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It was difficult to not focus on the lack of décor and lighting for Winston. First walking into the drab basement, he couldn't help but take critical notes on the lack of everything in the room. O’Brien insisted, however. Still, Winston made it clear he wasn't fond of the environment.
Though, that was nearly a half an hour ago.
Now, Winston lay on an old, stained mattress with springs that creaked with any given motion it was presented. He couldn't make any comment, nor would he wish to. Having his exposed back against the flat cushion of the mattress, his surrounding was the last thing on his mind. O’Brien announced his pride of occupying the other man’s thoughts with a smug smirk and a hardy, spontaneous thrust.
Winston never conversed with the man draped on top of him at work before. O’Brien was a complete mystery, besides what it was he did at the Ministry of Truth. Other than his occupation, Winston had known nothing about the other. Now, having given the other man his body without a care, not much else was added to his collection of knowledge about him; there was only one piece of information that Winston had found out throughout this rendezvous: O’Brien was a brilliant lover.
His thrusts were systematic and precise, his kisses provided the perfect combination of lust and tender care, and his gentle caresses were so light they could hardly be felt, but they left Winston silently wishing for more.
Having said O’Brien’s love making to be precise, he still gave his coworker the preferred amount of utter bliss and being teased that edged on being tortured, alternating between the two. Both of them finished their moment of slow hip-rocking. O’Brien, having given his secret lover enough of a time to catch his breath, started to pick up the pace once more.
Winston was in a frenzy. His back arched, his toes curled, and his voice rose in anticipation. With all his might, he tried desperately to keep his voice down, in fear of being heard by anyone working for B.B. who may perhaps be listening in. Try as he might, he still failed to keep his volume under pants and whispered moans.
“Oh,” he began, grasping tightly on to O’Brien’s thick upper arm and heated back. “Oh, oh,” he continued while shutting his eyes, sweat falling in beads down his forehead. “Oh, oh, oh, O’Brien!!” Winston hollered at the top of his lungs, flinging his head back deep within what little fabric covered the mattress.
Hearing his name being called out in such a familiar way, O’Brien ceased all movements at the drop of his name. That tune… that jingle… it made him feel fierce. True, the real jingle had been “Oh, oh, oh, O’Reilly,” but it washed him over with nostalgia of hearing the slogan on the radio with his family when he was a young boy, he simply needed to finish the jingle.
Furrowed brows led to his own two hands pressing Winston’s body down flat onto the cushion with as much force he could muster without hurting his coworker. Winston’s ear was his target. Anchoring his body downward until his lips were just a few centimeters away from his lover’s ear, O’Brien finished the jingle he had remembered from his childhood.
“Auto parts.”
A monstrous thrust was immediately followed afterwards, sending Winston’s body to shake and quiver in shock and pleasure.
“Whoo!!”