Work Text:
The crisp morning air filled Paul's lungs as he jogged through the quiet streets of Dublin, his heart pounding in rhythm with the pavement beneath his feet. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow, dampening the brown curls with greys that clung to his head. The physical exertion was a welcome distraction, a means to silence the relentless thoughts that had been consuming his mind since the wrap party for "All of Us Strangers."
Paul's mind drifted to the intense, passionate scenes he had shared with Andrew Scott on set. The older actor's skill and experience had been evident in every heated embrace, every searing kiss. Paul had felt a stirring within himself, a longing that he couldn't quite comprehend. He was straight, wasn't he? Or so he had always believed.
The memory of Andrew's lips on his own, the feeling of that strong body pressed against him, sent a shiver down Paul's spine. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the lingering thoughts. No, he couldn't let his mind wander down that path. He was single, yes, but not... not like that.
As he ran, Paul's thoughts continued to swirl. The movie had been a revelation, forcing him to confront desires and attractions he had long suppressed. The gay themes and explicit content had been eye-opening, to say the least. He had thrown himself into the role, into the story, and it had left him feeling raw, exposed, and strangely... alive.
Paul's body moved with the grace and agility of a natural athlete, his muscles flexing beneath the tight, sweat-soaked fabric of his running gear. He was a sight to behold, a vision of raw, masculine power and beauty. Yet, even as he pushed himself physically, Paul couldn't escape the emotional turmoil that gripped him.
He knew he would have to confront these new feelings, these unexpected attractions. He would have to grapple with the fact that the experience of filming "All of Us Strangers" had awakened something deep within him, something he had never acknowledged before. It was a daunting prospect, but one that Paul knew he could no longer ignore.
As Paul jogged, lost in thought, his mind drifted back to the intense method acting sessions he and Andrew Scott had shared before and during the filming of "All of Us Strangers." The two had grown close, their on-screen chemistry translating to a deep off-screen bond as well. Paul had been eager to immerse himself in the role, to truly understand the complexities of the gay characters they portrayed.
It had started with long discussions, delving into the intricacies of their characters' emotions, fears, and desires. But Andrew, being gay in real life, had taken their method acting to the next level. He had shared personal stories, offered insights into his own experiences and attractions. Paul had listened, fascinated and increasingly unsettled by the foreign feelings that began to stir within him.
The kissing practices had been intense, Andrew's skill and experience evident in every searing liplock. He had taught Paul how to respond, how to pour emotion and longing into every embrace. Their mouths had moved against each other, tongues dancing and exploring, breaths mingling. Paul had felt a thrill, a spark of excitement that he had never experienced before.
It hadn't stopped at kissing. Intimate touching, as Andrew called it, had been the next step. Paul had hesitated at first, but the actor's reassurance and guidance had set him at ease. They had begun to explore each other's bodies, learning the curves and planes, the sensitive spots and erogenous zones. Andrew's fingers had traced Paul's spine, his ribs, his hips, leaving trails of goosebumps and awakened nerve endings in their wake.
Paul had felt a stirring within himself, a hunger he had never known. It had scared him, thrilled him, and left him questioning everything he thought he knew about his own sexuality. The lines between their characters and their real lives had begun to blur, and Paul had found himself caught in a web of unfamiliar but increasingly irresistible feelings.
As he ran, Paul's body moved with a newfound sensitivity, every touch and caress from their practices etched into his skin and memory. He couldn't escape the way Andrew's fingers had lingered on his waist, the way his breath had hitched when their eyes had met in a moment of shared understanding and longing. It had been enough to plant a seed, a tiny spark of curiosity and desire that refused to be extinguished.
Paul's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and trepidation as he grappled with the unfamiliar feelings that had taken root within him. He had always considered himself straight, had never questioned his attraction to women. But the experiences he had shared with Andrew, the way his body and heart had responded to the actor's touch, left him reeling. He was scared to confront the possibility that his sexuality might not be as straightforward as he had once believed.
Lost in thought, Paul didn't notice the figure standing on the sidewalk, engrossed in his spiraling mental state. Suddenly, his foot caught on the uneven pavement, and he stumbled forward, colliding with the stranger. The impact sent a jolt through his body, and he found himself staring into the startled eyes of a man who looked like 40-year-old or something.
"Oh, feckin' hell, I'm sorry about that," Paul exclaimed, his Irish accent thick with surprise and a hint of embarrassment. He took in the man's appearance - a bit of a belly, a head of hair that was receding at the temples, and a look of pleasant surprise etched onto his face. The man was the antithesis of the tall, lean, and youthful beauty that Andrew embodied.
"It's alright, no harm done," the stranger replied, his voice a deep, almost husky timbre. He smiled, and Paul found himself noticing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the glint of friendliness and perhaps something more in their depths. "I'm Mckay, by the way. You seemed a million miles away there."
Paul blinked, realizing he was still standing close to the man, their bodies nearly touching. He took a step back, feeling a flicker of something in the pit of his stomach. "Aye, I suppose."
Mckay chuckled, a warm and genuine sound that seemed to rumble up from his ample chest. He looked at Paul with a quizzical expression, one eyebrow arched slightly. "I couldn't help but notice, you mentioned 'aye', but I don't believe you've actually told me your name, friend. I'm Mckay, as I said, but what should I call you?"
Paul blinked, surprised by the man's lack of recognition. He was used to being stopped on the street, fans and onlookers often exclaiming "Aren't you that actor from...?" and listing off his various film and TV credits. It was a strange sensation, this anonymity, but not an unwelcome one.
"I'm Paul," he replied, deciding not to mention his acting career for the moment. Perhaps it was a nice change of pace, to simply be a man and not a celebrity for once. "Just Paul."
Mckay smiled, a warm, rumbling gesture that seemed to fill the space between them. "Nice to meet you, Paul. I have to say, you seemed pretty lost in thought there. Anything on your mind you'd care to share?"
Paul hesitated, the stranger's question striking a nerve. He was usually so guarded, so careful about who he let into his inner circle, who he allowed to see beyond the charming, jovial facade. But there was something about Mckay, a genuineness and a kind of worn, comfortable wisdom that made Paul feel almost... safe.
"I... well..." Paul began, pausing to collect his thoughts. "It's just... I've been going through some changes lately. Some realizations about myself, if you will. And it's left me feeling a bit... confused. Lost, I suppose."
Paul was surprised to find himself opening up to this stranger, this Mckay. Perhaps it was the unexpected anonymity, the freedom that came with not being recognized. Or perhaps it was something more - a sense that Mckay had a certain wisdom, a certain understanding that Paul found himself drawn to.
Whatever the reason, Paul found himself continuing, "I always thought I knew myself, knew what I wanted. But now... I'm not so sure. It's a strange feeling, to be honest. But I suppose that's what life is all about - discovering new things about ourselves, even if it means confronting the unknown."
Paul looked at Mckay, a hint of vulnerability in his blue eyes. He was taking a chance, a risk, by opening up to this stranger. But something about Mckay made him feel like it was a risk worth taking.
Mckay listened intently to Paul's words, a look of understanding and empathy softening his features. He gave Paul a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his large hand warm and solid against the damp fabric of Paul's running shirt. "Sounds like you've got a lot on your plate there, Paul," Mckay said, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. "But it's a good thing, really. Growth and self-discovery are never easy, but they're essential parts of the human experience."
With a gentle squeeze to Paul's shoulder, Mckay stepped back and gestured down the path ahead of them. "I was about to head out for a run myself. Would you like to join me? Sometimes a bit of exercise and fresh air can help clear the head and bring a new perspective to things."
Paul nodded, surprised by the sudden invitation but pleased by the prospect of company on his run. "Aye, I'd like that," he agreed, falling into step beside Mckay as they set off down the sidewalk. The two men ran in companionable silence, the sound of their footsteps and the rush of the city fading as they left it behind.
Before long, they reached a narrow, winding trail that delved into a small, unassuming forest. The trees seemed to enclose them, the canopy of leaves overhead filtering the sunlight and casting dappled shadows on the path below. The air was cooler here, the scent of earth and greenery filling their nostrils. It was a world away from the bustling streets they had left behind.
As they ran, the isolation of the trail seemed to settle over them like a blanket. There was no one else to be seen, no other runners or hikers disturbing the tranquil scene. It was as if they were the only two people in the world, two lost souls seeking solace in the embrace of nature.
After a while, Mckay slowed to a stop, turning to face Paul with a thoughtful expression. The two men stood there for a moment, catching their breath and taking in the quiet beauty of their surroundings. Then, Mckay spoke, his voice low and confidential.
"Paul, I have to say, there's something about you that I find... intriguing. I have a sense that you're carrying a burden of sorts. A heaviness in your heart and mind that's palpable, even if you don't speak the words aloud."
Mckay stepped closer to Paul, his eyes locking with the actor's in a searching, almost piercing gaze. "We're alone here, Paul. Truly alone. And I have a feeling that, in this moment, you can tell me anything. Everything. That you can unburden yourself of these thoughts and feelings that have been weighing so heavily upon you."
The older man's voice was a low, encouraging rumble, his words layered with a depth of understanding and acceptance. "I'm here to listen, without judgment. I'm here to offer a sounding board, a friendly ear. And I'm here to help you make sense of the confusion and uncertainty that's been consuming you, if you'll let me."
Paul's breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs. The isolation of the forest, the unexpected anonymity, and Mckay' genuine kindness tore down his defenses. Words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. "We were coworkers of some sort," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "I played a gay character... deeply intimate scenes. Method acting." He shuddered, the memories flooding back. "The kissing... the touching... it felt real. And Andrew... my co-star... he's gay... and he made me feel things..." His gaze dropped to the leaf-covered ground. "Things I've never felt before. Desires I didn't know I could have."
Mckay studied Paul's tormented expression, the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of his confession. A flicker of recognition sparked in Mckay' eyes. "Method acting, intense intimacy scenes..." he mused softly, stepping slightly closer on the quiet trail. "You've got the look of someone used to inhabiting another's skin. Are you a theatre actor or something?"
Paul hesitated for only a heartbeat before giving a stiff, almost imperceptible nod, still unwilling to reveal his professional identity to this kind stranger.
Mckay tilted his head, his gaze piercing yet gentle. "And that fear twisting your gut... is it about the acting? Or is it the fear that people might see this," he gestured subtly between them, "might know this new... discovery about yourself?" His question hung heavy in the forest air, direct and unflinching.
Paul considered that and shook his head sharply, dislodging a bead of sweat clinging to his temple. "No," he breathed, his voice rough. "Being gay... if that's what this is... it isn't a problem. Not for me. The public finding out? Honestly, Mckay, I couldn't give a damn." He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering into the underbrush. "It's Andrew. It's... acting on these bloody feelings. He's... he's not confused. He knows who he is. Me? I feel like a compass spun off its axis." He clenched his fists, knuckles white. "What if I latch onto him because he's the key to unlocking this door? What if I drag him into my mess, hurt him because I'm just... lost?"
He looked up, meeting Mckay' eyes directly, a raw vulnerability etched onto his face. "He trusted me. During filming. With his stories, his guidance... his touch. What if I confuse genuine connection with... with chasing understanding? What if I use him?" The words tasted bitter. "He deserves someone solid, someone sure. Not someone floundering around like me."
Mckay remained quiet, absorbing Paul's anguish. He slowly reached out, not touching, but offering a silent anchor. "The fear of hurting him," he murmured, his deep voice resonating in the stillness, "that tells me you care deeply. That's where the truth starts, Paul. Not with labels, not with certainty." He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. "Now, tell me... what did Andrew make you feel? Precisely." The demand was gentle, insistent, pushing Paul beyond the abstract fear into the visceral core of his turmoil.
Paul bit his lower lip, the gesture raw and hesitant. He looked away into the dense trees, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. "I... liked the feeling of being with him," he confessed, the admission scraping against his defenses. "Really liked it. The... the closeness. How he looked at me." He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. "And... being touched by him. His hands... it wasn't just acting. It woke something up." His gaze snapped back to Mckay, fierce and desperate. "I want him. But... Christ, Mckay, I feel like fraud. Like I'm not... gay enough for him. He's lived this life, he knows himself. I'm stumbling in the dark."
Mckay shook his head slowly, his expression softening with profound understanding. "Paul," he said, his deep voice a grounding anchor in the forest stillness, "there's no such thing as 'gay enough.'" He held Paul's gaze steadily. "Listen to me. You don't have to like ten other men, or a hundred, to know what he makes you feel. You don't need a lifetime of certainty. The wanting? That's yours. The feeling for him? That's real. It's enough."
Paul took a shaky breath, the scent of damp earth filling his lungs. "I want to believe you, Mckay," Paul confessed, his voice thick with a blend of yearning and apprehension. "Truly, I do. This... feeling for him... it's powerful. But..."
Paul paused, his gaze dropping to a patch of moss clinging stubbornly to the forest path. "Part of me just... can't," he admitted quietly, the words heavy with uncertainty. He looked up, meeting Mckay' steady gaze. "It's Andrew. He trusted me implicitly during filming. Shared things... guided me... let me in. What if I misinterpret this? What if this pull I feel is just... leftover intensity from the role? Gratitude for his mentorship?" He ran a trembling hand through his sweat-dampened curls. "I need time. Time to step back, to breathe, to re-evaluate these feelings away from the set lights and the scripted intimacy. I need to be absolutely sure," his voice cracked slightly, "that if I pursue this, I won't end up hurting him. He deserves certainty, not someone stumbling blindly."
Mckay listened intently, his weathered face a mask of thoughtful silence. He didn't interrupt, letting Paul's internal struggle hang in the cool forest air. When Paul finished, Mckay simply nodded slowly, acknowledging the tangled knot of fear and protectiveness Paul had laid bare. The older man seemed to be weighing the raw honesty he'd just witnessed, perhaps searching for the right anchor point in the younger man's turbulent sea of doubt.
After a moment of heavy quiet, Mckay finally spoke, his voice tentative, almost hesitant. "Paul," he began, his gaze searching the actor's troubled eyes, "would you... would you like me to help you figure it out?"
Paul blinked, confusion knitting his brow. "Figure what out?" he asked cautiously.
Mckay shifted his weight slightly, his tone dropping lower, more confidential. "Help you figure out... if you're capable of being attracted to other men. Men besides Andrew." The suggestion landed with startling directness, hanging between them like a tangible thing in the forest's stillness. Mckay gestured subtly towards himself, his expression earnest yet profoundly uncertain. "I mean... I'm here. And... I'm a man."
Paul froze, his breath catching audibly. His eyes widened as they snapped fully onto Mckay – truly seeing him, perhaps for the first time since their collision. He took in the receding hairline, the comfortable belly, the lines etched beside warm eyes, the entirely ordinary, unremarkable maleness of him – so utterly different from Andrew's sharp elegance. The sheer incongruity of the proposition, the raw vulnerability in Mckay' unsure offer, sent a jolt through Paul’s system. It wasn't seduction; it was an offering, awkward and immense. Could he even look at Mckay that way? Did this man stir anything within him? The question itself felt like a physical wrench, twisting his perception of the moment, the forest, the man standing before him.
Mckay let out a sudden, sharp bark of laughter, the sound jarringly loud against the forest quiet. He waved a dismissive hand, his cheeks flushing a ruddy hue. "Ah, forget I said that!" he chuckled, the forced lightness brittle. "Feckin' madness! Just messin' about, Paul. Ignore me." He took a step back, turning slightly away as if to shield his face. "Probably runnin’ on fumes myself, eh?" But Paul heard it instantly – the tremor beneath the chuckle, the sharp edge of humiliation cutting through the false cheer. It wasn't madness Mckay was dismissing; it was himself. He thought Paul saw only the lack of conventional appeal, and found him lacking. That dismissal, that hidden sadness stemming from presumed inadequacy, struck Paul deeper than any sophisticated flirtation ever could.
To be honest, Paul didn't care about receding hairlines or soft bellies. Not now. What mattered was the startling courage beneath Mckay' awkwardness, the profound kindness that had offered itself as a compass point in Paul’s storm, and the raw, vulnerable sadness Paul had just witnessed. It wasn't attraction he felt, not like with Andrew’s magnetic pull. It was something else entirely – a fierce surge of protective empathy, a profound admiration for the man's bruised dignity, and a sudden, blinding impulse to erase that self-inflicted shame. Before conscious thought could intervene, Paul closed the distance Mckay had created. His hands shot out, one gripping Mckay’ shoulder firmly, the other cupping the back of his warm, slightly damp neck. With a low, almost guttural sound caught in his throat, Paul pulled Mckay towards him and pressed his lips firmly against Mckay’ own.
The kiss was clumsy at first – a collision of lips, the scratch of stubble against skin, the startled intake of breath from Mckay that mingled with Paul’s own shaky exhale. It lacked the practiced heat of Andrew’s kisses, the electric tension built over weeks of scripted intimacy. This was earthier, messier, grounded in the damp scent of the forest floor and the faint tang of sweat. Paul felt the solid, yielding warmth of Mckay’ body against his, the softness of his belly pressing against Paul’s leaner frame, the surprising strength in the shoulders under his grip. It was profoundly, undeniably real. Not a performance, not a character. Just Paul, acting on pure, reckless impulse, kissing a man who smelled of ordinary life and carried a quiet sorrow Paul desperately wanted to soothe. The world narrowed to the feel of Mckay’ lips beneath his, the hitch in Mckay’ breathing, and the thundering pulse Paul felt echoing in his own ears.
A string of saliva formed when they ended the kiss, stretching briefly between their mouths like a fragile bridge before snapping. Mckay swallowed hard, his eyes wide with a tumult of shock, lingering sadness, and a dawning vulnerability Paul hadn’t seen before. He didn’t pull away from Paul’s grip on his shoulder and neck. Instead, he stayed close, his breath warm against Paul’s face. "Paul," he murmured, his voice thick, husky, and trembling slightly. "That... was unexpected." He paused, searching Paul’s face, his gaze intense yet clouded with uncertainty. "Do you... would you like to stop from there?" The question wasn't rejection; it was a cautious offer of retreat, a lifeline thrown back to safety if Paul needed it. Mckay’ thumb brushed lightly, almost unconsciously, against the side of Paul’s neck where his hand still rested, a silent plea mixed with the question.
Paul didn’t hesitate. The clumsy kiss hadn’t ignited the same fierce, complicated longing Andrew did, but it had ignited something else entirely – a profound, protective tenderness, a fierce desire to chase away the self-deprecation he’d glimpsed. "No," Paul breathed, the word rough but decisive. His hand slid from Mckay’ neck to cradle the side of his jaw, his thumb tracing the line of Mckay’ cheekbone. "No stopping." He leaned in again, this time slower, more deliberate. His lips brushed Mckay’ gently, seeking rather than claiming, an exploration driven by empathy and a burgeoning curiosity about the man beneath the sadness. It was a different kind of intimacy, softer, less scorching than his scenes with Andrew, yet imbued with a raw sincerity that resonated deep within his own confusion.
Mckay made a low, almost involuntary sound in his throat – a rumble of surprise melting into something softer, more yielding. His hands, which had hung awkwardly at his sides during the first kiss, tentatively rose. One settled hesitantly on Paul’s waist, the other sliding up his back, fingers pressing tentatively against the damp fabric of his running shirt. He kissed Paul back with a growing sense of wonder, his movements less clumsy now, more responsive. It wasn’t the practiced passion Paul knew from filming; it was tentative, earnest, fueled by a shared vulnerability and the quiet, overwhelming need for connection blooming unexpectedly on this secluded forest path. Paul felt Mckay relax incrementally against him, the defensive hunch in his shoulders easing as Paul deepened the kiss, not with fiery demand, but with a gentle insistence that seemed to reassure Mckay he wasn’t being pitied, but genuinely seen.
"Paul," Mckay murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak, his breath warm and quick. His eyes searched Paul's, intense and questioning beneath the forest canopy. "Would you... would you like to experience the pleasure of being with a real man?" The question hung heavy, layered with Mckay' own lingering doubts and a desperate hope that Paul's actions hadn't been fleeting kindness.
Paul, his senses still humming from the kiss, the unexpected empathy, and the raw yearning radiating from Mckay, didn't hesitate. He didn't overthink labels or consequences. He simply nodded, a silent affirmation driven by the profound connection sparking between them in the damp stillness.
Paul barely had time to register Mckay' sudden shift before it crashed over him. The tentative warmth vanished, replaced by a startling intensity. Mckay' mouth descended on his again, not softly exploring, but dominating – sucking Paul's lips fiercely, his tongue plunging deep, demanding entry and tangling hungrily with Paul's own. A groan ripped from Paul's throat, half-shock, half-arousal, as Mckay' hands moved with shocking purpose. One slid roughly under Paul’s sweat-dampened running shirt, calloused fingers finding the taut planes of his chest, then circling his sensitive nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened nub until Paul gasped into Mckay’ demanding kiss. Simultaneously, Mckay' other hand slid down the curve of Paul’s spine, bypassing the waistband of his shorts to cup the firm swell of his ass, fingers digging possessively into the muscle, pulling Paul flush against his own solid body. The sudden, raw physicality, the possessive hunger radiating from this gentle-seeming man, was utterly disorienting and electrifying.
A ragged moan tore free from Paul, louder this time, reverberating in the quiet woods. The sensations were overwhelming – the rough scrape of Mckay’ beard against his chin, the demanding heat of his mouth, the sharp, delicious ache blooming from his nipple under Mckay’ expert touch, the possessive grip on his ass anchoring him firmly against Mckay’ solid frame. Heat surged through Paul, pooling low and intense in his groin, undeniable and fierce. He hadn’t expected this – not the raw dominance, not the immediate, visceral reaction coursing through his own body. It wasn’t Andrew’s elegant seduction; this was primal, earthy, rooted in the damp forest floor and Mckay’ unleashed hunger. And the shocking, overwhelming realization slammed into him: Mckay, with his soft belly and receding hairline, touching him like this, was turning him on big time. His own hands, previously guiding Mckay’ jaw, now clutched at Mckay’ shoulders, seeking purchase as his hips instinctively pressed forward, grinding against the hardness he felt straining against Mckay’ trousers, seeking friction, seeking more.
Mckay didn't stop there. His hungry mouth abandoned Paul's lips, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of Paul's jaw. He found the pulse point hammering frantically in Paul's neck and latched onto it, sucking hard enough to bruise, licking the salty sweat gathering there. Paul gasped, arching his neck back, offering more access, his fingers digging into Mckay' shoulders. Mckay growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Paul's damp skin as he continued his descent, his lips and tongue blazing a path downwards over Paul's collarbone. Then, with startling abruptness, Mckay slid his hand from Paul's chest, gripped Paul's wrist firmly, and lifted Paul's arm high above his head. Paul gasped again, this time a sharp intake of breath mixed with shock, as Mckay buried his face into the damp, musky hollow of Paul's raised armpit. Mckay inhaled deeply, a shudder running through his own body, before his mouth closed hungrily over the sweat-slicked skin, sucking powerfully, his tongue rasping against the sensitive flesh and coarse hairs. The sensation was intensely intimate, profoundly visceral – the heat, the wetness, the raw scent of exertion and Paul's own arousal consumed with desperate fervor. Paul cried out, his body trembling violently, overwhelmed by the sheer physicality and taboo thrill of the act.
Paul’s senses were overloaded. The damp forest air carried the scent of earth and moss, mingling sharply with the intense musk of his own sweat now amplified under Mckay’ relentless mouth. Mckay’ beard scratched against the tender skin of his inner arm, a counterpoint to the wet heat engulfing his armpit. The possessive grip on his ass remained, fingers digging deep into the muscle, holding him firmly against Mckay’ hips, where the insistent hardness pressed demandingly against Paul’s own aching erection trapped within his shorts. Every nerve ending screamed. He could feel the vibrations of Mckay’ groan against his skin, the desperate suction pulling at him, the flickering rasp of Mckay’ tongue exploring the intimate terrain. It was raw, animalistic, stripping away any lingering artifice. This wasn't a scene, it wasn't method. This was Mckay claiming him, consuming him with a ferocity Paul had never experienced, ignited by Paul’s own reckless vulnerability. The sheer surrender demanded by Mckay’ actions, combined with the shocking pleasure-pain blooming from his armpit, sent a white-hot lance of pure need straight to his core. His hips bucked involuntarily against Mckay’ hold, seeking harder contact, driven by a desperate urge he couldn’t name.
Mckay finally released Paul's armpit with a wet, sucking sound, lifting his head. His lips were slick, his eyes dark pools of raw desire and fierce tenderness. He didn't speak. Instead, his gaze locked onto Paul's flushed face, seeing the stunned arousal, the trembling vulnerability. Keeping Paul's wrist pinned high above his head, Mckay leaned in and kissed Paul fiercely again – a deep, claiming kiss filled with the salty tang of Paul’s sweat and Mckay’ own desperate hunger. As his tongue plunged back into Paul’s mouth, Mckay’ hand, still gripping Paul’s ass, slid lower, fingers tracing the cleft beneath the thin fabric of Paul’s running shorts. The touch was deliberate, exploratory, seeking the hidden heat. Mckay’ thumb pressed firmly against the sensitive pucker of Paul’s hole through the damp material, rubbing slow, demanding circles. A choked sob escaped Paul’s throat, muffled against Mckay’ mouth. The dual assault – the deep kiss, the intimate pressure through his shorts – combined with the lingering sting in his armpit and Mckay’ overwhelming presence, shattered any remaining hesitation. His body went pliant against Mckay’, yielding completely to the older man’s control, his earlier confusion drowned by the tidal wave of sensation and the undeniable reality of his own response. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
"Paul," Mckay rasped, finally breaking the kiss. His voice was rough, guttural, thick with need. He kept Paul’s wrist pinned high, his thumb still circling firmly against Paul’s hole through the shorts. His other hand shifted, sliding around Paul’s hip to cup the front of Paul’s straining erection, pressing the hard length against his palm. Mckay’ eyes, burning with intensity, bored into Paul’s. "Do you want this?" he growled, his grip tightening possessively on Paul’s trapped wrist and throbbing cock. "Do you want me to go all the way?" The question wasn’t gentle; it was a demand for surrender, echoing in the charged silence.
Paul stared back, his chest heaving. His mind was a blank slate wiped clean by sensation – the ache in his arm, the heat radiating from Mckay’ hand cupping his cock, the insistent pressure against his entrance. Words failed him utterly. He could only manage a frantic, jerky nod, his eyes wide and pleading, locked onto Mckay’ intense gaze. He was too stunned, too overwhelmed, to speak.
Mckay chuckled low in his throat, a sound both triumphant and impossibly tender. He released Paul’s wrist, letting the arm drop limply to Paul’s side. "Easy now, lad," he murmured, his voice softening slightly though his eyes remained blazing. "I swear it." He leaned close, his lips brushing Paul’s ear, his beard scraping Paul’s jaw. "The moment you say stop," he breathed the promise, warm and damp against Paul’s skin, "I stop. Not a second later." His hand slid away from Paul’s trapped erection, then swiftly, firmly, turned Paul around.
Paul gasped, stumbling slightly as he was maneuvered to face away from Mckay, the dense greenery of the forest path suddenly filling his vision. Mckay’ hands settled heavily on Paul’s hips, pulling him back flush against Mckay’ own hard body. Then, those large, warm hands slid down, skimming the curve of Paul’s waist, over the swell of his hips, and finally, possessively, onto the taut, sweat-slicked globes of his ass.
Mckay groaned, deep and appreciative, as his fingers dug into the firm muscle, kneading and squeezing Paul’s supple ass cheeks in his strong hands. "Christ, Paul," Mckay breathed, his voice thick with awe and lust. "Feels even better than I imagined."
Paul shuddered violently as Mckay’ rough thumbs hooked firmly under the waistband of his damp running shorts. With one swift, decisive motion, Mckay yanked them down past Paul’s hips, letting them pool around his ankles. The cool forest air washed over Paul’s exposed skin – a brief shock against the feverish heat radiating from his core. Before Paul could gasp, Mckay’ hands were back on his ass cheeks, spreading them firmly apart. The sudden exposure, the vulnerability of being held open like this, sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Paul. He felt Mckay pause, heard his sharp intake of breath. Then, Paul felt Mckay’ thumbs glide firmly down the cleft, parting him further, revealing the intimate, hidden flesh. Mckay exhaled a long, ragged sigh. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice reverent and thick with raw hunger. His thumbs pressed gently outward, exposing Paul completely – revealing the tight, hairy pinkish hole nestled between his cheeks. The cool air kissed the sensitive skin, making Paul twitch involuntarily. Mckay leaned forward slightly, his hot breath ghosting over the exposed flesh, his gaze fixed intently on the vulnerable opening. The quiet forest seemed to pulse around them.
"Paul," Mckay murmured, his voice low and thick against Paul’s skin, his thumbs still holding Paul firmly open. "Has anyone... touched you here before?"
The question hung heavy in the damp air, his hot breath washing directly over Paul’s exposed hole, making him clench instinctively. Paul swallowed hard, his face burning even deeper. "Aye," he breathed, his voice trembling. "Once... an ex-girlfriend... back in drama school. She... she put her tongue there." The admission felt both terrifying and freeing.
Mckay chuckled softly, a low rumble that vibrated against Paul’s skin. "Ah, well," Mckay murmured, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just outside Paul’s hole. "Girls try, bless 'em. They mean well." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the very edge of Paul’s entrance. "But trust me, lad," Mckay breathed, his voice dropping to a husky whisper filled with absolute certainty, "they haven't got the right skill for it. Not like a man does." His words were both a dismissal and a promise, spoken directly against Paul’s most intimate place.
Before Paul could react, Mckay leaned forward. Paul gasped sharply as he felt the first hot, wet touch – not a tentative lick, but the flat, broad surface of Mckay’ tongue pressing firmly against his exposed hole in a slow, deliberate stroke. It was startlingly intimate, profoundly visceral – the heat, the wetness, the sheer undeniable reality of it. Mckay groaned against his skin, the sound vibrating straight through Paul’s core. Then, Mckay pressed harder, his tongue swirling insistently around the tight rim, coating it thoroughly with saliva. Paul’s knees buckled slightly; only Mckay’ strong hands gripping his hips kept him upright. Mckay didn't tease. He pressed the blunt tip of his tongue firmly against Paul’s entrance, pushing insistently while his hands kept Paul spread wide. Paul cried out, arching his back, as the persistent pressure yielded results – Mckay’ tongue breached him, sliding slickly inside the tight clutch of muscle. The sensation was electric – the hot, wet intrusion, the rough texture of Mckay’ tongue exploring his inner passage, the possessive groan vibrating deep within Mckay’ chest against his skin. Mckay began to eat him with focused intensity, his tongue working relentlessly – plunging deep, swirling inside, then withdrawing slightly to lick and suck firmly at the sensitive rim before pushing back in. Every stroke was deliberate, claiming, utterly consuming.
Paul gasped, his fingers scrabbling desperately against the rough bark of a nearby tree trunk, seeking any anchor as Mckay’ tongue invaded him with relentless precision. Each deep plunge sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating outwards, coiling tighter and tighter in his groin. Mckay’ hands slid from Paul’s hips to grip his ass cheeks even more firmly, spreading him impossibly wider, lifting him slightly onto his toes to achieve a deeper angle. Mckay buried his face deeper between Paul’s cheeks, his nose pressing against Paul’s perineum, his tongue working tirelessly – thrusting, swirling, flicking against delicate inner walls Paul hadn’t known existed. Saliva dripped freely down Paul’s inner thighs, mixing with the sweat already slicking his skin. The wet, sucking sounds Mckay made filled the quiet forest air, punctuated by Paul’s ragged breaths and choked moans. Mckay’ tongue felt impossibly thick, impossibly hot, exploring him with a thoroughness that bordered on violation, yet Paul craved every moment of it. His body trembled violently, his cock straining painfully hard against his abdomen, untouched and dripping. The world narrowed to the relentless heat and pressure inside him, the possessive grip on his ass, and the overwhelming, undeniable mastery of Mckay’ mouth claiming him completely. He felt utterly owned, utterly consumed, lost in a sea of sensation orchestrated by the older man’s undeniable skill.
Paul was lost in the overwhelming sensations, the heat of Mckay’ tongue, the possessive grip on his ass, the sheer vulnerability of being so thoroughly explored. It took him a moment to realize Mckay had stopped. Then, Mckay’ strong hands turned him bodily, pressing his back firmly against the rough bark of a sturdy oak. Paul blinked, dazed, as Mckay sank smoothly to his knees in the leaf litter before him. He looked down, meeting Mckay’ intense gaze. Mckay gave him a playful, triumphant wink, his lips slick with Paul’s own essence, before leaning forward and swallowing Paul’s thick, weeping cock whole in one smooth, practiced motion. Paul cried out, a guttural moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure ripped from his throat as the wet heat engulfed him. The jokes about gay men giving superior head echoed in his mind – crude locker room banter he’d dismissed – and now, experiencing Mckay’ effortless deep-throat engulfing his considerable length, Paul realized with shocking clarity they weren’t jokes; they were absolute, undeniable truth. Mckay wasn't struggling; he was gulping Paul down, his throat working rhythmically, nose buried in Paul’s fiery curls at the base. Then, Mckay lifted Paul’s right leg, draping it over his own shoulder. Instinctively, Paul grabbed his calf, holding his own leg up high, granting Mckay deeper access. And much to Paul’s surprised gasp, Mckay gently pressed a slick finger against Paul’s sensitive, stretched rim – still slick from Mckay’ tongue – and pushed it smoothly inside alongside his relentless sucking. The dual sensation – the hot suction on his cock combined with the intimate penetration – was utterly overwhelming, pushing Paul towards the precipice.
Mckay worked him with devastating expertise. His mouth was a furnace of wet heat, bobbing relentlessly on Paul’s cock, taking him impossibly deep with every downstroke, throat muscles fluttering around the head.
Simultaneously, the finger inside Paul probed deeper, curling deliberately, finding the tender bundle of nerves within. Paul arched off the tree trunk, a strangled cry escaping him as pleasure detonated inside him. Mckay added a second finger, stretching him gently but firmly, scissoring slightly while never breaking the rhythm of his sucking. Mckay’ free hand gripped Paul’s hip, fingers digging in, anchoring him as Paul writhed. Every nerve ending felt ablaze, the pleasure coalescing into an unbearable, tightening coil deep in Paul’s belly. He could feel sweat pouring down his temples, his vision blurring at the edges, his fingers clutching his own leg so tightly they were numb. The sounds were obscenely loud – the wet slurps and sucks on his cock, Mckay’ muffled groans vibrating through him, Paul’s own ragged pants and helpless whimpers. Mckay looked up, meeting Paul’s desperate gaze, his eyes dark with lust and fierce concentration. He intensified his efforts, hollowing his cheeks, sucking harder, fingers crooking deeper inside Paul, deliberately massaging that spot with unerring precision. The world dissolved into pure sensation – the rough bark against his back, the cool air on his exposed skin, the hot, wet suction consuming his cock, the deep, claiming pressure inside him. Paul felt utterly possessed, every thrust of Mckay’ fingers timed perfectly with the pull of his mouth.
Paul’s hips jerked uncontrollably, slamming his cock deeper into Mckay’ throat as the coil inside him snapped violently. A raw, primal roar tore from his lungs, echoing strangely through the trees as ecstasy ripped through him. Wave after wave of blinding release crashed over him, his body convulsing against the rough bark, his cock pulsing thick ropes of come directly down Mckay’ throat. Mckay swallowed effortlessly, his throat working rhythmically, milking every last drop from Paul’s throbbing length while his fingers remained buried deep inside, pressing firmly against Paul’s prostate, prolonging the intense, shuddering aftershocks. Paul’s vision whited out, his legs trembling violently. Only Mckay’ strong hand gripping his hip and the firm fingers inside him kept him upright as he rode the violent crest of his orgasm. He gasped for air, his chest heaving, every muscle taut then collapsing in trembling exhaustion. Mckay continued sucking gently, swallowing every drop, fingers still curled possessively within Paul, letting him feel every pulse, every tremor of his own release until Paul whimpered from the overwhelming sensitivity. Finally, Mckay slowly withdrew his fingers and released Paul’s spent cock with a soft, wet pop. He lowered Paul’s leg gently from his shoulder, his hands moving to steady Paul’s trembling frame against the tree. Looking up at Paul’s flushed, dazed face, Mckay wiped his glistening lips with the back of his hand, his expression a complex mix of fierce satisfaction, lingering desire, and profound tenderness. Paul could only stare down, breathless and utterly spent, the forest spinning slowly around him.
Mckay pressed a tender kiss to the damp skin of Paul’s trembling inner thigh before slowly rising to his feet. He leaned in close, his beard scraping Paul’s jaw, his voice a low, gravelly murmur thick with shared intimacy. "Alright there, lad? That was a powerful finish." He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating warmly against Paul’s skin. "You did great." His hands slid possessively up Paul’s sweat-slicked sides, thumbs stroking his ribs, holding him steady against the rough bark.
Mckay’s gaze lingered on Paul’s lips, then dropped slowly down his body, taking in the flush spreading across his chest, the damp curls plastered to his forehead, the softening cock glistening against his thigh. Mckay’ own erection strained visibly against the worn fabric of his shorts, pressing insistently against Paul’s hip. He shifted his weight slightly, grinding it deliberately against Paul’s hipbone, a low groan escaping him. "Christ, Paul," Mckay breathed, his voice thick with renewed lust. "Look what you've done to me." His fingers traced the sensitive skin just above Paul’s hip bone, sending fresh tremors through him.
"Seeing you come undone like that... it’s a fucking masterpiece." He leaned in again, capturing Paul’s lips in a deep, claiming kiss, tasting of sweat and Paul’s own essence, his tongue demanding entry, exploring Paul’s mouth with the same possessive intensity he’d shown moments before.
Paul moaned into the kiss, his mind fogged with exhaustion and lingering aftershocks, yet acutely aware of Mckay’ grinding hardness against him. Mckay’ hands slid lower, gripping Paul’s ass again, kneading the supple flesh as if reacquainting himself. He pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged, eyes locked onto Paul’s dazed blue ones. "Need you," Mckay growled, his voice rough. "Need to be inside you." One hand slipped between Paul’s thighs, fingers slick with sweat and saliva tracing the sensitive cleft, circling the loosened, slick entrance Mckay’ tongue had claimed. "Right here." He pressed the blunt tip of a finger against Paul’s hole, testing the give. Paul gasped, his body arching reflexively into the touch, the sensitivity warring with a deep, aching need. "Do you want that too?" Mckay demanded, his finger pressing insistently but not penetrating yet. "Tell me, Paul. Are you sure?"
Paul blinked, struggling to focus through the haze of lust and the echoing tremors of his climax. He felt drugged, weightless, every nerve still singing. "Sure?" Paul breathed, his voice hoarse and slurred. "Sure about... what?" He stared down at Mckay, genuinely bewildered, the intensity of his own desire momentarily overriding comprehension. "What... what could I possibly not be sure about now?" A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, quickly drowned by a fresh wave of need.
Mckay chuckled softly, a low, rich rumble that vibrated through Paul’s hips where Mckay’ hands still gripped him firmly. The sound held warmth, possessiveness, and a hint of dark amusement. "Oh, lad," Mckay murmured, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below Paul’s navel. "That innocent confusion..." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss just above Paul’s pubic bone. "It’s adorable." He lifted his gaze again, eyes gleaming with fierce intent. "I mean about taking you properly. About filling you up. About..." Mckay paused, his voice dropping to a husky whisper filled with thrilling finality. "...popping that tight little cherry."
Paul’s gaze instinctively snapped downward, drawn to the undeniable evidence of Mckay’ arousal straining against the worn fabric of his shorts. The damp patch near the fly was unmistakable, darkened with precum, stark against the grey cotton. It looked huge, intimidating – a monstrous length promised beneath thin cloth. A thrill shot through Paul, equal parts fear and raw, desperate want. He bit his lower lip hard, tasting sweat and forest air. He might be tangled up in confusing feelings for Andrew, but right now, in this secluded forest clearing with Mckay’ scent filling his lungs, one thing screamed louder than doubt: he’d regret it forever if he didn’t feel that thick cock stretching him open, filling him completely. Mckay was fucking good at sex – Paul had just experienced undeniable proof. And damn it, Paul wanted to learn, properly learn how to please a man. Mckay, with his rough hands and knowing eyes, was the perfect, terrifyingly skilled teacher.
As if moving through thick syrup, drunk on the lingering aftershocks of his own orgasm and the potent pheromones Mckay radiated, Paul reached out. His trembling fingers brushed the damp fabric over Mckay’ straining cock. The heat was palpable even through the material. Then, driven by a surge of reckless desire, Paul slipped his hand directly inside Mckay’ shorts, bypassing the fly, his fingers encountering the slick, velvety-hard shaft beneath. He gasped softly as he wrapped his hand fully around the immense thickness. It was fucking scary – the sheer size, the pulsing heat, the sticky wetness coating his palm. But holy Christ, he fucking wanted it. He needed Mckay’ cock buried deep inside him, needed to feel that stretch, that claiming pressure, needed Mckay to teach him the raw mechanics of taking a man completely. His fingers tightened instinctively, feeling the powerful throb beneath his grip.
Mckay groaned, a deep, primal sound ripped from his chest, his hips surging forward into Paul’s tentative grasp. "Fuck, Paul," he growled, his voice thick and strained. "Your hand... feels so goddamn good wrapped around me." His own hands slid urgently down Paul’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass cheeks, spreading them wide once more. Mckay shifted his stance, pressing Paul harder against the rough bark of the oak, his own body crowding closer. His free hand fumbled urgently at his own waistband. "Need to be inside you," Mckay rasped, his breath hot against Paul’s neck. "Need to feel that tight heat..." With a rough tug, Mckay yanked his shorts and underwear down just enough to free his cock – thick, flushed, slick with precum, the swollen head glistening intimidatingly close to Paul’s loosened, glistening entrance. The cool air washed over Mckay’ cock momentarily before he pressed the broad, slick head firmly against Paul’s hole. Mckay paused, breathing heavily, his gaze locked with Paul’s wide, expectant eyes. "You ready for this, lad?" he asked, his voice raw with lust and anticipation. "Ready to be fucked?"
Mckay didn’t wait for a verbal reply. Seeing the frantic need mirrored in Paul’s eyes, he leaned in, bracing one hand against the tree trunk beside Paul’s head, the other guiding his thick cockhead firmly against Paul’s entrance. With a controlled, powerful thrust of his hips, Mckay pushed forward. Paul gasped sharply, his body instinctively arching, fingers clawing at the bark as he felt the intense, stretching pressure. Mckay’ cockhead breached him, a sudden, stretching burn radiating through his core. Mckay groaned deeply, a sound of profound satisfaction mixed with effort. "Christ... so fuckin' tight," he gritted out, pausing momentarily, allowing Paul to adjust to the initial invasion. He pressed another inch inside, the thick shaft stretching Paul’s inner walls with an intensity that bordered on pain, yet was instantly overwhelmed by a flood of raw, possessive pleasure. Paul felt impossibly full already, the sheer size of Mckay stretching him beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Mckay’ thumb brushed Paul’s cheek, smearing sweat. "Breathe through it, lad," he murmured gruffly. "Breathe... and take it."
Paul sucked in a ragged breath, focusing on the command, forcing his muscles to relax against the overwhelming intrusion. Mckay felt the yielding and surged forward with another powerful, relentless thrust. Paul cried out, a choked, guttural sound, as Mckay buried himself to the hilt in one smooth, deep stroke. The sensation was overwhelming – a deep, aching stretch that filled him completely, the thick shaft grinding against his prostate instantly. Mckay stayed buried deep, his hips pressed flush against Paul’s ass, his groin grinding against Paul’s cleft. He groaned long and low, savoring the tight, wet heat enveloping him. "Feels fuckin' perfect," Mckay breathed, his voice thick and reverent. He adjusted his grip, hands clutching Paul’s hips possessively, lifting him slightly onto his toes. "Gonna move now, Paul," Mckay warned, his voice rough with restraint. "Gonna fuck you proper." He withdrew slowly, almost completely, the drag of his thick cockhead pulling against Paul’s sensitive inner rim, making him whimper. Then, with a sharp snap of his hips, Mckay slammed back in, hard and deep, forcing a ragged shout from Paul’s throat. Mckay set a brutal, demanding pace: deep, powerful thrusts that drove Paul relentlessly back into the unyielding bark, each inward drive grinding Mckay’ thick shaft directly against Paul’s prostate, each outward pull stretching him taut.
The forest air filled with the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, Mckay’ guttural groans, and Paul’s increasingly desperate cries. Mckay fucked him with raw, animalistic intensity, each deep plunge igniting fresh waves of blinding pleasure within Paul. Mckay shifted his angle slightly, driving upward with brutal precision, hitting Paul’s prostate with unerring accuracy on every thrust. Paul felt the coil tightening deep within him again, impossibly fast, fueled by the relentless friction and the sheer dominance of Mckay’ possession. His untouched cock bounced against his belly, dripping profusely.
"Feckin' hell, Mckay... bark... rough... my back," Paul gasped out between thrusts, the rasping friction against the oak finally registering as pain mixed with pleasure. Mckay froze mid-plunge, buried deep.
"Shit, lad," Mckay murmured, genuine concern flickering beneath the lust. "Didn't mean to scrape you up." He eased out slowly, the drag of his thick cock making Paul whimper at the sudden loss. "Here," Mckay grunted, stepping back and gently turning Paul away from the tree.
Without hesitation, Paul frantically peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and running shorts, kicking them aside until he stood naked except for his trainers, the cool air raising goosebumps on his exposed skin. He dropped instantly onto his hands and knees on the soft leaf litter, arching his back invitingly. Mckay was on him in a heartbeat, his weight settling heavily behind Paul, his thick cock slick and urgent pressing back against Paul’s loosened entrance. Paul moaned deeply, feeling the contrast – the hard ridge of Mckay’ cockhead nudging his hole, the surprising softness of Mckay' belly and chest pressing warm against his sweat-slicked back and shoulders. Safety, warmth, raw need.
That's when the distant crack of a twig snapped Paul back to reality. Public. They were in a public forest. Someone could stumble upon them right now, see Paul naked on all fours, see Mckay poised to bury himself deep inside him. The thought shouldn't electrify him, shouldn't send a fresh jolt of pure, illicit lust straight to his already throbbing cock. But it did. Weirdly, powerfully, the danger made him hornier. He pushed back against Mckay impatiently. "Do it... fuck me... now," he hissed, the risk fueling his desperation.
Mckay needed no further encouragement. With a low growl, he gripped Paul’s hips and slammed back into him, burying his thick cock to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Paul cried out, the sound sharp and ecstatic in the quiet forest. Mckay began pounding into him again, setting a hard, fast rhythm, his balls slapping against Paul’s ass with each deep thrust. But after only a few strokes, Mckay’ large, calloused hand clamped firmly over Paul’s mouth, muffling his next cry. "Quiet, lad," Mckay breathed harshly against Paul’s ear, his thrusts never faltering. "Someone might hear." The sudden silencing, the rough hand stifling his voice, combined with the relentless pounding, sent Paul spiraling into a terrifyingly intense peak he hadn't known existed.
---
It was three hours before noon, and the trailhead parking lot had begun filling steadily. Footsteps crunched on nearby paths, voices echoed faintly through the trees as morning joggers and hikers increased. Paul didn't care. He was fucked, utterly consumed by sensation. He couldn't recall how many positions Mckay had bent him into while strangers passed obliviously nearby – pressed against a mossy boulder, bent over a fallen log, Mckay' powerful thrusts driving deep as distant voices faded in and out.
Currently, he was riding Mckay, kneeling astride the older man’s lap on a thick bed of ferns, his sweat-slicked back facing Mckay' chest. Mckay held Paul’s phone aloft, filming Paul’s bouncing form, his flushed face obscured by the angle. "Ride me harder, lad," Mckay commanded, his voice thick in Paul’s ear.
Paul obeyed, slamming down onto Mckay’ thick cock while Mckay thrust up relentlessly. Paul desperately wanted to see himself later – the desperate need to witness his own surrender, the celebrity in him obsessed with being filmed – but he couldn't risk showing his face. He came untouched, a sharp cry ripped from his throat as thick ropes shot high into the air, splattering onto the ferns.
"Gonna come in you Paul," Mckay growled immediately after.
Paul rode Mckay' cock harder, faster, Mckay thrusting up with brutal force. As Mckay roared his release, Paul slapped a hand over his own mouth, stifling his scream as he felt the deep, pulsing heat filling him for the very first time. Paul kept riding frantically through Mckay’ climax until the older man gripped his hips painfully.
"Stop, lad... my dick is already sensitive," Mckay rasped, breathless.
Paul instantly froze, then carefully pulled himself off Mckay’ softening cock. He gasped, eyes wide, at the sudden, strange sensation of gaping emptiness, followed immediately by an uncontrollable stream of warm cream ejecting from his devirginized hole onto Mckay’ thighs and the ferns below.
Mckay watched, mesmerized, as Paul’s hole visibly pulsed, releasing thick rivulets of his seed mixed with spit onto the forest floor. He lowered the phone, stopping the recording. "Christ, look at you," Mckay murmured, his voice awed and possessive. His thumb brushed the swollen rim, catching some of the escaping fluid, making Paul jerk violently at the sensitivity. "Beautifully ruined." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss between Paul’s shoulder blades. "My good lad." Paul trembled, his muscles liquid, his mind blank except for the profound emptiness and the slick warmth trickling down his thighs. He leaned back weakly against Mckay’ solid chest, utterly spent.
The distant chatter of approaching hikers grew suddenly clearer, snapping Mckay into action. "Time to move," he stated, his voice regaining its usual gruffness. He hauled Paul effortlessly to his feet, steadying him as Paul swayed. With practiced efficiency, Mckay wiped Paul down roughly with discarded clothes, tossed him his shorts, and tugged his own back on. He shoved the phone into Paul’s limp hand. "Keep that safe," he ordered, already pulling Paul towards a denser thicket away from the path. Paul stumbled along, dazed, the phone feeling heavy and illicit in his palm, the phantom sensation of Mckay filling him still echoing through his core. Mckay' hand tightened on his arm, steering him deeper outside the woods. "Lean on me," Mckay murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "Just keep walking."
They emerged from the forest's edge onto a small, sun-dappled park, its meticulously trimmed grass and scattered benches a jarring contrast to the wild intimacy they'd just left. Paul winced with every step, his muscles screaming from exertion and the relentless pounding he'd endured. His gait was unmistakably stiff-legged, barely functional. Spotting a set of weathered metal bleachers overlooking a deserted soccer field, Mckay guided Paul towards them. "Here," Mckay grunted, easing Paul down onto the cool metal seat. "Sit. Rest." Paul sank onto the bleacher with a groan, the hard surface a minor torment compared to the deep ache radiating through his pelvis and thighs. He couldn't have walked another step.
Mckay rummaged in his small waist pack, pulling out a bottle of water and two wrapped sandwiches. The intense, demanding lover from the forest seemed to evaporate, replaced by the gentle, concerned man Paul had first encountered. He uncapped the water and handed it to Paul, his touch unexpectedly tender. "Drink," he urged softly. "You need it." He passed Paul a sandwich next. As Paul took small, grateful sips and bites, Mckay watched him with a protective softness Paul hadn't seen since their initial meeting, a switch Paul found profoundly comforting amidst the physical wreckage. The simple act felt grounding, restoring a sliver of normalcy.
In the middle of chewing a bite of sandwich, Paul shifted slightly on the hard bench and groaned, the movement sending a fresh spike of pain radiating from his ass up his spine. He managed a weak chuckle, looking down at his awkwardly spread legs. "Christ," he muttered, a wry smile touching his lips. "Seems pretty definitive, doesn't it? Pretty sure... I'm gay."
Mckay chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound. He leaned back against the bleacher behind them, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Is that gay enough for you then?" he teased gently.
Paul hollered with laughter, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet park, genuine amusement momentarily overriding his discomfort. Grinning, Paul wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Might need to suck your dick just to be absolutely certain," he joked, the boldness fueled by exhaustion and leftover adrenaline.
Instantly, Mckay' expression darkened, the playful glint replaced by a predatory intensity that sent a familiar jolt through Paul's core. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl that resonated in Paul's ear. "Stop teasing, lad," he warned, his gaze locking onto Paul's lips. "Or I'll bend you over this bleacher and mouthfuck you right here and now."
The sudden shift, the raw promise in Mckay' eyes, made Paul freeze mid-smile. A nervous laugh bubbled out, high-pitched and shaky. "Right, right," Paul stammered, hastily looking away towards the empty soccer field, his cheeks flushing crimson. He quickly grabbed his water bottle, taking a long, shaky gulp. "Thanks, Mckay," he added hastily, his voice thick. "For... everything. The food. The water. Getting me out of there." He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the distant goalposts, avoiding Mckay' still-smouldering stare, the unspoken 'and the mind-blowing sex' hanging heavy and potent in the space between them. Mckay just watched him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes lingering on the flush spreading down Paul's neck.
Mckay stretched, groaning softly as his joints popped. "Time presses on," he announced, his voice back to its usual gruffness, though a hint of that earlier intensity remained. He stood up, towering over Paul on the bleacher. "Got places to be." He turned towards Paul, extending a hand to help him up. "But seriously, Paul... thank you. For the morning. For... trusting me." A genuine warmth softened his features. Then, a familiar mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. "Hell of a good time." He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Though, fair warning, lad," he added, winking broadly, "don't go thinking all gays fuck like that. I might've just set the bar impossibly high for you." He laughed again, clapping Paul on the shoulder as Paul finally managed to stand, wincing sharply.
Paul laughed outright, the sound genuine and relieved, though tinged with the ache radiating through his body. "Oh, fuck off," he retorted, grinning despite himself. "Set the bar? Feckin' demolished it, more like." He met Mckay' playful gaze, feeling a surprising ease settle over him. "But listen," Paul continued, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more thoughtful, almost propositional. His grin turned sly. "If things don't pan out with Andrew... well..." He gestured vaguely around the park. "I know how to find you around these parts, Mckay. Be sure to give me another proper pounding when I do." He held Mckay' gaze, the invitation clear.
Mckay' playful grin vanished instantly, replaced by a stern frown. His hand tightened slightly on Paul's shoulder. "Cut the shit out, Paul," he warned, his voice low and serious. "Don't joke about that."
Paul's grin didn't waver. He leaned in slightly, lowering his own voice. "Who's joking?" he countered, his blue eyes steady and earnest. "I meant it. But," he added quickly, raising a placating hand as Mckay' frown deepened, "perhaps... somewhere more private next time? Your place?" He tilted his head, a flicker of anticipation in his gaze. "I've got a feeling I'll be needing... frequent visits." The implication hung heavy in the air – intense tutoring sessions in Mckay' bed were clearly on Paul's mind.