Page 42 of Dirty Air
Henry’s hand wanders around to Fritz's chest, under where his arms are still immobile. The driver can’t see anything, but Henry’s thumb finds his nipple with practiced ease. He rubs over it, teasing it until the bud hardens, then pinches.
A jolt punches a moan out of Fritz, who falls forward, against the older man. “Henry!” he whines, fighting the confinement of his sleeves.
“There, there.” Henry makes a pitying noise, but he still rubs Fritz’s other nipple to hardness. “It would be a shame for them not to match.”
The second pinch doesn’t surprise Fritz as much as the first, but he still whimpers as Henry continues to work him up. It’s so different when the man is right there, when it’s his thick digits exploring him, pressing his buttons, pushing him further.
“Alright, let's get this off you.”
Henry rolls the shirt down Fritz’s arms, unsticking the fabric until it’s low enough for Fritz to flick the rest off. The garmentfalls to the ground with a heavy plop and Fritz takes advantage of the distraction to reach for Henry.
“Your turn.” Fritz flicks open the top two buttons of Henry’s VFIBR shirt in quick succession until he can see a peek of chest hair. “You should wear it like this.”
“I thought maybe we could maybe just avoid this part.” Henry steps back, away from Fritz’s nimble fingers, but the driver follows. “I mean, I’m no athlete. You’re really not going to be impressed.”
“I need you, Henry.” Fritz pulls the shirttails up, untucking them from the waistband and Henry lets out a yelp. “You are not wearing clothes inside of my shower. If you are going to help me, you need to be naked.”
Henry captures Fritz’s wandering hands and holds his wrists away from his body. He shoots his driver a stern look, one that Fritz meets head on.
“Let me look,” Fritz says, struggling against Henry’s grip. “You are exactly my type. I give you the cold bath video, but you have no shirtless pictures for fouryears. I have earned this.”
“You went looking for—?” Henry huffs before he releases his hold. “Fine.” With a theatrically dramatic sigh, Henry unbuttons the offending garment the rest of the way, letting it fall off his shoulders next to the abandoned Nomex. “Happy?”
Yes. He is.
Henry is Fritz’s opposite—barrel chested with a soft stomach. He has the chiseled arms of someone who only goes to the gym to lift, and his muscles bulge as he crosses them in front of himself. His chest hair is even darker than his arm hair, untrimmed and curling in every direction. Armpit hair peeks out from under his guarded stance, and a happy trail guides Fritz’s attention further down.
He’s so delicious that Fritz actuallysalivates.
Henry touched him, so it’s only fair that Fritz gets to returnthe favor. He skips the light touches and grasps Henry’s deltoids with the span of his knobby fingers. As Fritz maps out the swell of biceps, they flex, pushing against his palms.
Henry doesn’t have to show off, but it’s cute.
Fritz’s exploration moves inwards, and he squeezes Henry’s pecs, burying his fingers in chest hair.
Henry huffs some sort of modest chuckle. “I’m not fitting into your car anytime soon.”
“I want to lick champagne off your body.” Fritz thumbs over Henry’s nipples—not sensitive, damn—before catching his eye again. “Let me.”
Henry surges forward, capturing Fritz’s lips with his own. Fritz moans into the kiss as his race engineer works his mouth open. One of his hands buries itself in the short, blond strands on the back of Fritz’s head, the other pulls at his waist, dragging him closer until they're flush against each other.
“You drive me crazy,” Henry growls, both hands tightening.
Henry is all-encompassing. Heat radiates off his uncovered chest, soaking into Fritz’s skin. He dives deeper, his tongue exploring, opening Fritz up. He tastes salty—musky with a hint of champagne.
Fritz feels almost frantic, biting at Henry’s lip while his hands scramble for purchase. He needs more. He needs to becloser.
Henry works a leg forward until Fritz is riding his thigh. The driver claws at Henry’s shoulders as he rocks, his hard cock leaking, jutting up against the hard muscle, searching for release.
Henry pulls away from their kiss to gasp, but not far. The air between them is hot, moist, as he tugs on Fritz’s race suit. “Take this off.”
Fritz mirrors him, panting as he pulls on Henry’s belt loops. “You too.”
When they separate, Fritz makes quick work of his shoes andrace suit, stumbling over his legs when he tries to watch Henry strip at the same time.
The older man unbuckles his belt with precise movements and drops his trousers. Henry has thighs like a fucking tree, and he grasps his bulge through his boxer briefs, giving Fritz a quick peek of what he’s packing before he disappears into the bathroom.
Fritz grabs the champagne bottle and follows, feeling a bit like a dog pulled on a leash.
