Slowly, I stroke him, watching his face when my hand moves, his mouth falling open, his eyes closing, then forcing open.
"Keep your eyes open," I say.
"I'm trying—"
"Look at me."
He looks at me. His pupils are blown wide. The tears have dried. His jaw is set. I lower my mouth onto him.
His entire body locks. His groan hits the walls. I take him deep, the taste and weight familiar, the sight of his hand fisting the sheets and his stomach clenching and his head pressing back against the pillow entirely new.
I work him with my mouth, slow enough to track his thighs shaking when I suck the head, his hand tightening in my hair when I take him deep, his voice breaking on my name.
"Dante—wait—I don't want to come yet. I want you inside me. Please."
The please hits my spine.
I pull off. Reach for the nightstand. Lube. Condom. I roll the condom on slowly enough that he can watch. His eyes on my cock, on the piercings. The Jacob's ladder catching the daylight. Silver he's felt a hundred times and is seeing now for the first time.
"Jesus," he says. Staring. "I knew what they looked like. Feeling them and seeing them are two different things."
"Better or worse?"
"Better. Significantly better. The light catches the—" He swallows. "Just get inside me."
I slick my fingers. Position my hand between his thighs. His legs fall open. My finger traces his entrance. He shivers.
Pushing in, one finger, slow, I feel his body grip me, the resistance giving way to acceptance. I add a second. He groans. I curl forward. Find the spot.
His back arches off the bed. Pure sound, no composure, no filter. I add a third and work him open, watching his face. His mouth opens around another sound.
I position myself. His legs around my waist. His heels pressing into my lower back.
"Look at me," I say.
He looks at me.
Then I push in.
The first ridge enters him and his jaw drops. "Oh—fuck—" Each piercing drags as I press deeper, the ridges catching. He can see my face and I can see his. I bottom out. Fully inside him. Every piercing buried.
"Move," he says, and his breath breaks loose.
I move. The first thrust is slow, a withdrawal that drags every barbell against his walls and a deep push that seats them again. The piercings hit his prostate on the stroke, and his voice breaks.
"Harder."
Harder is what I give him. My hips drive into him, the bed moving. His hand flies to the headboard, bracing, and the crack of his palm against wood is sharp in the quiet room. The wet slap of skin gets louder. His moans. My own breathing ragged.
"I can see you," he says between thrusts. "I can see your face. You look wrecked."
"I am wrecked," I say.
"Good." His hand leaves the headboard and finds my face, his palm on my cheek, holding me there while I fuck him. "Fall apart. I've got you."
I reach between us. Wrap my hand around his cock. He's hard, leaking, his body wound to the edge by the angle and the piercings working him from inside. I stroke him in time with my hips, each thrust paired with a pull of my fist.
"Love you," I say. "I love you, Cole."
