just a roll of the dice

"Staring contest, Prince? Enjoying the view?"

As if Minoth, the scoundrel, couldn't himself enjoy minutes on end, even hours, of easy access to the sight of Addam's bare chest. He had it right now, in fact, and had momentarily nearly forgotten about the position that had afforded it to him.

Addam sat, naked and fully penetrated, on his cock far more comfortably than he had any right to. Not that Minoth didn't mean for Addam to enjoy himself. But anal sex wasn't supposed to be comfortable, easy...was it?

Too easy. Too natural. Too right, with Addam.

Minoth let the lazy grin crawl over his own face, to match his prince's beatific expression. Maybe a subtle retwist of the hips.

And he did stare. Absolutely, he did. From this angle, there was a generous shelf of pectoral muscle hanging out over Addam's equally squishy abdomen that he'd happily bury his face in if only that didn't prevent him from still seeing it.

All of it, all of Addam, a gift he'd yet to truly earn - and, yes, of course, the thing about gifts is that you don't have to earn them, whether given by a creator or a fellow sentient soul, but that didn't make it any less unbelievable.

"You're beautiful," replied Addam simply, from his high vantage. His mouth hung slightly open, lips parted as much from gravity as from pleasure; the clarity of his statement belied how variously undone he was. "You don't expect me to avert my eyes, do you?"

Oh, sure, get a load of this guy. Which Minoth did plan to, all horrible puns and innuendos aside. There had to be some roughing around component to this midnight wrestling, or else it'd be something other than sex drive bonding Minoth to this new Driver.

To the point, though: it made perfect sense this way. Both men were blissfully content just to stare at the other, take in each dip and fold of his body, lie still and bask rather than bicker, bicker, bicker. There was no need nor even any real desire to desperately grasp for purchase; this was a peaceful, uninterrupted state.

Minoth even yawned, to sell it.

"You'll stay sitting up there if I fall asleep, right?"

Addam's ensuing annoyance was all puppy-dog, nada uppity nobility. His lips came together in a frown, and he cocked his head. "That's not fair at all. If you're going to go to sleep, I'd like to lie next to you, not just...sit up."

"Joking, Prince, joking," Minoth reassured him, waving away the concern and then yawning again. "Seems we'd better finish up, though."

Now Addam's derision came out. "Rude of you to be bored, don't you think?"

"You've never seen me so disarmed."

"That's right. It's a welcome sight, I must say."

Minoth was always so artfully posed, so deliberately cast wherever and whenever he found himself. There was never a time when he said something truly offhand, never a moment of being caught unthinking (well, almost never, and some could catch him out and off better than others; of those, Addam was not one).

Everything Minoth did was so intentional. It could be said that he tried not to let himself be real, and had done so since awakening.

Until now, that was, when he snuck a sidelong glance at Addam and pretended to roll imaginary six-sided dice over his own abdomen. "How ever could you have gotten so lucky?"

Addam's tongue hit the roof of his mouth, then slowly came down and unstuck. Sharp air whistled through his teeth, tuneless.

Minoth watched him with the prince's characteristic ever-keen eyes. Just still. Just there.

And then...

"It feels ridiculous even to be thinking this, given our current predicament," said Addam, leaning forward in order that he didn't fall back, "but Minoth...that was awfully lewd."

"What, this?" And he did it again.

"Oh, you are ridiculous!" Addam cried, swatting Minoth's lingering hand out of the air. "Touch me or don't touch me, but don't do that."

Minoth shrugged. For as much as he could be bothered navigating Addam's quirks when it came to, apparently, acceptable modes of hand gesture when in bed and in skinship with another man, he'd sooner just take that nap.

He was about to inform Addam of as much when the prince decided to make his ungainly dismount and crawl back toward the headboard, movements careful and awkward to avoid squashing his still-hard cock.

If there was one thing Minoth knew himself to be, it was a contrarian. Well, and a cowboy. But mostly a contrarian, a mischief-maker by way of words, a ne'er-do-well who never did better than when he was refusing to give someone something they did want.

So, when Addam pulled back in next to him, Minoth rolled his eyes, tsked, and sat up, letting the duvet go where it would.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought you were gonna let me choose, Prince," he snarked, making only as much of the motion to get out of the bed and put some clothes back on as would be necessary to convince, to suggest and to persuade.

"Oh." Addam's consternated affect softened as he considered that much of his personal pride was drawn from his commitment to letting others, especially those closest to him, choose their fates and the strengths of their wills. To each according to his gifts, and to everyone a long and prosperous life as hard-working as they would wish it. If they didn't wish to work hard, then some interrogation was likely necessary, but Minoth wasn't a lazy type. Not in any way that mattered or promised ill.

"Oh," said Addam again, "well alright. Choose, then, if it's so important to you." No bets on whether the sight of Minoth's bare behind almost leaving the bed still had him aroused.

"Yeah?"

And just like that, Minoth was on top of Addam, bracing himself with a stiff wrist and knees thrown wide over Addam's thighs.

"You chose touching me, I see," Addam said nervously, which wasn't always his way when stating the obvious.

"That alright with you?" Minoth, tightening his ponytail as he held himself away for a final few moments, grinned down at Addam like a desert dog upon pre-bloody prey.

But Addam was into it, because Addam was in love, and whatever Minoth wanted, Minoth got. Right now, he wanted Addam. Ergo...

That same hand that had pantomimed the loose outline of a cylindrical shape as one prepared to throw dice now grasped Addam's cock and squeezed - an attention-getter of sorts. A call to arms, if Addam hadn't already been stood to attention. A silent cue for all members to act.

Minoth thumbed the sheets idly with his left hand as his right hand worked, hovering somewhere between steady eye contact and the absent headspace of a bitten lip. When Addam moved his hand to join the sidelines, Minoth took it eagerly, thumb now working into the meat of Addam's palm.

"Feel good?" he asked. Addam's reply was a gentle murmur of assent, wordless, as he closed his eyes and breathed, but some distant question seemed to beg.

Ah, right. "And you," - pause to gasp - "Minoth?"

"Peachy," came Minoth's reply. His tempo was still slow, his movements still almost leisurely. There was palpable intent, a vision for the action, but no urgency.

Pleasure for pleasure's sake should be stress-free, first and foremost, but no less purposeful than any other process. That was what Minoth believed - maybe that just made it easier for him to decide what to do, or maybe he really was just that great of an artist.

Addam found nothing in his work of the moment to be lacking. In fact, it was his own indolence that struck him.

Based on the way Minoth had arranged and positioned himself, his own swollen cock was free to hang just above Addam's taint, either rested if Minoth anchored himself down or just touching occasionally when one or the other made this or that involuntary gyration.

Most importantly, it hung there so alluringly just out of Addam's reach, its tip seemingly aloof to the state of Addam's.

How very like its owner, its larger controlling part.

"Minoth?" asked Addam, still under his breath.

Minoth didn't answer. He took another slow stroke, even in pressure from base to tip.

"Minoth?" asked Addam again.

Minoth squeezed Addam's hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it, but still didn't answer.

"Minoth!"

This, from Addam, bordered on a whine. This, from Addam, got - or rather, won - Minoth's attention. Blue eyes flashed up to meet gold. There was that roguish grin again. Minoth's hand left Addam's cock, much to the prince's chagrin and frustration, and grasped his left hand to guide it to its intended destination, where he left it, and returned to his rhythm.

There. Not so difficult to respond when you're asked for, is it? But as Addam was feeling very accomplished with himself and setting himself to the task of jerking Minoth off, he soon realized that he wasn't quite as good at this as Minoth was. Not that he bluntly lacked sexual experience, or that it was funny for him to be impotent and ineffectual, but that it was impossible for him to be as good at it as Minoth was.

Oh, yes, Minoth had let him look, and Minoth had even let him touch, but what Minoth wasn't going to do was let Addam beat him to the punch. His strokes grew quicker, more intense while avoiding the erratic. Addam couldn't see to keep going, nor could he even use his hands well, as they soon became curled into fists.

Another. Minoth didn't even have to pull with force to get Addam's hips working into it. Wasn't he just so damned pragmatic...

Then came the final round, Minoth's touches light and feathered, his wrist doing most of the work his forearm had been leading up to that point. Addam knew he was being teased, and yet he wanted it all the more; anything Minoth wanted to do to him, anything that Minoth thought to be a surefire route to pleasure.

He was brilliant. He was effortless. He was gorgeous. He was powerful.

"Come on, baby. Gaucho needs a new pair of shoes."

Oh, and he was ludicrously corny. If Addam wasn't already red-faced from exertion, he would have cringed just to be associated to the contrived turn of phrase. But as it was, he had little else to give but his climax, and he gave it like his very life depended on it, cum spurting and pooling in the dips of his belly while Minoth's firm strokes turned into lazy (there was that word again!) caresses.

Addam sighed. His part of the bargain had been long forgotten, or so he thought. Little did it matter, really, when he just wanted to touch...

"Sorry, my prince," Minoth was saying, glowing with quiet laughter, so beautiful and so incorrigible, "but I couldn't let you see me fold."