What happens at Carr stays at Carr [Clark/Ollie]

Date: 2013-03-21 04:40 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Ollie first kisses Clark because he mistakes Clark for his dog. It's not that he's in the habit of frenching Lola, but when Clark shores up in Ollie's bed like he does sometimes, after long hazy nights of boozing and partying, Ollie snuggles up with him instinctively. Like he does at home with Lola when she hops in his bed in the middle of the night.

But when it's a six-foot-something dude in your bed with you and you start petting on him, it's not that much like your dog anymore, to stretch the overworked analogy even thinner. Suffice it to say that warm body reacts to warm body, and Ollie ends up kissing Clark until they're both fully awake.

"Oh, shit...Ollie, man, I musta got in the wrong bed! Sorrrrry." Clark laughs in the darkness of the room. It's still early morning, when nothing's light yet and everything seems half-real, and that's why Ollie murmurs, "S'okay, man," and presses his mouth against Clark's again. Before he knows it his fist is clenching in the front of Clark's t-shirt, fingers bunching into the neckline where it's slightly damp from sleep, and Ollie can't resist snuffling down into that fabric and the warmth of Clark's skin, slightly oily and remarkably smooth. He smells like rye and ginger, the Thursday night special at the pub. He tastes like it too. Ollie pushes up closer against Clark, which is roughly like snuggling a Volkswagen Beetle that's covered in moleskin. Or something to that effect.

What's peculiar (or maybe not, because this magic early morning hour is catching) is that Clark is making no move to leave. Instead, he rubs his cheek against Ollie's close-cropped, brushy hair and makes a noise of pleasure, one hand heavy on Ollie's arm. And before Ollie can do much else, Clark is reaching down between them, rubbing his knuckles along Ollie's cock and then pushing his hand into the cutoff sweats that Ollie sleeps in. Clark's eyelids are half-mast, the blue of them barely visible in this low light, but Ollie can see his mouth just fine and the way Clark's tongue is only slightly poking the corner makes him suddenly prickly-hot all over.

It's just the two of them here, Ollie reasons, and. And, well, what the fuck ever. Not like either of them is likely to go blabbing about this.

So he shifts more firmly against Clark, those sleepy but strong fingers, until both of them are hard and pressed into each other, grinding their hips to get the perfect angle and pressure and pace, Clark in long measured strokes and Ollie more a fast-fast-slooow-FAST kinda guy. Clark has one hand twisted in the waist of Ollie's sweats and the other viced around his bicep, holding him in place, and Ollie groans and growls and sucks and bites his way up and down Clark's throat like he's in heat.

Ollie comes first, tension draining abruptly out of him. He loops his arms around Clark to pull him in harder, arch against his thrusts, lick hot drowsy dirty words of encouragement against Clark's ear. Clark's hands tighten and he goes rigid, grabbing Ollie up and rolling over with him until the shuddering climax subsides and they're both panting for breath and half-trailing limbs off Ollie's too-small-for-two-jacked-guys bed.

It takes a minute or two for Ollie's heart to stop racing, and the room's looking lighter already, morning sun threatening to take it over and make all of this way too real. "Hey, Clark," he says, voice feeling sticky and rough in his throat. Clark makes a little sound, which is then followed by the longest contentedest snort Ollie's ever heard.

Grinning, Ollie tugs half the pillow from him and falls dreamlessly asleep.
From: (Anonymous)



July 2014


Most Popular Tags

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags