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"Every night since the last time."

I leaned in, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He shuddered, his fingers tightening in my hair. I could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, and I didn’t want that. I wanted him undone.

I mouthed the length of his cock through his underwear, teasing him, before finally yanking the fabric down. He was hot and heavy in my hand, the skin like silk over steel. When I took him in my mouth, the noise he made went straight to my cock, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through me.

I groaned around him, my free hand sliding up to grip his hip, holding him in place. He was already leaking, the salty taste of him flooding my tongue, and I swirled my tongue around the tip before taking him deeper.

"Fuck—Blaine—"

I’d forgotten this. That’s the humiliating part. I had spent two years assembling a version of this man out of airports and missed birthdays, and I’d let myself forget the weight of his cock on my tongue, the way his thighs trembled when I hollowed my cheeks, the sound he made at the back of his throat when he gave in to pleasure.

I worked him slow at first, my hand following the rhythm of my mouth, my other hand splayed across the back of his thigh, feeling the muscle jump under my palm. His breath grew ragged, his hips twitching forward involuntarily.

"I’m—Blaine, I’m going to—"

I didn’t stop. I took him deeper, my tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, and I felt his whole body go rigid. His thigh jumped under my hand, his fingers tightening in my hair to the point of pain, and then he was coming with my name spilling out of him in two broken syllables.

I stayed where I was, my hand still working the base of his cock until he was spent. Gregory’s chest heaved, his skin glistening with sweat, and when he finally pushed me back, his eyes were dark, his lips parted.

He hauled me up off my knees and kissed me like a man being rescued from drowning. His hands were everywhere—my hair, my shoulders, my back—like he couldn’t decide where to touch me first. He walked me backward into the tent pole, the metal cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

His hands went under the hem of my shirt, fingers skimming up my sides, and he pulled it off over my head in one swift motion. Then he stopped, his eyes raking over me, his breath catching.

"Christ," he muttered. "I’ve missed this so much."

His hands came up, thumbs dragging over my nipples, and I arched into the touch with a gasp. He leaned in, his mouth hot on my collarbone, then lower, his teeth grazing my skin just hard enough to make me shudder. His hands slid down to my waist, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans—his jeans—and he dropped to his knees in front of me.

"Gregory—"

"Hush," he murmured, looking up at me with a smirk. "My turn."

He got my belt open—his belt—and I laughed, breathless, as he yanked the denim down my thighs. I stepped out of them, standing there in nothing but a pair of black briefs, the fabric stretched tight over my cock.

He hooked one finger into the waistband and stopped. "These are new."

"Yes."

"Blaine Cauthorne." His voice was rough, his eyes dark. "Did you buy fancy new underwear for your wedding day?"

"Yes."

"For Steven?"

I shook my head.

"For me." I swallowed hard. "But I’m glad it’s you."

He didn’t answer. Instead, he peeled the briefs down my thighs, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. Then his mouth was on my cock, and my knees nearly buckled.

"Oh God, Gregory." My eyes snapped shut, my hands flying to his hair. He wasn’t gentle, and I hadn’t asked him to be. His mouth was wet and hot, his tongue working the underside of my cock as he took me deeper. One hand pinned my hip to the pole, the other roaming everywhere—my thigh, my stomach, my balls—like he was memorizing the shape of me.

Gregory has always been like this—entirely present, nothing held in reserve, no part of him anywhere else. It’s the thing about him that has ruined every year of my life since I met him. When he’s in the room, he’s the only thing in it.

I climaxed fast. I tried to slow it down, to make it last, but he felt me trying and made a sound against me that ended the argument. His fingers tightened on my hip, his mouth working me harder, faster, and I came with a broken cry, my legs shaking, the tent pole the only thing keeping me upright.

He got up off the floor, his mouth wet, his eyes black.

"I’m not leaving," he stated.