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Philip manages to open the door to his flat in record time and soon enough they're on the other side of it. Anticipation rockets up Freddie's spine as he crowds in closer, his hands slipping up under Philips shirt, wasting no time at all in loosening the buckle of his belt and getting to the fastening of his trousers just beneath. He growls into the rough press of Philip's lips, licking past the seam, hungry for more already, every nerve in his body buzzing with want.

"Doesn't sound like too bad a job to me," he admits as he pulls back, panting slightly and then biting his lip as he loosens Philips pants enough to get his hand inside the fabric, fingers curling over the swell of his cock through his underpants as he steps in closer, close enough to breath against the curve of Philip's jaw. "Think I might even work hard at something like that. I've always been told I should do what I love. And I love fucking."

He gives Philip a good squeeze then, tracing the length of Philip as well as he's able before pressing his lips to Philip's jaw and breathing against him. "What d'you say, then? Think you can get it up for the Prince?"

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It's a ridiculous goddamn question; Freddie can't feel anything but Philip right now. Breath hot on his mouth and cheek, broad chest under his hands, thick cock bumping Freddie's own with every rock of his hips. And those fingers. There's two now, the stretch burning through him pleasantly, driving him mindless already just with the promise of more.

He can't quite stop rolling his hips, greedy for more, breath and body hitching sharply when Philip gives a quick twist of his wrist, brushing right against his prostate. Freddie gasps, the sound quickly melting into a low, desperate sort of laugh before he bends down to meet Philip's mouth. It's bruising this time, all teeth and tongue as Freddie grasps at Philip's shoulders and chest and sides, fucking himself back against those long, glorious fingers before he blindly reaches out toward the table. His hand knocks into Philip's in the process and Freddie breaks the kiss to glance over, his laugh eager and breathless.

Giving Philip's bottom lip a playful nip, Freddie aborts reaching for the lube to open the little drawer again, searching about inside it for a moment before pulling out a single foil packet. He palms it easily in one hand before surging in for another kiss, fist curled and resting against Philip's shoulder as he presses back and away just enough to slip his other hand between them, grasping Philip's cock again in a tight, eager grip.

"Your cock is fucking gorgeous," he whispers, his voice low and appreciative. Freddie isn't one to use many superlatives in bed, often choosing to show instead of tell, as the saying goes. But he does like to give credit where credit is due and Philip's cock is absolutely one of the nicest he's seen.

"Works well with this glorious ass of yours," Philip answers with a low rumble of laughter and while he may not have seen it -- yet, he promises himself, thinking all the wonderful things he might do to that ass -- but he can feel it. He could feel it through Freddie's jeans and he can feel it now, the muscles inside him clenched tight around Philip's fingers, and he can't wait to get his dick inside him.

They're both working eagerly toward the same thing, the condom in Freddie's free hand, the bottle of lubricant in Philip's, and he rolls his hips up just slightly, enough that his cock pushes through the circle of Freddie's fist. Philip has never felt as if he has anything to be ashamed of, he knows he's in excellent physical condition, that he's attractive, that he has a rather impressive cock, and he takes the compliment happily, hoping, too, Freddie will take his in return.

"Put it on," he groans, leaning in to catch Freddie's mouth again, giving him no chance to argue, although he doubts argument is truly on his mind at the moment. This is what they're here for, though Philip certainly won't be adverse to a repeat performance in which they take a little more time. "I can't wait to be fucking you."

There isn't a chance Freddie would argue even if he could, instead letting out a sound where between a whine and a groan against Philip's mouth as he reluctantly slides his hand off Philip's cock to work at opening the packet. It's more difficult with his still-slick fingers and he has to pull away from Philip's mouth for a moment to use his teeth instead, spitting out what he tears off as he slips the condom free.

His lips quirk into a grin as he reaches down then to slide it on, rolling the rubber down the length of Philip's shaft and holding his hand out to Philip for another squeeze of lube.

"Want me like this?" he asks, his other hand wrapped tight around the base of Philip's cock, anticipation rocketing through him already. "Facing you? Or I can turn around, take you so fucking deep that way."

Edited 2016-09-02 21:06 (UTC)

Both options are terribly appealing and while he's very much looking forward to admiring Freddie's ass in every possible way, he has to admit he'd rather have him facing forward this first time. It might not be apparent, he doesn't make any attempt to make it clear, but Philip likes to see people the first time he fucks them. He likes to watch and get a sense of what they're like in bed and whether or not this is going to happen more than once. With Freddie he already has an idea this isn't simply going to happen once, but he needs to be sure.

"Like this," he answers, his voice rough as his head tips back in pleasure at Freddie rolling the condom down over his cock. He's aching, heat coiled deep in his body, pinpricks of pleasure going off wherever Freddie is touching him and he tips the bottle, spilling more of the lube into Freddie's outstretched palm. "I want to see you when you come."

And he wants to be able to touch him like this, his fingers carefully pulling out of Freddie's ass in anticipation, gliding up his spine. He wants to be able to fist his hand in his hair or jerk him off as he fucks up into him. He wants to see everything.

In truth, Freddie doesn't have much of a preference. There are pros and cons to both, after all. He certainly can't say he's disappointed in Philip's decision, comfortable as he is like this with Philip's chest under his palms and delicious dark eyes. His lips quirk into a broader smile that falters into a groan when Philip slips his fingers free, leaving him empty and wanting.

Those slick-sticky fingers slide up Freddie's cleft and then higher, tracing a line that nearly makes him shiver as Philip squeezes a good amount of lube into his palm at the same time. Biting his lip, Freddie wastes no time in wrapping his slick hand around Philip's cock, stroking him from base to tip in a way that's likely far more indulgent than it needs to be. But Philip is thick and hot and hard and Freddie can't get enough, staring down between them for a long moment before finally the need for more urges him onward.

He shifts up then, higher onto his knees and shoves closer, one hand on Philip's shoulder and the other still wrapped around his cock. Keeping his head lowered and his eyes on Philip, he tilts his hips back, guiding Philip to his hole, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as the blunt tip rubs over his rim. He teases himself a bit, bending slightly so his face is closer to Philip's, eyelids fluttering as he arches back slowly, taking more, welcoming that incredible, delicious burn as it washes through him, Philip's cock slowly splitting him in open.

It would be easy to just sit here and let Freddie take complete control, let him do whatever he likes and use Philip's cock in any manner in which he wants, but it actually feels close to impossible not to respond in some way. He supposes if he were made dumb with pleasure, if he were the type of man to zone out when something felt too good he might end up with his eyes closed, just letting Freddie sink down on him, but Philip simply sets the lube aside on the table, careful to close it so they it won't spill everywhere if they knock into it, then settles his hand on Freddie's hip and uses the muscles in his own pelvis to very slowly push himself up just slightly.

It isn't much, nothing more than a gentle roll of his hips, barely enough to push himself any deeper than Freddie has him already, but it's a reminder, too, that although he may be the one sitting, although he may not control everything, he still has a bit of the power.

His other hand slides higher still, over Freddie's back until he's digging his fingers into his shoulder blade and he groans as his dick slips deeper inside of him. His body is tight and hot around Philip's cock, the perfect, delicious sort of heat that comes with almost nothing else. A hand is nice and a mouth is wonderful, but there's nothing like being able to sink his cock into someone else's body and feel the way he's almost pulled inside.

"Shit," he breathes, his head tipped back, his lower lip brushing Freddie's. "You feel so good."

Philip's hands settle on Freddie's hips, a warm weight that grips as Philip rocks his hips upwards, driving up into him as Freddie sinks down little by little. He stills after a moment, lifting back up just a bit before lowering once more, head tipped forward and eyes heavy-lidded as Philip slides deeper inside.

"Fuck," he breathes, the burn of it intense. Philip's hand grazes up his back, fingers digging into Freddie's shoulder. Freddie's hands are still curled around Philip's sides, locked there for leverage before he's finally fully seated. He stills for a moment catching his breath, his own cock trapped between them, thick against the hard plane of Philip's lower belly as Freddie breathes hot against his mouth.

"Like a tight little hole just made to be fucked," he says, his tone low and amused and strung out already. He turns his head just enough to skim his lips along Philip's jaw as he lifts up again then, shuddering slightly before bearing down, starting a slow, shaky rhythm as he slides a hand up to Philip's shoulder. "Fuck," he grunts again, lips just below Philip's ear before his tone melts into one more teasing again. "Christ, fuck me. Wanna feel it, Your Highness. Want-- just want you to use me."

In Philip's experience, most people find themselves incapable of speech when they're fucking, losing themselves in the sensations rippling through them, how good it feels, and while he can be undone to that extent now and again, for the most part he's still able to speak, still able to articulate how good things feel and what he wants. When other people can, too, he can't help but appreciate that, because while he loves knowing he's pulled someone apart with pleasure to the point where they can no longer speak, he also loves hearing all sorts of things come tumbling out of their mouths, as is the case with Freddie now.

"Yes," he breathes, digging his heels into the floor to give himself better leverage as he drives up with his hips. At the moment he's still taking care, making sure he isn't hurting Freddie as he pushes into him, but it doesn't seem like Freddie is particularly worried about that, his lips drifting along Philip's skin, his cock hard against his stomach. "I'll fuck you, I'll make you feel it, make you remember it for days."

And he has every intention of doing exactly that, his hand tightening on Freddie's hip, guiding him, moving him, then rolling his hips up again, a little harder this time. He turns his head, ghosting his lips over Freddie's cheek and then ducking to find his mouth, kissing him hard, his tongue sliding into his mouth.

Freddie has absolutely no doubt Philip will be good on his word, can feel it already in the way Philip's hands grab at his skin, the feel of his thick cock up inside him. He shudders when Philip's grip tightens further, when he holds Freddie in place and rolls his hips, driving in harder, skin slapping against skin as Freddie holds himself over him.

It's easily the best fuck he's had since he arrived in this strange place, Philip the first man he's found who's wanted to bend him over. Freddie enjoys fucking in every possible manner, loves getting his dick inside a tight hole almost as much as he likes being the hole.

Almost.

He feels mindless with it, every thrust sending white-hot pleasure all through him and he rocks his hips to meet each one, the movement giving him the barest friction against Philip's belly. He's panting now, murmuring a soft plea as Philip's lips graze his cheek, his head turning to meet those lips with his own. Philip's tongue shoves into his mouth and Freddie nearly whimpers, turning desperate as he struggles to keep pace with Philip's thrusts, struggles to catch his breath.

He manages a rough, "Please," between one kiss and the next, drags blunt nails down the front of Philip's chest before he bears down. He'll need to change the angle in a moment, but for now he's soaking up the feel of Philip's hot breath against his mouth, those strong, grappling hands and broad chest under his palms.

Freddie isn't much smaller than he is, but Philip is a strong man and without a thought, obeying some kind of deep seated instinct that tells him what to do and what he wants, he abruptly wraps one arm around Freddie's waist and uses the other on the arm of the chair to suddenly push himself forward. To his feet, out of the chair, and two stumbling steps across to the couch on the other side where he lowers them both to the cushions, Freddie pressed back among them, Philip with his knees on the edge. He still has that arm wrapped around Freddie, but the other he uses to brace himself against the back of the couch so he can thrust his hips forward, burying himself deeper still inside Freddie, the sound of skin against skin dragging a long groan out of him.

It's harder to kiss Freddie from this angle, Philip moving over him, but he imagines there's plenty of time yet for them to figure out what to do with Freddie's mouth. They don't need to do everything this evening, and so he clutches at the cushions against the back of the couch, focusing instead of fucking Freddie deeper, rolling his hips to change the angle, to see if he can't at least brush up against his prostate and go from there. He still hasn't touched Freddie's dick, but there's time yet. There's time for everything.

That perfect heat is spreading through him, filling his pelvis, and Philip's fingers clench as he looks down at Freddie, at the expression on his face, the sheen of sweat on his skin. Philip's hair has long since become a mess, curling in the heat, in the damp of the room, sweat prickling his forehead and his shoulders and his chest, his skin slick with it.

Freddie can't remember the last time anyone lifted him. Aiden maybe, and he supposes that had only been a couple months ago.

But he's not thinking about Aiden now. He doesn't care about Aiden. What he cares about is Philip's arm curled around him, the strength in those thighs and abs beneath him, the laugh that punches out of his lungs when he realizes what's happening and the feel of sofa cushions against his back as Philip drops him.

It's some sort of sex miracle that keeps Philip inside him the whole time, keeps them locked together, and Freddie lets out a rough cry when Philip immediately shoves in harder. He holds his legs up high, the heel of his foot brushing Philip's side as he shifts and arches, offering himself up until Philip is fucking in just right, hitting his prostate with every thrust. It's so good, so overwhelmingly good that Freddie can barely keep his eyes open. Philip's hair is falling over his eyes, those gorgeous, dark eyes locked on Freddie's and he groans again under the weight of it.

"Fuck," he breathes, reaching back to brace himself against the arm of the couch with one hand, the other curling over Philip's shoulder for a moment before desperation makes him reach for his own cock instead, jerking himself in time with Philip's pace. "Fuck, fuck. Yeah. Just like that, oh my God." Gritting his teeth, he tightens the curl of his leg and bears down then, meeting each rock of Philip's hips.

He certainly knows what he's doing. Philip has thought that more than once tonight already, but every so often Freddie does something that reminds him and he doesn't even know what it is now, if it's the way Freddie laughs or the hitch of his legs higher or the way he speaks or jerks himself off in time, stroking with every single one of Philip's thrusts, but whatever it is, he's aware all over again of the fact that he's found himself someone rather experienced tonight and it's paying off.

Which isn't to say it's all Philip needs. He's found great satisfaction with people who have never had sex before, with people for whom it's been some time, for they often carry with them a need to please, but there are nights when all he wants is someone who can talk like this, someone who knows what to do, who knows what the other person wants without even having to ask and Freddie has more than fulfilled that role this evening.

"Look at you," he breathes, unable to do anything but look, his gaze raking over Freddie's body, over his face, the flex and shift of muscles in his chest and his shoulder as he strokes his own cock. Philip's hips are still rolling, thrusting into him harder, and if Freddie's encouragement is anything to go by, what he's doing is exactly what he wants. "Christ, just look at you." It's fucking glorious.

Philip's staring down at him, sweat-damp hair hanging over his eyes, cheeks glistening. It's hardly the first time someone's looked at him like that, definitely not the first time someone's done so while actively fucking him. But it gets to him every time, fills him up like a drug, fills him like the best cock he's ever had.

And it doesn't hurt that Philip is so hot. Hot and older and clearly capable of fucking Freddie into next week if he so much as asks for it. He's panting now, chasing every breath as Philip pounds into him, occasionally stopping his own strokes just to grip tight, to hold himself back from coming to soon. As overwhelmingly good as this is, he doesn't want it over just yet, doesn't want to come too soon.

"Like it?" he finally manages, the words rough and breathless as he shoves his hips back again, grunting sharply at how deep Philip is inside him. "Like what you see?"

He wonders if Philip likes it enough to want this again, if the next time could possibly feel even half as good.

Before Philip can even respond, he's groaning again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he arches, muscles clamping down hard around Philip's cock, as he pulses in his own palm. He can't stop it now, doesn't even try to, just lets the wave crash over him, coming in streaks across his stomach and chest, working himself through it with stilted, rough strokes.

"Shit," Philip breathes, caught somewhere between the sheer pleasure of watching Freddie come and the blood rushing through him, pounding through his veins, hurtling him closer to his own release. He'd meant what he'd said earlier, though, he'd wanted to watch Freddie as he comes and it's certainly not a disappointment, the way his body arches, the expression on his face, and Philip continues to thrust into him, dragging him through it, dragging himself closer toward his own orgasm, feeling the tight pulse of Freddie's muscles around his cock.

It's moments like these he most detests condoms and how regularly they're used now. He'd like nothing more than to come inside Freddie, to leave him feeling it in more ways than one.

And it's with this thought, the idea of fucking Freddie without a condom, that makes Philip come finally with a hoarse shout, his hips driving forward once more, burying himself inside Freddie, wave and wave of pleasure rolling over him until he has to brace himself hard against the back of the couch or risk collapsing on top of Freddie.

Philip doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, fucking in hard as Freddie falls over the edge, fucking him through his orgasm, hitting his prostate over and over even as Freddie comes all over his fingers.

"Shit, shit," Freddie breathes, blinking his eyes open as Philip's thrusts turn more erratic, hips rolling in deep and then still as his face contorts and then relaxes into pleasure. Still riding his own wave, Freddie bites his lip and bears down, doing what he can to push Philip through his orgasm, nearly wishing he could see the evidence of it, feel Philip's come leak down his thighs.

Not for the first time, he wonders what else Philip might be into. If he'd let Freddie get him off with his mouth, if he'd come all over Freddie's skin, get him filthy in a way so few of the men Freddie's been with ever have.

He's nearly laughing then as he reaches to curl his hand loosely around Philip's wrist where it's braced against the couch, lifting the other to graze down the side of Philip's sweat-slick jaw. "Love it when a man knows what he's doing," he says with a grin, clenching his muscles once as he lets out a low, stilted sort of moan. "Christ, that was a good fuck."

After awhile at this angle, Philip's knees are going to ache, but he can't bring himself to move just yet, not when he can still feel Freddie's muscles still clenching tight around his cock. He'll have to move soon enough, have to rid himself of the condom and possibly get something with which they can clean up, but he doesn't care to just yet.

"Shit, that was enjoyable," he says on an exhale, almost a laugh, and then, ever so reluctantly, he eases himself free of Freddie's ass. Careful not to hurt him, Philip all but collapses on the couch beside Freddie, divesting himself of the condom and leaning to the side to toss it into the small trashcan under the table.

And while he may not be one to plan for the future, he can certainly see himself doing that again. He gets different things from different people, as close to an emotional connection as he gets with Fiona and Coop, some of the best sex he's had with Neil and now Freddie. This could easily become a habit.

"We abandoned the throne," he points out with a smirk.

Freddie isn't too eager for Philip to slide out right away, but he doesn't fight it any either, just bites back a quiet, disappointed sort of groan as Philip eases back, slow and slick with lube still. It feels immediately empty though it's a bit of a relief as well and he reaches down instinctively, grinning at how stretched he still is before sliding his hand up to the swell of his balls and then the mess he's made over his stomach.

Collecting a bit of it on his fingers, he reaches up then, catching Philip's eyes again before smearing it lightly across his jaw, teasing just below Philip's bottom lip.

"That was all you, mate," he says with a grin, his legs sliding down to rest over Philip's thighs now as the low afterglow slides over him, his muscles pleasantly worn and sated. "Was all set to ride you, though I can't say I regret how this turned out." He cocks his head then, smirk still unwavering. "Maybe next time I can blow you in it though. How's that sound?"

It's not often Freddie cares much about a next time, but it's also not often he finds someone who can fuck as well as Philip. There'll be a next time if he has any say in it.

Philip grins, both at the sensation of Freddie's wet fingers gliding across his skin and the suggestion of a next time. His tongue flicks out against his lower lip, tasting Freddie there, and he gives an exaggerated stretch, as if he needs time to consider his options when he knows he'd like nothing more than a repeat performance of this.

He glides one hand over Freddie's leg, up toward his thigh, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles shift and jump. Whatever connection they have may be superficial, linked entirely to sex, Philip has yet to decide, but even that is entirely worth keeping.

"Think it sounds like something we might be able to arrange," he says, his voice low, and he doesn't know how it's possible, his body itself refuses to respond right now, but he can still feel a low stirring of arousal at the thought of more time with Freddie. "The things I can think to do with you..."

Philip's hand smooths up his thigh and over his hip, the touch warm and firm. Freddie stretches out a bit further, arches his back as he slides his sticky fingers down the side of Philip's neck and over his shoulder. Those eyes are still dark and locked on him and Freddie finds himself wanting to bask in it, wanting to keep them here, on him, at least for the night.

He bites his lip at Philip's promise, shifting just a bit more so he can push up onto his elbow. There's a thin layer of quickly cooling sweat all down his chest and belly and his cock is already starting to soften between his thighs. The ache in his arse is just as he likes it, pleasantly sore in that way that means he'll definitely be feeling it tomorrow and he cocks his head as he looks at Philip, biting his bottom lip briefly.

"What sorts of things are those?" he asks, squeezing Philip's thighs gently with his own, encouraging. "Not the candlelit dinner for two sorts of things, are they?"

"Not unless that's something you really want," Philip answers with a low laugh, watching the way Freddie bites his lower lip, shifting as he feels his muscles tense briefly. He has absolutely no problem treating the people he's fucking well, has no qualms taking them out for a meal if that's what they want, no issue being seen with them.

It's taken a bit of an adjustment in Darrow, given the way things were done in the thirties, but Philip thinks he's come a long way from groping Ianto under the shadows of a table. No one here is going to try to hurt him for such a thing and if they were, he'd be able to fight back without being called any number of derogatory terms.

"But what other sorts of things?" he asks musingly, flashing a brief, sated grin. "I'm already thinking about how much I'd like to fuck your mouth. Or fuck you with my tongue, until you're begging for my cock again. I'd say both of those sound like they might be fun."

It's not that Freddie dislikes candlelit dinners, really. But it's not something he'd readily choose himself if he's honest. There are other ways to pass the time and he'd rather spend a night lounging on a couch nursing a beer or a glass of cheap wine than hunched over a table of overpriced food. And anyway, he's never tasted a wine worth more than thirty-five quid.

Philip's response is rather interesting though and Freddie can't help but wonder what this might be. It doesn't feel like Philip's about to ask him on a date, but there's clearly the expectation of more. And it's an expectation Freddie very much hopes to become reality. But are they friends?

Then again, does it even matter?

With a grin, he pushes up on his elbows a bit, relaxing back as he tips his head. "Both a good start," Freddie admits, dropping his gaze down to Philip's chest for a moment. Next time you should come on me," he decides, shifting to balance his weight on one arm then as he reaches out to graze his fingers along the jut of Philip's collarbone. "All down my neck chest. After you fuck my mouth, of course."

Were it physically possible, Philip suspects he'd be near to hard all over again just based on this bit of conversation. As it is, the corner of his mouth hitches into a grin and his fingers tighten briefly, pressing into Freddie's skin before his grip relaxes and he leans back against the couch cushions, looking rather pleased with himself, Freddie, and the situation as a whole.

He'd been with men before in the thirties who had clearly hated themselves, who'd wanted to be degraded as a punishment for what they thought was an abomination of their own sexual preferences. Philip has never gone in for that, has never seen anything to be ashamed of, but he'd certainly taken advantage of men who wanted to be fucked in that manner. But it isn't like that with Freddie. Not in the slightest.

And Philip likes that much more.

"Get you all dirty," he murmurs. "Yes, that'd be something."

Philip's grip on him tightens for only a moment before he flashes a wider grin and sits back. With a groan, Freddie pulls his legs back and then rolls so he can sit upright on the sofa, his arse pleasantly sore as he shifts against the cushions.

Resting a hand atop Philip's thigh he settles back, nestling easily against Philip's arm as he brushes his fingertips along the hair of Philip's thigh, up and back down again. It'd be something alright, he thinks, tipping his head back a with a grin as he pictures it. He'd be on his knees or on his back, mouth sore and bruised, Philip hovering over him, stroking himself off, sweaty and gorgeous.

He turns his head then to grin over at Philip. "Should give you my number," he decides, his voice cool and lazy, like he doesn't care whether or not Philip agrees. "'Case you've any need to use that throne again."

"I'd tell you to put it in my phone, but damned if I know where it is right now," Philip admits with a laugh, casting a glance out toward the rest of the room. His trousers and jacket are both on the floor and it's inevitably in one of those pockets, but both are much too far away for him to have enough strength to reach at the moment. "We'll find it before you go anywhere."

Because that's certainly an offer he's not going to turn down. Darrow isn't like the rest of the world he's grown used to. Even in the thirties, when things such as this had to be kept to the shadows, there had been a grander scale available to him. He could move easily between Dublin and Swords and Malahide without much effort, not to mention finding his way to London or anywhere in France with relative ease. More people, more space, it all led to more opportunity.

Darrow doesn't have that, so he's going to take what's offered to him.

Philip's the type of liar Freddie knows well, the type that's easily missed if only because one can never be quite sure what is truth and what isn't. The type who makes lying into a constant artform of second-guessing one's own instint. He's exactly the type of liar as Christopher, exactly the type of liar as Freddie himself.

Which means, of course, there's no telling if Philip is only saying what he is at the moment to prolong the lie and make it more believable or if he does have every intent of getting Freddie's number before he leaves.

Either way, Freddie tells himself he doesn't care. It's a small enough city; if Freddie's meant to meet up with Philip again, he has no doubt it'll happen. If not...

Well, he'll just not think about the if not.

"Fancy a fag?" he asks then, still watching his own fingers trail over Philip's leg before tipping his head to grin at him.