My dick pulses, throbs as I continue to drive into him. He squeezes around me, twitching and gasping, and fuck, I need him to release. Need him to blow. Need to be coated in his cum.
I pull out without warning. While my dick is pissed off and Ollie’s cry of “What the fuck?” means he’s equally as annoyed, I need to see him unravel too damn badly.
His next protest of “Rafe” is cut off the moment I wrap my lips around his cock. He grunts and cusses, but the sigh that follows and the way he fucks into my throat is everything.
I suck even as he drives his cock past my lips, and as he hits the back of my throat again and again, I feel the shift, the moment, the tell. Before he can shoot down my throat, I pull away, replacing my mouth with my hand, and then I’m there,jacking him off, my dick ready to catch his cum. The swell of his dick happens a fraction before Ollie lifts his head, his eyes snapping to my hand and his cock shooting his jizz onto my dick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants.
I keep stroking, mesmerized by the white splatters covering my cock, my hand. When my skin is thoroughly painted, I reposition at his hole, and as his gaze shifts to mine, I thrust inside. “This,” I say, fucking into him, “is how it’s always going to be between us.”
I lose his eyes for a moment as they all but roll inside his skull before he drops his head back.
“You and me, Ollie.”
His head lolls on the pillow as he repositions himself to make eye contact. Heat flares in his gaze, and he bites down on his bottom lip, nodding.
“Ourcum in your ass… in mine—” I thrust again and again. “—in our mouths, throats, stomach—” I reach for his half-hard cock, and he hisses, but I don’t let go as I stroke him back to life. “—on our skin… it’s the only cum we’ll ever share, ever allow….”
Fuck if I know where the words are coming from, but Ollie gasps and grunts and pushes against me, so I’m sure as hell he’s in this, loving my words. They’re possessive as fuck, which makes sense since the moment I witnessed his first flush, my obsession became a need to possess.
“Just us, baby. No one fucking else.” I slam into him once, twice.
“Fuck, yes, Rafe. No one fucking else.” His shout splits on a croak as he comes again, clamping around me, and I’m done for. Gone.
Burying myself as deeply as possible inside him, I still, my body locking up. Spots fill my vision as I shoot my load. Cum pulses out of me. I swear to fucking God, buckets of the damnstuff fill him until my toes cramp, my balls empty, and I can’t hold myself up anymore.
I collapse on top of him, sure he can handle my weight and the sensation of my flagging cock up his ass. I can’t move. Don’t want to. Right here is where lyrics were bred from: a wish to die just like this—ideally seventy years from now.
Ollie clamps his strong arms around me, enveloping me in their warmth. His heavy pants fill my ear, barely audible over my own sawing breaths.
The air in the room hums, slow and thick, the kind of silence that comes after a song hits its final chord. Sweat cools between us. The smell of skin and salt and something like ozone hangs in the air. Ollie’s chest rises under my cheek, finally steadying as every breath syncs with mine until it’s impossible to tell who’s leading.
He shifts, just enough to thread his fingers into my hair, which also dislodges my soft cock from his ass. He shudders and I grunt, but I have no plan to move anytime soon.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice hoarse and half-gone.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “You?”
He hums, a sound more felt than heard. “Never better.”
We stay this way, tangled and quiet, until the adrenaline fades into something softer. I lift my head just enough to look at him. His eyes are still blown, hair’s a mess, his lips wrecked and swollen. He’s unfairly beautiful like this, ruined and sure. When he smiles at me, it’s the smallest, realest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I love you,” he says again, quieter now, like a promise instead of a rush.
I press my forehead to his, the words echoing in my chest until I can’t hold them anymore. “I love you too,” I breathe. “More than I know what to do with.”
He laughs softly, eyes slipping closed. “We’ll figure it out.”
And somehow, I believe him.
Tomorrow is waiting—his early flight to Phoenix, my meeting with the man who could change everything. Contracts, cameras, pressure. Worlds that don’t fit together easily. But lying here with him, skin to skin, I can almost see how they might.
We can make it work. Even in secret. Even if it means stolen nights, whispered calls, and songs no one else will ever know are about him.
Ollie drifts first after we wash up, his hand curled in mine. I stare at the ceiling, heart too full to sleep, and think that maybe this—this impossible, reckless, perfect night—isn’t an ending at all.
It’s the start of something that might just survive the rest of our lives.
