They sober, falling off their fitful laughter. Greg feels that familiar tug drawing him in toward Julien. “I was really hoping I was going to get to try this out tonight.” He wishes he didn’t sound so horny and so disappointed. “But we probably shouldn’t fool around in your uncle and aunt’s slash our bosses’ place.”
“The guest room—my old room—is down here. An entire floor in between. They won’t hear a thing.”
“Still.” Greg heaves a sigh. “No harness.”
Julien’s head bobbles, but then his eyebrows shoot up. “Hold on. I think I have an idea. Come with me.”
In the guest bedroom, Julien fishes a pair of high-cut briefs from his bag. He holds them up to Greg and sticks two of his fingers through the fly. “They’re going to be pretty tight on you given your waist size, but that’s what we need to hold it in place, right?”
Greg’s excitement mounts, getting fully on board with this half-formed plan. “Right.”
“Bathroom’s through there,” Julien says, pointing to a door beside the closet.
In the shower, Greg washes quickly but thoroughly, eager to return to the bedroom where he finds Julien wearing nothing but the bow from the top of his wrapped gift. It sits between Julien’s pale pink nipples in a show that is far goofier than Greg has come to expect, but he loves it. He loves it so damn much.
Right now, he realizes that his feelings for Julien didn’t come with a gift receipt. Would he want to send them back anyway?
At the foot of the bed, Greg finds the briefs, the unboxed dildo, and the wrapper from a sex toy cleaning wipe. He takes the pair of bright red briefs—very fitting for the holiday—and wiggles his way into them. Julien was right, it’s a squeeze, but they hug him enough that it’s not uncomfortable.
“They’re old,” Julien says. “You can rip the fly a little.”
Greg, growing erect at the sight of Julien’s beautiful, lean, naked body, tugs the fly down and rips a bit of the stitching before hauling out his thick cock, but he’s not in any rush. No, he wants to savor this.
At Julien’s right foot, Greg begins a trail of kisses that roves up his leg, across his groin, over his stomach, and all the way to his chest. He uses his teeth to remove the bow from this gift that keeps on giving—giving him comfort, laughs, orgasms. He feasts on Julien’s neck as if he were a vampire out for blood, not caring if he leaves behind hickeys even if they are supposedly too old and too mature for them, but stops at his sharp jawline.
Greg is about to head back down when Julien surprises him by grabbing his chin. “Kiss me.”
Greg tilts his head like a dog, certain he’s misunderstood. “Where?” he asks.
“Here.” Julien uses his free hand to trace his plump lower lip, which shines slightly, alluring in the lamplight.
“Are you sure?” Once they cross this boundary, there’s no going back. The hollow dildo is one thing. The buildup to potential sex without it is another. But kissing teeters toward the intimate, toward feelings and sweet sentiments and dates and maybe more.
Greg would go there. He wants to go there. But Julien doesn’t, right?
Julien nods. “I’m sure.”
And it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle as far as Greg is concerned. He dives in, letting their lips touch for the first time. A tender, beautiful kiss passes between them, so passionate and dizzying Greg is afraid he might faint from all the blood pumping away from his brain and down toward his dick. His erection grows stronger as Julien presses up and into his mouth with fervent desire that sizzles and crackles around them.
“Fuck me.” Julien moans this quietly, so Greg tongues his hole hungrily to prepare him.
“Fuck me.” Julien repeats it, so Greg slicks a finger with the nearby water-based lube and gently pries Julien open.
“Fuck...me.” It’s not a request this time but a demand, and Greg is thrilled to comply. He slides his dick inside the hollow dildo, adjusting the base of it so the fabric hole of the briefs is snug around it. There’s wiggle, but it probably won’t pop off. The final step is to roll the condom on.
“Are you ready, Julien?” Greg asks, knowing full well that using Julien’s name during sex sends a visible shudder through him.
“So, so,soready.”
Adjusting for the position, Greg lines his extended, silicone shaft up to Julien’s entrance, and ever so slowly, he sinks inside with ease. Even with two layers separating him from Julien, the pleasure that starbursts off Julien’s expression is enough to make Greg feel like they have merged into a singular being. One heartbeat. One rhythm. One incredible night ahead.
Carefully, he bends at the waist while plowing Julien, certain not to ruin the angle, and crashes their lips together once more. Julien tastes like nonalcoholic spirits and unfiltered paradise. Each kiss is more robust than the last.
Empowerment courses through Greg’s veins. It’s not the sense of dominance he missed about topping—he doesn’t define the act as manly or masculine or any other such bullshit. Rather, he loves the blood-pumping, heart-racing, pleasure-inducing rock that takes him out of his head, into his body, and turns him into a sweaty heaving mess.
Damn, does he become a sweaty heaving mess. When Julien flips over so his face is buried in the towel they’ve laid out, Greg climbs on top and maneuvers his way back inside with a little more lube and a tad more patience. But once he’s in, he’sin.
Julien insists that Greg lie down, too.
