“Xavi,” Rowe whispered, and it was both healing and humiliating to know that he saw. He understood what I couldn’t say. That I’d only ever tried to please everyone else, never done anything for the sole reason that I enjoyed it myself. It wasn’t like I never got off. I always did. But getting off was easy when I knew I’d done my job.
“Don’t you want…?” I asked. My voice trembled. Who was I if I didn’t get him to finish?
“If I just wanted to cum, I could get a sex toy. You’re not a toy.” Rowe brushed a finger over the side of my head and tangled his hand in the short strands of hair at the back of my neck. “You’re not an object for me to play with. We’re in this together. Equals.”
I moved slightly, unable not to, unable to keep still with him inside of me. “What if what I want is what you want?”
A smile ghosted over his lips. “Try it,” he said. “And if it’s not, you can change. But, Xavi… stop thinking about what I want so much.”
Stop thinking about what he wanted?
It was like he was telling me there was another way to breathe, a different method of drinking water, a new way to walk. How was I supposed to change the habit of a lifetime and do this another way?
“I think I want to move,” I said. I turned my hip lightly, letting him slide in and out just a little.
Rowe’s face darkened for a moment with desire, a reaction to the sensation. Then he nodded. “Then move,” he said. “But do just one thing for me. Don’t look away.”
I bit my lip and nodded, feeling like I was sealing a deal with the devil. The kind of deal that could rip me apart and destroy my soul. But when it was put back together again…
Was I mad to hope, to trust in him, that it would be better than ever before?
I began to move in earnest, sliding up and down him, feeling the stretch and the fullness and that spark when he hit those nerves each time. I looked into his eyes and I saw myself and I told myself to slow down, to feel it. To really feel it. To feel it even when it was too intense, even when I was sure it would push me over the edge too fast. I focused on the parts that I liked, on the electricity in my blood, and set an almost agonizing pace: each moment drawn out like I’d never drawn it out before.
And I felt something deeper, something I had been afraid to look into, something I had never explored while I was too busy going as fast as I could and thinking about impressing someone else with how fast I could get them to cum.
Rowe’s hand came up between us into the tiny space that separated our bodies, his hand wrapping around my dick. I gasped in response and he looked at me, and somehow I knew that he was asking me with his eyes if this was okay. And without me having to tell him, to say it, he knew that it was, his fingers starting to stroke gracefully up and down my length in time with my own thrusts.
Inside me, at my core, I felt an intensity building up that half-scared me, and fought the urge to break his gaze and ride him fast and hard until he came quick and this was all over.
“Xavi,” Rowe breathed, gazing into my eyes –
And everything came apart.
The look on his face, in his eyes, the acceptance of how I was that I saw there, the appreciation and admiration, almost as if I was someone to be desired. The slow pull and fullness and his hand on me, teasing out every sensation to a new level, the way everything seemed amplified by the way I was focused on it.
I felt a shudder go through my whole body, the spark in my core intensified until I could no longer handle or contain it, and I cried out as I came over Rowe’s hand, splattering his stomach and chest.
The aftershocks rippled through me, tongues of unrelenting fire, as I felt him release and cum inside of me, our eyes still locked all the while, and I saw him, and he saw me, and everything I was lay bare in front of him in the most intimate of moments, the most private of moments.
And to my shame and horror, I laid my forehead down against his chest and began to cry.
Rowe
I woke up, and everything in my body and mind rebelled at the realization that it was the morning.
Not just any morning:themorning. Our last.
Time for us to go.
Xavi was asleep, curled up at my side. I still had an arm around him, his head tucked against my shoulder. We must have stayed like that all night. I ducked my head, trying to get a glimpse of his face. All I could see were his closed eyes, lashes lying soft against his skin. He looked peaceful like this.
Peaceful, but in need of comfort.
I had a feeling that something inside of him had been broken last night – but broken in the best way. Like a badly-healed bone break that needed resetting. The kind that left you with a permanent limp, until the doctor fixed it and you could walk straight again like nothing had ever happened.
He’d opened the door to healing, to being able to have meaningful relationships. I was glad I had been able to do that for him.
Or, notforhim. He’d done the work himself. I had seen enough in his face to know that something new had been unlocked last night. He wouldn’t be going right back to how things had always been. He would be open to what he needed now: real love and affection, someone who appreciated him for who he was, not instant gratification with strangers who would never want anything more.
