For a solid week, all Sean had been able to think about was Marton's hand wrapped firmly around him and the black-hot promise in a smooth as silk voice. His actual work hadn't suffered -- far too professional for all that rot -- but the time between shooting scenes was long. Plenty of time to think. And remember. And what Sean was remembering and thinking was about to drive him out of his fucking mind. For a week, he'd waited. After Marton had left the party, with a promise of more ringing in Sean's ears, Sean had gone home, certain that Marton would've beaten him there. Nothing. Not even a phone call. Had acted like nothing'd happened in the days since. Not by so much as a wink, no moves, keeping a respectable distance between them, friendliness and nothing more in golden eyes...nothing at all to indicate that Marton had given Sean possibly the best damn handjob of his life. Nothing to indicate that he'd all but laid himself out at Sean's feet for the taking. Well, tonight, Sean was finally going to take him up on the offer. The doorbell echoed unnaturally loud as Sean waited on Marton's doorstep. "C'mon, y'cunt, open the door," he muttered, barely resisting the urge to fidget. He was in charge. A grown man. Fidgeting was for children, like Elijah and Orlando. He was rewarded a moment later when a barefoot, bare-chested, sweaty Marton opened the front door. Christ. "Sean, what're you doing here?" How the fuck did Marton expect him to think, let alone answer? Golden skin -- a lot of golden skin -- shone in the halo created by the hallway light. Muscle -- and fuck yeah, a lot of that, too -- rippled, flexed, as Marton stood there, wearing only a ratty pair of jogging pants and towel slung around his neck. Absolutely, utterly breath-taking. Right. Libido under control, not a horny teenager. Just a horny, middle-aged, freshly divorced man. Christ, he was depressing himself. Change of subject. Back to the skin. And the muscle. "I...um..." Marton glanced down at his bare chest, then looked back up, amusement shining out of golden eyes. "Been waiting for you to show up," he said as he stepped aside, holding the door open. Waiting? For him? And all this time Sean had thought... Well, fuck. How was that for a tosser? He had a stern talk with his British sense of reticence, cursing it once again. Politeness had never gotten him anywhere. When would he learn that? "Coming in?" "Yeah, yeah. Sorry." Sean smiled in apology as he stepped inside -- damn politeness again. What'd he have to feel sorry for, anyway? Marton's house was sparsely furnished, with lots of blonde wood and black-framed black and white prints adorning the walls. "Cozy," Sean remarked, looking around. "You come here to admire the décor?" Marton asked, running the towel over his damp, shaved scalp. "Not really." So much for small talk. Sean let his gaze run over Marton's body -- across sleek skin, muscled abs, toned chest, lean hips disappearing into those baggy jogging pants. His palms itched with the need to explore, map, take. "Then tell me why you are here." Sean lifted his head, stared into golden eyes. Eyes that had been haunting his thoughts and dreams. "For this." And yeah, fuck yeah, this was much better. Soft tongue, pliant lips, hard chest, all of it open for his perusal. Sean's hands wrapped around Marton's neck, tilted, there. Delved deeper, dove in with his tongue, pressed, rubbed, sought. "Take what you want." Murmured words searing into Sean's brain, his cock, straight through his system. Take...want...oh yes. He intended to do just that. Wanted that hard, fast ride into oblivion, wanted Marton's moans filling his ears, wanted to make Marton beg. "Bedroom?" Marton pointed. Sean wasted no time on niceties, pulled them down the hallway in record time. The room had a bed, and that was his only requirement. "All fours." It wasn't a request. Something much like amusement flickered across Marton's face, but he obeyed easily enough. He shrugged out of his jogging pants, and Sean had only a brief moment to admire the play of muscle under golden skin before Marton crawled on the bed (crawled, like a panther or very tame lion, and Sean had a weakness for cats), supple back arching as he offered himself. "You look good like this," Sean remarked, idly stroking himself through worn jeans. "Did you come here just to admire the décor?" Marton repeated, turning his head to watch as Sean undressed. "No, I came to fuck you into next week, unless you've any objections." "Not from me." "Wasn't expecting there would be." Naked, Sean draped himself over Marton, chest to back, legs pressed together. Licked a path from Marton's ear to the back of his neck, felt the small shiver. "Got anything?" Marton lifted a finger and pointed, then moved back into Sean's body, rubbing and twisting, seeking maximum skin on skin contact. Sean was quite proud of himself for only fumbling once with the condom and lotion. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted anything so much, couldn't remember anything past this need, past...ah, yes. Breaching, seeking, tight, slick muscles clamping around his cock as he pushed Marton into the mattress, thrusting deep. "More." The word was ground out through clenched teeth as Marton pushed back. More sounded like a bloody grand idea. Sean wasted no time; simply drew back and thrust hard, using Marton's hips as leverage. Slow definitely wasn't in the plan. Sean wanted entirely too much for all that. Felt like he'd been waiting his entire life to feel Marton's ass gripping him, waited forever to hear moans in broken English and some other language -- Hungarian, maybe? -- Sean wasn't sure, didn't care. Sounded sexy as fuck coming from those full lips. Waited beyond forever for this -- yes, slipperyslick friction, this pushneed, nothing of gentle, no need to hold back. Just driving, pounding hard into Marton's body, mattress squeaking, air coalescing around them, becoming thick, liquid. Heartbeats stuttering, needed more, final push, yesfuck -- "G'nuh...yes!" The world splintered, crashed, lightning struck, fireworks shot in the sky -- all of those twee clichés that suddenly weren't quite so twee when actually happening. Sean slumped over Marton's prone form, rested his forehead between sweat-soaked shoulder blades as they both struggled for breath and sanity. "Is that what you wanted?" Sean asked, pleased when his voice didn't shake. Sean could feel the smile in Marton's voice when he answered. "For a start." Onto Kegyetlen
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