Quite a Spectacle by Meg Harding

Max was propped against his knees, his moans doing nothing to help with Michael’s raging erection that was starting to hurt tucked in the confines of his jeans, and the sun had completely disappeared from the sky, leaving nothing but an array of colors and fading light.
    When the back of Max’s neck started to get red from exposure to the cool air, Michael pulled away, tugging his coat back into place. He wrapped an arm around Max’s waist and yanked him back so they were chest to back once more. He propped his chin on Max’s shoulder and stared out at the twinkling lights of London.
    “It’s gorgeous,” he said. “I wish I had my camera.”
    He could feel the stubble on Max’s cheek scratching him as he rubbed his cheek against Michael’s.
    “Why don’t you take a picture with your phone, and you can paint it when we’re home?”
    “You think I could do this justice?”
    Max titled his head back so he was staring straight up at the sky and the emerging stars. “I think you can do far more justice than a mere photo would.” He stuck out his tongue, his eyes crossing as a snowflake drifted down to land on the tip.
    “That’s unsanitary,” Michael pointed out.
    Max ignored him, waiting for it to melt. Once it did he turned and captured Michael’s lips for a sloppy kiss. His tongue stroked over Michael’s once, then twice, before he pulled away, a wide smirk on his face.
     
     
    “I FEEL like a teenager again,” Michael whispered as they snuck out of the house and made their way to the gazebo in the back. “We would just need to do it in the car instead.”
    Max snickered, collapsing on the swing in the gazebo and tossing the blanket he had brought to the side. He grabbed Michael by the hips and pulled him down to straddle him. “We’re not doing it in the car.”
    Michael sank down onto his lap, rolling his hips lazily against him. “Bummer,” he laughed, bending to kiss Max. His lips were cold, and Michael tried to warm them up. Max was wriggling his hands up under Michael’s coat, icy cold fingers trailing over Michael’s warm skin causing him to jerk.
    “Fuck,” he groaned.
    There was laughter being breathed into his mouth as Max flattened his palms against Michael’s sides. Newly warmed lips separated from his after a second. “Open my coat,” Max ordered, his own hands trailing up Michael’s back now, nails lightly scratching his sensitive skin.
    Shivering, as much from cold as from what Max was doing, Michael fumbled to pull down the zipper on Max’s coat. It took him far longer than it should have, and even though he kept his head ducked, he just knew that Max was rolling his eyes at him.
    When he succeeded, he breathed an “Aha!” He slid his hands into the open sides of the coat, pressing closer to Max’s warmth.
    One of Max’s hands started to undo Michael’s trousers and he slid the other one right down the back the moment there was enough slack. He squeezed Michael’s butt cheek, fingers digging into the meaty flesh.
    “I want you to ride me,” he whispered, mouthing up Michael’s neck and behind his ear. He brought the hand that had been undoing Michael’s pants up and slid it into his hair, tugging on the strands, pulling his head to the side for better access.
    Michael moaned, grinding down into the hand on his ass, his eyes closing briefly at the little pinpricks of pain in his scalp. “Clothes on?” he managed to ask.
    Max bit him, not a light little nip, but hard enough that Michael damn near drew blood when he bit his lip to stop from yelling. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned, “son of a bitch.” He squirmed on Max’s lap, knocking his hard length against Max’s stomach. Max let him rut, mouthing at his neck and chuckling whenever Michael released a particularly desperate whine.
    When he withdrew his hand from down the back of Michael’s pants, Michael stilled himself with a mighty effort. Max fished around in the pocket of his coat for the lube and pulled it