This is the second part of a series exploring characters from NBC's The Blacklist.
Please donate to the Nifty site. It's terrific. Truly.
Please send thoughts to sjwauthor@gmail.com
Ressler darts into the bedroom, excited. He rips off his tie and rapidly unbuttons his shirt, revealing his alabaster, solid frame. His chest, majestic and broad. His nipples, large, dark red, and perky. He pulls his hands up his torso, kneading his muscles. As he does, his thumb grazes his nipple, making his spine twitch. He does it again, feeling the energy shake his whole body for just one second before passing.
He pulls off his belt. Before he discards it, he hesitates, smiles, and leaves it on his bedpost. He kicks off his shoes and pulls off his socks. His cock strains against the tight boxer briefs, their dark blue material standing stark against the sun-sheltered skin of his smooth stomach. Ressler lays on the bed and touches his lips, gently tracing each cracked cranny, while his other hand slides down his thick thigh, feeling each string of muscle flex with the turning and writhing of his leg.
Ressler hears a moan from the living room, his hand, now on his stomach, squeezing tight into his smooth abs. He moans with the sensation.
He brings his other hand up to his hair and runs his strong fingers through the stunning rubicund locks. Just as he begins to pull on his hair, he looks to see a naked figure standing there.
At the door, Tom stands naked. His furry body is sculpted like a divine being, his cock stands long and hard in front of him, bobbing up and down as Tom inhales and exhales with excitement. He brings his hand up to his neck and chokes himself, never breaking eye-contact with the ginger stud on the bed. His other hand heads towards his freed cock.
"Wait."
Tom's hand stops.
"Let me."
Ressler gets off the bed, crosses to Tom, and squats down. He looks at the tip of the cock, the foreskin hiding all but the very top, where a single, glistening drop of precum shines.
Ressler puts his finger on tip, dabbing the drop, and brings it towards his mouth. Tom, having released his hand, is standing in shock and awe. How could such a stud want to suck me off? Ressler's finger goes into his mouth and he draws in the sensation of Tom's juice. He sucks on his finger, moaning, beginning to flail and gyrate, enthralled with the taste.
Tom is dumbfounded, his mouth hangs agape. His cock is as hard and long as it has ever been in his entire life. He is amazed and unsure and confused. Suddenly, he sees two hands flying towards his face. One, with four fingers stuck out straight, goes right into his mouth; the other latches onto his neck. He freezes, hoping he had inhaled before this. In front of him, Ressler stands panting. His eyes are fixed on Tom's, his mouth is held shut. He pushes his fingers farther and farther back into Tom's mouth, eventually going as far as possible. When he sees Tom is not gagging or panicking, he smiles and withdraws his hands. He steps forward to the slightly taller, narrow, former twunk. He leans in and kisses Tom.
Their lips dance on top of each other. Tom moves his hands to Ressler's arms, but finds them pushed down to hang at his side. Ressler is not touching Tom either. The only thing touching is their lips, mixing and twisting and churning and gnawing and pulling and sliding and sucking and pushing and tugging. Tom's eyes are closed, but his mind is on fire. This cannot be possible. This cannot be possible. Ressler's lips on his.
Tom feels a hand between his strong thighs. He feels Ressler's two fingers massaging his taint, gently stroking the hairy stretch between his two most treasured places. Tom's knees buckle slightly and he parts his legs, desperately wanting more.
He moves again to touch Ressler, this time with no restrictions. He puts his hand on Ressler's shoulders, strong, tall, muscular traps that make his neck seem of monumental importance. He pulls his fingers across the smooth, warm, alabaster skin.
Ressler begins to kiss down Tom's neck, across his stubble, lingering on the neck and knowing that with one good thwack of his lips, he can leave a fat mark on his neck. He proceeds again, down the tight frame of beauty beneath his lips, and savors the feeling of each strand of hair and each parcel of skin. He stops at the belly-button, allowing his tongue to flick in and out. Tom's whole body quivers, his cock bounces up, hitting Ressler's chin with his long cock, slightly curved to the right. Ressler's eyes open and look up. He smiles at Tom. Tom looks down. Ressler speaks clearly and directly: "You're a scummy asshole for all the crimes you've committed."
Tom looks down and, in a moment of brazen hubris, slaps Ressler across the face with an open palm. "Shut up and start you fucker."
Tom's eyes roll back as his cock is worshipped by pursed, thick lips.
Ressler guides his lips up and down the long shaft. He loves the feel of Tom's pubes going into his nose and tickling his hairless, strong face. He goes with the heaving breath of his dark-haired muscle bud, then, he suddenly shifts his pace, changing direction or changing pace, making Tom quiver and groan loudly, before returning to a steady pace. His control of the moment is intense: rhythmic lips, pulsing fingers. His other hand is descending down his torso, massaging every ounce of muscle on his front. He brings his fingers around his fat shaft and begins pulsing, creating a polyrhythm between his hand, his fingers, and his lips. Each moving in related and obscure ways.
He plunges his mouth all the way down Tom's cock, swallowing the whole thing without flinching. Once there, he opens his mouth wider and allows his tongue to stick out and taste the sack that is firm and tight.
Tom begins to scream, writhing and writing and flailing and writhing. His balls contract and he shoots load after load after load after load down Ressler's throat.
Ressler smiles as he pulls off, the load stored in the back of his throat. He rises and grabs Tom by the shoulders, walking the incapacitated Tom to the bed. He lays him down, pries his mouth open, and allows the load in his throat to roll off his tongue and into Tom's open mouth. Tom's eyes are struggling to convey understanding. It's majestic. As the load finishes, Tom jumps and straddles the weak man beneath him. His hand throttles the throat, his cock descends into the throat, and his load shoots out, causing Tom's load to fly out of either side of the mouth from the intense pressure. Ressler's body shivers intensely and minutely, his hand pressing harder and harder down on Tom's vulnerable throat. Just before Tom's light leaves his eyes, Ressler pulls it off, flips down, and sucks the load out with all his might, evacuating the mix of sperm quickly, getting it all into his stomach with a vigor he did not think he could muster after 39 hours on the job. He falls over sideways on the bed, legs still in contact with the hair on Tom's intense and intricately muscled thighs. He rubs them and drifts to sleep, savoring the load that lingers longingly on his tired, fat tongue.