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Robert has big hands. Wide palms and long, thick fingers and neatly manicured nails.

Aaron looks down at his own in the washing up bowl, distorted winter pale by soapy water. They're calloused and work roughened, scabbed over knuckles because he's useless at remembering to wear his gloves in summer; hands are built for doing things, for action. Some would say they get too much of it.

Robert's different. His hands are capable, never still, big enough to hold together all the broken parts of Aaron, big enough to take him apart. Aaron could lose hours thinking about those hands on him, probably has.

“Alright?” Robert blows through the door from the pub, noise swelling as the door swings open. Clatter of keys as he empties his pockets.

Aaron doesn't look up from the sink. He does not want to know what his face looks like when he's thinking about Robert doing that to him. Definitely doesn't want Robert to see it.

“Thought you had work,” is what he says.

Robert slips past him, quick slide of bodies, to grab a beer from the fridge. “Done,” he pauses. “Are you washing up?”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Someone has to.”

He bites his lip to stifle a smile when Robert steps in close, hooks a chin over his shoulder, free hand curling around his hip. “You're going to make an excellent wife when we're married,” Robert says, soft gust of breath against Aaron's ear.

Smug twat. “Fuck off,” Aaron laughs, shouldering him away. He puts the last plate in the drying rack and reaches for a tea towel.

Robert's already sinking down onto the settee, reaching for the remote. “Where's Liv?”

Aaron's hands are dry now but he keeps twisting the tea towel between them so he doesn't watch the way Robert's throat ripples as he takes a swig of beer. He needs to sort himself out, he'll never hear the end of it if he gets hard now. From nothing more than a bony chin in his neck and his fiance being an arse. Robert's lucky that's the sort of thing that does it for Aaron.

“You alright?” Roberts asks, because Aaron's an idiot, still standing there wringing his hands with his mouth open

He coughs, scrubs at his nose with his sleeve as though that makes him look more relaxed. “Yeah, fine. She's at Gabby's.”

He can actually see Robert perk up. “So. Alone then?” he asks, glancing round.

Aaron find himself smirking, drifting a little closer despite himself. “Looks like.”

Robert leans forward, put his beer on the coffee table and snags Aaron's hand to pull him in. Aaron lets himself be drawn between Robert's spread knees. Robert's grinning up at him, tips of his fingers hooking behind Aaron's belt buckle, tugging.

Aaron lets himself grin back, rubs a hand through Robert's hair. “We taking this upstairs then or what?” he asks. No point being shy about it, they know each other better than that by now.

Robert shakes his head, leaning forward to nose his way under Aaron's shirt, lips soft against the dark hair trailing down from his belly button. “Not,” Aaron hears him say. And those long fingers are moving now, both hands coming up to pull open Aaron's belt.

Aaron laughs, almost pulls way. “It's the middle of the afternoon. Anyone could walk in,” he says, but his hands have already found Robert's shoulders and he's not pushing him away.

He can't exactly feel it against his skin but he knows Robert's smirking. “Better hurry up then,” he says. He makes quick work of Aaron's fly, tugging his trousers until they're loose around his hips. Even Robert's not ridiculous enough to think about losing any clothes in the fucking living room.

There's a brief shudder of oh, shit, yes when Robert ducks down to mouth at Aaron's dick through his underwear but it's short lived, Robert pulling and pushing at him until Aaron finds himself sinking down, thighs spread across Robert's hips, knees in the sofa cushions.

Robert leans back for a moment, regards him with eyes gone dark, teeth sunk into his own bottom lip. Aaron's got his fingers twisted up in the collar of Robert's shirt and he'd be lying if he said he didn't already feel a bit breathless. It makes him feel new sometimes, the things Robert can do to him.

Robert leans up, fitting his mouth to Aaron's and oh. That's what he was missing. He lets Robert's tongue slick into his mouth, taste of beer and spit and them. He's been kissing Robert for so long now he mostly just tastes like the inside of Aaron's own mouth. He lets his fingers rub up into Robert's hair, angles his head to fuck his tongue in deeper, Robert knows better than to put Aaron over his knee and expect to be in charge.

At least until Robert's hand slides down the front of his pants. Firm palm skidding down the length of him, fingers tucking under Aaron's balls. He can feel the head of his dick, smearing wet between his own belly and the delicate skin inside Robert's wrist. He didn't even realise he was this hard until Robert got a hand on him. The way Robert's hips are hitching tells him he's not the only one.

Robert swipes a thumb over the tip of his dick, smearing slick. It send a flash of too much rushing down to soles of Aaron's feet. Toes curling in his trainers.

Robert inclines his head, lips soft against Aaron's and when he speaks Aaron feels it on his tongue. “What do you want?”

Aaron can feel Robert's free hand, the one not curled around his cock, come up to palm at his cheek. Long fingers scratching through Aaron's scruff, thumb at the corner of his jaw. Big, capable, fucking beautiful hands and there's no way Aaron's going to say it. Maybe if they were in bed, maybe if Robert was anywhere near as undone as he feels right now, maybe if they were three rounds deep and Aaron couldn't catch his breath. But like this? After ten minutes getting off with each other on the settee? He shouldn't be this desperate for it.

It's a good job Robert knows him well enough that he wont need to ask out loud.

Aaron shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. Wet, messy, all breath and teeth. He bites his way back to Robert's neck, tucks his face down into Robert's shoulder, arms coming up to grip at the back of the settee so he can spread himself across Robert's chest. It makes his knees sink deeper, thighs wider, back arched and Robert. Well, Robert's a fucking prince isn't he? Because he gets it.

There's a little shudder when Robert's hand slips away from his dick but then both his hands are sliding down the back of Aaron's trousers, palming his arse until Aaron's teeth are on fucking edge, set to Robert's jugular. Robert squeezes, lets Aaron feel the stretch between his cheeks as Robert holds him open. It makes him feel overly aware of his own arsehole, tight, empty. Wanting. It shouldn't feel as good as it does.

Aaron stifles a groan. “Come on,” he gets out, the closest he's going to get to asking for it.

He feels Robert huff a laugh, fingers skidding down to where Aaron wants him. Robert rubs at his hole until Aaron feels mindless with it. His hips are rolling, sweat beading between his shoulder blades and he has to tip his forehead against Robert's collarbone so he can pant down between their chests, there's not enough air.

“Robert,” he grits out. “Please.”

Robert taps at him once, twice, tip almost edging in and Aaron wants it. His teeth hurt he wants it so bad.

“No lube,” Robert reminds him, sounding regretful and almost as breathless as Aaron feels.

Aaron doesn't care. “So?”

Robert tugs a hand free, gets it under Aaron's chin until he has no choice but to look at him. Robert's flushed, eyes bright and mouth bitten red. “If you want me to give you more than one, we're going to need more than spit,” he leans in, sweet sucking kiss to Aaron's bottom lip. “And I know you want more than one.”

Aaron has to close his eyes, heat rippling through him. He wants it, wants to be spread out, Robert's fingers in him. He wants to be out of his fucking mind. No one else could do this to him.

Robert's still waiting, thumb set to Aaron's mouth. Aaron tilts his head, sinking his teeth into the pad of it gently, holds until he's got a fucking hold of himself.

“Upstairs then,” he says. Not a question.

Robert shoves him up, hustles him up the stairs like he's the one aching for it.

Aaron starts stripping as soon as the door's shut, throws himself down the bed and pointedly ignores Robert's huff of amusement.

“I love it when you're like this,” Robert says, dropping the lube on the bed, hands smoothing up the backs of Aaron's thighs. Aaron lets his legs be nudged apart and ignores that as well.

He feels the bed dip as Robert kneels up between his thighs, brief press of Robert's hot chest against his back and a stinging bite to his shoulder blade before Robert settles back. Snick of a bottle opening and then finally. Fucking finally, wet fingers sliding between his cheeks.

By the time Robert's got two fingers sinking into him, rubbing across his prostate on every other stroke, Aaron is lost. Hands fisted in the sheets, pillows pushed away. He gets a forearm under his head so he can sink his teeth into something. His dick is aching, trapped against the sheets and rubbing just the wrong side of too rough with every roll of his hips.

He can hear himself whining, a wounded, animal noise he tries to stifle when Robert pulls back and sinks in with three. Aaron split open on those perfect, thick fingers. Nothing is supposed to feel this good.

“Robert,” he can hear himself saying. A litany of Robert and please and come on. He can't think, can't breathe and he's so close, Robert rubbing just right inside him and if he just.

Robert gets a hand around Aaron's hip and Aaron's sprawling on his back before he knows what's going on, Robert's fingers twisting inside him, never pulling free. It makes something in Aaron's spine liquify and he can't help but bring him knees up, feet planted so he can shove down against Robert's hand. Arms over his head, palms against the headboard, thighs straining, belly pulling tair as he fucks himself. Because that's what this is now, he can't control it.

“God, look at you,” Robert breathes, the first thing Aaron's heard over the blood rushing in his ears. And then Robert's over him, free hand planted by Aaron's head, broad shoulders blocking out the light. Robert's trying to kiss him, body moving with him as Aaron's hips roll, but Aaron can't focus, can't get it together enough to kiss back and he needs to tip his head back, needs to feel stretched, pulled tight while Robert fucks him open.

He can feel it coming. Fire in the soles of his feet, that tingle, building. Robert fucks him through it, muttering, “Come on, that's it, come on,” arm working faster, perfect counterpoint to the push of Aaron's hips.

He grinds down again, Robert's fingers rubbing sparks across the perfect place inside. He has to turn his head, teeth sinking into his own bicep to muffle a shout. There it is. He comes in five sharp waves, untouched and messy.

He's still panting, still floating somewhere when Robert starts cursing, moving back. A wide palm swipes through the slick on Aaron's belly and Robert's using Aaron's own fucking come to start stripping his dick, bent over like the air's been punched out of him and Aaron has to close his eyes against the image. Robert fucking Sugden fisting himself like a teenager because getting Aaron off just does it for him. It's too much.

Robert comes hot and wet all over Aaron's belly, chest and normally Aaron would be rolling his eyes. Telling Robert off for marking his territory or something but none of his limbs work and his feet are numb so he just takes it. Manages to huff a laugh when Robert rolls to drop beside him.

“I think I've got cramp,” Robert says, sweaty shoulder settling against Aaron's.

Aaron hums, licks at his dry bottom lip, regards the ceiling. “Old,” he says.

Another huffed laugh, “Good job you're into that.”

Aaron hums again, he feels like he's floating. He lets Robert tangle their fingers together even though he knows where that hand has been. He's feeling charitable.

“Love you,” Robert murmurs, and Aaron nods. He needs a shower, he's filthy, it's not even tea time.

He closes his eyes instead.