“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he tells me and I grab hold of my knees, bringing my legs back as far as they can go so he can go deeper.
“Please, Marcello, fuck me.”
He pushes inside me, not fast enough and yet not slow enough either. He grazes my prostate but it’s a teasing, lacking sensation that ends before it really begins. “How does this feel?”
“Like I need more,” I tell him. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”
“Will you come?”
“I… I don’t know,” I say and it’s my honest answer. I’m not thinking about my orgasm, only about his.
“I want you to come,” he says and he gives me another lukewarm, half-fast, half-slow thrust.
“Then angle your dick up, and go slow and hard.”
“Slow and hard,” he repeats. “That sounds kind of impossible.”
I grip both of his butt cheeks and guide him at the pace I want and then I increase the force when he’s close to being all the way inside me, making his cock jolt up.
“Like this,” I explain as I do it again.
It’s only a minute or two later when I realise how close this brings us. How it's put us in exactly the position I so craved but decided against earlier.
And I don’t want it to stop now. I don’t want to lift my hands off Marcello’s butt, even though he no longer needs my help as each and every stroke is taking me closer and closer to…
“Fuck,” he pants and he stops moving. “Almost came.”
“That’s okay.” If anything it would be a relief. Even if I didn’t come. As long as I knew it was good for him.
“Nah, it’s not. I said I wanted you to come. And you’re going to.”
“Bossy.”
“I can be.” He gives me a small smirk. “When it’s required. When it makes your eyes change colour like that.”
“My eyes don’t change colour.”
“Oh, they do. You know they’re this impossible shade of green and blue. When you’re turned on, they go darker, more green like a forest atdusk. And when you smile, like really smile, the kind of smile that makes your moustache bounce, then they’re bright blue like the Mediterranean Sea at sunrise.”
Jesus fucking Christ.This man and his accidental poetry is going to end me. Decease me. Cremate me.
“So what are they now?” I push my luck further than I think I’ve ever pushed it.
“They’re both. Which like I just said is impossible. And thanks.”
I frown. “What for?”
“All that talking about your eyes just helped me not come when I was very, very close. Not that your eyes are a turn-off. They’re definitely not. They’re… they’re… How can I make you come?” He changes the conversation so swiftly it makes me a little dizzy.
“I could touch myself. While you fuck me,” I suggest, unable to name how I feel after those revelations about my eyes.
“Could you… could you like do it around my hand? So like we pretend it’s me getting you off? I know it’s not the same thing but—”
“Yes, we can do that.”
Fuck, I want to do that. Even though it’s not exactly taking a summer stroll together, to hold Marcello’s hand like that would be nothing short of an honour. An honour I may never have outside of the walls of my bedroom.
“Okay.” Marcello pushes back against my rigid hold on his buttocks and I reluctantly move my hands. He leans back, propped up on one straightened arm, his fingers spread on the bed for balance, just at the side of my head. Shifting his weight to that side, he grips my dick and starts to pump me while he thrusts inside me again. It takes a minute or so but he eventually matches the rhythm of his hand to that of his hips.
