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For being as small as he is, Sanderson has enough attitude and ire to make himself more than a match for anyone who might come against him.
Or beneath him, as the case may be. And it is the case tonight.
He presses, and there’s power and momentum one might not expect from a gleaming, floating cream puff if one were not already familiar with the Sandman.
Pitch is familiar with him. With every facial expression, with every glint in his eyes, with every caress and touch of small, intent hands. He is familiar, and he bends to his will as easily as if he were created only to do so.
Sandy presses, and Pitch responds.
Equal and opposite, push and pull, yin and yang. Ask, and receive.
Sandy does not so much ask as he directs, but not with words, nor with symbols of sand above his head. There is fire in his honey eyes, and when he looks at the Nightmare King just so, he knows what his lover wants. He’s seen that look before, he’s given that look to Sandy before, and he recognizes it as readily as tears or an earnest smile betray the emotions they signify.
Pitch lays on his back, breathing heavily as the Sandman climbs upon him, hands in his black, black hair and full lips open and hungry against his mouth. He can taste his lover’s sweet, warm breath against his tongue, can feel the soft glide of creamy flesh against his chest. His lover’s arousal presses just beneath his sternum, grinding against his skin, and he cannot suppress a groan of delight.
His Sandman is so beautiful, so bright, so delightful to feel squirming and eager in his grasp. He wraps his arms around the plump waist of his lover and holds him, and almost wishes that he never has to let him go.
But he does, because Sandy desires his sex and he cannot administer such when the little golden immortal is not near his lap. But he does not fret. There will be other times to hold his lover close, there always are. They have to work for it, but they make time for those sweet embraces.
His tongue lingers upon the facets of flat teeth before he breaks their deepening kiss, breath coming in short, shallow puffs. His eyes are half-lidded, where Sandy’s are wide and needy, and so Pitch presses his fingertips against the smaller immortal’s hips. They are light, gentle touches, but they communicate a great deal. He understands Pitch’s meaning. He always does.
He feels the other man sidle slowly down his lean form, biting his lip as the Sandman presses kisses to dry, grey skin along his way. Neck, collarbones, nipples, and stomach all receive tender, loving touches from his soft lips, until finally the cleft of Sandy’s rear bumps against Pitch’s flushed arousal, and he ceases his descent.
Sandy sucks in his lower lip, closes his eyes, arches up, and grinds back against his lover’s member, and Pitch growls as his nails dig lightly into the Sandman’s thighs.
Oh, he loves that. It reminds him of many of their first nights making love, rutting against the cleft of Sandy’s ass until he screamed in ecstasy, before he experienced the delight that lay in wait inside the smaller immortal’s willing body. Before Sandy would allow him to enter.
The Sandman smiles, his secretive, knowing grin, as if he realizes precisely which memories his actions dredge up. Perhaps he does. He suspects that his lover knows more about him than even the Nightmare King himself does.
Plucking up the little silver bottle of lubricant they keep nearby, Sandy meets Pitch’s eyes with a sultry gaze and keeps it as he pries the cap open and pours much more than is needed behind him, drizzling the clear liquid over his lover’s erection. Pitch hisses beneath the light torrent, the sensation enough to send a rough shiver through him. It raises goose bumps along his naked, ashen flesh, and draws his breath from his lungs. Sandy notices, and his grin widens.
The Sandman rises, standing with his feet straddling Pitch’s torso to line himself up. The anticipation is overwhelming, and the Boogeyman watches with rapt attention. He could not look away if he wanted, not if his life depended on it, because Sandy’s face as he’s penetrated is Pitch’s favorite thing in the world.
Mouth open, eyes screwed shut, brows drawn together, and shoulders tensed, he sinks down. Coupled with the sensation of being deliberately drawn inside his lover’s body, it is the most beautiful sight Pitch has ever laid eyes on. No matter how many times he sees it, it sends a trill of excitement through him, and he falls in love with his shooting star all over again.
He slides down slowly, allowing his muscles to adjust, and Pitch steels his resolve not to buck. Not when he’s on his back, not when Sandy is calling the shots. He lies still, mouth a thin line, and he trembles as the dream weaver gradually seats himself on his cock.
His hand curls lovingly around the Sandman’s erection, stroking him with a steady, gentle rhythm to ease his discomfort. He runs his thumb tenderly along the underside, watching for rigidity to slip from his lover’s features.
At last, after several long moments, Sandy heaves a labored exhale, shivering as his face softens. Pitch feels the clenching muscles relax around his throbbing length, and he moans softly, barely muffled behind his parted black lips. He aches to move, to claim his lover now that he’s loosened and ready, but he remains stationary, quaking with the effort.
Sandy smirks, and Pitch can see the thrill of dominance in his loving, hungry eyes. He returns his gaze with a pleading, smoky stare and a low, drawn out sound from the back of his throat. He has been patient, but he is still wild, and he will not be made to wait much longer. His fingers pull gently at Sandy’s supple thighs, urging him to move. Begging him, or as close to it as possible without words, only looks and a moan and persuasive touches.
And Sandy indulges him, rewards him with a strong, forceful roll of his hips that sends Pitch’s head snapping back against the floor. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t care, as long as Sandy is riding him, hearing the wet, slick movements of their sex over the ringing in his ears.
The Sandman roils like a stormy sea, eyes closing as he loses himself in the fullness of Pitch’s cock, rising up and slamming himself back down upon him with a spasm of his legs. He rides him roughly, because he loves it, and he knows that Pitch loves it. The Nightmare King holds his hips, bucking up as Sandy is sinking from his apex. Their movements are practiced, their rhythm coordinated and precise.
Pitch knows how to gently angle his lover’s body to make him jump with each thrust, little toes curling as his brows draw up. When he starts to feel pressure coiling inside him, he knows to slow himself, touch Sandy’s back to alert him to the change of pace. He takes a deep, shaking breath, and tries to hold back. It takes his lover longer to reach his threshold, and they strive for simultaneous release.
Sandy’s thighs tremble, and he worries his lip between his teeth as he takes his erection in his hand and begins to play with himself. His head is cast downward slightly, eyes closed as he revels in the heat and thickness pressed against his inner walls. He moves in shallow, soft bounces, building himself up even as Pitch is slowly coming down.
He loves this aspect of their relationship, their silent understanding hewn from years of trial-and-error and intimate communication. Even though they rouse at different paces, they seek to meet in the middle. Equals. Lovers achieving climax in tandem.
Pitch moans softly, and his fingers join Sandy’s in their dance against his modest length. Long, spindly, thin digits circle the soft, flushed cock head, pressing gently against the slit to rub against the bead of precome gathered there. The Sandman shivers, and he begins to feel the build of heat in his abdomen.
Panting, the golden immortal dives back in to his feverish pace, hips rocking, strong and determined against his lover. Pitch clenches his teeth, bucking up wildly to meet him as he feels the pressure returning to his loins. He rolls his head to the side with a grunt, heat spiking in his twitching thighs. He can feel Sandy’s muscles beginning to quiver around his cock, and he holds his lover tightly to him as he thrusts up in messy, driven strokes.
His high-timbre cry rings through the emptiness of his lair as he comes, pulsing and shaking and releasing deep inside his lover’s rocking body. Sandy fists his cock roughly and drives himself down upon Pitch one last time before he throws his head back, seed beading hot and pearly white against the Boogeyman’s heaving stomach and dribbling down his fingers.
Sandy clenches him so fiercely in his orgasm that it is nearly painful, an intoxicating mixture of ache and ecstasy that leaves the taller immortal’s jaw locked open and his hairless brow drawn in tightly. He holds his lover’s supple hips, riding out the aftershocks, until he feels the Sandman’s inner grip recede, and only then does he move to uncouple them.
The Sandman’s eyes remain closed, but he curls into his lover’s hold and kisses his open chest, uncaring that he has just smeared his warm come all along Pitch’s torso and his own rotund belly. The Nightmare King doesn’t seem to mind, either, hand cupping the back of Sandy’s head as he twines fingers lovingly through that wild, golden hair.
He’s breathless, and he doesn’t have anything to say. Nothing could describe how much he loves these tender moments more than the way he holds Sandy in his arms, ducking his head down to kiss the soft, closed eyelids of his star. He only hopes that his lover understands how much he cares for him.
And then those sweet, honey eyes open, and in the look he receives, he knows. Sandy always seems to know his every thought, and this is no exception.