Oh. Fuck.Yes.
Chapter Twenty
Giles
Marcello makes a noise that I want to commit to memory. It’s not quite a moan, not a fully-formed groan and it couldn’t really be called a whimper. But it’s a noise of surrender and uncertainty and pleasure. Definitely pleasure. I feel something like triumph at the idea that my words have affected him in such a way but the sense of accomplishment doesn’t last long.
“Do it,” he challenges me, a devious little smile curling his lips. “And I am watching. I want to see just how much you can take.”
My eyes flit from his dark brown pupils that are practically glittering with mischief down to his dick in my hand.
He’s big.
I knew this when I saw him in the shower. I have possibly been thinking about it more than occasionally since that moment. But I never actually thought I’d have the chance to get this close to it. To think about the long, thick, veiny shaft in my hand, in my mouth, in my…
“Fighting talk,” I mutter and start to stroke his cock, very, very slowly, while still keeping the pressure in my grip.
“Just gentle encouragement.”
I feel my cheeks bunch up as I grin widely. “Just like in the gym. I won’t go easy on you.”
“I really hope you don’t,” he says and his hand is on the back of my head. “Now give me your mouth.”
So I do. I dive down, mouth open wide, and take him as deep as I can.
It’s not what I planned to do. I really did want to take this slow. I wanted to tease him with my tongue. Make him lose his mind by building up desire with gentle licks and soft kisses. I wanted to show him just how affectionate and sweet and gentle a blow job from a man could be. I don’t know if he’s watched gay porn or what he’s heard about sex between queer men but I’m determined he finds out it’s as varied and wide-ranging as hetero sex. I don’t want him thinking that just because we’re both gendered as men that that means it’s all alpha energy and hard edges and aggressive fucking. It’s my goal to make sure Marcello knows how – fuck, there’s no other word for it – how loving queer sex can be.
And yet, here I am diving straight down and choking myself on his huge dick.
“Oh, fuck!” he exclaims when my lips meet the base of his length. I swallow around the full head and he makes that frustrated but happy little noise again. Yes, I’m definitely remembering that.
I do it again, greedy for more noises, and then I pull back, sliding my lips over his dick as I retreat. Using my hand to pump him slightly, I briefly look up at him, checking he’s okay, and his eyes are fixed on me. Lips parted, he’s watching me intently so I decide to give him a show.
Keeping eye contact, I swirl my tongue around the head of his penis. Marcello’s eyelids flutter and I smile around his cock which is now fully hard. Fully hard and very big. His girth matches that of my own, but he has at least an inch in length on me if not more. Not that I’m a size king in any shape or form, but I am enjoying the stretch of his dick in my mouth entirely too much as I take as much of him as possible down my throat again. He groans as I swallow and his hips thrust up, pushing more of him into my throat. In a move that could be described as cruel to him, I lift my mouth off him and move down to his balls. I lick them, feeling that they’re already tight and high, before I take one into my mouth and suck on it gently.
“Cazzu dialulu!”
I’ve always liked Marcello cursing in Italian but hearing him do it while I am sucking on him, swirling my tongue around the hairy, textured skin of his testicle has me closing my eyes and humming with pleasure, which only makes him moan with me.
His hand pushes on the top of my head and makes me pull back. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asks almost accusingly, but with a side-smile pulling his lips.
“I told you, I like giving head.”
“I love playing football, but I’m fucking terrible at it,” he tells me. “You are an expert at this. Or…”
“Or?” I ask when he doesn’t finish that sentence. Using the saliva I’ve left all over his cock, I stroke him slowly as I wait, feeling the now more pronounced veins that zig-zag up his shaft under my palm.
“Or, are all queer men this good? Is it a pre-requisite of the label? Because I’m not sure I’m going to qualify…”
“It is not a pre-requisite. Some queer men don’t even like giving head. And that’s okay.”
A little pink rises in Marcello’s cheeks. “It’s not that I don’t want to do it. I think… I think I’d like to. One day.”
“One day is fine.” I twist my hand as I approach his head and that makes him thrust up into my fist like he can’t stop himself.
“But I will be awful,” he warns me.
“You want me to be less good.” I take my hands off his dick and bare my teeth. “Use my teeth a bit?”
