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Without ever breaking that eye contact, Luca would lower himself—each hard inch driving him further into bliss. Promising all the pleasure that would soon come.
He would pause when he reached those big full balls, relishing the length and the hardness inside him. Just as he would pray to whatever God might take him that the feeling never end. That the man keep himself safe. So they could have this. Share this. Come together in such unity and such connection like this.
His knight would run hands across Luca’s ass—feeling the weight and the curve. Just as he would also run hands along the rest of his body. Savoring the swell of his hips and the bounce of his belly.
And Luca would see it across Artair’s face.
Joy.
Thanks.
A prayer of gratitude that all this thickness was his. That all this heft and girth and power was his to enjoy.
And enjoy it he would.
Luca would see to that.
Holding firm against Artair’s chest, he would rise his tight hole on that rock-hard cock—so big and thick and dominant, even after all their times together. He would feel the ridge of the swollen cock head slide like silk over steel.
He wouldn’t be able to control himself after that, the sounds of grace stuttering from his hot mouth. Made louder when he lowered himself down once more, joined by the guttural groans of his lover. Feeling Artair deep inside.
Faster he would rise and fall on Artair’s slippery cock, each stroke sending him deeper into the trance. Knowing that his body was making Artair feel just as incredible. Just as hot and hungry and desperate for more.
Wiping sweat from his knight’s brow, Luca would turn his thumbs toward Artair’s nipples, hard and yearning. The gasp would be sharp then. The tease and the torture. The look in the bigger man’s eyes that said he didn’t want to lose his load too early.
And Luca would relish that. Own that. Feel the urgent throbs of the cock against his prostate. Feel Artair’s thighs tense up as he desperately tried to keep his cum at bay.
Slow down, baby, Artair would whisper, somewhere between a dream and dominance.
Never! Luca would say, pinning Artair’s arms against the grass and growling into his burning mouth. It’s mine!
Oh, fuck! You can’t help yourself, can you? You need my cum in you.
Every fucking drop of it! Give it to me! Fill me up with your?—
Luca’s eyes twitched at the unexpected eruption. The historical fantasy snapped away, replaced by great torrents shooting over his shoulder and shirt. His toes fluttered in their leather confines as his whole body shook with his ejaculation—blast after blast across his face and beard and chest.
His balls tensed as the pulse gripped his ass hard, making his hole squeeze tight and causing him to thrust his hips from the wood, projecting his boiling shots even further.
“Oh . . . My . . . God . . . !” he gasped, each word shook by another pulse.
When the last spurt finally finished, Luca collapsed against the trunk, bare legs dangling on either side of the wood, the moss as his chilled pillow.
Fucking hell . . .
His face was soaked even worse than his chest. His hands were sticky and his mind was still strolling through the medieval meadow.
It wasn’t like swords and sorcery were even a big sexual fantasy of his. It had just felt right in the moment. In the man’s name and his heft and in the woods they shared. Something about imagining himself far away from the noise and the cities. Something about imagining themselves as the only men in a world of grass and firelight.
As Luca’s joy softened the late afternoon even further, he glanced lazily to his surrounds. Behind him—impressively distant—some ferns had received a healthy soaking of dew.
And as he admired the quantity of his wild seed, the air growing cool and the sky shifting from blue to pale yellow, he couldn’t help wish that the fantasy might play out to its perfect conclusion.
A warm and handsome face against his chest.
A thick and furry arm across his shoulder.
Eyes, green as swaying ferns, looking up at him.
