit.
Those are the same tattoos Jack has been jerking off to for months. The same body; chest, arms, muscles, that Jack has been dreaming of getting his mouth on. Seventy one. The requests. Even the white wall and the bed; Jack recognizes them now, although he definitely wasn’t focused on it at the time. Holy shit.
And the tattoo on the back of his hand, god, those hands…yeah. Jack is very familiar with those hands. Now, he can’t imagine how he ever failed to recognize them, their sureness, confidence, the slight bashfulness in their touch.
Robby doesn’t seem to notice the internal battle Jack is going through not to say anything or melt into the floor. Robby just slips on his new scrub top and moves back out, seamlessly past Jack. Jack catches his shoulder. It feels much more intimate now, knowing what he knows.
Robby stops obligingly.
“Robby,” Jack says, “can I come over in the morning?”
Something in his tone must betray him, for Robby looks at him concerned. Jack’s heart is pounding. “Bunkbunny,” he whispers, his username. “Missionary POV.” Robby doesn’t post the usernames of people who request things. Only Jack would know who would request that. Just like he’d only know the man from his tattoos.
There are several Cinderella jokes to be made here, but Jack is far from being calm enough to make them.
Robby’s eyes slowly widen, a red flush taking over his face until it’s impossible to ignore. Jack just made him blush. Jack just made him blush.
But this isn’t a fun blush, this is a blush of embarrassment and horror, and Robby is gaping and speechless. “Let me come over in the morning and we’ll talk,” Jack says, kinda wishing now that he’d saved this conversation for after handoff. But he just had to run his mouth.
He’s staring at Robby’s arm tattoos. Robby crosses those arms again, self conscious, retreating into his shell. Thank god Jack has a key to his place; he’s not sure if Robby would let him in otherwise.
“Let me take this place off your hands now,” Jack says, and Robby nods, clearly glad for the change of subject.
#
In the morning, outside Robby’s door, Jack is nervous. Restless in a way he usually isn’t. But Robby answers the door after only one doorbell ring, and he and Jack stare at each other for a long moment, each knowing exactly what the other is thinking.
Jack had an entire night to rehearse what he wanted to say, but it all flies out of him now. Robby’s not wearing any sleeves. He’s wearing a tshirt, and his hands are in his pockets, and Jack can see all his ink, his thick body hair. The tshirt is white and thin, and Jack can see the dark outlines of Robby’s chest tattoos through it. Fuck.
Still, he makes the first move. “Hey.”
“Hey. Would you like to come in?” Robby steps aside. That’s step one out of the way.
Jack nods and steps inside. The sound of the door closing behind him feels heavier than usual.
“So I’ve seen your videos,” Jack says, unsure where the fuck to start with this. All of this seemed like a better idea last night, when he was rested. Now, adrenaline is keeping him from feeling tired after his shift, but he’s still nervous as shit. Doesn’t help that Robby is avoiding his eye like the plague.
“You have,” Robby says, a statement.
“You make videos,” Jack emphasizes. “You—brother, you have to understand how mindblowingly hot that is. How much I am not judging in any way.”
Oops, he might’ve just admitted too much, but it’s not like he could pretend he tripped and fell on Robby’s videos by accident. There’s only one reason he’d be coming across Robby’s videos, let alone requesting something. Admitting he finds them hot—well, what else would Robby expect?
But saying it out loud, when Robby knows Jack knows who it is, is a bit different.
But Robby let him in. Robby isn’t throwing him out. That means he must want to discuss this, in some small way.
“What about it interested you?” Jack asks, because he’s still trying to wrap his head around the strange reality of his best friend doing amateur porn.
Robby doesn’t answer for a long moment, shuffling on his feet, hands in his pockets, but at last he answers, “The attention.”
Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “You? You like the attention?”
“It’s different when it’s not my face, not my voice, not my name. It’s anonymous. No one knows. Certainly no one who knows me. Or so I thought.”
Jack gets that. He nods. Tries not to run his mouth.
"People wanting specific things," Robby adds, "people telling me I'm hot, it's...yeah, it's nice." He shrugs. “You…you like that about me?” Robby ventures, looking at Jack from under his lashes, and the sheer fact that Jack is the one who feels off his footing right now while Robby is leading things, is a difficult adjustment.
But Jack knows an opening when he hears it. “Yes,” he says, almost tripping over his words. “It’s so fucking hot, Robby. You are so fucking hot. I’ve always thought so. And the fact that you’re doing porn, man, I’ve been jerking off to it for months—”
Robby slowly smiles. Jack reminds himself to shut up. “Sorry.”
“That’s why it’s there,” Robby says simply. As if that doesn’t rock Jack’s whole world.
“I expected you to be flipping out,” Jack says.
“Well, I’ve had the night to think about it.” Robby shrugs. “Maybe I liked it. That it was you…seeing those things. Seeing me.” He slowly shows off his inner arms, covered in ink. Jack’s eyes are glued.
“Do you want to do something about it?” Robby asks softly. “Do you want the real thing?”
Jack’s world might white out for a second. When he recovers, trying to contend with this confident version of Robby opposed to the blushing one he was expecting, he finds Robby still watching him. Eyes slowly getting darker.
“You mean you’re—you’re into this?” Jack asks, gesturing to himself.
“Yeah,” Robby says with a little laugh and a sweet blush, sounding relieved to have it all on the table. “Yeah, I am. Why do you think I let you in?”
Jack shakes his head. This is all rather surreal. “This is more than just the porn for me, man. If we do this, I need you to know that.”
Robby nods. “Me, too.”
Two precious words. Jack holds them close to his heart.
Jack steps in, slow, looking at Robby’s face for any last dregs of hesitance, looking for consent…and Robby gives it. And Jack shuts his eyes and kisses him. Robby is stiff for a moment, still adjusting, and oh does Jack know the feeling…but then Robby melts into it, putting his hands on Jack’s shoulders. Jack enjoys every second of it.
The scratch of Robby’s beard against his face, the softness of his lips, Robby’s gentle sigh when he seems to accept that Jack isn’t going anywhere.
Jack’s hands go to his waist, keeping him still. It’s very sweet, rather chaste, but then Robby makes a soft moan into his mouth and Jack remembers why they’re here. Where else he’s heard those moans before. And heat flashes through him so intense it makes him gasp. Jack is tingling.
“Can we, uh,” Jack hums between kisses, squirming as Robby pulls back to kiss his neck. “Move somewhere?”
“Yeah.” Robby pulls back, satisfyingly breathless. All flushed and disheveled and Jack has hardly done anything to him yet.
“I want to get your clothes off,” Jack babbles. “I want to see these.” He taps Robby’s arm covered in all that gorgeous ink.
Robby nods. “What else do you want? Do you want to watch me jerk off? You know, like I do.”
Jack’s lips part at the thought. He didn’t know that was on offer. “Definitely,” Jack says, “but right now I want to get my mouth on you so fucking bad, Robby. Can I suck you off? Please?”
Robby’s breath hitches like he, too, is struggling to believe this is real. “Yeah,” he rasps, and drags Jack to his bedroom, past the white walls and into the bed Jack now recognizes from the videos.
Robby isn’t shy about getting naked like Jack expected him to be, but he’s still trying to reconcile his best friend, shy and blushing and private, being a pornstar. The hottest fucking pornstar Jack's ever watched, and not by exaggerating things or being able to contort himself into crazy positions, but just by being himself. It's no wonder that Jack's attempts to distract himself from his unrequited love just wound up with him on Robby's page.
Jack strips himself almost thoughtlessly, difficult to think from how turned on he is. Every inch of skin and hair and ink that Robby reveals to him is precious, something Jack wants to lick up, wants to acquaint himself with Robby’s taste.
And that’s when Robby reveals his big cock, already ruddy and hard. He settles back against the headboard and the pillows, getting a hand around himself like he can’t wait another second to touch. Jack moans, unable to help it.
Robby’s eyes are on him too, taking in Jack’s abs and scars, and after a hesitant moment, Jack takes off his leg and sets it against Robby’s bed. Nothing Robby hasn’t seen before, all the times Jack has been over on his couch to watch a game, but it feels different now, letting Robby see all his skin.
Of course, everything about this feels different.
Jack is drooling at the sight of Robby’s cock, though, and all that hair in person, looking even better than it does on his laptop screen. “Can I—” He crawls a little closer to Robby on the bed, and reaches for him. Robby bridges the gap, kissing him firmly, lapping his tongue into Jack’s mouth. It’s so hot. It’s so good.
Jack moans into him, savoring the feeling of Robby’s breath against his, the heat of his hands as they rove over Jack’s shoulders, keeping above the waist still, chaste, polite, so gentlemanly. That won’t do.
“Can I?” Jack asks again, letting his hand rest on Robby’s chest, slowly moving down to his cock, though he traces the lines of his tattoos on the way.
“Be my guest. Do you want me, uh—“ Robby glances down as if he’s wondering how to position himself. Jack wants to sit on his lap. He wants to be under Robby and over him and oh fuck, everything, anything Robby will give him.
“Don’t move,” Jack interrupts. “Don’t change a thing. Just let me look at you. You seem to be good at that.” He casts a wry smile. Robby returns it.
“I’m all yours,” Robby says, an innocent flirt but caked in more meaning now. Jack takes another kiss because he can and Robby tastes so good.
Jack gets a hand around his cock, mouth watering at the ink on Robby’s abdomen, murmuring jesus under his breath. Robby blushes with arousal. He shifts. “Have you seen the new, uh—“
“I’ve seen every one of them,” Jack says, nipping at his lips and speaking into them. “At least twice. You’re my favorite. My go to. And no fucking wonder, Robby.”
Robby blushes further, and god—does he blush this much every time? Is this really what Jack has been missing out on all this time, not seeing his face?
Selfishly, he’s glad, because it means he’s the only one who gets to see Robby like this. Gets to see what he looks like when Jack’s got a hand wrapped around him, gasping softly, biting his lip.
But this isn’t what Jack truly wants. He can do far better than this. Robby may be the pornstar here, but Jack has some skills.
He shimmies down Robby’s body and parts his lips, Robby’s hand landing softly in his hair. “You can pull my hair,” Jack says, remembering one of the videos where Robby stood over the camera and jerked off on it, how badly Jack wanted that facial.
And oh Jesus, he’s just remembering how much Robby comes, and Jack is going to have to work not to hump the bed while he’s servicing that magnificent cock.
“Your leg okay?” Robby murmurs, caring and sweet no matter what they’re about to do. Jack smiles at him.
“Yeah.” He shifts to be a bit more comfortable and then he goes in, taking Robby as deep into his mouth as he can. Jack can only stay there for a minute before he has to pull back to breathe, purring, “Don’t hold back. Fuck my mouth. You’re a pornstar, baby, you’d better own up to it.”
Robby laughs, “I am not what you’re making it sound like—“ but he gasps and murmurs oh fuck when Jack takes him deep again, so Jack counts that a victory. Robby’s fingers tighten in his hair involuntarily. Jack hums in pleasure and tugs back against the pressure to encourage Robby to pull harder. Robby obliges, rocking his hips into Jack’s mouth.
One of Jack's hands is holding himself up, lying flat on the bed to suck Robby down, but the other hand splays across Robby’s abdomen and the goddamn wings tattooed there. Jack moans around him, and Robby’s thighs shake.
“You need a break?” Robby pants. He tugs Jack off his cock, ignoring the way Jack whines in protest. Jack licks his lips, wondering if they’re swollen. “You okay?”
“Fucking fantastic,” jack rasps, and leans in for a kiss. “Why’d you stop me?”
“I’m not exactly small,” Robby says, blushing. “Fuck, man, you know how to deepthroat?”
“Sure do. And you don’t have to brag, we can all see it,” Jack teases, chuckling into the kiss. He’s throbbing himself, but he doesn’t want to do anything except make Robby come first. “Let me make you come,” he whispers. “Want to see what your face looks like. Want to taste it. Want to get a facial.”
“Yeah?” Robby murmurs.
“Yeah. Paint me. Although you’re sweet for checking in.” Jack kisses him quick and then goes back down. He holds nothing back this time, bobbing his head, making it loud and sloppy just like Robby deserves.
“Fuck,” Robby groans, more vocal than Jack was expecting, especially considering his near silent videos. “You take it so well, huh? You know what you’re doing? You’re gonna make me come.”
Jack tingles with heat from that. Robby's deep, raspy voice whispering that dirty talk is so fucking hot, he doesn't know what to do with it.
In no time at all, Robby is pulling him off so that he can jerk off onto Jack's face, and he's coming all over it in a matter of seconds. They're both moaning as Robby paints him white, as Jack closes his eyes and takes it, leaving his mouth open, licking up what Robby gives him. Robby comes a fountain, and Jack is covered, painted, claimed. He feels debauched. He loves it.
He needs Robby's hands on him.
The moment Robby's done, Jack crawls up to kiss him, Robby licking off some of the come covering his face. "Come here," he breathes, turning Jack around so he can sit between Robby's spread legs, an arm wrapping around Jack's waist. "You like it like this? Or would you rather have missionary while I jerk you off?"
Jack's breath hitches at the reminder of that request video. He can hear Robby's smile as Robby gets a hand around him, slick with lube that he coated his fingers with. Jack moans loudly at the first stroke, at the heat of Robby's chest against his back, the visual of that tattooed arm around his waist and the wrist jerking him off.
“That’s right,” Robby murmurs right in his ear. “I know what you like. I know how to get those pretty moans falling from your lips.” He kisses Jack’s neck. “I know already. I can't fuck you right now, but when I can, I'll take you flat on your back. I'll throw your legs over my shoulders and pound you. Give it to you hard like you deserve. Is that what you want, Jack? Want me to make you mine?”
Jack nods, moans, whines, dropping his head between his shoulders. Robby kisses the back of his neck, sucks a light mark there, stroking faster. "Robby," Jack breathes, "Robby, Robby, I'm gonna--"
"Yeah? Come for me, Jack."
Jack lets go with a long, drawn out moan, his world whiting out. Robby holds him tight and strokes him through it. There's so much more Jack wants to do with him, wants to get his mouth on those nipples and his teeth into those tattoos, wants to get fucked and ride him and get off just from Robby's filthy words, but right now this is perfect. This is enough. The man he's in love with, his best friend, his favorite pornstar all in one jerking him off with a perfect wet grip.
Robby releases his waist. Jack breathes out.
After a few seconds to breathe and afterglow, Jack asks, “Fuck, man, that was good. You made me come so hard, Robby, Jesus.” He can't help his next question.“You never thought of opening up a place to leave tips?”
Jack turns around in his arms to face him. Robby is pleasantly flushed and glowing, and shakes his head. “Didn’t want that. Didn’t need that. Not like I needed the money.”
“I know, but fuck, man, come on,” Jack says. “Didn’t want to see the measure of people’s attraction? I think you’d be surprised.”
Robby just shrugs.
Jack shakes his head. “Missed opportunities, man.” He shifts with a happy sigh, cuddling closer into Robby’s arms. He shuts his eyes, happier than he can say.
And then something occurs to him. “Robby?”
“Yeah?”
“The guy with the tattoos seventy one? Really, man?”
“...It was midnight and a glass of whiskey when I made the account.”
“It shows.”
“Don’t knock it too hard. It wound up with you in my bed, so it’s not all bad.”
Jack raises his head with a soft smile. "I love you, you know."
He's not sure how Robby's going to react to that, because sex is one thing but feelings are quite another with him...but Robby smiles too, slow and soft, like he wasn't sure he was allowed. Gently, he says, "I love you, too."
#
A week later, the next video that appears on theguywiththetattoos71’s page is his first featuring someone else.
The view is the back of Jack’s head while he’s on his knees in front of Robby’s cock, keeping his mouth busy, everything nice and loud as Robby talks for the first time, saying only things like good boy and fuck but words, nonetheless. Jack sucks him loudly and messily, moaning while his right hand on himself works out of frame.
Robby takes himself out of Jack’s mouth to jerk off over his face and end in a filthy, generous facial that has them both moaning as they come down.
Robby’s hand tattoo is still healing, but Jack swears that he’s going to do all kinds of filthy things to it when it’s healed, and Robby had better become ambidextrous fast, because Jack is going to demand equal treatment from that hand on his cock.
Jack sits Robby between his legs to play with him while they read the comments together. And to come with up more ideas of what they should do.
Jack is living the dream.