Jack inhaled sharply as Jorge's calloused fingers toyed with a loose thread on his sweater. They were almost touching, standing close enough that if they were to simultaneously inhale, they certainly would. Jack rested his palms against Jorge's hips, curling his fingers into the hem of his shirt in preparation to lift it up. Jorge's hands engulfed his, stilling him.
“No, Jack,” he whispered. “We leave the sweaters on.”
Jack looked up at him a little uncertainly. Jorge looked down at him with soft brown eyes full of Hungarian admiration. A sure smile rested just below the dark, authoritative bristles of the man's full mustache. The lamplight shimmered off of every hair, thrilling and arousing Jack. He could not resist its siren song.
“Okay,” Jack murmured, roving his hands over Jorge's warm, cashmere covered muscles. Jorge lent substance to the material, the contours of his form still obvious through the delicate fabric. Never before had a cashmere sweater exuded such raw manliness. Jack pressed his face into Jorge, smiling when the Spartan flexed his abs under his cheek.
While Jack was distracted with rubbing their besweatered bodies together, Jorge took the liberty of removing their pants. Jack gasped at the sudden cold air as it rushed across his bottom half. Jorge picked him up and mashed their chests together.
“Oh god, Jorge. That won't fit. That won't-” Jack stared up at him in wide-eyed shock. He could feel Jorge's manhood standing up proud against his thighs. It was the most deadly trousersnake in the world, of this he was sure.
“Shh,” Jorge assured him, brushing his hypnotic mustache against Jack's cheek in a gentle kiss. “It isn't going in anything.”
Jack's nonexistant bosom heaved at the touch. He was too breathless to ask questions, though he was positive Jorge had a plan. The Spartan still held him off of the ground, fingers pressed into his hips gently. With no apparent effort, he began rubbing Jack against his member. The human whimpered at pleasure of the unfamiliar sensation. They built up speed and their sweaters built up enough static electricity to kill a room full of splicers. With a sharp cry, Jack released all over the downy fabric.
Jorge's cock slipped between Jack's abs and his sweater and he continued to thrust. The contrast between Jack's heated underbelly and the soft, cushy fabric was intense. He grunted and shot several volleys of thick seed all over Jack's chest.
They could only hope that there was a dry cleaner on the station.
COMPLETELY UNBIIDDEN. DEAL WITH IT.
“No, Jack,” he whispered. “We leave the sweaters on.”
Jack looked up at him a little uncertainly. Jorge looked down at him with soft brown eyes full of Hungarian admiration. A sure smile rested just below the dark, authoritative bristles of the man's full mustache. The lamplight shimmered off of every hair, thrilling and arousing Jack. He could not resist its siren song.
“Okay,” Jack murmured, roving his hands over Jorge's warm, cashmere covered muscles. Jorge lent substance to the material, the contours of his form still obvious through the delicate fabric. Never before had a cashmere sweater exuded such raw manliness. Jack pressed his face into Jorge, smiling when the Spartan flexed his abs under his cheek.
While Jack was distracted with rubbing their besweatered bodies together, Jorge took the liberty of removing their pants. Jack gasped at the sudden cold air as it rushed across his bottom half. Jorge picked him up and mashed their chests together.
“Oh god, Jorge. That won't fit. That won't-” Jack stared up at him in wide-eyed shock. He could feel Jorge's manhood standing up proud against his thighs. It was the most deadly trousersnake in the world, of this he was sure.
“Shh,” Jorge assured him, brushing his hypnotic mustache against Jack's cheek in a gentle kiss. “It isn't going in anything.”
Jack's nonexistant bosom heaved at the touch. He was too breathless to ask questions, though he was positive Jorge had a plan. The Spartan still held him off of the ground, fingers pressed into his hips gently. With no apparent effort, he began rubbing Jack against his member. The human whimpered at pleasure of the unfamiliar sensation. They built up speed and their sweaters built up enough static electricity to kill a room full of splicers. With a sharp cry, Jack released all over the downy fabric.
Jorge's cock slipped between Jack's abs and his sweater and he continued to thrust. The contrast between Jack's heated underbelly and the soft, cushy fabric was intense. He grunted and shot several volleys of thick seed all over Jack's chest.
They could only hope that there was a dry cleaner on the station.