Snap



 

“Really?” Emmett asked. He was sprawled on his stomach, his head at the foot of the rumpled bed. They were watching the newscast of some game and he looked over his shoulder, eyeing Drew skeptically. The other man was propped up against the headboard, silently sipping his beer as he pretended to concentrate on the television. But Emmett wouldn’t be ignored. He nudged Drew’s foot, as if prodding the truth out of him. “In all the years you’ve been playing, you’ve never once--”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Drew growled impatiently, swigging more beer.

Emmett wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t stop watching the other man. Drew was avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with the remote and Emmett knew he’d touched a nerve. Drew may not have ever done it, Emmett believed him if he said he didn’t, but he sure as hell wanted to. Slipping off the bed, Emmett flashed Drew an enticing grin. “What about now? I’ll be your offensive line.” Lewd twist of his hips. “Wide receiver.”

He stood in front of Drew, legs spread, and bent over, lowering his bare ass a little and pretending to dig his knuckles into the ground. He figured he was close enough to the stance he’d seen in plenty of video footage over the last few hours. He barred his teeth and growled a little too, peeking between his legs in another raunchy invitation to the man staring at him.

Drew was gaping really, for just a moment. The beer bottle was caught mid-air on the way back from his lips; it hovered a beat, and then slammed onto the nightstand. Drew wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, face eerily bland, before flicking the sheets aside.

Suddenly Emmett wasn’t sure if he was going to get his ass fucked or kicked. He started to straighten, but then he felt Drew’s hand on his should, firmly pressing him further down as the other slid between his legs. A thick wrist, wiry hair tickling his sensitive skin, pressed between his cheeks and stopped right there.

Emmett swallowed hard, the blood seeming to pool in his throat and chest because it wasn’t sure whether to go to his head or his dick “Do it,” he whispered gruffly. Clearing his throat he said more clearly, “Anything you ever wanted to do to the guy bent over in front of you every Sund—ahh!” he croaked when firm fingers squeezed his balls. It took a moment for his head to clear, before he could continue, teasing brashly, “Tell me. Was it high school? College? Last week? How many over the years, all those rows and rows of sweaty grunting men bent over in front of you. Who did you want so bad? Just wanted to pull those tight little pants down and--”

Drew’s hand closed around the back of his neck, pulling him up a bit until their heads were side by side. Emmett anxiously turned a little, just to feel Drew’s mouth against his cheek, even if it wasn’t really a kiss—

“You.” Drew’s nose bobbed against his ear and he sniffed, pulling the shivers right up Emmett’s spine. “Are something else.”

Emmett closed his eyes for a brief, the briefest, moment, holding tightly onto that little… twinge of… no, he let it go before he thought it had meant something it didn’t.

“W-well, I--” he stammered, but the flash of whatever was gone, and his tongue knocked teeth as he gasped.

Drew had returned to position.

Emmett’s knees wobbled as if he was staring down a snarling defensive line.

Then two strong hands--very adept at ball handling-- reached out, waiting for the snap.

“Ooh!!”

 

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