"Me and Durk both champions, happy as I ever been..."
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"Ge- get the fuck off of me Von."
The man hums and presses the pad of his thumb against the underside of Durk's chin, forcing his head up. "Nah." The man shifts, wedging his knee between Durk's legs.
"Nigga stop- mmph." A hand against his mouth shuts him up and Durk presses his palms against a firm chest to no avail. Damn this nigga is strong.
A hot puff of air against the sensitive shell of his ear sends a shiver down his spine and Durk digs his fingers into the material of Von's hoodie as the man huffs a laugh against his skin.
"Fuck," Davyon groans quietly, "I wanna fuck the shit out of you."
He shifts his knee up and up and Durk breathes hard against the palm of his hand as Von's leg presses featherlight against the bulge in his jeans.
Heat pools in his gut and Durk—
Jolts awake, his heart pounding.
He's still on the couch, a blanket pooled in his lap. Confused he looks around and catches sight of Von sitting right in front of the tv watching something animated. The volume is low enough that Durk doubts the man can hear it but his eyes are glued to the screen as he bites down on-
"Are those my fuckin' sour airhead strips?" His voice is sleep heavy, the words barely legible but the man seems to understand enough because Von just gives him the finger not bothering to turn around.
Durk is grateful for that because his body's reaction to that dream is prominent and very obvious. Grabbing the blanket he tugs it over his shoulders and disappears down the hall to quietly take care of his problem.
What the fuck is wrong with him. While Davyon is a fairly touchy - possessive being a mild way to put it - person, the man would probably shoot him in the dick if he knew what Durk was dreaming about.
They're both street niggas, prominent names in the rap game, if anyone finds out about his...situation, Von is probably the last thing he would have to worry about.
All broad shoulders and thick arms and that fucking smile.
Durk is ashamed by how quickly it takes him to finish, the ghost of strong hands tossing him around, holding him down. Firm muscles shifting under his hands, a warm body crowding him against the couch.
The image of Von all around him, inside of him — "Fuck," He pants quietly, biting down on his lip to keep himself quiet as he slides a thumb over the head of his cock.
Behind his eyes is Von, eyes half-lidded, smiling down at him amused. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you. Make you mine."
His release coats the front of his shirt and Durk closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the door with a muted thump.
