Bacon liked Spencer’s bathroom enough that he was almost reluctant to leave its warm confines to go find Spencer’s bed. Almost. He did want to fuck, and while the bathroom—hell the fluffy bathmat even—held certain appeal, so did a bed he could collapse in afterward.
“Coming, Del?” Spencer held the door open for him. He’d retrieved condoms and lube from a drawer in the bathroom vanity after toweling off.
“Yeah.” He liked when Spencer called him Del in that cultured voice of his, deep and soothing. He couldn’t quite think of himself that way yet, but he liked the nickname, liked being that guy for Spencer.
Spencer’s bedroom was large and airy like the rest of the loft, the high ceilings and natural light through a bank of windows contrasting with the dark gray bedding and black-and-white prints on the wall. Most of the photos were male dancers in various states of nakedness. Hot yet classy, much like Spencer himself.
“Any of these of you?”
“No.” Spencer laughed. “I’m hardly that photogenic. Or that much of an egoist to put myself on the wall. They’re all done by a photographer friend—the party I mentioned in the email is for him.”
“He does good work.” Bacon wasn’t sure how to angle for going to the party with Spencer, or if he even wanted that, so instead he leered. “You should pose for him. I wanna see you in tights. Or workout shorts. Whatever you wear to dance class.”
“Barre class is hardly about sultry clothes.” Spencer laughed and gently pushed Bacon in the direction of the bed. “But I bet I can find tights you’d like. Later.”
His intent stare made Bacon squirm in the best way possible and reminded him that while he’d had a bone-melting orgasm, Spencer had not.
“How do you want me?” he asked as Spencer pulled back the covers and tossed the supplies on the bed.
“Exactly how you were in the shower. All blissed out and begging for my cock.”
“That can be arranged. You gonna give me your mouth again?” Letting his towel flutter to the floor, he stretched out on the large bed—had to be a king, which felt like such a luxury after years of singles.
Discarding his own towel, Spencer lay down next to him, pulling him in for a kiss that was full of filthy promises. “You liked being rimmed, huh?”
“Loved it.” Bacon wasn’t above being shameless.
“How do you feel about fingers?” Spencer reached for the lube.
“I’m in favor of them. Feel free to go right to your dick, though. I like a good stretch.”
“Guess that answers my question of whether you’ve done this before.” Spencer laughed and gave him another kiss. Damn, but the man could kiss—all barely contained heat contrasted with practiced finesse.
“Yeah. Dicks. Fingers. Tongues. Dildos. My ass is kind of an undiscriminating attention whore. You’re not gonna hurt me if you fuck hard.” He winked at Spencer. “But feel free to try. Go hard, but now please.”
“You are so delightfully not at all what I expected.” Spencer pulled him close, tongue tracing his lips before licking its way into Bacon’s mouth. While they kissed, Spencer fiddled with the lube and then his slick fingers started tormenting Bacon.
“What part of now didn’t you understand?” he growled as Spencer masterfully played his nerve endings, circling and teasing, pressing in but then retreating.
“The part where I’m in charge.” Spencer punctuated his words by finally going deep enough to graze his gland, working that spot till Bacon was writhing on the sheets. His cock had never completely gone down from earlier and was back at full, insistent mast. Spencer seemed content to wait until he was a begging mess.
“Fuck me. Now. Please. Spencer. God, I need it.”
“You want me to fuck you good? Take you hard?”
“God, yes. Please.” He didn’t even try to keep the tremble out of his voice.
“Flip. Get that ass in the air for me.”
Fucking hell, but bossy Spencer was a sight to behold, and Bacon reveled in his commands and the hard edge to his voice. He rolled, resting his head on his folded arms, ass up as requested.
He expected more of Spencer’s fingers, but maybe Spencer wasn’t as patient as he seemed as the next sensation was Spencer’s latex-clad dick sliding up and down his crack.
“This what you need?”
“Yes.” He tried to rock back onto Spencer’s hard cock, but he stopped him with a hand on his him.
“I’m driving here. I’ll get you where you need to be, promise.”
“Ungh. Now.” He almost didn’t recognize the whines coming from his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been this desperate, wanted someone this much.
Spencer started a slow, torturous slide in. He had a long cock with an elegant left-leaning curve to it, and he absolutely knew how to use it, stretching Bacon slow and steady until he was panting and begging.
“Fuck me. Hard. Need to feel it.”
“Need this?” Spencer finally gave him a hard thrust, balls slapping against Bacon’s ass. “Tell me, Del. Tell me what you need.”
“Need your cock. All of it. God.” And in that instant, he was Del, the needy fuck, the emo guy who craved Spencer’s dirty commands more than air, the shuddering collection of nerve endings being slowly turned inside out by Spencer’s relentless authority.
“Need this?” Spencer started a hard but slow rhythm, deep punishing thrusts, each pushing another whimper out of Del’s chest.
“Faster. Please.”
“I go fast, I’m going to come. You want that?”
“God, yes.” He wanted that more than he wanted his own climax even, wanted to feel Spencer come apart while he owned his ass.
“Get a hand on your dick. Show me how much you like this.”
“Fuck.” It was like Spencer had pried him open, found a playlist of all his kinks, and was now masterfully exploiting every last one of them. Del almost didn’t need his hand to get there. “You’re gonna get me off.”
“Good. I want to feel you come. Want to hear it too. Tell me you need this.”
“Fuck, yes. Need your cock. Get me off, Spencer, please.”
Spencer responded by finally speeding up, a series of thrusts so accurate it was like he had a beacon for finding his gland. Del felt the climax building, starting with tension in his legs and shoulders, spreading to his back, whole body starting to vibrate with need. It was different than the sort of adrenaline that came with a hard workout. This felt almost more than he could handle, like he was coming apart at the seams. Happily. Joyously. As if he couldn’t wait to see what was left after he shattered.
“Come on. Come for me,” Spencer urged, voice hard, and it was that harshness, the way he made Del feel taken, owned that got him off.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” His voice broke as slick fluid coated his fist. Then Spencer was groaning too, losing control in the way he’d craved so much—hammering hard, fingers digging into Del’s waist as he came with a shout.
“Del. Fuck. Del.” Spencer was surprisingly gentle as he pulled out and then gathered Del to him as they both collapsed onto the bed. This blend of tenderness and control just worked for him, so much, made it easier to just soak it all up. Spencer pressed kisses along his hairline. “You okay?”
“More than.”
“Good. I had plans for going slow and gentle—”
“Fuck that,” he groaned with no real ire. “No fun in that.”
“You’re...something.”
“Guilty,” he yawned. “And fuck, now I’m tired.”
“Rest.” Spencer kissed his shoulder. “I’m going to start dinner.”
“I should help—”
“You should rest,” Spencer said firmly. “Even if you don’t drift off, just rest. You need it.”
No more arguments, he floated along in that happy space between sleep and waking for a long time until he realized with a start that he’d actually fallen asleep. Darkness had settled over the room with good smells drifting in through the open door.
Not sure what the dress code was here, he retrieved his boxers from the bathroom after cleaning up, then went in search of Spencer, who was wearing a pair of gray pants and no shirt and stirring a pot of something on the stove. Instrumental jazz came out of speakers near the entertainment center.
“I...I should go get dressed,” he said awkwardly.
“No way.” Spencer gave him an exaggerated once-over before pointing to a bar stool. “Come here and look pretty while I finish the food.”
Spencer was the pretty one—gray hair damp, like he’d taken a second shower, chest peppered with hair and pebbled pink nipples that made Bacon’s mouth water. He wasn’t bulky at all, but his lean, corded muscles were sexy as fuck, especially when they flexed to drain a pot of ravioli.
“I went with chicken, not salmon, in deference to your tastes, but otherwise I thought I’d keep the same menu as I described in the email.” The tips of Spencer’s ears went pink, and something equally warm heated in Bacon’s insides. He liked knowing that Spencer had gone to trouble for him.
“Smells amazing.”
“Here. Try the wine. This Sauv Blanc is very well-rounded and drinkable, and I’m eager to see what you think.” Spencer handed him a goblet with a delicate stem that Bacon had to hope he wasn’t going to accidentally snap.
“I haven’t had alcohol in over a month, and I’m really tired of trading MREs with Shiny or finding out what the chow hall can do with rice. I’m going to be easy to impress.”
Spencer laughed but kept looking at him like he really cared about his reaction. The wine was crisp and clean tasting and not too oaky which was pretty much all Bacon required from a wine.
“It’s good. Tasty. I’m already plotting a poly triad with your mattress and your shower. Might invite the wine for some action too.”
“You’re right. You are easy to impress.” Spencer gave him a quick wine-laced kiss. Bacon’s mom enjoyed cooking for him, but she didn’t do the whole nicely set table and carefully plated food like Spencer, who made it feel more like he was in a high-end restaurant. In his underwear.
In short order, Spencer brought two plates to the dining table. His had more of the medley of asparagus, carrots, and zucchini and just a few strips of chicken while Bacon had a generous fan of perfectly done chicken with some sort of herb sauce and a big portion of the pasta. The pasta was different but good, and Bacon was just so damn hungry that he kind of forgot he was supposed to be making small talk until his plate was half-empty.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “We were in the field most of the last week. Then the flight home—”
“Don’t apologize. Please.” Spencer patted his arm. “I like watching you eat like a wild animal. You’re fun to cook for. And I made plenty. Dessert too.”
“That tart?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes.” Spencer gave him an indulgent smile. “And I know you probably can’t tell me about the mission—”
“You’d be right.” Bacon made sure his regret over that showed in his tone. He wouldn’t mind telling Spencer all about it, but he had to be careful here.
“But was it a success?”
“You could call it that, yeah. But I mean, any deployment that ends with two of our guys out on medical leave is hardly a rousing success.” He shuddered and took a long drink of the wine.
“They didn’t die, though, right? That’s something.”
“Not sure D—he’s going to see it that way. The one guy was injured in a blast. Ultimately he lost a leg, a foot, and a hand. He’ll never serve again.” He ran a hand through his hair. Trying to not tell Spencer too much was hard. Even now, his mouth soured thinking of the extent of Donaldson’s injuries. “Sucks. And I’ve known these guys for years. I know the long road ahead.”
“It does suck.” Spencer squeezed his arm across the table again. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad they didn’t die either.”
“Thanks.” His pasta hardened to a lead balloon in his belly at the reminder that he probably shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be pursuing this...whatever it was with Spencer. Plenty of his teammates wouldn’t understand what he was doing, for a variety of reasons.
But then he took a sip of the wine, let its clean flavor mellow out the tension in his throat, and glanced at Spencer, who was looking at him with soft concern. That right there. That look. He hadn’t had someone who cared in an awfully long time, and while he knew better than to get all fanciful about Spencer and where this thing was going, he was going to enjoy this as long as it lasted. Screw the outside world. All he knew was that he liked who he was when he was with Spencer and he wanted more time with that self.