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It was only fitting, Trent thought, that a relationship begun in a dimly lit gay bar in Amsterdam would continue like this. They were in the entryway of Ted Lasso’s flat, kissing fiercely, hands roaming. Ted’s breath was harsh and wanting in his ear. Trent used a careful displacement of gravity to fling them both gently back, so that Ted’s back was against the wall and Trent was caging him in. They hadn’t turned the lights on. They hadn’t spoken since the door had been locked behind them. Everything was frantic touch, eager and disorganized. Passion, Trent thought dizzily. Passion like he’d never had.
“Trent Crimm,” Ted said, his voice not just affectionate but needy. It was this little edge of petulance that always spiked Trent’s arousal more than anything.
Trent didn’t reply, Ted Lasso, partly because he thought it would be cheesy, something he still couldn’t abide, and partly because the depth of his own need, his own adoration, would show through in his voice. He couldn’t abide this either.
He just said, “Shhh,” and dropped to his knees.
Ted’s skull thunked against the plaster as he reeled with a gasp. Trent tried not to smile around his cock. He loved this, loved Ted’s taste, loved how evident this act made Ted’s desire. All for me, Trent thought, and swirled his tongue.
Ted returned the favor a few minutes later, a fury of enthusiasm, of care, that made Trent’s spine weak as he came.
The whole thing was over in ten minutes. They made their way to the sofa and sat down, rather dazed. After a minute of staring into space, Ted got up with a little grunt of effort, kissed Trent’s shoulder thoughtlessly, and retrieved a cold glass of water for them to share.
Trent swished the water around in his mouth as he regarded his boyfriend of two months. His hair was mussed, making him look boyish and sleepy. He was still wearing his entire date outfit: blazer, button-down, dress khakis, scuffed brown brogues. The khakis had been rebuttoned, but his fly was down, revealing the soft fabric of his boxer-briefs, which Trent had so recently had his fingers twisted in. His mouth was red and swollen from kissing, a little wet from the gulp of water.
They’d had sex five minutes ago, and Trent’s desire wasn’t slaked at all.
~~~
This realization provided much to think about.
~~~
He thought about it a great deal for the next several days, while taking his daughter, Kara, to his ex-wife’s house, while jotting down notes as Coach Beard explained a play, while showering. Especially then.
His relationship with Ted had been a whirlwind, a storm of joy that had upended his life as much as it had improved it. From quietly coming out to Colin Hughes on the stone steps in Amsterdam to holding hands with Ted in front of Rebecca Welton, Roy Kent, and God. Staying up till the small hours talking on the phone about absolutely nothing, stupid slumber-party intimacies. Keeping peanut butter in his larder. Someone doing the Crossword on his Times account before he’d gotten to it. Tea on his desk for him at Nelson Road, made expertly by someone who hated how it tasted. Happiness, to Trent, felt like a shock to the system.
Ted hadn’t met Kara yet, but if things continued apace, Trent was… considering it. Even that suggested a great deal about how he felt.
Even his ex-wife had noticed. The last time he’d seen her, she’d stood on her front step in her bathrobe, studying him. Kara had gone inside to eat breakfast, so Juli said, “You’re getting laid. With someone you like. First time, I think.” She dipped her head humbly. “First time with someone who has the gender you prefer.”
“Capital insights, Holmes,” he said drolly. “Is one of my sleeves a millimeter shorter than usual because I’ve been giving frequent hearty hugs?”
She snorted. “No, you dork. You just look slightly…” She tilted her head, observing him far too close. “Cockstruck? Hmm. Worse. A bit daffy.”
“Daffy? And that’s worse than cockstruck? I shudder to learn of your emotional ranking system, woman.”
She sniffed resolutely. “You’ve lost your access to all my wiles and all my ranking systems, Trent Crimm.”
He winced. “That I have.”
She softened. “Who is he? He’d better be good. Remember what I told you. He’d better make it worth my while.”
“That’s a lot to live up to,” he said fondly. Not for the first time, he wished he could have been… not straight enough to keep her, exactly. But something. More honest. More self-aware. “It’s someone from work.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding confidently. “Ted Lasso. I’d been wondering when that would come to a head.”
“Julianne!”
She shrugged. “Like me, he’s too nice and smiles too much. Clean cut and magnificent bone structure. Unlike me, he has a penis. Your type.”
Trent thought this was a rather reductive way to refer to his gay awakening and to the charms of Ted Lasso, but he didn’t exactly get to tell off Julianne, whose life his gay awakening had up-ended. He huffed. “He is a man of many charms, I’ll give you that.”
She smiled finally. “I can see that you’re happy. That’s good, T. Let yourself have it, alright?”
He was still thinking about that hours later. What did it mean to let yourself have something?
~~~
He’d been doing entirely too much thinking lately. That sort of thinking led only once place: to waking up with your new boyfriend, both of you recent graduates of ex-wife academy, with a handful of gay experiences to your name, and saying, “Do you have any fantasies?”
Ted rubbed his eyes with both fists, like a scared kid in a cartoon. “Winning the Premiere League, tea being outlawed, Henry moving to London, Beard singing “Space Oddity” at karaoke, a really big cheeseburger pizza in a quiet room?” He rattled off without so much of a yawn. “Am I on the right track here?”
“Couldn’t be any further away.” Trent watched him sit up and stretch, unable to help a smile. Ted was lovely in the morning, all sleep-rumpled and puffy, with hair sticking straight up and broad, hairy chest bare.
Personally, he’d already snuck into the bathroom to brush his hair and pull it back in a tidy knot.
“What kind of fantasies you have in mind, then?” Ted rolled over and pushed his face into Trent’s shoulder, a kiss and a headbutt all at once. He draped an arm over Trent’s middle and pushed his fingers under Trent’s T-shirt to touch his skin, a light caress not quite ticklish.
“What we’re doing now could have counted as one of mine about 12 weeks ago,” Trent admitted aloud. He was new to this: admitting things, admitting his once-unrequited feelings. But it always thrilled Ted to hear about his crush, and led him to reciprocate so fervently, that it was worth it.
“Hmm.” Ted wiggled happily against his body, kissed his chin. “Still is for me, I think. S’nice.”
This put a glowing heat under Trent’s skin, not quite a blush, not quite arousal. Gratitude you could choke on. “Yes,” he managed, and pressed his cheek down on the top of Ted’s head.
~~~
Apparently the topic wasn’t closed, however, because that night (the second in their luxurious child-free, work-free weekend, one of the first of its kind), as they were making dinner, Ted stared into the nonstick pan for a solid minute before he said, “I guess I was kind of doing my clueless routine before, huh?”
Trent paused halfway through chopping the parsley. “Before when?” He asked, but he thought he knew.
“I have fantasies, obviously,” Ted said, his voice quiet. “Beyond the stuff we’ve done. Which—to be clear, Trent, has been absolutely rip-roaring, that’s not a question, not at all. But yes, I—.” He shut himself off abruptly.
Trent thought about the layers of self-doubt and self-censorship that had occupied his own life, the feelings he’d ignored or hidden, the prejudice he’d taken as a matter of course. Then he thought about those things in Kansas, in American football locker rooms.
He turned and put his hand at the small of Ted’s back, softly. “You don’t have to get into it all at once.” He swallowed, a little shaken. “Or at all, if you don’t want. But I would be… well, I can’t say if I’d want the same things until I knew what you were thinking about.”
Ted chuckled, an anxious little thing. “I don’t even know. It’s not like I got—a script, or anything.” He stirred the onions absently. “Michelle and I were always tamer than a golden retriever in bed, and maybe I should have seen that as a sign.” He looked up suddenly, eyes alarmed. “Trent, if there’s something you want—if there’s something I haven’t done—you gotta tell me, and we’ll work it out, because I wouldn’t want you to, um, not get what you want, and odds are I’d probably like it, because I like you, and I like, um, doing what you like, so if there is…”
“Ted, Jesus Christ.” Trent put his fingers over Ted’s mouth to shut him up, then replaced them with his lips. He cupped his hands around Ted’s neck and kissed him hard, trying to transmit love and acceptance into the kiss. “You aren’t a failure,” he said into Ted’s cheek when they pulled apart. “There’s nothing you’ve failed to do. There is no secret thing.”
Ted’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry,” he said, “Get me a cart and some sticky claim tags, all aboard the baggage express.”
Trent huffed a laugh, despite himself. “As if I’m baggage-free myself.” He kissed him again. “I like you too, obviously.” He turned back to the party, but he heard a particular part of Ted’s words in his head again: I like doing what you like.” His heart beat hot in his throat.
He should leave it alone, he knew. But he didn’t know how long it would take to get the courage to broach it again. “There’s nothing in particular, but there’s a whole host of interesting things. But I couldn’t—I would need to hear what you wanted, too. It has to be mutual.”
Ted squinted, thinking hard, for a second, then blew a raspberry. “It’s sex, Trent, not a game of chicken at Jimmy Martens’ pool party. Why do you want me to go first so bad?”
Trent’s face was instantly scorching. He couldn’t hope to hide it, but he resumed chopping anyway. Where to start? If he told Ted the kind of things he thought about when he was alone, when he was getting off, he might scare him off permanently. Ted was the sort of person who waved at babies in cafés and apologized to furniture when he bumped into it. Trent couldn’t… sully any of that with the contents of his head.
But he couldn’t keep secrets from his boyfriend, either. He was done with secrets.
“I like to take charge,” he blurted out, trying to keep his voice steady. “If my partner likes that. But I would never pressure you to do anything you didn’t want.”
Ted sipped from his wine with a strange little smile on his face. “I know that, you bona fide silly billy. I’m not gonna think—” his face got serious. “Trent, I know you would never hurt me. You don’t have to convince me of that.”
“Yes. Well. Of course.” He tucked his hair beyond his ear, a nervous affectation. Ted had only recently called it his “tell.” Horrible to be so known and understood, honestly. Terrible idea. “I notice that you haven’t said you loved the idea.”
Ted made an ambiguous soft noise, chagrin or amusement or annoyance. Trent thought he’d learned to decipher all Ted’s little signals, but perhaps not. Ted came up behind him and put his big hands at Trent’s hips, making him flinch a little bit. He was still jumpy, and Ted knew it, so every gesture was soft. Ted settled his chin on Trent’s shoulder, stooping to do it so that his front was warm along Trent’s back. “Trent,” he said, raising hairs on the back of Trent’s neck. “I never kissed a man before I kissed you in Amsterdam nine weeks ago. I don’t know what ideas I love. Other than bein’ with you. Tryin’ new things with you. That’s all I want, okay?”
Trent was about to reply, but Ted didn’t let him, his voice raspier this time: “But I think I—I think I’d like it if you were in charge.”
~~~
The hour and a half that transpired between these earth-shattering words and getting in bed with Ted were utterly lost to Trent. He must have finished cooking, must have eaten and drunk at least two glasses of wine, must have started the dishes. He couldn’t remember it. He was standing at the foot of his bed between Ted’s legs, tying his hair back.
Ted was watching this procedure with something approaching amusement. “Does this spell good news for me tonight?” He teased. “Something complicated enough to need your hair out of the way?”
“Hush, you,” Trent said, batting absently at Ted’s shoulder with the backs of his fingers.
He hadn’t thought much about it, but he saw Ted’s eyes flash, and his Adams apple bob. Oh.
Trent’s cock twitched in his jeans. He watched Ted lick his lips. A lock of hair, usually gelled up into Ted’s little quiff, was falling over his head. He had his head tilted up to look at Trent, his legs spread to accommodate Trent standing between them. His blinking was getting slow and sweet.
Trent reached up and took his glasses off, a little shakily. He knew he should stop, establish safewords, set up green yellow red, explain to Ted about the etiquette of kink and their plan for the—scene, encounter, lovemaking, whatever horrifying term they were using. But he was afraid to speak, to break this strange little spell.
He handed his glasses to Ted. “Would you put them on the nightstand for me?”
Ted nodded, eyes wide. His fingers were clumsy on the arm of Trent’s glasses, but he got them. Trent moved aside to let him stand, but instead, he crawled across the bed one-handed to put the glasses away.
When he turned back to Trent, he was sprawled awkwardly across the bed, a throw pillow wedged under one shoulder. After a moment, Trent realized he was waiting for a response. “Good work,” he said softly. “Thank you, darling.”
He watched—actually watched—Trent’s pupils blow wide. “‘Course,” he said, voice hoarse.
Trent could feel his heartbeat everywhere: temples and fingertips and cock. “Do you want to do something else for me?” He asked. “Only if you want.”
“Yes.” His voice was barely audible now.
Trent got on the bed and knee-walked over to him, then traced his fingers over Ted’s soft waffle-knit henley, the one that made his chest and arms look absurd. “Would you take this off for me?”
Ted pressed his lips together, then nodded. He tugged off the shirt, pulling it over his head with a haste that messed up his hair a little bit. He looked handsome, and obedient, and soft. Trent’s mouth was so dry he could hardly speak.
He coasted two fingers over Ted’s collarbone, the arc of his shoulder. “That’s good,” he whispered, then, impulsively, tugged Ted to himself by the back of his neck to kiss him: messy and imperfect, all wanting. When Trent slipped his tongue into Ted’s mouth, Ted moaned, just a tiny purr in his throat, like he was trying to repress it.
Trent felt electricity spark from their mouths to his groin. God. Maybe he had, once again, vastly underestimated Ted Lasso.
He pushed his tongue back into Ted’s mouth, a slick little thrust, invasive and dirty. He could hear, more than feel, Ted seize air in through his nose. He was aroused.
With trembling fingers, Trent grabbed Ted’s head firmly with both hands, one circling the back of his neck and scalp, the other splayed possessively over his jaw and throat. He fucked Ted’s mouth with his tongue, repeated jabs, until they both had to come up for air.
“Trent,” Ted gasped. He sounded wrecked.
Trent smeared his mouth down Ted’s prickly jaw, scraping lips and teeth against skin. He felt possessive, hungry, wild. He felt Ted, who had six inches and forty pounds on him, tremble under his touch, and it made him out of his head with wanting. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered into Ted’s neck. “Are you alright?”
Instead of answering, Ted whimpered brokenly. It was the most vulnerable, the most nakedly need sound Trent had ever heard him make. It cranked his arousal to painful heights. For a moment he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
Then the words were tumbling out, forbidden words, some of his favorites: “Good boy.”
Ted gasped. His pelvis jerked forward against Trent’s body as if entirely out of his control. In that glancing touch, Trent could feel how hard he was.
They pulled back to look at each other, eyes feverish, and Ted gave him a tiny nod, as if to say, I’m alright, more, please.
Trent swallowed. “Unbutton my shirt for me?” Damn, that wasn’t quite commanding enough. He lifted his chin haughtily and waited as Ted unfastened every button with clumsy, shaking fingers. He pulled the shirt off Trent’s shoulders and then, taking liberties, helped Trent strip out of his thin vest too.
Trent knew that his body was not much to look at, especially compared to Ted’s Nordic-Midwestern bulk, but it seemed to please Ted nonetheless. He ran his fingers lightly over Trent’s narrow chest, then pitched forward to kiss it. From that stooped place, he looked up at Trent through his eyelashes, coquettish and hapless at the same time. It made something perverse in Trent burn even hotter.
“I want you naked,” he rasped. “Get up.”
They both stumbled off the bed and undressed completely, staring at each other. Ted’s cock was huge and hard, obscene as it bobbed against his belly. He had muscular thighs, usually hidden under those khakis, and strong calves from so many hours pacing the pitch. In their hurried, frantic previous encounters, Trent had had so little time to study him. He made up for it now.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the bed. “I want to look at you.”
Ted swallowed visibly, and his cock jerked. He obeyed without speaking, his eyes downcast.
“You like to be looked at, don’t you?” Trent crooned, hardly believing his own daring. He monitored Ted’s face for the least flinch of discomfort.
He didn’t see it. Instead, Ted’s face screwed up with desire. He didn’t answer.
“I can see that you do.” Trent stood in front of his bent knees, reversing their positions from a minute ago. “You look so lovely, too. Handsome. Needy. Hard. Aren’t you?”
Ted nodded so vehemently that Trent thought for a minute he’d come spontaneously. Ted liked this. Trent’s expectations had already been outdone three times over.
“Good boy,” he breathed. In one movement, he knelt at Ted’s feet and took his cock into his mouth. Ted cried out, the first real noise he’d made in minutes. Helplessly, he thrust forward to push his cock deeper, nearly gagging Trent. As a signal of how shredded his control was, Trent loved it. But he still pulled off, held Ted away with three fingers at the base of his cock. “Good boys control themselves,” he said, stern. “Are you going to be bad?”
Ted’s eyes were wide as a 50 p piece. “Maybe,” he said.
A fresh rush of blood flowed to Trent’s cheeks and to his groin. “Ah,” he said. “You think you might be?” He petted Ted’s thighs with slow, sweeping movements, then sucked just the head of Ted’s prick into his mouth.
Ted moaned aloud, a helpless, loud exhalation that tapered off into a whine. He was trembling with the effort of keeping his hips still. “Maybe,” he breathed, and his accent was stronger than usual. It was bizarrely hot. “Not tonight. I’ll be—I’ll be good tonight.”
“Good. Then I want you to be still and let me take care of you, alright?” Trent didn’t wait for an answer before he was bobbing down on Ted’s cock, worshipping him with his mouth and throat.
Ted cried out, but he obeyed the order, keeping still through painful effort. In fact, Trent had never heard him so vocal; it was as if the rubric of “taking charge” was enough to give him permission. It was driving Trent crazy, his neglected cock throbbing against his leg. This was part of what he liked: knowing that an outsider might see this scene, with Trent kneeling on the floor, naked, in front of a bigger and more masculine man, taking his cock down his throat, as a scene of submission, even humiliation.
They wouldn’t know that Trent was controlling Ted’s every gasp, every twitch. That he had Coach Lasso of AFC Richmond eating out of the palm of his hand.
Ted’s moans were getting more frantic as he let the blow job get messy, slurping up over the head and squeezing hard around the base. Trent felt his orgasm mount, and mount, and at the last second, he pulled away, reeling back on his heels. He wasn’t touching Ted at all anymore.
Ted groaned in frustration. “Trent,” he managed through gritted teeth.
Trent studied him, oddly calm, pleased, remote. He always felt extremely centered when he was topping in bed. “Alright?” He asked with mild curiosity.
“I don’t know whether to call you a magical wizard or a motherfucker,” Ted gasped. His cock was angry red and shiny with spit.
“Both are accurate,” Trent said, amused. “Are you ready to go again?”
“What?” The end of Ted’s demand was edged out by a groan as Trent went to work. He brought Ted to the edge four times that night before letting him over it. The evening had ended with Trent, out of his mind with protracted lust, jerking himself off to the sight of Ted’s exhausted, bliss-soaked face. They’d fallen asleep more or less immediately afterwards.
~~~
They didn’t discuss it in the morning, in so many words. Trent felt… he didn’t know what he felt. Happy, elated, embarrassed, uncertain, flayed open. He was fairly sure that this was what good sex was supposed to make you feel.
But he didn’t know what Ted felt.
Harder still to guess, because Ted was all sunshine and conflict avoidance as usual. He sprang out of bed to make coffee that morning, then spent the rest of the day happily following Trent around on his Sunday errands, chirping about the differences between British and American drugstores, the Beatles, and usage of the slang term “brolly.” Trent couldn’t understand him at all. Trent wasn’t being sexy anymore, in either vanilla or non vanilla ways. He was just running errands, meal-prepping his breakfasts, washing Kara’s sheets for the week. And yet Ted seemed to be bouncing off the walls with good humor.
It had to be a cover-up for something. Leave it to Ted to hide his sexual ick behind an anti-Sunday scary routine so powerful that even Trent went to bed tired and happy, pushing his doubts about Ted losing interest in sex with him to the back of his mind.
~~~
They didn’t revisit the issue for weeks, until it was again Julianne’s weekend with Kara and the Richmond team played at home. The following day, Ted and Trent were lying around in Trent’s flat, Ted sending emails and researching field formations (Trent had been a good influence) and Trent reading a book. They had a dinner reservation in an hour, but he didn’t feel any particular urgency. It was lovely, really, to sit quietly with his boyfriend in a clean flat and anticipate the weekend ahead.
Ted closed his laptop and sidled over to him, almost slyly. He sat down on the sofa next to him and Trent, obligingly, put away his book.
“Here, upsy… daisy, yes, just like that.” He’d grabbed Trent’s feet and settled them in his lap.
“Upsy daisy,” Tred repeated, dry as a bone.
“I’m a folksy guy, Trent, you already knew that, might as well get used to it.” He put one hand over Trent’s ankle, and used the other to smooth his mustache.
Ted Lasso had his tells, too.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit from the dining room?” Trent asked, hiding a smile.
Ted shrugged. “I like lookin’ at ya.”
“Flatterer.” Ted wasn’t bad to look at himself; already showered for their dinner, in an old T-shirt and jogging bottoms, he looked clean and cozy and smelled incredible. Sometimes being around him was just frequent, intermittent little jolts of attraction. You were taking notes on something Roy Kent said, or taking out the bins, or brushing your teeth, and you looked and there he was: handsome and warm, his big dumb chin and dark, intelligent eyes. A deadly combination, that.
Ted’s hand rubbed up and down Trent’s shin, almost aimless. “How long till dinner?”
He hadn’t quite kept the disinterest in his voice. Trent peered at him over his glasses. “About an hour. Why do you ask?”
Ted was looking back at him, and he… squirmed, slightly. “No reason,” he said too quickly.
“Ted.”
“You have really nice hair, did you know that? I always thought that, back when I very first met you in the press room, and even now, I still think pretty often, wow, that Trent Crimm has awful nice hair.”
Ted told Trent some variation on this revelation about once a week. “We’re now arriving at suspicious levels of flattery,” Trent said. “Have you embroiled me in some kind of credit card fraud? Let Jamie get traded again?”
Ted laughed, a little tightly. “Um, no siree, I still don’t have a British credit card so it can’t be that. It’s more that I… really really like it when you look at me over your glasses like that.”
It was said with the cadence of obvious truth. Trent felt his cheeks pinken, but he took a moment and tried it again: tilting his chin down, narrowing his eyes as he regarded his lovely, ridiculous boyfriend.
Ted squirmed again, his lips parting. He started to cross one knee over the other, then, realizing that Trent’s feet were still in her lap, abandoned the project. His hand was tight on Trent’s ankle.
Experimentally, Trent pressed his heel lightly into Ted’s lap and found him half-hard. “Ah,” he said. “You want… You like the…”
Ted’s cheeks were very pink now. “Yeah,” he said. “But it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Trent said, although he meant the precise opposite. “Come here.”
Ted got up at once and, without prompting, knelt between Trent’s legs. Trent petted his head, ran his fingers through his half-dry hair. “Is tonight the night when you’re going to be bad for me?”
Ted shuddered a little under his touch. “Not that.”
“Ah. You’re going to be good, then.” Trent laid a patronizing little kiss on Ted’s forehead. In the context of what they were doing, it felt thrillingly dirty. He ventured, “And there’s something else you want.”
Ted mumbled something into Trent’s hand as it traced over his face.
“What’s that?”
Ted pulled back and made himself enunciate. “I want what you want.”
Trent felt an ambiguous throb in his chest, both arousal and emotion. “You want… to submit to me. Want me to make the decisions.”
Ted looked up to meet his gaze, and his eyes were terrifyingly sincere. “Anything,” he said. “Anything.”
Ah. Trent swallowed convulsively. He tucked his hair behind an ear. “Aren’t you lovely,” he said, the hoarseness in his voice horribly betraying. “Come to bed, then.”
He followed Ted to the bedroom, taking a minute to take a sip of water, prepare himself. He wasn’t afraid of anything so much as losing his protective shield of irony. He might reveal the degree to which—no, worse, the kind of thing—he wanted.
Focus on Ted, he told himself. You are initiating him into gay sex, day by day. Make it good for him.
He went into the bedroom and found Ted stepping out of his sweatpants. He wasn’t wearing pants, which, alright, that conveyed a certain degree of malice aforethought. Ted sat down on the side of the bed and grinned puckishly up at Trent. “Aren’t you gonna put your hair up? I think you might need to.”
Trent squashed the little squeak that tried to come out of his throat. He strangled his little ponytail with the elastic he kept around his wrist in two chaotic movements and more or less jumped on Ted with a shriek of exasperation and pleasure. Ted, laughing, fell back on the bed, gratefully letting Trent pin his wrists down. “Am I bad?” He asked, a little dreamily. A light veil of baby sub-space already descending. Trent wanted to eat him.
“You’re perfect,” Trent told him honestly. He transferred ownership of Ted’s wrists to one hand, keeping them up over his head while he used his other hand to trace down Ted’s abdomen to his groin. Found him hard and needy. He made a delightful little gulping sound when Trent squeezed him.
“Where are your little catchphrases now, Coach Lasso?” Trent could tell the affection was seeping through his rather half-arsed dom voice, but it was hard to care. “No stories about one yard line tackles to share at the moment?”
“You’re the—oh—worst,” Ted gritted out, but his breath left him permanently when Trent touched his arse.
Trent squeezed him, felt the shift of muscle and fat. Ted without his clothes was thicker, more substantial, than he looked while dressed, and Trent loved it.
He gently slapped Ted’s flank. “Turn over for me, if you’re going to be a good boy.”
Ted complied, muscles already wavering. He stumbled into a loose hands and knees pose, his famous, beloved face bowed over his hands, far away. Up close, his backside smelled suspiciously like soap.
The idea of Ted wanting this, preparing for it—it was almost too much to process at once. Trent caressed one buttock with a slow sweep of his hand. Then a little slap, more a pat than a spank.
Ted stiffened.
Trent couldn’t be sure whether from repulsion or arousal. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice a little strangled. “I’ll be sweet to you.”
“It’s not that,” Ted managed, which didn’t clear things up, so Trent focused on making him feel good: soft arcing scratches with his blunt nails, cheeky squeezes, even a kiss. After a few minutes, he reached between Ted’s legs and found him hard as stone.
Ted cried out when Trent’s fingers lingered on his bollocks, then his cock.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Trent said musingly. “When I touch you there? Don’t get used to it. I won’t be touching it for a long while now.”
Ted groaned with such a shredded noise that Trent stopped. “Alright?” He asked, trying to sound disinterested.
Ted spoke from where his face was buried in his hands, pressed down into the comforter. “I like it, damn you,” he said, accent thick again, “I like it when you’re mean.”
Trent momentarily lost his train of thought. You knew this, he told himself. It’s not news that he likes you like this, that he likes you at all. It’s not so improbable, you know.
It didn’t feel that way, though.
He swallowed down his surprise and gave Ted’s arse another light slap. “I have some good news for you, then, because I plan to make you scream. And I’m not going to be nice about it.”
“Pretty please,” Ted rasped.
Trent chuckled at him as he fetched some lube from his night table. When he turned back to Ted, he had to take a moment to hold onto a modicum of control. The sight of him there, face in the duvet, arse in the air, bare and waiting for Trent with absolute submission, was just about more than Trent could take.
As he got on the bed, he saw Ted stiffen in response, and this time he was sure it was with desire. For some reason this tiny gesture gave him confidence. You know he likes dramatic stories, he thought, you know he likes swings for the fences.
Or perhaps he was only lust-drunk.
“You’ve never let somebody do this to you before, have you? But now I’m going to take it. I’m going to open you up, spread you out, spear you on my cock. I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Be quiet. I don’t care.”
Ted, as he probably had every other time in his life when faced with this order, failed to comply. He huffed and gasped as Trent rubbed two slicked fingers between his cheeks. Any anxiety Trent had had about initiating this act had evaporated now, because Trent was pressing back into his fingers desperately.
Very lightly he circled the pads of his fingers over Ted’s puckered entrance, almost like he would on a clitoris. His touches got firmer, more probing, until the tip of his index finger was just penetrating the tight furl of muscle.
Ted had grown slightly quieter now, although his hips continued to jerk.
“Alright?”
“Don’t be worried,” Ted croaked. “I’m not gonna break.”
“I know that. I’m very good at what I do.”
Ted puffed out a breathless laugh. “Not gonna blame you, either. If it’s not perfect.” He surged back on his haunches, pressing his arse onto Trent’s finger. “C’mon, man.”
Trent had to swallow down a little swell of emotion—not relief nor frustration with himself but some secret third thing. Better not to think about it. Instead, he bent his head to kiss and then bite at the smooth skin of Ted’s love handle. He’d been eyeing those for months. At the same time, he pressed his finger further inside. Inch by inch, slide and push, like a slow, glorious prying open.
“I’m going to give you more,” he said, trying to feel imperious, “and you’re going to feel it everywhere.”
He made good on it, adding a second finger and twisting inside with slow jabs until he found—perhaps, just there.
Ted grunted as if he’d been punched, but now Trent knew the sound for what it was. He grazed his fingertips over the prostate, teasing it, until Ted was groaning. The place where his forearm rubbed against Ted’s arse cheek and thigh was getting sweaty. His own erection was growing urgent, and a strand of hair had fallen into his eyes.
He ignored all of this, focusing with singleminded attention on wringing every sound possible out of Ted. He began to pump his fingers in and out, relishing the drag of friction, knowing how it would feel on his cock. He was forgetting to talk, though. Belatedly, he said, “You’re terribly tight, aren’t you? It’s going to hurt a bit when I fuck you, but I think that ought to teach you a lesson about backtalk.”
Ted moaned, and Trent pulled his fingers, three now, free. He pinched Ted’s arse with his clean hand. “Beg me,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”
“Christ on a Wheat-Thin,” Ted ground out, sounding about as mad as he did aroused. “Isn’t all this enough?”
Trent spanked him, with real force this time. “Beg me to fuck you.”
“F-fuck me, please, please, fuck me, you have no idea what you’re doin’, Trent, my god.”
Trent couldn’t help it: he smiled. Like an idiot, probably a lovesick one, down at Ted’s bare, trembling back. But Ted didn’t have to know.
He delivered another swift spank and whispered, “That’s my boy.” He stumbled on hands and knees to the nightstand for a condom and put it on with trembling fingers, then slicked it with fresh lube. He wasn’t huge, he knew, but the thought of penetrating Ted’s tight heat seemed both impossible and necessary for continued existence.
He drew one hand in soothing circles over Ted’s lower back as he brought his hips up behind him, then lined up his cock. Its latex-covered head bumped Ted’s entrance, and Ted moaned.
“Bear down for me, sweet boy,” Trent murmured, and started to press forward. The stretch was tight, and he could feel the tension in Ted’s body.
“Feels good,” Ted said, an evident lie.
“Shut up,” Trent scolded him. “Just breathe for a second, you idiot.”
He obeyed, and Trent occupied himself by trying desperate not to trust. His own neglected desire was roaring now, throbbing in his cock, the base of his spine, his shoulder blades, his lips. He wanted to devour this man, wring every folksy phrase from his mouth, make him forget every responsibility and every performance.
Finally he felt Ted start to ease around him, and he nudged his hips forward, just a breath’s worth. Ted made a clicking sound in his throat, suppressed pleasure.
“You’re going to take my cock and like it,” Trent said, which felt like a mediocre effort. He’d forgotten entirely which role he was playing in his haze of arousal. He pulled back slightly and thrust back in, and the animal pleasure of it took his existing want and sent it stratospheric. He moaned himself, unable to hold it in. His hips stuttered forward again without his permission.
“Yes,” Ted muttered under him. “Please, please, I want to feel you.”
From there it was a desperate rut, all sweat and fingernails, the synthetic smell of lube and clammy rub of Trent’s palms on Ted’s back. He couldn’t find a rhythm. It was too intense, too urgent. He was suddenly terrified that he would come first and possibly incinerate before he could finish off Ted.
He reached with absolutely no grace around Ted’s body for his cock, which was harder than Trent had ever felt it and leaking copiously from the tip. When Trent touched it, Ted cried out.
“I’m going to fuck you so good,” Trent muttered as he tugged and teased at Ted’s cock, and then, humiliatingly, “I’m going to fuck the come out of you.”
Ted yelled, a good throaty one, his arse bucking and clenching around Trent’s cock until he was helpless to do anything but hold on. Ted trembled and juddered against him as he came in one rough, endless pulse.
“Ted, Ted, gorgeous, you gorgeous th—” Trent was grabbing him too hard, saying too much, hair in his eyes, his mouth, but it didn’t matter because he was burying himself in Ted’s willing body, emptying himself out.
For a moment they were splayed across the bed, still joined. A bona fide beast with two backs. Ugh. Trent was not ready for comedy. He was exhausted and overstimulated, stick with sweat and muscles cramping. He pulled out gingerly and laid Ted down on the bed, just to the side of the mess in the sheets. “Shhh,” he said, resisting the urge to do something stupid like kiss his ear or his forehead. “I’ll be back.”
He was, with a warm wet flannel that he used to clean them both up. Ted blinked up at him with big Bambi eyes, which he probably should have better prepared for. Instead he felt them like a punch to the solar plexus. “Hush,” he said.
“Didn’t say nothing,” Ted mumbled, and yawned. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He crawled into the bed and accepted Ted’s arm around him, folded himself into Ted’s side really. He guessed the dom act was done. Horrible, saccharine words were filling up his throat, ones that the hormones flooding his system desperately wanted him to say. Instead he turned and hid his face in Ted’s chest.
Ted chuckled. “You aren’t thinkin’ too much, are ya?”
“No,” Trent said, muffled, from the vicinity of Ted’s nipple.
Ted’s fingers gently, so gently, smoothed the flyaway hairs away from Trent’s face. He felt like crying. Ted said, “That was good, right? It was good for you?”
Oh, fuck you. “You know it was.”
“Trent Crimm, if you do away with somebody’s butt virginity, you better darn well tell him he did a nice job.”
Trent laughed despite himself, even as he groaned. “I’ve never wanted anybody so much,” he admitted. “And I never thought anybody’s… sensibilities… would align so well with mine.”
Ted huffed and ran his fingers over Trent’s hair. “Wanna say some real stupid nice words right now,” he said. “It’s like a coyote’s in my frontal lobe bashing around in there, doin’ real damage to my impulse control.”
Trent’s stomach lurched. “I can’t claim to be immune to coyote attacks myself.” He bit Ted’s chest lightly, then kissed over it. “Perhaps we can… rest in the knowledge of mutual stupid words to come. For now.”
He craned his neck to look up at Ted, whose smile was big and bright as a lighthouse. “I’d like that.” They laid there, basking in probably irresponsible levels of joy.
“Dang but you are a kinky son of a gun,” Ted said after a minute, so Trent had to bash him with a pillow.