"Can your technology make oil?" he wonders into Tintin's skin, trailing kisses down his jawbone and neck. "We can't very well try without something to help us along. Unless," he adds, and one hand finds itself between Tintin's legs again, "we use a more natural kind of lubricant."

"I can make some lubricant with the supplies in my bag - give me a moment -"

Tintin extricates himself from Taharqi's grasp, retrieves his backpack, and reaches into it, eliciting an orange glow; after a few seconds he pulls out a small bottle that may or may not have been there before. He slicks Taharqi's length generously, and offers the bottle to him.

Taharqi takes it, pours some over his finger, then sets it down to use that now-free hand to pull Tintin close again for more snogging. But the fingers that are covered with the lubricant will find their way between the other man's asscheeks easily enough.

Tintin approves of all of this! He grinds against Taharqi's thigh when his fingers breach Tintin's hole.

"Eager, aren't we?" he murmurs. He starts with one finger because—well, he's not thick in only one location, you could say.

"Yes," he says without a trace of shame.

Then he'll oblige. He pushes that one thick finger further into Tintin, gauging him for reactions and, well, actually he's curious about whether he'll find a certain sweet spot in there that he's used to more conventional men having.

He does indeed! Tintin shudders, still rutting against Taharqi's leg.

Oh Tintin is such a fucking delight. Taharqi will play around in his asshole a little bit more, loosening him up until he feels like he can get a second finger in.

It doesn't take long; he's pliant and cooperative. And moaning.

"You make such delightful sounds," murmurs Taharqi as he works Tintin open even more. He's patient, and waits until Tintin is properly ready before going for the third finger.

If desperate noises are the order of the day, Tintin has them.

"Please -" he says as the third finger enters him.

"Good please, bad please...?" murmurs Taharqi, slowing down but not quite stopping.

"Good please more please!"

"I feel like a fourth finger would be a bit too much," he laughs, but keeps going because he really really wants to fuck Tintin's ass.

"Then fuck me already!" he says, almost laughing between the whimpers. "Please!"

"How could I possibly refuse," he says, grinning.

...but first he has to kiss Tintin. Because he is incredibly attractive and deserves to be kissed.

Kiss!!!!!

Then Taharqi pulls his fingers out and himself away from the kiss, turns Tintin around, and uses one hand to bend him over while using the other to grab his cock and find Tintin's entrance with it.

He pushes in... slowly. And waits for the go-ahead.

Tintin lets out a hissing breath. "I - hhh. Good. This is - good. Very. Big."

Half consciously, he goes to stroke himself. 

But hopefully not too big, that was the whole point of the fingers!

He continues going in, and in, and in, until he's all the way to the base.

Tintin shudders around him, his muscles fluttering wildly. He strokes himself when he can think straight enough to do it, which isn't all the time.

When Taharqi's hips touch his cheeks, Tintin turns and kisses him hungrily.

Taharqi laughs into the kiss and responds just as hungrily, then starts pulling away and rocking back in (once more, slowly at first) without breaking the kiss. "You're so fucking hot," he breathes for a second before kissing again.

"Fuck - you're so -"

Tintin clenches around him and sprays the sand with clear fluid.

"Fuck," mirrors Taharqi when he sees Tintin come as he speeds up and up, pounds more and more—

—and then comes, too, squeezing Tintin's body against his as he does it. One, two, three loads and he's mostly spent, breathing raggedily into Tintin's skin as he pulls out, letting the last lazy drops of come drip down to the sand or between their legs.