"I mean it. I've never—" He stops, swallows hard. "No one's ever wanted to touch me before. Not like this. Not just because they wanted to. So yeah, please touch me. As much as you want. I want your hands on me all the time. In this room or outside in the world. I don't want to hide you away."
I lean down and kiss him again, deeper this time, pouring everything I'm feeling into it. He opens for me immediately, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. I shift my weight, settling more fully on top of him, pressing him into the mattress, and he groans into my mouth.
"I like this," he says when I pull back to breathe, when I rest my forehead against his.
"Like what?" I ask.
"You on top of me." His hands slide down my back, settling on my hips, pulling me harder against him. "You're bigger than me now. Heavier. I still can't get over it. I keep looking at you and being surprised at how big you are."
"Is that okay? I know I'm not exactly—I mean, I'm probably crushing you—"
"It's more than okay. Don't you dare move." He pulls me down harder against him, and I can feel that he's already getting hard through the thin fabric of our boxers. "When we were kids, I was always bigger. Always the one doing the protecting, the one standing between you and danger. Butnow you're—" He shakes his head, his eyes traveling over my shoulders, my chest. "It's hard to believe. That you grew up into this."
"Into what?" I press.
"This." His hands roam over my back, my shoulders, squeezing the muscle there like he's testing to see if I'm real. "You're so solid. So strong. And heavy—God, you're heavy. I like feeling your weight on me. I like being underneath you. You're like a weighted blanket and it makes me feel good."
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious. "What does it feel like?"
"Safe." The word comes out almost shy, like he's embarrassed to admit it. "It makes me feel safe. Like nothing can touch me when you're covering me like this. Like you're a shield against all the darkness."
All those years he spent protecting me, standing between me and Henderson, taking beatings meant for me—and now my weight on his body makes him feel safe.
The role reversal is complete. I'm the protector now. I'm the shield and I want to be.
I don't have words for what that means to me.
"I want to make you feel good," I tell him, the hunger building inside me. "I want to take my time with you. Learn every inch of your body—the way you taste, the way you shiver when I touch you just right. Can I do that?"
"God, yes. Please." His hips are already moving, subtle, restless shifts seeking friction against my thigh, his hard cock pressing insistently through the thin fabric of his boxers. "Do whatever you want to me. I'm yours, Ivan. Fuck, just... touch me."
I kiss down his neck, taking it slow, savoring the warm, slightly salty tang of his skin on my tongue. He tips his head back to give me better access, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat, and I lick along the taut tendon there, feeling his pulse jump and race under my touch like a wild thing trapped beneath his flesh.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur against his throat, punctuating each word with open-mouthed kisses that leave faint red marks blooming on his pale skin. "I still can't believe I get to touch you like this. That you're letting me do this—letting me worship you."
"Believe it. This is real. I'm real, and I want you so fucking bad it hurts."
I kiss across his collarbone, taking my time, mapping the sharp angles and subtle dips with my lips and tongue. Down his chest, feeling the way his breath hitches and stutters when I get close to his nipples, the small, dusky peaks already hardening in anticipation. His skin is warm under my mouth, a faint sheen of sleep-sweat making him taste even more intoxicating, and I want to devour every inch of him, want to etch him into my memory with my senses.
I find his left nipple and lick across it experimentally, a slow, flat drag of my tongue, and he gasps sharply, his whole body jerking upward like I've sent a bolt of electricity through him, his cock twitching hard against my leg.
"Good?" I ask, pulling back just enough to look at his face—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glazed with need.
"Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, that's good. So fucking sensitive. Do it again."
I do it again, swirling my tongue around the tight bud before sucking gently, then harder, grazing it with my teeth just to test. The sound he makes—a desperate, keening moan—goes straight to my cock, making me throb painfully. I'm hard and aching now, leaking pre-cum against his thigh, but this isn't about me right now. This is about him. This is about making him feel so good he forgets everything else, forgets every scar life has left on him, inside and out.
I switch to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, and he arches into my mouth, one hand flying up to tangle in my hair, holding me there as he grinds against me. "Ivan... shit, your mouth is gonna kill me. Feels too good."
I kiss down his stomach next, feeling the lean muscles twitch and contract under my lips, the fine trail of hair leading lower like a map I can't wait to follow. He's breathing faster now, ragged pants that fill the quiet room, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of his body, knuckles white with restraint.
"Ivan—" My name comes out breathless, desperate, a plea wrapped in lust.
"I've got you. Gonna take such good care of you."
I reach the waistband of his boxers and look up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark, almost black with blown pupils, his chest heaving, lips parted and swollen from our earlier kisses, a faint sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the dim light.
"Can I?" I ask, hooking my fingers in the elastic, tugging just enough to tease. "Can I take these off? See all of you—taste all of you?"
