Lance, apparently noticing, laughs lowly. “You’re such a—ahhh—vampire.”

Robbie rakes his teeth over Lance’s pulse point and pauses. “Do you mind?” He’s not particularly worried about how Lance might answer, based on the needy noises he’s been making every time Robbie’s tongue or teeth or beard touch him between his chin and his sternum.

“No,” Lance assures him. “Just be careful. I have to go to court in a couple of days, remember?”

Robbie pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Lance’s shoulders, and they look at each other. The charge between them is still there, but it’s momentarily suspended by the reminder of everything beyond this hayloft. Into that brief but heavy silence, Robbie says slowly, “There’s a lot we should talk about.”

Lance’s pupils are so blown that they’ve chased the blue of his irises to nothing but a rim of color, itself dark as a midnight sky. “We should talk,” he agrees weakly.

Robbie looks down at him, those questions he’s been pushing back feeling too far away to concern himself with. He knows this is a trick of his body, his speeding pulse; he knows he’s not thinking clearly.

And still, he thinks clearly, Fuck talking, and lowers his mouth down again, this time just skimming the reddened skin of Lance’s tantalizing throat before he’s pressing his open mouth over Lance’s left nipple instead.

Lance jerks and twists, his hand suddenly buried in Robbie’s hair, holding him in place with surprising strength. It only lasts a moment, and then Lance swears and loosens his hold.

“Sorry, fuck, but…fuck.”

Robbie interrupts his apologies by circling the bit of soft skin until it forms a tiny, hard peak, until Lance is clutching his head again in the same way, which Robbie is happy to encourage.

It takes him a minute of shifting his weight to arrange himself so that he can accomplish it, teasing Lance’s nipple all the while, but he angles his arm and grips Lance’s cock again, rubbing his thumb over the precum-slicked head, mimicking the movements and rhythm of his tongue until Lance is leaking copiously and pulling Robbie’s hair, making his eyes sting. Robbie loves it. He loves the abandon in Lance, loves the helpless way he’s toppled over by pleasure. Pleasure Robbie is giving him. Care Robbie is giving him. He stretches his legs further out behind him so that he can grind his own desperate hardness against the rumpled bedclothes, and then, summoning his courage and hoping he isn’t about to become Lance’s most disappointing lover ever, he lifts his head from Lance’s chest, pushes himself the crucial foot further south, holds Lance firmly by the base of his cock, and adds his mouth.

Lance’s cock is long, but Robbie’s hands are big. Big enough that he can take Lance in until his lips meet his hand, enveloping Lance from root to tip. Robbie is so eager that the urge to gag at the feeling of a cock at the entrance to his throat doesn’t stop him. He keeps going, having received enough blowjobs in his life, and fantasized about twice that many, to have a list of things he’s always wanted to try on someone else. Lance is delightfully responsive the entire time, shaking and writhing. And when he’s gotten Lance thoroughly wet, Robbie pauses to stroke him a few times.