Summary:
Richard celebrates the wrap-up of yet another
blockbuster success the only way he knows how;
hanging with mates at the pub, with a drink in
hand. Kit crashes the party with a hankering for
two things; getting some Scottish sausage, and to
play the cameraman for once. And he's all out of
film. (Part I of 'Balls Deep In Snow')
Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fiction, written
solely for entertainment purposes only. Any similarities to
real life people, places or events are completely
coincidental; I am in no way implying the true sexuality of
either Kit Harrington or Richard Madden. This story also
contains explicit sexual content between two or more males,
so if you find m/m relationships insulting or if it is
illegal in your country to be reading this, please leave.
Please don't re-post this story without my consent, but
other than that, sit back, unzip and enjoy!
*Please send any comments/criticisms to pudgunner@hotmail.com
or @PudSmut on Twitter.
Work Text:
Another distinctive 'pop' of a confetti canon cracked against the Scot's eardrums; the bloke flashing his palm up instinctually to block the resulting rain of glittering shavings as he ducked out of the narrow doorway of the pub. Squeezing past the tightly-clustered throngs of patrons hovering by the threshold, he stumbled, the tip of his foot catching on the bunched up carpet before he caught himself on the vacant bike rack outside--the bars cold and dewy to the touch. He could have retched right there, the movement already making his head swim and his already fading constitution waver all the more.
Richard Madden cleared his throat, throwing a glance up and down the empty street. Not a soul in sight to appraise his soberness, apart from a forlorn couple ducked under the wet overhang of the neighboring corner store, snogging. The corners of his pink, pouty lips curled, smirking. A scenario he was all too familiar with.
She was a thin, youthful thing--more than likely a collage girl home from spring break, judging by the denim satchel she had draped over her frail shoulders. Her caller was older however, salt n' pepper with an unkempt beard. A hipster, more like. Molding his mouth to hers while he groped her tits like he was a vagrant looking for fare change. The Scotsman's cock stirred. He wondered if he was just an older boyfriend, begging her to catch an Uber home with him since he had his flat to himself tonight. Or maybe he was just a one night stand. Or better yet, her professor from university, one moment asking her to stay after class for extra credit and the next having that dripping member of his halfway down her throat...
Then, a sudden movement. A lithe, dark figure teasing the corners of his blurry blue eyes--rousing from his unbeknownst position just over his right shoulder, camcorder in hand. God dammit, the brandy was making him slow. Previously enveloped in shadow and now stepping out from a reclining position against the opposing brick wall behind him, the man had a shit-eating-grin plastered across his handsome features as he had his camera precariously pointed in his direction. Both features that the actor had quickly come to loathe with strangers upon exiting a building.
The stud cursed himself for not catching his voyeur earlier, already prepping his spiel about 'no questions or comments' as he pulled his hood up over his salt n' pepper scalp; that is, until he began to digest the stranger's twinkling, dark eyes and the tousled curls that framed an oh-so-fuckable face. He spoke.
"I am coming to you live outside of 'The Pilgrim' pub, where our new rising star within Marvel's cinematic international phenomenon is now proudly looking for the next place to empty that swollen balder of his!" He chortled, biting his plump bottom lip. "What do you have to say for yourself sir?"
Richard snorted, recognition dawning on him. "Me? 'Rising star'? You fucker, Sirens was a bit of a big deal."
"A bit." Kit Harrington chuckled. "I liked you better as that whiney King In The North fellow, personally." The glint of the pinprick red recording light flashing in the onyx of his eyes, making him look like some sort of devious ghoul in the dark. Richard liked it. Relaxing, his fingers twirled around the butt of a cigarette within the lining of his jacket, of which he pulled out a lighter to match. Sparking it, his aquiline nose and chiseled jawline smoldered alight with flame as he lit the butt.
"Sure thing, 'Honorary Avenger'." Richard retorted, nodding towards the colorful necklace emblazoned with the same words hanging loosely off the younger man's neck. "Also, is that my camera?" Madden pipped up, cigarette protruding lazily from his lips as he eyed his dad's vintage RCA camcorder.
Although Richard considered himself a hobbyist at best, he always had a soft spot for those sweet tinges of grain and distortion that came with old analog technology; he favored himself a photographer, but decided that this particular occasion called to be filmed instead of photographed for his steadily growing archives later on. It's not every day you become a major player in a blockbuster franchise.
"Yeah, hope that's alright. Maisie was double fisting inside just now, so she put me in charge of--how did she put it, 'making memories', haha. Even if we are practically filming with a potato." Harrington answered, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Richard exhaled, a cloud of smoke wafting from his mouth. Richard couldn't help but smile at the sentiment.
"Not to worry, best leave that 'potato' in your capable hands, haha." He husked, brushing remnants of the metallic dust from his shoulders.
Kit returned his smile, averting his gaze as his cheeks dimpled. Was that bashfulness he saw? Madden wasn't entirely sure. Either too tired or too drunk to continue small talk, the raven-haired hunks' eyes instead flitted to the darkness brimming outside the pub. Pointing the camcorder now towards the void of Buckinghamshire, he began to scan the handful of dim lights glowing in the distant countryside.
A pioneer of the lens. Richard thought sarcastically. The younger man was more than likely only picking up the tiniest hints of tungsten lights glowing due to the models' less-than-ideal exposure rates, but he let the Londoner have his fun all the same. As much as even he had to admit that the younger man's pretty face was made for the big screen, he too knew the joys of being on the other side of the camera.
Tension, palpable but not uncomfortable, filled the growing silence between them. That same tension he usually had with Kit, at least whenever they were alone. The hushed roar of the party continued to boom through the walls of the pub. Kit continued to play the director. The Scotsman could feel his head swimming as he continued unto cigarette number three, and yet all he could think about was the likely possibility of that girl working a fat cock in the back of her suitors car. Richard absentminded palmed at his growing erection straining against the denim of his jeans, a sizable lump now running along the length of his hip. He eyed his co-star, now leaning over a guardrail to shoot the countryside. Trying his best not to put two-and-two together.
But even still, Kit's back was turned to him; all wide and masculine and muscled. Even underneath the maroon Donegal sweater that hugged his rounded shoulders. The Black Knight had his back arched, amble backside on display, one ankle crossed casually over the other. The older man blinked several times, sucking in a lungful of cold night air, his mouth suddenly quite dry.
He reached into his jacket for another butt, chilled fingers clutching at his last one for the night. He cursed under his breath.
"Bollocks..." Richard said, his words slurring has he broke the silence. Kit turned his head. "Sorry mate. I didn't even think, I should have offered you one. You smoke?"
"S'alright. I don't smoke. Cigarettes." The bloke husked in his best Transylvanian accent, his dark eyes twinkling as his raised his sleeve to reveal a what was quiet possibly the fattest joint Richard had ever seen tucked neatly under the cuff of his wrist.
"Is that an invitation?" Madden breathed, hopeful. Kit spread his legs, coyly wriggling his slender hips back and forth, coaxing out an audible groan from Richard.
"What do you think?"
Sent: Sat, 11 Oct 2020 07:08:53-0800 (WET) From: 'Maisie' <44+ 207-183-8750>
[how's the hangover Richie? ????]
A long, strong, writhing body settled under the covers--a hoarse, anguished sound releasing from the gents' pouty lips. 'Maisie?' The lithe Scott's long eyelashes flitted against the harsh blue glare emanating from his phone, his pale eyes scanning over the text a few times with some honest effort--as difficult as the task was. Temples throbbing painfully, it took a few seconds for the context of the message to seep in; the wrap-up, bob of candy-floss pink hair flashing across his vision, the line of shot glasses overflowing with brandy. It all came flooding back to him in a squalor of jumbled, unwanted memories.
"I am never drinking again," Richard Madden husked under his breath, his voice a near non-existent whisper after all shouting and he had done the night before. The shooting for Marvel's next big blockbuster event 'Eternals' had just wrapped a few nights before, and since they were shooting a portion of his scenes on-location in Buckinghamshire, he and a handful of his colleagues-turned-friends decided to hit up the pub and celebrate the wrap-up of the grueling project--which is where Maisie came in.
The mischievous lil' git. It was supposed to be a low-key, relaxing outing. Just a quiet drink. And yet his 'Game Of Thrones' alumni and long-time friend had ulterior motives. Like an eager little sister, Maisie was the one that corralled them all together for a pint in the first place. Innocently labeling the outing as a 'smol gathering' in their group chat a few days prior. Much to his chagrin, this 'smol' gathering included a tower of sparkling champagne flutes, sliders, a live DJ and a generously supplied open bar to boot. Even now, as he ran his fingers absent-mindedly through the thin down of hair between his pectorals, a foil necklace reading 'Honorary Avenger' in big, rainbow letters still laid emblazoned across his bare chest. An emotional pang swelled through his chest. Another lost shot. So much for liquid courage.
And as if the lack of a lay wasn't enough, the Scotsman felt less like a superhero and more like death. And probably look the part too. He thought dryly. Although that point was arguable--the cute bloke had recently woken up to find himself splayed over the edge of one of the plush hotel bedrooms downtown--not his own of course, but one of them. Well, I didn't end up passed out piss drunk in a ditch at the very least.
The Ikaris actor was a swathe of lean muscle splayed across the bedspread; he was nude, with a tangle of blankets pooling around his taut midriff--just enough to cover his modesty as the actor star-fished on his cramped bedspread. The stud sighed, licking his dry, cracked lips. Gingerly, his muscles screaming at him, the thirty-five year old rolled over to unplug his phone from the charging unit at his bedside, a flash of his glorious ass-cheeks peaking out from under the sheets as he did so before his thumbs began to glide lazily over the surface of the smartphone.
[hows the hangover Richie? ????]
[I think I may need a necromancer to bring me back to life at this rate.]
[haha, lol. and here I thought scots could hold their liquor] [so i take it you had fun?]
[Wow, such empathy, haha. And yeah, it was nice to see everybody in a non-work context for once.]
[mood. also needed a breather from the industry for a while] [no need to burn yourself out] [oh, and your welcome for the surprise btw]
Richard smiled, returning the message.
[Okay, okay, thanks for organizing the impromptu rave. It was greatly appreciated. ❤️] [Where did you end up staying at?]
[the wellington dwn the street, im sharing a room with a few girlfriends] [ended up doing karaoke, you should've joined me for my madonna number]
[Haha, or shot it on my camcorder. That clip would have been going straight to my archive.]
[pffft, you wish. you may as well be shooting with a potato, that thing is older than me] [kindof lost you in the second half of the night there tho where did u go??]
It took a second for Richard to register what she meant, until it dawned on him. He grasped Kit's metallic necklace that was still hanging loosely around his neck, delicately pulling it over his head. The letters glinting in the dark.
[I dunno. Called it a night, ended up sharing a joint with Kit, but I barely remember the rest.]
[geez, hopefully he's not piss drunk in an alley somewhere] [you remember last time he smoked and drank on the same night]
[True, that bloke should never mix his poisons. Ever.]
Richard considered this. The stud rolled over in bed, fingers absentmindedly scratching at the fuzzy treasure trail that segmented his taut abdomen as he eased off the edge of his bedspread. He stretched, unleashing a gutter groan as he raised his sinewy arms above his head, joints popping and shoulders coiling as he tried to work the stiffness out of his muscles. Then, rummaging about the tangled blankets, the tips of his fingers eventually laced around the lettering of the party favor once more; 'Honorary Avenger'.
But where was his honorary Avenger? His icy blue eyes flitted about the modest suite, weary but inquisitive as he tried to piece the night together.
Evidence suggested that the bloke at least made it back to his room to crash for the evening, that much was certain--hence the souvenir that Kit had queerly left behind with him. However the room was vacant but for himself and a few pieces of kitschy furnishings that littered the room; two small twin beds draped in Scheele green puffs, to match the equally Scheele walls with two bright red stools at their foots to match. A stained off-white loveseat that was haphazardly slid into the corner. A minifridge that served as a bedside table for the room. A lone lamp partially enveloped in a set of garish floral curtains and lastly, an admittedly fine-looking drawing desk made of polished oak that was nestled beside the door to the adjacent enclosed bathroom.
Richard stood, the bedsheets falling to the wayside and revealing him in his nakedness--ample cock and balls swinging all the while. His shaft hung full and low and partially engorged, as he normally was in the morning. A veritable sex symbol, even when hung over. He absentmindedly gave his thick tool a few quick tugs as he studied the room.
First he approached the loveseat--noting that it looked slept-in, the pillows wrinkled and dislodged from the looks of it. All while the opposing twin bed was completely untouched, much to his confusion. And the scent--weed mostly, besides the heavy, dingy air of the suite. More than likely from the singed remnants of a half-dozen butts that littered the top of the minifridge. Kit's strain of choice, no doubt. He inhaled. Dust, bleach from the bathroom--and an underlayer of something else. Salt? Sweat? He couldn't quite tell.
More befuddled than ever, he reached back to his bedside yanked his phone off it's charger--deciding that shooting Kit a text would ultimately prove better than playing the role of detective with a hangover like this.
Sent: Sat, 11 Oct 2020 07:20:22-0800 (WET) From: 'Kit' <44+ 113-234-1711>
[Kit, you managing alright? Just woke up, awful hangover, but I didn't hear you head out this morning. Just wanted to make sure you were okay my friend, you left a souvenir behind.]
An ellipsis. The Londoner was typing something long winded, it seemed. Richard took the opportunity to snatch up his his plaid button-down shirt that was crumpled in a pile on the floor, draping it over his shoulders. His fingers slid across his Android again.
[Check your camera mate. ???? ]
Camera? He must've meant the RCA, he hadn't even considered that he quite possible neglected it for god-knows how long.
[Where is it? Did you take it was you when you ventured out this morning?]
[Under the bed. ????️ Didn't want housekeeping to steal it from you. Left some memories on there that are for your eyes only. ????]
Richard's flaccid cock stirred at the notion, swelling slightly under the hem of his loosely-fitted shirt. Was that a come on? Nah, no way. S'probably just a prank. Kit had a habit of pushing his buttons like this (both his interpersonal as well as his sexual ones), always tip-toeing that line between platonic bloke and interested party. Made all the harder, of course, by the fact that Kit was openly queer with his colleagues on set.
He had suspected as much ever since initial casting calls for a Game Of Thrones with the hunk's interactions with his fellow actors onset--more notably the male ones. Not that the Winterfell bastard was anything close to subtle, he still snickered at the image of the horny git dropping hints with Nikolaj Coster Waldau on their semi-regular lunch breaks. Nose-to-aquiline-nose, Kit cheekily brushing his silky curls behind his ears as he shamelessly bombarded the Lannister with tales about how many other hung Danes he banged in his day, and he was certain he could take whatever his co-star could dish out. Much to his chagrin, the married older gent simply smiled turn him down kindly.
But it wouldn't bring the lad down--if not Nikolaj, then the charismatic red-head Rose, or Rheon with his steely eyes, and then Emilia with her dazzling smile. All easy smiles and open politics Kit was, apparently interested in men and women alike, likes the wine and not the label, yada yada--the man carried himself in a way that Richard, if he was being frank, was all too jealous of.
The Scot never had that same openness with his parents, or relatives, or even partners, let alone with industry connections. He wasn't sure what he would label himself nowadays--Bisexual? Pansexual? Heteroflexible? But it was always something that tickled his synapses, something he wanted to explore more but was restrained by his conservative Scottish upbringing. He could still remember panting in the dark, brushing noses with blokes of his in the dormitory in collage. Both lying back in his cot and rubbing one out to some torrented porn of a tiny-waisted, massive-titted lass getting absolutely railed by a big black cock when all he wanted to do was lean over and take his roommate into his mouth. He longed for that freedom, that spontaneity. He craved that expression for masculine attraction.
And more than anything, he wanted to fuck that stupid, cocky, fat-arsed, pretty-boy Londoner like a man possessed.
[Oh? Another one of your games, 'snowbro'?]
[You know it. Follow the breadcrumbs and try to keep up.] [And for gods sake, don't freak out if your not into it. I know how much of a prude you can be.]
Prude? The label didn't sit comfortably with the Scot at all as he went prone, his abdomen flat to the ground as he rummaged about underneath the bedframe, his hand eventually enclosing around the familiar handle for the analog camera. He wasn't a stick in the mud. He considered himself a good wingman. He congratulated his best bloke on his horny endeavors, even with the less-than-proud walks of shame afterwards. Fuming, he opened the clasp of the analog camera to reveal the screen's side compartment, seeing that there were eleven or so new clips added to his library, all of varying lengths.
Breadcrumbs indeed. That was Kit's way he showed his affection after all, being insistently playful and in-direct (and did he mention complete cock-tease). His long-time co-star just stoked something in him. His physical attraction was a factor to be sure, Richard wasn't blind after all, but it was these games were his currency. Be it Kit's chilled fingers slithering under the hem of his shirt to make him jump from the cold, or hiding his clothes in the janitor's closet whenever they broke for the locker rooms after a session at the gym, or wandering gazes whenever they hit the surf in Brighton...
The homoerotic tension was thick enough to cut with a knife and spread on his morning toast, safe to say.
Richard perched is his own bare backside unto the edge of the bedspread, attempting to snuff out whatever undisclosed desired riddled his mind. Readying himself for what would undoubtedly be a cheeky treasure hunt of some kind, or so he guessed. Maybe for Kit's remaining stash of weed hidden somewhere in the room, his undenounced location, his dignity, who knows. He opened up the first clip.
The screen lit up, with a familiar view. The outskirts of Buckinghamshire, with Kit doing a wide pan of the dark countryside beyond while he could hear his own jovial belting in the back.
"And this is the part where you, Richard Madden, begin singing Tom Jones whilst pretending you aren't completely knackered. You aren't fooling anyone, my friend." Kit hushed in a whisper off screen, the camera tilting to showcase Richard singing 'It's Not Unusual' while swaying around a lamp post like he was in Singin' In The Rain.
Richard smiled, his thumb prodding the arrow to move to the next clip.
Next, Kit's comely face flashing on screen, with dimples deep and glossy curls falling into his eyes. His arm draped over Richard's shoulders whilst Kit struggled to keep the RCA steady, the image blurring with their sway. Comrades in arms.
"To the folks out there who find this footage should we go missing; tell Mum I love her, that I am leaving all my possessions to Rose's sphinx Wrinkles, and that my last wish is to get this bloke into more bloody cardio to slim down, fuck your heavy." He huffed. A pang of guilt went through Richard at the grainy image as he watched his own head hang loosely on his shoulders as the pair hobbled along through the night. Seems he had his work cut out for the younger man.
Then, the next fuzzy clip. Which, much to Madden's delight, showcased a certain freshly showered stud with a crisp white towel hanging low on his hips. His heart leapt in his chest, pins and needles raking at the nape of his neck as the realization dawned on him. Kit made me a bloody sex tape. The raven-haired bloke was standing amidst the very room he was occupying, smooth chest on display, a visible sheen of moisture from the steam making his muscled teats and perky nipples look ready and ripe for chewing, even in the dim light of the rented room. Richard watched, awestruck as his co-star began to address the camera he was holding.
"So full disclosure, I am high as a kite." Kit slurred, wobbling on the balls of his feet. Pupils blown wide. His free palm nudged against the noticeable lump at his crotch as he let the camera pan down his rippling torso. Looming in the dark, Richard spotted his own figure draped haphazardly over the edge of one of the twins as well. Limbs twisted about, mouth agape and snoring. "And you are passed out mate. Like, fucked out. But--I need to tell you. I mean, show you something. It's not something that can wait till morning..." Kit hesitated, his normally ivory skin tone flushing as he peered at his comrade in bed behind him. The pink in the apples of his cheeks visible even amidst the grain of the video quality. "Gods, if you were even remotely sober..."
"Look, seeing you on set again. Performing, even with a bit of a wooden character like that, it brought back memories. A lot of them. I thought I pushed a lot of--not feelings. Stirrings? I dunno, aside. Aaaaand. I tried being low-key. Entertaining how absolutely thick you can be at times." Kit husked, flashing a canine. "But I think I just need to lay it on you."
And with that, the stud dropped his towel, biting his bottom lip as his heavy semi-hard cock flopped out into the open air. Swinging like a tantalizing pendulum between his thick thighs.
Oh fuck. Richard gripped the base of his own cock reflexively, which at this point had inflated to full mast in record time. Angry and engorged in his fist. Kit raised a sinewy arm about his head, showing off a scrumptious pit as he let his schlong slap back and fourth between his legs, a practical dinner bell if Richard ever saw one. The salt n' pepper voyeur audibly moaned, his mouth flooding with saliva at the idea of tasting the young stud in person.
"Richard, I want your cock."
Flabbergasted and unbelievable turned on, he eagerly selected the next clip. How long has Kit been keeping this under the radar? Was he really so blind to that bastard's advances? The mental gymnastics these images caused sent the thirty five year old into a quick tizzy; he wasn't sure whether to sit and re-think his relationship with his co-star, block him on all his social media or to just follow his instincts and bust a nut to this homemade video and call it gravy. The innuendos, the mixed signals, it was all mutual attraction. Fuck I am an idiot.
The Ikaris actor selected the next clip, his balls practically churning with the pent-up cum he could feel building at the base of his cock. Much to the actor's delight, his RCA was now not in Kit's expert hands, but instead carefully perched on one of the red stools. Giving his one-man audience an absolutely sinful view of his co-stars smooth, nude, muscled figure entering the frame.
His mouth went dry from the view of the fit stud sauntering over to mount the loveseat, spreading those thighs to show off the prettiest, pinkest pucker the older gent may have ever seen on a man. That fucker has a fucking porn star's asshole. Richard darted his tongue to wet his own pouty lips, imagining the sheer oral assault he wanted to unleash on those wet, glistening asslips as he drank in the sight of that sexy fucking bloke like he was some sort of muse of Michelangelo from antiquity past. All sinew and lean muscle, rounded shoulders, tiny waist, fat thighs and an even perkier ass.
And smooth! Kit must've had a regimented waxing schedule, everything from the soles of his big feet to the dimples at the small of his back was void of hair. The image of the mature bloke being vain enough to take the time booking such appointments with a beauty salon was striking him as mildly hilarious, but mostly hot. He could imagine it now; Kit sheepishly making the request with the receptionist at the front desk, before getting to the task and dropping any humbleness he had and eagerly stripping for a stranger out back. The thought alone that Kit was the kind of guy to get a technician to wax, laser or shave the crack of that ass every two weeks made the corners of the hunks lips curl into a devious smile. His bicep swelling as he increased his grip on his manhood, imagining what those smooth asslips would feel like slowly sinking down his gargantuan cock.
The sinewy lad on camera switched positions however, now lying on his back as Kit nestled deeper into the plush cushions of the loveseat. Eagerly spreading those fat thighs of his in a more spread-eagle fashion. Toes curled and feet dangling in the air, the stud was now showcasing his two glorious mounds of a rump, opening them up like a split peach. The younger bloke worked his glutes, Kit making a point to flex and wink his smooth entrance--his puffy hole quivering in the open air. Just begging to be pinned down and bred like a bitch in heat.
"Fuck, I'm twitching Rich." The raven-haired hunk murmured almost in disbelief, his fingers fumbling at his exposed backside. Softly slapping his fingertips against his bubblegum pink asslips. The lewd smacking sounds almost making the Scotman bust right there. "My fuckhole needs a cock in it. Your cock. Gods I bet it's fucking huge."
The Ikaris actor huffed, genuinely surprised at the fifth coming out of his younger co-star. He was now shamelessly pumping his stiff cock full force into his open fist, ridged as a metal pole and making a dramatical upward curve towards his abdomen with every thrust. Huh, what do you know, Kit is psychic. Richard wasn't sure if Kit was just a good guesser, or if maybe he was doing a bit of ball gazing when he was unawares during their bro-mantic sleepovers of yore. The former lord of House Stark was proudly sporting ten inches of thick, succulent, highland Scottish cock; his shaft a beautiful, pale thing covered in a series of blue veins and topped with an equally thick purple head. All nestled in a thick bush and complimented by a pair of heavy, low-hanging nuts. The massive tool drooling a clear thread of pre-cum from Kit's sexy performance. The comment made Richard idly wonder if Kit was a size queen; he always liked big tits on girls, why not huge schlongs on guys?
Now the Black Knights fingers were buried three or four knuckles deep in his rectum, the muscles of his back knotting together as his slender hips eagerly met the jabs of his deeply-lodged digits. "I need that huge, Scottish cock busting nice and deep in my arse. Spew it in me Rich, just dump it in me." Kit mewed, practically a needy kitten as he rocked those sinful hips back and forth, the two glorious slabs of his ass jiggling rhythmically with his movements. Fuck that's a fat ass. Madden thought, desperately wishing he was pinning the actor to his bed and making him his own personal sperm bank for the night.
Richard didn't even require any lube to get off at this stage of his usual wank sessions. Leaning back in bed with the dim light of the camera illuminating his dashing features, the pre-cum oozing from his piss slit was practically dripping like a faucet by now and was more than sufficient to coat the inside of his fist in a thin, glisten sheen. A quiet moan escaped from his lips, imagining that his disembodied hand was a loose, willing hole in his mind's eye as a string of delicious, slick sounds reached his ears from his feverish wrist movements. Yeah, take that cock like a good slut. Gon' get that pretty boy hole blasted tonight. Painting your insides white by the end of the night, and then some. Richard's hairy thighs tensed, his eyes shut tight as he jerked off the monolith of cock throbbing obscenely in his fist. Big balls bouncing with the momentum of his motions, perspiration forming on his heavy brow. A familiar pleasure coiling in his gut as he quickly edged towards orgasm.
The next clip. Kit now propped his RCM on the top of a sink, inside the enclosed bathroom, handling his own impressive piece. Albeit a much more average length of seven inches, Richard could feel his pulse rising seeing his co-star flushed and focused, letting out low, measured groans as he let his own fingers tease the tip of his manhood. His abdominals flexing sexily as he slid the foreskin back and forth over his engorged head like it was his favorite toy.
"Your drunk Richie. Absolutely sloshed. It's like old times, eh? You would crash first, and I would be left looking after your lightweight arse." The older man's breathing hitched, trying to will himself to slow down as he listened to the Londoner's dirty talk. Trying to make the euphoria of watching the former night's watchman bare it all last just a little bit longer. "If you were remotely sober I would be taking your cock right now. Sucking the cum out of you. Letting you use me. But I want you when your lucid. I want you to know when your breeding your best mate."
Then it happened. The Scotman's hand was drenched in a fountain of cum before the fertile stud even registered he was ejaculating, the thought of turning the younger man's tight hole into a sloppy, used pussy driving him over the edge. The Young Wolf was left gasping and shaking in the wake of his orgasm, ropes of semen spurting between his fingers like a thick custard as he made a noble attempt to quell the flow of hot spunk from from spilling out unto the bedspread, but ultimately failing. Instead leaving a sticky mess streaked across his torso in pearly white--all the way from his taunt abdomen to his heaving, hairy pecs.
Sucking in deep lungful's of air, Richard idly slapped his spent rod on his abdomen, nostrils flaring. He let the RCM slip lazily from his hand unto the bedspread, the vulgar sounds of Kit moaning his name still breaking the silence of the suite with his muffled cries from the camera. Cheekily, he rubbed his hand clean of the remnants of his jerk-off session on the sleeve of his shirt, having not the will nor the shame to hunt down for a tissue box amidst the furnishings of the hotel. He sighed, gazing blankly into the early morning light of the bedroom. Drinking in the silence. His powder-blue eyes tracing the cracks of peeling paint that blossomed across the ceiling, cum still dripping down the ridges of his abdomen, flowing like rivers of spilt milk.
The actor once again slowly reached for his phone, making a point turn on his front facing camera this time, his own muscled torso and spent semi-flaccid cock appearing on screen. Gripping the base of his shaft, he wriggled his own dripping meat for the camera's viewing pleasure for a solid few seconds--making sure to capture every succulent inch of his godlike rod, the sheer length difficult to get entirely in frame--before saving the video to his gallery. Thumbs gliding across the touchscreen, he attached the media to his next message to Kit, contemplative. He hesitated.
Kit wants to get fucked. By me. So Why not return the favor.
Against what would normally be his better judgement, he pressed send.
Sent: Sat, 11 Oct 2020 07:44:12-0800 (WET) From: 'Kit' <44+ 113-234-1711>
[See what you did to me?] [Fuck, that was so fucking hot.] [Did you mean those things? About wanting to be with me? About being, y'know.]
[Hungry for that cock? Itching to get my brains fucked out? Wanting to be your cum slut?] [Rich, take the hint. I've been wanting to drain you dry for years now. ???????????? ]
Richard couldn't help but laugh at that.
[Okay, point taken. So, are we what, boyfriends now? What about Rose?]
Another ellipsis.
[God, you are such a fucking straight boy I swear, haha.] [Me and Rose are open, have been for a while. One of only a handful of incredible women I have been with in my life who actually not only accepts my interest in men, but encourages it. We occasionally take breaks to see other people. This is one of them.]
[Oh. Sorry for sounding ignorant, a lot of this is...new to me. Apologies if I'm sounding utterly dull.]
[Anytime mate. I didn't want to step on your toes, I simply wanted you to discover these feelings for yourself. No matter what my motives were. But hey, flashing my ass at you seems to work too. ????]
[Damn right. Now it all makes sense. And let me guess, Rose pegs you?]
[First of all, fuck you. Second of all, only on our anniversary. I prefer taking the real thing.]
[Duly noted. On that note, when am I going to tap that ass in person?]
[What're your plans for brunch? I have been sitting on this fat fucking toy all day, and I've been waiting for you to wake up and come give me my protein shot for the day. ????]
[Just name the time and place. I want you face down, ass-end up on that bed by the time I arrive. I wanna get right down to business.]
Notes:
Folks,
Thanks again for reading! And sincerest apologies for anybody
who lives in the greater United Kingdom who had to read a
Canadian's interpretation of Scottish and English lingo, I
more than likely butchered both dialects in the making of
this story, haha. But hopefully you as the reader were able
to not find my pitiful attempts at world building too
distracting.
As my interest in smutty oneshots, sexy-as-fuck male
celebrities and creative writing knows no bounds, I decided
to combine all my various naughty interests into this draft
surrounding two of my current late-night obsessions for your
reading pleasure! And fret not, I am currently planning on
writing a part two to this story (because of course I want
these two to bang EVENTUALLY), but between my flaw of being
an incredibly slow writer and making additional visual
content to pair with the next installment, it may not be
released for some time.
Either way, please feel free to send me your thoughts and
feelings concerning this piece in the meantime! I look
forward to reading your comments. You can also find me active
on @PudSmut via Twitter if you like keeping up-to-date with
my written material.
- Pud