The vibe in the lobby has shifted from the energetic afternoon cocktail party to something more intense and intimate. The arrivals hall of the former train station feels different than it did in the afternoon sunlight. Upright spotlights have replaced the sunshine and they turn the tiles into an abstract maze of shadows. Same-sex couples are scattered about the plush velvet-covered benches sipping cocktails that glow with color. Here, being gay feels like the most natural thing in the world, and I like it. But not enough to linger a second longer in the lobby than we need to. We get to the elevator and wait in silence. I can barely contain my heart inside my body. Is this really happening?
The bell for the elevator sounds like the starting gun for a race, making my heart beat even harder. As soon as we are a few stories up, I reach past Brady and flick the switch to make the elevator stop. He snaps his head toward me, and I recognize a combination of shock and excitement. The Hayes he knew in college would never do something so naughty.What about the guests waiting to go to their rooms?But we are finally alone, and I can’t delay what needs to happen a second longer. I’m horny and hungry for Brady. No one has this effect on me the way Brady does. He knows I spend most of my life being a good boy, following the rules, and he knows exactly how to get me to throw that all away.
I move my tongue across my lips as a warning. Both hands move up to his cheeks so I can hold his face in them. His skin is softer than the robe I wore in London. The opposite of my rough stubble. “Brady, I need you,” is all I say, and then my lips touch his and I feel his heart pounding against mine, connected to mine. It’s a quiet kiss with our mouths closed. I’m saving everything I have for the main event, but I want him to know that I can still be gentle when it’s called for because he might need a reminder after I’m done with him tonight. I let my lips glide over his with just an enough wetness so that they effortlessly move together, finishing the dance we started a short while ago. My tongue touches his but I pull it back. I don’t let it cross over into his mouth. Not yet. I’ve waited so long for this again. I want to show him I’m a more mature lover than I was in college, although I’m not sure I have the willpower to hold anything back.
I grab the top of his pants and he opens the button, all the invitation I need to put my hand down the front and push past the underwear of his waistband to put his dick in my hand. I wrap my finger around his thick pulsing cock and he pushes his head back with a moan and his curls fall across his face.
“Wait,” Brady says, and I immediately stop. I only want this if he wants this. “In the elevator? Are you sure you want to…” He takes a second to catch his breath, inhaling and then exhaling. I can feel the heat on my neck.
I say nothing. I nod up and down in slow motion, ensuring my eyes are locked on his and my fingers are massaging his dick. I want him as badly as I ever have. “I want you,” I say, waiting for his response.
“I want you too,” he says.
Brady releases the elevator, and the car’s thrust pushes my hand off his dick and my arms around his waist. The elevator opens, and I turn him around so his back is toward me, and my groin is precisely where I want it against him. I keep my arms around him and my hands on his belt loops. We walk him toward the room with his pants still open. I push myself against him so he can feel how into it I am. I don’t care who can see us, and it’s not like this place is family friendly. I get him into the room, and when we’re in front of the bed, he turns around to face me.
“Are you ready?” I ask. He nods. Then, with one quick tug, I pull his pants down to his ankles. Finally, I’m on my knees and right in front of my face is Brady’s dick. It’s perfect. Compact but full of personality. Just like him. Over the past year, I’ve seen it in my mind a thousand times, the vein that goes down the shaft, the tiny brown beauty mark that’s on the head. I grab it in my hand and look up at him and hold the connection for as long as I can so he knows how much I want him. But I can’t keep my mouth off him any longer. My eyes shut so I can focus on the sensation. I open my mouth and swallow him. Feeling him inside me again reminds me of how connected we once were and how connected we are again tonight. My mouth covers the head of his dick and I let my tongue tease the slit since I know the urethra contains a plethora of nerve endings. Being pre-med has its advantages.
I wrap my arms around the top of his thighs and pull him into me. I bury my nose in his groin so I can smell him – sweat, musk, ocean, one of his fancy colognes.
Then I hear the sound I’ve been aching to hear again. Brady lets out one of his low, throaty moans that ends with the slightest uptick in pitch. “Arrghh… uuuuh… uhm… yes.” I know he’s into this as much as I am. I work extra hard to hear that sound again covering his dick with my mouth making sure every inch of it is feels my tongue and lips across it.He lets out another series of moans punctuated with words I want to hear. Yes. Hayes. More. I let my mouth continue working solo and take my hands off his dick, proud of the effect my wet tongue can have on him.
His back buckles and I reach my hand behind him and find the spot that will send him over the edge. All of this feels familiar and safe but still exciting. I can feel his dick throbbing between my lips. I know I just need to increase the pressure to send him over edge. He moans again and this time it’s more of a signal so I cover his dick with my mouth to make sure I don’t miss it and then with my mouth on him he explodes. I don’t stop what I’m doing. I keep my mouth on him, taking every bit of him as he releases. Letting him cover the inside of my mouth and my face.
I know his dick is sensitive after he comes but I can’t help keeping my mouth on him as my hand reaches down to my dick. I try to jerk myself off without ever taking my mouth of his dick. But he wiggles free and I’m too out of my mind horny to do anything about it.I know what he wants, and I fucking want to give it to him. I stand up and pull off my pants from around my ankles. I want to be able to get as deep in his mouth as possible. By the time my pants land in the corner of the room, he has his mouth leaning off the side of the bed, open and hungry for me. I take my fat cock and gently push it past his lips and carefully down his throat. But he wants more. He gently tugs my balls and pulls my dick deeper into his mouth and then back and forth until I’m pumping at the speed he wants. My rhythm is a mix of gentle caress and forceful thrusting, the music of the night still inside me.
“Brady… I’m close…” I say, thinking he might slow down, but it has the opposite effect on him. His hand and mouth are working together now so I have no control over the experience. I look down at his face and see how beautiful he is but before I can even try to bend over and kiss him, his mouth sucks me harder and… “Brady. Brady,” I shout as my dick releases. There is too much for his mouth so it flows over his lips and down his neck.
I put my mouth on him and kiss him as deeply as I ever have. I move my arms toward his. Our fingers touch, and immediately, our hands lock together with fingers entwined, making a tight bond that feels like it can’t be broken. At least not tonight.
Chapter 21
Barcelona
Brady
I remember every detail from last night. The beads of perspiration above Hayes’ eyebrows. The first moment he flicked his tongue over the head of my dick. The way it felt to have him hold my face in his hands and feel connected again. But today at Park Güell, he’s barely said two words to me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking behind his green tinted aviator sunglasses.
This morning Hayes woke me up with a kiss on the forehead. My eyes fluttered open and through my blurry vision I made out his hairy thighs already in shorts and running shoes. He said something about espresso for me with extra cream and extra sugar. I smiled and fell back to sleep. I assumed we would pick up where we left off the night before when he returned.
I was wrong.
He placed the drinks on the table by the window and went to shower to get ready for the day without a single word or simple touch. I thought maybe he had left the bathroom door open as an invitation to join him but I rolled over in bed only to find the door tightly shut.
Fine. A reasonable and hygienic response to the reality of being covered in a potent variety of spilled wine, tapas and Brady. But when he came out, I couldn’t get him to really look at me. We sat on the terrace overlooking the sea, silently eating our breakfast of fresh-squeezed orange juice, bright orange-yellow scrambled eggs andpan con tomate, a toasted piece of bread with crushed tomatoes and olive oil. Hayes wasn’t unpleasant or rude but whenever I asked him anything, he only gave me one-word answers.
At first, I thought maybe I imagined everything that happened last night. Maybe it was all in my head – but then I can still feel his mouth on me. His thick fingers laced between my slender ones. I know it happened. And I know he wanted it as much as I did. We only got a few hours of sleep and we did polish off more than a bottle of wine so maybe he’s hungover or just exhausted. Still, something had changed.
Or maybe nothing has changed. At Clarkson, whenever Hayes encountered a feeling that did not logically compute he would suddenly cease all communication. The warmth would drain from his eyes and I’d be staring at a mannequin wearing my boyfriend’s sweatshirt. I loved that he was steadfast but feeling like I was being shut out nearly killed me.
The guy I was with last night was a totally different version of Hayes compared to the one silently staring out at the view letting his eggs get cold. Last night his hands and mouth were racing to connect with me, searching my body for places to nuzzle, lick or slap. Last night he pounded the dance floor and let the music drive his passion. Where was that side of him this morning?
I ran my knife across the surface of my toast allowing the warm butter to embrace the crevices and then piled on so much orange marmalade that some fell of the edge. All the while I was trying to figure out if last night was some temporary glitch and this morning is reality or the other way around.
By afternoon communication doesn’t improve so I focus on our beautiful surroundings and try to block out everything else. Park Güell sits high atop Barcelona with sweeping views of the city. Soaring geometric skyscrapers built over the last decade tower over knotted streets from centuries before and the glimmering sea beyond the city. But the real reason to make the trek up here is for the fantastical architecture of boldly colored broken tile mosaics that twist and turn in unexpected ways, making the park a playful circus of unexpected delights.
Technically it’s our day off, but yesterday we decided we would grab some bonus content since he was so into getting the extra payment. But all the enthusiasm for the bonus and for me seems to have drained out of him. Maybe it’s the heat. It’s already a million degrees and it’s barely noon.
“What about on the serpentine bench? It has views of the city,” I say.
