“I’m yours,” he promised, words catching in his throat. He eased out his fingers, found the lube and slicked his throbbing cock until it shined under the dim light of the corner lamp, and lined himself up.
This was a first, he realized. He’d never topped Beckett before, and it seemed fitting somehow, like a culmination of events had brought him to this single, amazing moment. He steadied himself with his hands on Beckett’s waist and then he pushed forward with his hips. The head of his cock breached Beckett’s puffy rim, and then slid in deeper with more ease than Rhys was expecting. The prep had paid off, apparently. In a breath, he found himself fully seated, reaching the deepest parts of Beckett’s body.
Beneath him, Beckett whined and thrashed against the sheets, and Rhys doubled over, pressing kisses up the sweaty column of Beckett’s neck.
“Sssh. Sssh,” he coaxed, using his tongue to draw swirls around Beckett’s Adam’s apple. “Settle, darling.”
“I swear if I don’t come, I’ll die,” Beckett whined, his eyes screwed shut.
Rhys dragged his hand away from Beckett’s waist and curled it around his cock. Beckett was hot and hard, the tip of his dick shiny with precum.
“Then come,” he whispered, thrusting his hips back and in until he found a rhythm that led him to believe he might last more than three minutes.
Beckett on the other hand, did not.
He came with a strangled cry after less than a dozen strokes of Rhys’s hand. Beckett’s cum was white and hot, and it splattered against Rhys’s knuckles. Beckett’s entire body convulsed and spasmed when he came, the channel of his asshole eager to milk the cum out of Rhys’s body at the same time. Rhys was close, but he wasn’t ready for it to end.
He worked his fist over Beckett’s dick until Beckett swatted him away, and Rhys braced himself on the bed, changing his angle and resuming his strokes. Beckett grabbed for him, sharp nails dragging agonizing lines down Rhys’s back as Beckett bowed off the bed like he wanted Rhys to climb inside of him. He was a man unhinged, and the passion and fury of it spoke to the darkest and most selfish parts of Rhys’s heart.
He lowered his lips to Beckett’s ear and kissed him, slowing himself down to a pace that didn’t have him desperate for breath.
“Are you still there?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
“I hear you.” Beckett dug his nails into the small of Rhys’s back.
“I’m…” He stilled, his cock deep inside Beckett as his orgasm overtook him. It was rough and unexpected, his cock thickening and pulsing as he emptied into Beckett’s body.
“Jesus,” Beckett grunted, spreading his legs wider to let Rhys deeper.
He closed his eyes, unable to hold them open for the duration of his orgasm, and only when his body had calmed through the aftershocks and his balls felt pleasantly light, did he open them again. Beckett had moved his hands from Rhys’s back to his stomach, dragging his fingers over Rhys’s sweat soaked chest and shoulders.
“You’re what?” Beckett whispered, still petting his way down Rhys’s body.
“I’m woefully unprepared,” he admitted, looking over his shoulder toward the bedroom door.
“For what?”
“There’s a ring,” he said. “For you. In the pocket of my slacks, and I swear, Beckett, if I don’t ask you to marry me right this second, I might die.”
“Alright.” Beckett blinked up at him slowly.
“Alright?”
“You can ask.”
Rhys let out a pathetic sounding laugh, smearing a kiss across Beckett’s mouth.
“Marry me,” he said.
“That wasn’t an ask.” Beckett smiled against him.
Rhys pumped his hips forward, his half-hard cock giving one last hurrah to drive home the point.
“Beckett Thatcher.” He kissed the corner of Beckett’s mouth. “Will you marry me?”
Beckett slid his hands over Rhys’s shoulders and held him close, even as Rhys’s cock slipped out of Beckett’s hole.
“Yes,” Beckett whispered. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
