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It started with a popsicle.
Truthfully, it started ages ago with a dingy bar, a ghost, and a drink, but this right here, it started with a popsicle. Cherry-flavored. Cheap. Guaranteed to turn your lips and your tongue cherry-red.
Luis had gone tearing after the ice cream truck circling the neighborhood with a gleeful “I can’t believe they’re real!” and Leon had no choice but to pick up the discarded grocery bag and follow. They waited in line behind eager children and frazzled parents, and they weren’t the only childless full-grown adults eager for an over-priced frozen treat.
It’s hot as balls in DC today, and tomorrow’s going to be hotter. High summer is not the time to be wandering around a concrete jungle.
“Our milk’s going to sour,” Leon grumbled as Luis hemmed and hawed over the selections before opting for the popsicle.
“I got you an ice cream sandwich,” Luis said as he all but skipped away from the truck, bearing two plastic-wrapped treats. There was a look in his eye that spelled mischief.
Leon sighed and steered them toward home. He ate the ice cream sandwich in a few quick bites, but Luis.
Luis chose to savor his.
And that’s how it started.
Leon puts the groceries in the kitchen and stows the perishables in the fridge while Luis sits on the counter and eats his popsicle. Licks the popsicle. Laps drips of sticky cherry from his fingers and smears his lips in bright-red dye. He could have finished it off in a handful of bites, same as Leon, but he didn’t.
He savors every bite like it’s a fancy dessert and not an overpriced popsicle from the neighborhood ice cream truck. He wraps his lips around the treat and sucks melting bits off in one long pull, just like he does when he’s taking his time sucking Leon’s dick.
Leon can’t stop watching him. Does he have to eat it like that? So lewdly? Is he doing it on purpose? Trying to make Leon think about the way his tongue curls, how good his mouth feels, how much he really just wants to be inside Luis right now?
He’s been out on mission for three weeks with nothing but blood and death and boredom and absolutely no privacy.
He came home to no groceries and a grumpy Luis when all he wanted was to collapse in bed and cuddle his scientist until both of them felt interested in more.
Well.
Leon’s definitely interested in more right now.
“What?” Luis asks, finally noticing Leon’s attention. His mouth is bright red. There’s half a popsicle left. It’s dripping down his thumb. “Oh. I’m on the counter. I forgot how much you hate that.”
He hops down, and Leon’s there in the space of a heartbeat, caging Luis between his arms, pinning Luis against the counter and cabinets. Luis smells like cologne and cheap cherries. He needs a shave, and he looks tired.
He’s still very much a sight for sore eyes.
“Why do you look so pissed off?” Luis rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, it’s my apartment, too. If I want to sit on the counter, I should be able to sit on the counter.”
“I don’t care about the counter,” Leon says. He plucks the popsicle out of Luis’ hand and tosses it into the sink.
“I was eating that.” Luis pouts, with his bright red mouth and his dangerous tongue, and Leon needs to kiss him right now.
He curls one hand around the back of Luis’ neck. “I’ll buy you a box of the damn things,” he promises before he pulls their mouths together, licking immediately past lips parted with surprise.
Luis’ mouth is cold, and too sweet, and barely tastes of cherry. But there his tongue is, just as eager and perfect. Leon groans, curving his other arm around Luis’ waist to crush him closer, his hips pressing into Luis with a delicious friction.
“If you wanted a kiss, you could have said,” Luis grumbles as Leon chases a trail of dripped popsicle with his tongue, Luis sweet and salty all the way to the hollow of his throat.
He shivers when Leon plants a kiss there, and groans when Leon noses his way past the collar of Luis’ shirt and sinks his teeth into the join of neck and shoulder. Not enough to pierce the skin, but enough for Luis to feel it. For a little bruise to be a constant reminder.
Luis shudders and tips his head back. “I’m thinking this is not about the counter.”
“It’s not,” Leon agrees and grabs Luis’ hand, eying that drip of popsicle with single-minded intensity. It, too, barely tastes like cherry, too sugar-sweet with the chaser of Luis’ sweat on the tip of his tongue.
Luis hums. “You should have just said so, sweetheart.” He gets his hand on Leon’s waist, slips it up under the hem of his tee, his fingers cool compared to the heat radiating from Leon’s skin.
“You want something?” Luis asks, and he tilts his hips forward, grinding against Leon, the line of his cock evident through his linen pants.
Leon pulls Luis into a kiss, licks the taste of cherry from his mouth, and gets a double palmful of Luis’ ass, pressing him close for a sweet grind. Luis groans, thighs tensing to either side of Leon’s. His teeth nip at Leon’s bottom lip, just the way he likes it, and a sharp throb of want grabs Leon by the dick.
“I want you,” Leon says. He licks his way back to Luis’ throat and paws at Luis’ pants, tugging the ties loose so they sag around his hips.
His fingers dip beneath the thin fabric, slide over Luis’ hipbones, and then push beneath the soft cotton of his boxer-briefs. Luis is already hard for him, dampening the cotton, and Leon gives him a squeeze.
Luis sucks in a breath, his back arching. “We have a perfectly serviceable bed in the bedroom.”
Leon laughs around the dark purple mark he’s leaving in Luis’ collar. “When did you get so boring?”
“Boring!?” Luis sounds so offended, like Leon had insulted his honor or something. “I can’t believe you’d –” He cuts off into a stream of Spanish that’s too quick for Leon to translate.
Luis twists in Leon’s arm and reaches up into the cabinet, rummaging around for something. Which is fine by Leon. Now he can shove Luis’ pants down and grind against Luis’ ass.
“I get it,” Leon says, pushing his athletic shorts down enough to get his own dick out. He presses against Luis’ back, the sweet friction making him shiver. “You get old, you get boring. That’s how it is.”
“I’m only one year older than you!” Luis splutters, aiming an elbow back at Leon. He neatly dodges it and gets his teeth in Luis’ other shoulder, one hand pushing up to thumb at a nipple.
“Brat,” Luis huffs and taps Leon in the side of the head with a plastic bottle. “Here. Make yourself useful.”
It’s olive oil.
Leon wonders if this is safe to use, then reasons that it’s safe enough to eat. Though it’s still going to make a mess, a sticky, oily mess that spills over his fingers, over Luis’ back, drips down his cleft and splatters on the floor. But Leon’s fingers slide in so easy, and Luis moans, arching his back for more, and Leon doesn’t care about the mess.
“I don’t need all that,” Luis pants.
“Don’t you?” Leon asks as he twists his wrist and his fingers, pressing in and down until Luis shudders and melts like liquid, grabbing into the counter to brace himself.
“That’s cheating,” he gasps, head drooping, hole clenching tight around Leon’s fingers.
Leon sets his mouth on Luis’ bared nape and digs in with his teeth, just to feel Luis tighten around his knuckles. “You told me to make myself useful.”
“Not what I meant!” Luis moans, whole body visibly shaking. His fingers curl against the counter, white-knuckled.
Leon mouths the back of his shoulder, licking over the impression of his teeth. He flirts with Luis’ prostate a few more times, just to see Luis’ knees go weak before he fumbles with the oil again, slicking himself with it.
They’re going to need to buy another bottle.
He tosses it in the direction of the trashcan and grabs Luis’ hip, guiding himself with his other hand to nudge at Luis’ hole. He’s so hot, so slick. Leon wants to take it slow, to drive Luis crazy the same way he does when he’s edging Leon to infinity. He rocks forward, grinding the head into Luis’ cleft, shuddering at the sweet friction.
“You’re such an asshole,” Luis gasps. “Fuck me already.”
Leon grins and grabs Luis by the hips, pulling him back, away from the counter so he can only brace himself on the edge. Luis lets out a grunt of surprise, and no doubt there’s a complaint forming on his lips, but Leon slides home in the next second. Words dissolve into clenching heat.
Luis goes soft and hot around him, back bowing, head dipping. “Fucker,” he pants, but he’s pushing back, pushing Leon deeper.
“That’s the point,” Leon says and holds Luis close for a nice, circling grind before he starts to move, yanking Luis back onto his dick and driving him to his toes.
A stream of Spanish erupts from Luis’ mouth. He hangs to the counter by his fingertips. His arms stretch out, shirt bunched around his shoulders, but his nape peeks from his collar, still with Leon’s teeth in his skin, and the sight makes Leon’s blood boil. Pink bites, red lips, Luis’ dangerous mouth – it’s a heady combination.
“Oh, fuck,” Luis moans, and pushes back, ass slapping against Leon’s hips. “Harder, carino. Make me feel it next week.”
Leon shudders, fingers tight on Luis’ hips, sure to leave bruises. But he knows Luis likes that, likes to touch them later, when Leon’s gone, like a memory. Same as Leon likes to dance his fingers over the bites in his shoulder, hidden from view, but each telling a story like braille in his skin. A memory he can cradle close in those long days and even longer nights.
But right now, isn’t a memory. Right now is present, and Luis pushes back on him, harder and faster, and Leon’s grip is iron, yanking Luis back onto his dick, pushing deep, hips slapping against Luis’ ass. Luis pants a little whine, unashamed in his pleasure, his cock hanging heavy and full, a sticky drip leaking to the floor.
They’ll have to clean that, too.
Luis’ back is a delicious arc, but he’s too far away. Leon licks his lips, tastes salt where he wants to taste cherry. He gets a fistful of Luis’ shirt and pulls him up to standing, shoves him back so that they’re pinned together, and Leon can grind, grind, grind.
Luis’ head tosses back against Leon’s shoulder, hair tickling at Leon’s ears. Their height difference is usually negligible, but Leon’s bigger, broader. His arms wrap perfectly around Luis, palm splayed wide against Luis’ chest, fingers toying with the dark dusting of hair. His other arm is a hook around Luis’ waist, oil-wet hand drifting down to squeeze Luis’ dick.
“Oh, fuck,” Luis pants, hips rocking back and forth between Leon’s hand and Leon’s dick. “I have to eat popsicles more often.” He reaches back, buries a hand in Leon’s hair, gives it a tug that sends lightning right down Leon’s spine.
There’s a bare curve of neck in front of him, and Leon leans in to taste it – warm, the salt of sweat, the smell of Luis’ cologne. He hums and kisses along the line of Luis’ jaw, smells sweet cherry, his mouth watering.
He turns Luis’ chin toward him, indulging in a sloppy kiss, the scrape of Luis’ day-old scruff on his cheek. Delicious heat pools in Leon’s belly. He squeezes and strokes Luis the way he knows his lover likes, and Luis melts in his arms, writhing and fervent. He grabs Leon’s wrist, squeezing tight, gasping into the kiss.
Tension grows taut in Leon’s body. He pushes it down, aside. He wants Luis to come first, so he grinds forward, grinds deep and hard the way he knows Luis likes. He squeezes on an upstroke, fists the wet head, toys with Luis’ foreskin, and grins when Luis shudders around him. He’s hot, clenching, pulling Leon deeper.
Luis breaks off the kiss with a gasp, head tipped back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as he fucks Leon’s fist, and he hisses when Leon sinks his teeth into Luis’ shoulder, not enough to draw blood, but to press bruises with his mouth, digging into the muscle.
Luis jerks in his arms, nails digging into Leon’s wrist, fingers tangled into his hair. He comes with a choked gasp, soaking Leon’s fingers in his spill, where it drips to the floor. He’s tension everywhere, sweat-slick and panting, until he slaps Leon’s hand away from his dick.
“Ease up, darling,” he breathes, heart-rabbiting under Leon’s lips. “I’m good.”
“I’m not,” Leon says against Luis’ neck. He tugs on Luis’ earlobe with his teeth. “Should I stop?”
“Hell, no.” Luis pushes back, takes Leon deep, fucking himself on Leon’s dick for a handful of seconds. “Take what you want.”
Take what you want.
The permission throbs in his ears, tightens in his belly. Leon groans, arms tight around Luis, face buried in his nape. His cock throbs. His thighs ache. He grabs Luis’ hips again, the world a smear of sight and sensation, of slamming into Luis, the slap of their skin. The way Luis squeezes around him. His panting encouragement.
Luis tilts forward, grabs the edge of the counter, braces himself and shoves back, and Leon feels like he turns into some kind of animal. Desperate and hungry as he looks down, watches himself fuck into Luis, stares at the dimpling of Luis’ skin beneath his thumbs. It starts in his toes and roars along his veins like a flashfire until it spills out and he’s coming, grinding deep, teeth grit and spots in his eyes.
Leon groans through his teeth, head hanging, panting in the aftermath. His whole body tingles, legs a little weak. He stumbles back and hits the fridge, knocking a few magnets loose. They clatter to the floor.
“... oops,” Leon mutters.
Luis chuckles and turns around, yanking Leon into a kiss that tastes like the lingering remnants of cherry. “Guess I’ll have to eat popsicles more often, eh, Sancho?”
“I said I’d buy you a box,” Leon says against Luis’ mouth. “With a bunch of different flavors so you can try them all.”
Luis laughs into the kiss. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. “Let’s go take a shower.”
Mmm. Shower. Naked, soapy Luis.
“Okay,” Leon says, but he steals another kiss because he can, tasting sweet cherry while he considers all the other flavors.
He’ll have to get Luis strawberry next.
***