It’s been a few months since Hobbs has seen the Brit. Apparently, there was a drug ring out near his home town, that the cops were turning a blind eye to. Some underground, Russian thing but when it comes to Shaw, his home and his family; best leave him to it, on the off chance you get in his way.
Sitting at his desk, Hobbs is torn from his thoughts by a heavy banging on his door.
“Hobbs, fuckin’ let me in!” Comes a yell and Hobbs knows who it is, his mind jumping at the thought. He rushes to the door.
“Shaw, everyone thought you were—” Shaw is covered in cuts and bruises, his black eye shining in contrast to the broken rib he’s obviously nursing.
“Yeah, sure. Just let me inside.” He growls through gritted teeth.
Hobbs helps him into the downstairs bathroom, having him sit on the side of the bath and turning the light on to get a better look at him.
“The Hell happened to you?” He asks and Shaw chokes out a laugh.
“Bloody, fuckin’ Russians...” He’s delirious. With a lack of blood and sleep, Shaw laughs when Hobbs begins to stitch him back together, like some kind of fucked-up Frankenstein’s monster. There’s cuts all over his face where he’s probably been shoved, face-first, though a window, his shirt is barely there anymore, shredded with stab and bullet wounds. Behind the strips of fraying fabric, Hobbs can see the beautiful red-blue flowers of bruises blossoming along his rib cage, blood boiling to the surface. He takes care of those just fine but when he reaches for the stab wound that bends at Shaw’s hip bones, the Brit jolts, standing and pressing the larger man to the side of the sink. “Watch where you put your mitts, sweetheart.” He growls, threateningly, and Hobbs feels his dick jump. Of all the times.
The larger man takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
“Listen, Shaw, I’m trying to he—”
“I felt that.” He grins, rolling his hips against Hobbs’ and a choked back groan betrays him. “You like this? Watching me crawl to your door, covered in blood and bruises?” In all truth, their overly-masculine talk always got Hobbs riled up and this was too much, especially after thinking he was dead, nearly four months ago. This ghost, pinning his hips to the granite and teasing. This ghost, tugging him down for a furious kiss that makes Hobbs breathe hard. When he realises what he’s doing, he tears himself away, pushing his...friend(?) back onto the side of the bathtub, blood splattering onto the white, tile floor.
“You’ve lost too much blood, Shaw. You’ll regret this, in the morning.” He warns, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to pretend like he doesn’t want to get on his knees and fuck the Brit raw. Sat where he is, Shaw is eye level with his clothed cock, raising a brow, challengingly.
“Sure thing, boss.” He chuckles, tearing off the pathetic remains of his shirt to reveal the vast expanse of toned, bruised flesh and Hobbs tries his best not to stare at the plates of muscle that shift and tense under the damaged skin. “While I was away, I thought about you a lot.” He grins and Hobbs winces.
“Stop, Shaw.” He grabs the bottle of alcohol and a cotton ball from the sink, trying to busy himself and hoping that his erection will go down. “You’ll be kicking yourself, in the morning. You’re not thinking straight.”
But he’s too far gone and the Brit’s taste is still on Hobbs’ tongue.
“God, Hobbs... You have no idea how many times I wanted you to bend me over and fuck me senseless.” Now, there’s no going back and the larger man sighs, lips twisting into a grimace.
“I— Uhh... I patched you up. I-I’ll get you a Naprosyn and some Neosporin, okay? They’ll help you sleep this off.” He turns to go but Shaw clutches at his chest, his body pressing in close from behind.
“I don’t wanna ‘sleep it off’, Hobbs. I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my name.” His large hands palm and squeeze at Hobbs’ marvellous chest, through his tight tank top, and the larger of the two can’t hold back, not with the taste of the Brit’s tongue still in his mouth.
He spins in the Brit’s arms, cornering him against the sink, hands on his neck, pulling him deeper and deeper. His cock is throbbing in his grey sweatpants, rising to greet Shaw’s own erection in a mutual heat that’s hard to escape. The warmth of his mouth is overwhelming, especially when Hobbs pulls at his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. That only spurs him on, his breathing growing heavier and heavier as Hobbs groans, one hand at the small of Shaw’s back, the other on the back of his neck. In a moment, Shaw pulls back, breathlessly, looking from Hobbs’ now-red lips to his eyes and back.
“Let’s see how tough you really are, sweetheart.”
Shaw is shoved against the bathroom sink, Hobbs insisting that he watch this unfold in the wall-to-wall bathroom mirror. His whole body is covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat brought on by fatigue and nerves, making his skin glisten in the bright lights of the bathroom. Large palms feel at Shaw’s ass through his dress pants, his hips dipping to drag his clothed errection against the smooth curve of it.
“Been thinking about this, too.” He admits, softly, more to himself. He loosens the belt buckle and unzips Shaw’s pants, dragging them down his thighs, and laughing to find nothing underneath. “You dirty son of a—”
“Quit yappin’ and fuck me, Luke!” It’s genuine and worrying.
“Shaw, are you—”
“Please, Hobbs...” He reaches back, parting the cheeks so Hobbs can see the eager muscle waiting for him.
“Okay, okay, okay.”
He sits on the side of the bathtub and Shaw sighs in disappointment upon losing Hobbs’s body warmth.
“Hobbs, what’re you... Oh, fuuuuck...” The flat of Hobbs’ hot, slick tongue is pressed against his entrance, slicking it up, nice and good. He rolls his shoulder blades, feeling electricity run rampant up his spine as Hobbs gets into the zone, eating Shaw out. Long fingers with bleeding knuckles curl on the granite counter as the Brit watches Hobbs chow into his ass. In between licking and sucking, the larger of the two takes a break, pulling back for air and, languidly, gripping himself through his sweats.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” He pants, staring at Shaw’s puckered, pink ass, watching it twitch and shudder at the sensations. He sucks on a finger before rubbing the tip against the Brit’s ass, his moans turn to whines.
“Do it, Hobbs, please. God, yeah, I need this.” He pushes in, his tongue still licking at his entrance when he can. “Mm, yeah. Gimme more. I can take more.” The larger man slicks up another finger before pushing that in, too. In the mirror, Hobbs can watch Shaw’s face twist with pleasure, his choked back moans growing louder and less restricted.
After three fingers, and nearly coming, Shaw starts to get properly demanding.
“C’mon, Hobbs. I could’ve fingered myself, at home. Gimme what I came here for; gimme your sweet cock.” Shaw pulls the cheeks apart again for Hobbs to admire his tight, little ass. “Don’t you wanna fuck that?” He teases and Hobbs places a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his hole, now gaping, slightly, and twitching to be filled.
“Course, I do... Just...don’t wanna hurt you.” He sighs and Shaw looks at him in the mirror.
“I want you to hurt me, Hobbs.” He confesses. “Want you to go in raw and hear me yell when—”
“Alright, alright. Just shut up.” The larger of the two tugs his cock and balls out of his sweatpants. It’s heavy and hot and, painfully, hard. Even as he pulls it out, pre-come paints his fingers and drools over his knuckles. He lines it up, the head just rubbing against the soft bud of muscle.
“Yes! Just fuck me, Luke...” He whines and he’s so vulnerable. With no more second guessing it, Hobbs slams his way in and Shaw. Fucking. Screams. His body goes rigid as Hobbs curls his strong arms around the Brit’s abdomen. He stops, lets him get used to the thickness of the thing. It’s appreciated, even if not verbally. After stopping for a moment and taking a deep breath, the Brit nods for Hobbs to continue. He draws out and slides in, letting his lips flutter up and down the side of Shaw’s throat, leaving soft kisses in his wake. Soon, the sensation isn’t enough. “Hobbs, more... Gimme more.”
The leaner of the two groans out, in a kind of breathless sob. He braces his hands on the granite as Hobbs grabs onto his hips.
“Hold on tight.” He sighs before he ploughs in and draws out, in, out, in, out, rinse, repeat. Soon, Shaw is in a cock-fuelled heaven, his eyes glassed over and blissed out. His elbows buckle and he is pushed into the granite, catching sight of the mirror out of the corner of his eye, watching Hobbs fuck him from behind, sweat beading on his brow.
“F-Fuck, Hobbs...” He moans, eyelids fluttering shut as he reaches down to jerk himself off.
“Not gonna last much longer. You want me to pull—”
“No, fill me, Hobbs. I want you to— Ah! Fuck!” With a harsh prod at his prostate, Shaw comes to his shuddering climax. “Fuck, yes, Hobbs!” As his insides tighten around his cock, Hobbs finds himself spending a lot sooner than usual, spilling his come, hot and viscous, into his friend’s(?) limp body. Explosions behind his eyes as he bucks into Shaw’s more than willing body. He rides out his orgasm, thrusting in a couple more times before pulling out.
When he comes back down from the high, Hobbs goes to turn Shaw over but he’s fast asleep, the exhaustion, finally, getting to him. He, easily, carries Shaw into his bedroom and, then, cozies next to him, wrapping his arms around him, protectively, before drifting off to sleep...