“Yeah, no problem,” I say. “The screenwriters are waiting on some follow-up details from me. I can send them from home.” The festival is introducing a new mentorship program for queer screenwriters. We’ve received almost a hundred applications, and I’m really excited to work with them. It’s been tough finding the time to get the program kicked off, and not being able to do today’s video call with the mentors who have agreed to help is going to set us back a bit more.
“I’ll be back tomorrow with the extender,” Brady says. Something makes me rush toward him, like I’m being rude by staying behind my desk.
“That would be great. Thanks for coming by.”
“I’ll...” He swallows. “I’ll see you later.”
“Sure thing.” I reach for the knob to open the door, and he does too. His knuckles brush against the back of my hand, and the graze of his skin on mine is lightning all the way up my arm. He must feel it too, because he snatches his fingers back, gasping. For a second, our eyes lock. My limbs are shaky, and my throat is suddenly dry. I swallow hard.
Just as I’m about to start with the pleasant and professional goodbyes again, Brady lunges for me. I must have left the door ajar, because it’s not solid as I stumble back against it, and those few inches leave me falling as Brady grabs at my shirt in bunches and his mouth slams up against mine.
I don’t even have time to gasp before his tongue is pushing against my lips. He feels feverish and desperate, and he tastes like coffee and mint, and as quickly as I taste it, I forget about it because his teeth graze my bottom lip, and I moan at the sting.
“Nash,” he breathes against my cheek. I drag one of his earlobes between my teeth, snagging against the stud there, and his breath hitches as he melts against me. He’s hot, and his hands are starting to move over my shirt and around my body.
Sometime, not too long ago, we were having a conversation about how stuff like this can’t happen, and it all seemed very reasonable, but clearly one or both of us was lying, because how can we not when it feels this good? I grab his ass with both hands, finding the round, firm muscles I only had a chance to feel for a split second when I desperately tried to keep him from falling and instead found myself face-to-face with his crotch. It was all over so fast, but it was still long enough for me to wonder how he looked under his clothes. What he’d feel like in my hand. In my mouth.
I growl as I turn us, and he bangs against the door.
“Yes,” he hisses, tangling his fingers in my hair. He’s so responsive. The shaky sensation has become a trembling through my body. It’s scary. I haven’t felt this out of control in a long time. This needy.
Fuck it, I’m horny. I’ve been horny ever since I heard Brady’s secret words on the phone that morning, and now he’s here, and his hips are arching against mine while I massage his ass, and I don’t think I can stop.
He’s wearing one of those tight button-downs he likes. Navy blue with pink palm trees. Turns out it’s held together with snaps, because when I go to undo the top one to more easily suck at his throat, it comes open with a pop. His skin is smooth, nearly hairless. He has a freckle on his sternum, a few inches below his clavicles, and I brush a thumb over the line of bone. Even that soft touch makes him shiver, so I dive in as I work the rest of the snaps open, running my tongue along the hard cord of his neck, then lower, finding his pierced nipples, sucking at them as he whines.
“Oh, fuck. Nash. You—” His head bangs softly against the door. Brady’s eyes are closed, and his lips are slick and puffy. Our hips are pressed together, rolling into each other in a way that leaves no questions about what we’re feeling. The rock of his erection, trapped between mine and the crease of my groin, is like a magnet now instead of a pleasant distraction.
I give him one last kiss and drop to my knees, running my mouth over his flat stomach before nuzzling at the trail of hair that runs from his belly button to his waistband.
“Nash.” His eyes are hazy, dark under the tangled curls that fall over his forehead. For a second, I remember he’s so much younger than me, and a flutter of fear squeezes my heart. What does he see when he looks at me? A middle-aged man, sad and alone, and now desperately waiting for permission on his knees?
“Say yes.” I palm his cock, running my thumb over the hard length stretching the fabric in front of me. I want to taste it. Touch it. I’m so close now. “Tell me you’re okay with this?”
He pants as I stroke him through his clothes, hands on my shoulders. I’d catch him if he fell. Take him right down to the floor, then strip him out of his pants to see how beautiful he is.
“Say yes,” I say again, kissing the soft skin above his belt buckle. I’m dizzy, drunk on the sight and smell of him, but I know what I’m risking here. If he tells me to stop, I will.
His hand finds mine, and he presses it over his erection, grinding and squeezing. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”
My hands shake as I undo his belt and pants. They fall to the floor with a clink and a hiss of fabric. His hip bones jut out over periwinkle boxer briefs that have a telling wet spot on the front.
I nose at his dick through the fabric, breathing in the scent of him. “Wanna taste you.” The words are barely coherent.
“Oh fuck,” he breathes, whole body going pebbly with goose bumps. I run my thumbs over his hips as I mouth at his erection, darkening the fabric further until spit and pre-come are indistinguishable.
“Can I taste you?” I need this. On my knees, with him looking down at me, expression full of lust and feverish desire, I need him to say he wants this from me. Wants me.
His hands go to the waistband of his underwear, but I stop him. “Say it.”
Brady swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he nods jerkily. “Yes. Please, Nash. Please.”
I peel the elastic down. His dick bobs out, free, and smacks my cheek, leaving a wet smear that makes me so hard I think I’ll burst. I press my mouth and nose into his groin, inhaling him, learning him. He’s clean and musky, the hair at his groin so dark it’s black. It tickles my skin as I run my tongue over the base of him and then slowly trace the underside of his cock from root to tip, lapping at the slit when I come to it. He lets out a strangled whine as I tongue him, tasting pre-come. We could do this for the rest of the afternoon. Me in front of him, licking at him like a popsicle on a summer day until he comes all over my face.
His hand is in my hair, though, and despite him not pushing, I know what he wants. I want it too. Want the taste of him in my throat, want to know what sounds he makes as I take him apart.
I swallow him slowly, inch by inch. The hand on my head is steady, telling me he wants more but not forcing it. I slide back up, sucking gently, and he lets me, but his fingers tighten as I’m about to release him.
“Do it again.” His voice is gritty, and he’s watching me, eyes half-closed. “Oh fuck. Yes.”
