Kilts–yes please

I've had a few requests to post this scene since it combines a kilt and a blowjob--so here it is <3

“The sexy Scotsman, Bruce?” Alasdair grinned.

“That’s your nickname around here.  Flattering, isn’t it?”  He smiled again, taking a small squeeze of lotion from the tube on his desk and rubbing it into his hands.      “Do you have ways of disappearing without people noticing, since I put my foot in my mouth, among other things?”  He knelt in front of Alasdair, noticing that Alasdair was more than ready.

“Yes, don’t worry, your secret is safe,” Alasdair said.

Bruce ran his hands under Alasdair’s kilt again, lifting it, then lowered his mouth to him, gently moving up and down while his tongue rubbed him, his hands teasing him, all at the same time.  Alasdair’s head fell back and he gasped with pleasure, little moans coming from his throat as he put his hands on Bruce‘s head.  A victim would have to be taken tonight.  He and Edgar would have to go trolling, possibly in Colorado Springs–but right now, it was getting difficult to think of anything else but Bruce’s talented mouth on him.  He was right.  As fulfilling as Julia was, Bruce was exceptional. He was getting more and more insistent, tugging on him like it was a fight for survival and his erection was the only source of oxygen.  His hands were tender, softly stroking him.  The sensations were balancing each other in a most delightful manner.  He looked down and Bruce was staring up at him with those beautiful blue eyes, his cheeks hollowed as he drew him out. Alasdair couldn’t help rising in his seat a little, much the same way Bruce had when he had Skyped him. When he did, Bruce took his little finger and slipped it under him, running it down the cleft of his buttocks, finding what he was looking for.

That was all it took.

Alasdair thrust upward, his orgasm exploding through him.  He let out a strangled scream and his head fell back, a loud groan escaping him. Bruce kept his mouth on him while he drained him, working him again and again.  He licked his lips, then looked up at Alasdair.  His face had lost the rest of what little color it had, and his eyes were rolling back in his head, which had fallen back so far that the end of his braid had curled into a small circle on the floor.  His eyeteeth had descended, sharp and wicked, and he returned his mouth to Alasdair, moving until he was sure he was finished.

Bruce took his mouth and hands away then, giving him a devilish grin.  “That seemed like it was satisfactory,” Bruce said, his eyes shining. “You’re a very sensual being.”

Alasdair was shaking, slowly regaining control of himself. He willed his fangs to retract.

“Bruce, I–that was extremely gratifying–where did you learn how to do that?

Bruce smiled.  “Saturdays after college track meets, in the locker room with Jeffrey,” he said, laughing.  “I would pretend I was sucking up his McDonald’s shake through a cocktail straw.”  He smiled.  “He never complained when I practiced on him.”

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