He scrambled to get my shirt off, hands wild at the hem, and when I pulled it over my head, his mouth was already at my throat, biting hard enough to bruise. He was frantic, like he thought I might vanish if he let go, so I pinned his wrists above his head, one-handed, and used my other to yank his jeans down over his ass. The sound he made was feral, more animal than boy, and it lit something in me I didn’t know I’d been starving for.
I shoved his hoodie and shirt up, exposing the long stretch of his torso. He was all bone and muscle, the ribs visible when he sucked in a breath, the scatter of freckles across his chest like a secret language. His nipples were pink and tight, begging to be bit. So I did, clamping down just enough to make him gasp, then licked over the sting, tasting the salt on his skin.
He arched against me, rubbing his hard-on against my thigh, desperate for friction. I ground my leg into him, watching hiseyelids flutter and his hips stutter with each drag of fabric over his cock.
“God,” he moaned, “you’re gonna kill me.”
“Not until I’m done,” I muttered, and bit him again, this time leaving a mark just below his collarbone.
He wriggled free of my grip and rolled me onto my back, crawling on top. He straddled my hips, hands splayed on my chest, nails digging in. I let him take control for a second, let him drag his ass over my cock until I was dizzy with need. Then I grabbed his waist, held him steady, and pulled him down for another kiss.
His lips were soft, but he kissed me like he wanted to draw blood. He nipped at my lower lip, then licked into my mouth, breath coming in hot, panting bursts. I rolled my hips up, grinding against him until I could feel the wet heat of his cock leaking through both our boxers.
He reached between us, fumbling with the waistband, but his hands were shaking too much to get the job done. I covered his hands with mine, stilled him, and said, “Let me.”
He went pliant, arms falling to his sides. He watched me, wide-eyed and trembling, as I peeled his boxers down. His cock sprang free, flushed dark at the tip, wet with pre-come. I wrapped a hand around it, thumbed over the head, and he nearly bucked off the bed.
“Easy,” I said, stroking him slow, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded, but his jaw was clenched tight, the muscles working under his skin. I wanted to tell him to relax, to let me take care of him, but I knew he wouldn’t believe it until I proved it.
I kissed down his chest, following the line of his stomach to the trail of hair that led to his cock. I took him in my mouth, slow at first, feeling the way his whole body tensed, then went slack asI swallowed him deeper. He dug his fingers into my hair, holding on like I was the last thing tethering him to earth.
“Fuck, Quiad,” he whimpered, voice breaking, “fuck, fuck—”
I pulled off, then kissed the head of his cock, letting him see the slickness on my lips. “You want more?”
He nodded, mute, and I grinned. “You have no idea how much.”
I flipped him onto his back, looming over him, my own cock hard and aching against the fly of my jeans. I grabbed a condom from the nightstand, tore it open, and rolled it on, never breaking eye contact. Levi watched, transfixed, chest heaving, the tattoo on his wrist visible where he’d thrown an arm over his face.
“Spread your legs,” I said, voice rough, and he obeyed, knees wide and feet digging into the mattress.
I slicked my fingers, found his hole, and worked one finger in, slow but relentless. He was tight, so fucking tight, but he took it, bearing down and biting his lip. I stretched him, then two fingers, twisting and scissoring until he was begging for it, every breath a gasp or a plea.
“Please,” he whispered, “please, I need it—”
“Yeah?” I curved my fingers, found the spot that made him see stars. “Need what?”
“You,” he groaned, “I need you, all of you, fuck—just do it—”
I lined up my cock and pressed in, slow at first, letting him feel every inch. He was hot and slick, his body fighting the stretch, but he never told me to stop. When I bottomed out, he wrapped his legs around my hips and pulled me closer, greedy for every bit I’d give him.
I fucked him hard, no hesitation, every thrust pushing the air from his lungs. He met me stroke for stroke, fingers clawing at my back, teeth at my shoulder. I watched his face, the way he went wide-open with pleasure, no walls, no shame.
I never wanted to see him any other way.
I reached down and stroked his cock, matching the rhythm of my hips. He was already close, the tip leaking onto my hand, his breath coming in ragged sobs.
“I’m gonna—” he tried, but I covered his mouth with mine, swallowed the cry as he came. His whole body shuddered, muscles locked, and the pulse of his orgasm milked my own out of me, harder than I’d ever come in my life.
I collapsed on top of him, braced myself so I didn’t crush him, and kissed him until we were both too spent to move.
We lay there, sticky and panting, the morning sun painting both of us in gold. I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in, the mix of sweat and sex and the faint tang of antiseptic from the tattoo.
He traced lazy circles on my back, fingers feather-light.
“You okay?” I said, voice hoarse.
