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“Oh my god,” he chokes out. The long, thick fingers in his ass are insistent and know all too well just how to twist, how to curl and thrust just so, turning him into a shaking mess.
He’s face down, ass-up on the couch, sweatpants pulled mid-way down his thighs, effectively preventing his legs from spreading wider, in a way that’s already got him sweating under his t-shirt. He’s also only seventy-percent sure his glasses made it safely to the side table but he’s too preoccupied to check.
He flexes his legs again, tries to slide his knees further apart on the couch, but the fabric holds fast, digs into the skin of his thighs. He bites hard on his tongue, swallowing a moan when he hears a rustle from the other end of the line.
“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Rooster asks, an edge of worry in his voice. “I thought we banned cooking while talking on the phone?”
There’s a hand palming his ass and he can feel the bite of Jake’s nails, a warning, has to turn away and shudder through a breath before finding his voice to answer.
“N-no,” he manages, though he can hear a tremor in his own voice, “I just- ah- stubbed my toe,” he lies and gets rewarded with a sharp pat.
The game had seemed too easy, which probably should’ve been a red flag. Call Bradley, hold a ten minute conversation as he drives home, and don’t let him know Jake’s finger fucking you.
“If you lose,” Jake had said, pausing to bite his lip for no good reason, “then I’m callin’ the shots next time.”
“And if I win?”
“...I’m thinking your chances ain’t all that good, but for now let’s say, you get a night to be in charge.”
He could try and blame it on the adrenaline that always seemed to shoot through his veins whenever Jake pushed at him like this, but really, he’d been a little overconfident in his acting abilities. And he’d made the fatal mistake of forgetting just how competitive Jake could be.
“Oh. On the coffee table again?” Rooster asks, tone mild. He was definitely driving at this point, good for Bob since it meant that, hopefully, he’d be more focused on the road.
“Yeah,” he replies, instantly clamping his lips shut when Jake thrusts in with a third finger. He tenses, anticipating a rough twist or something, shoulders shaking under his own body weight.
Instead, a single finger traces along the inside of his thigh. Too firm for it to tickle, but the light scrape of Jake’s blunt nail sends sparks up his spine. Bob’s entire body shakes with the effort to keep quiet, the waistband digging harder into his legs. He swallows a whine but just barely.
“Why weren’t you wearing the slippers I bought you?”
Lord almighty… Bob’s pretty damn close to just hanging up, his entire mental capacity being occupied by the stretch of a fourth finger and Jake’s entire hand splayed on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, kneading firmly.
He shoves his face into the cushion in just enough time to muffle a whimper when Jake’s fingers curl, stroking with purpose.
“I wonder how much of my hand could fit in you before you come.”
“Oh god, please,” he moans into the couch, sanity fraying at the edges.
“Bob? Babe, you still there?”
Jake’s body is almost too hot when he leans down over Bob, lips brushing his ear. “Four more minutes.”
He rolls his head to the side, tries to breathe through the molten heat pooling in his stomach. “Yeah, no, I’m here… just-”
His bastard of a boyfriend chooses that instant to wrap his hand around Bob’s aching cock, thumbing the tip and giving a quick jerk and twist.
“Shit! Jake!” Bob cries, elbows buckling, forcing the arch of his back to deepen. He can feel every muscle tensed, every nerve set alight by Jake’s touch, and he knows he's lost.
“...Bob. Are you calling me while you’re having sex with Jake right now? While I'm trying to drive?”
The hand leaves his cock and he can’t silence his whine, the cushions shifting with Jake’s movement.
“Thank you so much, Bradley, you’ve done me a great favor today,” he says into the phone, voice smooth and immensely self-satisfied. “Drive carefully, see you soon.” He hangs up before Bradley can respond, dumping the phone on the floor.
Relieved but also now fully focused on his building orgasm, Bob moans, the sound almost wounded and needy. He can’t find it in him to care, pushing back onto Jake’s fingers.
“Please, please, please, Jake, please, I need more,” he gasps, clumsily reaching with his own hand to stroke himself.
“Begging already? And I’m not even edging you,” Jake hums, something like pride ringing in his voice. His fingers curl again and sparks explode behind Bob’s eyelids, his moan broken and stuttering, the coil of heat in his stomach threatening to burst at any second.
He’s being rougher than usual as he twists and pumps his hand, but now Jake’s fingers have returned to his leg, pinching and pressing bruises into the skin and his eyes roll back.
“I knew you’d lose,” he continues conversationally, and it’s a wonder Bob can hear him over the lewd sounds pouring from his throat and the pounding of his own heart, “which is why I went ahead and bought something for the occasion.”
Fingers snap the waistband against his skin and he jerks hard at the sting, his breathless cry following.
“Glad you liked this,” he adds, and in response Bob’s legs tense again and try to push apart to no avail, drawing something low and gutted from his chest as he finally lets himself really sink into the feeling of being restrained. It's exhilarating and electrifying.
Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, and he’s rocking desperately into his own fist and Jake’s fingers, and he’s so close-
“Because in the closet, there’s a spreader bar with your name on it.”
If Bob hadn’t already lost, he would’ve lost when he came, his moan a gasping, stuttering, shaking acceptance for his future. He can’t think or feel beyond his orgasm or the fingers that are still playing with his ass. The one thing on his mind is the thought of having his legs locked in place, parted for Jake to do as he pleased.
He can feel himself trembling as he comes down, chest heaving. His head’s a little foggy but he can feel loving fingers combing through his hair and hear a warm voice speaking tenderly.
He blinks, finds himself lying on his back and Jake’s face hovering right next to him.
“Beautiful,” he praises, grinning, “you did well.” His grin widens. “But you still lost.”
Bob covers his face with his hands. “Do I even wanna know what else you’re thinking of doing with me?”
Jake laughs and Bob feels something warm bloom in his chest. “Well, I’m not one to ruin a surprise, but I have a feeling you’ll enjoy yourself. I mean, I know I will.”
“I swear you’re trying to kill me…”
Jake’s fingers tuck a stray lock behind his ear. “Nah, but Bradshaw’s probably gonna have something to say about our little stunt when he gets back.”
Bob’s stomach drops, heart jumping.
“Shit.” Anticipation curls low in his gut but he’s too worn out to do more than reach out and pull Jake closer. “I’m not gonna hesitate to throw you under the bus.”
Warm lips kiss his cheek. “That’s not really fair but I won, so I’ll let it slide. Besides, it’s been a while since he’s gotten real rough,” he adds, biting his lip.
A car engine rumbles outside and Bob accepts that dinner’s probably gonna be a little later than usual.