Bowie blushed but couldn’t seem to force himself to stop staring. He’d been right. Javier didn’t have a gym body. No washboard abs, no chiseled pecs. What he did have was broad shoulders, well-muscled arms, and narrow hips. The colorful tattoos on his arms spanned his entire torso. A tiger splayed over his belly, its tongue dipping below the towel, drawing Bowie’s attention straight to the edge of the cotton fabric.
There was almost too much to take in. “I-I’ll go wait out there.”
Javier wasn’t smiling anymore, just watching him thoughtfully. “Okay. Whatever you want. ”
What did Bowie want? He didn’t know. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he found himself moving towards Javier, not stopping until he was close enough to touch, to feel the chilled damp skin of Javier’s chest beneath his palms.
Javier didn’t move, stood frozen, every muscle tensed beneath Bowie’s fingertips. “Whatcha doin’, angel?” Javier asked, for once sounding as unnerved as Bowie always felt around him.
“I don’t really know. Is that okay?”
Bowie watched Javier’s throat convulse on a swallow, this time looking at Bowie like he was the dangerous one. “Yeah, angel.”
Bowie leaned in and brushed his lips against Javier’s in a one-sided kiss that lingered, his hands moving to his waist.
“Was that okay?” Bowie asked again, his voice one step above a whisper.
Javier nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.”
Javier didn’t move. He didn’t dare. Didn’t trust himself not to do something they’d both regret. But he couldn’t hide his body’s reaction to Bowie’s timid kiss or the way his soft hands sat just above the towel his dick was tenting. It was only a matter of time before Bowie noticed. Lawson was right. He was an idiot. Bowie wasn’t ready for anything like this.
Still, when Bowie’s mouth found his again, Javier couldn’t help but respond, teasing his tongue between the open seam of Bowie’s lips, cock twitching at the sudden catch of his breath. This time, when Bowie pulled away, he gave a slight smile before diving back in to kiss him again.
Christ, kissing Bowie was death by paper cut, slow, torturous, exhilarating. Javier had made the offer of letting Bowie tie him up and he almost wished he’d taken him up on it because every instinct he had wanted to shove Bowie up against the wall and map out every inch of his body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, leaving no area unexplored.
But all he could do was stand there, letting Bowie call the shots, letting him decide how far things went. The third or fourth time Bowie’s lips found his, the younger boy made a noise of frustration. “Touch me.”
Fuck. Javier’s hands came up, cupping Bowie’s face, kissing him the way he wanted to kiss him, swallowing Bowie’s whimper and wishing he was wearing more than a towel. He could feel Bowie walking them backwards but was only really aware when the chilled glass of the window pressed against his back, causing him to hiss in surprise.
“Sorry,” Bowie mumbled against his mouth, not sounding at all sorry.
“You’re forgiven,” Javier promised, his head thunking against the glass as Bowie’s mouth moved to his jaw, then his throat, fingers brushing against Javier’s nipples in a way that made him groan. “You’re killing me, angel.”
“I can’t help it. You smell good. Like soap. You taste good, too,” Bowie said, his tongue dipping into the hollow of Javier’s throat.
Javier had not been prepared for this unprovoked attack, couldn’t keep up with Bowie’s roaming hands and mouth, didn’t even fight him when his hands went for the towel, his gaze dropping to watch it fall to the floor. Then Bowie’s hand was around his cock, jerking him slowly. Javier wasn’t sure how this had escalated so quickly. He wasn’t opposed to it, exactly. He just wasn’t sure this was something Bowie wanted or if he just needed to prove to himself he could do it. That he wasn’t permanently damaged.
“You good, angel?”
“So I’ve been told,” Bowie murmured, biting at Javier’s earlobe, tightening his grip on Javier until he groaned.
Bowie’s movements weren’t hesitant anymore. They weren’t timid or shy. He kissed Javier like he knew exactly what he wanted. And yet, there was a frantic, almost kinetic energy about Bowie, like he was moving too fast to say no. “We don’t have to do this. I didn’t bring you here for this,” Javier murmured.
“I know. Do you want me to stop?” Bowie asked.
Of all the ways Javier had seen this play out in his head, Bowie had always been a willing participant but never the aggressor. Still, he was loath to stop him, didn’t want to, even if it was the right thing to do. Javier wasn’t a good guy and didn’t always do the right thing.
Bowie clearly took Javier’s silence as permission because he was sliding to his knees before him, gripping the base of his cock before engulfing the tip in the tight heat of his mouth. Javier’s hips spasmed as he tried to force himself to be still and not thrust his way deeper into the tight suction. “Oh, fuck, angel.”
Javier’s hands dropped to Bowie’s head without thought, his hands tangling in the messy strands of his hair, biting his lips as the muscles in his legs and abs contracted. It took him longer than it should have to notice Bowie was struggling, now fighting to free himself from Javier’s grip on his hair.
Javier let go instantly, dropping down in front of Bowie whose eyes were wild, pupils dilated, tears streaming down his cheeks, his face contorted in some combination of frustration and terror.
“Don’t. Just…just don’t,” Bowie said, his words catching on a sob.
Javier picked up the towel where it had fallen, moving around Bowie to give him some space. He opened his bottom drawer and grabbed a pair of threadbare black joggers, shoving his legs into them before moving back to Bowie.
This time, when he sat, it was not in front of Bowie but beside him, knees drawn up, forearms resting on his legs as he watched him try not to fall apart. “You good, angel?”
