Pistol loves nothing more than the adrenaline rush of riding broncs; well, almost nothing. He loves Bender the most. Injured and tired and not sure if he's going to be able to ever ride again, Pistol comes home from the rodeo circuit, just hoping that Bender will welcome him with open arms after yet another long absence.
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Before Pistol could say anything Bender was on him, mouth covering his in a kiss that smashed his lips against his teeth and totally stole his breath.
Oh. Oh, thank God. He pushed up into the kiss, damn near sobbing with relief.
Bender grabbed the collar of his shirt, shifting him and slamming him up against his truck. All those long, lean muscles pressed up against him. He wrapped his good arm around his lover, his legs, clinging like a fucking leech.
Bender got both hands around his ass and hitched him higher, rubbing hard. There were no words, just hard, needy kisses and harder cocks bumping through denim.
Finally, he managed to find breath and brain enough to mutter, "Missed you. Need. Fuck."
"Shut up and kiss me." One hand worming between them, Bender tore at his jeans.
Jesus. There were outside, at the truck. Outside. And fuck, it felt good.
His prick pushed out of his open jeans and Bender wrapped a hand around him, palm calloused, fingers strong as they gripped him. He hadn't felt that touch in months, and he drove into it, his belly muscles burning like he was riding. He supposed he was, riding the sweetest fucking ride of his life.
"I can fucking smell you." Bender's hand moved, hard and fast.
"Need you." He bit the words out. "Bender!"
Rough, constant, just like he liked it. Bender knew what he needed.
Fuck. He arched, balls aching as he gave it up, just like that. Boom.
"God damn, I've missed that smell." Bender's voice was rough, scratchy.
"Missed you." He was never going to be able to walk to the house.
"Ditto." Bender gave him another hard kiss then backed off. "Come on. We'll go in and you can show me how much."
"Uh-huh." Whoa. Wow. Also, welcome home.
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