Jag chuckled. “Don’t say you didn’t ask for it,” he said in a low growl.
“Oh, God.”
Michael felt Jag’s cock tease against his arsehole, pushing against his resistant muscles. He didn’t try to enter Michael’s hole; he just applied light pressure before pulling back and pushing again. The fifth time Jag teased him, Michael pushed back, encouraging Jag to breach him. He felt the head of Jag’s cock push through his tight ring of muscles and moaned in dismay when Jag pulled free again. Then Jag was inside him again, filling him, satisfying him, thrusting back and forth with a youthful vigour that drove Michael wild. He tried to lift a hand to stroke his own cock, but Jag’s thrusts were too intense, and he needed to lean on both arms to keep himself upright. Jag slammed into him so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care because despite the pain, it was fucking amazing and exactly what he needed. He was sweating and grunting and grinding his hips in time with Jag’s thrusts, encouraging the young man deeper and deeper until his cock was hitting that unbearably sweet spot every fucking time.
Jag cried out, his body shuddering as he thrust a few more times before collapsing forwards onto Michael’s back, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. They both breathed hard, gasping and gulping at air as though they’d been starved of oxygen for several minutes. They were two sweaty bodies plastered together, and Michael’s arms shook with the effort of keeping them both upright.
Gradually, Jag’s breathing settled to a more normal rate. “Turn around,” he ordered, letting go of Michael.
Shakily, Michael did as he was told, willing to do anything Jag asked of him. He leant against the desk, watching as Jag pulled the condom off, tied it and threw it into the bin beneath the desk. Jag dropped to his knees, staring up at him with dark eyes. Michael wanted to lean down and kiss him, but before he could summon the energy to move, Jag’s mouth was around his cock again. He pressed his hands against the desk and tipped his head back, enjoying every swipe and swirl of Jag’s tongue, every onslaught of sucking pressure. It didn’t take long before his orgasm burst out of him in a primal cry. Still Jag sucked until the very last tremble had fled Michael’s body.
“Kiss me,” he begged. He wanted to taste himself on Jag’s lips.
Jag stood, wavering slightly. Michael caught hold of him, pulling him against his chest so their bodies were pressed tightly together. They kissed, slowly, passionately, tongues touching and teasing, lips tingling. Then, laughing and panting, Michael propelled them both into the chair.
“I couldn’t stand up any longer,” he confessed.
“Me neither.”
He cradled Jag in his arms, stroking his hair. “That was…”
“Yeah,” Jag agreed in a lazy tone. “It was.”
6Jag
Seeing his mother’s face, in close-up on the TV screen in the supermarket, was one of those ‘don’t want to look, can’t look away’ moments.
It had completely blindsided him, mostly because he’d been too wrapped up in thoughts of the previous night to pay attention whilst he was shopping. He’d been flitting between remembering how sex with Michael had made him feel and making sure he’d obeyed rule number five: set boundaries. He’d told Michael he only wanted a bit of fun, and he’d left as soon as his legs had stopped shaking. Holding and caressing each other afterwards had possibly been a bit of an overstep, but he had made it absolutely clear that it was no-strings sex.
He stopped, smiling. No-strings sex didn’t mean one-time sex. There was no harm in continuing to fool around as long as they stayed on the same page. With that conviction in his mind, he made the mistake of looking up, straight at the TV screens and his mother. Thoughts of Michael and hot sex evaporated instantly.
His mother was perfectly put together, as usual, with pristine make-up and not a dyed hair out of place. He had no clue what she was talking about, as the sound was muted and there were no subtitles on the screen, but it would be something related to medicine; she’d made quite a name for herself as a guest doctor on daytime TV shows over the last ten years.
He stood there, hand gripping the handle of his shopping basket, unable to walk away. The camera panned out, showing a wide shot of his mother and two other presenters. She was wearing the pearl necklace his father had given her for their fifteenth wedding anniversary. He didn’t recognise the skirt suit she was wearing, but then it had been four years since he’d last seen her in the flesh. He shuddered. Four years.
What had started as a bid for freedom had turned into four years of looking over his shoulder. Unable to settle down, he lived his life flitting from city to city, his everyday life dictated by a strict set of self-imposed rules that were designed to keep him safely away fromthem. It was like being in a weird state of limbo.
On the screen, his mother laughed, and his mind filled in the sound that was missing from the TV. He heard her laughter as if she were standing right beside him. God, what a creepy thought. He tilted his head a little. Viewers loved her. They lapped up her advice and took it as gospel. He wondered if they’d be so enthusiastic about her wisdom if they knew what she was really like, if they knew that she believed in conversion therapy and had forcibly subjected her own son to it. Luckily for her, she’d always kept her family life private, so his disappearance hadn’t rocked her minor celebrity boat. As far as her viewers and the witless presenters were concerned, he didn’t even exist. He was fine with that. He’d once debated going to a newspaper or magazine with his story, but despite all his family had done to him, he couldn’t convince himself to publicly destroy them. He didn’t hate them that much; he wasn’t even sure he hated them at all.
The camera panned to the female presenter, and a couple of seconds later, the programme cut to a commercial, breaking the spell he was under. He blinked as though waking up from a bad dream and forced himself to move away from the TVs. Not that he could get his mother out of his thoughts. Even miles away from her, she could still get under his skin and into his head.
He wandered round the supermarket in a daze, mechanically picking up the few things he needed without really paying any attention at all. He was drifting between the past and the present, remembering the events that had led him to his current way of life. Events he didn’t want to remember but couldn’t purge from his mind.
Coming out.
Their ‘intervention’.
Long, tiring ‘therapy’ sessions after school. Every. Fucking. Day.
The psychiatrist.
Endless questions, battering away at his psyche.
Sleepwalking his way through his exams.
Kissing Jared.
Being caught.
