robron • separation never suited us [listen]

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A M A Z I N G

aaron wakes up to that every day, just fyi

reblog if next tuesday is going to be the best day of your life

i’m pulling an all nighter with @wellyfullofale and @beautifulhigh tomorrow. it’s going to be carnage. i cannot wait

have i mentioned how excited i am about this yet?

I'M EXCITED I GET TO THESE HUMANS TODAY

@juliacchan

me on queer eye

tan reacting to frasier crane being a style icon

i’ve officially kissed a miller

level unlocked

as if i turned down meeting you guys today because i had a facial booked when i could have been getting my face all up in vince miller's business 🙈🙈

here, have some wild night away fic. i’m rusty and pressed for time these days but it had to be done

a snapshot between rounds two and three

:::

i can’t lose

In the time it takes Aaron to piss and rinse his mouth out under the bathroom tap, his heart just about settles back to its usual pace.

Just about.

The scene in the bedroom put paid to that pretty quickly though, and Aaron allows himself the luxury of loitering in the doorway to survey the absolute mess they’ve made of the place.

There are pillows strewn across the floor (one very carefully positioned over by the mirror in the wardrobe door - put there by Robert to protect his old man knees, obviously.)

There’s a half empty bottle of poncy imported lager tipped over by the window, dark stain soaking into the carpet. Aaron has a vague memory of dropping it there when Robert had first started to tug his shirt free from his waistband, winter pale flesh under forgiving, expensive lighting.

The bed’s the star of the show right now though, once-pristine white sheets wrinkled and rucked up around the outline of Robert’s body. He’s sprawled right where Aaron left him, starfished across the centre of the bed, face still tucked into the crook of his elbow. He hasn’t even moved his knee down, legs still spread around the ghost of Aaron’s thighs. If it wasn’t for the mess on his belly, cock soft and red against his thigh, Aaron would think he was still waiting for it.

“Are you just going to stare at me all night?” Robert asks, muffled.

Aaron shrugs even though no one can see him. “Thinking about it. View’s half decent.”

He watches Robert’s chest shudder with the laugh he huffs out. Tries not to think about the come-dark patch of hair flattened under Robert’s belly button, what that would taste like, whether Robert would try to kick him away or drop his thighs even further apart for it.

Turns out a night away is all it takes these days to turn Aaron into a teenager again, if his own dick fattening up again is anything to go by.

He drops a hand to pull at it, can’t help himself. And he’s most of the way to fully hard by the time he realises Robert’s looking at him now.

“Not that I mind being objectified,” Robert says. “But are you planning on doing anything with that or should I sort myself out?”

Aaron rolls his eyes fondly. “When have you ever sorted yourself out?” he scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the Swindon trip already,” Robert says, but he’s curling a hand around his spent dick, ring finger dipping down behind his balls, to where Aaron knows he’ll still be wet with Aaron’s come, probably still stretched open.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying are you?”

Aaron’s gaze flicks flicks back up to Robert’s face, but he doesn’t feel guilty, and Robert doesn’t look offended.

“Sorry, were you talking?” Aaron asks, drags his eyes as deliberately as he can back down the length of Robert’s body.

There’s a bite mark on the inside of Robert’s left thigh, high up where the skin is thin. Aaron’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to heft those thighs back up over his shoulders and remind Robert exactly who’s in charge here.

Robert doesn’t need to make room for him when Aaron knees his way back on to the bed, but he does somehow anyway.

Robert looks down at him, eyes dark. “You could probably just put it in,” he says. “If you wanted.”

Aaron wants. But there are other things he wants more than getting his end away for the third time in as many hours. He wants Robert panting, wants his head tipped back, hands braced on the fancy headboard. Wants to look up the long line of Robert’s exposed throat, watch him struggle to swallow. He wants Robert as overwhelmed as Aaron feels right now.

And there’s only one way to do that.

Aaron palms Robert’s knees, shuffles closer, holds Robert’s gaze as he very deliberately strokes his thumb over the flat of his tongue. It’s worth it for the way Robert curses, air punched out of him.

“Aaron,” he says, that half-panicked, anxious voice that means Aaron’s going to get exactly what he wants.

Game on.