Page 10 of Bears & Bakeries (Sweet & Stocky #2)

TEN

A Sucky Plan

D awn crept into Benedict’s home office, the sound of birdsong mixing with the whirr of printing.

First came the media plan—websites and passwords and contact details for local journalists. Then were the sketches of potential logos and tables detailing footfall and cost projections and likely amenity prices.

Gradually, the printer tray filled with scans of permits, mostly riding on Pizza My Mind’s existing accreditations. Then came the menu, only settled last night, alongside information about charitable contributions and tax status. Alongside pictures of black-tied French waiters and decor touches that could be implemented within the owners’ restrictions.

Alongside... well, nothing.

Because there, as the background buzz of the printer faded, was the cover page.

Pie Me to the Moon.

Locky’s dream bakery.

The sheets were still warm as Benedict held them—the culmination of all their work together. A few weeks ago, Locky wouldn’t have imagined this was possible. Wouldn’t have let himself imagine it. But now, here it was.

The crisp orange folder waited on Benedict’s desk. Ready for him to close the page. Ready for him to slide the folder into his shelf, just like all the other clients before.

But Benedict didn’t reach for the folder. Instead, he stared at the paper—high quality and designed to make every detail pop. To bring the dream to life in a client’s hands.

Because right now, he didn’t want to shut the business plan away—all neat and tidy and ready to be forgotten. Because right now, all Benedict could think about was how devastated Locky had been about the job interview.

Yesterday morning, Benedict hadn’t known where Locky stood on his bakery—whether he still thought they were just killing time, or whether Locky had started seeing it as real. Maybe Locky hadn’t known either. Not until that moment last night. Not until that message inviting him to the job interview.

But now Benedict knew. They both knew.

At the Thanksgiving feast, Locky had seemed so sparkling, so hopeful. So alive with color and light.

And afterward, in the car park, he’d seemed so very empty. Gray and flat and resigned to his fate. Because Locky didn’t want to go back to some soulless office. He wanted the bakery.

And he wasn’t going to follow that dream.

Because Locky had said yes to the interview. Yes to the office. Yes to his old world. Yes to stability and order and a normal life—the one he’d sought all those years ago, when he’d found his peace and his sobriety.

And as Benedict had driven him home, asking Locky if he was sure about his decision, Locky had said something so bleak, so brutal, that Benedict’s stomach had dropped to the tarmac below.

You know why they call them dreams, Benedict? Because eventually, you have to wake up.

Benedict’s fingers tensed against the paper. A few days ago he might have been happy for Locky to take the office option. For Locky to avoid getting complicated .

But now... now Benedict was anything but happy.

Because Locky deserved so more than some stable, sensible life. He was extraordinary. He was creative. He was passionate and had ideas and cared for people and had endured so damn much in his life.

He deserved so much more than he thought.

He deserved this.

He deserved the dream .

* * *

Locky stared at his bedroom mirror. The interview wasn’t until after lunch, but it wasn’t like he’d slept. He’d tossed and turned and glared at the ceiling until the breaking dawn had forced him out of bed.

And this was his reward—a stranger staring back at him.

It was weird. He’d worn this same corporate uniform for years. Business shirt and inoffensive tie. For years, he’d trudged to the office and sat down at his desk, lights so bright he could almost hear the hiss of the fluorescence, and he’d lived in his spreadsheets. Numbers he didn’t care about. Projects that didn’t matter. A career he didn’t like.

All so he could take home a reliable income. All so he wouldn’t have to worry about making it through to another day.

And now, in just a few short weeks, he barely recognized the man in front of him.

His hair felt strange, being forcibly brushed into something halfway neat. The shoes crushed his toes into an unnatural point. And the tie. How had he tolerated this awful choke for so long?

Locky breathed as deeply as he could with a polyester noose around his neck—trying to banish those negative thoughts. Because there was no point thinking like that. Because this was where he needed to be.

These last few weeks had been... well, they’d been a lot of things. At first awful, but finishing so much better, with last night being so perfect it was almost magic.

Which, unfortunately, was a fitting word. Because that’s what it had been. Magic. A fantasy . Something that had no place in the real world.

Had it been amazing? Yes, of course it had. Had it been scary and strange and incredible to explore all those things? Yes, of course it was.

But it wasn’t real . And nothing he’d done could change the fact that this man —the one staring back at him—was the man who paid his bills and had a roof over his head and didn’t have to worry about where his next meal would come from. The one who turned up on time and who people could rely on and who didn’t get involved with reckless behavior.

All the other stuff? The bakery? The dream? That was just a trip to another world. A trip to another Locky.

And besides, it wasn’t all bad.

This way he might keep seeing Benedict.

Not that they’d... God, they’d only slept together a few times. And it was just kissing and jerking off. But no one had ever made him feel so safe before. No one had known when to push him and when to hold him close. No one had given him the space to express and to explore.

And Locky didn’t know if he and Benedict were going anywhere. Whether Benedict even wanted it to go somewhere. But it sure wouldn’t happen if he opened the bakery, as much as Benedict had hinted otherwise. Because that would tear Benedict apart—making Locky just another one of the clients he’d left behind.

After a long stare, Locky decided the tie wasn’t right. Even if it had only been fifty cents, khaki stripes were a terrible idea.

He flicked through his hanger of thrift shop staples. Muted reds and dark greens and?—

His fingers brushed against black satin as he pulled out the long bow tie. The fabric sparkled—stars against sunlight.

Locky cradled it for long, silent seconds.

Maybe... it would help to say goodbye?

With hasty hands, Locky swapped the khaki tie for a badly tied bow. The button around his throat was no less choking, but the discomfort faded when he caught sight of himself.

He laughed low as he turned on the spot. “Benedict was right. I do look fucking cute.” Locky let the seconds tick by, allowing himself this brief moment of magic—this brief moment of possibility—before finally whispering, “See you, Mr. Sorenson. You would have been a lot of fun.”

And just as he was reaching to untie the bow, there came a knock at the apartment door.

It was Benedict.

“Please don’t take that job,” he panted, gathering himself against the door frame. “Sorry. I planned... to do that more professionally. But too many words. Not enough breath.”

Locky didn’t bother to ask stupid questions like what are you doing here . Not when he’d just been interrupted giving a farewell speech to an alternate image of himself.

Just like he didn’t stop Benedict from monologuing about how happy Locky had looked last night. How he’d come so far and changed so much. How he was brave and brilliant and better than some awful desk job.

Just like he didn’t argue as Benedict stepped him through the finished plan, bright and professional and somehow his . All those little moments and little ideas, brought together into something that looked almost possible.

Just like he listened when Benedict ran through the financials one last time. The lack of contracts. The temporary setup. How everything—every single thing—would let him try this idea without risk. To dream briefly. To let the real world rest for another few months, not gone but sleeping , ready to wake if needed.

Just like he let Benedict pitch him the big opening event: A New Year’s Eve party without alcohol, and how the local media would jump all over that as a novelty, scoring tons of free publicity and a packed house that guaranteed success.

Just like he let Benedict take his hand, fingers interlocked against the shakes, and say the words that finally settled Locky’s resolve.

“I think... I think a decade is long enough,” whispered Benedict, on the verge of tears. “For both of us.”

“You can’t mean—” Locky started, before Benedict kissed him deeply, seemingly knowing what Locky was about to say and silencing those doubts before they could be spoken.

“I do mean for both of us, Locky. I don’t want you to have to choose.” Benedict’s lip quivered, his face flooded with shame. “You’ve been so brave. You’ve faced all these things that scare the hell out of you. And I want to do that as well. I need to do that as well. I’m not saying it will be easy—I’m not saying I’ll be easy. All of this is still so fucking new to me.”

Locky raised Benedict’s hand to his lips, kissing his skin, slow and soft. “Not new. Just forgotten.”

“Yes,” laughed Benedict through the tears. “And I want to remember. I want to remember what it was like to make connections with my clients. To let myself care about my clients. And... I don’t know how it will affect me. I might freak out. I might panic. I might melt into a fucking puddle. But I want to try. And I want to try all of that with you. If... if you’ll have me?”

If you’ll have me?

Locky kissed Benedict on instinct, passionate and warm. Because he couldn’t let those words hang unanswered—not for a single breath. Not for a single second. Because this incredible, supportive, beautiful man, actually thought that he might not be worthy of Locky?

“If I’ll have you? It’s the other way around, Benedict,” said Locky between kisses. “If I open this store, I’ll probably be just as bad! I’ll get freaked out about every expense and I’ll be difficult and just... messed up.”

Benedict ran his fingers through Locky’s hair, drawing him close. “How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. Sorenson? Things are better if they’re a little messed up.”

“Even as your boyfriend ?” Locky said, daring to breathe the word out loud.

The grip in his hair firmed, holding him tighter. “ Especially as my boyfriend.”

Locky exhaled, barely believing this moment could be real. Because how could it be. This man? This dream?

A month ago, he’d had neither.

And now, he could have both?

It didn’t seem possible.

And yet, right now, possible seemed like a promise.

A promise that he wanted to accept.

“Yes,” said Locky. “To everything.”

Benedict laughed, freeing an arm long enough to wipe the tears from his own cheeks. “Can I please drag you to your bedroom?” he said. “I tried not to notice your bow tie, but if I don’t suck the cum out of you right now, I think I might literally die.”

“Green, Mr. Owens,” growled Locky. “So fucking green!”

* * *

Locky groaned as Benedict kissed him hard against the bedroom door, lips and earlobes and softly across his neck. His mouth was hasty and demanding, barely giving Locky time to imagine this beautiful, impossible man on his knees worshiping him.

That thought made Locky’s cock so hard he felt like the fabric of his business pants might tear in two.

Benedict’s mind was clearly in the same place, giving a low growl as he slipped fingers into the black satin bow, letting the fabric fall loosely across Locky’s chest.

Locky undid his top two buttons quickly, grateful for the release against his throat. But before he could undo the rest, Benedict slowed him, looking him up and down, like the whole world should be lucky enough to see him right now.

“Like that,” said Benedict, running a knuckle over his collar. “That’s how you should wear it in your bakery. Like you’ve finished for the night. Like everyone can just relax.”

“You don’t think it’s too messy?”

Benedict kissed across Locky’s Adam’s apple. “You know my opinion on that, Mr. Sorenson.”

His lips traced slowly down Locky’s chest, undoing each button as he passed, revealing staw-colored fur and delicate white skin, until Locky’s shirt hung open and Benedict was on his knees.

On reaching the swollen shaft in Locky’s pants, Benedict extended his tongue, running it up Locky’s full, caged length.

Locky melted into the sensation as the heat traveled up him, longer and longer, until it finally reached his head—straining hard against the fabric and leaving a nickel-sized patch of precum, dark and wet.

An old instinct told him to wipe that sticky patch away, so Benedict didn’t have to deal with it, but he knew better than that now—by the way Benedict licked his fingers clean each time he’d jerked Locky off.

The growl only got deeper as Benedict realized how wet Locky was, swirling his tongue across the sticky patch, letting the precum coat his lips. Benedict moaned approvingly as he tasted it, his face going soft and happy, like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of the sweetest candy imaginable. “I love how much you drip, Mr. Sorenson.”

Those words, dirty and delightful, caused a fresh drop to form. Benedict lapped it up eagerly as he reached for Locky’s belt, sliding a finger between leather and buckle, getting enough leverage to pop the belt open with just one hand.

“How did you do that?” asked Locky, impressed.

Benedict repeated the trick with the top button of Locky’s pants, the pressure making the straining wool snap open. “Your boyfriend is very good at what he does.”

Locky shuddered again at that exclamation—that promise. At how Benedict had made sure to use the word. Boyfriend . Making sure that Locky knew that it wasn’t some mistake or moment of madness.

After ten years of avoiding this—all of this—Locky had a fucking boyfriend . One that was about to willingly suck the cum from his balls.

Warm fingers gripped either side of Locky’s hips, grabbing business pants and white briefs, slipping all the way against his skin, taking full hands of both waistbands and pulling them down.

Locky’s cock sprang out with a big bounce and an even bigger throb. Curving up all the way to the ceiling, the head thick and parallel with his belly button.

Locky experienced a brief moment of conflict at that sight, the shadow cast by a decade of shame.

Because on the one hand, his cock looked so wrong next to Benedict’s face. It was so big and so thick—with veins full and snaking, like a bodybuilder’s biceps. His foreskin had already rolled back from the throbbing, revealing glans of pastel pink. A long strand of precum arched from where his cock had been resting against his hip, forming a clear and crescent moon.

The image was filthy, but it also made Locky feel powerful —dominant and free and deserving of all this attention.

A big part of that feeling was how Benedict was staring at his cock, awed and so fucking happy. Like he’d finally discovered the divine—already on his knees and ready to worship.

Which Benedict soon did, running the flat of his tongue across Locky’s furry balls, so big that Benedict’s free hand could barely hold them. Benedict maintained eye contact as he traced along the underside of Locky’s shaft, the warm sensation making Locky’s cock throb away from the contact, only to slap back down against Benedict’s tongue, wet and engulfing.

The heat of Benedict’s breath wrapped around the sensitive skin, close but not yet swallowing. The teasing against his frenulum made the urgency in Locky’s balls grow, throbbing so hard that Benedict had to wrap a finger around Locky’s shaft, holding his cock in place as it tried to escape. The sensation was so intimate and so intense that it made Locky feel like his knees could buckle at any moment.

His viewing angle was perfect to see the copious precum drool from his slit and onto Benedict’s lips. “Fuck you taste good,” whispered Benedict, his voice so happy that Locky’s thighs shook.

More precum spat unexpectedly across the man’s nose and forehead. Benedict looked shocked in the best possible way at the sign of unrestrained pleasure. It seemed to spark something extra in him, some loss of patience.

And in one shocking movement, Benedict swallowed Locky’s cock.

Locky’s legs actually did buckle this time, the sensation so unexpected and so overwhelming that he couldn’t stand upright. But Benedict seemed to expect this, pinning Locky back against the door, making the hinges squeak and the wood groan.

“Fuck!” Locky barked, unable to control his volume, unable to control his anything. Benedict slid his mouth up and down over his long shaft—suddenly fast, suddenly ravenous. Locky’s eyes were clenched shut, too overwhelmed to handle it all.

The sensation was like nothing he’d experienced. His entire body felt like it was being sucked into a vortex—like every part of him was being pulled into Benedict’s expert mouth. Even back in his partying days, he couldn’t remember anyone deep throating him properly, taking him all the way down until they were slobbering over his nuts.

It was all combined with the most visceral sounds that Locky had ever heard. Unable to open his eyes, all Locky could hear was slurping and throat noises and bubbles of spit bursting. It was so loud and so graphic that he felt like he should intervene, wrenching Benedict’s head away.

But Locky’s hips had other ideas, bucking deeper into the sensation. Locky’s back and shoulders curled down toward his cock. His feet involuntarily strained on tiptoes, pushing his knees toward the man’s fast-moving jaw.

The gurgles became even more intense as the pleasure grew bigger and hotter in his balls. Unexpectedly, those big, slippery noises were replaced with guttural gags.

Locky opened his eyes at that.

And if he hadn’t been pressed hard against the door, he might have taken a shocked step backward. Because the scene that greeted him was like nothing he ever thought he’d see.

Benedict’s nose was pressed flat against his pubes. Tears of effort were streaming down his cheeks. And threaded through Benedict’s thick hair were both of Locky’s hands. Grabbing him. Forcing him deeper onto his cock.

Locky felt like he was floating above his own body. Like he was watching a scene from a horror movie.

“Oh, God!” he said, yanking his hands away and releasing the man’s head. “I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”

Benedict snatched Locky’s retreating wrists as he pulled his mouth off the aching cock, great strands of slime and drool arching between shaft and chin and balls.

Benedict made gagging noises as he cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he spluttered, voice deeper and more lubricated. “I didn’t mean for you to stop!”

Locky’s eyes bulged as his dick made another leap into the air, almost spearing his belly. “Wait... what?”

Benedict gently brought Locky’s hands back down against his head, still looking up at him lovingly, eyes wet with effort. With his hands now free Benedict gave a little rap against the bedroom wall. “One knock for yellow, and two for red? Sorry, I should have done that earlier.”

“You want me to fuck your throat like that?”

“You have no fucking idea, Mr. Sorenson,” said Benedict, between little licks against his swollen pink head. “If you’re okay with that?”

The throb that followed was so hard that Locky felt like his cock was straining against shackles, yearning to break free of its restraints. And yet, as much as his body was saying yes, Locky was struggling to form complete sentence. He hadn’t had his cock sucked in almost a decade, and this beautiful man wanted him to go as deep as possible, as hard as possible? To brutalize him and take control and force him down hard?

He... he couldn’t be serious?

And yet, there was no lie in Benedict’s expression, no pity or obligation. He looked up at Locky like a man starving. And further down, past thick shoulders and between splayed knees, Benedict had taken his own cock out. It was rock-hard and dripping heavily in his grip, streams of precum running down his piercing, mixing with the long stands of drool that poured down Benedict’s chin and across his chest.

He really does want this.

Locky thought back to what Benedict had told him at the Pizza My Mind kitchen. How he’d said he was into various kinks. And how he hadn’t second guessed Locky’s decision when he’d said green. How he’d respected his choices.

Locky’s cock throbbed hard again as the realization took hold. What he was about to do. What he was about to experience! Because if Benedict—this amazing, supportive, beautiful man—wanted him to be rough... well, wasn’t it the least Locky could do? Particularly when his own body was urging him forward.

Tentatively, Locky gripped harder in Benedict’s hair, pulling the kneeling man’s tongue halfway up his spit-slicked shaft, teasing him, testing him, before finally shoving Benedict’s mouth back down over his cock.

Locky winced as the hot grip returned with furious pace, clamping and grinding and making him shudder. Locky could feel a jet of precum pulsing out of him, confirmed when Benedict gave an eager swallow, his voice box sliding slickly across the sensitive underside of Locky’s cock.

Inch by inch he forced himself down Benedict’s throat, stopping only when he felt the tightness and resistance get too strong, afraid he might break something. But Benedict did the job for him, struggling through those last few inches.

Locky groaned, deep and animal. The tightness and heat felt like a gateway to a whole different world, making Locky’s balls pull up against his body, boiling and building their load.

Benedict was stroking himself faster now as Locky repeated that slow throat-fucking motion—back and forth along the full length of his shaft. This time, when he came to the final inch he didn’t stop, forcing Benedict all the way down until his lips were smeared against Locky’s nuts.

It felt... God, it felt incredible. Not just the sensation, but the sheer power of it all. The feeling of hair through his fingers. The realization that he could do whatever felt best for him. That he could fuck this throat how he wanted, when he wanted, and Benedict would only thank him for it.

It was so fucking wrong . Locky knew that deep in his guts. It was the opposite of everything he usually believed. He cared for people. He didn’t take advantage of them.

But in this moment, he couldn’t deny the angry growl of his own desire. “You... you like it when I do this?” he said, under his breath. He wasn’t used to being verbal, wasn’t used to any of this, but the words came out like a demon muttering through him.

Whether it was the questions or his tone of voice, Benedict’s cock gave its answer, spraying a clear jet of precum between Locky’s legs.

Oh... fuck , thought Locky. I’ll take that as a yes.

Locky moved one of his hands from Benedict’s hair around to his jaw, holding his mouth open with firm pressure.

He fucked hard against the man’s already stuffed throat, finding an extra half inch by twisting Benedict’s head on the diagonal, giving Locky an unblocked view of the sick scene.

He’d never seen himself so hard before.

Locky shoved Benedict’s head roughly against his pubic hair, as deep as it was possible to go. He waited for the inevitable knock against the wall, the message to stop. But Benedict made no such movement. One of his hands was rubbing lovingly up Locky’s thigh, the other was gripping hard around his own cock.

When the man finally gagged, Locky let Benedict’s mouth rise to halfway along his shaft. Desperate breaths whistled through Benedict’s nose. The tears down his cheek were pouring now.

Benedict stopped jerking himself off suddenly. But it wasn’t because he was turned off and wanted to reach for the wall. Locky could see that Benedict was having the opposite problem. His cock was so hard, so urgent, it looked like he could spray his load at any second.

And a nasty little thought overcame Locky.

I wonder if I can make that happen?

Gripping his fingers tighter, hair and jaw alike, Locky gave Benedict the full length of his cock again. But this time, he didn’t move the man’s head. Instead, he held it in place, letting his hips do the work.

Every thrust made Benedict’s throat grip him hard, squeezing the blood from his cock head until there was nothing but an electric vice of pleasure. Each pull out was slick and slippery, disgusting and drippy.

“You like having my huge cock down your throat?” he said, louder this time, feeling things he’d never felt, saying things he’d never say. “You like having your throat fucked like this?”

Benedict gagged approvingly as Locky’s pace quickened, spending longer on the depth and shorter on the withdraw, the feeling too good to slow down. He controlled the pace with loving brutality, giving Benedict just long enough to catch his breath before jamming his cock into his spit-soaked face once more.

Benedict’s gags grew heavier as Locky bashed his dick into his esophagus. Suddenly, those gags were joined by a growl . The sound was muted but the cause was clear.

Benedict was moaning . Loving every second of his throat being destroyed.

Locky looked down through the carnage of slobber. Benedict’s cock was straining against his belly now, hard as granite and veins snaking angrily.

“Oh, fuck,” said Locky, without slowing. The vibrations of Benedict’s growls intensified, humming inside his cock, down his shaft and deep into his overfull balls. It was like his cock was being massaged from all sides. Like Benedict was summoning the cum from his aching nuts.

The growls and the gags merged as he fucked even faster, feeling the pressure gathering. Feeling the cracks of lightning before the roar of thunder.

Benedict reached down for his own cock, desperate to finish himself off, but Locky stopped him, grabbing Benedict’s hands and shoving them behind. “Hands against the wall! If you want to cum, you’ll cum like this!”

Benedict’s cock pulsed in surprise, like it was screaming for the attention it wasn’t going to get.

But he obeyed immediately, hands pressed flat against the wall.

The realization that he wasn’t in charge of his own orgasm seemed to make Benedict’s eyelids flutter, ecstatic and overwhelmed and so fucking grateful.

The rumble through Locky’s own dick became urgent as he fucked Benedict’s throat in long, angry strokes. Pounding him. Slamming him. Taking him!

The fire built to a fury as he watched Benedict struggle not to pull his hands back and grab his cock, so desperate to jerk his dick to completion.

Benedict’s cock looked so hard it might shatter now. The precum stream was torrential, collecting in sick drips and sticky pools all over his thighs and balls and floor. Every now and then it twitched, screaming for attention, screaming for someone to finish it off.

But Locky didn’t stop.

Because he was too busy using Benedict’s throat.

And soon, Benedict wasn’t trying to get his hands back.

Now Benedict’s eyes were fluttering constantly.

Now Benedict’s whole body was shaking.

“That’s it,” Locky growled, low and commanding. “You want to cum just from my cock in your throat? Is that what turns you on, you sick fuck? The thought of this big cock breeding your mouth?”

Benedict nodded furiously as the shaft slammed past his lips.

“Then say it!” Locky barked. “Tell me what a naughty little slut you are for my cock!”

Benedict tried to speak with a mouthful of cock, the muffled buzz fizzing up though Locky’s shaft.

That obedience, that domination, made something inside Locky swell. The sense of control. The sense of power.

“Louder!” Locky roared, gripping Benedict’s hands harder against the door, making both of their cocks bounce. “If you want my cum, I want to hear you beg for it!”

Benedict’s guttural growls were deep and strangled, trying to comply but overwhelmed by just how brutally his throat was being used.

And then, suddenly, that growl of throat-fucked compliance built into something louder, something more desperate and disbelieving. First it was a roar, panicked and piercing. Then it was a bellow, like an animal roaring into the wounded night. Soon it was like the man was screaming into the depths of Locky’s soul through a mouthful of dick.

Benedict’s expression grew shocked, eyes looking up at Locky, overwhelmed and unable to comprehend what he was feeling.

“Yeah, that’s it,” snarled Locky, slapping his face hard. “You’re feeling it now, aren’t you? I want to see you to cum for me! I order you to cum for me! Cum for me now! Blow your load, you little bitch!”

And those filthy words were too much for Benedict, shaking and screaming and sobbing through a full throat of cock.

The kneeling man jolted hard as he shot his cum hands-free, huge jets blasting up through the space between them, coating his own chest and chin in a monstrous spray of white. One rope found the gap between the furious fucking and slapped Locky across the lips and beard. He opened his mouth and caught another fat splat on the underside of his tongue.

The taste of sweet salt made his own thighs shake, barely able to keep his brutal thrusts going. Because his brutality was making Benedict cum like a maniac. Was making him feel this amazing and this incredible and this much better than anyone had ever... had ever...

Suddenly his own balls were boiling.

Suddenly the pressure was rising inside Locky like a torrent, unable to be stopped.

Suddenly Locky was screaming too.

The first shot of cum exploded down Benedict’s throat. The sensation shook Locky to the core, racking him with a full body pulse. The next jet was even bigger, even more intense.

Locky’s limbs shook independent of each other, spasming out of his control. Benedict choked and breathed and spat all at once, splattering streams of cum across Lock’s wet pubes and balls. Each time Benedict gagged it was joined by a wet eruption of cum down his lips and chin as the overflow cascaded onto his chest.

Benedict pulled his hands from the wall and grabbed his own cock, still hard and straining. His eyes rolled back as Locky’s cum poured from his mouth. Within seconds, Benedict was shaking once more as he shot his second load, his high-pitched whimpers hissing hard through Locky’s cock head.

Benedict swallowed heavily for a full ten seconds after Locky’s cock finally stopped pulsing, bubbles of spit and cum popping on the space between lips and shaft.

Sweat streamed down both of their faces. They were wet and humid and sticky as hell.

“Benedict... Jesus...” Locky started, trying to breathe through his own gasps. He was holding himself against the jambs of the door, afraid he might collapse.

Suddenly the heat which had spurred him to those brutal places vanished, leaving a cold hollow in its place—regret and guilt and shock at his own brutality. At the things he’d just done. At the things he’d just said .

But before those feelings could intensify, Benedict rose on shaking legs and planted the wettest, most cum-soaked kiss of Locky’s life. He kissed like a long-forgotten lover. Like he’d lost the ability of speech and had to communicate all his appreciation with his tongue alone.