“Zee, I need you. Now.”
“You’re not going to rush this,” I tell him against his skin. “We waited four months. You can wait ten more minutes.”
“That’s ambitious.” His voice is wrecked and I’ve barely started.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of his shorts and pull them down slow. He lifts his hips to help and I take everything, shorts and briefs together, and then he’s bare on my bed and I sit back on my heels and look at him.
I have seen this body hundreds of times. On the table, in the training room, through the clinical filter of assessment and treatment. I know the curve of his shoulder, the pattern of hisbreathing when he’s in pain versus when he’s lying about being in pain. I probably know this body better than he knows it.
I have never seen it like this. Hard and flushed and spread out on my sheets, his chest moving fast, his eyes watching me watch him.
“Quit staring,” he says, but his voice is soft. A smile on his lips just for me.
“No.” I lower my mouth to his hip. The cut of muscle there, the line that runs from his hip bone down and inward. I trace it with my tongue and his thigh tenses under my hand. I take my time because I want to hear every breath he takes.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispers, dropping his head back to the pillow.
“I’m being thorough.”
“You’re being cruel.”
“Thorough.” I turn my head and press my mouth to the base of his cock and he stops breathing. I drag my tongue up the full length of him and his hand flies to my head and grips. The taste of him settles on my tongue and I close my lips around the tip and the sound he makes goes straight to my dick.
I take him deeper. My hand wraps around the base and my mouth works the head, slow, learning what he likes. His fingers twist in my hair and I remember my fingers in his, all those months ago in a bathroom in the back of a club. The same grip. The same desperation.
“Zay, I need...” He pulls at my hair, tugging me up. “I need you up here. I need all of you.”
I pull off slow, deliberate, letting my lips drag. I strip the rest of my clothes off and settle over him again. The full contact of skin on skin, nothing between us now, his cock against mine, both of us hard and pressed together, makes us both go still for a second. His hand finds my cock alongside his and wrapsaround both of us and strokes slow and my forehead drops to his shoulder
“I’m tested,” he says against my ear. “I’m on PrEP.”
“Same.”
“Okay.” His hand tightens around both of us, one slow pull, and his mouth brushes my ear. “Then fuck me. I need you.”
I pull back and look at him, and he’s nodding, making it clear that yes, this is what he wants. I reach behind me for the warming gel on the desk, the only thing close to right for this. But it’s not good. Not for what I want to do to him. Before I can say so, his hand is already under the pillow on my side and he pulls out a small bottle and presses it into my palm.
I look at the bottle. Then at him. He brought lube to a shoulder appointment. Slid it under the pillow. He walked into this room at ten fifteen on a Tuesday night and the tape was my plan and the lube was his.
“I brought this.” He grins up at me. No apology. No embarrassment. Just Teo, fully himself, refusing to pretend he didn’t want this before he knocked on my door.
I pour lube on my fingers and reach between us, circling his hole lightly. I press one finger inside him and his body opens for it immediately, his mouth falling open, his eyes locked on mine. I add a second finger as he exhales through his teeth.
“More,” he says, his fingers gripping my shoulder.
“Patience.”
“I’ve been patient for four months. I don’t have any left.” His laugh is more frustration than anything.
I curl my fingers and find the spot and his whole body jolts. I press into it, slow, deliberate, and his head drops back and his breathing goes sharp and fractured. I work him open with the same precision I use on his shoulder, the same attention to how the tissue respond.
I withdraw my fingers and he makes a sound at the loss. I slick myself, his eyes following my hand on my cock, and I settle between his thighs and press against his hole.
“Teo.” Not Marchetti. His eyes go wide.
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
