There’s a goat sleeping on my pillow
Chickens roosting in my bed
Got a rooster named Elvis
Who won’t let you sleep in
And somehow you’re still in my head
You brought chaos to my life
Turned my quiet into sound
But I’d take all your crazy gifts
Every last ridiculous bit
Just to keep you around
Taylen’s laugh breaks free, genuine and warm, his hand covering his mouth as his shoulders shake. “You wrote a song about our animal warfare?” he manages between chuckles.
“About how you invaded my life with livestock,” I correct, grinning as I watch joy transform his features. “And how I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.”
“Just thinking,” he says, color rising in his cheeks as a smile plays around his mouth. “About how teenage me would absolutely lose his mind over getting a private performance from Bastian Hall.” His hand slides higher on my thigh as he adds in a husky whisper, “My crush was so big that I used to jerk off to posters of you.”
The air around us feels charged again as I watch desire darken Taylen’s eyes.
“You know,” I say carefully, watching as his pupils dilate at the tone of my voice, “I think I’ve earned a performance of my own.” The suggestion draws a sharp intake of breath from Taylen that makes my blood run hotter.
“I don’t sing.”
“Wasn’t thinking about singing,” I tell him, running my hand up his thigh. “I was thinking I’d like to see you touch yourself for me. The real me.”
The look he gives me contains enough heat to melt the polar ice caps. “Only if you play that song again,” he counters, his voice dropping lower as he adds, “in your underwear.”
“Deal,” I agree immediately, already reaching for the hem of my shirt. His hands catch mine before I can begin undressing. “What?”
“Let me,” he says quietly, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric, making my muscles contract beneath his touch.
His hands move way too slowly as he helps me undress, each newly exposed inch of skin receiving attention that sends firethrough my veins. By the time I’m down to my boxer briefs, every nerve ending feels hypersensitive to the slightest touch.
The guitar feels different against my bare skin as I settle back onto the couch. Taylen’s eyes never leave mine as he begins his own slow strip, each movement a deliberate tease.
The opening notes of the song come less smoothly this time, my fingers slightly clumsy on the strings as I watch him touch himself through the remaining layer of clothing.
His underwear joins the pile of discarded clothing as I reach the chorus. The sight of him stroking himself while watching me perform sends such an intense wave of desire through my system that I nearly forget the words I wrote myself.
Before I throw my favorite guitar onto the floor, I set it on its stand with less care than it probably deserves. I need to touch him so badly, but Taylen’s hand on my chest stops me before I can reach for him properly. “No touching,” he says quietly, though the strain in his voice suggests he’s fighting the same battle I am.
So I maintain the distance he’s set, letting my hand mirror his movements. Our eyes lock as we pleasure ourselves, the connection between us feeling more intimate than any physical touch.
His breathing grows more ragged with each stroke, his chest flushing a beautiful shade of pink.
The sight pushes me toward the edge faster than expected. I fight to maintain control because I want to watch him fall apart first. His eyes are half-lidded as he gives in to pleasure, one hand stroking his cock steadily while the other seeks his hole. Every muscle in his body seems strained toward release.
When he finally comes, my name is on his lips sounds like a prayer. The sight proves too much for me, and I let go with my eyes pinned to his beautiful blues.
I grab my T-shirt from the floor and clean us both before pulling him against my chest.
