Page 29 of The Butcher and His Boy

“Be still,” John says sternly when Bayani tries to fuck himself on John’s cock. The boy’s movement ceases immediately. “That’s it. Good boy.”

John begins slowly with his cock just barely grazing over the bundle of nerves that spark Bayani’s pleasure. It’s partly for the boy, but also for his own sake–he doesn’t want to come too quickly. With a slow roll of his hips, he crashes into the boy like waves against the shore. He reaches underneath Bayani to find his smooth cock already slick with lube, stiff as a baton and weeping precum all over his fingertips. John tastes it, relishing the sweet-salty flavor, then finds the boy’s mouth and feeds it to him. Bayani licks John’s fingers like a devoted pet, and John’s gaze strays from his lover to Miss Priss, curled up on a pillow nearby and watching them with a lazy sort of interest.

I’m taking care of him,John says telepathically to their cat. She only yawns, showing off her pointy, white teeth, and flicks her tail, wholly unimpressed.

John’s attention turns back to his boy, and he says with wonder, “You’re pretty all over, baby. So pretty and soft and so perfect.”

Bayani tightens up around his cock in response to the praise and John climbs onto the bed behind him, bracketing Bayani’s knees with his own, then sits down and drags the boy backward so that his shoulder blades are flush against John’s sweaty chest. The boy writhes in his grip, chasing his pleasure. John rolls the boy’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, one after the other, all the while pumping into him with the steadiness of a metronome.

Bayani’s hands link around the back of John’s neck, and John fucks into him a little deeper each time. The boy’s groans deepen and expand, until there is only a beat of silence between them. John works the boy’s body, sinuously and with a lazy sort of patience. The soft globes of Bayani’s ass offer an excellent cushion for the steady beat of John’s thrusting, and John catches a glimpse of them both in the mirror. With his thighs spread wide, cock bouncing, and arms raised in supplication, Bayani is a vision of sexual abandon.

“Such a beautiful boy,” John rasps in his ear and skates one hand along Bayani’s chest, driving downward to his cock, which he squeezes roughly. He drags his hand along Bayani’s shaft, timing his thrusts so that he can jockey the boy between his hand and his cock, “Now, say you’re sorry for getting started without me.”

Bayani utters the words in a begging tone as his fingers turn into claws and dig into John’s neck.

“I love doing this to you,” John murmurs and spreads his boy wider, testing the limits of his flexibility. “How’s your knee doing?” John asks and Bayani nods fervently. John kisses the boy’s neck, his chin, and his sweaty temple, all the while jacking his cock and pummeling his prostate. A shivery thrill of pleasure races through John, signaling he’s close.

“You gonna come for me, baby? I wanna to see a big load from you. Make me proud.”

Bayani mewls and bites down on his lower lip viciously. John twists his hand around the boy’s delicate head. Bayani tenses suddenly in his arms, and then with a roar, ejaculates in thick white plumes.

“Squeeze me tight now, sweetness,” John says and Bayani milks his cock, drawing on the last of his reserves. “Fuck that’s nice. So, so good. Such a good fucking boy.”

John whispers nonsensical things as he climbs to the peak of his pleasure. Like climbing a mountain and staring down at the valley below, his orgasm is accompanied by a sense of accomplishment, a certain rightness that all of this was meant to be. When John releases inside his boy, it is more than just an expression of his pleasure, it is a claim.

You’re mine,John thinks possessively, but he doesn’t say it because of Bayani’s past trauma. The boy must know that he can walk away at any time. Even still, John wants to fill his lover’s cup to the brim and watch him do a little penguin walk afterward, trying to keep John’s cum inside of him. He wants to watch his seed drip from the boy’s sweet, magnificent hole, then bathe him and cuddle him all through the night. Even his nightmares are more manageable when Bayani is nearby.

John holds Bayani as their sweat cools and they both regain their senses. John slips out of him with some regret, then turns him around and kisses his hair, his forehead, both of his delicate eyelids with those beautiful long black lashes. He kisses the apples of both Bayani’s cheeks and his cute button nose. John kisses his scars too, softly and with care.

“I love you, Bayani.”

Bayani, his hands like a dove's wings, signs,“I love you, John.”

A YEAR LATER

JOHN

John sellshis property in Gulfport through a third party arranged by Julien’s mysterious friend named Lynx. With the profit, John buys a small fishing boat and a little shack of a bar on the eastern coast of Bantayan Island. It’s close enough to Bayani’s home town of Dulag that they can visit his grandmother regularly. John now has a favorite dish of hers that she makes whenever they visit calledsinigang, or fish stew, and she has a special name for John in Tagalog that meansbearded one.

Bayani and John work the bar with the help of a few locals. When business is slow, they go down to the beach and swim or snorkel or paddleboard along the sugar-sand beaches. When the weather is bad, they close the bar and hole up together in their little bungalow overlooking the turquoise waters of the Visayan Sea. On their days off, they take the boat out and go fishing. Bayani is far better at it than John, having the patience and fortitude to wait for a bite. He doesn’t like cleaning his catches though, so John takes care of it for him, always with Miss Priss making figure 8’s between his ankles, begging for scraps.

John falls in love with his boy a little more each day, watching Bayani splash around in the surf, toothy grin glinting in the sunshine and ebony hair shining as he laughs with a wild, unbridled joy, in the nighttime, when Bayani moves underneath him, so smooth and pliant to his touch, and in the long, lazy mornings, Bayani riding him like a beautiful, mythical being, head thrown back and throat open, calling out John’s name.

John falls more in love with the boy every time Bayani makes the sign that is just for him, a closed fist tapping against his heart that says,“I cherish you.”

John will spend the rest of his days making sure Bayani knows just how much he is cherished–endlessly and unconditionally.

Bayani may believe John saved his life, but John knows the opposite to be true, for he had never before known such peace as the boy’s fingers linked with his own, the contentment of a soft cheek pressed against his chest.