“I like how we’re doing it old school. No professional cameras, no IR cams. Just us, with recorders and digital video cameras,” Grant smiled at Jason in the darkness of Johnny Rocket’s Bowl-O-Rama. Putting his camera down strategically on the side of the pool table, Jason wrapped his arms around Grant from behind, resting his chin on the smaller man’s shoulder. Grant grinned, shutting his camera down and setting it in front of him. He felt the hard dick press into his backside and ground against him devilishly.
“G,” Jason growled in his ear.
“Hmmm?” Grant hummed in response, resting his hands on the pool table, grinding his ass harder into Jason.
Grant felt the muscle flex and move before he was shoved forward on the table, nimble fingers quickly dropping his pants and boxers down to his ankles. A hand was shoved on his back as he tried to stand upright. The warm palm pressed down, holding him bent in half uncomfortably over the side of the pool table as he listened to the sound of Jason’s zipper and his belt buckle hitting the wood floor.
Almost on instinct at the feel of Jason pressing against him, Grant spread his legs wider. He mentally kicked himself for submitting so easily. Trying to stand up straight again, he saw the white of Jason’s bicep flex. He was whirled around as Jason shoved him down on his knees in front of him. “Suck it, G,” he growled down at him.
Grant looked up at him as he slowly worked his mouth down his length, working his flat tongue against the underside. Jason groaned deeply and fisted his hands in Grant’s hair, forcing his dick farther into the moist warmth. Gagging, Grant tried to pull back, but the hands in his hair resisted. Slowly, Jason pulled back, bring him back up to stand in front of him.
Jason’s mouth found his as he took Grant’s arms and held them behind his back. Grant dared to massage his tongue along Jason’s, tasting coffee and cigarettes, before he was roughly whirled back around again. He grunted as he was forced down over the pool table once again. Looking down at the faded green material, Grant pressed back into him, and fought once more to gain control. However, those hands returned to his wrists, pinning him down into place, strong arms with taught muscles resting against his body, and a hard, angry cock pressing at his entrance, and Grant didn’t care anymore. He loved losing control to the man above him.
Jason pushed into him roughly. Grant silently thanked God that they had sex at the hotel before coming out here. Fingers wrapped tighter around his wrists and the pistoning hips rocked him into the pool table. Jason leaned his body into Grant’s, resting his chest against his back. He pulled his wrists together, holding them with one hand, the other moving down, stroking Grant’s cock.
With each thrust, Grant grunted into the stale air of the bowling alley. Jason breathed heavily in his ear, his body shadowing him. The angry thrusts became desperate, deeper, and faster. Grant’s grunts turned to whines and moans for release, his hips involuntarily rocking and thrusting into the fist around him. Jason moaned deep, biting down hard on the back of Grant’s neck as he released deep inside. The squeeze of the hand around his cock, and the spasms against his prostate pushed him into overload. Grant came hard against the pool table, his forehead meeting the shabby green fabric.
Jason let go of Grant’s wrists, pulled out of him, and picked up his pants. Grant sank to the floor beside the pool table, resting his head against the cool wood. He could smell the sex in the air and looked at his cum on the side of the table making a face. “How are we going to clean that up?”
Jason fastened his belt and shrugged. “They have bathrooms with soap.”