Drake's ass kept rubbing back and forth across his. Jesus, his jeans were too fucking tight for this. Drake was still "singing" along to the music, body so fucking hot. One of his hands dropped forward, just barely skimming across his cock. Oh, God. God, yes. Please.
"Fuck, I haven't danced like this in a million years." Drake's head leaned against his.
"Feels good, huh?"
"Shit yeah. You feel good."
He couldn't tell if that was a question or a statement. "Uh-huh." That was perfectly noncommittal, right? Just don't stop.
Drake laughed and bumped his ass back, then turned and suddenly was dancing front against his back. His ass was still moving, grinding, and he pushed right against Drake's crotch. Jesus fuck, the man was hard and hung.
His lips opened and his entire body shivered. Still he didn't move away. They kept dancing as one song turned into another, Drake just so fucking hot.
Slayde was going out of his fucking mind, cock leaking and hard, heart racing. He didn't know whether to push closer or pull away. Drake's hands dropped to his hips, pulling him back against that heat. Oh, fuck. Yes. His moan was deep, low, and totally heartfelt.
Drake's answered it, the man grinding against him. Slayde spread a little, the pressure inside his balls getting worse.
"Fuck," muttered Drake, mouth latching on to his neck.
He moaned low, let his head drop forward, one of his hands rubbing his needy cock through his jeans.
"Hottest fucking ass."
"Oh, God." He pushed back, rolling his hips, moving like they were fucking.
Drake was moving like that as well, just banging against him. Slayde reached behind his back, between them, thumb tracing a line from tip to base, as he wished there wasn't any material between them.
"Oh, fuck. Fuck!" Drake pushed into his touch, whole body shuddering behind him.
The scent of come made Slayde whimper, made him want to turn around, tear Drake's jeans open. Before he could do it, Drake's hand landed on his prick, squeezed.
"Please." Slayde jerked forward, body so hungry for it, needing this more than anything on earth, right now.
The house phone began to ring, the sound loud, shocking him.
"Fuck." Drake's hand tightened on him, the man's entire body going rigid behind him.
"It's okay. It's okay. I'll grab it." He sprinted in, picked up the phone and growled at the telemarketer trying to sell time shares on the other end of the line.
The music was still going when he hung up and Drake was still out there, another beer in hand, body swaying to the music, sweat making the man's T-shirt stick.
"Telemarketer." Please, touch me.
"More dancing?" Drake put the beer down, arms spreading.
"God, yes." He moved into Drake's arms, knowing full well it was a mistake.
Drake's arms draped around his shoulders, their bodies moving and rubbing again and it was only seconds before one of Drake's hands drifted down along his chest to his belly, and finally to grab him again through his jeans.
Slayde swallowed hard, hips rolling as he fought to get closer to that hand. Drake moaned, squeezed him, rubbed him.
"Oh, fuck. So good, man. So fucking hot."
"Your turn, come on." Drake's other hand drifted down to his ass.
His lips opened and he came, hard enough that it hurt his belly. Drake massaged his prick through it, making it last.
"I. Damn. Wow."
"Mmm. Dancing good." Drake's eyes were half closed as he started them swaying to the beat.
"Uh-huh." Messy, too.
"Beer good, too. Want?"
"No. No, I'm good." One of them needed to be sober.
"Okay." Drake's head dropped to his shoulder, the slow rocking continuing.
He hummed, hand on Drake's head, petting. "You're a fine man, Drake."
"Fine…"
"Mmmhmm." Someone needed to get into bed. He stared walking Drake into the house, keeping the steady petting and humming going, all the way to the stairs.
"Dancing." Drake chuckled, hand back on his ass.
"You know it." Dancing. God, maybe Drake wouldn't even remember all this.
He wasn't sure how he was going to get them up the stairs, but Drake took care of it, grabbing his hand and leading him right up. He dared to steal a kiss at the top of the stairs, hard and short.
Clearly half-passed out, Drake gave him a lazy grin and tugged him in, but missed his mouth, noisily kissing his ear instead. That stopped him. Rubbing up on Drake when the man was loose and tipsy was one thing, drunk into stupidity was something totally different and he wasn't about to take advantage.
"Come on, stud. Let's get you in bed and cleaned up." Possibly with some B vitamins and water, too.
"Stud." Drake grinned as he repeated the word. "That's me."
"You know it." He helped Drake undress, using the man's briefs to clean up the heavy, flaccid cock. He needed to clean up, too, but first he helped Drake get into bed. Jesus, the man really was a stud: amazing pecs, abs, thighs. And that cock was stunning, even soft.
He covered Drake up, the man was already snoring. "Sleep well, stud."
It was too bad he had to hope that Drake didn't remember any of this in the morning. There would be hell to pay otherwise. He hadn't started it, though. That had been all Drake. Not that there would be any chance of that being something Drake remembered. That was always the first thing straight guys forgot. Always.
Drake's snores followed him out the door and down to the bathroom to get himself cleaned up.
It was what it was; he couldn't take it back. It had been good, too. He smiled at himself on his way back down the stairs to clean up the food and start laundry. Humping a straight, beefy cop in the backyard. Lord have mercy.
Chapter Six
Oh fuck, his head hurt. He'd only had beer, too -- when had he become such a fucking lightweight? He'd been feeling no pain last night, though. None at all. He'd even danced and… Fuck. Fuck a dippity doo da duck. He'd fucking humped Slayde until he'd come and
