Jon woke up horny: his cock stiff, confined in his underwear. Warm between his thighs, hard nipples, and an electrifying tingling under the skin. His own smell intoxicated him and invited him to sink his nose into one armpit. He inhaled his scent until his ass trembled with desire.
Bernthal bit his lower lip to keep from moaning at the mere rubbing with the mattress.
He turned around and searched in the darkness for Hardy’s silhouette. The man’s back was outlined with soft muscles, descending until getting lost under the sheets, which sank between his legs suggestively. Jon wanted to slide his cock right there, where the fabric tightened and left no room for imagination.
With his eyes fixed on his companion, he affirmed his toes to the bed and his hands under the pillow. He lifted his pelvis no more than an inch and settled himself, looking for a friction that did not overwhelm him. He did not want to finish soon. Not if there was a possibility of doing so by contemplating Tom’s face.
It was not hard for Bernthal to think Hardy as totally exposed for him, with those curved lips in a smile and looking over his shoulder with those eyes, inviting him to… Fuck, that filtered photo of a young Tom Hardy had ruined his fantasies forever. He could only see the man lying on bed, breaking his waist, raising his ass in a provocative angle.
Jon wanted to lick him completely, make him finish with his tongue and fingers until he was shaking and asking for his cock.