FitzMack, Spanking
Fitz floats into consciousness like mist over mountaintops. He settles into a cocoon of soft, downy blankets and warm, muscular limbs and takes a moment to savour the peace of the moment before deigning to open his eyes.
Plush, wet lips brush against the pulse ebbing slowly under the skin of Fitz’s neck, stubble scratching and scraping in the most tantalizing way. Fitz sighs and angles his head to offer more room, melting into the gentle, decadent swell of morning arousal as it cascades over him and the lover in his bed.
“Mack, that tickles,” Fitz says, not so much a complaint as it is a breathy sigh, or perhaps a gentle warning.
Mack chuckles, the sound deep and rich like slow dripping honey, and brings one broad palm to the small of Fitz’s back.
“That why you look like a human puddle?” Mack teases, lips brushing the lobe of Fitz’s ear as they move.
Without warning, Mack’s hand lands hard and quick on the swell of Fitz’s ass, flesh against flesh under the protection of the covers. It’s meant in only in jest, but Fitz’s body surprises them both by drawing tight as a bowstring while a gasp, sharp and broken, rips from his throat.
Fitz feels Mack’s breath puff against his ear. “You into that?” he asks.
Fitz feels the blush spread up his neck and colour his cheeks a vivid crimson. “We both know what happened,” he mumbles. “You don’t have to make fun of me for it.”
Mack’s hand drifts to Fitz’s ass again, fingers kneading sensitive flesh and trailing maddeningly close the part of his cheeks.
“Trust me, Turbo,” Mack says. He dips one finger between the cleft of Fitz’s ass and Fitz shivers. “This isn’t me making fun of you.”
Fitz lets out a small, broken whine, hips rutting instinctively down against Mack’s thigh as the confession sends a jolt of electricity to his cock. A second later, Mack’s flat, open palm strikes Fitz’s ass again, and Fitz mewls and ruts even harder.
“That’s it, baby,” Mack rumbles. He spanks Fitz again, this time on the other check. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
Fitz plants wet, sloppy kisses against Mack’s chest as Mack peels the blankets back, giving him more room to come in for the next swing. He doesn’t stop until Fitz is desperate and pleading, cock flushed and leaking onto the sheets.
“Mack, please,” Fitz begs. He arches his back and Mack groans as he admires the bright red skin spread taut across generous curves.
“That get you all nice and ready for me, Turbo?” Mack asks.
Fitz nods vehemently, stretching his arms above his head to elongate the planes of his back. Mack trails his fingers up Fitz’s spine and massages the pressure point at the base of his skull until Fitz is a whimpering mess with one hand as the other makes for their bedside table to retrieve a bottle of lube.
It takes almost no work to finger Fitz open, loose and pliant as he is. Still, Mack takes his time. He pumps his fingers in and out, stretching and scissoring, as he rubs the hot, reddened flesh of Fitz’s ass with his free hand and keeps his motions steady until Fitz is begging for his cock.
Mack slides in steady and slow, his broad chest curling around Fitz’s back. They move together like starlight, bright and cosmic and impossibly grand. When they come, it’s within moments of each other, Fitz spilling first against the sheets, then Mack following three incredible, symphonic breaths after, emptying deep inside Fitz’s willing body.
Mack kisses the sweat from the back of Fitz’s neck as he pulls out, then flips them over to lie on their sides, big and little spoons like constellations.
“We’ve got a mission briefing at eight,” Fitz mumbles, already half asleep again as Mack traces firm patterns into the yielding flesh spread across his belly.
“Relax, Turbo,” Mack replies. “That means we’ve still got another fifteen minutes to laze around in bed, and I don’t know about you, but I plan on making use of every last one.”