"Not stopping. Just want to feel you."
I pulled almost all the way out, until just the head of my cock was inside him, then pushed back in slowly. He was trembling, his hands clutching at my back, and I could feel every flutter and clench of his body around me. I did it again and again, fucking him slow and deep until he was making a continuous broken sound.
"Harder. Fuck me harder, I can take it."
I shifted the angle, and he gasped, his back arching. His cock was fully hard again now, trapped between our stomachs, leaking onto his skin.
"There," he breathed. "Right there, don't stop—"
I didn't stop. I fucked into him at that angle, hitting his prostate with every thrust, and he was falling apart beneath me. His legs were shaking where they wrapped around my waist, his hands scrabbling at my back, and every thrust drew a sound out of him that went straight to my cock.
I reached between us and wrapped my hand around him, stroking in time with my thrusts, and he sobbed.
"Joel. I can't, it's too much—"
"Yes, you can. You're going to come for me again. I want to feel you come on my cock."
I stroked him rough and fast, my hips never faltering. His ring dug into my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. I wanted the bruise. I wanted to look at it tomorrow and know this had been real.
"Come on," I breathed against his mouth. "Let go."
His second orgasm was sudden and violent. He cried out and clenched around me so tight it almost hurt, his cock pulsing in my hand, cum spilling over my fingers and onto his stomach.
"Come on, Sparkles." His voice was barely there, wrecked and raw. "I want to feel it. Want you to fill me up."
I buried myself deep and came, my hips stuttering, spilling inside him in hot pulses while his body clenched and fluttered around me. My arms barely held me up, everything narrowed down to the feel of him around me and under me and the sound of his breathing in my ear.
I collapsed on top of him. His arms came around my back, holding me there. We were both trembling. His heart pounded against my chest, or maybe that was mine.
I was still inside him. Neither of us moved to change that.
His hand stroked up and down my spine, slow and soothing, and I pressed my face into his neck and breathed him in. He smelled like sweat and sex and rain, and something underneath all of it that was just him, the smell I'd been trying to forget for seven months.
"That doesn't fix anything," Red said finally. "I'm still not ready. I still can't be what you need."
"I know."
"So what are we doing?"
I lifted my head to look at him. His face was flushed, his lip swollen where I'd bitten him, his chest streaked with cum. He looked wrecked. He looked like mine.
"I don't know," I said. "But I'm tired of being without you."
He reached up and touched my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. The ring was warm now, heated by our bodies, and when he kissed me it was soft and tentative, nothing like the desperate collision from before.
I kissed him back and tried not to think about what happened next.
I pulled out of him slowly, and he made a soft sound of loss. I should have gotten up, found something to clean us both off, but instead I just shifted to the side and pulled him against me. His head settled on my chest, his leg thrown over mine, and I could feel my cum leaking out of him onto my thigh.
We lay there tangled together while the rain slowed outside, neither of us willing to let go.
I woke up alone.
For a second I thought he'd left, slipped out in the middle of the night the way I'd done to him in New Mexico. But then water ran in the bathroom and I let myself breathe.
The bathroom door opened. Red stood there in his boxers, hair wet and pushed back from his face. The playoff beard was gone.
"You shaved."
