“What are you doing?” I hiss.
He doesn’t answer. He closes the door as quietly as he can and treads carefully towards the sound of my voice, stubbing his toe on the corner of the bed in the process. I scramble quickly to get the flashlight on my phone on, lighting the way for him so as not to cause more of a ruckus. He pulls the covers back and crowds me on the bed. He takes the phone from my grasp and sets it down on the side table, light still on, casting a dim light in the room.
“Luke, what are you doing?” I try again.
This time he puts a finger over my lips and presses down firmly. His other hand trails down my body, lightly flicking my piercings on their way down in a way that excites me way too much. Despite how nervous I am, despite how ill-advised this is, by the time he slides his hand into my pants I’m nearly all the way hard. He gets me the rest of the way with shocking speed. Three or four long, sinuous strokes are all it takes. I groan his name again, though I no longer know if it’s to ask him what’s happening, or to tell him not to stop. He takes the decision from me, propping himself up on his knees between my legs, dipping the fingers that were pressed against my lips into my mouth. My lips part as he does it and I let two thick, blunt fingers into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around them, swallowing them, dragging my bottom teeth gently across his fingertips. His other hand moves down my shaft, dancing lightly over my balls, teasing me to the point I have to suck hungrily on his fingers to stop a low, lusty sound from escaping. He traces light lines along the underside of my balls, over and over until my hips are shifting, rocking, trying to urge him to give me more.
He does give me more, though it’s not what I’m expecting. Instead of taking hold of my dick, he dips his hand down, past my balls, past my taint. He teases my hole lightly, making me clench my cheeks involuntarily. I hear him smile on a long exhale.
“Please,” he whispers.
His voice is soft and sweet and I know I shouldn’t look at him, because if I do, I won’t be able to deny him. I open my eyes anyway. I look at him for a while. Long enough that I’m sure it’s a conscious decision, not one that’s made in the heat of the moment.
Then I nod.
He spits into his hand and reaches down again, this time he circles my hole firmly, stroking hot pulses of pleasure into me. I lean over and grab the lube from the drawer in the bedside table, awkwardly not letting his fingers out of my mouth as I do it, as I don’t trust myself to stay quiet if I do. He holds his hand out and I squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers. I gasp from the cold, tensing again and then adjusting myself, spreading my legs for what I know is coming. He takes his time. He makes me wait. He strokes and teases until my heart is pounding and I’m agitated, left wondering if he’s going to make me ask for it.
Right at the point where I can’t stop my hips from squirming, he presses a finger in. It slides into me smoothly, leaving a hint of a burn and an unfamiliar feeling of fullness in its wake. I grab hold of the hand in my mouth, wrapping my fingers around his palm and take a third finger in. I suck hard and soft, depending on how he moves inside me. I’m shocked at the feeling. It’s way more intense than I thought it would be. It feels good but it makes me ache. It makes me want more.
He leans his head down. I get the message, quickly reaching for my dick and holding it up so he can take it into his mouth. The warm wetness of his mouth forces the ghost of a moan from my lips. I mash his fingers into my mouth, changing the moan to a whimper. He keeps working my dick and my ass. I help by using my free hand to stroke my dick at the base. A flood of pleasure courses through me. It rolls through me and over me, finding tiny crevices that have never felt anything like this before and setting a spark to them. It builds and builds until I’m positive I won’t be able to withstand it. Until I feel sure it’s going to be too much.
It isn’t.
It’s a lot, sure, and when it hits, it hits hard. But it’s nowhere near too much. It’s the perfect, perfect amount. Surges of pleasure flow through me, wringing me out and making me clench, rebounding through me every time my ass grips his finger.
By the time my orgasm leaves me completely, Luke’s lying on his side facing me. His fingers are still in my mouth and he’s watching me with a soft, sweet look of wonder on his face. I release his fingers and roll him onto his back, nudging his hand down to his cock. He strokes lazily, short, gentle strokes that focus on the sensitive spot just above the base of his shaft. I lean over, throwing a leg over his, intending to lend him a hand, or a mouth.
Before I do that I cast a furtive look up at his face. His eyes are hooded and he looks peaceful. He flicks his eyes up to meet my gaze and blinks lazily. His lips curl the second we make eye contact. Something about that makes me feel like something inside me is trapped and is fighting for freedom. He’s so beautiful and sweet and good and for some crazy reason, the mere sight of me makes him happy. Me. As unlikely as it seems, I make him happy. I brush his hair back off his face, using my hand to keep it back, so I can see his face totally unobstructed.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
He does. He shows me an endless sky. A translucent ocean of water reflecting as the sun hits it. Gentle waves lapping the shore and then retreating. He looks peaceful, almost sleepy, though his breathing is shaky and growing more uneven as his hand moves faster. I feel the heat of his skin against my chest. My heart rate is slowing down. His speeds up beneath me. I don’t look away when he starts pressing his lips together, chewing the corners to keep himself from crying out. I don’t look away when his neck arches back and his head burrows down into the pillow beneath him. I see the exact second pleasure clouds blue sky. His teeth clench and his eyes bulge from the strain. His pupils contract sharply and then dilate. I see him struggling, fighting to keep his eyes open. He battles and wins. He doesn’t blink until he’s completely spent.
Even though it costs him, he stays open, he shows me what most people hide. He does it for no other reason than the simple fact that I asked him.
When it’s over, we both know he should go. It’s obvious. We’ve had our fun and got away with it. I sense his reluctance to leave. My reluctance to see him go matches his and quickly exceeds it. I catch his arm when he moves. I feel strange. Spent and suddenly sad. I’m horrified that the thought of him sleeping across the hall from me has this effect on me. I don’t know how to begin to explain it, so I cling to him, pulling him as close as I can get him and not letting go.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs into my hair, “I’ll stay for a while.”
21
Luke
Portlandisawesome.I’venever been before and I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly, but it’s a lot nicer than I thought it would be. It has a nice buzz and the area we’re in has a creative, arty vibe. Jessie’s gran is adorable. She’s so happy he’s here. I can tell she’s trying really hard not to baby him, but she’s not always successful. She offers him ketchup with all his meals; breakfast, lunch and dinner. I get the feeling it’s a throwback to him being a picky eater as a kid.
We go to the Arboretum – apparently it’s something they do together every time he comes to visit – and then have lunch at a little place near his gran’s. By lunch, I mean pie and by pie, I mean the best blueberry pie I’ve ever had. Jessie looks happy. Not a little happy. Not a quick flash that he tries to wipe off his face and hide. He looks set-in happy.
“Mm, it’s even better than I remember,” he says after the last mouthful.
It’s an awesome, relaxed day, just what we need to recover from the long trip. We spend some time just hanging out with his gran in the garden and a lot of time waiting for evening, when Jessie’s aunt and cousin are due to come around. By the time night falls, I can feel the excitement emanating off him. I’m amped too. I love meeting new people.
And people Jessie thinks are cool?
Um, yeah, here for that.
The doorbell rings and is rapidly followed by a series of loud, impatient knocks on the front door. Jess bolts down the hall to open it and by the time I get there, he’s lost in a sea of arms and dark hair.
“Too long,” wheezes his aunt as she squeezes him tight. “That was too long not to see you.”
