Traveling always makes Mitch anxious and snappy, and after a full day of being so tightly wound, he's just exhausted. He drags his suitcase behind him and has to keep adjusting his handbag on his shoulder because the cross-body strap broke at the airport, and he's more than ready to be in a bed with his laptop doing some online retail therapy. His phone is dead, so he can't even call and see if Scott has checked in yet, and the concierge wouldn't tell him anything, because apparently it violates their privacy policy, which doesn't even make sense.
Mitch finally reaches their room and juggles his bag and his useless phone and the handle to his suitcase until he has a free hand to use the key card. The lights inside are off, but Scott should've arrived at least two hours ago—maybe he's down at the gym, or out at a bar, or... something. Mitch sighs and drags his stuff across the threshold, reaching with his elbow to press the light switch.
As soon as he rounds the corner and enters the room proper, he stops in his tracks. Standing in the open doorway to the balcony is Scott, framed by curtains gently fluttering in the ocean breeze and a beautiful pink sunset, wearing nothing but his underwear. It's hard to look away from his gloriously tanned skin, and the sparse, light chest hair spanning his pecs, but out of the corner of Mitch's eye he sees the white sheets on the bed dotted with red rose petals.
"Are you kidding me?" he breathes.
"The guy at the front desk called and said you were on your way up, so I turned off the—"
Mitch drops his things and dashes across the room. He leaps at Scott with his arms and legs outstretched, and Scott catches him easily. As Mitch locks his ankles around Scott's back, Scott clutches at him, holding him tight with one hand between his shoulder blades and the other at the back of his head. Scott doesn't stumble at all, suddenly having Mitch in his arms; he steps decisively into the room and Mitch closes his eyes. They're spinning, he can feel it, but he's too focused on tasting Scott's tongue, nibbling at his lower lip and switching angles so Scott can do the same. Their noses bump together and it feels so familiar, Scott's scent and his taste and the rough texture of his beard overwhelming Mitch's senses.
"I missed you," Scott sighs. "Let's never travel separately again."
"Okay."
Scott grins. "Are you ready to start this vacation?"
Biting his lip, Mitch cranes his neck to look at the bed. The comforter is pristine, white as untouched snow, and so plush and inviting, but the deep red of the scattered rose petals looks so beautiful... "I don't want to ruin it," he says. "Is that silly? I just—"
Scott cups Mitch's cheek, turns his face forward again. "Then let's not," he growls. He curls his hand around the back of Mitch's head again, gently scratching Mitch's scalp and ruffling the short hair.
In a move that almost gives Mitch whiplash, Scott spins them around and slams Mitch against the wall. His hands are protective, easing the force of the impact, and Mitch groans at the sudden tensing of Scott's biceps. He pushes both hands through Scott's hair and finds it soft and product-free, the perfect texture to clench in his fists and tug.
They kiss for a few eternal moments before Scott taps Mitch's thigh and helps him slide to his feet. He kisses Mitch's neck, nibbles at his collarbone while Mitch takes off his jeans, and while Mitch strips off his shirt, Scott pushes his underwear down his thighs. They kick their discarded clothes out of the way and Scott gives Mitch a subtle nod. Mitch hops back up and Scott catches him just as before. Mitch locks his ankles again, squeezing his thighs tight around Scott's hips.
With no fabric separating them now, Mitch can feel the hot, hard length of Scott's cock pressing up against his ass. He rolls his hips, grinding between Scott and the wall at his back. Scott pushes two fingers into Mitch's mouth and Mitch laves his tongue against them, wetting them. Scott pulls them from Mitch's lips with a soft pop and slides his hand between Mitch's legs, forcing his way under Mitch's thigh. The new position dislodges Mitch's ankles and he slips against the wall, grabbing at Scott's shoulders to stay upright.
Scott spends only a moment stretching him and Mitch settles into the gentle thrusts, distracting them both with demanding kisses. Scott's beard tickles Mitch's palm, and he scratches his fingernails through it, delighting in Scott's groan.
Scott resituates them again, hooking both arms beneath Mitch's knees and pushing him back more forcefully into the wall. He spreads his legs a little, redistributing their combined weight and finding his leverage, and Mitch clings to Scott's firm shoulders, only mildly concerned.
"Honey, you're gonna hurt yourself," he finally mutters as Scott practically bends him in half. It's not uncomfortable, exactly, but it's not a position that either of them can maintain for long.
Mitch groans then as Scott lines up and pushes in. Gravity does a lot of the work, and Scott's hands are comfortingly strong around his back, holding him steady. It's a struggle to force his body to accept Scott at first, and Mitch knows he's scratching Scott's shoulders, digging his fingernails in a little too hard, but Scott doesn't complain.
"I'll be fine," Scott tells him. The next question, Will you? is there, unspoken, in the gentle lift of Scott's eyebrows.
Mitch breathes for a few seconds as their bodies settle together, tension easing as familiarity takes over. He meets Scott's gaze and nods.
It takes a moment for Scott to establish a rhythm, but the way he grips Mitch's body, manhandles him into meeting each thrust, leaves Mitch completely at his mercy. Scott drives the breath from Mitch's lungs, pushing so deep that Mitch has trouble thinking. Overwhelming pleasure makes his vision hazy. He reaches up and back, searching for purchase on the smooth wall. There's nothing within his grasp, nothing to cling to but Scott.
He can't keep his eyes open. His sweaty shoulders slide against the wall. He reaches between their bodies and wraps his hand around his cock, finding it slick with dripping precome. Mitch's hand is on autopilot, and he strokes himself without thinking. He can't put together coherent thoughts at all, in fact. When he comes, he loses track of everything, of his own body, of Scott's body, and Scott's panting breaths and hot lips, and all the places their skin touches, all the places they connect. It's like they're one person, and though he can't feel it when Scott comes, Scott's orgasm makes Mitch shudder and gasp just as hard as his own.
Scott sets him down carefully, crowding him against the wall with their chests flush together and their breaths mingled until Mitch's legs stop shaking and he manages to find his balance. Scott folds down and wraps his arms around Mitch's back and kisses him.
Mitch sighs into Scott's mouth and lets Scott's kiss reaffirm him, ground him back in his own body. He returns Scott's embrace, looping his arms up around Scott's neck, and when they part, they sway together to the steady beat of an unheard tune. It's slower than his own racing heart, and it soothes him to be in Scott's arms. Mitch looks over Scott's shoulder at the rose petals, the crisply made bed. Here he is, dripping with come after being fucked into the wall, but the bed is so romantic and clean and inviting. He's already looking forward to round two.
Mitch bites his lip to keep from grinning, but Scott notices it anyway. He can hear Scott's answering smile when he puts his lips to Mitch's ear and whispers, "Welcome to Greece."
fin.
