“Oh, fuck.Te sientes tan caliente, tan rico como me aprietas,” Javier managed, breath panting against Bowie’s ear. “You feel so hot, so good when you squeeze me.”
Bowie moaned as much from Javier’s words and the feel of him moving inside as from the feel of his hard, leaking cock trapped between their two bodies, giving just enough friction to drive him mad.
When Javier finally took Bowie’s cock in hand, he whined, unable to decide whether he wanted to push down on Javier’s cock or up into his tightened fist, the combination hurling him quickly towards his climax.
“¿Te gusta como se siente, mi ángel?Do you like how that feels, angel?” Javier asked, sounding like he was barely hanging on.
Bowie’s response was just a long, low moan as his whole body spasmed and he came hard enough to see stars, his release spilling over Javier’s fist. Bowie didn’t know which of them was more surprised, but Javier seemed relieved, driving himself up into Bowie’s body only two more times before he cried out against his throat.
Bowie could feel Javier throbbing as he came inside him. It was the single hottest moment of his life to date. His whole body felt boneless, tiny shivers still running along his skin. He let himself fall backwards, arms stretched overhead, Javier still buried inside.
Javier followed him down, bracketing his forearms on either side of Bowie’s head.“Easy, angel. I’m going to need that later.”
“Me too,” Bowie assured him, stretching luxuriously. “That…was amazing.”
“Yeah?” Javier asked, sounding just the tiniest bit unsure.
Bowie leaned up to kiss him. “Oh, yeah. Top ten at least.”
Javier’s mouth dropped open as Bowie started to laugh. His laugh became a shriek as Javier dug his fingers into Bowie’s sides. “What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m kidding,” Bowie cried, squirming and laughing, unable to escape Javier’s fingers. “You’re number one. The best. I swear.”
Javier’s weight suddenly disappeared and he was striding towards the bathroom. “Hey, come back here. I said I was kidding. I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” he teased. Javier returned with a washcloth and Bowie took it, cleaning himself up in a few quick swipes. “Thank you.”
Javier shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a gentleman.”
“Swoon,” Bowie said, clutching his chest before spinning himself around to drop his head on the pillow. Javier didn’t bother, settling his cheek on Bowie’s belly, wrapping his arms around his waist. Bowie smiled down at the top of his head in surprise. “Comfy?”
“Mm, very,” Javier muttered.
Bowie shook his head. “Is this what’s going to happen every time I let you fuck me?”
Javier nodded. “Probably, yeah. Why?”
“So I know to let you do it more often,” Bowie said, earning a chuckle from Javier.
After a while, Bowie said, “I really like your aunt and uncle. You’re lucky.”
Javier propped his chin on Bowie’s stomach to look up at him. “You never talk about your family.”
Bowie sighed. “Not much to say.”
“Do you ever see them? Do they even know what happened to you?”
Bowie’s heart squeezed. “God, no. My mother would just use it as an excuse to tell me how she was right about LA being full of thugs and hoodlums.”
Javier snickered. “Thugs and hoodlums? Is your mom June Cleaver?”
Bowie began to thread his fingers through Javier’s hair, petting him, not sure what else to do with the nervous energy flowing through him even thinking about his mother. “June Cleaver would never. My mom’s worse than that. A card carrying member of the Christian Conservatives.”
“I’m guessing she wasn’t okay with the gay?” Javier asked.
“Hardly. When I wanted to take dance, my father immediately tried to put his foot down. No son of his would be prancing around—his words, not mine—in a tutu. My mom told him it was a phase, like soccer was, and assured him I’d lose interest. Reminded him I was only four.”
“Jesus,” Javier muttered.
“They compromised. I could do dance but not ballet. It had to be something more geared towards boys. I started in hip-hop, tap, and jazz, but all I ever wanted to do was ballet.” Bowie hadn’t talked about his past in so long the words felt rusty on his tongue. He’d stuffed it all down to avoid thinking about it. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved all dancing, excelled in hip-hop and lyrical, but by the time I was six, I was sneaking into other classes, lying to my mom and saying that class ran late just to stay for ballet. They eventually caught on when they got the bill for the extra classes. My father beat my ass.”
