CHAPTER SIX #2
A large, rough hand clapped over his mouth and cut off his words as Crawford kicked out with his foot, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Keep your fucking voice down, you asshole,” he hissed. “There were a couple of Harriers fans walking down the street. I don’t think they spotted me, but I really don’t want to test that theory.”
Sebastian pushed his hand away. “Is it really the worst thing if they see you going into a flower shop? I know you have a well-deserved rep as a piece of shit, but I don’t think buying flowers will ruin that too bad, especially after the way you played tonight.”
Crawford huffed. “I told you before, I don’t give a shit if they think I’m buying flowers. Just not sure that’s what it would look like at this hour of the night, you know?”
Right. The internalized homophobia. Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Fine. You wanna go upstairs now?”
Crawford didn’t say anything, just stomped off down the hall and up the stairs.
Sebastian shook his head. He totally understood why guys in the league gave in to the urge to punch Crawford in the face. He imagined it would feel very satisfying. Instead, he flipped the dead bolt again, making sure the door was locked, and followed Crawford up into the apartment.
Crawford stood in the middle of his living room, scowling. “Phone,” he said, pointing to the counter.
“Have you ever thought about getting that paranoia treated?” Sebastian said as he walked over and made a show of setting his phone on the counter. “It seems like it might be to a point where it requires clinical intervention.”
Crawford ignored that. “Jersey,” he said next.
“Look, if you don’t think you can get it up when I’m wearing it, you might want to get that treated too,” Sebastian needled, but he did strip it off, tossing it on the back of a nearby chair.
“On your fucking knees,” Crawford growled.
Sebastian grinned. “Someone’s feeling impatient tonight. Aww, did you miss me?”
“I’m not the one who suggested the repeat, bud.” Crawford pressed a hand to Sebastian’s shoulder.
He allowed himself to be guided down to his knees.
“You also didn’t say no either,” Sebastian pointed out.
Crawford wore a suit tonight, gray with a black shirt. Unbuttoned at the top, of course. Sebastian thought he might be allergic to ties.
He reached for Crawford’s belt buckle. It was gaudy. Silver, with little bits of turquoise in it, like something he’d gotten out west, maybe.
“What are you fucking doing down there?” Crawford glowered. “Admiring the view?”
“I might, if you’d give me something to admire,” Sebastian threw back, like he couldn’t see that Crawford was already getting hard, cock pushing at the fly of his trousers.
Crawford let out a frustrated growl and grabbed Sebastian by the hair.
To retaliate, Sebastian grabbed his hips and pushed him back against the door. He only staggered back a few inches, but he still hit the surface with a satisfying thud that rattled the door in its frame and mingled with his grunt of surprise.
Sebastian finally got Crawford’s gaudy belt buckle undone, then lowered his fly, shoving his trousers and underwear down. They caught on his muscular thighs and Sebastian grinned, liking that it left him a little restricted in his movement.
He glanced up to see Crawford still glaring at him. “Well, are you gonna get on with it or what?”
“I’ll get there when I damn well feel like it,” Sebastian said, though he did take Crawford’s dick in his hand. He was half-hard already, his skin warm and smooth against Sebastian’s palm.
Sebastian gave him a few strokes, feeling his cock fatten more as blood flowed into it. He ducked his head, pressing Crawford’s dick up against his stomach in favor of licking his balls.
Crawford tried to move, tried to widen his stance, but the fabric of his clothing kept him pinned and Sebastian laughed.
Crawford’s hand tightened in his hair. “Yeah, you like that?” he taunted. “You like the smell of my sweaty balls? I bet you’re gagging to get them in your mouth, aren’t you?”
Contrary to what Sebastian had chirped him about before, Crawford actually smelled pretty good. Probably not in his gear, but like this, after his post-game shower, his skin smelled like soap or body wash. Something generically clean.
Shame, Sebastian wouldn’t mind a little bit of sweat. It could be hot. Though definitely not post-game sweat. That shit was nasty.
Sebastian hummed, carefully slipping one testicle in his mouth to gently roll it across his tongue.
He took his time, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin until Crawford grabbed his chin and forced him away. “Stop wasting my time and get your mouth on my dick.”
“Aww, is someone feeling grumpy?” Sebastian taunted. “Did they take a stupid penalty and lose the game for their team tonight?”
Crawford let out a growl of frustration that made Sebastian laugh.
Of course, that opened his mouth wide, which Crawford used as an opportunity to slide his dick between Sebastian’s lips.
So, Sebastian got a grip on Crawford’s muscular thighs, opened his throat and hung on tight as Crawford fucked his face, exactly like he’d hoped.
All the stress and worry about his business, about Harper, about his sister, they vanished. There was nothing Sebastian had to think about other than not choking or gagging. All he had to do was enjoy the ride.
Spit dripped down his chin as Crawford sped up and a few minutes later he got a low, rough, “You want my cum, cocksucker?”
Sebastian gave Crawford a thumbs-up, which got a choked little laugh like last time, but seriously, how the fuck else was Sebastian supposed to communicate with his mouth otherwise occupied?
And then moments later, Crawford’s grip tightened on Sebastian’s skull and his chin met pubes.
Crawford came with a desperate groan that sent a pulse of heat through Sebastian’s body. Cum slid down his throat in several hard spurts and he was just starting to get a little lightheaded when Crawford let go.
Sebastian pulled back, gratefully gulping in oxygen, and glanced up.
“Get up here,” Crawford snarled. He grabbed Sebastian by the collar of his T-shirt and hauled him to his feet, turning and spinning him around.
The door rattled again, and Sebastian pressed his flushed cheek against it.
The heat and pressure from Crawford’s body was suddenly gone and he opened his mouth to protest, to complain, when he pulled a small packet of lube from God knew where and slapped it on the tiny shelf by the door that served as Sebastian’s entry table.
Damn it, he’d planned for that.
Not that Sebastian was complaining when Crawford got his jeans undone and wrapped a slick, rough hand on his cock. Sebastian cried out, the grip almost too tight, but then Crawford was stroking and it was so good Sebastian’s knees went weak.
The long, rough strokes pulled a deep moan from Sebastian’s chest and he trembled, surprised by how close he was to coming already.
Shit, it wasn’t going to take much tonight, was it?
“Yeah, you fuckin’ like it like that, don’t you?” Crawford asked, his voice a low rumble in Sebastian’s ear.
Sebastian panted, hand scrabbling for something—anything—to hold on to. He finally got a grip on the doorframe and clung to it, the edge digging into his palm.
“I bet you like getting fucked like that too.”
Sebastian imagined it, imagined getting pushed up against a doorframe or bent over the couch, split open and drilled hard, while Crawford growled filthy words at him.
Sebastian came with a hoarse shout, shaking, the release torn from his body before he could think of holding back. He came until his balls ached and his knees were weak, and the last few rough strokes of Crawford’s hand hurt in the best of ways.
When Crawford finally let go and stepped away, Sebastian stayed exactly where he was for a moment, half-afraid his knees would buckle when he finally released his death grip on the doorway.
Sebastian stayed upright but he did wobble a little and his fingers trembled as he tucked his cock away. He did up his jeans before staggering over to the chair where he liked to sit and listen to records.
A mocking laugh followed him as Crawford walked past him to wash his hands at the kitchen sink.
A little presumptuous of him, but Sebastian didn’t have it in him to argue. His entire being felt like a puddle of melted goo.
God, he’d needed that.
He was still sprawled on the chair when Crawford left without a word.
“Asshole,” Sebastian muttered as the door closed behind him.
“You’re welcome!” Crawford called back.
By the time Sebastian finally heaved himself out of the chair—which was more from a fear that his store could get broken into if left unlocked all night than any desire to move—Crawford was long gone.