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"Your brother and Lyle--" Lasse starts, but cuts off into a groan before he finishes the sentence. Allelujah's good enough with his hands that Lasse spends the next few long moments in blissful silence, except for the less-than steady breaths he draws in through his open mouth. And maybe a little pained ah every so often, because no back rub is complete without at least a little bit of pain.
"What about Halle and Lyle?" Al asks after what seems must be twenty minutes but, when Lasse checks the clock, ends up only being two.
Lasse summons up enough give-a-fuck to force the words out past the lump of pleasure that's slowly melting over to desire in his throat. "They're, ummm. Dating. Totally."
Al snorts out a soft laugh and Lasse can see him shaking his head in the reflection of the blank television screen. "Dating is when you take someone out someplace. What Lyle and Halle are doing--that's fucking."
"Whatever it is, they're doing a great deal of it," Lasse mutters. Allelujah's hands don't rub so hard for a moment, just tracing over the muscles of Lasse's back, which makes it much easier to talk. "I wouldn't mind, except my room shares a wall with Halle's and Halle's bed is apparently against that wall. So."
"There's only so many times you can hear 'fuck me, Hallelujah' without it getting old?" Al asks, voice filled with warm amusement.
Lasse nods, stretching his arms up to cross over the pillow and laying his head on top of them. "That, and I really don't need to know what kind of kinky shit those two get up to."
Allelujah laughs, a little louder than last time. "I take it Hallelujah makes him ask for it?"
"With details," Lasse says, the words coming out a growl as Al's fingers dig in again. God, but it feels good.
"Good to hear some things don't change," Allelujah says, tone reflective.
Lasse, not for the first time, really wonders about what type of relationship those two had. Have, maybe. He decides, when Allelujah straddles his back--to get a better angle, because you're really tight, Lasse--that he should probably worry less about Hallelujah and more about the twin whose hands are currently all over him.
"Hey, I didn't say," Lasse starts, but much like earlier ends up cutting off, this time into a moan that he stifles against his arm. It's not the massage--it's the way Al's hips settle against Lasse's ass and Lasse's crotch is ground down into the couch. Fucking friction.
Al's fingers dig in once more, the pressure on Lasse's hips letting up a little with Allelujah's leaning forward. Lasse's eyes flutter shut and he tries very hard to enjoy this in a non-erotic context, but Al doesn't make it easy. He wonders if Al knows what it does to him when the heels of his palms press down against the base of Lasse's shoulder blades like that, long fingers curling around Lasse's sides.
"Al," he whispers, then bites his lip when Al leans forward and presses his hips down, ever so helpfully.
"Hmm?" Innocent. Faux-innocent. That's what he is. All this time Lasse's seen Al as the good twin, the naïve one, when... the thought doesn't follow through to the end, not with Allelujah's breath over his ear. "You rang?"
"What're you doing?" Lasse's voice only shakes a little, and he's fairly sure that the continued whispering covers it up.
"Well, I was under the impression that I was giving you a massage. And you were enjoying it on a few different levels, so... I decided to make it better."
Right, Lasse thinks, gasping as Allelujah's fingernails dug into his side and raked downward--not hard enough to break skin, not even close, but possibly enough to leave a red mark for a couple hours.
Al's tongue traces around the shell of Lasse's ear, wet and warm. "Is that okay?"
The only thing Lasse can do in response is whimper and hope Al goes for his neck, next. He turns his head to the side a little, tilting his head away from Al, and Al (with a soft chuckle) gets the idea. Lasse spends the next however long in a place where the only thing that matters are Al's tongue and lips and teeth and the way they're in contact with Lasse's neck. He doesn't even know how long, but it's long enough that he's panting in short, quick breaths as he grinds against the couch when Allelujah finally pulls away.
"You really like it when people pay attention to your neck, huh?" Al's voice is lower than it was before, husky in a way that only makes Lasse grind his hips down more.
Good twin, yeah right. Well, not that this is particularly bad, it's just not at all the somewhat innocent ideal that Lasse had had in mind for Al.
"What about me, Lasse? Don't I get any attention?" That pseudo-hurt voice almost makes Lasse feel bad for a second.
Then he remembers which one of them is pinned to the couch and arches backward against Al, biting down on his lip as he does. The choked sound that escapes from Allelujah's mouth is fucking priceless, even moreso when it smooths out and progresses to a needy moan as Lasse continues to arch back against Al.
"W--" Lasse tries, but his breath escapes him as Al reaches down and around and squeezes his cock and, fuck, talk about taking the bull by the horns. It totally throws what he was going to ask into the way-back of the 'null and void' section, too, so he just moans and does his best to roll onto his back without displacing Al. There's not really an easy way to do it on the narrow couch, even less so when Allelujah's lips end up pressed against his as he's half of the way there.
"S-stop," he gasps into the kiss. He wants the opposite. Al needs to jack him off, now. But, no. Short term stalling for more pleasure in the long run. The unsteady breaths he drags in remind him of just how difficult it is to bear that thought in mind.
"Wanna fuck me?" Al asks, so much more composed than Lasse is that it's actually a little scary.
Lasse just nods wordlessly. Allelujah's way, way too pretty when his lips are wet and parted as he looks down at Lasse with his cheeks stained pink. Saying no is impossible.
He's still nodding when Al scrambles off of him without another word, taking hold of Lasse's arm by the wrist and dragging them toward Al's room. Lasse wonders why not his own room, and then remembers: Oh, right, Halle's room right next door and wafer-thin walls. Neil is out, too. Laundry? Groceries? Work? Lasse can't remember why, but it's not particularly important except for the vague hope that Neil doesn't come home in the middle of anything and hear them. He vaguely recalls seeing Neil and Al kissing in the kitchen last week, and then there was the time he caught Lichty getting fucked against the--
"Nobody else is home for a while," Al says, like everything Lasse's been thinking was written all over his face. Who knows, maybe it was. He does feel a hint of heat in his cheeks at the thought that he's so easy for Al to read, but covers it up by grabbing the front of Al's shirt and kissing him once they're safely inside Al's room with the door locked.
Al is a good kisser. Not at all rushed, even though the press of their lips is urgent, paying close attention to Lasse's reactions and maneuvering them toward the bed without faltering in the kisses at all. So much tongue and just the hint of teeth, and Al's hands unbuttoning Lasse's pants before he pushes Lasse back onto the bed. Lasse lets himself fall, grinning breathlessly from the kisses.
"So how--"
"I'm riding you," Al says in a tone that doesn't allow argument. Not that Lasse would argue, oh no, not when Al pulls off Lasse's jeans and underpants, followed by his own. He steps to the side for a moment, rummaging through the nightstand for something.
Shifting on the bed so that he can see better, Lasse is treated to Allelujah's profile. Smooth Asian features mixed with eastern European, nicely shaped but not excessive muscles, and cock standing out from his body in a firm line that makes Lasse think about maybe blowing Al. At least until Al turns and looks at him, anyway, grinning and crawling onto the bed, leaning over Lasse for a moment and then down to kiss him. For a moment.
"Watch me," he says, softly, and climbs on top of Lasse again.
For a moment, Lasse wonders exactly what he's going to be watching, but then--as Al's hands snake behind his back, fingers shiny and dripping with lubricant--he remembers the 'ride me' bit and remembers what usually comes before the riding.
Prep. Delicious prep. Al's head going back and his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat and the way his breath catches when his fingers slide inside of him, prep. Lasse tries to arch up, get a little friction on his cock, make Al move this along because he knows damn well that if someone's in practice little-to-no prep is required and with as much as he's seen and heard hits of Al and sex, Al must be in practice.
(And why, some absent part of his brain asks, do you still consider him innocent?)
But Al's free hand comes around to paint a messy splotch of lube on Lasse's lower belly as Al holds Lasse's hips in place, giving him a sharp look. Or as sharp of a look as Al can muster while he finger fucks himself.
"I thought older guys were supposed to be-- mmmm, god, that feels good-- patient? Hold still. You can do that, right?"
Lasse's eyes slide shut for a moment and he nods. Patient. Right. It's not his fault Al decides to give him the first sex he's had in a little under six months. That's a hell of a long dry period, for him. Although Al is exquisite enough that he knows he'd probably be just the same even if he'd had sex last week, so. Not like it matters.
"Good," Al says, voice going low and husky. "I'll, ah, I'll. M-mmaaake it worth your while."
He can't see Al's fingers sliding in and out of his ass, but he can see everything else. The muscles in Al's arm moving, the way the insides of his thighs shake just a little as he leans back in a way that suggests he's trying to get his fingers in deeper. Al's mouth hanging open, gasps and pants and moans and dirty words mixing together in a way that makes Lasse's cock throb. He's always been an audial person, and Al either knows or just loves to make noise. Either way, it just works for Lasse in a way that the hurried sexual encounters that defined his sex life before he quit going to parties never did.
"Please," he finds himself asking, without prompt. "Al. Allelujah. You're so-- you're so fucking. Just. Just goddamn want you, please. Let me fuck you."
Al looks down at him, mismatched eyes gone dark, and Lasse realizes that those words were exactly what he was waiting for. Devious bastard. Harmlessly devious, but devious none the less.
"I want you," Lasse continues, smile finding its way onto his lips. "I want your ass around my cock. I want--"
The way Al's fingers grasp his cock is almost clinical, a distinct contrast to the heat in every line of Al's body. Al's fingers are still inside of himself when Lasse's cock presses in as well, like holding himself open and he wishes to fuck that he could see that. The sounds are good enough, though, the way Al's breath hitches and then the low, broken-sounding moan as Al pulls his fingers free and lets Lasse's cock impale him with no help other than gravity. So tight.
Holding his hips still is a challenge, but one that Lasse surmounts. His hands, however, come up automatically, settling on Al's hips like trying a new pair of trainers on for feel. It's not a bad fit. Then Al leans forward and kisses him and he thinks it's an absolutely fantastic fit.
"You--" Al cuts off into a moan, his fingers digging into Lasse's shoulders. "Yooo-oooooh, god, I love your cock, Lasse."
Lasse, who has always known that while he's pretty normal lengthwise, he's above average when it comes to girth, grins. And moans, because Al's moving slowly now, rocking back and forth and making this low, pleased, humming sound.
"Sofuckinggood," Al breathes, head tilting back as he places his hands on Lasse's chest and rolls his hips like--like something that rolls its hips.
Lasse's fingers dig in a little and he can't hold still anymore, pushing up with a slow thrust into that welcoming body. That moaning, welcoming body.
The sound of bodies shifting on top of fabric becomes the sound of flesh on flesh, soft at first, then louder once they both catch the rhythm of things. Al must, must know that Lasse likes sounds because he's never this loud with anyone else. Never this non-stop, with dirty words broken up and punctuated by cries of pleasure instead of the other way around.
Not that Lasse minds. Oh no, he doesn't mind, not at all, not in the least. Not when he can hold Al's hips and fuck up into him, seeing the way Al's neglected cock bounces with the motion and thinking serves you right.
"Oh, oh, Lasse, fits so, ah rightlikethat, oh god and your ffffffingers, so c-c-cloo-oo-ooohgodthere!" The increasingly desperate tone of Al's voice not at all accompanied by any requests that Lasse touch him is amazing, in some sense. In another sense it's making Lasse become unhinged rapidly, speeding up too much and losing the rhythm as the pressure builds. So good, too good, and Al won't shut up and if he keeps making noises like that--
But Al doesn't shut up, not even when Lasse growls it, giving a particularly vicious thrust. It doesn't help anyway, not when the way Al's moan cuts off as his head bounces with the jerk of their bodies is just as hot as the scream that follows. Al does scream, loud and long, fingers scrambling to grip something--Lasse's chest, no, his arms, no, his wrists, no, behind him, no, and his fingers are digging into Lasse's thigh and his back arched when he comes.
It's impossible to not come then, with Al tight around him and the sound and the sight, such pink cheeks and a brief, wanton gaze before Al's eyes slide shut and. Too much. Lasse comes. He's not conscious of what sound he makes, but it's probably just as loud as Al. He finds it difficult to care when all of that delicious pressure is finally unwinding and he's coming and coming.
Al collapses against Lasse's chest. He's heavy, total dead weight, and Lasse grunts and shoves him off just enough that both of them can be comfortable.
"We are not dating."
"Mmmm." The vibrations of Al's agreement reverberate through Lasse's chest in a not entirely unpleasant way.
"No, seriously. We're not."
"I know," Al says, sleepily. "Welcome to the loose confederacy of gay fucking."
Lasse stares blankly. He guesses his silence must be clue enough to his shock.
"The name was Halle's idea. Everyone else's in on it--you're last."
Still not sure whether to laugh or cry, Lasse slides his fingers lazily through Allelujah's hair.
On one hand, this means lots of gay sex. Lasse has always considered himself straight with a slight attraction to men who, like Allelujah, are too goddamned pretty for their own good. He's always been fairly secure in this sexuality, as it's something he has had thoroughly proven to him both drunk and sober.
On the other hand, in theory this means copious amounts of easy sex with his (pretty, for the most part) housemates whenever he wants.
He finds it very difficult to mind that idea, and pulls Al up for a kiss.