What had gotten him here? What the hell could have possibly gotten him into this situation?!
But-- it wasn't what he'd expected. Not from the weird, uncivilized, bumbling lug that lived outside of the city. Not from the ridiculous wildling that he'd taken to visiting occasionally. And definitely not from Owen, dopey and air-headed and-- and...
At some point his pants had found their way halfway down his thighs. The wood of the log he was sitting against chafed against his skin-- that was his butt, damn it-- but the irritation had taken a back seat in his mind. His fingers were spasming against the perch, trying to keep himself balanced but barely managing to maintain a decent grip on the fucking thing. Leaning back-- way back, far enough to topple off if it weren't for the massive hands holding his waist-- he tried to tug his legs apart, make more room, move somehow. Fidgeting. Restless. Mind blown-- among other things.
Nibbles, kisses, licks, all along the insides of his thighs, the dip of his hips, the flat of his stomach. Thumbs stroked circles along his skin, palms pressing into his waist and burning against his flesh. And that damn tongue, laving against his cock, sucking at the tip, doing impossible things to his slit. "Oh fuck, fuck--" Gasping, leg kicking slightly, Liam threw his head back, trembling at the sensations. Hell no he wasn't new to blowjobs, and he'd had his fair share of talented ladies in bed. But this, this was too much. Every point of contact seemed carefully calculated, every squeeze and touch meant to overwhelm his mind; too much happening at once, too little he could do to respond, and he couldn't move. "O-- Owen--" Fuck, did he just moan Owen's name? "--Fuck!" Tight heat wrapped around his sensitive shaft, and that damn tongue again, doing exactly what it needed to do in order to drive him insane. How the hell did Owen know how to do that? Any of it?
And how the hell had he found himself on the receiving end of it all?
The pacing changed constantly, the pressure was heavy then light, and the man never stayed in one place too long, never overdid any single thing. It kept Liam on his toes, made sure he never knew what to expect next, kept his brain stumbling. Panting, swallowing hard, twisting and writhing in the man's grip as pleasure sparked in the back of his skull, fireworks going off behind his eyelids.
As great and dandy as that all was, it also meant that he couldn't get off.
Owen was edging him incessantly, ruthlessly, and he couldn't even form sentences anymore. Liam's mind was blank, words beyond him. Let me cum let me cum-- Legs trying to squeeze together, only succeeding in clenching tightly against Owen's broad shoulders. Helpless to reach himself, he let out an aggravated cry, hoping it would get the idea through to Owen. It didn't.
And it seemed like Owen would go on forever. What the hell was this stamina? Wasn't he hard by now? Didn't he need to get off too???? Liam's mind scrabbled for coherency, for reason, for solution, but it always fell short, came up blank. A frustrated sob bubbled up in his throat, hands abandoning the log and grabbing at Owen's hair, pulling at it. The man's grip on his waist tightened and hauled him closer, burying his face against Liam's crotch and sucking harder. Nearly sliding off the log, not caring anymore, he moaned loudly, encouragingly, trying to get more, more, please God please--
The instant he hit his climax Liam's spine curved, arching him off the log and doubling him forward. Knees coming up, face nearly buried against the top of Owen's head, he cried out in bliss, every second of the last excrutiating hour suddenly amplifying this instant of pleasure. Shuddering violently, curling tighter, his face dropped against the other man's hair, choking out a sound of wrecked relief. So much, it felt like so much, and it poured out of him, making his body twitch and jolt, electricity shooting up his spine and curling his toes.
As his orgasm wound down, Liam went slowly lax, slumping backwards and nearly sliding off the log. Catching him, Owen kept a light grip at his back, drawing him forward off of the perch and letting him sit on the grass, leaning back against the log. Chest heaving, sweat pouring off his face, Liam let himself be manhandled into a more comfortable position, temporarily out of commission.
When he finally managed to gather up the scraps of his dignity, he swallowed hard, eyes-- unfocused-- finally finding Owen's face; calm, pleased, gentle. Like he was admiring a lover. Egh.
"Fuck you," Liam rasped, not even caring about what a mess he sounded like. "Holy fuck."
When Owen leaned forward to nuzzle against his ear, Liam raised a hand to shove the man off. There was no strength in his arms-- not to say anything about his conviction-- and he gave up, letting his hands fall back to his sides.