Stan leans down and kisses him immediately. Kyle’s lips are soft and vaguely cherry-tasting, implying he put on chapstick before this. Stan sucks gently on his lower lip, and Kyle parts his lips without hesitation; his hands slide up from Stan’s pecs to squeeze at his biceps, pushing their bodies closer together. Stan wants to touch him all over, his hands slipping down his body, squeezing at his small waist and then his ass; Kyle moans, wantonly.
“Come on,” Kyle breathes, and Stan fumbles with the body wash, lost for words; he pours more out onto his fingers, and Kyle hikes his leg up. Stan catches it, his fingers wrapping around his thigh, and when he catches Kyle watching him with lustful, hungry eyes, he has to wonder if he’s dreaming. He pushes two of his fingers between Kyle’s ass cheeks, and he feels his hole tense against his fingertips before relaxing; he starts off by only pushing one in, sure that two wouldn’t fit without proper prep.
Even with just one finger, Kyle is tight; he’s breathing slowly, heavily, and Stan briefly worries that he’s hurting him. He opens his mouth to ask, and Kyle shakes his head, like he’s reading his mind; he bears down on Stan’s finger, forcing his knuckle past his rim, and Stan absolutely aches to feel that on his cock. Stan needs to kiss him, his free hand tightening on his thigh, and he leans in once more to nip at his lower lip; Kyle responds eagerly, and Stan feels him lose a little more of his tenseness. He sighs as Stan’s second finger prods at his hole, his tongue dragging along Stan’s, and he nods against him; Stan pulls away from the kiss, resting their foreheads together as his second finger slides inside.
Neither of them are talking, but Stan doesn’t mind; he knows what Kyle’s feeling, what he wants by the way his body moves around him. Their heavy breaths are the only sound in the shower, beyond the pounding of the hot water against the floor; for once, Stan couldn’t care less about wasting water. His fingers prod inside of Kyle, eliciting little moans and pants, and when his fingertips curl against his prostate, Kyle’s head thumps forward against Stan’s shoulder.
“Oh my God,” Kyle breathes, his eyes shutting; Stan is inclined to agree. Kyle’s cock is leaking precome, smearing against Stan’s abs, and Stan wants to take hold of him but doesn’t; when he tries, Kyle snarls almost animalistically at him. “Don’t touch,” he wheezes. “It’s better if you don’t.”
Stan manages to fit a third finger into him, and Kyle bites down on Stan’s shoulder, hard; Stan’s hips jerk upwards unconsciously, and he needs to be inside of Kyle now, now, now. He pulls out his fingers, listens to the audible ‘pop’ as his knuckles pull past his rim, and he nearly drops the body wash in his desperation to get more out. “Get up against the wall.” Stan says, his voice choked; Kyle practically lunges for it, pushing his back up against the tile.
“I don’t have any condoms,” Kyle breathes. “But I’m clean.”
Stan doesn’t know him that well, but he trusts him completely nonetheless; besides, the idea of a barrier being between him and Kyle’s tightness is agonizing. “So am I.” he says, and Kyle nods quickly.
“Then get over here.” Kyle gestures with his fingers for Stan to approach, and Stan does, feeling entranced by him; he slicks his cock up with body wash, smearing it over his shaft. Right now, pressed against the wall, Kyle looks better than ever; his pale skin is pinkening from the hot water, and he looks so small and vulnerable. Stan just wants to press his body against him, wants to cover him up so thoroughly that nobody can ever look at him again.
So he does.
Stan picks him up effortlessly, Kyle’s body just as light as he might have expected, and he pins him up against the wall; Kyle’s thighs wrap around his waist, his ankles hooking into his lower back. He presses his chest against Kyle’s smaller one, and Kyle moans, lowly; Stan wonders if he’s getting off to the size difference as much as Stan is.
“Come on,” Kyle urges, and he lifts his hips; Stan’s hands tighten on them, nearly able to encircle Kyle’s waist with his hands. He only lets go of his waist with one hand to wrap it around his own cock, guiding it towards Kyle’s hole; he waits for Kyle’s little nod before pushing into him, slow and unyielding.
Kyle’s nails dig into Stan’s back, but Stan doesn’t care, can barely feel it; he could be bleeding and he still wouldn’t feel it. Kyle’s unbelievably tight, unbelievably hot, and Stan needs him ridiculously badly. Kyle muffles his noises into Stan’s shoulder, and Stan wishes that he wouldn’t, but he’s far more focused on getting as deep as he can before he tries to pull him away. The process of fitting his whole cock into Kyle is slow going, and he has to stop every inch or two to let Kyle take a breath, but then he exhales and they continue, and Stan is in absolute heaven.
He bottoms out, and Kyle shudders, looking wrecked; he peels his eyes open, and Stan feels like he could stare into them forever.
“You can move,” Kyle whispers, and Stan feels like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear those words. He starts to pull out, and Kyle’s toes curl, he pushes in, and Kyle’s responding cry is absolute music to Stan’s ears. The angle is a little weird, but that’s okay; Stan has no trouble manhandling Kyle’s smaller body, lifting him up when necessary and guiding him further down onto his cock, encouraging him to take him so much deeper. Kyle moves his hips when he can, meeting Stan’s thrusts, and Stan kisses him over and over, sloppily and uncoordinated.
Everything about Kyle is wonderful, perfect, handsome - he babbles messily as Stan pounds him, and Stan drinks up every noise. Kyle doesn’t say that he’s close - if Stan had to guess, it’s because he just can’t get the words out - but he implies it, with the way his feet start scrabbling on Stan’s back, the way he rocks almost frantically against him. Stan twists his hips, tries to target his spot, and Kyle comes instantly, spilling onto Stan’s stomach.
Having succeeded with making Kyle come, Stan grips Kyle’s waist and pounds into him, wildly, animalistically, with no rhyme or rhythm. Kyle moans and whines, overstimulated, and Stan comes within minutes, filling him up; Kyle’s arms wrap around Stan’s neck, squeezing their bodies together. By the time he’s finished, Stan’s muscles ache, both from skating and from sex, but it’s a good kind of ache; the kind he’ll cherish tonight when he thinks back on this moment. He has a feeling Kyle’s aching more.
He pulls out, and come drips from Kyle; Stan holds an arm under his knees, carrying him bridal style under the water. Kyle closes his eyes, and the water pours down onto them, washing their mess away; Stan kisses all over Kyle’s face without even thinking about it, his lips pressing on his eyelids, his nose, his lips.
“We should probably get out.” Stan whispers against Kyle’s lips after a few minutes of that, holding each other and lazily making out, and Kyle nods, slowly opening his eyes. They stumble out of the shower together, and Stan wraps Kyle in his towel; Kyle gazes up at him the whole time, something like awe in his expression.
“Do you… need me to drive you home?” he asks once they’re both dressed, even though he knows Kyle has a car of his own.
“I’ve got it,” Kyle assures Stan, a small, charmed smile on his face. He reaches to pull Stan down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him; Stan responds eagerly, and feels lost when Kyle lets him go, stepping back. He turns towards the door of the locker room, giving Stan a little wave. “I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”
“Okay,” Stan responds, meekly. He feels a little like a lost, adoring puppy as Kyle heads out the door, and he waves five seconds too late; Kyle’s already gone. He stares at the door for another extended minute before turning to grab his gear from his locker, unsure how he’s supposed to wait even another day to see Kyle again.
…
The next day, when Stan goes to take a shower after practice, he finds the one on the right works perfectly.
Re: Stan/Kyle - size difference (2/2)
“Come on,” Kyle breathes, and Stan fumbles with the body wash, lost for words; he pours more out onto his fingers, and Kyle hikes his leg up. Stan catches it, his fingers wrapping around his thigh, and when he catches Kyle watching him with lustful, hungry eyes, he has to wonder if he’s dreaming. He pushes two of his fingers between Kyle’s ass cheeks, and he feels his hole tense against his fingertips before relaxing; he starts off by only pushing one in, sure that two wouldn’t fit without proper prep.
Even with just one finger, Kyle is tight; he’s breathing slowly, heavily, and Stan briefly worries that he’s hurting him. He opens his mouth to ask, and Kyle shakes his head, like he’s reading his mind; he bears down on Stan’s finger, forcing his knuckle past his rim, and Stan absolutely aches to feel that on his cock. Stan needs to kiss him, his free hand tightening on his thigh, and he leans in once more to nip at his lower lip; Kyle responds eagerly, and Stan feels him lose a little more of his tenseness. He sighs as Stan’s second finger prods at his hole, his tongue dragging along Stan’s, and he nods against him; Stan pulls away from the kiss, resting their foreheads together as his second finger slides inside.
Neither of them are talking, but Stan doesn’t mind; he knows what Kyle’s feeling, what he wants by the way his body moves around him. Their heavy breaths are the only sound in the shower, beyond the pounding of the hot water against the floor; for once, Stan couldn’t care less about wasting water. His fingers prod inside of Kyle, eliciting little moans and pants, and when his fingertips curl against his prostate, Kyle’s head thumps forward against Stan’s shoulder.
“Oh my God,” Kyle breathes, his eyes shutting; Stan is inclined to agree. Kyle’s cock is leaking precome, smearing against Stan’s abs, and Stan wants to take hold of him but doesn’t; when he tries, Kyle snarls almost animalistically at him. “Don’t touch,” he wheezes. “It’s better if you don’t.”
Stan manages to fit a third finger into him, and Kyle bites down on Stan’s shoulder, hard; Stan’s hips jerk upwards unconsciously, and he needs to be inside of Kyle now, now, now. He pulls out his fingers, listens to the audible ‘pop’ as his knuckles pull past his rim, and he nearly drops the body wash in his desperation to get more out. “Get up against the wall.” Stan says, his voice choked; Kyle practically lunges for it, pushing his back up against the tile.
“I don’t have any condoms,” Kyle breathes. “But I’m clean.”
Stan doesn’t know him that well, but he trusts him completely nonetheless; besides, the idea of a barrier being between him and Kyle’s tightness is agonizing. “So am I.” he says, and Kyle nods quickly.
“Then get over here.” Kyle gestures with his fingers for Stan to approach, and Stan does, feeling entranced by him; he slicks his cock up with body wash, smearing it over his shaft. Right now, pressed against the wall, Kyle looks better than ever; his pale skin is pinkening from the hot water, and he looks so small and vulnerable. Stan just wants to press his body against him, wants to cover him up so thoroughly that nobody can ever look at him again.
So he does.
Stan picks him up effortlessly, Kyle’s body just as light as he might have expected, and he pins him up against the wall; Kyle’s thighs wrap around his waist, his ankles hooking into his lower back. He presses his chest against Kyle’s smaller one, and Kyle moans, lowly; Stan wonders if he’s getting off to the size difference as much as Stan is.
“Come on,” Kyle urges, and he lifts his hips; Stan’s hands tighten on them, nearly able to encircle Kyle’s waist with his hands. He only lets go of his waist with one hand to wrap it around his own cock, guiding it towards Kyle’s hole; he waits for Kyle’s little nod before pushing into him, slow and unyielding.
Kyle’s nails dig into Stan’s back, but Stan doesn’t care, can barely feel it; he could be bleeding and he still wouldn’t feel it. Kyle’s unbelievably tight, unbelievably hot, and Stan needs him ridiculously badly. Kyle muffles his noises into Stan’s shoulder, and Stan wishes that he wouldn’t, but he’s far more focused on getting as deep as he can before he tries to pull him away. The process of fitting his whole cock into Kyle is slow going, and he has to stop every inch or two to let Kyle take a breath, but then he exhales and they continue, and Stan is in absolute heaven.
He bottoms out, and Kyle shudders, looking wrecked; he peels his eyes open, and Stan feels like he could stare into them forever.
“You can move,” Kyle whispers, and Stan feels like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear those words. He starts to pull out, and Kyle’s toes curl, he pushes in, and Kyle’s responding cry is absolute music to Stan’s ears. The angle is a little weird, but that’s okay; Stan has no trouble manhandling Kyle’s smaller body, lifting him up when necessary and guiding him further down onto his cock, encouraging him to take him so much deeper. Kyle moves his hips when he can, meeting Stan’s thrusts, and Stan kisses him over and over, sloppily and uncoordinated.
Everything about Kyle is wonderful, perfect, handsome - he babbles messily as Stan pounds him, and Stan drinks up every noise. Kyle doesn’t say that he’s close - if Stan had to guess, it’s because he just can’t get the words out - but he implies it, with the way his feet start scrabbling on Stan’s back, the way he rocks almost frantically against him. Stan twists his hips, tries to target his spot, and Kyle comes instantly, spilling onto Stan’s stomach.
Having succeeded with making Kyle come, Stan grips Kyle’s waist and pounds into him, wildly, animalistically, with no rhyme or rhythm. Kyle moans and whines, overstimulated, and Stan comes within minutes, filling him up; Kyle’s arms wrap around Stan’s neck, squeezing their bodies together. By the time he’s finished, Stan’s muscles ache, both from skating and from sex, but it’s a good kind of ache; the kind he’ll cherish tonight when he thinks back on this moment. He has a feeling Kyle’s aching more.
He pulls out, and come drips from Kyle; Stan holds an arm under his knees, carrying him bridal style under the water. Kyle closes his eyes, and the water pours down onto them, washing their mess away; Stan kisses all over Kyle’s face without even thinking about it, his lips pressing on his eyelids, his nose, his lips.
“We should probably get out.” Stan whispers against Kyle’s lips after a few minutes of that, holding each other and lazily making out, and Kyle nods, slowly opening his eyes. They stumble out of the shower together, and Stan wraps Kyle in his towel; Kyle gazes up at him the whole time, something like awe in his expression.
“Do you… need me to drive you home?” he asks once they’re both dressed, even though he knows Kyle has a car of his own.
“I’ve got it,” Kyle assures Stan, a small, charmed smile on his face. He reaches to pull Stan down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him; Stan responds eagerly, and feels lost when Kyle lets him go, stepping back. He turns towards the door of the locker room, giving Stan a little wave. “I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”
“Okay,” Stan responds, meekly. He feels a little like a lost, adoring puppy as Kyle heads out the door, and he waves five seconds too late; Kyle’s already gone. He stares at the door for another extended minute before turning to grab his gear from his locker, unsure how he’s supposed to wait even another day to see Kyle again.
…
The next day, when Stan goes to take a shower after practice, he finds the one on the right works perfectly.