Chapter Sam Campbell #8
Thomas squints like he’s still confused, but Sam barrels on.
“Guess what she said to me. Go on, guess. She told me to take care of him. Take care of him! Like I wouldn’t devote my entire life to doing so if I was given the chance. You know that, right?”
“Right,” Thomas replies on command.
“And I thought I’d have the chance tonight because we rode back to the hotel together, but he—he just left me on the tenth floor. Even though I make him laugh like, all the time! He just left me there.”
“Ah…” Thomas opens the door wider and steps aside.
Sam bolts in and kicks off his shoes. It’s another suite, but this one has a full-ass piano in the corner.
How are they even in the same hotel?!
“Something fast, okay?” Thomas says, dragging his feet to the closed door hiding his bedroom. “Any preparation I have done is probably tight again by now.”
Thomas had prepped himself. It might’ve been hours ago, but he had done the work.
And Sam ignored his texts. Like an asshole.
Speaking of— “Can I eat your ass?”
Thomas stops in the doorframe of his bedroom. “What?”
“Eat your ass,” he repeats. “Can I?”
“But—” Thomas’s stare drops, very obviously, to Sam’s dick. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I do it really well.” Now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t stop. “Even the girls think so, and they usually don’t care about butt stuff. Let me take care of you.”
“Okay, whatever.” Thomas steps out of his sweatpants as Sam follows him into the room. He doesn’t even bother to remove his shirt before climbing back into the messy bed. “If I fall asleep you can keep going.”
Well, that’s a challenge if Sam’s ever heard one.
He’s still wearing his nice dinner clothes, so he unbuttons his shirt and slips off his trousers, folding the garments carefully so he can look put together again when he leaves.
By the time he turns around, Thomas has shoved a pillow under his hips again, keeping his ass hoisted upright.
He looks enough like Lucas that Sam lets himself believe again. Just one more night where he can prove he would be so good for him. That he could take care of Lucas, treasure him, worship him.
He kneels behind Lucas and grasps his bare cheeks, just for a feel of him. Sam knows he’s lucky to be here, that anyone with half a brain would jump at the opportunity to get to pleasure Lucas Bauer, World Champion. He has to make it good.
He leans down to lick a stripe up the center and Lucas jolts, a high-pitched whine in his throat. His ass tastes nothing like his palm—he’s mustier, raw, with a hint of champagne lingering.
Sam’s too hunched over for this. It’d be fine if this was just the appetizer course, but he wants to make an entire meal out of this ass, and for that he needs to be comfortable.
Lucas squawks as Sam repositions him—dragging him by the calves until his ass is hanging over the edge of the bed. When he lets go, the legs fall forward and the balls of Lucas’s feet dig into the carpet.
Yup, this is better.
Sam settles himself, kneeling on the floor and spreading Lucas’s cheeks open again. After tonight, there’ll be no room to doubt how much he loves him.
He spits above the hole and watches the saliva slide towards the entrance, leaving a slick trail behind it. Before it reaches the rim, Sam catches it with his thumb and rubs it around the tight circle of muscle.
The hole gapes, blinking at him as it tries to catch his thumb in its grasp.
Lucas uses what leverage he has against the ground to push up, onto his toes, but Sam avoids capture, his thumb darting around to tease the area with the lightest of touches.
When the smaller man whines with frustration, Sam finally stretches his rim taut with both thumbs. He licks the area with wet stripes over his hole, soaking it until it’s nearly dripping, and blows.
The reaction is instantaneous, and Lucas wails as his still-socked feet scramble for purchase against the hotel carpet. It makes Sam want to tease him more, to push it further, but he’ll behave tonight.
He holds the cheeks steady, grasping the soft flesh as he exhales a warm breath over the chilled area, like an apology.
After a few base licks, Sam points his tongue and flicks the rim with it. Up, down, up, down. He lets himself drool over the opening, keeping the area as wet and slobbery as possible.
Lucas whines as he shoves his ass up, pushing it closer, begging for penetration, but Sam continues his ministrations. He doesn’t want Lucas to get complacent with the steady attention, so he alternates between long, pushing licks and quick flicks.
He tries to keep Lucas still, but the smaller man manages to buck up no matter how Sam grabs him. He finally gives up and rolls with it, his head buried between spread cheeks as they rock together.
At least his neck training is good for something.
When he finally pushes his tongue inside, Lucas careens off the bed, wailing with it.
He deserves this. He deserves a partner like Sam. Sam just has to prove it to him.
Sam’s absolutely disgusting, slobbering all over Lucas’s ass, but he doesn’t care. The wetter the better, and Sam continues to dive in and out, fucking into Lucas’s tight hole with his tongue.
When Sam bites at the rim, Lucas comes with a cry. He humps forward, against his hip pillow, until he stills and finally relaxes.
If he knew Lucas was so close, Sam would’ve given him a couple of fingers to ride at least, but there’s always next time.
He keeps his head down, lapping at the hole until Lucas sobs from overstimulation.
Pulling back, Sam gasps in the cold air before asking, “Can I come on you?”
It’s Thomas that replies, “Ouais! Yes, yes, please!”
Sam stands on wobbly legs and drops his boxers. He’s so hard he’s leaking, and he tries to hold on to the fleeting fantasy that the ass in front of him still belongs to Lucas.
Sam plies Lucas’s cheeks apart again and tries not to fixate on the moles dotting the surface. The smaller man reaches back, his dainty hands holding himself open and Sam groans at the image of it.
Lucas Bauer, World Champion, holding himself open for him.
Sam jerks himself quickly, his cock aimed over the slobber-slickened hole. He tries to focus on the memory of how tight and wanting and responsive it was for him.
Lucas’s toes jab into the carpet, forcing his lower half up higher and giving Sam an even better view.
“Fuck,” he grunts, tugging faster, closer and closer towards his peak.
Sam makes the mistake of looking up. He wants to see Lucas’s blissed out face, but he locks eyes with Thomas instead.
His upper body is turned, almost contorted all the way around so he can watch as he holds himself open. Those big, unyielding eyes stare up at him in reverence, like Sam is some holy person who has blessed him.
It’s blinding, almost. The awe. The adoration.
Then Thomas’s eyes break away, travelling downwards to watch Sam’s cock as he pumps it.
Sam spills, shooting his load in ropes over Thomas’s reddened, sloppy hole.
It’s too much—way too much—and Sam stumbles forward, catching himself on Thomas before rolling over onto the narrow sliver of space to the left of him.
Don’t get cum on the right side.
Sam heaves as he tries to sort out which parts were Lucas and which were Thomas.
He's such an idiot—it all was Thomas. It always is.
He balances on his side, nearly hanging off the bed, with his boxers still around his ankles. “You didn’t fall asleep, right?”
“No, I did not.” Thomas props himself up, turning to face Sam. He’s glowing again, and it looks good on him. “I need to clean myself up.”
Sam grumbles, his eyes falling shut. “I’m just gonna nap real quick. Just a little and I can help.”
“Sleep. I do not need help.” The bed shifts as Thomas wiggles his way down the mattress and over to the en suite.
Sam wakes up under the covers. His dick is tucked back into his boxers and he feels wiped clean. Thomas is tucked up against his side, using his shoulder as a pillow, his arm crossed over Sam’s chest.
Well, it’d be rude to leave now. Sam lets himself fall back asleep.
He wakes up again, much later, to the sound of a luggage zipper. Sam takes a moment to stretch, popping his back and neck, before subjecting himself to the bright light of the room.
Thomas is bent over, rummaging through his suitcase. He has a towel around his middle, and steam rolls in from the bathroom.
Sam sits up in the bed and lets the covers bunch up around his waist. Since Thomas hasn’t noticed him yet, he should have a little fun.
“Buenos días,” he says in his best Rafael impression. A little deeper, a little more suave.
Thomas’s head pops up, but when he turns to the bed he looks confused, not turned on. “What was that supposed to be?”
“Oh, c’mon! I thought you’d like it—it’s Spanish.”
Thomas blinks his giant eyes. “I am French.”
“Trust me, I know.” He’s not exactly subtle. “It’s for Rafael, y’know? Cause of the thing we have going on?”
“Brazilians do not speak Spanish.”
“What?” Sam thought Thomas was smart. “Well, they don’t speak Brazilian.”
More blinks. “They speak Portuguese.”
“Brazil isn’t anywhere near Portugal.” Right? Sam’s pretty sure he’s right, but all of South America kinda confuses him. “Oh, is his family Portuguese maybe?”
Thomas murmurs under his breath before standing up, clothes draped over his arm.
“There’s breakfast out there.” Thomas isn’t shy—he drops his towel and steps into shorts. “I heard them set it up, but I do not know what it is yet. Help yourself.”
“You’re not wearing underwear?” Sam’s pretty sure Thomas said something, but this feels more important.
“Never do—I hate sweaty balls.” Thomas pulls a shirt over his head—Ferraro red. “You might want to grab something to go, we slept late.”
Sam checks his phone and kicks off the covers. “Fuck!” He had been too busy eating ass to set an alarm.
He ate ass last night.
He demanded to eat Thomas’s ass last night.