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“You can’t be serious.”
“And you can’t tell me you haven’t even considered it before.”
Hot Pants stares at Diego, who is currently seated on his knees on the opposite side of the campfire. There’s genuine curiosity in his expression, but Hot Pants knows his question has to have some sort of antagonizing intent behind it.
“Well?” he leans forward, eyebrow raised, “It’s a simple ‘yes or no’ question, HP.”
They’re doing their best to ignore him, instead focusing on the cup of tea in their hand. It’s chamomile; they’d made it earlier while Diego had been out hunting. Tonight’s dinner was one of the best they’ve had in a while. The combination of a full stomach and the warm tea sliding down their throat is making them a bit drowsy. It would certainly be possible for them to fall asleep right here, if it weren’t for -
“Are you ignoring me?” Diego squawks, “That’s quite rude. You know we wouldn’t have had any dinner tonight if not for me, right?”
Hot Pants indeed ignores his question, but stares straight ahead at him, making direct eye contact while taking another swig of tea.
“I’ll ask again,” he sits up straight, tilting his chin upwards in that annoyingly pompous way he always does, “HP… have you ever considered the possibilities that Cream Starter offers you? I mean, you know,” he crosses his arms in front of him; Hot Pants almost thinks it might be a tiny sign of shame… but that couldn’t possibly be true. This is Diego Brando, after all.
“What?” Hot Pants narrows their eyes, “‘I know’ what? Finish the question.”
Diego scoffs, pouts, then continues, “I mean in intimate situations. Do I really need to spell it out for you? Are you that much of a prude?”
The question doesn’t shock them at this point. After all, he’s been hinting at it all evening, for who knows what reason.
“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on this,” Hot Pants shrugs, picking up a stick and prodding at the fire.
Diego looks offended, though he has no reason to be. God forbid Hot Pants refuse to answer a deeply personal question like that. Truthfully, no, the idea hasn’t crossed their mind. To them, Cream Starter has always been a tool for good and for self defense. The idea of using it in any way otherwise, especially in such a crude manner, feels absurd.
But yes, the thought has probably crossed Diego’s mind before. That part doesn’t surprise them. The man isn’t exactly shy about his sexual experiences and desires, though Hot Pants does their best to tune it out. Being on the road for so long, without any other contact besides each other… well, he’s probably struggling with that. Hot Pants almost feels bad for him.
“You’re so boring, HP,” he whines, dramatically leaning farther and farther to the side until he’s propped up on one arm.
“If I answer the question will you stop talking about this?” Hot Pants takes another sip, eyeing him closely.
He snaps back up, eyes wider with curiosity, “Possibly. Let’s hear it, then.”
“The answer,” they trail off, quietly amused with the way Diego is hanging on their words, waiting for the response.
When they don’t immediately reply, Diego smacks a hand against the ground, “Is?”
“No,” Hot Pants leans back against the tree behind them, doing their best to stifle a laugh at his reaction, “the answer is no.”
“I should’ve known,” Diego pouts, “Some nun wouldn’t know anything about any fun, anyway.”
Hot Pants grips the mug in their hand a bit tighter. Complicated relationship with their religion and God aside, it doesn’t exactly feel good when he says things like that, whether he’s joking or not.
“Now who’s being rude?” Hot Pants chides, “You got your answer. Will you be quiet for the rest of the night now?
Unfortunately, Hot Pants knows the answer before they’ve even finished asking the question. The man is making a show of thinking about his response, knitting his eyebrows together and humming.
“Let’s make a deal,” he finally replies, a slight hiss in his tone, “I’ll be quiet and leave this whole thing alone… if, and only if, you try it.”
Hot Pants blinks several times, opens their mouth to say something, but is quickly interrupted.
“Just for a second, that’s it! I’m curious, HP. You can’t fault a guy for being curious, right?”
“What exactly,” Hot Pants pauses, searching his face for any sort of sarcasm, “are you asking me to do?”
“Geez, you really are a prude! It’s quite simple,” he laughs, “just give yourself a cock. I want to see if it’s possible.”
He’s disgusting, Hot Pants thinks, he’s so completely out of his mind.
“Well, theoretically -”
“No! No no no,” Diego shuffles around the fire, now sitting directly next to Hot Pants, “we’re not talking about theoreticals right now, HP. Just try it.”
He really won’t leave it alone. Hot Pants realizes that if they don’t give him this, this one strange request, he’s going to be up all night pestering them. If not about this, then it’ll be jabs about how “boring” Hot Pants is.
“Fine,” they relent, “alright. I’ll try it.”
The way Diego is watching them so closely feels… well, Hot Pants isn’t sure how it feels. It’s not that it feels bad, in fact it might be a more positive feeling rather than negative.. The thought that he’s hanging on every movement and word, the knowledge that if they stopped and refused to go any farther he would practically melt into a dispirited puddle… something about that is certainly awakening something inside them.
Hot Pants shifts into a cross-legged position and reaches for Cream Starter, taking a quick moment to mentally attempt to rationalize this entire situation. Sometime earlier that evening, thanks to the humid air, they’d stripped down to just their turtleneck and bottoms. Slightly regretting that choice now, they lift their striped leggings just enough to aim the canister underneath the waistband. It feels weird, but sure enough… they’ve managed to give themself an average sized penis, sitting loosely against their thigh.
“There,” Hot Pants winces slightly at the newfound sensation, letting their waistband slap back down, “it worked. Now can I get rid of it?”
“Oh, no no no,” Diego is eyeing their leggings closely, “you have to prove it, HP. I can’t see anything.”
More aggressively than intended - definitely due to Diego’s impatient attitude - Hot Pants grips themself over their leggings, trying to ignore the sensation it’s giving them, “See? I gave myself a penis. Now you have your answer, and we can both go to sleep.”
Diego pauses, quiet for a moment, hand raised and held steady several inches above Hot Pants’ lap.
“Hmm,” he hums, then lifts his eyes to stare directly into Hot Pants’, “let me see it.”
Despite his tone, it’s less of a demand, more of a question. His face is just inches away; Hot Pants can feel his breath on their cheeks, can see each individual eyelash framing his cerulean eyes. It’s refreshing seeing him like this, they have to admit.
Hot Pants can feel their heartbeat in their throat as his eyes scan their face for an answer. Against their better judgment, they nod, “Fine.”
After all, it’s not like it’s actually theirs, right? It’s simply a temporarily crafted attachment. Surely there’s nothing to be ashamed of here. Hot Pants tugs at their waistband, shimmying out of their leggings and underwear just enough for the member to slip out. It looks quite silly, Hot Pants thinks.
Diego, on the other hand… this is the most attentive they’ve seen him in a while. Over this? He really must be feeling deprived.
“Well,” Diego breathes, “look at that,” he leans closer, “do you think it’s functional?”
Hot Pants tries to hold back a chuckle. He’s just being cheeky now, right?
But no, Diego looks at them again, eyes still wide with curiosity, “Why on earth are you laughing?”
“I’m not,” Hot Pants clears their throat, “not at you, anyway. This just feels absurd, is all.”
“‘Absurd’...” Diego repeats, blinking slowly, “maybe. Should we test it?”
“Diego,” Hot Pants openly laughs now, “I did what you asked, I fulfilled my part of the deal. I don’t understand why you’re so invested in this.”
The man licks his lips, “And you’re not?” he lifts an eyebrow, “I can smell your sweat, HP. You’re perspiring more than normal.”
Are they? Hot Pants suddenly feels naked.
“It’s the fire,” they rationalize, “and it’s humid, Diego.”
“Right…” Diego’s eyes narrow. They appear reptilian for a moment before he shifts his focus back down to Hot Pants’ lap, “So, shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Test it!” he snaps, gesturing wildly towards Hot Pants’ cock, “I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”
He’s waiting impatiently for a clear response again, Hot Pants knows. What’s the right move here? On one hand, refusing to let this go any further would save them some shame, however it would probably result in Diego being a brat all night about being told ‘no’ for once in his life. On the other hand, letting him do whatever he wants, allowing him to feed his curiosities, might mean he’d be less irritating for the rest of the night. Give Diego what he wants and he typically stays quiet and mostly palatable; that’s been the general rule of thumb that Hot Pants has followed since they’ve started traveling together.
“Sure, whatever,” Hot Pants sighs, letting their head lean back against the tree behind them, “if that’s what’ll help you sleep tonight.”
With that green light, Diego scoots closer, tilting his head to the side as he studies Hot Pants’ cock. He reaches for it with one hand, gently tracing a finger against the shaft.
That’s something they haven’t quite felt before. Hot Pants’ legs twitch and Diego immediately whips his head around to study their face.
“You felt that?” he asks.
“Well, yeah,” Hot Pants scoffs, still trying to wrap their mind around whatever it is that they just felt, “any skin I replace or heal with Cream Starter always maintains feeling. This is no different.”
“Interesting,” Diego turns around again, this time palming at Hot Pants’ cock, applying more pressure, “how’s that, then?”
Hot Pants’ breath catches in their throat, “It’s… weird.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Diego drawls, “see, you’re getting hard.”
Hot Pants feels slight shame bubble up inside them when they look down at themself. Diego’s ministrations are bringing about their intended purpose. Half-hardness aside, they’re going to do their best to maintain a calm disposition. But fuck, the way his hand wraps around them and gives a slight tug… It takes every atom of strength in Hot Pants’ body to choke down the sounds trying to squeeze past their throat.
“Well,” Diego chuckles, “could be bigger, but… It’ll do.”
“Will you quit being such a brat?” Hot Pants hisses, gripping the grass underneath them. They will not do anything to encourage this behavior, “You asked for a penis, I gave you one.”
Diego looks at them again, pouting, “S’pose you’re right.”
“Are you done, then? You’ve had your fun, I think that’s enough.”
“Seems you’re not done, HP,” he gives a tighter squeeze, and Hot Pants realizes they are in fact at full mast now, “just look at that.”
“This thing isn’t mine,” Hot Pants rationalizes, despite feeling every single thing that’s being done to the member in question, “it’s just temporary. Now quit playing around or else I’m getting rid of it, for real.”
Disappointment flashes across Diego’s face, but he doesn’t let go of the cock in his grasp, “Alright, fine, I’ll stop joking around.”
“Thank you,” Hot Pants breathes, unfortunately failing in another attempt to choke back a groan.
Diego definitely doesn’t miss this; he takes it as an opportunity to eye Hot Pants in an almost accusatory way. Quiet settles between them for several seconds. He must be attempting to catch them in another instance of failure.
“One last question,” he finally breaks the silence, “then I’ll leave it alone.”
“Fine,” Hot Pants sighs, “what?”
Diego sits up straight, relaxes his hold on Hot Pants’ cock (they definitely won’t admit how disappointing the loss of contact is) and narrows his eyes… it’s the look he always gives when he’s about to say something needlessly rude or gross.
“Will you fuck me with it?” Diego whispers, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He’s so close Hot Pants can hear it.
Hot Pants supposes the question was going to come up no matter what. But still, the way he says it so bluntly is a bit unexpected. Images flash through their brain - shots of Diego bent over, shoved against the dirt, screaming in pleasure and taking Hot Pants’ cock like the dick-hungry brat he is. Hot Pants gulps, briefly shutting their eyes as if that will do any good in getting rid of these thoughts.
“No,” Hot Pants replies, just as quietly as Diego’s previous question.
Diego groans, dramatically pitching forward and catching himself on Hot Pants’ thigh, “You’re killing me, HP… I haven’t had sex in so long.”
“Then do it yourself,” Hot Pants demands, leaning back farther against the tree.
The man whips his head around to face them again, blinking rapidly. What is he confused about? Hot Pants was clear in their response, despite it probably being a bad idea. But the heat settling in their lower half is in control right now. Any sort of clear-headed thinking is long gone.
“What?” Hot Pants snaps, “Go on, use it however you need to, but I’m not going to do anything, do you understand?”
“Is this some sort of prank?” Diego snarls in disbelief, “Are you trying to rile me up?”
“No?” Hot Pants is the one getting impatient now, “Just do what you need to do and let’s move on, I’m tired.”
Funny how, despite being so aggressively insistent on utilizing Hot Pants’ temporary member just moments ago, he’s now speechless. It’s likely he had expected to be told ‘no’ all night; he’d probably already made a long mental list of things to whine about in the absence of getting any action. Sometimes Hot Pants thinks he enjoys being denied things he wants.
Well, if he’s going to get any action then he’ll have to do it himself.
“Alright, I’m getting rid of it, then,” Hot Pants shrugs after several seconds of dead silence, reaching for Cream Starter again.
Diego quickly reacts, knocking the canister out of Hot Pants’ hand, “No,” he leans closer, “I’ll be using it, then. No take-backs, HP.”
“Then get on with it,” Hot Pants gestures towards their cock, currently losing arousal in the stale night air.
“Right,” Diego purses his lips, tapping his fingers against Hot Pants’ thigh, “I will, don’t be so pushy.”
“I’ll be whatever I want,” Hot Pants crosses their arms in front of their chest, “I’m the one doing you a favor here.”
Diego looks like he wants to shoot back some sort of insult, but clearly his carnal desires are taking priority. Instead he spits in his palm, grips Hot Pants again, and gives them a few more tugs. Hot Pants maintains decently successful composure. He’s not even looking at them anymore, anyway. His eyes are fixed on the cock in his hand, hungry and glinting slightly in the warm light of the fire in front of them.
After several moments of quiet, Diego licks his lips again and glances towards Hot Pants, “Can I suck you off?”
“I don’t know why you’re asking me, I told you that thing isn’t mine.”
“HP,” he grits his teeth, “I’m trying to be polite.”
Hot Pants can’t fault him for that. Maybe using that biting tone in response to his asking for consent was a bit rude. Still, they really wish he’d just get on with it.
“I understand,” Hot Pants sighs, “but I’m making it clear, right now: it’s your toy. Think of it that way.”
They think they hear him groan slightly as soon as they make that comparison. Truthfully, Hot Pants had said it for their own sake as well. If they can disconnect themself from this entire situation then they know they can sleep better tonight. Complicating their relationship with Diego isn’t something they want to do. But… well, maybe it’s a little too late for that. It’s not like it’s ever been super clear-cut anyway.
Diego scans their face, just for a second, and then he’s leaning down, breathing warmly against Hot Pants’ cock. They close their eyes, still desperately trying to tell themself that whatever sensations wrack their body in the next several minutes are not their own.
His plump, soft lips wrap around their head, gently dragging his tongue across their slit. Hot Pants chooses to focus on the bark digging slightly into their back. What kind of tree is it? They’d have to get a good look at the leaves to have any idea. It’s not like they’re very knowledgeable about trees, anyway. Is that an owl hooting somewhere in the distance? Did an insect of some kind just crawl across their foot or was it just the grass? And is that –
Diego’s head bobs up and down, taking most of Hot Pants’ cock in his mouth, letting it graze the back of his throat. Shit. They continue to focus their attention elsewhere, but they’re starting to lose potential distractions. When he lets go with a pop, Hot Pants chances a look, cracking open one eye.
Thankfully he’s still not looking at them; he’s clearly very engaged. And one of his hands – Hot Pants gulps at the sight – is currently sneaking its way underneath his waistband, very likely prodding at his ass in preparation for later.
Diego groans again, this time it sends a vibration through Hot Pants’ cock. He lithes his tongue up and down, adds his free hand into the mix instead of propping himself up. Alternatively, he lets his head lean against Hot Pants’ thigh, then opens his glossy eyes to look directly at them. Well that certainly doesn’t help Hot Pants in their efforts to remain neutral.
“HP,” he purrs, “fuck, I’ve needed this.”
“Enjoy it,” Hot Pants’ voice cracks slightly, “this won’t happen again.”
Is that completely truthful? Who knows. But berating the man, just for the hell of it, is more appealing than truth right now.
“A shame,” Diego whispers, patting his own cheek with their cock.
“Keep talking and I’ll put it away,” Hot Pants threatens, “I’ve had enough of your blathering.”
With that, Diego goes quiet again. He spits directly on the head of Hot Pants’ cock again, smears it around with his hand, and takes it between his lips. He’s pressing his ass back against his hand as well, pushing his pants down farther and farther until his cheeks are visible. Hot Pants is trying not to look, not to think about how satisfying it would be to spank him and call him pitiful.
Diego moans, unbridled and loud, then pulls back with another pop. His eyes cross as he stares at the cock with hunger filling his expression. Normally he’d be particular about avoiding getting his clothes dirty, but he’s laying down without a care, rubbing dirt against the front of his shirt and jodhpurs. Filthy, Hot Pants thinks, but still says nothing. Internally, they congratulate themself for remaining silent despite clearly feeling every adept ministation.
Spit trails between Diego’s lips and Hot Pants’ cock as he leans up again. He ignores the dirt caked on his pants, doesn’t bother to swipe it off as he sits up straight and fumbles to remove his boots. Why is he in such a hurry? Is he really that desperate to get fucked?
He looks at them again, something like desire for recognition spreading across his face. Hot Pants won’t give it to him. They stare blankly back at him, arms still folded, legs still mostly clothed and splayed out in front of them, back still leaning against the tree behind them.
Diego’s breath catches in his throat as he finally manages to plop both boots to the side. He makes quick work of his pants and underwear next, having no shame in revealing himself to Hot Pants who, besides seeing him without his sweater a few times, has never seen the man fully nude. He’s always taken care to treat his body like some sort of heavenly specimen. Unsurprisingly, the muscles in his legs are toned and strong, but his cock, currently fully hard and leaking, is probably just average.
Hot Pants allows themself to smirk and lightly chuckle. And oh the pout Diego gives in response is so satisfying, like music to their ears.
“I know you’re not poking fun at me right now,” he quietly snaps, bristling at the sound of Hot Pants’ laughter, “you should be grateful that you get to see me like this. Many people would pay to –”
“Be quiet,” Hot Pants interrupts, “I told you, if you keep talking, I’m putting your toy away. The lucky one here is you.”
That shuts him up. Another win for Hot Pants.
Awkwardly, Diego moves to stand above them, legs on either side of theirs. Hot Pants ignores how close his cock is to their face. They could grab it right now, aggressively tug on it and refuse to do anything else. But no, that would be giving him something that he probably wants. They keep their arms crossed, refusing to touch him.
Diego squats down, reaching behind himself and fingering his ass again. His breath is shaky and his eyes slightly roll back with pleasure. Hot Pants is hit by a sudden wave of regret; maybe they should have made the cock bigger. Anything to get Diego to work even harder to reach his own climax would be satisfying.
He takes Hot Pants in his hand again, leans down to let a trail of spit land on it and swirls the moisture liberally all along its shaft and balls. When he tries to reach out and rest his hand on Hot Pants’ shoulder, they verbally stop him.
“No no no,” Hot Pants tuts, “I’m not here right now, Diego. It’s just you and your toy.”
Diego whines again, eyeing Hot Pants with frustration. Still, he keeps his mouth shut. He knows what’ll happen if he doesn’t.
Without some kind of leverage, he almost stumbles while trying to line himself up with Hot Pants’ cock. Once it's finally made contact with his backside, he carefully lets his knees rest against the dirt. Diego pulls at one of his cheeks, attempting to spread himself open. Hot Pants can feel the tightness of his asshole grazing the head of their cock. It’s almost too much to bear.
Diego takes Hot Pants’ dick slowly, easing down and breathing heavily. He takes it well, they think, clearly this isn’t his first rodeo. Hot Pants bites back the temptation to chide him about this, reminding themself that they’re not going to give him the attention he very likely desires right now.
Then he bottoms out, exhaling in a moan and resting his palms against Hot Pants’ thighs. They could scold him for that, but they suppose it isn’t that big of a deal. Besides, if they opened their mouth right now they might emit some kind of noise that they’d instantly regret. Fuck, it feels good. Diego is tight and warm and the friction of it all is scarily intoxicating. Hot Pants opts to close their eyes again. Arms still crossed, they focus on the feeling of their own fingernails digging into the sleeves of their turtleneck.
“See?,” Diego groans, his breath ghosts across Hot Pants’ cheeks, “Didn’t take much, did it?” he teases, “Told you it could have been bigger.”
“I wouldn’t be talking right now, if I were you,” Hot Pants cracks their eyes open, trying to ignore how close Diego’s face is to theirs, “be grateful.”
“Ahh –” he grinds his hips and stutters, “right. Understood.”
“Is that all?” Hot Pants raises one eyebrow; maybe if they keep talking they’ll avoid focusing on every sensation coming from their cock and, in turn, avoid making any noises in response.
Diego mirrors them with an eyebrow lift of his own, grinding down again.
“That’s an odd way to express gratitude, Diego. Not very polite.”
“Oh,” he lightly laughs but it’s lost in a whimper, “thanks.”
His attitude is so repulsive. Would it kill him to abandon his self-importance for just a moment? Unable to hold themself back anymore, Hot Pants uncrosses one arm, quickly reaching forward to tightly grip Diego’s chin.
“Say thank you, Diego. I’m doing you a favor right now.”
Unfortunately the contact makes him moan again; Hot Pants can see his cock twitch in their peripheral vision.
“Thank you,” he finally breathes, voice euphoric, “thank you, HP.”
Hot Pants says nothing in return, just releases their grip on his face and gives it a light pat. Once again, Diego reacts positively, arching his back and attempting to chase Hot Pants’ hand with his face. But they’ve already crossed their arms again. He’s had a taste of attention, but he’s on his own again now.
Diego steadies himself on Hot Pants’ lap, slowly rising up and plopping back down. The motion draws a shaky moan out from his mouth before he bites his lower lip. Once he’s finally gotten accustomed to the cock inside of him, he bounces a few more times, staring with half-lidded eyes directed at Hot Pants.
When it comes to their attempts at remaining stone-cold, it’s a shame that his features are so annoyingly attractive. Maybe if he didn’t talk so much, or constantly demand praise from everyone in his path, he’d be a genuinely appealing man. Of course, it’s not like his looks have gotten him nowhere. He’s clearly been well-received by many people around the world, but is it for any reason outside of his good looks? His skills as a jockey, of course… but have many people gotten to see Diego Brando in such intimate and personal ways that Hot Pants has over the last several days?
That thought awakens a quiet confidence within them. How many people could say that they’ve brought Diego to a state such as this? Half-naked, hungrily fucking himself on a dick that he’s been told is just a plaything, whining and desperate for attention that, finally for once in his life, he’s not getting. How rare is a situation like this?
“Christ,” Diego suddenly moans, bottoming out again and tensing up on Hot Pants’ cock.
“Don’t say that,” Hot Pants mumbles; they’d been trying to avoid that particular subject ever since this situation had begun, “please.”
“Right,” he whispers, tone apologetic even though he’s not explicitly apologizing.
“Are you okay?” Hot Pants asks, concerned by his sudden lack of movement.
“Of course,” he spits, dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to pull his bangs out of his face, “just resting for a bit.”
“We don’t have all night, Diego,” Hot Pants reminds him, “hurry up.”
If he says something under his breath, they don’t fully catch it. Maybe it’s muffled by the action of him pulling his sweater up and off, tossing it to the side as he tousles his hair.
Diego shifts himself, opting to now lean back and anchor his hands on Hot Pants’ ankles. He knows what he’s doing here; he’s stunning. The fire gives his body a soft, warm backlight, accentuating the golden locks falling perfectly against his shoulders. His back is arched, chest fully exposed and on display for Hot Pants’ eyes to freely roam. They’d love to reach out and touch him, and that thought alone almost causes a noise to slip past their stern demeanor.
With a roll of his hips, Diego is groaning again, head falling backwards. One of his hands reaches for his own cock, grasping it and bucking up into the touch. He’s sufficiently coated with precum; Hot Pants tries to ignore the slick, obscene noises and how well they compliment the whimpers spilling out of Diego’s mouth.
Something is happening down below for them as well, but oddly enough Hot Pants doesn’t think this dick they’ve crafted is able to cum. The arousal they’re experiencing still just feels like it normally does – they’re almost positive that they’ve soaked through their underwear at this point. Hot Pants supposes that there’s pros and cons to this; they won’t have to worry about cumming before Diego does (and whatever sort of victory he’d inevitably claim over that) but it’s a shame that they won’t be able to deal with their own need for release until all of this is over.
Diego gives himself a few more tugs before running his palm upwards against his chest. His fingertips drag across his abdomen, his fingernails graze his nipples and he gives another shaky moan. Finally, his hand wraps around his own neck, squeezing enough for the noises he’s making to stop completely for a moment.
Hot Pants doesn’t know where to look. With every movement of his hips, his cock is slapping wetly against his abs. His soaked hand had left a trail up his chest; the moisture of it glistens slightly in the moonlight. The muscles in his thighs are tensed and squeezing around Hot Pants’ hips. And then there’s the grip he has on his own throat… Hot Pants is almost concerned by how aggressively he’s choking himself.
“Fuck,” he finally releases the hold he has on his neck and drags the hand through his hair again.
“Are you done?” Hot Pants feigns annoyance. At this point they’re begrudgingly enjoying the show, but they can’t abandon their resoluteness. That would ruin this entire moment.
“I’m, ah –” Diego’s hips stutter, but he ceases moving quickly enough to delay his climax, “almost, HP. Just… hold on.”
Hot Pants is starting to notice just how sweaty they are, especially where their arms are crossed. At this point they know they can’t simply chalk this up to the fire or the humidity or whatever other excuse they’d offered up during Diego’s teasing earlier. It’s too soon to abandon the facade, but it’s a shame that they can’t just take control and fuck the man until he can’t walk anymore.
Patience, Hot Pants thinks to themself.
Diego is moving to switch positions again, this time with his backside facing Hot Pants. His body trembles as he readjusts, letting their cock slowly fill him up again. His ass is so perfectly round, right in front of them, just aching to be spanked… but Hot Pants remains vigilant.
“Yes,” Diego groans, grinding down against Hot Pants’ waist and arching his back, “that’s it.”
Patting himself on the back? Hot Pants smirks; they almost feel as if they’re peeking in on something they aren’t supposed to see. Has he fully forgotten that they’re here? They vaguely wonder how much it would fuck him up if they’d pull Cream Starter out and get rid of their cock. How disappointed would he be? Would he fall to his knees and beg to have it back? Hot Pants doesn’t want to admit how appealing the idea is.
Hot Pants pulls themself out of their thoughts, realizing that they’re the one biting at their lower lip now. All this friction is driving them crazy, wishing they’d be able to feel it on their clit or inside of them instead of on some phantom attachment that simply can’t provide nearly as much pleasure. Diego is fighting for and chasing an orgasm at this point, but Hot Pants is quietly engaging in that same battle as well.
Watching Diego pound himself on their cock is starting to tear at Hot Pants’ composure. He looks incredible – now fully laying down with his chest resting on their legs. He’s wet with sweat, desperately clawing at the ground, and then he turns his head to look at Hot Pants. The sight of just how broken he looks right now combined with the rhythmic bouncing of his ass is just about to break Hot Pants’ last string of patience.
Feeling their heartbeat in their throat, Hot Pants meets his eye contact and opens their mouth to say something. “Up,” it comes out quiet at first, but they repeat themself, “get up.”
Diego’s hips slow; it’s possible that he didn’t quite hear or understand what Hot Pants just said. They’ll give him a physical cue, then. A quick slap to his ass and a vague upwards gesture is all it takes for him to sit up and pull off of Hot Pants’ dick.
“What –” he starts, voice cracking, but he’s cut off by Hot Pants’ hand colliding with his mouth.
“That’s enough,” Hot Pants manages through shaky breaths, “I’m taking control now.”
Diego moans from behind their palm, sitting up on his knees and awkwardly holding his arms out in front of him. Hot Pants is on their knees now, too. They tug Diego’s back to press flush against their chest, snaking their free hand around to toy with his balls. The way he whines in response is intoxicating.
Hot Pants keeps their palm against his mouth while attempting to sheath themself inside him again. After several attempts, they finally succeed and are met with tight heat; they hadn’t realized just how good this would feel when doing it themself. Diego attempts to wrap a hand around himself, but Hot Pants swats it away, huffing breath in his ear.
“This is what you wanted, right?” Hot Pants lets it all go, allows arousal to fully overtake them, “To get fucked?”
Diego moans approval from beneath their palm, tongue flicking out to lick at their fingers.
“Fine,” Hot Pants whispers directly in his ear, “bend over.”
Almost immediately, Diego thumps to the ground, digging his nails in the grass. His noises of pleasure are loud and uncaged now. He turns his head enough to look up at Hot Pants, his face is now stained from the dirt beneath him. Hot Pants wishes they could take a picture. Instead they take a good couple seconds to stare before pulling out and thrusting back into him.
“Shit,” Diego whimpers, eyes rolling back, “HP, please…”
“What?” Hot Pants continues thrusting, dragging their palms against his ass in an attempt to spread him further.
“Please don’t stop,” he begs.
Hot Pants didn’t have any intention to, but the fact that he’s begging them anyway is enough to fuel their ego. They give his ass a swift spank, relishing in the way his back tenses and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Look how desperate you are,” they tease him, “you couldn’t even manage to cum by yourself?”
“I wanted you,” Diego admits, spit running out of his mouth and mixing with the dirt underneath him, “I needed you to fuck me.”
“Pitiful,” Hot Pants ridicules, “of course you needed me to do all the work.”
When Diego doesn’t respond, they reach out to grab a fistful of his hair. That brings about the desired response – another loud moan that trails off into a desperate whine. Hot Pants tugs on it, lifts his head up enough for them to whisper in his ear again.
“Well? Are you going to cum or not? I don’t have all night, Diego.”
With that, without any touch, his cock twitches and spills out in the grassy dirt in front of him. Hot Pants thinks he may have moaned their name just now, but they’re a little too distracted by the uncomfortable heat pooling in their groin.
Hot Pants releases their hold on his hair, watching as he thumps back down against the ground. His breath is ragged, coming out in quick huffs. Hot Pants could take time with aftercare, but they have other things to attend to.
Luckily, Cream Starter is close enough for them to quickly reach for it and get rid of their temporary cock. They take a second to adjust to the lack of weight, then stand up to fumble their way out of their leggings and underwear. It’s best to take care of this before Diego can actually get up. He’s still laying there, completely whipped and exhausted.
Hot Pants settles themself against his back, giving a shaky breath at the warm contact. They dig their fingernails into his shoulders, probably pressing hard enough to leave marks. Diego doesn’t react much. He’s pliable and fully at Hot Pants’ disposal.
They’d like to enjoy the process a bit more, but they can’t help the quick pace at which they’re grinding against him. It’s desperate and needy and they’re glad he doesn’t have a view of it, both for the sake of their own shame and the necessity of keeping Diego’s ego in check.
The warmth of his skin and the sheen of sweat still coating his body provides the perfect mix against Hot Pants’ clit. They close their eyes and lean forwards, stuffing their nose against his woodsy-scented hair and breathing in deep. Fuck, he’s perfect like this.
A few more perfectly placed grinding motions brings Hot Pants to the brink. Their hips stutter and they bite at Diego’s neck in an effort to stifle any noises they might make. Whether it’s successful or not, they have no clue. They’re currently buzzing with pleasure, mind foggy and full of only thoughts about Diego. They should have known that engaging in all of this would only make them fall even further for him.
Without any more care, Hot Pants rolls over into the dirt next to Diego, catching their breath and staring up at the night sky. Diego moves next to them; they can feel his eyes piercing straight through them.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Hot Pants can’t help the sudden worry.
“Yes,” Diego scoffs, and when Hot Pants turns to look at him with concern, he elaborates, “I expected nothing less.”
“Hm,” Hot Pants tries to find a response, but they’re distracted by his flushed cheeks and parted lips, “okay.”
“I suppose I should say thank you,” Diego mumbles, “so: thank you for testing my little theory.”
They fight the urge to smack him. There he goes again, taking full credit for something he simply had a part in..
“Does this mean you’ll leave it alone now?” Hot Pants chides, allowing some sarcasm to compliment their words.
“Maybe,” Diego whispers, “but it’d be a shame to forget about all this, hm?” his arm sneaks towards them, palm pressing against their waist.
“I can’t stand you,” Hot Pants rolls to face him, completely unable to hide the smile on their face.
“Don’t lie,” Diego sneers.
“Shut up,” they mumble, aware of the way they’re both slowly sneaking closer to each other.
Diego huffs a quick breath; the warmth of it scatters across Hot Pants’ face, “Make me.”
Ugh. Whatever response they have prepared gets lost as they reach out to grip the back of Diego’s head, colliding his mouth with theirs.
The man hums against their lips, rolling on top of Hot Pants and straddling their waist. Is he already hard again? Needy bastard. His tongue is sneaking between Hot Pants lips; they meet him with the same enthusiasm. How is it that they’ve gone from almost zero physical interaction to now having fucked and making out, all in one night? Maybe it isn’t just Diego who’s had all these pent-up desires for so long.
Hot Pants can’t help it, there’s something about Diego Brando that scratches several itches for them.
Diego’s hips are grinding against Hot Pants; their previous wonder is confirmed, he’s hard and leaking again. Hot Pants is still recovering from their own climax, finding his speedy recovery rate to be quite unfair. The idea of making him cum over and over and over again all night, in countless different ways, is something they almost wish they could attempt. But who knows how late it is? The sun is likely to rise within just a couple hours, and neither of them have gotten sufficient rest.
Hot Pants breaks their kiss, catching their breath before whispering, “You’re so pathetic.”
Diego says nothing. His breath is labored again, spit coats his lips as he stares desperately at Hot Pants.
Reaching down between them, Hot Pants takes hold of his cock – something they’ve been wanting to do ever since watching him bounce desperately against their own. He’s so warm and wet. His hips stutter and buck up into their grip.
“I’m –” Diego chokes for a moment, “please, HP –”
They’re too mentally and physically exhausted to make him beg and fight for it again. Instead they grab a fistfull of his hair, tilting his head enough to sink their teeth into his neck. Diego gasps in response, pressing down harder against Hot Pants’ body. It makes stroking him off a bit more difficult, but at this point they aren’t having to do any of the work anymore. Diego is fucking up into their hand, digging his nails into their shoulders as a sort of anchor.
“Shit,” Diego suddenly breathes, turning his head to mumble against Hot Pants’ ear, “I’m cumming, I’m – “
He spills out into their hand, coating their turtleneck and a bit of their chin with hot cum. Hot Pants jumps in response, but keeps their hand where it is, allowing him to ride out his orgasm and enjoy the overstimulation. Finally he goes limp, resting his head in the crook of their neck.
Hot Pants releases their hold on his hair, opting to instead run their fingers through it as they press a kiss to his forehead. They aren’t sure how long they lay here like this, staring straight up at the stars, enjoying the sounds of Diego’s soft breaths and the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against theirs. If anything, fucking him like this is worth it just to get him to shut up.
“Now are you done?” Hot Pants finally breaks the silence, teasing him.
“Keep riling me up and the answer is ‘no’,” Diego lifts his head, then frowns when he sees the cum on Hot Pants’ chin, “ah, sorry,” he reaches out to wipe it off.
“It’s okay, I’ll just have to never do this again,” Hot Pants chides, “as punishment.”
“I sense that you’re joking, HP,” he pouts, knitting his eyebrows together in judgment, “don’t tell me you’re not.”
“We’ll see. Ask me in the morning.”
It’s as if that statement snaps Diego back to reality. He quickly rolls off of Hot Pants, groaning as he gets to his feet and swipes at his dirty knees with a scowl. Hot Pants won’t apologize for getting him so dirty; they know he enjoyed it, despite his look of disgust.
“Shall we?” he gestures to the fire, still lit but definitely smaller now than earlier.
“I have to do all the work around here, huh?” Hot Pants teases again, moving to sit up and cross their arms, “You really are pathetic.”
“Enough,” Diego pouts, bristling again at their words, “just help me clean up so we can sleep.”
“I’m kidding, Diego,” they stand, reaching for their clothes and pulling them back on. They’re trying not to laugh at the sight of the man in front of them, standing fully nude and pointing to their campfire, “get dressed and let’s get to bed.”
Unfortunately, even after fucking his brains out and driving him to pure desperation, he’s quickly shifted back to his typically inflated self-importance. So the test was unsuccessful, then. Or maybe… Hot Pants smiles to themself. Maybe it’s not unfortunate or unsuccessful. They just know, for future reference, what it really takes to drive Diego to that point all over again. And Hot Pants supposes it’s certainly not a bad deal. Might be worth another shot, hopefully sooner rather than later.