Page 7 of Grease & Grips (Friction Fiction #2)

“ S tand up.”

It’s not a suggestion. There’s command in his voice now. The quiet kindness we’ve been dancing with all night has shifted, giving way to something more firm.

I rise slow, feeling every inch of skin come alive under his gaze. We’re just two men standing in the middle of this dusty shop. Stripped down and staring like we’ve got all the time in the world to learn each other by heart.

His eyes take me in cataloging my soft belly and scattered freckles. The places I usually try to hide.

I let myself look, too. Really look. The neat crop of dark hair between his legs. The mole on his right hip. His heaving chest as it rises and falls with each quiet breath. His dick, heavy and uncut, rock hard and pointing right in my direction.

There’s no rush or shame between us. Only admiration.

He moves to close the distance between and sinks down onto the shop floor between my legs. His palms glide up my thighs until I’m shuddering above him.

He looks up at me, eyes blown wide, lips parted, like he’s ready to pray.

“You’ve been real good for me tonight,” he says, voice husky but clear. “Now let me take care of you.”

There’s no permission check, only the quiet certainty of him leaning in and brushing his lips over the tip of my cock. The second his mouth opens around me, my name, my breath, and sweet God almighty… my whole damn sense of self disappears into the heat of him.

His jaw stretches wide as he works to accommodate my size to take me deeper. Breath ragged through his nose, he pushes forward slowly until his lips are pressed against the base of my cock, nestled in the mess of my rust-colored hair.

A low hum rolls through him straight into me and my knees threaten to give out right then and there.

Movement starts with one hand twisting at my shaft, his mouth sliding up and down with practiced rhythm.

I can see him working his own dick in his hand.

There’s a pool of pre-cum gathered in the slit of his foreskin and with each controlled stroke the skin drags over the head, spreading it everywhere. It’s soaked and glistening.

The sight of it has me shaking, fists clenched, trying so fucking hard not to blow too fast, but it’s nearly impossible.

He’s too good. Too focused. Too damn much.

And then something snaps in me.

Fingers threaded through his hair I tighten my grip around the back of his head and I push down. Harder than I meant to. He chokes, sputters around me, and nods.

I groan and lift my hips, thrusting up into his mouth in hard, punishing strokes. His spit runs down my cock, soaking his chin and my balls. His eyes water. His jaw strains, but he stays there. Taking it.

When he finally pulls off with a wet gasp, his mouth is red and puffy and wet. His eyes are glassy, tears streaking down his face, and he’s smiling.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand breathless. “You like fucking my throat?”

“Yes,” I manage.

His brow lifts. “Yes what?”

I swallow, throat tight, heart racing. “Yes Sir.”

He stands and presses up against me, chest to chest, sweat-slick skin sticking to the patch of hair across my chest and belly. Close enough to feel his breath fan out across my lips. I don’t dare step away.

“You ever eaten ass before?” he whispers against my lips.

I shake my head.

He pats me twice on the cheek, more fond than teasing. “No time like the present.”

Then he steals a kiss before brushing past me. He climbs onto the couch and braces an elbow on the backrest. With the motion his spine curves into an arc and he’s full only display. Offered only to me.

The tight, corded muscles in his back shift with every breath, flexing deeper with the curve of his spine.

His knees are spread wide and from where I stand I can see everything.

His cock and balls hang heavy almost brushing the cushion.

All of it draws my eye straight to the center, To the tight, puckered ring of muscle, just a shade darker than the rest of his golden skin.

He glances back at me eyes lidded trusting me to meet him there.

My hands move before the rest of me does, palms skimming down the slope of his back, over warm skin and taut muscle, until I reach the curve of him. He’s still watching me, still giving me that space to change my mind, to hesitate, but I don’t. Not when he’s laid out for me like this.

Not when he asked and meant it.

Dropping to my knees, my palms brace on either side of his hips. Breath skims across his skin as I lean in and hover over his hole. We both shiver and when I finally press my mouth to him I swear I feel something shift. Like a lock clicking open in both of us.

Andrés exhales something that sounds like my name and settles in deeper against the couch, and I keep going, careful but not shy, learning every reaction he gives me like it’s gospel.

If this is the lesson, then I’ll be the most willing student he’s ever had.

My tongue breaches his entrance and every one of my senses lights up with him.

His scent, his taste, the sweat still clinging from a long day on the road.

The edge of my beard brushes against the sensitive skin there, rough enough to make him groan low in his throat.

He shifts back into me, chasing the contact, greedy for more.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” he says, pushing off the couch. I end up on my heels, blinking up at him as he turns and stands tall in front of me. I lean in and give the head of his cock a slow lick, catching a bead of pre-cum on my tongue.

He shudders hard. “Nope. No more of that. You need to fuck me.”

“Okay,” I manage, voice hitching on the word.

He squints down at me. “Okay? That’s it? Where’s the enthusiasm?”

Climbing to my feet I shrug, wiping a hand on my thigh. “I’m kinda worried about the no lube thing.”

“I was thinking spit,” he says, wrapping a hand around me, giving me a few strokes before slapping my cock against his upturned palm. “But this? This needs more than spit.”

I huff out a laugh, too turned on to be properly embarrassed.

“First,” he says, reaching down towards his heap of clothes strewn across the floor. He finds jeans and pulls a condom from his wallet. “You’ll need this.”

He slaps it against my chest as he glances around the shop, eyes scanning like he’s casing the place. “Come on, all this equipment and grease and god-knows-what... there’s gotta be something we can use.”

There’s a little bounce in his step as he moves through the room, cock swinging with each stride, that perfect ass giving the softest jiggle as he weaves between the equipment like he owns the damn place. I watch him move as I slide the condom down over my cock.

There’s nothing uncertain in the way he walks. Every motion is sure, deliberate, made to hold my attention. Every muscle in his back shifts as he scans the shelves, broad shoulders tapering to that perfect waist. His legs are strong and lean.

He turns, triumph in his grin, and holds up a bottle.

“Motor oil,” he says, shaking it once. “You ever use it for this?”

I blink. “You can’t be serious.”

He shrugs, smug as hell. “Why not? It’s oil. Lube’s just oil in a cuter bottle.”

“Do you wanna die? Because this is how you die.”

“Do you actually know I’ll die?”

“I’m not about to slather your insides with something I put in an engine.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

My eyes narrow. “Lube doesn’t kill you when you swallow it.”

“Depends which part of me is swallowing.”

He wiggles the bottle at me, wide grin and bouncing eyebrows. “Desperate times, Mack.”

“You’re gonna explain to a doctor that you used motor oil as lube?”

“If it’s you doing the lubing, totally worth it.”

I groan, but my dick twitches. Stupid, traitorous thing.

“I told you I was calling the shots tonight.”

I’m frozen as he lowers himself onto the cold concrete like it’s the goddamn throne room of a palace and he’s the crown jewel. With arms folded beneath him, he leans forward till his chest rests against his forearms, ass high in the air like an offering.

Or a threat.

Maybe both.

He shifts his knees apart and rocks his hips. It’s a lazy, taunting roll. He tosses me a glance over his shoulders, eyes brimming with desire, daring me to come stake my claim.

“You seriously gonna tell me you don’t want to fuck me, Mack?” It comes out soft but charged, a spark behind every syllable.

My mouth’s gone dry, but my brain’s gone drier. All that’s left is the pounding pulse in my cock and the very real threat that I might come from nothing but the sight of him.

The floor’s cold as hell when I fall to my knees behind him, but I don’t care. Could be fire under my skin and I still wouldn’t move.

The bottle comes back toward me without a word. He hums, gives his ass a little shake, and I don’t even think before I rear back and smack it. The sound cracks through the shop. He groans, pushes back, and suddenly my cock’s snug against his hole. I hiss at the contact.

My hands shake a little as I take the bottle of motor oil from him. The rough texture bites at my finger tips and I swallow hard as I twist the cap off.

"Good boy," he says so damn pretty stretched out in front of me. "Now lube me up.”

Tipping the bottle I watch as the amber liquid spills slow from the lip. It lands right at the top of his ass, pools in the dimples above his hips, then trails lower slipping between his cheeks, slicking the curve of him, settling where I’m meant to touch.

A gasp escapes me before I can stop myself.

My fingertips find the center of him teasing gentle pressure around the edges waiting for him to push back. I trace circles over his hole watching him twitch beneath me.

“Yeah, baby,” he groans, voice shredded. “Use your fingers. Push it in.”

The slide into him is easy as my middle finger breaches his entrance up to the knuckle. I curl it a little to feel the give inside his walls. He bucks driving himself back against my hand like he needs more.