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"Some athletes think that sex before an event enhances performance. Other's wouldn't dream of it. Any particular views?"
Owen recognised that kind of glance, knew the kind of man - a rugger bugger, would only fuck someone like him, which made
Owen suppose that he'd got the undercover thing sussed.
"Sunday league footie never got that serious," Lynch didn't
seem to like that answer, "but, you'd think that it would be a good idea. I mean I can see the sense in keeping everything
pent up but surely being tense would only impede performance."
"I'm glad you see it like that." So Lynch had seen his
counter-checking out. The pink shirt he wore was open to the navel, and Owen would have to admit that under normal circumstance
Lynch would be his type, but ... well he didn't feel like it right now. Sex was one of his favourite ways of losing himself,
but right now all it would remind him of was Diane. But he knew he had to get to the bottom of this, lie back and think of
Torchwood.
He slowly walked over to Mark and kissed him as he undid the last two buttons of the shirt. His hand moved
down to Mark's jeans, and popped open the buttons on his flies.
They were soon on the bed, Mark being very determined
and dominant, and fucking away like a steam train. This wasn't soft caresses, this was two blokes both trying to get off and
if the other one did too, then so much the better. Mark obviously thought that he was a good, hard fuck, but truth be told
Diane fucked him harder.
But it was touch, with someone who didn't care and didn't need him to. He could live with
this.
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