Page 36 of Breathe Like Hell

“Get yours out,” he said, nodding at my lap.

I didn’t waste time tugging down my sweats, my chest rising and falling faster now.

“Look at you listening to me now,” he mocked.

His hand moved lazily up and down his shaft before dipping beneath his waistband to cup his balls, pulling upward to expose them. I adjusted my hips, stretching my body out on the couch as he tipped his head back, still watching me with lowered eyelids.

“Whatever. At least I can admit what I want.”

I twisted my hand over the leaking head of my dick, groaning under my breath.

We stared at each other—not speaking, but unable to look away—both our fists moving on our cocks.

The air thickened, the tension so heavy I felt it in my lungs. I leaned back further, swallowing hard, pleasure burning low and insistent in my stomach. My hips twitched as my thumb stroked over the head of my cock, smearing the slick precum there.

Micah’s nostrils flared as he inhaled my kapnos. Deeply, purposefully.

The smell in the room was suffocating, layered and dark and addictive. It was genuinely insane the way his kapnos affected me. I wanted it to consume every molecule of air in my lungs, to surround me like a shadowed fog until all my senses were replaced by this and this alone. The darkness between fir trees.

This was one of the very few benefits of living on Earth.

The shift in my kapnos, the increase in intensity.

It made me fucking feral.

I grabbed my balls, rolling them in my palm, my thumb pressed against the base of my dick, holding it out straight. Even if I’d cared to try, I wouldn’t have been able to tear my eyes away from the sight of Micah’s hand working his sizable erection, so I didn’t. The tendons tightening in his forearm, the visible veins on the back of his hand, the flex of his bicep.

I imagined him fucking me instead of his fist, bent over the back of the couch, my body tight and straining as he hit me deep and hard. His hand reaching around to firmly jack me off at the same time, my own hands bracing myself.

Or me fucking him the same way, his tight ass gripping my cock so well, his throaty moans wrapping me in endless sin. Fuck. He was so fucking hot, and I couldn’t decide which sight I liked better. Him topping me or the other way around. Both served a different purpose, stroked a different part of my brain.

His slick tongue rimming me, hands spreading me, my hips grinding down, pressing my swollen cock against his comforter…

I was panting, chest heaving, hand tightening on my rigid cock, balls throbbing with the need for release. Micah was the same. I watched him jacking off right across from me like I was in a trance, fantasizing about too many filthy things I’d never do with him again. He’d flipped his shirt up over his chest to get it out of the way, showcasing the seize of his abs in the dim glow.

My orgasm was approaching hard and fast, and I didn’t care to prolong it. I kept the pace of my strokes the same as all the air in my lungs inverted and heat wrapped around the base of my spine, spiraling through my body, building and building…

Cum spurted out of my dick, coating my fist and bottom part of my stomach, dripping down my shaft as I suppressed my groans. Micah wasn’t far behind me, shooting up towards his chest while I watched, cum glistening on the muscular corrugations of his abs and obliques.

It was quiet for a minute while we caught our breath.

The other noises that’d ceased to exist the moment Micah pushed his shorts down were slowly reentering my consciousness. Quiet voices from the TV autoplaying something else, the central air system, the wind outside making lengthy pine branches scrape the siding.

Micah tugged his shirt all the way off, then used the cotton to clean his load from his torso. I wasn’t wearing a shirt to start off with, so I scooped the rest of my cum off my stomach, then wiped the side of my fist on his couch, smearing cum all over the worn leather.

In an instant, Micah was on his feet, stalking over to me, clearly unhappy with where I’d chosen to dispose of my cum.

“You are fucking disgusting,” he gritted out, his voice just a bit too loud. “I genuinely can’t do shit without you trying to fuck up my house in some way. Are you that immature?”

“No. Give me your shirt, then. I don’t have anything to wipe it with.”

“Your tongue.” He crossed his arms, biceps bulging.

“If you seriously think I’m going to lick my cum off your couch, you are a fucking moron. I’m not doing that.”

“I could make you do it.”

“I’m shocked you’d even say that, Micah.”