Les Twins One Shots

Wild Heart

There's a moment—a breathless, weightless, glowing little moment after he's nearly caught his breath, where Laurent simply gazes down at him, drawing the backs of his clean knuckles tenderly against his cheek with a warm smile.

"Gorgeous," Laurent sighs. "I wish you could see how fucking beautiful you are right now. All lovely and flushed like that, like you can't get enough—"

He goes on and on, the words slurring together in Larry's mind, swallowed up by the heat building in his core the longer his twin works his clever fucking fingers within him. Laurent isn't wrong about being good at this, Larry knows he's not fucking wrong; he's never been driven so mad with nothing but someone's touch until now, until this, arching away from the bed and begging for more within mere minutes, already pleading for Laurent's cock with every breath he can catch in his lungs.

Never in his life has Larry come apart on nothing but this, nothing but the focused press of fingers massaging the sensitive spot deep inside him with a filthy slew of encouragements in his ear. When it happens, it creeps up so quickly that he can't even catch his fucking breath; his feet slide frantically against the bed for purchase as sparks dance through him all the way from his fucking toes, crawling up through his body as he loses his pleas to choked, gasping cries. Laurent stays focused, not letting off for a second as the sparks turn to flames, as the flames build into an inferno, and suddenly Larry is gone, lost to a blinding rush of pleasure as he shakes apart on Laurent's fingers, cock remaining hard and untouched.

And that's only the fucking first time.

Laurent works him through it, and then, Larry thinks, dizzy and out of his mind as his cock leaks against his stomach, surely—surely Laurent will give him more. Surely he'll give him his cock next, fuck him properly and let him fucking come for real, soothe the sharp edge Larry is riding like a knife.

Except he doesn't give him more. He slides his clean fingers through Larry's hair, pushes the strands back from his damp forehead, kisses Larry's cheek, and keeps fucking going.

He hardly even falters after the first orgasm, doesn't so much as slow his thrusts into the younger one's body. The waves of pleasure haven't finished settling within him before they're building again; he hasn't even caught his fucking breath before it's drawing short again; and it's all Larry can do to let the heat crash over him a second time in a row mere minutes later, dragging him into another roaring riptide of pleasure as he shouts and arches hard away from the bed.

He is so lightheaded after the second time that he hardly registers the kisses on his face or the sweet whispers in his ear. He thinks he hears some slew of admirations for how gorgeous he looks getting fucked on Laurent's fingers, how nice and pliable he already is, but he's still trying to get his head to stop spinning—which is a fucking challenge, because Laurent keeps fucking going.

He pauses only to shift Larry bonelessly around, adjusting his arms to urge him onto his front. Larry doesn't even manage to push his hips against the bedcovers, desperate for even the slightest bit of sweet friction against his cock, before Laurent catches his hips and pulls them up, pushing his upper half down with a hand between his shoulder blades.

Suddenly Larry is fucking blushing at the shameless position he's in, but any coherent thoughts or reservations melt promptly away as he finds himself taking three fingers now, working deftly into him while he shudders madly at the ceaseless stimulation.

He whimpers into the pillow beneath him, squirming a little at the oversensitivity until Laurent pushes a soothing hand up and down his spine, shushing Larry sweetly and whispering that he's not finished with you yet, that we're only getting started, baby, that Larry is doing so, so well, pretty thing, god, there you go, doesn't that feel good?