Games We Play

Ping Pong

Extra Disclaimer: Reminder, this fic is for mature audiences.
On with the show...

****"Right, then."*****

There's a mad rush of adrenaline and they're kissing again; control be damned. It's all lips and tongues and teeth and it feels so fucking good, but there's a bigger objective here, Rye remembers.  

He reaches for Andy's fly again, and this time there are no extra hands to impede him. He fights momentarily with the button, but it springs, and the zipper slides away easily, and then Andy is moaning into his mouth as Rye takes him in hand.

It's a tight fit inside those skinny jeans, with absolutely no room for any kind of maneuverability.

"Don't stop now," Andy whines from the loss of contact when Rye pulls away suddenly.

"The trousers have gotta go, babe." He puts a hand on Andy's chest and gives him a gentle push. "Scooch up."

Andy complies, sliding to the top of the single bed, and Rye crawls up after him.
"Alright?" he asks, taking the waistband with both hands. Andy nods, his breath catching over his lips when Rye begins to peel the stretchy denim down his hips.

They come off easy enough. Rye only has to tug to pull them free of Andy's feet, which he also skins bare, laying a kiss on the inside of each ankle.

When he's done, Andy is laid out in front of him in just his pants.

Rye is knelt on the bed between Andy's legs, with his hands worrying his thighs. He's sure he must look completely befuddled, because one minute Andy is staring up in anticipation, and the next his mouth curls up.

"Have you any idea what you're doing?" Andy asks.

"None, whatsoever. You?"

"No." Andy begins to laugh, covering his face with his hands.

His laugh is infectious. Rye dissolves into giggles as well, collapsing alongside Andy; their legs, naturally entwined.

As their laughter dies away, Andy turns to face Rye. He props his head in his hand and looks up from beneath long, dark eyelashes. The look he gives Rye is intense and mesmerizing, and honest to God, Rye swears he could lose himself in those dark blue pools.

"What are you thinking about?" Rye asks, reaching out to run a finger down the length of Andy's almost perfect nose, tapping lightly at the small bump where Mikey had accidentally broken it.

"I’m wondering," Andy swipes at Rye's hand, "why aren't you naked yet?"

Rye's eyes widen in mock shock. "Oh, is that how it is?"

"Yes. That's how it is," Andy replies with a sly smirk.

"Fine."

Rye turns onto his back and begins peeling his trousers down his thighs. Beside him, Andy is doing likewise with his boxer briefs and Rye fumbles when he realizes the blonde is now officially starkers.

"Pants too," Andy demands, taking himself in hand.

"So bossy," Rye manages to choke out, nearly forgetting to breathe as he watches Andy lazily stroke and tease his cock back to full erectness.

Rye quickly shimmies out of his briefs and grabs his own dick, biting back the groan that threatens to spill from his lips when he tugs three or four times in rapid succession.  
“What are you doing, trying to strip yourself of skin? Stop that.”

This time Rye does groan because suddenly he has a very warm, very naked Andy sitting across his thighs. Rye gulps down a bunch of air while he tries to steady himself, but the sensation of Andy's hard cock sliding freely across Rye's skin is pinging every nerve in Rye's spine, and he nearly comes on the spot, bucking up into the feeling.

"Relax," Andy says, his voice gravelly and obviously just as affected as Rye feels.

He pulls Rye's hands away from his dick and places them, one on top of the other, square in the center of Rye's chest.

"Keep them there."

"Don't reckon I, um…" Andy presses Rye's hands firmly into his chest, leans in and kisses him, cutting off the thin argument Rye was attempting to string together.

"Keep them there, I said."

Rye pouts but keeps his hands still against his sternum and his mouth shut. Up until the moment Andy carefully wraps his hand around the base of Rye's cock.

His touch is light, his fingers soft as he trails them up the length. Running the tip of his thumb over the head of Rye's penis, he catches a bead of precome. But it's not until Andy finds that little bundle of nerves under the head, that Rye loses his composure.

"Oh, fuck."

What comes next is a blur of action and reaction, as Andy tours Rye’s body, top to bottom with his hands and mouth. Rye is light-headed by the time Andy licks and nips his way past Rye’s hips, his breath whispering across very sensitive skin.

Rye’s not even sure when it happened, but all of a sudden, he’s very aware that Andy is between his legs, mouthing his way up the inside of Rye’s thigh. He should feel very vulnerable in this position, but he doesn’t. With Andy, he just feels safe.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Rye watches, captivated by the image they create together. His own tanned torso, abs activated, muscles twitching under the play of Andy’s talented fingers. The long line of Andy’s back, the tempting swell of his ass, and creamy legs, all laid out on the ultra-plush comforter Rye had chosen for his & Harvey’s beds.

Rye wets his lips, closes his eyes and lets his imagination wander to the slow grind of Andy’s cock into that soft, shaggy material, to the mess he’ll leave behind, to the scent that will hang in the air afterwards.

Rye’s head falls back into the mattress when Andy reaches the junction where his thigh and hip meet, and lays an open mouth kiss there. He slides his hand under Rye’s thigh, opening him more, sucks softly on the delicate skin.

Rye bucks into Andy’s touch, wanting that mouth on his dick more than anything; that amazing, fucking mouth. He settles for Andy’s hand, moving slowly and lightly up and down his dick.

Settles, ha! This is far from settling. When Andy’s thumb runs up and over the head of his dick, sweeping up precome to use as lube, Rye swears this may very well be the best handjob he’s had in ages. He groans, low and deep in his chest, rocking slowly into Andy’s hand.

“Fuck, you feel amazing.”

Andy glances up Rye’s body, catching his eyes. There’s a heady look of power written across his face, that would have knocked Rye off his feet had he been standing, and that sinful mouth of his curves slowly showing the tip of his tongue caught between perfect, white teeth.

He licks his lips. Rye involuntarily mirrors the motion.

And then Rye watches on bated breath, as Andy lowers his mouth and tentatively licks. Not his dick, but his testicles, and once again Rye’s head is knocked back into the mattress, groaning, “Jesus.”

Andy licks and nips gently with soft lips at first one, then the other, all the while, carefully milking more precome from Rye’s cock and smoothing it down his length.

"Th-thought ya had n-no," Rye stammers, drawing a ragged breath, "no idea."

"Just know what I like." Andy shrugs, and then licks long, slow and wet from Rye's balls, up the shaft. He drops an open mouth kiss to the head, his lips glistening with precome and saliva, and the sight of him takes Rye's breath away.

He can't help but press forward when Andy's lips envelop the head of his cock.  

AN: Sorry for the long break between chapters. I'm a bit of a perfectionist and I was very busy last week, away from home. But, I'm back now and hope to have the next chapter out either this weekend or the beginning of next week.
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