“Depends on what I’d be hurrying towards.” Michael grinned.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Jag said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Michael blink. “But not here.”
Their height difference was too pronounced for Jag to be able to turn him round and fuck him right there.
“Where?” Michael asked, his breath catching in his throat.
Jag tilted his head. “The changing room.”
Michael jerked his head back a little, gently striking the hard tiles behind him. “Or we could go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“To my flat.”
Jag shook his head sharply. “No.”
Michael sucked in his lower lip, wondering if he should ask why not but kept the question to himself. As shit as it sounded, he didn’t want to do anything that would stop himself getting laid. Yeah, he wasthatkind of guy right now. There would be time to puzzle Jag out, when they weren’t in the throes of passion. Besides, he hadn’t had sex in the changing room. Yet.
“The changing room sounds good,” he said. “Now?”
“Not yet.”
They went back to breathless kissing, hands squeezing and stroking flesh and each other’s cocks. Michael lost track of time. He was dimly aware of becoming colder as his body got too used to the temperature of the water. When goosebumps broke out over his skin, he began to shiver. Without a word, Jag switched off the tap and took Michael’s hand, leading him out of the shower room and into the changing room. They left wet footprints and droplets of water in their wake, but Michael didn’t care. Any evidence of their passing would be dry long before morning.
Jag pointed to the sofa. “Over the arm.”
Michael raised an eyebrow but chose not to question or complain. Being bossed around by someone half his age was definitely a turn-on. He kept half an eye on Jag as he walked to the sofa. The young dancer retrieved supplies from his bag. Without venturing closer, he rolled a condom on and applied a liberal amount of lube.
“Over the arm,” he repeated.
Michael stood at one end of the sofa. He leant forwards so his hands were on the cushions and his groin was resting over the arm of the chair. It put him in an interesting position, to say the least.
He turned his head to grin at Jag. “Ready.” He spread his legs, emphasising his point.
After an evening of building frustration and the length and intensity of their foreplay, he was more than ready to be pounded into the sofa. Jag moved behind him and began to kiss his back, simultaneously breaching his arsehole with a slick, slender finger. He plunged it deep, caressing Michael’s sweet spot, sending shuddering waves of desire through him.
“Fuck me,” he begged. He was too wound up to last long. “Take me hard.”
He exhaled as Jag withdrew his finger and then inhaled, preparing his body for what he hoped would be a good fucking. He wasn’t disappointed. Rather than teasing him, as he’d done the first time, Jag rammed his cock inside Michael, forcing him to puff out a sharp breath. Jag’s thrusts were hard and relentless, every one rubbing Michael’s cock against the arm of the sofa. God, now he knew why Jag had wanted him in this position; it was amazing. He grunted and groaned, clawing at the sofa cushions as his arms shook beneath him. He was lost to the sensations in his arse, cock, and balls. Pleasure and pain wrapping round one another to bring him to the height of orgasmic bliss. He heard the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, felt every deep, wild thrust. Sweat soaked his skin, making a mockery of the long shower they’d just shared. His eyes rolled back. His back arched. He cried out, thumping one fist against the cushion as desire burst out of him. He couldn’t stop shaking and quivering as Jag continued to pound into him. His breaths were harsh pants now, and his fingers dug into Michael’s hips as he kept slamming deep into him. Michael moaned and began to writhe against the sofa, seeking to provide additional stimulation to Jag’s needy cock.
“Fuck,” Jag hissed. “That’s good,” he murmured. “Keep doing that.”
Michael obliged.
“Oh, God,” Jag croaked out. “Keep—Oh. God.”
His rhythm broke down, becoming unpredictable but no less pleasurable to Michael.
“Fuck.” Jag gave one final shuddering thrust and then collapsed over Michael’s back, his chest fluttering, his breaths rasping puffs.
Somehow, Michael manhandled them both onto the sofa, where they lay in each other’s arms, dripping with sweat. They kissed, their lips suddenly desperate for the taste of the other. And then they lay staring into one another’s eyes as Michael stroked long strands of hair away from Jag’s delicate face.
“You really are an angel,” he whispered. He’d been sent to bring something that had been missing from his life since Edward had died: passion.
“I think you mean a devil.” Jag laughed. “Leading you astray.”
“No.” Michael kissed his lips tenderly. “Definitely an angel.” Then, to prevent the moment becoming serious, he pressed his lips to Jag’s ear and whispered, “And you can fuck me like that any time you want.”
