“With a bunch of almost fifth graders,” I say with a smirk.
“Okay, not that part.” He tugs at my warm-up jacket. “More you in that jockstrap. Getting all sweaty.”
“No shower?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Harry buries his face in my chest and takes a deep inhale through his nose.
“Got it,” I say.
I’m yanking at my jacket while he tugs at the hem of my shirt. He’s got it up just past my chest before his face returns, planting his nose in my armpit. Harry loves his books, but he may love my scent after practice even more.
“Harry?”
He’s lost in the moment.
“Harry? Let’s go to the bedroom. Please.”
His face remains plastered against my skin. “Mmmmh.”
He comes up for air with a radiant smile spread across his face.
“Come on,” I say, tugging at his hand. “You can smell me better lying on the bed.”
We stumble into the bedroom, removing the rest ofour clothes, but I leave my jockstrap on, at least for now. It’s Harry’s kryptonite.
When he pushes me back on the bed and crawls over me, I know he means business. But I have some ideas of my own.
On all fours, Harry crashes his mouth on mine, his tongue eager to fill my mouth, and those cute little groans spilling into me as we kiss.
My fingers reach for the sides of his face, but they soon migrate to his curls, slowly drying, their familiar softness soothing my skin. The heat between us ignites a spark, and I hold him closer.
“Harry,” I pull back. “I want to taste you.”
“Oh, do you, Coach? What part of me would you like to sample?”
“All of you.”
I glide my thumb along his jawline, tracing the outline of the face I love so deeply it hurts. “But let’s start with your dick.”
He chuckles, resting his head in the crook of my neck, and the vibrations from his laughter set my insides aflame.
Harry tosses me a pillow, and I fold it in two, propping my head up while he scoots into position. We’ve done this before and know the play.
Taking him in my grip, the heat of his shaft is electric as his flushed head glistens with a bead of precum. “Fuck, your cock is superb.”
“Open your mouth,” he says. “Tongue out.”
He slaps his dick against my tongue, and I reach under, cupping his balls, the lavender bath soak on hisskin filling my nostrils. He takes a turn, smacking his cock against my cheek, chin, and then returning to my tongue. I close my lips around him, and he finally slides in.
“You like it when I fuck your mouth?”
Unable to speak, I nod and let out a sound I hope he interprets as affirmative. Harry reaches back, cupping the stretched pouch of my jockstrap. “You ready to slam me with your stick?”
He runs his fingers over the fabric, teasing. I feel myself almost escaping from the waistband as Harry’s thumb brushes the tip. He brings his hand to his face and pops it into his mouth. “Tasty.”
He moves his hands next to my head and lifts himself so he’s able to plunge into my mouth. After almost a year, I know exactly what he’s doing. Harry likes to get right near the edge before I fuck him.
And I’m happy to help with anything he wants.
