We both have our feet up on the coffee table, and his arm is around me with my head resting on his shoulder. We’re closeenough that when he looks back at me, our mouths are only a few inches apart. It wouldn’t take much to shift my weight and press my lips against his. And from there it would become a feverish flurry of groping hands and tangled tongues, undressing each other in a desperate rush to have bare skin against bare skin, to tease endless gasps and moans from each other until we’re both wrung out and satisfied.
But there’s no rush. There’s just the languid, horny ache of knowing we’ll get there before the night is over. Whatever else this is between us, there’s no denying the attraction. His gaze lingers on my lips for a few seconds before he seems to snap out of the trance to answer my question.
“Die Hard,” he says with a grin, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a sip.
He lowers the bottle and a small droplet of amber liquid clings to his bottom lip. Without overthinking it, I lean forward and catch it on my tongue. His mouth parts and his arm tightens around me, but he doesn’t pull me in for a kiss yet. Maybe he’s enjoying the feeling of anticipation too. It’s so different from picking a guy up at a bar and giving him a hurried blowjob in a dark corner. There’s something exciting about not needing to hurry things along but still knowing where they’ll end up.
“What about you? Favorite movie?” he asks in a husky voice.
“Robin Hood: Men in Tights,” I say with a laugh. “I used to watch it on repeat as a kid. I swear, my parents probably wanted to snap the DVD in half.”
“I’ve never seen that one.”
I gasp. “Oh my god, you have to. Next weekend, you rent the movie, I’ll bring the food and beer.”
“It’s a date.” He gives me a slow, sultry smile.
“So…” I drag my tongue along my bottom lip to wet it and hold his gaze. “Does that makethisa date?”
Butch winces. “I wanted it to be, but it doesn’t feel good enough for you. You’re probably used to guys taking you out to fancy restaurants where the food is all unpronounceable and then on a hot air balloon ride at sunset.”
I sputter a laugh. “Uh, yeah, no, that’s definitely not what I’m used to. Plus, I’m afraid of heights, so hard pass on that one.” I lean forward to set my half-empty beer on the table and then settle back into him, dragging my nose along the stubbled edge of his jaw and putting my hand on his thigh. “I like this as a first date. It feels… comfortable.”
“Yeah?” He sets his drink aside too, then ghosts his fingers along my arm, pressing his firm, muscular thigh into my touch.
I nod and place a soft kiss on the same spot where I just nuzzled him with my nose. His lips part again and a soft sigh rumbles from his chest. Little sparks of electricity dance in my stomach. Being able to drag horny sounds out of Butch makes me feel a special kind of powerful.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve never needed anyone to try to impress me. I just want someone to see me and want me.”
I move to kiss his jaw again, but Butch turns his head and catches my lips this time. The kiss is warm and soft, and just as unhurried as everything else has felt tonight. His mouth against mine, the tease of his tongue that he doesn’t actually slip between my lips, more soft rumbles from his throat like he’s purring. My heart beats faster, but the kiss stays slow and hypnotic.
When the kiss breaks, he gives me a curious look like he’s trying to work something out.
“Wait, if you’re afraid of heights, why didn’t you say anything when we went climbing?”
I scoff and drag my tongue over my bottom lip again, chasing the lingering taste of his mouth. “Because I was trying to impress you.”
Both of his eyebrows fly up and a big grin spreads across his kiss-damp lips.
“Hold up, I’m not supposed to try to impress you, but you’re allowed to try to impress me?” He grabs my legs and shifts them up into his lap, then leans in over me, hovering in my space, his face an inch from mine, his large body pinning me down without even touching me. “What’s up with that, Rocky?”
I chuckle, my hands finding their way onto his broad chest, teasing the pointed outlines of his nipples through his shirt with my thumbs.
“I didn’t say you’re not allowed to, I just said you don’t need to,” I point out. “But you’re right, fuck pretense, let’s be totally real with each other.” I stop teasing his nipples and ball my fist around the front of his shirt, bringing my lips close to his again, just a breath away from actually kissing him. “Tell me something embarrassing, something you don’t want me to know, your worst thoughts about yourself, something you would never tell someone on a first date.”
He huffs a laugh, and I can see the momentary war in his eyes, his instincts fighting between the need to protect himself and the urge to say something vulnerable, to face our insecurities the way we said we would earlier.
“I’m not smart enough for you, Rocky. I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time. You should date someone who reads books and shit, not someone who barely graduated from high school.” He sags a little, like saying the words out loud was the exact release he didn’t know he needed. “Your turn.”
I’m tempted to point out that I took my turn last weekend when I shared the most vulnerable part of myself with him, letting him get up close and personal with my biggest insecurity. But the words stick in my throat, and when I open my mouth, something else comes out.
“I’m not masculine enough for you. You want someone with big muscles who’ll watch sports with you and wrestle you for dominance, and I’m never going to be that guy.”
Both of our confessions hang in the space between us. Neither of us rush to try to reassure the other person. Maybe we both instinctively know that it wouldn’t work anyway, and that this isn’t about that. It’s just about the raw, brutal honesty of the moment. And then we crash together again, in a fierce, hungry kiss. There’s nothing languid or soft about it this time; it’s all teeth and tongues and desperation.
Butch’s weight sinks heavily on top of me, pressing me into the couch, his hard cock nudging mine through our clothes. The only things that exist are his tongue tangling with mine, his hands sneaking under my shirt, and the rough drag of his stubble against my chin. His thumb catches on the rim of my belly button and it’s impossible not to think about that same digit probing somewhere else, teasing my hole until I’m panting and soft for him, begging him to fill me and make me come. I gasp into his mouth and tug on his shirt. I’ve used up all my patience and Zen, and now there are too many damn clothes between us.
“Let’s go to my bedroom,” I murmur against his lips, canting my hips to feel the pressure of his stiffness on mine.
