“Do I?” He pressed out, throwing his head back in the futile attempt not to moan, “I didn’t know we had a connoisseur among us.”
Trapper hummed. The vibrations around Hawkeye’s cock made him want to scream. The indentations that his lips left behind made him weak. He felt hot and tight all over, while also contradictorily lax and cool. Hawk took four steadying breaths, willing himself not to come right then and there onto Trapper’s face – their skin only separated by a thin sheet of wet fabric.
“So, what do I smell like?”
Trapper creased his brow: “How’s a man supposed to answer that, Hawk?” then dove right back in.
He continued the bliss, sniffing and smelling and licking, kissing. With his cheeks he exercised the softest touches Hawkeye had ever felt. After a while, Trapper lifted his gaze.
“You smell like... like sixteen hours of surgery and starched pants and... yourself,” he stammered.
It was unbearable. Trapper’s warm rumbles, Trapper’s hot breath ghosting over Hawkeye’s cock, the simple movement of his lips against his skin. It was intoxicating. It made Hawkeye want to chase the pressure, the friction.
But he couldn’t... he shouldn’t... he- he couldn’t think.
He was barely conscious enough for half a sentence, let alone a coherent argumentation, and it seemed like Trapper had anticipated that. He took quick hold of Hawkeye’s lean hips, pressed them into the cot and lifted himself up so that they could speak nose to nose on all accounts.
“Hawkeye,” he threatened, making his heart flip, “I’ve got my nose on your dick. Stop squirming and start moving!”
Permission was all it took, apparently.
“God. Trapper,” Hawkeye threw his arm across his face. His eyes were narrowed and his black hair fell onto his forehead. “Please,” he moaned high and loud, as Trapper attended to Hawk’s cock again.
The first twitch of his hips was near-involuntarily. The second was a gauging motion to test the waters. The third was a desperate thrust, turned into a shove, turned into rubbing himself on Trapper’s face. Every pressure point felt like a white hot spark of electricity, every kiss, every lick like being dropped from the Empire State Building.
“I didn’t,” he gasped, a smirk hiding behind the pure pent-up want, “I didn’t know I wasn’t the only pervert here”
Pressing one last kiss to Hawk’s growing bulge, ogling the wet spot on his crotch – spit mixed with pre-come and sweat – Trapper pulled off, meeting his eyes: “You mean, this town’s too small for the two of us, cowboy?”
His voice was rough, debauched, thick with lust and adoration.
“Nah,” Hawkeye sighed, pulling him up for a kiss and stripping the boxers, “Just the right size, actually.”