Waiting For the Right Time

When Evan’s brother is in an accident, he’s terrified, and doesn’t know where to turn, or who to ask for support. Which is stupid, really, since Peter’s been in his life for longer than he hasn’t, and has always been a rock.


 

It isn’t fair, Evan thinks, staring down at Tom laid pristine white in a hospital bed, willing himself to concentrate on the slightest evidence of his chest rising up and down. Tom’s the baby of the family, eight years younger than Evan is himself, and all Evan can think staring down at him then, is that he’s failed him for letting this happen.

It’s beyond not fair, he adds, eyes closing in anguish at the sight of the apparatus set around the head of that bed, proof that Tom’s only there because there’s machinery keeping him alive. The bandage wound around his head speaks of swelling that hasn’t shown any sign of lessening, and there are enough smaller ones dotted to his neck and arms to make him look tiny, fragile there in that bed.

Tom’s a good guy, the best of them, never done anything but try to live a good, honest life, and do the right thing, every chance that he gets. And okay, so maybe Evan’s a little biased because Tom’s his little brother and he’ll never see him as anything but a hero. But he’s also never willingly hurt anyone, and that’s a heroic quality Evan feels a lot of people in the world are lacking, turning a blind eye where Tom is always sticking up for people. Always jumping to the defence of others without any regard for himself, without ever being asked.

Which is apparently how he got himself into this mess in the first place.

Just a day ago, Evan had been putting the finishing touches to a customer’s garden, enjoying the many perks of outdoor work in the late summer sun, when he’d received the phone call. A quick glance around, his careful eye checking for any small details that needed fixing, was interrupted by the scream of his phone, and Tom’s near-hysterical friend Steven announcing he’d been hurt in a fight.

Evan had driven directly to the hospital, the mantra that Tom was against mindless violence doing nothing but terrify him even more, for all the images and possibilities it stabbed into his mind. Steven’s broken words when he’d collapsed into Evan’s arms, once he’d found him wide-eyed and startled on a hospital corridor outside the operating theatre, spoke of Tom standing like a fortress, when a guy at the table next to theirs in a beer garden had been attacked. Of course he did, Evan thinks to himself for the hundredth time as he reaches out to pointlessly straighten Tom’s blanket, of course he’d done that. Without even hesitating. Without even giving it a thought.

There’s only the two of them, Evan thinks then, his stomach knotting over and over, half-glad that their parents are already long gone and not having to share this burden with him, yet also desperately missing their support. What happens next? Who does he need to call? What can he do to fix this? There’s a thousand things he needs answers to, but no one there to tell him anything.

Thank god, or whatever is out there, he thinks, that Peter is there with him.

Peter is a calming, steady presence beside him as Evan stands watch over Tom, twitching, trying to anticipate whatever Tom might need, or want, even though he hasn’t yet opened his eyes.

“I’m here,” Peter says, seeming to sense how badly he needs him, not offering any platitudes about Tom being okay, knowing it will do nothing to soothe Evan’s nerves. Instead he drapes his arm around Evan’s shoulder and allows him to shuffle closer, the only acknowledgement paid to Evan’s frustrated tears being the circling of his thumb repeatedly against his upper arm.

***

When Evan gets Tom back to his apartment to watch over him as he recovers, Peter is still there beside him offering quiet support. He brings Evan coffee, swiftly grabbing the rapidly emptying whiskey bottle from Evan’s hands with a terse look that speaks volumes Evan doesn’t want to hear about, and replacing it with a large, warm mug he can wrap his fingers around as he quietly nods in thanks.

Peter empties the bowl Tom retches into sometimes, walks with him to the bathroom when he needs help getting there – when he’s sent Evan out on errands to force him into getting some fresh air, and continues his silent vigil over both of the brothers when Evan finally succumbs to much-needed sleep.

Peter is also there, when Tom is screaming, crying out in the middle of a nightmare, and Evan is leaking silent tears of his own for all the things he can’t do for him. Peter rests a hand on Evan’s shoulder, and Evan breaks, grabbing Peter to him and sobbing wrecked into his neck, clinging on with a vice-like grip. Peter soothes with words spoken softly into his ear, and gentle hands rubbing reassurances into his back.

At some point about a week into Tom’s recovery, Evan thinks that in a fear-fuelled moment late one night, he’s kissed Peter, seeking comfort, reassurance, and escape. But his mind is so twisted in confusion with all that’s happening, and so bone-tired, that he can’t even remember if the moment was real, or just an unrealised fantasy that’s taunting him. That has taunted him, for as long as he can remember. Either way, Peter resolutely stays by his side.

***

Tom is strong, and begins to show good progress, with strength returning to his limbs, and wit making a reappearance in his words. Evan looks on, smiling proudly, reminded of a thousand times he’d watched over Tom protectively in sleep when they were growing up, repeating his mantra of thank you over and over for having him there to still do that.

As Tom gets better still, Evan begins to leave him alone for longer periods as a solution to his argument that he should go home, get out of his hair. He’s never far enough away to be out of shouting distance if Tom needs him, or wants to yell at him some more for being an overprotective mother hen; but enough to give Tom what is surely much needed space.

Peter is still there with him, and Evan finds it aches thinking about him eventually leaving when things go back to normal. His overnight bag’s become a feature of Evan’s living room, his favourite shower gel leaves a teasing scent of him in the bathroom, and his attempts to force nutritious food on Evan have filled his cupboards with strange new worlds of ingredients for all the recipes he’s got him trying.

Evan pauses outside Tom’s room, one time, hearing Tom’s soft laughter and a bemused, gentle mirth in Peter’s low, gravelly tone, leaving Evan stuck between listening and leaving, both curious and afraid of what he might overhear.

“Don’t tell him, Pete, ‘cos I can’t handle justifying all his fussing. But I don’t know how I’d have got through this without him,” he hears, and Evan feels a lump form in his throat, that he quickly forces down.

“You too,” Tom adds, and from the rustling sound that follows, Evan’s sure Tom’s reached out to pat Peter on the shoulder, or something.

“Evan wouldn’t leave your side, Tom, not for a second. When we were in the hospital waiting for you to wake up, I had to drag him out of your room to make him take even a five second break. He was terrified for you. Kept telling me, he wished he could take your place there, wished he could be going through it all for you. And though I would do anything for you, help you in any way I can, it’s been… difficult. To have to hear him talking like that. It’s probably selfish, but… I’ve felt so helpless,” Peter finishes with a sigh, and Evan wants to walk in and wrap his arms around his shoulders, tell him how vital he’s been to him throughout all of this.

“You’ve been here for Evan.” Tom answers, stealing his words. “That is far from being helpless,” Evan hears Tom reply, imagines his smile, and closes his eyes, grateful that Tom is finally smiling again.

“He’d be lost without you too, you know?” Tom adds, and Evan freezes at his words, desperate to know Peter’s response.

There is a pause, but finally Peter gives a soft, breathy sigh that sounds like acknowledgement, and answers quietly with, “As would I without him.”

“You guys need to talk stuff out, you know,” Tom tells him, and Evan thinks he can picture Peter shuffling in discomfort.

“It’s not really the time, Tom. We need you to concentrate on getting better, more than anything else.” Peter’s tone is decided, and firm, adamant he’s right in his thinking. He is right, Evan agrees, but it doesn’t stop his heart sinking a little, even if he’s not worked up the courage to do anything about this – them, himself.

“Pete,” Tom’s talking in that gentle, patient, explaining-to-an-idiot tone of his, and Evan kind of loves him for it. “I’ve known you for… it feels like all my life. You two have been friends since forever now, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that there’s something between you even if you pretend that there isn’t. If you keep thinking about it like that, that now’s not really the time, there’s never gonna be a right time. So why not make it the right time now? What is it the two of you are waiting for?”

Evan doesn’t want to hear Peter’s answer, too scared it will be the confirmation of rejection, so chooses that moment to go in with the tray of food he’s prepared. But it’s not like Tom’s words don’t play over and over for Evan, or stop him sneaking continual glances in Peter’s direction for the rest of the day. Or give him any chance of sleep later that night.

When he’s admitted sleep is just not going to be happening for him, Evan gets up, sighing heavily at the early hour glaring back at him on his phone, and pads through to the living room, expecting to find Peter stoically asleep on the sofa where he’s taking up what feels like just as much permanent residence as Tom. But Peter is sat at the dining table, his face illuminated by the screen of his laptop, and his eyes raise at the sound of Evan entering the room.

“Can’t sleep,” Evan offers in answer to Peter’s silent question, “What are you doing?”

Peter pauses, then reaches over to flick on a lamp on the table, and silently closes the laptop lid.

“Nothing much,” he says, coming around to lean back against the table, his hands wrapping around the edge, as he watches Evan. “Couldn’t sleep either,”

Evan watches back.

The silence remains heavy, loaded with unspoken questions. And Evan decides he can’t stand just watching anymore, so takes a courageous step forward. He bends slightly to cup Peter’s face and tilt it up, slow to give him time to resist if that’s what he wants to do. And then Evan leans down, claiming Peter’s mouth in a kiss that feels very, very long overdue. Peter’s hands are immediately around his waist, gripping Evan as he adjusts the way he stands between his legs, and pulling him as close as he can get.

The silence between them might not be filled with words, but there’s soft gasps and gentle exploration in their place, and that adds more to the sense Evan has of them finally getting somewhere. Evan feels hopeful, and humble, and more than anything, home. And when they pull apart to catch their breath, Peter’s smile for him repeats the same thing back.

***

When Tom walks through in the morning, rubbing a tired hand down his face, he comes to a stop at the foot of the sofa, his head tilting to one side as he considers the view in front of him.

On the sofa lays Peter on his back, with Evan tangled between his legs and wrapped up in his arms, fast asleep in the crook of Peter’s neck.

Peter looks at Tom, and Tom looks on back at Peter, and where Peter’s smile is small and a little timid, Tom’s is wide, and beaming happiness.

They nod at each other in unspoken acceptance of the change in circumstances between them all, before Tom turns and heads into the kitchen, a spring in his step and a hum in this mouth. He rinses the cafetiere, measuring out a generous amount of coffee, then settles it down on the side, fingers drumming as he considers adding another spoon.

Tom pulls down two mugs from a shelf, leans over to fill the kettle, then leans back against the counter, a gentle smile lingering around his lips for how ecstatic he feels for his brother. And with that smile, and a barrage of teasing already forming in his head, he turns around, and reaches for a third.

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To Forget

**previously published on Hot Chili Erotica** – suffice to say, this is not safe for work…


Rebound sex is supposed to be messy. Sweat stained sheets and spit-slick lips, no thoughts other than want, no feelings but release, a momentary pause in the heartache to remind that life goes on.

This bar, just the right side of sleazy, is perfect.

A room thick with bodies, the heat from the summer sun so heavy that the atmosphere in the bar feels almost smoky, and liquor on tap to smooth the way for getting exactly what you came for.

A wall of sound that is the disembodied conversations of other people also here to lose themselves allows you to tune in, yet switch off your own thoughts. Your fingers curl around the cool glass of the tumbler that you’ve emptied several times now, the whiskey hitting the back of your throat and providing a numbness that puts a temporary silence on the painful memories taunting you on repeat.

Absently, as though you are viewing through frosted glass, you observe the room; blond by the pool table, gym bunny at the end of the bar in jeans tight enough to make a small smile flicker across your lips. Over by the cigarette machine there’s a guy with hair so dark it looks streaked with blue under the poor lighting, standing on chaotic end, and reminding you so very much of—

Cold glass pressed in warm grip as you reign your thoughts back in yet again, signalling for another drink. You take a moment to compose yourself; this should be getting easier already, you should be able to switch off; he clearly has, able to walk out of your life as though all that time together was nothing more than a fleeting thought.

He should be easier to forget. Or at the very least, momentarily replace.

A denim-clad knee grazes solidly against yours as the stool next to you is occupied. The quick glance you give to your side shows a muscled thigh and a tanned, equally-muscular arm beneath a tight green t-shirt, and there’s a wash of relief that trickles through you. This is perfect. This is what you want. This is what you need to take your mind off—

He knows you’re looking at him. You know his eyes are lingering over you too, and you resist the urge to hold you breath, suck in unnecessarily, as those eyes lift slowly until they meet heatedly with yours.

That denim-clad knee knocks against yours and stops there, making you swallow with difficulty, as a thrill of excitement begins to stir.

You watch as he orders, smile as he gestures for the bartender to refill your own glass, and nod in thanks. There is small talk; you hear a name you intend to forget the second this evening is over, and possibly long before then.

When he leans in, you lean back.

He’s making conversation, and you’re nodding in all the right places so that to anyone who might be looking in your direction there is nothing happening that shouldn’t be. But there are fingertips pressing just above your knee, sliding a path that’s steady, and sure, and your legs part without you even thinking as those fingertips brush over your fly, pressing gently, until there’s a whole hand cupping, moulding, exploring.

His thumb strokes insistently against your length, and you shuffle slightly on the stool, feeling yourself begin to stiffen and swell under his touch. For a second you lose yourself in the feel of it, close your eyes, let a soft sigh spill from your lips. Then remind yourself that this is where you’re supposed to reciprocate.

Shaky fingers find hardness, and that’s when the low swell of desire swirls its way around your gut. This is good. This is what you need, and most definitely what you wanted from this evening. The whiskey is thrown back with the same rapidness as the previous ones, and you surge forward, parting dry lips with your tongue and swallowing the resulting groan.

The burn of stubble sings against your own, and you reach a hand up to slip through hair, angling an unfamiliar head towards you as you turn in slightly and give him better access to where he’s stroking you solid.

He tastes good; part whiskey, part unnamed spice, and your hands appreciate the firmness of the chest beneath your palm as you slide it upwards, resuming the grip in his hair as you keep him just where you want him.

There is movement, and you neither know nor care which of you is the one to initiate it; moments later there is the sound of a bathroom stall being locked and the feeling of being pressed roughly back against a door, his mouth back on yours instantly. He pulls away for a moment, a trail of kisses down your neck where he bites first into your pulse point, then back up to nip at your earlobe, forcing out a soft moan from your own mouth.

You feel the press of a button being undone, and your fly sliding down, and hands sliding around your waist into your boxers, as those and your jeans are firmly tugged mid-thigh. You spring free, feeling the coolness of the air hit you momentarily, before a thumb sweeps over your head, swiping up the slickness already there.

You fumble to do the same for him, but he smacks your hands away, and gives you a grin that makes your cock pulse in its freedom. And he’s squatting down until he’s at eye level with it; you can’t blame him for not wanting to kneel in here, but the way he’s looking at you makes you thrust your hips forward until your shaft is bumping against his lips, insistent about what you want.

There is no objection on his face. He laps out his tongue, and the instant you feel that wet lick through the smear of pre-cum that’s budding out of your slit, your head drops back with a thud against the thin cubicle wall. This is most definitely exactly what you came here for. He laps over your head again, swirling his tongue in a way that has you grunting in appreciation, and half-forcing your hips to steady, before he’s sucking you in hard enough to startle a groan out of you that you know full well was far too loud for this public place.

You can’t find it in yourself to care, not with that sensation of wet heat that’s pulsing around you, teasing you harder as hands steady themselves on your sides, then slip around to mould your ass. You look down, watch the stretch of his lips around you, take in the wink he gives you as he adjusts his position. And then he’s sliding, taking in even more of you, until you feel the constriction of his throat around your head, squeezing as he swallows.

His eyes never leave yours, and there’s something about that that makes you even harder, that and the way he slowly slides off you as though to emphasize just how much of your length he’s just taken in. He swirls his tongue over your head again before those lips slide down over you once more, and again he’s sucking you down, squeezing you tight, a roll of heat surging through you that makes you lift your hands, grab his face, fuck into his mouth.

You lose yourself in the feel of him gripping and swallowing around you, the build of your orgasm burning away any other thought. But then as quick as he started he stops, rising quickly to his feet and pressing himself hard against you so you can feel how hard his dick is just from sucking you off.

You taste yourself on his tongue, shove your hands into his jean pockets and pull him close, groaning to match his own as you rut together. He whispers something about going back to yours and your mind freezes, taken over for a second by an assault of images, of someone else in your bed; of someone who left.

You shake your head, both in answer and to force the images away, and instead reach out, unzipping him quickly and wrapping your fingers around him, swirling the mess of pre-cum on his head down his shaft, then line him up against your own cock, and stroke.

He moans against you, and it’s sinful, spurring you on to set a steady rhythm that blocks out anything but the feel of skin on skin, mouth on mouth, tongues sliding and bodies grinding together. He slots his fingers in the gaps between yours and then you’re grinding harder, biting bruises into lips and digging fingers into flesh to keep you both upright as you jack off.

Your mind is clear, of anything but the sensations of him, and you, and the sounds you’re both making, the way the very stall is shaking as you rut and groan together. You’re getting close, the heat in your core growing hotter as the slickness between you grows sloppier, and your hips jut at an ever erratic pace.

He’s building there with you if the gasps he’s letting out are anything to go by, already pushing up his own shirt and hooking his thumb up under yours, expecting mess, any moment now. Your hands move faster, your tongues lick deeper, and teeth bite into lips as you get closer, and closer still.

And then you come, feeling your balls contract tight as you empty yourself, slumping at the pleasure rippling through you, spurting against both your chests just a few thrusts before he is painting you the same. He swears, leaning against you, head in the crook of your neck as you both take a moment to catch your breath, already aware of the cooling mess dripping down between you both.

Another minute passes, and there is a lazy kiss, followed by a hasty wiping down, a grimace as the toilet is flushed, and then you each zip yourselves up, standing up straight and sated. There are smiles, and he cups your face in his hands for one more kiss, before he’s gesturing at the door and you’re sliding the bolt across, following him out.

You wash your hands side by side in silence, and he waits as though he is expecting you to be the first to leave.

You are.

You pay your tab, leave, walk home pleasantly numb and empty in the best kind of way. It isn’t until you’re letting yourself into an empty apartment, hearing the resounding click of the door shutting behind you, that the feeling of emptiness changes, morphs into loneliness, and your heart aches all over again as the memories assault you once more.

You walk through empty rooms, look at shelves with dust-free spaces from taken-down photographs, pause in the doorway of your bedroom and notice how wrong it looks with your pillows in the centre of the bed instead of to the side, next to his pillows, next to—

You cross the room in three strides and wrap your fingers around the cold glass of the half-drained whiskey bottle on your bedside cabinet, and you gulp down a good measure of it before slamming it noisily back on the side.

You fall, heavy on the bed with a drop that leaves you bouncing, succumbing to the images that have been taunting you all day.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself. Tomorrow you will forget him. As you have forgotten him every night in different bars for the past five nights.

It’ll stop hurting soon.

Permission

Todd and Eric have been fooling around together for a while now, though it’s never got beyond much more than a lot of drunken fumbling. That’s about to change…

This is NOT safe for work, just to warn you. For those of you who follow/have followed me elsewhere, you might recognise this story in another guise 😉

There are very few instances in Eric’s life where he has felt truly good about himself, but here in this moment with Todd looking at him with such adulation in his eyes, that’s what he feels: good. Worthy of this, maybe even loved, if he lets himself acknowledge this is the word to describe what’s going on between them. It’s a feeling he’s never had before, and if honest is a little overwhelmed by it. But Todd’s smile for him is warm, and his hand, curled with a thumb tracing the length of his jaw is soothing, and hell, Eric is only human. He can’t stop his heart soaring and his stomach fluttering and his palms sweating like this is the first time he’s ever been touched.

Todd’s lips on his are gentle, so shy it feels like this should be a first kiss, when it’s far from it. Eric kisses back, just as nervous, just as hesitant. Jumps in surprise when Todd’s fingers catch on his neck on the way to cupping the back of his head. Todd nudges against him giving the tiniest of smiles before claiming his mouth again, a little firmer this time.

Eric waits a moment, then moves closer, winds his fingers through Todd’s long brown hair and holds on, tugging just enough to make him softly whimper, then press back at all the points he can with the way they’re sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed. He reaches to loop an arm around Todd’s waist to pull him closer, and Todd leans over him until Eric’s pressed back against the mattress. Eric opens his mouth to him, and Todd moans at the gesture, sweeping his tongue inside to catch the taste of him there. Eric shudders with the need he has to get closer to him, feeling those same trembles back from Todd. They press tightly against one another and kiss with growing urgency until Todd is mouthing down his neck, then mumbling reassurances in his ear.

“Let me undress you,” Todd requests after a moment, low and heated in a rumble against him. Eric swallows, thinks how much he wants that, but how he doesn’t know if he can handle that look of love that’s in Todd’s eyes as he says it. Doesn’t think he can let himself believe it. One beer too many on an evening that had led to a stolen moment of drunken fumbling that now seems like a lifetime ago, is when the tension between them had finally broken. But until now, it has never been acknowledged just how much they mean to each other. Taking snatches of things they’re both desperate to mean something so much bigger, but are both too frightened to ask if this is what they really have.

As though Todd is reading his mind, he’s whispering to him the truth of it, leaving tears pricking in the corners of Eric’s eyes. Todd kisses Eric so sweetly then it’s like he can’t believe he’s even allowed to, and Eric has to claim himself a harder kiss to reassure Todd that he is.

Todd’s hands are immediately beneath Eric’s shirt and rising, gentle fingers pressed into his stomach and chest as he strokes a path upwards. Eric lifts his arms to help him remove it and ends up with them light around Todd’s shoulders as he bends to kiss along his collarbone before kissing a path back to his mouth.

When Eric reaches for Todd’s shirt he sees him smiling, shrugging out of it seconds later and that smile widening as he pulls lightly on Eric’s hips until their skin is flush. “I’ve wanted to feel you like this,” Todd tells him as he strokes reverent hands up the flanks of his chest, and it’s said with such sincerity that Eric feels himself begin to blush.

They help each other out of the remainder of their clothes, and then Todd is throwing back the duvet and murmuring for Eric to crawl in. He stands to the side of the bed looking down on him, seeming to just drink in the sight of him for a moment, then with deliberate slowness pulls out the lube from Eric’s bedside cabinet and slams the draw shut until it rattles, clutching the bottle tight in his hand. With a tiny swallow that reveals a hint of nervousness Todd asks, “Will you let me?”

“Like you even need to ask,” Eric retorts, one firm nod of his head and his cock already twitching at the certainty of what Todd is wanting to do to him. Both their eyes drop to it and Todd smiles, kneeling on to the bed and immediately bending to nuzzle along his length, smiling harder at the way it jolts against his face. Eric is momentarily stunned, as he is always stunned by the ease with which Todd touches him, how natural it seems for him to know exactly what Eric needs, then smiles up at him in encouragement and earns himself a proud smile.

Todd presses Eric firmly on his hips to insinuate he stays on his back, then crawls between his legs, kissing his way up Eric’s chest. He sneaks a hand between them to grab their cocks and line them up together before thrusting against him, groaning into Eric’s neck as he does for a few rolls of his hips. Eric’s arms are up and around his back, and lets out a contented sigh as he continues, that sigh inching over into a moan as teeth and tongue replace the lips against his skin. Todd raises his head for just a second as though he’s considering asking for permission, then bends back down, sucking in a bruise there. Eric swears he hears Todd mutter mine against him, and feels himself stir and swell even harder.

They kiss, lazy and sloppy, their hips moving together in a languid roll as they’ve done so many times before – though always through at least partial clothing, as though that final barrier between them made any difference to what they were doing to each other. It’s easy yet feels so different, and Eric thinks it’s because they’re both really on the same page now, that they both know how the other is feeling. Honesty has turned their rushed fumbles into something enduring, and affectionate. It’s taken them long enough, he thinks, hands greedily skimming over Todd’s hips as he gives a particularly hard roll beneath him, making Todd’s cock slip and nudge between his cheeks. They both blast out a moan then look down as one over the trial of precum they’ve left over each other’s skin from rutting together, and that sight just stirs them both harder still.

Todd pitches over to his side though doesn’t break their kiss, a brief stroke over his own cock before he wriggles to reach for the lube he’d unconsciously dropped to the bed earlier, with Eric plucking it from his fingers for Todd to pop the cap so he can pour some over his waiting hand. Eric slides his feet up the bed until his knees are splayed, then hooks one over Todd’s leg, settling and nudging against Todd’s cock wedged tight against his side.

Eric hums at the first slide of Todd’s slickened hand over his cock, raising his head to get a better angle as he watches him stroke him over, letting out small hums of pleasure to encourage him on with every slide. He gives a particularly louder moan when Todd gives this little twist over his head that he already knows from multiple past experiences Eric really, really likes.

Eric surges upwards, claiming a harder kiss, drags his leg back over Todd then rolls on to his side as well. He makes quick work of lubing his own hand up and reaching down to wrap it around Todd’s cock, and soon they’re whispering encouragement into each other’s lips with slides of tongue and slickened grips forcing out the most sinful of moans.

Todd drops his grip on Eric, teasing a trail of fingertips up over his hip and down over his ass. He slides one up and down the crack of it smiling as Eric hums, then slips it between his cheeks, nudging at his hole, this time groaning when Eric tilts his hips back to meet it.

Todd rolls Eric onto his back again with a firm press of their chests together, arranging his legs splayed just how he wants them before bending and licking over his cock head, pausing to suckle until Eric’s precum is flooding into his mouth. He gives one firm drag of his lips up and off his length then rolls himself back up, lubing his fingers up again with Eric’s assistance then kissing him firm, nudging his cheeks apart once more so he can press a finger against his hole to slip inside.

Eric’s desperate to have Todd inside of him, and shows that need by straightaway thrusting his hips down so he’s impaled on that finger Todd is giving him. Todd grins, mutters soothing things to him about being patient and kisses him quiet with a steady slide of that finger in and out. At Eric’s whimper, he adds a second, and smiles hard at the thankful sigh Eric blasts against his lips as he tries to kiss him.

“You getting a little eager for me there, Eric?” Todd teases, grinning as he crooks his fingers inside Eric, seeing the way it feels from the look on his face, and hearing it in the whimper that falls from his lips.

“I want you in me,” Eric stutters, his feet slipping as he tries to splay his legs open even wider, “I need it,” to which Todd closes his eyes and lets out another groan, pausing to drop his head down on Eric’s shoulder for a second as though he needs to get himself composed. But then he’s back to opening Eric up in all the ways he likes; repeated scissoring of his fingers, occasional nudges at his prostate, and an eventual third finger that on receiving makes Eric stutter out a broken wail.

Todd is leaning his head against Eric’s shoulder once more, muttering there what Eric thinks is keep control. It makes Eric smile; he’s not seen Todd like this before, not with eyes so full of need and such closeness to not being in control of himself. He likes it a lot, Eric decides, lifting his head up to drop a kiss down on the top of Todd’s, earning himself a self-deprecating smile and quiet laugh.

Todd leans to kiss him, and a few moments are taken up only with that, a closeness that is steadying and reassuring for them both. Then Todd is slotting himself between Eric’s legs and arranging him how he wants him again, leaning down to give Eric’s cock one final mouthing over before straightening up, bracing himself briefly with warm hands against his stomach, then pushing on Eric’s thighs until they’re open enough for him to fit between.

Eric shifts a little himself. He wants to watch Todd sliding in to him; he’s been waiting long enough for it to happen and as well as feeling it, he doesn’t want to miss a second of seeing him disappear inside. His legs jolt as Todd strokes his fingers down the creases of his thighs to linger and nudge against his balls, then drops his hands lower, one thumb sweeping over his hole and briefly dipping in to him before it’s joined by the other in pulling him open.

Eric watches Todd duck his head, angle back a little to watch for himself as he nudges his cock tip against Eric’s hole and rolls his hips, until his cock head is plugging him. He gives one glance up to Eric for permission, swallows greedily when he receives it, then gives one continuous roll of his hips until he’s all the way inside.

There’s a delayed moan shared between them, Eric’s eyes wide and round at the view he’s got in front of him and the feel of Todd’s cock all the way up inside and stretching him open. They raise their gaze from where they’re joined up to each other’s faces and give a little smile before they look back down and watch, as Todd pulls out until his head’s catching against Eric’s rim, then is sliding all the way back in.

They watch through another few thrusts, through another few groans of encouragement. Then Todd is pitching forward and getting comfortable, grinning at Eric as he brackets his face between his elbows and dives in for a kiss. He gives a languid roll of his hips that he hums his approval at the feel of against Eric’s lips, the rumble of that joining Eric’s own as he settles his hands around Todd’s lower back.

They keep grinning at each other, stupid and silly, interrupted only by the groans they drag out of one another and the continual meeting of their lips. Todd presses a harder kiss on him then drops his head down to nuzzle over the bite he left on Eric’s neck earlier, raising it again to keep eye contact as he gives another thrust into him. Eric bites down on his lip, watching as a wave of pleasure shivers through Todd, ending with a loud, desperate groan.

When Todd looks back up again, Eric lifts one hand to slot his fingers through the back of his hair and pull him in for a longer kiss, which they keep up for as long as possible until their gasps take over. Todd drops another on his cheek and stirs his hips a little, smiling at Eric’s answering arch. “Wrap your legs around me,” he whispers at him, eyes fluttering closed when Eric does just that and the angle shift has them both cry out as it feels like Todd is sinking into him deeper still.

Their thrusts grow more rapid, kisses impossible for the need to keep catching their breath in between their continual gasps and groans, with Todd’s hips soon losing the smoothness of their rolls and giving way to erratic judders that unhook Eric’s ankles from where they’re crossed around him until his feet are back on the bed.

Eric begins rolling up to claim Todd’s thrusts desperately, them both building so fast, getting so close that their movements become purely instinctual, with no conscious thought behind them. Todd has just enough sense about him to shift until he’s wedged his hand between them to wrap around Eric’s cock, bringing him to orgasm with no more than a half dozen strokes, his hips beginning to jolt even more at the noises blasting out of Eric and the way his hole is fluttering around his length.

Todd picks up his pace, desperate and needy, staring Eric down the closer he gets. A couple more thrusts and then he’s coming, wailing it out as he grinds his hips against Eric, and Eric letting out his own whimper as he does, sure he can feel every spurt of Todd inside of him.

Todd gives out another grunt and collapses on top of him, pressing as close in and around Eric as he can get. He pets an idle hand along Todd’s back, pressing kisses to the side of his head as he flexes his muscles, grinning what he knows is probably ridiculously at his continual assessment of that wetness inside of him.

When Todd has recovered a little he’s shifting, kissing Eric triumphantly before kneeling back. He pulls out of him carefully, his face splitting into a smile as he tilts back to inspect Eric’s hole, plunging his fingers in and holding them up for Eric’s inspection to show him what he’s done. Eric bursts out laughing and reaches to squeeze Todd’s sides where they rest between his open thighs. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been claimed?”

Todd grins at him, lowers himself back down over for a kiss that turns into another hum of approval before nuzzling against him and dropping his chin down on his shoulder with a sigh and another kiss into his neck. “You have been; though long before now, though, I’d say,” he tells him, squeezing him tight for one more minute before rolling down beside him, and pulling Eric into his arms, content.

 

 

Getting Lucky

**previously published on Hot Chili Erotica** – suffice to say, this is not safe for work…


I am not this lucky.

Lewis stares up at his bedroom ceiling in a silence that only comes of it being the middle of the night, and lets his fingers creep across the mattress, until they come into the reassuring contact that is skin on warm skin.

Sebastian doesn’t even stir.

But even though there is bare skin right there beneath his fingertips, Lewis still doesn’t believe it, has to turn his head to the side to make sure there really is a warm body beside him in his bed, that his imagination is not that cruel, and is not actually taunting him with nothing but wishful thinking.

Because Sebastian looks like something out of a wet dream, yet is also someone who is warm, fun to be with, and smart as hell too. Those things don’t usually go together well in any good kind of combination, Lewis knows this from past experience. He still finds himself holding his breath, waiting for someone to tell him what the catch is. To tell him he doesn’t have the right to this at all.

It’s been eight months since his cousin introduced them, and from that first glimpse of hazel eyes and perfectly-styled hair, Lewis has been hooked. One well-behaved first date later, and Sebastian had invited him over for dinner. Somewhere between the main and dessert—because of course, Sebastian is incredible at cooking too—he’d led Lewis over to the sofa, spread his legs wide, and sucked him off with such skill, Lewis suspects he’s been ruined for life for anyone else.

And Sebastian knows this; Lewis sees it in the glint in his eyes when he’s unzipping him beneath the table at their local bar. He feels it in Sebastian’s palm when he’s got them slicked up and is fisting them together in the shower, making them both late for work. And he knows, from the late night messages he gets of Sebastian’s spent cock, cum pooling on his stomach and beginning to slide its way down his side, with the accompanying message this is what thinking of you does to me…

Sebastian also knows, it seems, when Lewis is not able to get back to sleep.

Fingers thread between his own where they’re steepled against Sebastian’s thigh, and there’s a soft yawn and a slight stretch, before Sebastian is arching against the bed, and waking himself up.

“Don’t,” Lewis whispers, because he never meant to wake Sebastian with his sudden rush of insecurities. But Sebastian is already awake, gripping his fingers softly, and anchoring Lewis there beside him without even needing him to ask for it.

“Lewis,” Sebastian says, his voice gruffer than it is by daylight, and gravel enough to have Lewis’ cock stir. He adds nothing else, but that grumbling of his name is enough to send a shot of desire flaring through Lewis, leaving him shifting as he begins to stir.

“Go back to sleep,” Lewis tells him softly, rolling on to his side as though that might stop the way he’s reacting, and pressing a light kiss to Sebastian’s shoulder as he loosens his fingers from beneath Sebastian’s, resting them on his stomach instead.

Sebastian shifts a little, humming with approval as he slots his fingers through Lewis’ against his skin. “Why can’t you sleep?”

With a shake of his head, Lewis kisses Sebastian’s shoulder again, splays his fingers to touch as much of him at once as possible, and rolls forward further until his front is pressing fully against his side. Sebastian circles his wrist to free it in the slight gap between them, wraps his hand around Lewis’s immediately interested cock, and gives a lazy pull.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lewis tells him, his voice catching at the feel of Sebastian’s fingers around him, and that heat surging through as he hardens against his palm.

“But now we’re both awake,” Sebastian adds, with a long, languid stroke, and Lewis is lost. And thankful. And so utterly helpless when it comes to resisting Sebastian – and that voice he’s using right now.

Lewis slides his hand up Sebastian’s chest as Sebastian’s tumbles to the bed, grazing his fingers in circles over each of his nipples in turn, continuing the kisses to his shoulder, and smiling there as Sebastian arches up a little at his touch. Lewis lifts his head, trailing kisses up Sebastian’s neck that he echoes with soft bites, then down his throat to nuzzle, and finally settles his chin against his sternum, where he scratches his stubbled chin, looking up at Sebastian in expectation.

A second later, Sebastian has reached out to switch the light on so they can see each other properly, and is staring down at him with a smirk on his face that has Lewis’ breath quickens, making his cock give another twitch right there against Sebastian’s thigh.

“I don’t have a single objection to you continuing,” Sebastian tells him, and Lewis hears the lust there in his tone that just spurs him on. So Lewis does just that, wasting no time at all in sliding his way down Sebastian’s body, wrapping his hands lightly around his waist, and grazing his teeth and tongue over hipbones that, quite honestly, have been distracting Lewis since day one. Sebastian gives a low hum of approval, and Lewis manages a single, pained swallow, as Sebastian begins to swell and thicken under his attention, mere inches from Lewis’ mouth.

Another shift, and Lewis is bracing himself against the bed, hands flat on the sheets as he blows softly over Sebastian’s head, smiling at the way it jolts in response. Lewis is flicking his tongue out a second later, groaning in answer to Sebastian’s own, lapping against him, relishing the smooth hardness of his crown, and the way his slit glistens and leaks so quickly just from only those barest beginning of touches.

Lewis presses a kiss to his tip, unmoving and waiting for Sebastian to look at him again. And when he does, Lewis opens his mouth and slides down, lips stretching over that ridge, down his shaft, until Sebastian’s cock head is bumping at the back of this throat. Lewis hollows out his cheeks and sucks hard, groaning to himself at the way Sebastian’s thighs flex in answer, and how he’s reduced to these short, sharp breaths that are saying how good Lewis’ mouth feels on him.

Another hard suck and Lewis pulls off, but instantly takes Sebastian in his mouth again, starting up a slow, thorough slide up and down his shaft, one he continues without breaking eye contact, and always taking in as much of Sebastian as he can. He shifts a little to adjust his weight against the bed, and Sebastian echoes the movement to get more comfortable, splaying his legs a little wider to give him easier access. Then Lewis is pulling off altogether, nuzzling into Sebastian’s base, laving a long lick all the way up his length along the vein that Lewis swears tastes different to the rest of his shaft, and then over his head again, before kissing his way back down.

Lewis ghosts wet, open mouthed kisses up and down Sebastian, earning him whines of protest for more, a thrusting of hips that asks Lewis to swallow him down again, and fingers that grip frantically through his hair, pulling him ever closer, gentle but insistent. Lewis looks up at Sebastian, winks, and swallows him down as far as he can once more, smiling around him as Sebastian arches, groans, and trembles beneath him.

Lewis breathes out steadily in an effort to relax, takes in a little more of Sebastian’s cock, and pauses through the reflex of his throat to fight the intrusion of his cock head. Instantly, as though begging and inviting more, Sebastian parts his legs wider still; Lewis adjusts himself so he’s still comfortable then pulls off, slow, teasing, before swallowing down again, a little deeper.

Sebastian groans his name as Lewis continues this slow, controlled swallowing of him down, until his throat is full, and he’s having to breath out through his nose. There is a pause as Lewis settles himself, and then he’s swallowing around him, closing his eyes at the barrage of praise and obscenities it squeezes out of Sebastian as his throat constricts around his cock.

Lewis shifts his head slightly, grazes his thumbs lightly against Sebastian’s sides, wordlessly tells him what he wants him to do next. Sebastian is gasping, feet braced against the bed as he fucks up into Lewis’ mouth, his fingers twitching through his hair as he fights the urge to go rougher and faster.

Sebastian loves this; Lewis learned early on that deepthroating Sebastian is a surefire way to earn him whatever sexual favours he wants in return, and has also on three separate occasions led to breakfast in bed, as well as several lazy Sundays where he’d been left so spent, he’d barely been able to move. So Lewis holds on as long as he can through Sebastian’s thrusts and gasps, ignoring his own need as much as is possible, torture when he’s aching and leaking, hanging heavily between his legs.

But Sebastian knows Lewis well enough to notice the way he braces himself to try to hide the trembles surging through his arms, the shallowing of Lewis’ breath that says he’s getting tired, the slight rasping through the moan Lewis is giving that says his jaw is beginning to ache.

So Sebastian is moving, gently tugging on Lewis’ hair to tell him to pull off, then gripping him around the shoulders once he does and dragging him up the bed, on to his back. Sebastian kisses him hard, desperate, thrusting his tongue into Lewis’ mouth repeatedly in the most dirty of kisses Lewis thinks he’s ever been on the receiving end of. Yet another thing he’s come to really, really like about this man.

Sebastian’s hand is on him, thumb swiping up the precum leaking, and gripping him firm, fisting him at a pace that is going to bring Lewis over the edge in just seconds if it continues at that speed.

But it doesn’t.

Because Sebastian is shifting again, hand fumbling around in the drawer beside the bed and pulling out the lube that they’re getting through at a rate that talks of how much they love fucking each other. Sebastian coats his fingers; Lewis closes his eyes expecting the cool gel to graze over the pucker of his hole any second, but instead feels the bed dip either side of him. He opens his eyes instantly to Sebastian kneeling over him, and before he can comment or offer encouragement, Sebastian is spearing himself open, as though he is just desperate to be filled.

Lewis is helpless but to hold on to Sebastian’s hips and tilt him so he can watch more easily as Sebastian’s fingers arch and scissor him open, with accompanying moans that just make Lewis leak. And then Sebastian is lowering himself to straddle Lewis’ lap, holding himself open with one hand, and guiding Lewis cock with the other, until it’s slipping inside of him with a slick slide.

They both moan softly as Sebastian sinks down, until he’s fully seated and gasping. The tightness is narrowing Lewis’ focus to nothing but the feel of Sebastian squeezing around him, and Lewis’ hips are jerking of their own accord as Sebastian circles his hips to get comfortable, bracing his hand against Lewis’ chest.

Lewis splays his hands wide around Sebastian’s thighs, the tightness of strained muscles beneath his palms adding to the force behind the groan that escapes his lips from just how very good Sebastian feels clenching around him. Sebastian circles his hips a couple of times, groaning himself at the feeling of Lewis deep inside him, and then raises himself until Lewis’ cock head is catching and lightly tugging against his rim, only just keeping him in place.

Sebastian pauses, smirks, waits, because he knows how hungry Lewis is to look down at where their bodies are joined, at where Sebastian is now sinking down on him again and filling himself up. He does it again; raising himself slowly, his neck arching at the drag of Lewis inside him, pausing then lowering himself once more.

Lewis’ hands fall as though boneless to the sheets, his feet flush against the bed, knees spread. He spreads them further, and the movement as Sebastian sinks down on him again has Sebastian grunting and cursing out. Lewis curls his fingers to grip onto the sheets, eyes intently on himself slipping in and out of Sebastian, as Sebastian rides him slowly, his head thrown back with these soft moans that Lewis swears go straight to his own cock.

Sebastian brings up a hand to wrap around himself; Lewis’s mouth dries as he watches Sebastian circle his thumb over his own head and moan out loud again. Sebastian slicks himself up, finding a rhythm to fuck into his hand as he fucks himself down on Lewis, the most delicious of noises escaping out of him, until Lewis has to start taking some for himself.

Lewis raises his hands again, grips hard around Sebastian’s hips, braces his feet against the bed and thrusts up at the angle he’s learned will have Sebastian crying out his name. The stuttering, breathy Lewis he hears is the confirmation he needs to go harder, to grip tighter, to pound up into Sebastian without any further holding back at all.

Lewis is chasing Sebastian’s reaction every time his cock head glances over his prostate, eyes fixed on the way his lips form these little ohs each, and every time another one escape has Lewis gasping himself. Pretty soon Lewis is lost to chasing that warmth spreading out through his core that’s sending sparks and jolts of pleasure through him, urging him to drive up harder, grip tighter, take more, and he is lost to thinking of anything else but being inside Sebastian.

Sebastian is clearly eager for even more himself, slamming his hips down against Lewis’ thrusts, calling out a litany of dirty encouragement, grunting and groaning out one long, wordless sound. It is always at this point when they’re together like this when both of them lose control, littering the air with gasps of encouragement and the rapid slap of skin on flushed skin.

But Sebastian, it seems, has other ideas, ideas that mean prolonging this even more than they already have done at this early hour of the morning. He presses a hand firmly against Lewis’ sternum, wordlessly asking him to slow, and Lewis does that instantly, panting hard with exertion, pressing his ass back against the bed to fight against the way his own hips twitch for him to take even more.

Sebastian takes a stuttering breath, and then he’s back to raising himself slowly, sliding down on Lewis’ cock even slower, and circling his hips, the movements deliberate and slow so they can both feel every drag of Lewis’ cock deep inside him, making them both moan out long, desperate gasps.

Lewis watches Sebastian fighting against going faster, short, stabbing breaths speaking of the effort it’s taking him to keep this slow, to enjoy every languid thrust and stroke. Sebastian leans down for another kiss; there is something about being buried inside Sebastian like this and barely moving when they’re kissing, that has Lewis’ stomach jolt and flip in the most delicious of ways.

Sebastian raises and eases himself down on Lewis then, flaring his hips insistently so that Lewis is as deep inside him as he possibly can get. Lewis answers by fucking up into him at that just right, practised angle, and Sebastian grinds down on him hard, whimpering, and shakily wrapping his hands around Lewis shoulders to hold on.

Lewis holds on for as long as he can, but the heat is too much, Sebastian feels so good, so tight around him, and he needs to chase his release right now, because any longer feels impossible. Sebastian’s fingers tighten, and he’s spreading his knees a little wider, slamming his hips hard down on Lewis unrelenting, urging him to keep going, and looking just as desperate as Lewis feels.

Lewis’s grip around Sebastian’s waist as he fucks up into him is brutal enough to leave marks, and knowing how Sebastian will admire and smirk at the marks in the mirror and then kiss him for it just encourages Lewis on even more, bucking and driving up into him, crying out Sebastian’s name as he writhes and rocks on his lap.

Sebastian shifts and begins to fist himself faster, his desperate grip on Lewis’ shoulder slipping as he rides Lewis as hard as he can, and then he’s tensing, groaning, hot white spurts covering his hand and painting a stripe across Lewis’ chest as he calls out in a broken, desperate moan. Lewis groans as Sebastian tightens around him, that fluttering feeling proving the final push to take him over the edge as well. He grips Sebastian harder, gives two, three sharp thrusts, and arches up on the bed into Sebastian with such force, that Sebastian is jostled forward, landing with a huff on Lewis’ chest as he slips.

Sebastian rights himself once he’s caught his breath a little, grinning down at Lewis in wicked triumph, circling his hips a little sloppily now that he is slick with Lewis cum. To see him doing that has Lewis dropping his head back against the pillow with a grunt, his hands sliding up Sebastian’s sides as he presses their chests together. Lewis feels a rush of what he thinks must be contentment, as Sebastian kisses the corner of his mouth, nuzzles against his jaw, and drops his head down on his shoulder with a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Does this count as you getting lucky?” Sebastian asks, the mirth-tinged words kissed into his neck.

Lewis looks up at him questioningly when Sebastian pulls back, and Sebastian nods, leans back again, pressing gentle kisses along Lewis’s jawline, before turning his head and pressing open mouth kisses along his neck. He takes the time to stop, lathe his tongue there, then bite hard enough to leave a tiny trace his own marks on Lewis’s skin, pulling back enough to swipe his thumb there and smirk at his handiwork.

“You were talking in your sleep. Again,” Sebastian murmurs into his ear when he bends back down, nuzzling at the sensitive skin just behind it and humming to himself.

“Uh…” Lewis stumbles out, embarrassed, his heart racing at how many times those insecurities might have slipped from his mouth unchecked.

“We’re doing this. We’re good,” Sebastian tells him, those earlier dirty kisses replaced with tender ones that have Lewis rooted to the spot, feeling cared for and wanted in ways he’s not sure he’s ever known in the past.

Sebastian smiles at Lewis adoringly then, as though he can read his very thoughts. He kisses him once more, long, and thorough, then holds on to Lewis’ arm as he leans over the bed to retrieve his t-shirt from earlier, and cleans them both up a little with a lazy, sleepy swipe.

Sebastian lays beside him then, insistently pressing against Lewis’s shoulder to turn him away, just to pull him back firmly against his chest and tuck in his knees behind Lewis’ own. His splays a hand across Lewis’ stomach, and Lewis can’t help feeling claimed, but only in the best kind of ways.

There are soft kisses that follow to the back of his neck, growing increasingly softer the closer Sebastian gets to falling asleep. Lewis hears a soft but determined mine muttered into his skin, and then he feels the slackening in Sebastian’s grip that announces he’s finally gone. Lewis breathes out deeply, smiling into the darkness and feeling thoroughly sated, allowing himself the luxury of thinking that perhaps, once in a while, he really does get to have this kind of luck.

With a tiny stretch to get comfortable, Lewis finally allows himself to relax, and lets Sebastian’s warmth around him lull him into a dreamless sleep.

Waiting For the Right Time

When Evan’s brother is in an accident, he’s terrified, and doesn’t know where to turn, or who to ask for support. Which is stupid, really, since Peter’s been in his life for longer than he hasn’t, and has always been a rock.


 

It isn’t fair, Evan thinks, staring down at Tom laid pristine white in a hospital bed, willing himself to concentrate on the slightest evidence of his chest rising up and down. Tom’s the baby of the family, eight years younger than Evan is himself, and all Evan can think staring down at him then, is that he’s failed him for letting this happen.

It’s beyond not fair, he adds, eyes closing in anguish at the sight of the apparatus set around the head of that bed, proof that Tom’s only there because there’s machinery keeping him alive. The bandage wound around his head speaks of swelling that hasn’t shown any sign of lessening, and there are enough smaller ones dotted to his neck and arms to make him look tiny, fragile there in that bed.

Tom’s a good guy, the best of them, never done anything but try to live a good, honest life, and do the right thing, every chance that he gets. And okay, so maybe Evan’s a little biased because Tom’s his little brother and he’ll never see him as anything but a hero. But he’s also never willingly hurt anyone, and that’s a heroic quality Evan feels a lot of people in the world are lacking, turning a blind eye where Tom is always sticking up for people. Always jumping to the defence of others without any regard for himself, without ever being asked.

Which is apparently how he got himself into this mess in the first place.

Just a day ago, Evan had been putting the finishing touches to a customer’s garden, enjoying the many perks of outdoor work in the late summer sun, when he’d received the phone call. A quick glance around, his careful eye checking for any small details that needed fixing, was interrupted by the scream of his phone, and Tom’s near-hysterical friend Steven announcing he’d been hurt in a fight.

Evan had driven directly to the hospital, the mantra that Tom was against mindless violence doing nothing but terrify him even more, for all the images and possibilities it stabbed into his mind. Steven’s broken words when he’d collapsed into Evan’s arms, once he’d found him wide-eyed and startled on a hospital corridor outside the operating theatre, spoke of Tom standing like a fortress, when a guy at the table next to theirs in a beer garden had been attacked. Of course he did, Evan thinks to himself for the hundredth time as he reaches out to pointlessly straighten Tom’s blanket, of course he’d done that. Without even hesitating. Without even giving it a thought.

There’s only the two of them, Evan thinks then, his stomach knotting over and over, half-glad that their parents are already long gone and not having to share this burden with him, yet also desperately missing their support. What happens next? Who does he need to call? What can he do to fix this? There’s a thousand things he needs answers to, but no one there to tell him anything.

Thank god, or whatever is out there, he thinks, that Peter is there with him.

Peter is a calming, steady presence beside him as Evan stands watch over Tom, twitching, trying to anticipate whatever Tom might need, or want, even though he hasn’t yet opened his eyes.

“I’m here,” Peter says, seeming to sense how badly he needs him, not offering any platitudes about Tom being okay, knowing it will do nothing to soothe Evan’s nerves. Instead he drapes his arm around Evan’s shoulder and allows him to shuffle closer, the only acknowledgement paid to Evan’s frustrated tears being the circling of his thumb repeatedly against his upper arm.

***

When Evan gets Tom back to his apartment to watch over him as he recovers, Peter is still there beside him offering quiet support. He brings Evan coffee, swiftly grabbing the rapidly emptying whiskey bottle from Evan’s hands with a terse look that speaks volumes Evan doesn’t want to hear about, and replacing it with a large, warm mug he can wrap his fingers around as he quietly nods in thanks.

Peter empties the bowl Tom retches into sometimes, walks with him to the bathroom when he needs help getting there – when he’s sent Evan out on errands to force him into getting some fresh air, and continues his silent vigil over both of the brothers when Evan finally succumbs to much-needed sleep.

Peter is also there, when Tom is screaming, crying out in the middle of a nightmare, and Evan is leaking silent tears of his own for all the things he can’t do for him. Peter rests a hand on Evan’s shoulder, and Evan breaks, grabbing Peter to him and sobbing wrecked into his neck, clinging on with a vice-like grip. Peter soothes with words spoken softly into his ear, and gentle hands rubbing reassurances into his back.

At some point about a week into Tom’s recovery, Evan thinks that in a fear-fuelled moment late one night, he’s kissed Peter, seeking comfort, reassurance, and escape. But his mind is so twisted in confusion with all that’s happening, and so bone-tired, that he can’t even remember if the moment was real, or just an unrealised fantasy that’s taunting him. That has taunted him, for as long as he can remember. Either way, Peter resolutely stays by his side.

***

Tom is strong, and begins to show good progress, with strength returning to his limbs, and wit making a reappearance in his words. Evan looks on, smiling proudly, reminded of a thousand times he’d watched over Tom protectively in sleep when they were growing up, repeating his mantra of thank you over and over for having him there to still do that.

As Tom gets better still, Evan begins to leave him alone for longer periods as a solution to his argument that he should go home, get out of his hair. He’s never far enough away to be out of shouting distance if Tom needs him, or wants to yell at him some more for being an overprotective mother hen; but enough to give Tom what is surely much needed space.

Peter is still there with him, and Evan finds it aches thinking about him eventually leaving when things go back to normal. His overnight bag’s become a feature of Evan’s living room, his favourite shower gel leaves a teasing scent of him in the bathroom, and his attempts to force nutritious food on Evan have filled his cupboards with strange new worlds of ingredients for all the recipes he’s got him trying.

Evan pauses outside Tom’s room, one time, hearing Tom’s soft laughter and a bemused, gentle mirth in Peter’s low, gravelly tone, leaving Evan stuck between listening and leaving, both curious and afraid of what he might overhear.

“Don’t tell him, Pete, ‘cos I can’t handle justifying all his fussing. But I don’t know how I’d have got through this without him,” he hears, and Evan feels a lump form in his throat, that he quickly forces down.

“You too,” Tom adds, and from the rustling sound that follows, Evan’s sure Tom’s reached out to pat Peter on the shoulder, or something.

“Evan wouldn’t leave your side, Tom, not for a second. When we were in the hospital waiting for you to wake up, I had to drag him out of your room to make him take even a five second break. He was terrified for you. Kept telling me, he wished he could take your place there, wished he could be going through it all for you. And though I would do anything for you, help you in any way I can, it’s been… difficult. To have to hear him talking like that. It’s probably selfish, but… I’ve felt so helpless,” Peter finishes with a sigh, and Evan wants to walk in and wrap his arms around his shoulders, tell him how vital he’s been to him throughout all of this.

“You’ve been here for Evan.” Tom answers, stealing his words. “That is far from being helpless,” Evan hears Tom reply, imagines his smile, and closes his eyes, grateful that Tom is finally smiling again.

“He’d be lost without you too, you know?” Tom adds, and Evan freezes at his words, desperate to know Peter’s response.

There is a pause, but finally Peter gives a soft, breathy sigh that sounds like acknowledgement, and answers quietly with, “As would I without him.”

“You guys need to talk stuff out, you know,” Tom tells him, and Evan thinks he can picture Peter shuffling in discomfort.

“It’s not really the time, Tom. We need you to concentrate on getting better, more than anything else.” Peter’s tone is decided, and firm, adamant he’s right in his thinking. He is right, Evan agrees, but it doesn’t stop his heart sinking a little, even if he’s not worked up the courage to do anything about this – them, himself.

“Pete,” Tom’s talking in that gentle, patient, explaining-to-an-idiot tone of his, and Evan kind of loves him for it. “I’ve known you for… it feels like all my life. You two have been friends since forever now, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that there’s something between you even if you pretend that there isn’t. If you keep thinking about it like that, that now’s not really the time, there’s never gonna be a right time. So why not make it the right time now? What is it the two of you are waiting for?”

Evan doesn’t want to hear Peter’s answer, too scared it will be the confirmation of rejection, so chooses that moment to go in with the tray of food he’s prepared. But it’s not like Tom’s words don’t play over and over for Evan, or stop him sneaking continual glances in Peter’s direction for the rest of the day. Or give him any chance of sleep later that night.

When he’s admitted sleep is just not going to be happening for him, Evan gets up, sighing heavily at the early hour glaring back at him on his phone, and pads through to the living room, expecting to find Peter stoically asleep on the sofa where he’s taking up what feels like just as much permanent residence as Tom. But Peter is sat at the dining table, his face illuminated by the screen of his laptop, and his eyes raise at the sound of Evan entering the room.

“Can’t sleep,” Evan offers in answer to Peter’s silent question, “What are you doing?”

Peter pauses, then reaches over to flick on a lamp on the table, and silently closes the laptop lid.

“Nothing much,” he says, coming around to lean back against the table, his hands wrapping around the edge, as he watches Evan. “Couldn’t sleep either,”

Evan watches back.

The silence remains heavy, loaded with unspoken questions. And Evan decides he can’t stand just watching anymore, so takes a courageous step forward. He bends slightly to cup Peter’s face and tilt it up, slow to give him time to resist if that’s what he wants to do. And then Evan leans down, claiming Peter’s mouth in a kiss that feels very, very long overdue. Peter’s hands are immediately around his waist, gripping Evan as he adjusts the way he stands between his legs, and pulling him as close as he can get.

The silence between them might not be filled with words, but there’s soft gasps and gentle exploration in their place, and that adds more to the sense Evan has of them finally getting somewhere. Evan feels hopeful, and humble, and more than anything, home. And when they pull apart to catch their breath, Peter’s smile for him repeats the same thing back.

***

When Tom walks through in the morning, rubbing a tired hand down his face, he comes to a stop at the foot of the sofa, his head tilting to one side as he considers the view in front of him.

On the sofa lays Peter on his back, with Evan tangled between his legs and wrapped up in his arms, fast asleep in the crook of Peter’s neck.

Peter looks at Tom, and Tom looks on back at Peter, and where Peter’s smile is small and a little timid, Tom’s is wide, and beaming happiness.

They nod at each other in unspoken acceptance of the change in circumstances between them all, before Tom turns and heads into the kitchen, a spring in his step and a hum in this mouth. He rinses the cafetiere, measuring out a generous amount of coffee, then settles it down on the side, fingers drumming as he considers adding another spoon.

Tom pulls down two mugs from a shelf, leans over to fill the kettle, then leans back against the counter, a gentle smile lingering around his lips for how ecstatic he feels for his brother. And with that smile, and a barrage of teasing already forming in his head, he turns around, and reaches for a third.

Oblivious

When is a date not a date? When one of the people on it has no idea that it even is one…

For those of you who follow/have followed me elsewhere, you might recognise this story in another guise 😊


“Have dinner with me tonight, Seth?” Ryan’s voice was hesitant even to his own ear, betraying the nervousness in the simplicity of his question. The clink of the mug of coffee against the table seemed unfairly loud when he put it down, leaving him wondering how he could even hear it over the blood rushing in his own ears.

Seth nodded without looking up, continuing to turn the pages of the heavy book laid out on the table at the same steady pace he had been doing for the past hour, curling his free hand around the offered coffee. “Of course.”

“Just you and me. Okay?” Ryan’s words came out in a rush, and he flinched when Seth raised a curious eye to him, falling briefly to the mug in Ryan’s own hands then back up to his face.

“What about Louise?”

Louise. Ryan’s long-suffering housemate and self-adopted little sister would probably shriek with laughter at his pathetic efforts later when he told her, and then curl up next to him on the couch for all the gruesome details of his embarrassment. But she wasn’t home, so couldn’t see him suffering first hand, and Ryan felt it was only normal to be thankful for the small mercy that was.

“Louise’s busy. Doing Louise stuff. Besides,” he added, still rushing through his words as he crosses his arms tightly across his chest. “Thought it’d be n- good… for us. Catch up. You know?” although catching up from what, and since when, he didn’t know, since there had been exactly two days in the past three weeks when he had not spent at least a few hours in Seth’s company.

Seth gave a curious smile, nodding again. “Of course, Ryan. That would be good.”

“Good! Good. Okay then. I’ll… I’ll let you get back to your…” and Ryan stopped mid-sentence to glance along the length of the book spin and smile. “To Louise’s compendium on Middle Earth,”

Seth smiled in answer, his eyes fixed on Ryan as he turned away quickly on his heel and returned to the couch, picking up the magazine he’d not been reading and looking up when he was sure Seth had returned to his book.

***

Seth looked out of the passenger window of Ryan’s, fingers idly tapping along to the music against the frame of the glass. They passed an all-you-can-eat buffet, and something that looked like a giant steakhouse, before turning into a parking space outside a beautifully-lit restaurant with a warm glow spilling out of its windows onto the pavement outside.

Noticing this was not the typical kind of place they went for food, Seth looked over the restaurant in interest then and turned back to Ryan, a question clear in his expression.

Ryan cleared his throat. “Thought we’d try something new seeing it’s just us. Saw this place yesterday when we were passing. Figured we’d give it a go.”

Seth smiled, “Of course. It looks Italian?”

Ryan nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Italian. Are we heading in?” He cracked the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, watching his breath cloud in front of him as he waited for Seth to climb out of his side of the car.

At the door of the restaurant, Ryan cleared his throat again and stopped Seth with a hand lightly on his forearm. Reaching forward, he tugged on the cold metal handle and gestured for Seth to go in first. Once inside, they were greeted by a waitress, who studied them for a moment at the ‘wait here’ sign, then smiled knowingly, giving Ryan a wink, and led them to the furthest side of the restaurant into one of the boothed tables offering a little privacy.

They slid in either side of the booth, Ryan studying Seth’s every reaction as he took in their surroundings in interest, then turned back to him with a pleased smile.

After a brief discussion over the menus they ordered, bruschetta to start, and two unpronounceable pasta dishes for main. Ryan played nervously with the edge of his napkin as they waited for their drinks, uncomfortable with their comfortable silence, and scratching around in his brain for an opening to conversation.

Finally he settled with, “So Seth. This okay?”

Again, Seth looked confused. “I don’t know-”

“This. You, me, dinner. It’s okay?”

“We have eaten together numerous times before, Ryan.” Seth replied, reasonably. “The restaurant is a little… different, but that is all. We’ve never had a problem eating together before.”

“Right. Right. Same as always…” Ryan’s voice trailed away with a forlorn edge to it, the napkin between his fingers shredding in one violent twist.

Their drinks arrived then, and Seth’s eyes stayed intently on Ryan, aware something was on his mind. Ryan shrugged the look away in dismissal.

The beer in Ryan’s hand calmed him a little, giving him something else to focus on besides his nerves. He took a long pull of it, then launched into their usual small talk, speaking about Louise, their friends, Seth’s excitement over a new delivery of books that he was looking forward to cataloging and adding to their local library, and Ryan’s own day attempting to make the periodic table interesting to a bunch of 11 year olds.

The bruschetta was announced a messy success, with both of them dropping pieces of it onto their pristine plates with embarrassed laughs. Ryan’s tension lessened every time one of them laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the look of concentration on Seth’s face as he fought to keep everything in one place.

Their pasta dishes met with approval too; Ryan nudged his plate towards Seth so he could try some of his, and Seth offered the same in kind. In fact, by all standards, the evening was enjoyable, and comfortable, and any awkwardness he’d initially been feeling had gone without any trace.

Ryan insisted Seth try tiramisu, even when Seth protested that he was too full to even suck in a breath. After a little debate they agreed on one piece to share, and before Ryan could stop himself, he’d slid a fork through the layers, then leaned across the table, pausing it just in front of Seth’s mouth.

Ryan’s eyes fixed firmly on those lips, licking his own as he waited for Seth to move. Seth opened his mouth slowly, leaning forward to taste, dragging the full piece of tiramisu off the end of the fork and into his mouth, unaware of how still Ryan had become as he did. He chewed, savouring it for a moment then swallowed it down with a wide smile of approval.

“This is very good, Ryan. I think I like tiramisu. I am surprised I have never tried it before,”

Ryan smiled, gathering another piece onto his fork and reaching out again. Seth accepted it with no complaint, huffing out a little sigh of contentment.

“Are you not having any?” Seth asked, when Ryan didn’t take any himself.

Ryan dragged his eyes away from Seth, taking a bite, and when he raised his head again he found Seth watching him in thought.

“Something is different about this meal.”

Seth’s statement set Ryan’s heart off thudding in protest, and he broke eye contact, fingers nervously strumming against his beer. The truth was, he always thought Seth was a little oblivious to things unless they were set out clearly to him, but if it had taken him the entire meal to notice something was up, it didn’t bode well for what Ryan was hoping him to understand.

“Ryan,” Seth prompted softly when he had quite found what he wanted to say back.

Ryan’s hand flew to the back of his neck, his unconscious thinking spot for when he got nervous. “It doesn’t have to be different. Not if you don’t want it to be.” was all he could offer, the words he actually wanted to say stuck in his throat, and Ryan closed his eyes in disappointment at himself, letting out a small sigh.

“How can I want it to be anything when I don’t know what’s different?” was Seth’s bewildered answer, Ryan felt his face flush.

“Seth. Come on. I know you’re not… fluent in people sometimes, but come on, man. I’ve been pretty obvious,”

Seth continued to stare at him blankly and Ryan let out a small whine of exasperation.

“Alright. Pretend you’re doing your observing thing like you do when you’re people watching in the library, making up lives for them, and watching us instead,”

“Okay,” Seth agreed cautiously, suspicion tinging the tone of his answer.

“From the outside. I’ve asked you out to dinner – alone. Taken you to a place we’d never normally come to. We’ve sat here, just us, and… I’ve even fed you dessert off of my own fork.” Ryan hated the feeling of blushing raging across his cheeks, though forced his eyes to stay on Seth’s even when they tried to drop to his own lap. “Don’t make me say it, Seth. What’s it look like to you?”

Seth took in the flush to Ryan’s face, the uncomfortable way he was sitting, and narrowed his eyes in thought. And what seemed to Ryan like several decades later, answered uncertainly, with, “It would look to me as though we were on a date, Ryan.”

“It would.” Ryan’s own response was part confirmation, part embarrassment.

Seth’s face remained a mask, but the thoughts rushing through his mind then made his response curt, and sure. “But this can’t be a date, Ryan.”

And in that moment, Ryan wanted to slide from the seat and run. The plummeting of his heart into his stomach made him feel sick and sweaty all over, fearing the few scoops of that dessert he’d so willingly shared might be about to make a reappearance.

Seth noticed the immediate change in Ryan’s stature and frowned even harder, trying again. “It can’t be a date, Ryan, because in order for it to be a date, you would have had to have asked me.”

Ryan startled at that, his eyes blowing wide. Had he not been obvious enough? “I did ask you, Seth,”

“You asked me to have dinner with you,”

When Ryan said nothing, Seth felt a solitary clutch at his chest and tried for a third time. “But you did not say it was a date.” Seth maintained to himself that he was right. Even if his heart was beating its own excited little rhythm. Even if perhaps his naivety had meant he’d found himself in the middle of something very, very good.

“Well. I know you haven’t dated much, but. Strictly speaking, you don’t have to say the word ‘date’ for the event to ‘be’ a date. You just… you know. Assume.” and Ryan kicked himself again for overestimating Seth’s understanding of, well. So many things. He liked order, and form, arguments to be presented with clear cut statements, and absolutely nothing that even resembled ambiguity would ever stand a chance of being understood.

“Oh.” was all Seth could manage say, because it looked suspiciously like that was a confirmation of what he was thinking.

“Out of interest. If I’d have used the word date. What would you have said?” Ryan’s fingers started up their nervous worrying of everything within his reach, and he avoided eye contact, bracing for the worst.

“I would have said yes, obviously.”

Ryan’s fingers paused and the fork he’d been spinning clattered loudly to his plate. “You… would?”

“Obviously,”

Ryan stared back at Seth, temporarily lost for words.

Impatience crept in on Seth, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “Ryan,”

“It’s a date, Seth.” Ryan blurted out, fists bumping against the table. “It’s a date. I’ve been wanting to do something about… this thing between us for… so long. But I keep coming up with excuses.”

“Why?” and there was genuine bafflement in Seth’s question.

Which was exactly why Ryan didn’t do this kind of stuff. He didn’t know how. Didn’t have the words for it. “This is me we’re talking about. I’m not good at… this. Besides,” he added, shifting in his seat, “I’ve never really figured out if you knew what you were doing.”

“What I was doing?”

Ryan laughed, but there was no humour in it at all. “The way you are with me. The way I am with you. How we’re… different. With each other. To the way we are with other people.”

Seth looked away, and swallowed nervously. “I am aware.”

Ryan pressed his fingers into the table then, watching them as they splayed splayed. “If you’re aware, does that mean you feel something? For me?”

“Of course, Ryan, I-”

“I meant beside the friendship thing and the… marathoning shows together thing. Book recommendations. Clothes shopping together ‘cos we both suck at it. Something else. Something more than all that,” and Ryan couldn’t keep the hope from his voice no matter how hard he tried to.

Seth bunched his fingers into the legs of his jeans and let the squeeze of it settle him a little. Took a deep breath. Looked Ryan directly in the eyes. “Yes, Ryan. I’ve always felt something ‘more’ for you. Always. Ever since we met,”

Ryan thought back to the time he’d been finding some book titles for his students to do real, honest-to-god research with in the library, when he’d walked straight into Seth’s book trolley and ended up sprawled out on the scratchy library carpet. It hadn’t been love at first sight, but it had sort of been head over heels, with him instantly fascinated by Seth, and steadily falling for him afterwards and ever since.

Ryan raised his hands in a gesture that screamed about his helplessness. “Then how come you never said anything either?”

Seth shrugged. “I assumed you did not reciprocate.”

Ryan glared then, and without warning leaned across to grab the collar of Seth’s shirt, dragging him forward. “Reciprocate this.” he grumbled, pressing his lips hard against Seth’s and showing in no uncertain terms what he’d not been able to verbalise for years.

By Candlelight

An evening in a cabin in the middle of nowhere is the perfect place for this loved up couple to be making some lasting memories.

This is NOT safe for work, just to warn you. For those of you who follow/have followed me elsewhere, you might recognise this story in another guise 😉

Jesse knows, without a single doubt, that he is the luckiest man alive, and that luck has everything to do with the man he’s currently draped over, with no hurry for either of them to be anywhere but here.

There have been many incredible memories that he and Vince have made together since first getting married. There was that first proud moment of referring to one another as each other’s husbands, smiles so full of joy at being able to say those very words out loud that it was almost impossible to get those very words out. There was the searching for, buying of, and moving into the perfect, perfect house for them, exactly in the area they wanted to live in and on a great commuter route for them both for work. There was the subsequent christening of every surface of said house on their first few days there, that Jesse will always, always remember with a smug smirk on his face.

But this one, this memory they are making right now will be one that competes with any of those fondest of memories and will stay with him a long, long time, he knows that, without a single doubt.

Vince by candlelight is a sight to behold. Some of those candles are even those huge church pillar ones, Jesse thinks to himself in amusement, not that anything they’re doing on this tangle of cushions and blankets can be considered as holy. Although, he ponders for the briefest of moments, it is a union of lovers, so really, that’s about as holy as it gets.

There is a sheen of sweat across Vince’s chest, and Jesse takes a moment to dip his head down, to lick a path up that finds its way over a hardened nipple, along a collarbone, and deep into the crook of Vince’s neck, where he bites down lightly, smiling there at Vince’s answering hum.

Vince arches up languidly at Jesse’s touch, whilst keeping up a steady stroking of them together in the firm grip of his hand. He glances down, sweeping his palm up over the slickness of their cock heads in one twist, but never breaking the rhythm he has going, and has had going, for what feels like an immeasurable amount of time.

Not that either of them are complaining about that.

There are no pauses; tongues flick into mouths, fingertips brush over skin, a steady exploration of each other underpinned by this slow, steady build of heat. The soft hush of candle wicks burning, skin gliding and snagging on skin, and lips pressed to lips, are the only sounds there are to be heard here, aside from intakes of breath and low moans of pleasure that echo out all around them.

If either of them were to look up, look out from this temporary retreat in the middle of nowhere, they would see a cloudless sky sprinkled with stars, a bank of trees touched only by moonlight, and nothing to speak of civilisation for miles upon rolling miles. This idea for a weekend retreat to a cabin in the woods was Vince’s, and is exactly what both of them needed, after a difficult few weeks at work and a need to just be together, and be alone. Jesse contributed to this particular memory making by gathering up all the candles, blankets and cushions he could find throughout the cabin, then leading Vince out to this deck, nestling them there together by candlelight as they slowly peeled back each other’s clothes.

Jesse feels himself getting close, and he’s not ready for that, he intends to prolong this night for as long as possible. So he wraps gentle fingers around Vince’s wrist until he releases his grip on them both, then raises both of Vince’s hands to either side of his head, pinning them down.

Jesse lines them up for a moment, thrusting in a way that has their cocks brushing together and their cock heads dragging tackily as they catch. They both arch and moan at how that feels, and then Jesse is shifting away from the instinct to keep on rolling his hips against Vince’s. Instead he lays on his side, twisting himself over Vince and kissing him thoroughly, only pulling back briefly to grin down at him and show him just how elated he is to be with him here like this.

The relative chasteness of this kiss only lasts so long, with Vince letting his knees fall open so that one bounces lightly against Jesse’s hip. Jesse smirks, glances down at the way Vince is laying himself open for him and then moves again, kissing his way down his thigh.

He bites down on the sensitive flesh of Vince’s inner thigh, then kisses against the mark he’s left there. Vince sighs, smiling down at him in approval and thrusting his hips forward, making his cock bounce against his stomach.

Jesse runs his fingertips over Vince’s thighs until his palms are flush against them, then he’s pressing insistently for Vince to open wider. Jesse dips his head down, kissing the creases between his legs, the base of his cock, the soft though wiry tickle of his balls, then moves lower, a length of kisses until he’s thumbing him open and licking a long, thrusting stripe over his hole.

Vince bucks beneath him, gasping, and Jesse laves him open, flicking and swirling his tongue in, as far as he can, as much as Vince will open for him, until he’s keening and writhing and begging to be allowed to come.

But all Jesse does is shift, leaning upwards and beginning a trail of open-mouthed kisses that start at Vince’s base and work up the underside of his cock, until he can lave his tongue over his cock head, suckle there on the crown, then suck him down deep, swallowing around him.

The noises, Jesse thinks to himself, trying to force his concentration away from what hearing them is doing to his own cock, the noises Vince makes are like nothing he’s ever heard before, he’s adamant about that. Maybe he’s biased, or lost in the moment, or quite possibly, so far gone on Vince that he’s blinded. But he doesn’t care; he’s here with Vince, he’s got Vince, and Jesse has every intention of never letting Vince go.

Vince gives the whimper Jesse recognises as him being close, and again, Jesse doesn’t want this to end any time soon. So he’s shifting again, laying back beside Vince, whilst Vince reaches out with trembling fingers and cups his face, pulling him into a kiss that can only be described as worshipful.

When he’s calmed, and his panting has lessened, Vince smiles, kissing Jesse once before rolling him over on to his back. And Jesse’s echoing Vince’s earlier movements, spreading his legs wide, offering himself up entirely to him.

Vince is thorough, with a contrast of butterfly kisses and bruising bites to every inch of skin he can get to. He always starts at Jesse’s neck, because he knows exactly where to graze his teeth to make Jesse’s cock twitch. He glances down, smiling triumphantly to see just that happening, and continues. Shoulders, arms, hands. Nipples, ribs, hips; there is no part of Jesse that Vince does not at least brush over with his lips, and by the time he gets anywhere near Jesse’s cock he is leaking heavily against his own stomach.

Vince ducks down to swirl his tongue in the mess Jesse’s made there, pausing as Jesse groans at the sight of that before slowly swallowing Jesse down. Jesse arches, his fingers gripping through Vince’s hair, holding him in place as he gently fucks up into his mouth.

Vince moans around him, letting his fingers drift down until he’s spreading Jesse open, pulling off without warning, then surging his tongue into Jesse and pressing firmly there as Jesse writhes. He keeps pressing until he can slide his tongue in more easily, smiling at the choked little gasps Jesse blasts out above him as he does.

Vince moves again, pressing a kiss to the underside of Jesse’s cock head before swirling his tongue around it and swallowing him down again, sucking hard a couple of times before sliding off once more. He stays on his knees, reaching over awkwardly for the bottle of lube just past the edge of their blankets and snags it up, brings it back with him.

He shakes it once, hard, as the bottle is coming to an end, and drizzles what’s left on to his fingers. He pauses for a moment, raising an eyebrow at Jesse who shrugs, because there’s plenty more of that on a shelf in the bathroom for next time.

Jesse parts his legs a little more, sliding his feet higher to give Vince easier access, and smiles in welcome as Vince leans down over him to press a soft kiss to his lips. Jesse’s head falls back with a soft huff as Vince slides and crooks a finger inside him, groaning quietly as Vince uses that same steady rhythm he’d shown earlier, in and out, in no hurry at all and unfaltering.

Vince flicks his tongue into Jesse’s mouth in time with sliding in a second finger, scissoring Jesse open and gasping with him as Jesse arches up at the feeling of his prostate being glanced against. He slides in a third and holds his hand steady there, smiling down at Jesse and arching an eyebrow to give a silent instruction. Jesse takes the hint, rocking his hips so that Vince’s fingers are sliding in and out of him without Vince moving at all, and Jesse groans out repeatedly as he fucks himself open a little more.

With another soft gasp, Jesse shakily reaches out his hands to pull him closer. Vince breathes out shallow, closes his eyes for a second and then moves, his hands sliding down Jesse’s inner thighs and his thumbs easing him open.

Vince rolls his hips, nudging his cock head against Jesse’s entrance, then slides all the way inside him in one go, long, and so, so slow, answering Jesse’s moan with his own. When he’s fully inside, he leans down over Jesse, resting on his forearms and spreading his own knees a little for comfort. And then he’s kissing him gently, rocking in and out of him lazily, smiling as Jesse drifts his hands up to glance over his sides as he moves.

The candles flicker, casting long shadows over their skin as they consume themselves. Blankets are adjusted for comfort, and when Vince’s knees begin to tremble Jesse pulls him close, wrapping his legs high around Vince’s waist so he can flip them over on to his back, and now Jesse is the one who is kneeling. He moans, once, long and loud at the shifted position of Vince inside him, pressing down at an angle that feels so good, so very good that he has to steady himself against Vince’s chest to rein in the urge to just impale himself repeatedly on Vince and come.

Instead, he waits a moment, splays his hands wide across Vince’s skin, and rocks slowly so that Vince is filling him whole and unhurried, wrapping his hands around Jesse’s hips to keep him just where he wants him.

Jesse keeps that pace up, slow, and steady, chasing down that sensation of heat that sparks off in his gut and radiates out. Vince reaches out, slides a lazy palm against Jesse’s cock head and slicking all the way down his shaft, wrapping his fingers around firmly and thrusting up into Jesse at the same time.

Jesse’s breathing and rocking becomes more uneven, unable to keep himself from whimpering out a litany of moans and choked off sounds. Vince is answering, just as desperately, digging his fingers into Jesse’s sides and keeping him just where he needs him.

That slowness they’ve managed to keep up for so long dissolves; there’s just heat chasing heat, moan echoing moan, juddering and jerking until Jesse becomes completely still and cries out, his head thrown back as he comes in long arches over Vince’s chest. Vince grips harder, lifting himself clean off the floor as he thrusts up into Jesse, once, twice, before stiffening himself, falling backwards and groaning out long, and loud.

Jesse leans forward, bracing and resting his weight on his hands for a moment as he gets his breath back, smiling as he watches Vince do the same. Then he’s sliding from him and slumping down beside him and on to his back, both of them with their legs and arms splayed wide as they cool down, though their hands curled around one another in the small gap between them.

When their breathing’s back to normal, Jesse rolls slightly to kiss Vince on the shoulder, then sits up with a soft grumble, looking around and snagging up one of the bottles of water they’d brought out with them. He passes it first to Vince to drink from, then takes several gulps himself, before grabbing his t-shirt from earlier, pouring some of the water on it and leaning back down, lingering kisses to Vince’s lips as he wipes him clean.

Vince reaches up, cupping a hand to Jesse’s face to prolong the kiss before sliding his fingers away and rolling on to his side, huffing in contentment as Jesse lays back down and curls himself around him with a soft kiss to his neck as he settles.

Goaded

For those of you who follow/have followed me elsewhere, you might recognise this story in another guise. And this is just as ridiculous and silly here as it was there 😉


“Jay. I am 34 years old. It is not a question of not knowing how to. Do you honestly believe that… just because I haven’t tried something before, that I couldn’t?”

Dean studies Jay’s face in that way he does when Jay knows he’s being an idiot but just keeps on talking anyway, and waits.

“Uh…” Jay stumbles, feeling lost for any kind of meaningful words.

He’s known Dean coming up to four years now, and on some days Jay still can’t work out how the two of them have become such good friends. Where Jay is practical, act-now-think-later, and very much a learn-by-doing, Dean is meticulous, researches and cross-references things he wants to know about to a point of obsession, and is the first to admit that spontaneity is a dirty word.

He’s also serious, thoughtful, loyal and compassionate to the people he cares about. Dean makes Jay feel he might be worth something, and that’s not something he’s used to being. And above all else, he’s patient with him, stays calm when Jay is close to panic, talks reasonably when Jay’s lost all sense of his. So it’s sort of funny seeing the slightest evidence on his face of being flustered that suggests for all of his blustering bravado, he’s actually a little nervous. It’s kind of cute, Jay thinks, then catches himself thinking it and pretends he isn’t.

“Yeah, Jay,” Matt pipes up next to him, grinning at Jay’s discomfort. Matt’s smirk drops instantly when Dean’s assessing gaze turns to him, as though Matt is being equally stupid.

This is what you get, Jay berates himself, trying to keep a lid on the whine that’s threatening to climb up out of his throat. This is what you get for arranging for your closest friend stroke not-so-secret forbidden crush to come over for dinner, and not forcing your kid brother out of the house you share. It’s inviting trouble, really, and he can’t blame anyone but himself for whatever’s about to unfold.

Dean continues to stare at him as this internal berating goes on for Jay, silently demanding an answer.

“Knowing the theory isn’t actually the same as… you know. Doing it,” Jay finally offers a little helplessly, flinching as Dean’s eyebrow raises a notch.

Jay looks longingly towards the doorway of the kitchen, to safety and escape.

He’s not going to get away from this that easily though, he knows that, acknowledges that the only way out of this is down. But he is going to have this out with Matt later, that much is for sure. How dare he bring up something like this, when he knows… Jay knows Matt knows… about… well. Things. About stuff.

“Well,” Matt relents after a minute, and Jay’s trying to concentrate on that, rather than the way his heart is attempting to leap out of his chest, “we’ve evidence, Dean. For example, from the last time you, uh… tried to help us cook. That… just ‘cos in theory you know how to do something? In practice, it doesn’t always work out all that well,”

“Omelette,” Jay blurts out, and for a moment, all three of them frown in sync, avoid looking at the black scorch mark on the frame of the patio door, and each other. Then Dean’s eyebrow cranks up a fraction more, in blatant disdain for their stupidity.

“I choose not to cook. It is not a question of not being able to,” he retorts, his scowl turning into a full on glare when Matt snorts, and Jay’s mind takes him back to the day of The Omelette pinpointing that as the start of so many of his current problems.

Dean had been insistent. Obnoxiously so. And most indignant, when Matt and Jay hadn’t believed he’d be able to do something as ‘simple’ as make an omelette. He’d raised an unamused eyebrow at both of them – very much as he is doing now – then shrugged out of both his coat and suit jacket in one fluid movement, and slowly rolled up his sleeves, all whilst Jay watched him open-mouthed like a man gaping at a beer after a taxing Dry January. Discreetly, of course. Discreetly.

Jay had continued watching Dean’s back as he’d walked over to the sink to wash his hands, dried them on kitchen towel like a pro, and then stalked over to the carton of eggs on the counter, bringing them back across the kitchen to leave next to the stove. Jay had swallowed roughly to see the pull of the shirt over Dean’s muscle and had stood, transfixed, willing himself to look elsewhere, but failing dismally.

Next, Dean had walked over to the fridge, bending down to peer inside in interest, and giving Jay a very distracting view of the way his pants tightened over his ass. Jay couldn’t help staring at things like that on any given day when he was around Dean, honestly he couldn’t, and at the time, Matt had given a delighted snort, grinning victoriously in his direction. Jay grimaces uncomfortably for remembering the look of comprehension on Matt’s face, still shrinking back from the wickedness emitting from his brother after all this time, wanting to turn quickly on his heel, and leave. Matt had that effect on him a lot when it came to Dean, Jay reflects then, fighting back yet another whine.

But Matt and Jay’s attention had then turned immediately to the bowl Dean clunked down noisily on the counter, and the way he threw in everything at once, before stirring the mixture vigorously and slopping it all over the sides.

Sure, in principle, the idea had been good; eggs, cheese, and bacon were acceptable – essential, ingredients perhaps, for making an omelette.

But, as Jay had sidled up to him, taking in the bits of shell floating on top of the mixture and the bacon fat sticking out like little white islands in a sea of yellow, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Even if Dean did spin on his heel and glare at him in contempt.

The second attempt, when the first had been thrown with some force into the trash, fared slightly better to start with. But Dean couldn’t seem to get to grips with the pan, and even Matt, who had been strictly forbidden from doing anything more complicated than reheating or nuking things in the microwave, howled in laughter, as Dean pushed stubbornly at the black mess that in a former life had once been eggs.

The third attempt, using up the very last of the eggs, had resulted in that black mark on the door frame that all three of them are currently glaring at, and Jay tactfully takes a slight step to the side, blocking everyone’s view.

“This is different,” Dean assures them with the most serious of expressions on his face.

“How is this different?” Matt laughs, boldy. This doesn’t really impact him one way or another, after all. Aside from watching his brother die from mortification. Unless it’s a really underhand way to get his share of the house, Jay thinks, considering just how evil Matt is, and what his limits may or may not be.

Dean stares at Matt curiously, and somehow that makes Matt laugh more. “Because, Matt. The omelette… incident…” Dean glares at them both for a second, daring them to comment. They do not. “I had never considered making an omelette before. It was not something I had ever spent a lot of time thinking about. You are both aware that I prefer to eat meals that are prepared for me,”

Jay straightens up from where he’s been slumped back against the counter, and his eyes narrow. “Wait,” he says, half-extending a hand towards Dean but curling his fingers back before they actually reach him. “You’ve been thinking about this? A lot?”

“Yes, Jay.” Dean tells him with utmost certainty, calm and assured as he is almost always calm and assured.

There is a look on Jay’s face that Matt instantly recognises as jealousy. He knows it, and has known it all his life; usually when Jay thinks Matt’s got more toppings on his pizza than he does, or has unknowingly poured himself an inch more wine from a shared bottle, it’s true. But still. He knows jealousy on Jay when he sees it, and finds himself smirking a little harder.

“With who?” Jay demands, stepping that touch closer, his voice tinged with bristling anger.

Dean’s face contorts, showing he’s really not sure what Jay’s problem is.

“I would have thought that would be obvious by now,” is all he can offer in answer. Which Jay growls, actually growls at, and Matt barks out a peal of laughter at, earning himself another glare from Jay.

“So,” Matt eventually manages when he’s finished his gleeful laughter from the safe step back he’s taken away from Jay’s mood. “What you’re saying, Dean. Is that. Is that. Unlike the omelette thing. You’ve been thinking about doing this. A lot. So you know exactly what to do here.”

“Yes,” Dean gives him simply.

Matt shrugs. “Prove it.”

“Matt,” Jay blasts out, eyes full of rage for Matt and spinning around, fully turning his back to Dean.

His eyes drop the second he feels Dean’s hand on his shoulder, and raise back up again in shock as Dean is pushing him back against the counter with no gentleness at all.

“Uh…” is all he manages, before Dean is against him bodily and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

There is a moment, a tiny moment, when Jay registers Matt laughing hysterically beside them. But it is only a moment, because right now, his brain has shorted out for the absolutely most impossible thing to be happening to him. Dean is kissing him. He’s actually kissing him, willingly, very ably, he’d very much like to add, and from the feel of… yep, that feels a lot like, well, interest, he seems to be enjoying it just as much as he is.

Unconsciously, Jay’s arms curl around Dean’s lower back, pulling him that little bit more firmly against him, making Dean moan into his mouth in appreciation.

I’ll die happy, is the only thought Jay manages, sagging under Dean’s weight.

Matt is doing all but cheering them on, resisting the urge to clap and forcing back the slight tears he’s feeling pricking in his eyes to see what he’s seeing before him.

Never in his wildest dreams would Matt have believed that what was a glib challenge to Dean about his never having kissed another man before, would have led to this. To seeing Jay, so utterly and thoroughly caught up in, well. Kissing Dean, like Matt damn well knew he’d been thinking about for an eternity. It made his little shipper heart sing, it really did.

Although.

Perhaps that level of enthusiasm was a little too much for his eyes, and oh hell he knows he just saw tongue.

Choking back the laughter that’s threatening to erupt yet again, Matt clears his throat, which neither Dean nor Jay acknowledge him doing.

“So, uh…” he tries pathetically, knowing there’s no way he’s getting their attention any time soon.

“Uh… you can thank me later, Jay,” he manages to half-call out eventually, backing up slowly towards the kitchen door.

Jay must be somewhat aware that Matt’s still standing there, because he slowly raises the hand he’s got wrapped hard around Dean up, flips him off, then slowly gives him the thumbs up Terminator two-style, before putting his hand back firmly on Dean, a little lower this time.

Matt’s eyes widen to see that, and he thumbs a gesture over at the door, making a quick exit with an absent wave, averting his eyes as he does.

Permission

Todd and Eric have been fooling around together for a while now, though it’s never got beyond much more than a lot of drunken fumbling. That’s about to change…

This is NOT safe for work, just to warn you. For those of you who follow/have followed me elsewhere, you might recognise this story in another guise 😉

There are very few instances in Eric’s life where he has felt truly good about himself, but here in this moment with Todd looking at him with such adulation in his eyes, that’s what he feels: good. Worthy of this, maybe even loved, if he lets himself acknowledge this is the word to describe what’s going on between them. It’s a feeling he’s never had before, and if honest is a little overwhelmed by it. But Todd’s smile for him is warm, and his hand, curled with a thumb tracing the length of his jaw is soothing, and hell, Eric is only human. He can’t stop his heart soaring and his stomach fluttering and his palms sweating like this is the first time he’s ever been touched.

Todd’s lips on his are gentle, so shy it feels like this should be a first kiss, when it’s far from it. Eric kisses back, just as nervous, just as hesitant. Jumps in surprise when Todd’s fingers catch on his neck on the way to cupping the back of his head. Todd nudges against him giving the tiniest of smiles before claiming his mouth again, a little firmer this time.

Eric waits a moment, then moves closer, winds his fingers through Todd’s long brown hair and holds on, tugging just enough to make him softly whimper, then press back at all the points he can with the way they’re sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed. He reaches to loop an arm around Todd’s waist to pull him closer, and Todd leans over him until Eric’s pressed back against the mattress. Eric opens his mouth to him, and Todd moans at the gesture, sweeping his tongue inside to catch the taste of him there. Eric shudders with the need he has to get closer to him, feeling those same trembles back from Todd. They press tightly against one another and kiss with growing urgency until Todd is mouthing down his neck, then mumbling reassurances in his ear.

“Let me undress you,” Todd requests after a moment, low and heated in a rumble against him. Eric swallows, thinks how much he wants that, but how he doesn’t know if he can handle that look of love that’s in Todd’s eyes as he says it. Doesn’t think he can let himself believe it. One beer too many on an evening that had led to a stolen moment of drunken fumbling that now seems like a lifetime ago, is when the tension between them had finally broken. But until now, it has never been acknowledged just how much they mean to each other. Taking snatches of things they’re both desperate to mean something so much bigger, but are both too frightened to ask if this is what they really have.

As though Todd is reading his mind, he’s whispering to him the truth of it, leaving tears pricking in the corners of Eric’s eyes. Todd kisses Eric so sweetly then it’s like he can’t believe he’s even allowed to, and Eric has to claim himself a harder kiss to reassure Todd that he is.

Todd’s hands are immediately beneath Eric’s shirt and rising, gentle fingers pressed into his stomach and chest as he strokes a path upwards. Eric lifts his arms to help him remove it and ends up with them light around Todd’s shoulders as he bends to kiss along his collarbone before kissing a path back to his mouth.

When Eric reaches for Todd’s shirt he sees him smiling, shrugging out of it seconds later and that smile widening as he pulls lightly on Eric’s hips until their skin is flush. “I’ve wanted to feel you like this,” Todd tells him as he strokes reverent hands up the flanks of his chest, and it’s said with such sincerity that Eric feels himself begin to blush.

They help each other out of the remainder of their clothes, and then Todd is throwing back the duvet and murmuring for Eric to crawl in. He stands to the side of the bed looking down on him, seeming to just drink in the sight of him for a moment, then with deliberate slowness pulls out the lube from Eric’s bedside cabinet and slams the draw shut until it rattles, clutching the bottle tight in his hand. With a tiny swallow that reveals a hint of nervousness Todd asks, “Will you let me?”

“Like you even need to ask,” Eric retorts, one firm nod of his head and his cock already twitching at the certainty of what Todd is wanting to do to him. Both their eyes drop to it and Todd smiles, kneeling on to the bed and immediately bending to nuzzle along his length, smiling harder at the way it jolts against his face. Eric is momentarily stunned, as he is always stunned by the ease with which Todd touches him, how natural it seems for him to know exactly what Eric needs, then smiles up at him in encouragement and earns himself a proud smile.

Todd presses Eric firmly on his hips to insinuate he stays on his back, then crawls between his legs, kissing his way up Eric’s chest. He sneaks a hand between them to grab their cocks and line them up together before thrusting against him, groaning into Eric’s neck as he does for a few rolls of his hips. Eric’s arms are up and around his back, and lets out a contented sigh as he continues, that sigh inching over into a moan as teeth and tongue replace the lips against his skin. Todd raises his head for just a second as though he’s considering asking for permission, then bends back down, sucking in a bruise there. Eric swears he hears Todd mutter mine against him, and feels himself stir and swell even harder.

They kiss, lazy and sloppy, their hips moving together in a languid roll as they’ve done so many times before – though always through at least partial clothing, as though that final barrier between them made any difference to what they were doing to each other. It’s easy yet feels so different, and Eric thinks it’s because they’re both really on the same page now, that they both know how the other is feeling. Honesty has turned their rushed fumbles into something enduring, and affectionate. It’s taken them long enough, he thinks, hands greedily skimming over Todd’s hips as he gives a particularly hard roll beneath him, making Todd’s cock slip and nudge between his cheeks. They both blast out a moan then look down as one over the trial of precum they’ve left over each other’s skin from rutting together, and that sight just stirs them both harder still.

Todd pitches over to his side though doesn’t break their kiss, a brief stroke over his own cock before he wriggles to reach for the lube he’d unconsciously dropped to the bed earlier, with Eric plucking it from his fingers for Todd to pop the cap so he can pour some over his waiting hand. Eric slides his feet up the bed until his knees are splayed, then hooks one over Todd’s leg, settling and nudging against Todd’s cock wedged tight against his side.

Eric hums at the first slide of Todd’s slickened hand over his cock, raising his head to get a better angle as he watches him stroke him over, letting out small hums of pleasure to encourage him on with every slide. He gives a particularly louder moan when Todd gives this little twist over his head that he already knows from multiple past experiences Eric really, really likes.

Eric surges upwards, claiming a harder kiss, drags his leg back over Todd then rolls on to his side as well. He makes quick work of lubing his own hand up and reaching down to wrap it around Todd’s cock, and soon they’re whispering encouragement into each other’s lips with slides of tongue and slickened grips forcing out the most sinful of moans.

Todd drops his grip on Eric, teasing a trail of fingertips up over his hip and down over his ass. He slides one up and down the crack of it smiling as Eric hums, then slips it between his cheeks, nudging at his hole, this time groaning when Eric tilts his hips back to meet it.

Todd rolls Eric onto his back again with a firm press of their chests together, arranging his legs splayed just how he wants them before bending and licking over his cock head, pausing to suckle until Eric’s precum is flooding into his mouth. He gives one firm drag of his lips up and off his length then rolls himself back up, lubing his fingers up again with Eric’s assistance then kissing him firm, nudging his cheeks apart once more so he can press a finger against his hole to slip inside.

Eric’s desperate to have Todd inside of him, and shows that need by straightaway thrusting his hips down so he’s impaled on that finger Todd is giving him. Todd grins, mutters soothing things to him about being patient and kisses him quiet with a steady slide of that finger in and out. At Eric’s whimper, he adds a second, and smiles hard at the thankful sigh Eric blasts against his lips as he tries to kiss him.

“You getting a little eager for me there, Eric?” Todd teases, grinning as he crooks his fingers inside Eric, seeing the way it feels from the look on his face, and hearing it in the whimper that falls from his lips.

“I want you in me,” Eric stutters, his feet slipping as he tries to splay his legs open even wider, “I need it,” to which Todd closes his eyes and lets out another groan, pausing to drop his head down on Eric’s shoulder for a second as though he needs to get himself composed. But then he’s back to opening Eric up in all the ways he likes; repeated scissoring of his fingers, occasional nudges at his prostate, and an eventual third finger that on receiving makes Eric stutter out a broken wail.

Todd is leaning his head against Eric’s shoulder once more, muttering there what Eric thinks is keep control. It makes Eric smile; he’s not seen Todd like this before, not with eyes so full of need and such closeness to not being in control of himself. He likes it a lot, Eric decides, lifting his head up to drop a kiss down on the top of Todd’s, earning himself a self-deprecating smile and quiet laugh.

Todd leans to kiss him, and a few moments are taken up only with that, a closeness that is steadying and reassuring for them both. Then Todd is slotting himself between Eric’s legs and arranging him how he wants him again, leaning down to give Eric’s cock one final mouthing over before straightening up, bracing himself briefly with warm hands against his stomach, then pushing on Eric’s thighs until they’re open enough for him to fit between.

Eric shifts a little himself. He wants to watch Todd sliding in to him; he’s been waiting long enough for it to happen and as well as feeling it, he doesn’t want to miss a second of seeing him disappear inside. His legs jolt as Todd strokes his fingers down the creases of his thighs to linger and nudge against his balls, then drops his hands lower, one thumb sweeping over his hole and briefly dipping in to him before it’s joined by the other in pulling him open.

Eric watches Todd duck his head, angle back a little to watch for himself as he nudges his cock tip against Eric’s hole and rolls his hips, until his cock head is plugging him. He gives one glance up to Eric for permission, swallows greedily when he receives it, then gives one continuous roll of his hips until he’s all the way inside.

There’s a delayed moan shared between them, Eric’s eyes wide and round at the view he’s got in front of him and the feel of Todd’s cock all the way up inside and stretching him open. They raise their gaze from where they’re joined up to each other’s faces and give a little smile before they look back down and watch, as Todd pulls out until his head’s catching against Eric’s rim, then is sliding all the way back in.

They watch through another few thrusts, through another few groans of encouragement. Then Todd is pitching forward and getting comfortable, grinning at Eric as he brackets his face between his elbows and dives in for a kiss. He gives a languid roll of his hips that he hums his approval at the feel of against Eric’s lips, the rumble of that joining Eric’s own as he settles his hands around Todd’s lower back.

They keep grinning at each other, stupid and silly, interrupted only by the groans they drag out of one another and the continual meeting of their lips. Todd presses a harder kiss on him then drops his head down to nuzzle over the bite he left on Eric’s neck earlier, raising it again to keep eye contact as he gives another thrust into him. Eric bites down on his lip, watching as a wave of pleasure shivers through Todd, ending with a loud, desperate groan.

When Todd looks back up again, Eric lifts one hand to slot his fingers through the back of his hair and pull him in for a longer kiss, which they keep up for as long as possible until their gasps take over. Todd drops another on his cheek and stirs his hips a little, smiling at Eric’s answering arch. “Wrap your legs around me,” he whispers at him, eyes fluttering closed when Eric does just that and the angle shift has them both cry out as it feels like Todd is sinking into him deeper still.

Their thrusts grow more rapid, kisses impossible for the need to keep catching their breath in between their continual gasps and groans, with Todd’s hips soon losing the smoothness of their rolls and giving way to erratic judders that unhook Eric’s ankles from where they’re crossed around him until his feet are back on the bed.

Eric begins rolling up to claim Todd’s thrusts desperately, them both building so fast, getting so close that their movements become purely instinctual, with no conscious thought behind them. Todd has just enough sense about him to shift until he’s wedged his hand between them to wrap around Eric’s cock, bringing him to orgasm with no more than a half dozen strokes, his hips beginning to jolt even more at the noises blasting out of Eric and the way his hole is fluttering around his length.

Todd picks up his pace, desperate and needy, staring Eric down the closer he gets. A couple more thrusts and then he’s coming, wailing it out as he grinds his hips against Eric, and Eric letting out his own whimper as he does, sure he can feel every spurt of Todd inside of him.

Todd gives out another grunt and collapses on top of him, pressing as close in and around Eric as he can get. He pets an idle hand along Todd’s back, pressing kisses to the side of his head as he flexes his muscles, grinning what he knows is probably ridiculously at his continual assessment of that wetness inside of him.

When Todd has recovered a little he’s shifting, kissing Eric triumphantly before kneeling back. He pulls out of him carefully, his face splitting into a smile as he tilts back to inspect Eric’s hole, plunging his fingers in and holding them up for Eric’s inspection to show him what he’s done. Eric bursts out laughing and reaches to squeeze Todd’s sides where they rest between his open thighs. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been claimed?”

Todd grins at him, lowers himself back down over for a kiss that turns into another hum of approval before nuzzling against him and dropping his chin down on his shoulder with a sigh and another kiss into his neck. “You have been; though long before now, though, I’d say,” he tells him, squeezing him tight for one more minute before rolling down beside him, and pulling Eric into his arms, content.

 

 

A Wasted Evening

It’s time to give up.

This wasn’t meant for you, anyway, not really, wasn’t something you ever dreamed you’d get to experience. And look how right you were about that; nothing has happened between you at all. Not for all those looks, those lingering fingers that have pressed into your skin in passing, nor the whisper of a thousand unspoken words, that all of the holy sonnets would have paled in comparison to, if only you could hear them said out loud.

He doesn’t want you. Or in truth, he does, you know he does, but he won’t let himself. And if you’re honest, that’s the thing that’s hurting most about this – the denial of it all. These feelings might be frightening for their intensity, and his fears things that you can’t ever know. But you hear him without him speaking, and you know him, more than he allows anyone else to know. Yet still, he won’t. And it’s not frustrating, or excruciating anymore, it’s just numbing. Numbness that spreads its way through you, for every snatched back hand, every clenched jaw biting back words, every almost action. Because not acting says just as much as acting ever does; more even. And by not acting, he has left you this; stranded, in ways you never thought be stranded. In places you were never meant to tread.

You could have, you tell yourself, said, or done something yourself, been the one to make that all-important first move, or first confession. But since you lack the experience, and have, foolishly, romanticised things between you, you have always secretly hoped that he’d be the one to show you the lead in this. And maybe that’s selfish, naive, or just too hopeful. But how can you be anything else, when hoping is the way he’s taught you how to live?

Maybe you’re just not enough for him, and this is his way of telling you. He whispers it in sentences that never pass his lips, seals them in the flicker of an eye, or a tilt of a chin that says, you aren’t anything to me; sure as hell aren’t enough. So maybe it’s not numbness you’ve been feeling, but just acceptance. Acknowledgement of all the ways in which you lack.

It’s over now.

In all the time you’ve known each other, there’s been enough time to realise, to notice, that this isn’t where you belong. He is not who you belong to. You belong nowhere, tethered only by the torment of the thoughts you allow yourself to have, when none of this was ever yours.

The waitress is pretty, you think to yourself, a mass of curls and a warm smile that widens every time she catches your eye. He taught you this game, you remind yourself, shifting in discomfort, wondering if that’s the answer to this low, gnawing pain that’s eating away at you, core deep; losing yourself in the pleasure of something you’ve never been attracted to, never even really seen much point to, when it wasn’t with someone that you loved.

Love, you scoff to yourself, returning that smile just a little too brightly as you signal for another drink, love wasn’t something meant for you. Nor was home, peace, or quiet, but you fooled yourself into thinking that they might have been once – more than once, actually. And each time it was snatched away from you, crumbled before your very eyes, or just denied. And it hurts, it hurts to feel like this. Why would anyone choose to feel this way, you ask yourself in astonishment. Surely there are more, better things to feel, than the sensation that your heart is being shred apart.

The evening drags on, the drink burns your throat, but it’s the way you’ve been taught to grieve, so there’s really nothing else you can do. Or would know how to do, you amend, then laugh, adding the reminder that there is nowhere for you to go, besides home. And home is just a reminder that you are alone; that he doesn’t want you. Because you were meant to be with him tonight, and you mistook that invite for something as more than friendship. The look on his face when you’d blurted your rehearsed words out telling him that You could isn’t a sobering thought, but is enough to signal for another refill.

It’s so late now; perhaps you can stumble your way on a walk somewhere, down a rain-soaked street on a storm-filled night. You can even convince yourself that your feet won’t carry you back to his, to look up at his window willingly, and wish that you were inside, in his warmth.

You stand, hands wide around the bar stool as you right yourself, fight for your wallet, throw bills down on the counter that you don’t even count. Turning is an interesting feeling, as is the knowledge that you’re not sure if you can even make it to the door. The door where he is now standing, you think, jolting a little, blinking repeatedly and telling yourself he’s just a figment of your imagination, or a conjuring of all the spirits you’ve been drinking.

If you weren’t so numb you’d pinch yourself.

Drawing strength from depths flooded by oceans of alcohol, you square your shoulders, suck in a breath that pricks sickness into your throat for all you’ve been drinking, yet you fight it back. Stand as tall, proud as you can, though proud is not how you feel. You stagger towards him, words muted of their meaning that you still fight to try to form into value, heart pulsing, every pound pulling you closer to him.

No amount of whiskey will ever dull his features to you. You can make out his eyes, his cautious smile, the twitch of his hands that are an invitation, even through all that fog in your mind. And as you get closer, those features morph and shift with every pace. Sadness, shame, guilt. Longing. Love. Hope?

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. I panicked,” he tells you, his fingertips grazing just above your elbows, seeping heat through your jacket into you skin as he rights you, the breath of space between you as he draws you near making you realise just unsteady you are. “Can we start over? Can we talk?”

It’s everything that you want to hear; everything.

“Let’s get you home,” he tells you, and how do four simple words have such power over you? How do they succeed in wiping out all the melancholy you’ve been feeling all evening? How can they restore all that hope that you dissolved in glass upon emptied glass?

The blast of cool night air against your face is alarming, and as you stumble at the force of it, his grip tightens for just a second before dropping altogether. You curl after it, missing his touch already, but there’s no need; a warm, steadying arm is thrown around your shoulder, pulling you too him, and even more alarming is the kiss pressed to your temple as he guides you towards his car.

The tenderness with which he gets you seated and secured is overwhelming, and you tell yourself it’s the whiskey speaking when the look in his eyes is so soft, you could sink into them. As is the way that when he’s seated, he grabs your hand, drags it across to his lap and presses, secures it there, like it belongs there, for the entire drive.