“I want you to,” he rushes to say; in fact, his cock is objecting intensely to the fact that he’s interrupted Lance on what was obviously a path toward putting his mouth around Robbie’s throbbing cock. “But first, I want to look at you,” Robbie says. “Please.” He takes two handfuls of Lance’s borrowed shirt and tugs communicatively.

Lance’s expression eases somewhat, but he still looks nervous. He flashes a tense smile, kneeling up and stripping off his shirt—revealing all of that long, narrow, beautifully angular body to Robbie. The last time Robbie got a glimpse was torture—this time, it’s a revelation, because Robbie is allowed to touch. Or at least, he thinks so? He finds his hands hovering an inch away from Lance’s waist until Lance smiles again in silent permission. Then, Robbie strokes him from his ribs to his underarms, which makes Lance squirm and laugh, and then he trails his hands down the planes of Lance’s pectorals and abs, which makes him shiver. Below that, Robbie cups the rigid bulge of his cock and then the softer heft of his balls, and his head spins. He knows that he’s discovering something in this moment that, now, he’ll always crave.

“Off,” Robbie murmurs, meaning the boxers, and Lance seems to agree that they need to go. He gets out of them with impressive coordination for someone on his knees in the middle of a soft mattress, balancing himself on Robbie’s thigh, and just like that, his long, pink, erect cock is in view, the skin of his sack a darker shade, liberally dusted in light gold hair. His thighs are so long and lean, if Robbie saw them in a photograph, he’d suspect they were digitally enhanced.

“You’re stunning,” Robbie breathes. “You are so beautiful.”

Lance inhales like he might argue. Robbie sits up, takes him by the back of his neck, and kisses him quiet. Lance’s cock slides against Robbie’s stomach, and he sighs against Robbie’s mouth.

“I want to take care of you,” Robbie says when they break apart. He holds Lance’s face and kisses his jaw, his chin. “Will you tell me what you like?”

“Anything,” Lance says at once. “Anything you—anything you want to do, I’ll like it.” He makes a noise like a plea when Robbie slips his hand between them and takes hold of his shaft. The feel of him in Robbie’s hand is heady…something both like and nothing like holding himself. Robbie does know the mechanics of cocks, though, he reasons, and tries a twist and pressure that he would appreciate if he took himself in hand, closely observing Lance’s reaction.

Lance bucks against him and says, “Fuck!”

Encouraged, Robbie does it again, with similar results.

But he wants to do more than just give Lance a handjob fifteen seconds after he’s undressed. So, he reluctantly lets go of that incredible, hot length that he intends to get to know much better and takes Lance by the waist, flipping him onto his back and reversing their positions. Lance peering up at him in surprise from the pillows is a sinful sight. But Robbie is unrepentant, bending his head to Lance’s long, pale throat and wondering what it is about Lance’s neck that makes him want to lick and bite every inch. He’s never had this kind of fetish before. At first, it was about smelling the lingering residue of the soap on Lance’s skin, and while that is still making him more than a little wild, he also has an almost primal urge to bite and claim.