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Frank just loves Robby's back.
His shoulders are set strong and wide, muscles that weave together to fill up a broad frame, softened by the years. There's hair dusting across shoulder blades and a mole that sits right to the left of his spine and another on the small of his back. And it's rare that he ever keeps his shirt off while he's walking around the house – Frank mourns such a fact, ever an enthusiast of seeing more skin –, but occasionally, when he does, Frank catches all the way those hidden muscles ripple under soft flesh and it makes his mouth water.
It's no different now, when they're laying in bed, chatting under the glow of a late afternoon sunset after a day off where they've done little besides roll around the sheets and enjoy each other's company. Robby's laying on his stomach, pillow hugged under his head, voice low and eyelids droopy. He's wearing only his boxer briefs, because miraculously, Frank has convinced him not to put more clothes back on since this morning.
And Frank is looking. Ogling, really. Because he can do that without having to avert his eyes or hide how it makes him feel, nowadays.
“You're staring,” Robby accuses into the lulled silence of conversation, one eyebrow raised.
Frank takes it as an invitation to scoot closer, pressing himself to Robby's side, blue eyes sparkling against warm sunlight. Robby's other eyebrow joins the first when he feels the undeniable weight that gets trapped against his hip.
“Oh? What happened there?” He teases, wide grin crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“I was thinking about how I love your back,” Frank sighs, draping an arm across said beloved back and peppering kisses across Robby's bicep.
Frank never puts his clothes back on, if he can help it. Whenever they have a day off and nothing to do, he keeps the curtains drawn and flaunts his years of athleticism around the house, much to Robby's satisfaction. Which means the way his dick is halfway to a full hard-on now is pretty noticeable against the thin fabric of Robby's underwear.
“You made yourself hard looking at my back?” Robby's tone is mocking, but there's an edge of disbelief to it, too. He brings the arm between them down so he has a clearer path on his way to leaning forward and catching Frank's lips in his.
Frank sighs into it, shifting to press himself even closer, kissing him back with an urgency that the otherwise sleepy moment did not foresee.
“It's a good back,” he argues, and revels at the way Robby's chuckle washes against his cheek. He flutters his eyes open and sees the tips of Robby's ears turning pink. “A great back, even. You have no idea.”
Frank's hand traces up his spine, paints fingertips across the expanse of skin that he adores. He never takes this for granted.
Robby leans in to kiss him again and Frank's mouth falls easily open under his careful ministrations. He kisses him the way that always drives Frank up the walls, licking into his mouth like he wants to savor it, beard dragging against his chin with a delicious scratch. He pauses, presses a kiss to the corner of Frank's lips just to tease him, before his tongue is obscenely fucking into his mouth, like a memory of all they've already done and a promise for more, and all Frank can do is shiver against him and let out a happy little sigh.
Robby's hand catches his chin to push him away, and Frank still tries to chase after his mouth desperately.
“I don't know if I can go again,” he murmurs, apologetic. His thumb caresses softly over a chin dimple as brown eyes wash over every feature of Frank's kiss drunk face.
“Okay,” Frank nods. That's the reality of having a high sex drive and dating an older man, he never holds it against him. “Raincheck.”
But Robby's eyes are still on him, his hand still holding his chin. There's something unmistakably sweet and wanton in his gaze, and Frank feels goosebumps raise down his arms as he holds his breath and waits, like dumb prey. Robby seems to think only for a moment longer, before they're kissing again.
And it's filthier than before. Robby crashes against his lips, suddenly insistent, takes Frank's gasp as an opportunity to claim his mouth again. Frank all but mewls, noise muffled against his boyfriend's tongue, fingertips digging harmlessly into broad back. Robby kisses him, and kisses him, until it's clashing teeth, until they're panting into each other's mouths, until it's enough to get Frank's cock to stand to full attention and he's squirming against Robby's side.
“You're so pretty when you're needy like this.” Robby pulls away just enough to speak, his voice a purr that goes straight to Frank's gut and makes his head spin. His hand has left its grip on his chin, now it ghosts knuckles over Frank's throat, thumbs at the curve of his jaw. “Can you do it just like this? Do you want to?”
Frank has no idea what he's suggesting, because he has a hard time getting his brain to function besides the very primal please shove your tongue down my throat again thoughts on the forefront. He nods anyway, biting back a moan like he has any of his dignity to keep.
It's not unusual that Robby gives him a helping hand (pun intended) even when he's not in the mood himself. Frank has no problem taking care of his needs by himself, and a quick jerk off in the bathroom is nothing to be ashamed of, every once in a while. But it's often that Robby still insists to be involved, hands and mouth working to get Frank into a crumbling mess under him.
It's not so often, however, that the older man has such a glint in his eyes about it.
“Come on, then,” Robby coaxes, his smile sweet before he leans in for another kiss, “get off just like this.”
Frank lets out a content sigh and presses himself closer, writhes against Robby's clothed hip and revels at the small friction it gets him. He can absolutely jerk off here in bed. The hand previously on Robby's back is now shoved between them, fitting down to wrap a fist around his own cock and start pumping.
“Can I tell you what to do?” Robby asks, oh-so-sweetly and full of promises.
“Yes,” Frank breathes, without hesitation.
“Then don't use your hands,” his grin borders on cruel.
Frank splutters, but his hand has obediently stopped.
“What is that supposed to mean?” His hand retreats, twitches instead against a broad back again.
Robby feels the shift and gives him an approving hum that makes Frank shiver in anticipation. “Don't use your hand,” he repeats, and then scoots closer on the bed. His legs part a little, which presses his hip further into Frank's cock and makes him hiss. “Get creative. Hump my leg like a good boy, if you must.”
Frank feels his entire body shudder with it.
He can do that, though. He'll do anything Robby asks, he thinks, sometimes. He slumps his forehead against Robby's shoulder and whines as he grinds his hips forward, knowing this is as good friction as he'll get now. The poor pressure and dry drag of fabric and skin against his sensitive shaft makes him hiccup. “This is a little ridiculous," he murmurs, brat streak a mile wide, but he's already panting.
Robby knows it, too, the smirk evident in his tone when he coos, “be a good boy and you can come on my back.”
Frank gasps on his next grind forward. He pictures white ropes coloring all the way up to wide shoulders and he feels something feral in his chest with it. Maybe he doesn't mind dry humping like a desperate thing if that's the outcome he gets. Maybe this is brilliant, actually.
Robby has a way of finding new things that make him impossibly hornier.
“There you go,” Robby praises, when Frank focuses on his movements. “Good boy.”
Frank whines and digs his fingertips into Robby's back.
It's not nearly as much pressure and friction as he wishes he was getting. He grinds forward again and again, drags the length of his cock up and down, trapped between the side of Robby's hip and his own abdomen and he feels dizzy with it. Pleasure coils in his core and precome marks dark droplets against Robby's navy blue boxer briefs and when he looks down at the sight, he can't help but moan.
He feels like a teenager again. When dry humping used to be the height of a date night and coming in your pants was a rite of passage. Except whatever he was feeling back then, going out with girls who were perfectly great and beautiful, could not begin to compare to whatever he feels here.
His noises grow frustrated, little puffs of air that escape his lungs forcefully with every grind forward.
“I know you can do it,” Robby offers, his voice still low, lazy, half-muffled by the way his face is pressed into the pillow. “Put your leg around me.”
Frank's breath hitches, and he does. Drapes a leg across Robby's hips and hooks himself against him. There's a shift of angle, much needed added pressure when he grinds forward this time. A moan ripples out of him, desperate sound from the back of his throat to match the way he humps against Robby.
Sweat starts to pool in his hairline with the effort. There's something unexplainably hot about the way Robby still looks so unaffected by it all. Like some ancient statue of a beautiful Greek god carved from marble, a modern day Dionysus on display, all for Frank. The soft curve of his back rises and falls with even breaths, his gaze ever so lazily following Frank over his shoulder. Beautiful and unmoving, as Frank curls all around him, whining and moaning as he chases his own orgasm without any grace or finesse.
He feels wretched, dirty, he feels like a bitch in heat.
He feels like he's being good for Robby. He feels deliciously much closer to his goal.
“Is that better?” Robby coos, just a little condescending. Frank chokes out a sound that sounds like another moan and nods and picks up his pace. “Good.”
Praise washes over him like new waves of pleasure crashing to the shore. God, it's pathetic, how he could probably come from Robby's voice praising him alone, the physicalities a mere secondary source of pleasure at this point. He just wants to be talked through it, wants him to keep giving him directions. The dry friction against his cock is starting to sting, but it's a distant burn on the back of his mind.
“Slower,” Robby suddenly commands, sweet as ever, but sharp. “Real nice and slow.”
Frank's hips stutter on their pace. His cock throbs with the sudden change. When he grinds forward next, long and slow, it makes him sob against the back of Robby's shoulder.
It's sweet, sweet torture. It's simultaneously better and worse, when he languidly drags his cock up and down Robby's hip, his hooked leg making sure he's pressed impossibly tight against him.
“Good?” Frank begs, his voice coming out shaky.
“So good,” Robby sighs, and Frank trembles with the received approval. “You're being so good for me. Look at you, just humping me like I told you to. Does it feel good, baby?”
Robby's arm curls back behind him and he fits a hand into Frank's hair. He mewls at the new point of contact between them and nods eagerly.
“Feels really good,” he breathes out, his words slurred against the bare skin of Robby's shoulder.
Now that his arm has moved backwards, his back shifts with newly presented dips of muscles and it reminds Frank of how this started in the first place. He whines another filthy noise out as he drags his lips across Robby's warm skin, exploring as far as he can without losing the hand in his hair and without losing the rhythm of his now long, slow thrusts between them.
His tongue darts out, licks adoring patterns against dustings of hair. He almost wishes he had his mouth busy with something else.
“Angle yourself,” Robby coaxes, tugging at his hair. “Come on, fuck yourself against me, baby. You can do better.”
A cry leaves Frank's lips, desperate to please, to oblige. He's panting so hard he feels light-headed. But he does as he thinks Robby would want. He moves, angles himself, puts both of his thighs to good use until he's supporting himself more above Robby. One leg still hooked around him in a vice grip, forehead still tipped against the back of a shoulder, where Robby's hand keeps petting his hair.
When he adjusts himself and grinds forward this time, his cock is dragging squarely against one of Robby's ass cheeks.
The sight alone could drive him insane.
“Nice and slow,” Robby reminds him, cruelly.
Frank does his best to stick to that. Nice and slow, and with every press forward, with every drag back, a louder noise is escaping his lips. Robby hums in appreciation, a silent praise that makes Frank's hips stutter forward on their own accord before he shivers with the force necessary to keep it slow.
His entire body feels burning hot, and Robby is a cool presence beneath him. His hand pets Frank's hair gently, calmly. A stark opposite to the eagerness Frank feels.
“Back and forth, there you go,” Robby drawls, timing his words with the rhythm of Frank's thrusts. “Like when you're fucking yourself back on me, hm? That's always so nice.”
Frank lets out a shuddering whimper and nods.
He imagines Robby's cock or his fingers fucking into him, spreading him open nice and slow, until all he can do is fuck himself back. He feels himself clench back against nothing on the next movement of his hips, but he cants them back anyway, feeds the thought of fucking himself back and then forward when he grinds against Robby.
“Yeah, just like that,” Robby groans. “So pretty for me. You like that? Picturing I'm fucking you?”
Frank moans out a dirty sound as his response and nods against the hand in his hair again. He pictures the delicious drag of Robby's cock inside of him, how full he'd fill. He remembers how empty he feels now when he drags his hips back, and it makes him let out another cry.
He feels so desperate, he feels desolate. He feels again like a creature in heat, begging to be fucked, humping Robby to get any relief he can like a filthy, selfish thing.
“Just a little more, nice and slow, baby,” Robby coaxes, and Frank almost wants to cuss him out for it.
But it feels torturously delicious. He drags his hips back, friction dragging against his cock, picturing how badly he wishes Robby's cock was back there. Then he pushes forward, fucks himself on the tight space between Robby and himself, and something in his core tightens with every movement.
He shifts a little, grinds forward slowly again, and this time the head of his cock catches just so against a seam on Robby's briefs. The rough line of fabric presses just right into his slit, pulsing pleasure straight into his brain. It makes his hips stall for that half second, his cock bouncing when he drags it forward next, and the sound that comes out of him is something vulgar, high-pitched and drawn out.
“Good boy,” Robby gasps.
Frank does it again, and again, and again, angling his thrusts just so. Picturing a cock he can fuck back onto, then fucking forward until his sensitive head catches against seam and the sudden tug on his cock makes him cry out every time.
It feels endless, it feels excruciating. Slow thrust after thrust that sends him reeling. He pants and moans and sobs against Robby's shoulder.
“Please, please,” he finally finds the words again, just enough to beg. His body shudders on his next grind forward, words interrupted by another obscene sound from his throat as his mouth hangs open. “Please, please let me go faster, please.”
“Shh, you're okay,” Robby hums, petting at his hair again. He draws out his decision for three more desperate moves of Frank's hips before he says, “okay, come on. You can hump my leg again like a good boy. Make yourself come, baby.”
Frank doesn't need to be told twice. He chokes out his gratitude in another moan before his hips are picking up their pace.
It's desperate, it's graceless. He humps against Robby's ass hard and fast, chasing much needed friction, paying no attention to the painful sting of his cock. He keeps Robby pinned beneath him, leg hooking him in place, and he fucks forward, again feeling like a bitch in heat until his cries are filling up the room, until the headboard is shaking with a relentlessly fast rhythm. He's coming undone and Robby continues as a solid presence beneath him.
“Good boy,” Robby says again, and Frank's moans turn higher pitched.
He's close, he's so fucking close and it's so painful. Stars bloom behind his eyelids. Robby tugs at his hair and the burn and the pleasure buildup all in one make his eyes water.
“I'm close, baby, I'm close,” he whines – begs, really – between panted breaths, between sounds he can't control anymore.
“Come on, baby,” Robby hums. “You've been such a good boy, fucking yourself for me. So pretty. Come for me. Make a mess now, and maybe I'll let you clean it up.”
Frank's hips lose any sort of rhythm, fucking themselves forward by their own accord.
He blinks his eyes open and sees Robby beneath him, soft back waiting to be painted, boxer briefs stained with his precome. Frank's cock red and desperate as he fucks against him. It catches on that rough seam one last time and he comes, entire body writhing as he lets out a guttural shout that his neighbors would later complain about.
He fucks himself through it, shaky half-hearted thrusts against Robby's ass as he shoots ropes up to his shoulder blades, moaning and gasping for air. His orgasm works through him in blissful long waves.
It makes him feel warm from the tips of his ears to his toes.
Robby pets his hair and hums appreciatively, waits until he feels Frank's body stop convulsing on top of him. “Good,” he declares, at last.
It's a moment longer before Frank stops seeing stars blocking his vision, before he can have any coherent thought back in his brain. He takes a deep breath and lets Robby's hand in his hair ground him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Frank eloquently puts, voice hoarse now that he's found it again.
Robby laughs, the sound soft and quiet and beautiful. “Still think it's ridiculous?”
Frank huffs, refusing to give him an answer when the aftershocks of his orgasm are still making him feel pliant and soft and wonderful.
He blinks his eyes back open, unsure of when he closed them in the first place, and pulls back to marvel at the masterpiece that brought them here.
He whines at the sight and Robby sends him a puzzled look over his shoulder.
“It looks as hot as I could've hoped,” Frank pants, ghosting a fingertip across a clean patch of skin.
He'd take a picture of it, if it weren't for the fact that last time he tried to bring any sort of camera into their bed, Robby made it clear it was a resounding no. He wills the image to be burned into his brain, forever added to his spank bank for whenever he needs it.
And then he leans forward, flattens his tongue, and licks a strip of it clean, warm and slow right up the slope of Robby's spine, between his shoulderblades. He tastes bitter on his own tongue, and his cock gives a valiant twitch at the taste.
Robby sighs shakily beneath him. “Fuck, Frank,” he murmurs. “So hot.”
Frank hums, and moves back up to press their lips together. Robby's tongue rushes into his mouth like he's trying to chase whatever taste Frank got of himself, and he just about growls when he successfully finds it.
“So hot,” he repeats, hand finding Frank's chin again. The brown-eyed gaze full of awe that he covers Frank's face with makes the younger man's cheeks turn pink. “Did you like that?”
Frank nods, feeling blissfully fucked out and dizzy with it. “It was great.”
He noses against Robby's shoulder and slumps onto his side, limbs suddenly hot and heavy. Robby shifts closer and ghosts kisses across the bridge of his nose and his eyelids, so sweetly that it makes something in his chest tighten.
“I'll go get us cleaned up,” at last, Robby offers.
Before he can move, Frank is whining, hooking a leg around him again, a hand clawing at his hip. “No, let me look at my masterpiece a little longer, come on.”
Robby laughs incredulously, but obliges, settling back down onto his pillow. “You're ridiculous.”
“I'm an artist,” Frank protests.
“A backshot artist? Right.”
Robby's skeptical, but Frank couldn't be more serious, really. The sun has gone completely down, leaving them only with the gloom of nearby streetlights filtering through the curtains to keep them from the complete dark. His streaks of come are still spread across Robby's back, the man's boxer briefs still stained. His body is still feeling the undeniably potent haze of a post-orgasm. Much better than anything he could've achieved with his closed fist in the bathroom, of course.
He doesn't want to disturb this peace, just for a moment longer.
“It's a great back,” Frank repeats, dimples popping out with his grin.
Robby rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears are turning pink again.