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The second barbershop they went to after being thrown out of the first honored the trim request, this time without the threat.
They both ended up in much the same clothes they’d always worn, except newer versions. Walking through the streets of Perdition, Tristan paused outside a shop called Fancy Guy.
It was the sort of place that hired suits and sold cheap ones, but it made Tristan’s eyes light up anyway. Mort saw desire in that gaze.
“What is it?”
“You’d look hot in a suit,” Tristan said.
Mort was not interested in changing his attire, but Tristan looked so excited about the prospect of him in a suit, he did not want to disappoint him. He still had money. It was the only power left to him as a mortal. He wanted to use it to make Tristan happy.
Mort did look hot in a suit. Mort looked so fucking hot, it was all Tristan could do not to fall to his knees and start sucking him right there. A crude thought, but with Mort’s tall, dancer’s body being shown off to perfection, long legs, powerful shoulders and a lithe waist, Tristan could barely contain himself.
“I cannot believe I ever found someone like you,” he said. “You’re strong, and you’re smart, and you’d do anything to have me… and you’re so incredible. And everything you sacrificed…”
He knew he was babbling. Tristan had never been that eloquent, but he wanted to let Mort know how much he appreciated him and wanted him and, fuck, it was hard. Literally and figuratively.
Mort’s lips quirked as if he were amused.
“We have to go home,” Tris said. “And you have to stay in that suit, and I am going to show you just how much yours I am.”
The suit had powers of some kind, Mort was sure of it. He could not feel from whence they came, but they turned Tristan from a fairly stoic guy into an effusive, cock hungry man. He could not hide his lust, which was fine by Mort. He found arousal very distracting and satisfying at the same time.
Having somehow managed to survive the drive back from Perdition with an inordinate amount of mutual groping, the pair broke the front door of the house, falling through it, kissing. Mort was shocked at how powerful his lustful urges were now as a mortal. All his hungers were greater, as well as his thirsts — and there was no doubt he hungered, thirsted, and lusted for Tristan.
He pinned his mate face down over the kitchen table and bared Tristan’s ass. There was cooking oil on the counter. Mort grabbed it and drizzled it over the generous muscular mounds of Tristan’s ass. The oil made him gleam invitingly.
“Fuck, yes,” Tristan moaned, guttural and needy as Mort used his fingers to spread his ass and watched as slow rivulets of oil traced their way down the cleft of Tristan’s rear, pooling in the dark, inviting hole waiting for Mort.
Mort looked and loved for a long time. Perhaps for too long, because Tristan started to get restless, squirming over the table.
“Stay still,” Mort commanded, laying an oil-wet slap to Tristan’s ass. “I want to savor this. I want to enjoy you slowly.”
“Of course you fucking do,” Tristan moaned.
Mort reached around, finding Tristan’s cock rock hard. “Don’t complain,” he said. “You’re enjoying this too.”
“I just want you to fuck me,” Tristan moaned.
He was so impatient. So petulant. So disobedient. Or.. was he? Since Mort had become mortal, Tristan had stepped up. He’d begun to do the things for Mort he should have been doing for himself all along.
Mort leaned over Tristan and let his teeth graze over his ear. “I am absolutely going to fuck you,” he promised.
His own cock was throbbing hard too, demanding satisfaction. It wanted to penetrate a tight, deserving hole. It wanted to claim another living body and make that body its vessel. It was so simple, so primal, and Mort was sure it would be so very satisfying.
He took his time exploring. He wanted to draw this moment out, wanted to make it meaningful. But in the end his cock started to physically hurt from desire and every instinct in his mortal frame told him the solution was to drive it deep inside Tristan’s tight body.
“Have you been taken this way before?” He asked the question before discarding it just as quickly. “I do not care. There will be no others after me.”
Tristan let out a moan, arching his hips. Mort had been rubbing his rear for some time, pressing his fingertips intermittently against the bud which promised to flower around his cock.
His ass was ready, if the way his muscles relaxed every time Mort put pressure there was any indication.
Finally, Mort freed his cock, and fisting it, pressed the head to the gleaming, oil-covered slit of his lover’s rear. He took a last few moments as a mortal virgin, sliding his sensitive head up and down before settling into the natural niche of Tristan’s ass.
