[Adult] walk the line

[Cassius Boone]

Somehow it always surprised Cash to hear that kind of language coming from the prim and proper valet in his lap. Oh, he knew very well just how improper Arthur could be, but even so. He laughed again, feeling lighter than he had in months, and paused in faux consideration. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you first thing," he allowed, thumb still smoothing its way across Arthur's cheek.

Cash knew better than to wade into this hip-deep without the time and effort a relationship deserved; he knew better than to give himself wholly to the excitement of something new, and tender, and exciting. That didn't stop him from appreciating the fact that he had a lap full of an attractive and extremely willing young ass, though, and at the question about the spread, he reached over to quickly twitch the cloth back over it all. The wine, there wasn't much to be done about, but it would hardly turn sour in the minutes (however many) this would take.

"That horse has a name," the cowboy chided, even as he turned, pulling Arthur with him, laying them down upon the blanket with himself between the valet's legs. His lips found Arthur's throat, far more gentle this time, as his hands busied themselves with the buttons on the front of Arthur's trousers. "His name is Kelpie," Cash lectured between kisses, "And you should thank him for bringing us out here where you can be as loud as you want."

As soon as the trousers were loose enough, they and Arthur's drawers were pulled down enough to free his prick. Cash was still over-dressed, by his reckoning, but this wasn't about him. Not right now, at any rate. Instead, grinning up at the valet, he licked up the length of Arthur's cock before taking it into his mouth. He wasn't as talented as the valet, no doubt in part because of a relative lack of practice, but neither was the valet as gifted as Cash. If he lacked talent, though, Cash meant to make up for it with enthusiasm.

[Arthur Beckwith]

"Are you really quibbling about the horse?" Arthur asked as he stretched across the blanket, arms curling long over his head before they slid back down to catch against the back of Cash's neck and the front of his trousers. There was little time to do much more than work free the top button, however, before Cash drew away to push trousers and pants down Arthur's slim hips. Arthur had expected the clothing to be removed entirely, had braced himself for the task of ignoring how wrinkled they would get in the undoubted wad Cash would deposit them in, but instead found himself gasping in delighted surprise as his cock was drawn into a warm and eager mouth.

Arthur was on the receiving end of a good prick suck often enough. He simply hadn't expected it here.

The trousers made it difficult to spread his thighs the way he would have liked, and Arthur wiggled a bit with a mostly-fruitless shove of both his hands against the bunched fabric. "Help me," he pleaded, breathless, and suppressed the urge to lift his hips.

[Cassius Boone]

Generally speaking, Cash was as straightforward in bed as he was in most things. There was a time and place to get creative, sure, but usually it was because of the prompting of his partner. If rope was involved, it was far more common for him to be the one tied. He enjoyed it, yes, sometimes quite a lot, but that kind of involvement and trust rarely accompanied the one-time meetings he'd so often had in recent years.

Now, seeing Arthur squirm in the faux bindings of his trousers about his thighs, Cash was starting to re-evaluate if it wasn't worth the effort, at least sometimes; at least for some people.

But there would be a time for that later; a time to do it properly, with soft rope and a bed beneath them. For now, with a slightly annoyed grunt, Cash abandoned Arthur's prick. Gently he took the valet's wrists and pushed them away; leaned up to kiss the man again, self-indulgent even as he told himself that this was all for the other man's sake. "We'll do this your way, else you'll just end up frettin' the entire time. But you just relax and let me do it, alright?" he grumbled against those delicious lips, finally sitting back to turn his attention belatedly to the valet's impossibly perfectly shined shoes.

If it were himself, the cowboy just would've yanked them off and tossed them aside; instead he took them one after the other, pulling Arthur's feet into his lap to tug the laces loose, and his hands were gentle as he pulled them off of the valet's feet. Arthur wasn't a child; he could do this himself, but it was the act of it that mattered. Sure, Cash didn't give much of a shit about his own clothing, so long as it was kept in good repair, but Arthur cared. As little as he knew about the other man, that much had been made very obvious.

So the shoes were set neatly and carefully aside, mindful of that impossible sheen. The pants were next, Cash shaking them out and folding them, if not as neatly as Arthur would've, far more thoughtfully than he'd ever treated a bed partner's clothing before. The drawers were likewise folded, though with not nearly as much attention. His patience was notable; it was not infinite. And, as such, when he reached to pull Arthur's jacket from him, as his fingers worked through the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, he stole hungry kisses from the other man. Then it was more folding, until Arthur sat naked before him, his clothing in a neatly (or as neatly as Cash could make them) folded pile to the side.

Bizarrely, by the end of it Cash had found himself enjoying the little show he had put on for the other man. He'd been well on his way to hardness just having the valet's cock in his mouth, but by the time the whole act was finished and the valet was naked before him, the tent in his trousers couldn't get much larger.

"You're so fuckin' pretty," he breathed, seeing absolutely no reason to hide how his eyes fairly devoured the sight before him. It had been worth it, he supposed, a bit begrudging even in his own thoughts; even as he stole one last hungry kiss before again bending to suck Arthur's too-long-neglected prick again.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Arthur obliged him throughout the entire process, biting against his irrepressible smile, eyes bright as he tracked Cash's movement. "You really are courting me, aren't you, Mr. Boone?" he asked, and attempted to swallow back a laugh that erupted anyway as a little hiccup of mirth. He felt fairly blossoming with warmth, despite the coolness of the fall air, and splayed freely across the blanket, knees bent and thighs spread wide. It seemed the least he could do, to provide a little show, under the circumstances.

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Arthur dropped his gaze to the obvious bulge pressing against the front of Cash's trousers and then lifted them again, soft-eyed and practically beatific. At the praise, he shifted again, hand falling to stroke his own stiff prick, but he held Cash's eye even as the American dipped to pull him back into his mouth.

"Oh fuck," Arthur gasped, back bowing and eyes fluttering closed as sensation rushed hot through him again. "I need you in me," he hummed as his head tossed back against the blanket, revealing the long arc of his throat. When he lifted his head, it was to stare open-mouthed and glassy-eyed at the way his dick slid past firm, pink lips, and the sweet hollowing of freshly-shaved cheeks on each upward pull.

[Cassius Boone]

The question had been met with a laugh and a slight shake of Cash's head. He'd meant what he said – if he'd left Arthur's pants tossed off to the side, the valet would spend the entire time worrying about the wrinkles, he was certain – but shit, he did want to do these kinds of nice things for the valet. He wanted to fuck him until he couldn't walk, sure, but it was more than that.

It was easier to fuck than talk, though, easier to lean into the physicality of their relationship - such as it was - when they knew so little about each other. There'd be time for talking, but not 'til Arthur was taken care of.

"Later," he promised, the single low word offered as he stared up at the valet, hand working the spit-slick shaft. "I'm gonna take care of this," he added, gently squeezing Arthur's cock, "And then I wanna eat. We got plenty of time after for me to fuck you like you deserve." Sure, his own prick still ached with need, but he could ignore it for now.

He couldn't help his grin as he tilted his head slightly, swiping his tongue across the head of the valet's cock before continuing, "So be a good boy, and cum in my mouth so you don't go makin' a big mess, hmm?" It was more of a lark than anything; an educated guess on what would turn Arthur on more. Maybe it was baseless, but Cash couldn't help but make the assumption. And, hell, even if he was wrong about what the valet liked, at least he'd know a little bit more about what Arthur didn't like.

[Arthur Beckwith]

A faint moue of disappointment pursed Arthur's lips at being so denied — It hardly seemed fair when Cash's prick was clearly as enthusiastic as Arthur was about the idea. And yes, Arthur was hungry for having skipped breakfast, but he'd skipped it for this, and to have that large and lovely cock buried in his arse again. He wiggled his hips beneath Cash's busy hand in emphasis to his dismay, even as he was yet panting with each stroke.

Wobbling up on his elbows, Arthur sucked the entirety of his bottom lip into his mouth as he watched the slick swipe of Cash's tongue over the head of his cock, hips giving a little, involuntary jolt. He'd opened his mouth to protest, to suggest he deserved to be fucked now, thank you kindly, but the words choked in his throat with an abrupt exhalation. Mouth slack, he stared, erection gone hard as a rock. Blinking, breath unsteady, he nodded hastily and then fell back onto his back with a soft whoof of the blanket.

"Oh fuck," he repeated, a shuddering whimper as he curled the fingers of both hands into his hairline. Writhing, he gasped again, and then coughed out a rough moan. "I'm gonna come," he wrenched out, and his hips lifted despite himself. "I'm— I'm—" Teeth clenched, he went rigid, shoulders pressed back hard as his bare feet slid across the blanket.

[Cassius Boone]

It was cute, to see the incipient argument on Arthur's face; it was even better to see it absolutely evaporate in the face of just a few little words. Cash hadn't expected that strong of a reaction, but for now it was filed away – even as his smile turned smug.

"That's it, cum for me," he agreed, voice gone gravely with need and lust. His hand stroked firmly, even as he took the head of that pretty prick into his mouth, cheeks hollowing again as he sucked, tongue tracing the slit. His other hand pushed down on the valet's hips, less intending to hold him in place, and more hoping to protect him from any stray nip of Cash's teeth by accident.

When the first bitter spray met Cash's tongue, he forced himself to take as much of Arthur's prick as he could, which in fairness was almost all of it, even as he gagged around the length. Swallowing repeatedly in reflex, the rest of the load wasn't tasted so much as felt with each twitch of the valet's cock. In spite of himself, the cowboy groaned, regretting just a bit that he'd pointedly denied himself the pleasure of a fuck now for the (hopefully longer, rougher) fuck later.

Another stray movement prompted the cowboy the gag again, and reluctantly he pulled himself back, hand again wrapping around Arthur's cock until the last drop had been drained from it. A bit of water had filled his eyes from the gagging, and it wouldn't be a surprise if his face was just a little red as well, but he was pretty damn satisfied with himself. Laughing with a breathless and rough voice, he finally abandoned the valet's cock to lay himself down on the blanket next to the other man, pulling him in for another, now admittedly rather sloppy, kiss.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Boneless, Arthur allowed himself to be tugged over and into the warmth of Cash's kiss. He hitched in a sharp breath through his nose at the musky taste of his own spunk, and he licked into Cash's mouth even as he slung his bare leg over the older man's fully-clothed hip. His own slender hips pulsed fitfully, and dimly, he was aware that his dribbling cock was likely soiling the front of his old suit.

Still flushed despite the gooseflesh skimming across his skin, Arthur smiled against Cash's mouth. "Shall I call you 'Daddy' now?" he teased, and slipped a hand between their bodies to feel out the length of him straining against the front of his trousers. Arthur nosed at Cash's cheek and then added in a husky whisper, "I want you to come in me, Daddy."

[Cassius Boone]

Cash had been prepared for post-coital (or close enough) kissing and cuddling. He was not prepared for Arthur to nigh-immediately retaliate with wandering hands and an absolutely licentious tongue.

The lurch in Cash's stomach, in time with a hefty twitch from his confined prick, was entirely unexpected. A deep, shuddering breath was an attempt to stave off the burning need in him, as was the hand that tightly gripped Arthur's wrist to pull his hand from Cash's groin. "Keep that up and the only place I'm gonna come is in my drawers," he warned, eyes closing briefly against the wave of arousal.

This damn tart was going to be the end of him.

"Fine," he relented, as though it were some great burden instead of giving in to the incubus draped over him. He thought, momentarily, of the plan they were already abandoning, and then let go of it with a brief and quiet sigh. Then came the grin again, and he nipped at Arthur's bottom lip. "Move the food out of the way. I've got oil in my saddlebags. Be thinkin' about how you want me to fuck you," he ordered, stealing another hungry kiss before adding with a laugh, "Aside from 'hard enough you see stars'."

He didn't want to have to get up, to abandon the ravenous creature he'd unleashed, but he did so anyway with a slight groan of effort and discomfort for how his trousers constricted him. The rosemary-scented almond oil wasn't quite as high of quality as the grease that Arthur bought, but neither was Cash's salary as generous as a valet's. But he liked the smell of it, liked the way it dripped, and in truth it also gave him a moment to breathe and pull himself back from the brink that one simple word had pushed him to.

The metal vial was offered to Arthur when he returned. "Open yourself up," he ordered, other hand busy with the buttons of his waistcoat. There wouldn't be the same veneration offered to his own clothing; Cash wanted to be buried in that sweet ass as soon as humanly possible, and that plan simply didn't allow for the careful folding of more clothes.

[Arthur Beckwith]

A bright laugh erupted from Arthur's throat as Cash drew away, and he rolled back and forth in delight for a moment before scrambling to move their waiting meal well aside. "Is it not enough to say every way you can think of?" he called over his shoulder as he scooted along on hands and knees. If all of this was meant for him, Arthur reckoned he was allowed to be a bit smug for so neatly turning the tables. His dimpled grin was still in place when Cash returned and passed off the little bottle.

And then, well, all of the breath left him at once. His prick, soft and still dribbling a bit, twitched as if it imagined it could overcome human biology.

Eyelids fluttering, Arthur laid back across the blanket, knees bent and thighs fully spread. Curled up a little at the shoulders to better steady his hands, he uncapped the vial and poured a measure into his palm. With care, he stoppered it once more and laid it aside.

Left hand notched behind his knee so that he could pull it toward his chest, he tipped the right just above his upturned arse, oil dripping from the tips of his fingers and down to his hole. Gaze fixed on Cash's own, he slid two full fingers inside of himself with an open-mouthed gasp and began to pump them in sleek, easy strokes.

"Like this?"