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„Ian“, he rasps out and before Ian can say a word he’s pressed against the trailer’s wall and there’s Fergus everywhere – but most of all there’s Fergus kissing him and God, he’s forgotten how much he needed this, how much he’s been waiting for it. His body responds right away, his mouth opening to Fergus’ probing tongue, his skin burning, his knees threatening to give out on him. He lets his hands tangle in Fergus’ locks the way he’s wanted to forever and a small part of his brain tells him to stop this madness, that anyone could walk in on them, that the half-shadow between the rows of trailers isn’t enough of a cover but he truly couldn’t care less in that moment and when Fergus bucks his hips against Ian’s even that little nagging voice shuts up and there’s nothing but static and pure sensation in his thoughts. „Mon Dieu“, Fergus breathes when they break apart for air and then he sucks on Ian’s throat, his hands roaming, touching everywhere at once. „You have no idea what you do to me“, he murmurs against Ian’s skin and moves his hips again and Ian knows he’s grinding back against him but he thinks he couldn’t stop if he wanted to.„I... have some idea“, he answers, breathless, one hand boldly venturing beneath Fergus’ shirt. He flicks a finger softly over Fergus’ nipple and the sound he’s rewarded with nearly makes him come in his pants right then and there. „Come on.“ Fergus’ tone is urgent and he takes Ian by the hand and basically shoves him through the door of the trailer, pushing him right back against it as soon as it closes behind them. His mouth is back on Ian’s then and that’s so distracting, it takes Ian a moment to realize that Fergus’ hands are opening his pants.„Dhia, you’re going to be the death of me“, he groans out when Fergus reaches inside and takes him in hand with a firm pressure.„I’m aiming for la petite mort“, Fergus smirks at him breathing heavily and when he starts moving his hand Ian is lost to words.His brain is running overtime, pumping adrenaline through his body, making him hyper-aware of each little touch and flick, their newness and familiarity alike. How big the difference from touching yourself to being touched, how infinitely more intense it all feels. A nervous thought flutters in his head. This is it, I’m gonna have sex now. This is finally it, fuck, I’m not prepared for this.When Fergus lets go of him and presses a heated, fast and sloppy kiss to his mouth, he chooses to ignore this thought, to just ride with it because oh, this feels way too good to stop. „Dinna stop“, Ian rasps, pulling him back in and catching his bottom lip between his teeth, lightly sucking. He doesn’t know where it comes from, he’s acting on instinct completely but this feels right, like his body knows what it wants and needs, like he’s in perfect sync with Fergus.„Ne t’en fais pas, Loverboy“, Fergus pants and drops to his knees. „I’ve no intention of stopping this anytime soon.“Ian squeezes his eyes shut for a second only to open them again to that same unbelievable sight; Fergus – beautiful, insanely hot Fergus – on his knees smirking up at him, taking his cock out of his pants. „Ifrinn“, Ian curses when Fergus teasingly licks his tip and he can’t help himself, he just needs. His hand goes into Fergus’ hair and the slight pressure he applies makes Fergus hum a low chuckle before he leans in and takes him in his hot wet mouth. Fuck, this is not gonna take long at all, Ian absent-mindedly thinks, his head falling back against the trailer door, his eyes closing in ecstasy.Fergus is sucking at a steady rhythm now, just slow enough to drive Ian completely crazy, to make him want to buck his hips and chase the high he feels building on the base of his spine. He tugs at Fergus’ hair then and Fergus moans around him, vibrating straight through him and resonating deep in his bones. Ian thinks he could have never imagined this, the way he’s seeing stars now, the way he’s so acutely aware of everything Fergus, of every little move Fergus makes, every tiny sound. The way time transforms into something liquid but compact, the way a bubble seems to have formed around them, shutting out the rest of the world. The way every inch of his skin is on fire and his arteries are crawling with lust and he has lost everything distinctly him – everything except for that burning, heavy need for this boy in front of him. Fergus releases him for the smallest of moments then, his heavy breath ghosting over Ian’s spit-slick cock, teasing. „Fuck, you should see yourself right now“, he groans, his hands busy pushing down his costume pants. Ian forces himself to keep his eyes open now, it’s too much, too unbearably good, a sight as bright and blazing as the sun but he can’t miss this, he wants this image to burn itself onto his hippocampus permanently, wants to remember Fergus’ lips around his cock, prettily swollen from sucking him, Fergus’ eyes, half-lidded in pleasure, and the muffled sounds he makes when he starts moving his hand on his own hard length.Ian is dimly aware of the string of Gaelic profanities and endearments leaving his mouth and shit, I’m acting like someone in bad porn for lonely housewives. But he can’t focus on it because Fergus is flicking his tongue with every stroke now and there’s a finger pressing that spot just behind his balls and God, he’s close, Fergus’ name a choked out prayer on his lips.Ian grabs Fergus by the front of his shirt, urging him up, crushing his mouth to the brown-haired lad’s, tasting himself on his tongue and holy hell, Ian lives for it, savouring every second, committing it all to memory.His hand wraps around both their cocks and they gasp, breaking their kiss, foreheads pressed together. They feel soft and hard at the same time, hot to the touch and fuck, that delicious slide, it’s a rush of power, holding someone else’s pleasure. Fergus’ hand joins Ian’s and they’re breathing the same air, electric, both smelling of sweat and precum and they’re watching their hands move in a heady pace.„Come on, Ian“, Fergus pleads, and the wrecked sound of his name on Fergus’ lips has Ian see stars, his orgasm crashing over him.Fergus groans, his hand impossibly picking up speed, spreading Ian’s come over them both. „Shit, tu m’rends fou!“, he exclaims and then he’s coming too, burying his head in the crook of Ian’s shoulder, hot and solid and pressing a myriad of light, open mouthed kisses on his neck until their breathing and heartbeats slow down. It’s a feeling of complete calm – the calm after the storm – and Ian never wants it to end, wants to hold it close to his heart, enclose it in the growing place reserved for Fergus and never let it go.