Once Logan is convinced of something, it's not easy to change his mind and from the first time he met Blake he's been harbouring the suspicion that the man in question likes the thought of a little more danger than perhaps his ordinary life provides. That would explain so many things, most pressingly this, and Logan is no stranger to being the bad habit someone likes to indulge in.
A grunt lodges in his throat when Blake mouths his balls. His fingers curl into John's short hair. There's not much to hang on to there but he manages.
The air feels cooler than it is against his wet skin when Blake pulls back to curse and breathe and adjust the weight on his knees. His blunt fingers rake the man's scalp fondly to see the deep flush on Blake's lips. He strokes himself lazily. Dragging his foreskin over and back.
"Open," he says plainly. Holding Blake where he is by a handful of hair in case he tries for any more than he's been told to.
There's a flicker that crosses his face that's less surprise and more... consternation. It isn't unwelcome to have his hair pulled, to be directed, but there's something about being told to give in that makes him want to do the opposite. Issues with authority, he supposes.
Still, those dark eyes are softer than they should be even as his jaw tightens briefly like he's ready to argue. And with a look that suggests more than he'd like — mainly that Logan's lucky he's pliable — he does as he's told and waits to see if the other man's going to fuck his mouth, blow a load all over him, or some third option he's too horny to consider.
He smiles faintly as he watches John consider his options. Truly, he doesn't know which way Blake is apt to turn. Whether an order will frustrate him in the way he wants to be frustrated or simply make him push back in a scramble for control. He's prepared for either, but he can't say he's not a little surprise that Blake eventually does what he's told.
"Mh. You look fuckin' good doin' that," he growls. Relinquishing Blake's hair to drag the pad of his thumb across his lower lip and just relish the look of him a moment. The word thirsty comes to mind again. It made Logan smile when he first read that text and it still delights him now. He likes a man who knows what he wants. And even though Logan's almost certain Blake would let him finish however he needed he aches just as much to know he's repaid the favour. "Where do you want it, darlin'. Tell me."
One of the things that arguably troublesome is how confident John can be in the bedroom until suddenly the focus is squarely on him and he knows it. He fights every time with an urge to fade away, not because he wants to retreat, but because it's a reminder of the past that's uncomfortably mingled with every part of his life, lurking in places it's not wanted, invading like a hoard of unwanted feelings of inadequacy. It takes work to keep the gaze, to remind himself this isn't a moment where he's being starkly judged based on what someone thinks he might be worth. They're just here having a little filthy fun, no strings attached.
"Come in my mouth," he says through a flush that extends down his neck and up to his ears. "I wanna taste you," Blake says breathily, leaning on his gumption to recover from what he always feels is too intimate a slip for the bedroom (or bathroom, in this case).
Logan knows that discomfort. There are times he still feels it acutely himself, albeit for slightly different reasons. He knows intimately the way being handed an excess of attention that feels misplaced or undeserved can inspire a man's sense of fight or flight.
He can smell it on Blake. That barely perceptible shift from excitement to nervousness and back. But a keen sense of smell isn't like being empathic. It can tell him what someone might be feeling. Not why. He's still left to guess why Blake's fair skin turns red to the tips of his ears and the prospect of being right in those assumptions makes him want to tread lightly. Appreciative rather than domineering. No teasing like he usually does. No playful attempts to torment the other mans pride. He smiles and presses his thumb past Blake's lips until he can feel the man's tongue on his skin. "Fuck, I hoped you'd say that," he purrs, and wrings the base of his dick firmly when the next slow stroke makes him leak. Biting back a pang of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm him. "Thirsty cop. Look whatchu do t'me."
Hand in John's hair again he urges him nearer. Close enough just to wet his lips with the head of his cock. "C'mon then, darlin. Ruin me with that smart mouth. I need it like breathin'"
Relief mingles with a rather intense wave of anticipation and pleasure. John's not all that romantic — at least he'd say as much — but the shift in Logan and the words he uses send a shiver right up Blake's spine. It's filthy, sure, but surprisingly prescient, too, like the other man sees right into him and knows the perfect angle to take in order to get right to the heart of things.
If he was thirsty before, he's downright parched now as he dips right into the task, the flavor of Logan's thumb and precum lingering on his tongue. There aren't a lot of things that inspire him to desperation, but this moment generates a powerful need in Blake to follow through, to give it his all. Eyes closed, eyebrows crinkled, he gives it his all. Not slow, not fast, but steady and persistent, wanting so much to please in a way that only occasionally crops up so thoroughly. It's something about Logan's approach — a situation he'll be left to consider for a long time after this engagement — that makes him feel both cared for and wanting to take care in return. For two people who barely know each other, who are playing at near-strangers in a divey bathroom, it's impressive.
He's waiting for a taste, to swallow down everything this man has to offer and then linger in the blissful haze that follows, hopeful that he'll have made this more than worth both their time.
Assuming some amount of gentleness is ever wanted in the middle of an exchange like this is always a risk. He knew when he opened his mouth he might be erring into something too close for comfort. Too intimate for Blake’s nerves to stomach from a veritable stranger. Maybe it was a good guess. Or maybe he was right to have convinced himself what kind of man Blake is. A kind sort. Too good a man really, to be being doing all manner of debaucherous things like this. At least without some reassurance that he’ll not be judged for it.
The flush on Blake’s face seems to temper. The piqued scent of his nerves subsides. Replaced instead with want and the dull, bashful glow of arousal. Rough but affectionate, he scruffs John’s neck when he furrows his brow and takes Logan in his mouth again. Blake’s tongue up the underside of his dick pushes a low groan out of his throat and out of the stall he leans more heavily every moment.
“Just like that…” He growls. A content and guttural sound as he gives up the hold he has on own cock. Succumbing to whatever Blake wants to do with him. Resisting the urge to pull him closer by pushing his fingers through the man’s short hair instead. His other hand wringing the top edge of the stall when he it dawns on him he can’t trust his knees with the weight of him. His breath grows ragged and Logan manages to keep still for a while. But not without the occasional stiff, restrained rolling of his hips he can’t quite tamp down whenever Blake draws him deeper.
“Goddamnit… John—” It’s about as much warning as he can manage when that feeling welling up in him grows to such a pressure he knows he can’t dam up. His stomach goes taut. Trying to fight the quaking of his hips is a useless effort that leaves him cradling that bobbing head in his hands instead as he cums, unable to discern the throbbing of his dick from the pulse he can feel in Blake tongue.
Fighting that strangled groan in his throat, he’s winded when he gives up the battle. Barking breathless obscenities towards the ceiling of the bathroom, “ahh fuck…”
Satisfaction wells up from within Blake as Logan lets loose in more ways than one. It's like a signaling of a job well done punctuated with more filthy expletives that he can't help but appreciate — things he certainly would have echoed had he not had a mouth full at the moment of their utterance.
The warmth spilled into his mouth and the back of his throat is swallowed down around the last few soothing, careful pumps, wanting to catch every last bit not only because he's a little greedy for it, but also for the sake of cleanup. It leaves him breathless, sweaty, wanting, ruffled: all the best feelings as far as Blake's concerned. This was really the distraction he needed.
Leaning his forehead against Logan's hip, he gathers back his senses which is struggle enough considering how goddamn horny this whole endeavor's made him. The ache deep down — not just in his balls — is unrelenting, but not entirely unpleasant, either. He could scoop up his hat, wash his hands, and walk away calling this a job well-done and not feel the least bit bad about it. But not before he waits to hear how he's done.
"That was... so worth the wait," he points out with a little laugh, still pressed close to Logan (as if there's anywhere else to go).
It takes a good long moment for that kind of tension to drain from him. If he holds onto it a little longer than most it's because he's always overly cautious when it comes to matters of his self control.
The lines of his face are still set deeply in a wince that makes him look positively pained— at least until the huffed little laugh that Blake's comments inspire in him starts to bring him around again.
Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes his fingers finally stop lazily raking the hair up the back of Blake's neck. Taking a few fistfuls of his shirt to drag him to his feet instead. He's a brute of man when he wants to be and he's not one to pull a lot of punches with the other men in his life. Still, there's something affectionate in the heavy handed way he expresses himself, turning Blake around and crowding him against the wall.
His boots shuffle across the small space. Pressing his considerable weight possessively against Blake as he stuffs his hand down his pants, palming him roughly. "Not done with you yet, darlin'," he growls against Blake's ear. "I'm not lettin' you outta here 'til my name's on your lips too."
He glad for that moment to observe Logan enjoying himself. He's a typically stern man from afar, but up close and personal Blake's enjoyed his good humor and arguably charming intensity. Seeing him unraveled is like finding the vein of chocolate in an ice cream treat, and that Blake was the cause (and in his favorite manner) is the extra topping on his sundae.
But enjoying it gives way to the sudden rush of adrenaline mingled with a jolt of pleasure as he's pinned in and groped. Every part of him is aflame and he can feel his heart beating in his chest, his cock, in the place where Logan had bit him earlier. It's blissful and intense and with the taste of Logan still lingering, Blake can't help but feel incredibly excited.
"Ah, fuck," he breathes out, groaning deeply as he's manhandled. He isn't the least bit mad about this diversion. "Jesus, Logan, you'd better do me right." Of course, right is subjective, but Blake's putting the challenge to the other man anyway.
Despite his penchant for being rough, anyone who's both slept with him and knows the man by name is liable to know the best way to take the edge off his abrasiveness is to feed him, fuck him, or fight him. Or any combination of thereof.
Space is at a premium in the confines of Blake's shorts, but from this angle Logan works his cock in hand with the practiced ease of a man handling his own dick.
Making a fist around a handful of Blake's dark hair again, he tugs his head back until the angles of his neck are long and sharp. "Careful. You keep talkin' like that I'm gonna do a lot more than jerk you off in here," he threatens. Odds are though if he's thought about that long enough to suggest it, he's already made up his mind. "Or maybe that's what you're after..."
Blake concentrates on the feel of his muscles being stretched by Logan's grasp, the tightness in his neck a contrast to the lazy pumping that's building desire in his gut and below. It's hot and cold, a feeling of being vulnerable but inches from control. Admittedly, it's really doing it for him.
"And you call me thirsty," he accuses, not lacking in any of that typical cheek even if his voice is strained from the angle he's being held. There are some predictable traits here and the ones that should be fairly obvious by now are Blake's need to not only never back down, but to press the point like an invader on the frontlines.
Arching as needed, he presses back against the firm body behind him, practically enticing with his ass out. Had he expected he might get fucked? Not necessarily like this, no, but as with many other situations, there's little with which he's not prepared. Swallowing loudly against his tight throat, he then bites his lip and wriggles indecently.
"Hng, are you that greedy, old man?" he presses, one hand reaching back to pull Logan closer while the other descends to grab him through Blake's trousers and squeeze the hand that's squeezing him.
The only thing that temps Logan more than the angles of Blakes body under his hands, is the warm, heady scent that spikes when they way Logan pulls or paws at him inspires a pang of excitement in the younger man.
"Not exactly provin' that wrong," he teases. With a snort, his teeth sink into the chords of John's neck and shoves his pants just far enough down to drag his palm right off the end of Blake's stiff cock. Letting him hang there, flushed skin cooling, frustratingly untouched for an impatient moment.
"Yes," he snarls unrepentantly. The smile he wears when John juts towards him is a wicked one. Pushing his pants lower and his shirt up the growl he emits resonates through his chest as he drinks in arc of the younger man's bowed back. When that's not enough his hands follow. Stroking the small of his back, and the juncture of his hips as he ruts against the soft cleft of Blake's ass.
"Say it," he huffs against Blake's shoulder. His breath running hot and humid again. He drags his fingers up the underside of Blake's cock. Lightly tormenting the head. "Tell me you need it, darlin'."
The rumble of Logan's voice against his back is like a thunderous jolt that shoots straight to the sweet center of him. It takes his breath away and round about the time teeth and hands and cock and ass connect, he's left feeling light and heady.
"Ah, Jesus..." The way it shudders out of him must make his desperation obvious, but he's savoring the feeling, dick hard and leaking, twitching under Logan's ministrations. It brings with it a chill that's every bit the co-mingling of his heated skin, the cools air, and the older man's skilled touch.
"I want you," he growls lowly, entirely missing the sound of the door opening once again. "If you don't fuck me, I'm gonna fuck myself on you," Blake threatens, his hand reaching to steady himself against the stall. The whole thing shakes as he presses back more insistently against Logan, still mostly locked in the position he was put in, but not entirely out of his own control.
"What the hell," comes a voice from outside the stall, followed by halting footsteps coming closer to the door and then backing away again. "In an IHOP? Really?" But whoever it is, they don't seem to be sticking around.
Hearing a shiver in Blake's voice is like a siren song. It sticks in his head even through the brief interruption of some would-be interloper. Would-be that is if they had more backbone.
That teetering back and forth over the edge of control is exactly where he likes to be. He'll take just enough to make Blake begin to question how out of control he wants to be here and then give back a little more just to quell his nerves. This time he takes Blake's hands and wraps his grip around the top of edge of the stall. "You'll fuck yourself with dick some time, darlin'. But not now. This one's mine."
Working Blake's leaking dick into his hand he stops by the time the younger man wants to follow the rhythm with his hips. Fingers slicked, he presses beneath him. Working Blake open on his fingers just long enough to feel him relax.
Cock in hand he pushes into Blake's ass. Not fast but firm, and not exactly gentle but shallow enough at first to let the man adjust to his intrusion. His heavy hands take hold of John and drag him steadily backward. "Find the good spot and tell me when," he grumbles, concentrating on the tilt of Blake hips as he lets the man find the right angle.
At this point a person could walk right in on them and Blake probably wouldn't react or even care. It's difficult to think of anything but Logan's cock pressing into him, that blissful pressure practically making his mouth water. Gripping the top of the stalls, he's stretched long and lean, shirt rucked up, pants shoved down, and he imagines he looks as desperate as he feels.
"Logan, ahhh," he croons quietly, wistfully. He's wriggling back against the shorter man, face pressed against the cool stall wall. There aren't many people who can drum up this kind of compliance in the willful man, but occasionally giving in is something Blake finds he likes (only if he knows that advantage will inevitably work in his favor, at least for now).
He arches and growls lowly, "Right there, right fucking there. Fuck, fuck..." It's a litany that spills from his mouth and it's probably not going to stop until his legs are weak and his mind is blown.
Logan is nothing if not a hedonistic sort. He doesn't just pursue pleasurable things, he indulges in them. Uses them like an assault on his senses to drown out all else. It's habitual for a man who hears and feels and tastes and smells so keenly. He can't adequately describe how a sound can make him hungry or a scent can feel like music, but once all his senses compound it's not unlike being intoxicated.
And he feels it now. Like he's drunk off the way Blake's breath catches on his moans and starved for the obscene arc of his back. Careless of the way his fingers could be leaving bruises he hauls Blake firmly against his hips, driving towards that point John's writhing on his dick finally found within him.
The part of his brain responsible for speech feels more distant every moment. Not that he's much quieter for it. Guttural grunts and groans push through his teeth shamelessly as he runs a hand up John's spine and down the slope his neck when his head hands between his shoulders. Stroking him fondly. Appreciatively. As his eyes devour the sight of him wanting.
When he sets into a rhythm the movement is forceful and shallow. Grinding into Blake strict and determined purpose. He palms the man's ball. Applying a little pressure and tugging gently. Still refusing to return to the desperately stiff cock between Blake's thighs until he's growling in his ear again. "Fuck my hand until you come for me," he says, closing his fist around John's dick. "Let me feel you shake."
This is filthy and he feels like a degenerate for enjoying it so goddamn much, but holy shit will there be no apologies from either of them later if the rhythm of this is any indication. Instead, Blake's doing exactly as he's told, like a puppet to Logan's will, and more so than most other times, he feels safe in knowing that despite the bites and bruises and aching muscles, he'll come out of this spent and happy and likely better for it, as crazy as it might sound.
"Oh god, yes," he moans as he feels Logan's grip take hold. His whole body threatens to tighten around every part that invading his personal space and it's not long before their shared grinding is building that familiar pool of heat inside of him.
He's basically whimpering for it all — a sound that rarely drips from such a stalwart mouth — but any sense he had's left him and later he'll be lucky to remember anything but the jarring release as Logan plays him like a fiddle. Drawing out dangerous and deliciously lecherous noises, he comes hard, spirting and panting and shaking, just like Logan predicted.
From time to time, a man who recuperates as fast as he as does has to find other goalposts in exchanges like these. Finding the point at which someone wants it enough to give up some of the control they came into it with is a triumph that pleases his ego as much as his dick.
Blake doesn't make it easy to hold himself off as much as he's determined to. The noises that fall from his lips will ring in Logan's ears for a good long while. His grip only tightens when the Blake's movements get more urgent and desperate. When the motion of his hips become involuntary and Blake's goes tense Logan holds his weight flush against him. Giving John his full weight to rut against as he gives into obscene delight of being wrung by every twitch and tick of Blake's body.
The groan that escapes his clenched teeth is raw and ragged. Distorted by the effort he makes to hold something back as he comes buried deep in Blake and clinging to the last scraps of his own clear headed control. When his body goes slack again his palms find the stall. Penning Blake in between the wall and his chest as he blinks away the haze of pleasure and exhaustion.
"Hng," he huffs against Blake's neck. "Ada boy. Yer fun Blake. I like fun."
Well, there's certainly no getting out of this clean, that's for sure (not that Blake was expecting as much when entering a bathroom for this particular encounter). It's probably the furthest from his mind, actually, as he slowly descends back into a blissful reality. Logan's words swim around in his head like lazy fish, this way and that, until finally he swallows down the lingering taste of Logan and grumbles an affirmative.
"And don't you forget it," he half-jokes, amusement lacing his voice.
He closes his eyes, living in the moment for just a few seconds and enjoying the feeling of the sturdier man against him. Reaching back, he squeezes Logan's hip and grins a bit stupidly. "Bet you're full of all kindsa surprises. We should do this more often." Not this in particular, he figures, but maybe they've got a few treats for each other.
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A grunt lodges in his throat when Blake mouths his balls. His fingers curl into John's short hair. There's not much to hang on to there but he manages.
The air feels cooler than it is against his wet skin when Blake pulls back to curse and breathe and adjust the weight on his knees. His blunt fingers rake the man's scalp fondly to see the deep flush on Blake's lips. He strokes himself lazily. Dragging his foreskin over and back.
"Open," he says plainly. Holding Blake where he is by a handful of hair in case he tries for any more than he's been told to.
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Still, those dark eyes are softer than they should be even as his jaw tightens briefly like he's ready to argue. And with a look that suggests more than he'd like — mainly that Logan's lucky he's pliable — he does as he's told and waits to see if the other man's going to fuck his mouth, blow a load all over him, or some third option he's too horny to consider.
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"Mh. You look fuckin' good doin' that," he growls. Relinquishing Blake's hair to drag the pad of his thumb across his lower lip and just relish the look of him a moment. The word thirsty comes to mind again. It made Logan smile when he first read that text and it still delights him now. He likes a man who knows what he wants. And even though Logan's almost certain Blake would let him finish however he needed he aches just as much to know he's repaid the favour. "Where do you want it, darlin'. Tell me."
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"Come in my mouth," he says through a flush that extends down his neck and up to his ears. "I wanna taste you," Blake says breathily, leaning on his gumption to recover from what he always feels is too intimate a slip for the bedroom (or bathroom, in this case).
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He can smell it on Blake. That barely perceptible shift from excitement to nervousness and back. But a keen sense of smell isn't like being empathic. It can tell him what someone might be feeling. Not why. He's still left to guess why Blake's fair skin turns red to the tips of his ears and the prospect of being right in those assumptions makes him want to tread lightly. Appreciative rather than domineering. No teasing like he usually does. No playful attempts to torment the other mans pride. He smiles and presses his thumb past Blake's lips until he can feel the man's tongue on his skin. "Fuck, I hoped you'd say that," he purrs, and wrings the base of his dick firmly when the next slow stroke makes him leak. Biting back a pang of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm him. "Thirsty cop. Look whatchu do t'me."
Hand in John's hair again he urges him nearer. Close enough just to wet his lips with the head of his cock. "C'mon then, darlin. Ruin me with that smart mouth. I need it like breathin'"
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If he was thirsty before, he's downright parched now as he dips right into the task, the flavor of Logan's thumb and precum lingering on his tongue. There aren't a lot of things that inspire him to desperation, but this moment generates a powerful need in Blake to follow through, to give it his all. Eyes closed, eyebrows crinkled, he gives it his all. Not slow, not fast, but steady and persistent, wanting so much to please in a way that only occasionally crops up so thoroughly. It's something about Logan's approach — a situation he'll be left to consider for a long time after this engagement — that makes him feel both cared for and wanting to take care in return. For two people who barely know each other, who are playing at near-strangers in a divey bathroom, it's impressive.
He's waiting for a taste, to swallow down everything this man has to offer and then linger in the blissful haze that follows, hopeful that he'll have made this more than worth both their time.
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The flush on Blake’s face seems to temper. The piqued scent of his nerves subsides. Replaced instead with want and the dull, bashful glow of arousal. Rough but affectionate, he scruffs John’s neck when he furrows his brow and takes Logan in his mouth again. Blake’s tongue up the underside of his dick pushes a low groan out of his throat and out of the stall he leans more heavily every moment.
“Just like that…” He growls. A content and guttural sound as he gives up the hold he has on own cock. Succumbing to whatever Blake wants to do with him. Resisting the urge to pull him closer by pushing his fingers through the man’s short hair instead. His other hand wringing the top edge of the stall when he it dawns on him he can’t trust his knees with the weight of him. His breath grows ragged and Logan manages to keep still for a while. But not without the occasional stiff, restrained rolling of his hips he can’t quite tamp down whenever Blake draws him deeper.
“Goddamnit… John—” It’s about as much warning as he can manage when that feeling welling up in him grows to such a pressure he knows he can’t dam up. His stomach goes taut. Trying to fight the quaking of his hips is a useless effort that leaves him cradling that bobbing head in his hands instead as he cums, unable to discern the throbbing of his dick from the pulse he can feel in Blake tongue.
Fighting that strangled groan in his throat, he’s winded when he gives up the battle. Barking breathless obscenities towards the ceiling of the bathroom, “ahh fuck…”
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The warmth spilled into his mouth and the back of his throat is swallowed down around the last few soothing, careful pumps, wanting to catch every last bit not only because he's a little greedy for it, but also for the sake of cleanup. It leaves him breathless, sweaty, wanting, ruffled: all the best feelings as far as Blake's concerned. This was really the distraction he needed.
Leaning his forehead against Logan's hip, he gathers back his senses which is struggle enough considering how goddamn horny this whole endeavor's made him. The ache deep down — not just in his balls — is unrelenting, but not entirely unpleasant, either. He could scoop up his hat, wash his hands, and walk away calling this a job well-done and not feel the least bit bad about it. But not before he waits to hear how he's done.
"That was... so worth the wait," he points out with a little laugh, still pressed close to Logan (as if there's anywhere else to go).
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The lines of his face are still set deeply in a wince that makes him look positively pained— at least until the huffed little laugh that Blake's comments inspire in him starts to bring him around again.
Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes his fingers finally stop lazily raking the hair up the back of Blake's neck. Taking a few fistfuls of his shirt to drag him to his feet instead. He's a brute of man when he wants to be and he's not one to pull a lot of punches with the other men in his life. Still, there's something affectionate in the heavy handed way he expresses himself, turning Blake around and crowding him against the wall.
His boots shuffle across the small space. Pressing his considerable weight possessively against Blake as he stuffs his hand down his pants, palming him roughly. "Not done with you yet, darlin'," he growls against Blake's ear. "I'm not lettin' you outta here 'til my name's on your lips too."
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But enjoying it gives way to the sudden rush of adrenaline mingled with a jolt of pleasure as he's pinned in and groped. Every part of him is aflame and he can feel his heart beating in his chest, his cock, in the place where Logan had bit him earlier. It's blissful and intense and with the taste of Logan still lingering, Blake can't help but feel incredibly excited.
"Ah, fuck," he breathes out, groaning deeply as he's manhandled. He isn't the least bit mad about this diversion. "Jesus, Logan, you'd better do me right." Of course, right is subjective, but Blake's putting the challenge to the other man anyway.
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Space is at a premium in the confines of Blake's shorts, but from this angle Logan works his cock in hand with the practiced ease of a man handling his own dick.
Making a fist around a handful of Blake's dark hair again, he tugs his head back until the angles of his neck are long and sharp. "Careful. You keep talkin' like that I'm gonna do a lot more than jerk you off in here," he threatens. Odds are though if he's thought about that long enough to suggest it, he's already made up his mind. "Or maybe that's what you're after..."
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"And you call me thirsty," he accuses, not lacking in any of that typical cheek even if his voice is strained from the angle he's being held. There are some predictable traits here and the ones that should be fairly obvious by now are Blake's need to not only never back down, but to press the point like an invader on the frontlines.
Arching as needed, he presses back against the firm body behind him, practically enticing with his ass out. Had he expected he might get fucked? Not necessarily like this, no, but as with many other situations, there's little with which he's not prepared. Swallowing loudly against his tight throat, he then bites his lip and wriggles indecently.
"Hng, are you that greedy, old man?" he presses, one hand reaching back to pull Logan closer while the other descends to grab him through Blake's trousers and squeeze the hand that's squeezing him.
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"Not exactly provin' that wrong," he teases. With a snort, his teeth sink into the chords of John's neck and shoves his pants just far enough down to drag his palm right off the end of Blake's stiff cock. Letting him hang there, flushed skin cooling, frustratingly untouched for an impatient moment.
"Yes," he snarls unrepentantly. The smile he wears when John juts towards him is a wicked one. Pushing his pants lower and his shirt up the growl he emits resonates through his chest as he drinks in arc of the younger man's bowed back. When that's not enough his hands follow. Stroking the small of his back, and the juncture of his hips as he ruts against the soft cleft of Blake's ass.
"Say it," he huffs against Blake's shoulder. His breath running hot and humid again. He drags his fingers up the underside of Blake's cock. Lightly tormenting the head. "Tell me you need it, darlin'."
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"Ah, Jesus..." The way it shudders out of him must make his desperation obvious, but he's savoring the feeling, dick hard and leaking, twitching under Logan's ministrations. It brings with it a chill that's every bit the co-mingling of his heated skin, the cools air, and the older man's skilled touch.
"I want you," he growls lowly, entirely missing the sound of the door opening once again. "If you don't fuck me, I'm gonna fuck myself on you," Blake threatens, his hand reaching to steady himself against the stall. The whole thing shakes as he presses back more insistently against Logan, still mostly locked in the position he was put in, but not entirely out of his own control.
"What the hell," comes a voice from outside the stall, followed by halting footsteps coming closer to the door and then backing away again. "In an IHOP? Really?" But whoever it is, they don't seem to be sticking around.
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That teetering back and forth over the edge of control is exactly where he likes to be. He'll take just enough to make Blake begin to question how out of control he wants to be here and then give back a little more just to quell his nerves. This time he takes Blake's hands and wraps his grip around the top of edge of the stall. "You'll fuck yourself with dick some time, darlin'. But not now. This one's mine."
Working Blake's leaking dick into his hand he stops by the time the younger man wants to follow the rhythm with his hips. Fingers slicked, he presses beneath him. Working Blake open on his fingers just long enough to feel him relax.
Cock in hand he pushes into Blake's ass. Not fast but firm, and not exactly gentle but shallow enough at first to let the man adjust to his intrusion. His heavy hands take hold of John and drag him steadily backward. "Find the good spot and tell me when," he grumbles, concentrating on the tilt of Blake hips as he lets the man find the right angle.
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"Logan, ahhh," he croons quietly, wistfully. He's wriggling back against the shorter man, face pressed against the cool stall wall. There aren't many people who can drum up this kind of compliance in the willful man, but occasionally giving in is something Blake finds he likes (only if he knows that advantage will inevitably work in his favor, at least for now).
He arches and growls lowly, "Right there, right fucking there. Fuck, fuck..." It's a litany that spills from his mouth and it's probably not going to stop until his legs are weak and his mind is blown.
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And he feels it now. Like he's drunk off the way Blake's breath catches on his moans and starved for the obscene arc of his back. Careless of the way his fingers could be leaving bruises he hauls Blake firmly against his hips, driving towards that point John's writhing on his dick finally found within him.
The part of his brain responsible for speech feels more distant every moment. Not that he's much quieter for it. Guttural grunts and groans push through his teeth shamelessly as he runs a hand up John's spine and down the slope his neck when his head hands between his shoulders. Stroking him fondly. Appreciatively. As his eyes devour the sight of him wanting.
When he sets into a rhythm the movement is forceful and shallow. Grinding into Blake strict and determined purpose. He palms the man's ball. Applying a little pressure and tugging gently. Still refusing to return to the desperately stiff cock between Blake's thighs until he's growling in his ear again. "Fuck my hand until you come for me," he says, closing his fist around John's dick. "Let me feel you shake."
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"Oh god, yes," he moans as he feels Logan's grip take hold. His whole body threatens to tighten around every part that invading his personal space and it's not long before their shared grinding is building that familiar pool of heat inside of him.
He's basically whimpering for it all — a sound that rarely drips from such a stalwart mouth — but any sense he had's left him and later he'll be lucky to remember anything but the jarring release as Logan plays him like a fiddle. Drawing out dangerous and deliciously lecherous noises, he comes hard, spirting and panting and shaking, just like Logan predicted.
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Blake doesn't make it easy to hold himself off as much as he's determined to. The noises that fall from his lips will ring in Logan's ears for a good long while. His grip only tightens when the Blake's movements get more urgent and desperate. When the motion of his hips become involuntary and Blake's goes tense Logan holds his weight flush against him. Giving John his full weight to rut against as he gives into obscene delight of being wrung by every twitch and tick of Blake's body.
The groan that escapes his clenched teeth is raw and ragged. Distorted by the effort he makes to hold something back as he comes buried deep in Blake and clinging to the last scraps of his own clear headed control. When his body goes slack again his palms find the stall. Penning Blake in between the wall and his chest as he blinks away the haze of pleasure and exhaustion.
"Hng," he huffs against Blake's neck. "Ada boy. Yer fun Blake. I like fun."
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"And don't you forget it," he half-jokes, amusement lacing his voice.
He closes his eyes, living in the moment for just a few seconds and enjoying the feeling of the sturdier man against him. Reaching back, he squeezes Logan's hip and grins a bit stupidly. "Bet you're full of all kindsa surprises. We should do this more often." Not this in particular, he figures, but maybe they've got a few treats for each other.