The liquid pressure in Flynn’s balls felt like it was about to spill, and its surface tension strained to hold with each thrust. He ran a hand down Nate’s back to the bare slice of skin between his shirt and the waistband of his trousers and then farther, so his hand cupped the bare cheek of Nate’s ass as the muscles flexed and relaxed with each thrust.
Nate came first, with something inaudible panted into Flynn’s throat. His come was slick and wet against Flynn’s cock and sticky against their stomachs and between Nate’s fingers. The thought of it was enough to crack whatever control Flynn had been hanging on to. He pulled Nate in tightly, squeezed their bodies together until it ached, and let the pulse of his orgasm wring him out.
They sprawled against each other for a second. Then Nate crawled off Flynn and lay back along the bench. He left his legs stretched over Flynn’s thighs and combed his fingers through his sweat-tangled hair. There was come on his shirt and slowly drying on his dick.
“You have any idea why you did that?” Flynn asked.
Nate propped himself up on his elbow and rolled his shoulders in an awkward shrug. “Long term? No,” he said.
“Short term?”
There was a pause. “I guess I just really wanted to.”
