Three nights in a row. All over the house. Ten minute intervals for food and spliff. Three nights of fucking and finally they’d stopped to breathe.
Cook playfully pushes Freddie out of bed, watching the curve of his long spine unfold as he gets to his feet. They exchange hopeless, stupid grins. ‘Go shower you filthy fuck.’
From the doorway, Freddie stares for a moment, and suddenly he’s beaming. ‘Say, Cook…You don’t think your cock’s too old for a round of sword fighters, do ya? Shower’s gotta be a fun battle zone, yeah?’ An easy laugh laced with a slightly dry rasp fills the room just as he leaves.
Cook nearly sprains his ankle racing from the bed to the shower.