Chapter Text
Nick
Despite this film being set somewhere in Italy, everyone in it is either speaking French or English with an American accent, which makes zero sense to me but there you fucking go.
I hate to say it, but we're only ten minutes in and I'm already bored. So far, they've slept and ate and sunbathed, and now, they're cycling through the, albeit gorgeous, Italian countryside with Timothee looking at the large, blonde guy with shy, heart-eyes, even though it should really be the other way around.
Charlie says this film is amazing – a modern classic – but, it’s a bit subtle and artsy for my tastes, even if Tao did look down his nose at it earlier.
Also, it doesn't help that all I can think about is how Charlie and Timothee are both so fucking gorgeous, and I find my gaze continually dropping down to where he's laying under my arm to watch his dark lashes brush against my chest. Or, to examine the delicate contours of his perfect nose and his sharp cheekbones. Or, most of all, to stare longingly at his lips all whilst wishing we could be lazily making out instead of waiting forever for this pair to fuck …
I mean, I assume that they fuck .
Can't actually see why Charlie would want to watch this film if they didn't fuck, to be honest.
Fuck .
I'm really fucking kicking myself, right now.
“…Let’s save it until we next see one another? Are you free Tuesday night? The lads will be out at curry and quiz night so we can have the flat to ourselves… I could cook us something?”
Tuesday? Why Tuesday, you daft twat?! I mean, yeah, okay... I know why.
Since we'd already spectacularly cum our tiny minds out twice earlier today, it had seemed like a realistic and reasonable idea at the time.
I was attempting to be gallant . Unneedy and perfectly chill. A three-dimensional boyfriend who's interested in getting to know Charlie, rather than just into sexy sex all the sexy time...
Okay, maybe, I also felt like I had something to prove – that it would be much easier for me to hold out compared to him – but as he's been a relatively well behaved boy, with only the occasional whine since I mentioned it, the next forty eight hours are stretching out in front of me like a life sentence.
Yeah okay, there's uni and a leg session at the gym to keep me occupied tomorrow. Not to mention that pedagogical assignment on the ‘value of creativity in the classroom’ that's staring at me from the sidelines but unfortunately, right now , all the creativity I possess seems to be fixated on creating one specific image and every time I blink, I see it… feel it.
It's in my periphery, thrown haphazardly onto his chair-drobe and probably still smelling of him from last night. But I don't look.
If I look it's all fucking over.
Yeah, sure . I could nick it. Go home, put it on and wank myself into an opaque oblivion over it. Fill my mind with the fantastical shapes of him, conjure up all his colours and imaginary filthy words so I can tug and pinch and finger myself silently in the dark but… but… then he wouldn't see, and… well, isn't that almost the entire point?
Charlie sighs abruptly under my arm, chin digging in under my clavicle as he watches the flickers across the screen. He's still in my clothes and smelling delicious – as irresistible as an all you can eat buffet – but in truth, it's me that wants to be sampled . Me that wants to lay splayed out, tried and tasted and enjoyed at his leisure. I want him to want me. To see his appetite grow on his body and tell me how good I taste… how good I look …
... oh, and would you just fucking STOPPIT?!
“Are you enjoying this?” Charlie only has to look up at me through the darkness of his wild curls with those wide eyes and my rebellious semi throbs, my hips going all wriggly. I tense everything – squeeze my thighs around myself – but, unsurprisingly, this doesn't seem to fucking help. “Because you don't look like you're paying that much attention...”
“Um. Well… ” Tilting my head towards his appraising eyebrows, I give him a wry smile. “I suppose it hasn't exactly captured my interest.”
“It's barely begun!” Charlie snorts, raising off my shoulder and propping himself up on an elbow to peer over me with a grin. “I guess we're not doing too well with films tonight, are we? You have to admit that it's better than Tao's suggestion?”
Charlie's negligible weight is warm and firm, his lips alluringly close, and it's all I can do not to fall face-first into the cushioning pinkness of his bottom lip. I wonder if he's thinking about kissing me right now. Or, if he's thinking about my bare body being in his bed for the first time ever; as desperate as I am to recreate all the stuff we did at mine this morning but, maybe, with a hot dash of role reversal…
“I'll take that as a no then, shall I?!” His incredulous laughter is infectious and I find myself joining in as he thumbs the remote, the bright images shrinking into a void of black. But, as he starts to shimmy his hips away my proximity alarm starts to sound in an internal blasting Nooooo!!!
“I'm making a cup of tea. Do you want one?”
Inexplicably, I hear and feel my mouth making mumbling yes-noises and, once I finish watching his majestic arse slip into the thin strip of landing light, I throw myself back onto the mattress; my thickening dick thoroughly defeated by the deluge of dirty thoughts.
Sitting back up again, I look, giving into the temptation – feeling the full acknowledgement of its presence – and, before I know it, I'm standing adjacent to his chair. I don't remember getting off the bed, nor walking across the room. It's a bit like I manifested myself over here by the power of my own perversions and this particular fantasy has been sprouting ever since this morning, when he planted it straight into the fertile dirt that is my mind and watered it with his words.
‘God, I'd love to see you stretch it out with those shoulders, your hairy belly and perfect nips in it… I'd pinch them so hard through the cotton…’
Swallowing away my dry mouth, I pick it up, letting my fingers caress their way across the soft cotton before bringing it up to my nose and breathing in hard. His pheromones hit me, flooding my senses and reminding me of the highs of last night. It smells of sin and rainwater, of the peppermint vape clinging to his skin, and the entire onslaught only reaffirms how much I want this entire fucking thing.
He wants this too, he suggested it himself.
So, why the fuck doesn't this feel safe?
Slowly, I come to the conclusion that maybe it doesn't need to. That, maybe , it’s part of the appeal, to push at this scary, kinky boundary and discover things about myself that I've never let fully out before.
Directly in front of me, in Charlie’s mirror, I see my nipples standing to attention through my t-shirt, alongside the clear outline of my chubber engorging ridiculously away in my shorts. If I wasn't wearing boxers right now, it would be climbing its way out of the leg hole, for fucksake. Charlie will definitely clock my cock regardless and I've probably only got a couple more minutes to decide whether to do this, or not.
I envisage sitting back on the bed, ignoring the insufferable need of it, and saving that little discovery for another day. Sure, I could guide his hand to my enthusiastic groin and lose at my own game safe in the knowledge that we would have a perfectly lovely fucking time but… oh, but , but, but… oh.
My chest is now bare. I already pulled off my t-shirt in a sweeping one-er before the buts had even finished, refusing to think too much as the cool evening air hits my skin and, now, it resembles a white, wrinkled puddle by my feet.
Testing out the smooth stretch of grey in my fingers, a smile also stretches across my face as I feel its springy yield, appraising my own breadth in the reflection staring back at me. The curve of my shoulders and the swell of my pecs are substantial, but I pull it over my head and stick my hands through the arm holes regardless of the tightness across my chest, fully feeling the thrill of being surrounded by the scent of his skin.
Its elasticity is just enough , and my cock throbs as I squeeze-ease the fabric over my sensitive nipples, and then throbs yet again once I take it all in.
It's shorter on me; my entire lower abdomen exposed – belly button, treasure trail and the diagonal indents either side that lower towards the waistband of my boxers – whereas it only skimmed a loose brazen inch above Charlie’s belt line last night.
Mirror hand gliding, I feel the warm, hairy tautness under my palm in a smooth upward-motion until I'm underneath the fabric, and I treat myself to a hard hold of my left nub. The gasp looking back at me is visible on my lips before I even hear the near silent rush of it and, letting go, I drop my hands to take it all in.
I look good.
I feel fucking amazing.
It could be even better though, and I experiment with my waistband, lowering it further and further off my hips until the elastic constricts deliciously at the base of my shaft but it's no fucking good. It needs to go – for all the reasons ™️ – so I pull them down, stepping out of the shorts and boxer entanglement completely, and take another long, lingering look.
That's… yeah.
My cock looks as heavy as it feels – swelling in the half light – and I try to refrain from palming myself. The shape of my hard, hairy quads stick out – tree-trunk thighs Charlie called them earlier – and the mix of my more masculine frame wearing this small token of Charlie’s overt queerness is a combination I am totally fucking hot for.
Stepping closer to the mirror, I look over my face, finding the same brown eyes flecked with gold, my blunt broad jaw and pale, freckled skin, as always. My lips are plump and pink, and I let my tongue slip out to wet them until they shine, but I'm still me. None of this makes me feel less, and I let the glow of this discovery fill me up; feeling freedom in all the pretty paradoxes.
Touching south for the first time, I tuck the start of this swell back between my legs, enjoying both the dull squeeze and the novelty of looking temporarily cockless, fingering the coarse auburn curls at my base that are still on display.
I'm not sure what Charlie would think about it – you know, being gay and all about dicks – but I like the way that this looks, enjoy the way that this throbs, and I have a sudden compulsion to know what it looks like between my thighs.
The mattress is soft as I lean down with a flattened palm – supporting my weight as I crane my neck behind in an attempt to enjoy the view – but, at this moment, the door opens with a click and the sharp inhale of Charlie’s shock mirrors the shaft of light that's casting through the room, and time collapses, ceasing to exist.
He was always going to walk in, that was half of the inevitable thrill if I'm honest, but I wasn't quite expecting to be caught in this way, and my cheeks ignite as his eyes blink, his mouth falling open in a pre-stutter. With an eye-flare, his pupils burn over the surface of my skin, razing up and over the crop top, the tuck, the bending, and I can hear all the heavy breathing from here.
“Hi?” I manage, as his gaze catches behind me, presumably on the reflection of my rear and its rather unexpected addition squashed in from all sides.
He shakes his head slowly in disbelief as I straighten – the strain of the material reminding me of its cropped presence and, in turn, everything it doesn't cover.
“Uh, hi?” Time restarts within the blinking of his eyelashes. “And… wow? And, thank fucking fuck?”
My heart, at last, starts to beat again; the rush of excitement now superseding nerves. This is it. What I wanted. To be seen, and, by fuck , his dark, lusty eyes on me feel like the sum of everything, as do the obvious fantasies about me that are flickering freely across his face.
Shutting the door enthusiastically with his arse, he quickly abandons the tea on the side to grow cold with a shy, and yet shit-eating, grin.
“You have to see this from behind,”
A lithe sweep of tongue flicks out to wet his parted lips before swallowing loudly in my direction.
“Because you look good enough to eat...”
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
Charlie
There's a fuse inside my brain that is tripping – fizzing and sparking in some kind of electrical misfire – and the reality of this sexy situation is not quite computing.
Here we have my boyfriend – my very hot, not to mention very straight-as-an-arrow looking boyfriend – of day one I might add, who has managed to crowbar his way into my cropped vest and is now looking like Schrödinger's queer; both impressively masculine and, yet, coyly feminine all at the same time.
The broad shoulders and corded biceps have never looked so emphasised, and my cock twitches when my eyes get caught on his nipples that are standing hard and proud beneath the cotton.
And, of course, this eye feast is seemingly never ending. I could spend a day or two gazing at his abs for a start; lose myself in the vision of its freckled contours, running my eyes down the taut v-line that basically acts as a signpost to his dick – well, the dick that's currently being conceal-squeezed between those hairy, hefty thighs – and I know my mouth is open as my eyes bounce between the auburn triangle of curls at the front to the reflected piece of meat that's throbbing away at the back.
We have definitely exchanged words – not that I can remember what any of those words were at this point – but I do recall putting the tea down, shutting the door and now… well, now I'm just hovering silently like some kind of horny ghost-pervert.
Is this a dream? Did I fall asleep and summon this kind of gender-fuckery up from the sordid depths of my subconscious mind?
Or did Nick, my sweet and chocolate button-eyed Nick, out-kink me?
I mean, not out-kink me , let’s be serious. I'm not actually sure that's possible, but… surprise me?
Yes.
Colour me fucking surprised.
“What… what are you waiting for?”
Nick's voice – uncertain, yes, but also low and breathless– breaks me out of this lust-limbo that I've found myself stuck in, and I look up, noting the nervousness in his face. I've taken too long to react and, clearly, it's making him twitchy – or twitchier, maybe I should say – as my eyes cannot help but seek out the sausage sandwich that's slowly swelling in the mirror.
God, I'm hungry.
Do I take pity? Throw my clothes off in squealing gay abandon? Or, do I play the game I've been hoping for all damn day? Eek out this moment, create my vision, make him eat up those virtuous words before I finally get ‘round to eating that lunch?
“Oh , is this not a solo venture, then?”
It seems like, today, I have chosen evil , and I flatten my lips together as I take one last hot-damn lingering look before dragging my eyes back up.
“I mean, I just assumed…”
“Huh? I– what…?” The words sound thick and cumbersome in his mouth, like he doesn't quite have the mental capacity to construct a sentence, like his silly idea from today was from a previous life.
Angel-Charlie makes blinking pouty faces at me from the corner of my mind but I ignore him, giving Nick a sad smile teemed with a half-shrug. “Well, it’s just you were quite adamant that you didn't want me earlier…”
Nick’s brown eyes baulk in panic. “No! No, no, no I never said–”
“You didn’t want us to have sex, am I right?” I interrupt, in my best barrister voice; a tone that calmly brokers no argument. “You didn't want to touch me. You didn't want me to touch you… and now, I’m so confused…”
His mouth falls open. I can almost see all the objections lined up to fire on his tongue but all that he's shooting at me is blanks, all uhhh’s and I, I, I's like he's ammunition-less. Am I about to see a white flag ascend?
“I think I'll just watch.” I whisper coolly, as the seconds stretch out. He had an obvious opportunity to back track and didn't take it, therefore I feel forced to be tactical. “I'd hate for you to think that I don't take what you say seriously so feel free to crack on.. .”
Casually, I make my way over to the very end of the bed, so close that he could reach out and grapple me back onto the mattress if he chose to – and, please believe me when I say, I was pretty disappointed when he didn’t – smiling up at his aghast expression as I sit. Leaning back, I prop myself up with one arm, waiting for the show to start, my other hand slowly gravitating south, and I can't help but smirk as Nick's eyes are suddenly stuck on the sight of me squeezing my semi lazily over the top of my shorts.
“No, Nick. Turn around and face the mirror.”
There’s the slightest body quiver at this command, a quick shudder around his tummy and thighs, that’s quite gratifying – as is the fact that he's doing as he's fucking told. Once he turns away, he stares – eye-fucking me through the mirror in what looks like lust-blown challenge – and my dick sings exultantly that he's playing along, a tingling heat licking up the inside of my pubic bone as he submits to my words.
“That’s it … lovely.”
I can see everything so much closer from here – reflected cockless-front as well as his bulging bollocks, the pre-cum leaking from his reddened tip – and I have to keep a tight hold to not throw myself forward to catch that salty drip on my tongue. Unfortunately, he catches me in the mirror – in all my lip-licky appreciation – looking far too pleased with himself.
Just you fucking wait…
It's no good, I have to get my cock out – free it from perpetual purgatory – and it happily twangs out of my borrowed shorts. In my periphery, Nick looks on as I tug and I deign to let him with the aim of making him want it all the more before going back to The Plan™️. Eventually, after seven-to-ten sexy seconds of solo, I make a big deal out of catching him lusting at my dick.
“Don't look at me, this is about you.” I throb between my fingers as his spine straightens and his eyes fall back on his own gorgeous, near-nakedness. “Look at how strong and taut you are in my tight, little top, Nick…” And he does; his eyes climbing over all the features I’ve just highlighted. I can see his fingers clearly itching to touch, to roam, to play in the soft curves and hard edges of his perfect body. “Look at how pretty you are...”
Nick’s lungs hitch on that word – pretty – his chest inflating, his tight stomach and thighs tensing as the tiniest moan bursts out. He likes that.
“Yeah?” The word is no longer a word; just a needy little noise that reveals everything . He likes the praise, the compliments, and I write that little discovery out in swirling font within the leather-bound kink-book in my brain.
“Oh, definitely.” I say, giving myself another long, slow squeeze. “Pull that top up and give me a show . I want to see those pretty nipples...”
It happens again, a gasp complete with a compulsive little shiver that makes his glutes harden – interesting – and I make a vow to avoid that magic word for now. I'd hate to overuse it, to nullify the power I suspect it could produce later.
It's almost like he's been waiting for permission, both hands instantly on his stomach, and I watch as the trimmed, auburn hair is feathering through the fingers of his left hand until he finally reaches the hem. Instead of pulling it up, he makes a meal of working his way up underneath its tightness, trying hard to conceal his pinches from me under the fabric as he flits from one side to the other. His right hand, however, is sliding down his lower belly, fingering the curls just visible between his legs with a breathy pant as I wank away, leisurely, from behind.
“That's not really what I asked for.” I observe, pouting in exaggerated disappointment. “Try again…”
Both hands rise now, dragging the stretched material north to gift me a flash of flesh; nipples, chest hair, a pair of perfectly muscular pecs. He's making a big deal of slowly tugging on them, one at a time, with a smirk on his lips and I'm not overly sure which one of us is actually in the driver's seat now. It's like we're both vying to make the other one squirm in our senses, to build this to a tipping point where one of us might crack and cave in a landslide of limbs, and I feel my own grunt escape as I attempt to time my tactical tugs with his.
A bigger smile erupts once Nick hears the effect his little performance has on me, and it only grows wider when I drop my dick in forethought, understanding that the physical edging has to temporarily stop, before I completely ruin my own fucking payoff. Of course, because he's not stupid, he does the one thing I think he knows would have me in a chokehold; abandoning his nipple-play to bend slightly, to reach around with those thick fingers – exploring the feel of his engorged plums and skimming the underside of his swelling semi – in an attempt to pleasure himself.
And, now, it’s my turn to smile as a frustrated little groan flies from his mouth. He can’t quite reach, at least, not well enough to gain any true satisfaction from his efforts – not that this stops him from trying – and I lap up his struggles for a hot moment, letting him wallow in the loss.
“Looks like you need a hand,” Somehow, I manage to hold it in, clamping my teeth down over my laugh whilst meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Or, maybe a mouth.”
His eyes light up and he moans a little, those fingertips still searching for fruitless gratification as he nods. This is the reason why he’s still got his package trapped in a prison of his own making, why he’s not released himself from between his legs; he wants to be admired, played with, feasted on from behind, and I can feel my saliva glands working overtime as I thirstily think it all through.
“You know what you need to do, Nick.” I rise to a stand, dropping my shorts properly and stepping out, slowly pulling his hoodie over my head to cast to one side before I take two steps flush behind him. The half inch of air between our skin feels almost molten and, whilst kissing his freckled neck, I make sure that I fuck him with my gaze, the tip of my boner grazing his ass cheek in its own kind of slickened kiss. “Tell me what I need to hear.”
I kiss him again – so lightly it's almost nothing – lowering my lips to his right shoulder. His pupils are so dark, like they could suck me in and spit me out, and in the silence whilst we wait to see who’s going to win, I change direction; kissing my way along to our left, lips amongst the hair at the nape of his neck and letting my cock skim salaciously over his.
“Please…”
There we go, and I’d bet everything I own that his ball sack felt the reaction of that word pulse inside me too. I do love a little beg, and I note that his freckled face has never looked so fucking flushed.
“Please touch me, Char?”
I smother my smile into his shoulder blade, controlling myself by breathing in the scent of his skin as I let our bits brush together once again, a little firmer this time, but fully aware that this teasing touch is not what he meant.
“You’re nearly there, baby. I liked the ‘please’ . That was almost as pretty as you are,” It’s my turn to feel his balls twitch against my junk. “But you need to try a little harder to convince me…”
“God, I want it,” Nick swallows thickly, pink lips parted. “I want you. I should never have suggested such a stupid idea. I need you… I need you so much...”
It’s like my veins have expanded from the heat of hearing that. I can feel the blood coursing around my body to feed my pulsating hard-on, and I hiss my relieved yesss into his spine as I drop down onto my knees. Now, his plump bollocks are less than an inch away from my face – encased by those muscular tree-trunk thighs that I love so fucking much – and I lean forward, letting my forehead drop down onto them and breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with him. I’m surrounded by his scent, his sweet and salty musk, and I just need a moment or three to flounder in it, to feel his leg hairs brush against my cheek as I compose myself because… I am not quite fucking done.
“That was beautiful, baby.” I sigh, nuzzling my face between his thigh and his shaft, bestowing a light, rewarding kiss along his seam. “But, I’m afraid, I’m going to need to hear that spectacular speech again… but this time, in French.”
As I wait, I sigh again, harder this time, ensuring that my humid breath collects in every crease, every crevice, that he can feel the hotness of my open mouth around his ball sack and recognise the promise in my panting.
“Fucking fuck, Charlie, you’re killing me here…”
I nuzzle between his cheeks, letting my hot, haggard exhale build into a crescendo, allowing the tip of my tongue to trail the underside of his shaft in a torturous half-taste.
"Okay, yes . Fuck, right, okay!!” He gabbles, sucking in a deep breath as his junk quivers deliciously in my face. “Ok, je suis désolé... J'ai besoin de toi. J'ai besoin de ta bouche toute mouillée et toute chaude autour de moi, de ta langue qui plonge entre mes fesses, de tes doigts qui s'enfoncent à l'intérieur de moi. J'ai besoin que tu m'enfiles sur ta bite…”
Nick takes another breath between all the sleek, silvery-sounding words, but when he starts again, his voice has levelled up an octave; quicker, hungrier and certainly seeming like it's hit the high notes of desperation that I’d hoped for. “Putain, putain, Charlie, s'il-te-plaît... Je t'en prie, touche moi avant que je meure, putain…”
Well, okay then! ‘S'il-te-plaît’ is clear-a-fucking-nough, don't you think?
Nick
As I hear all the husky pleases and fucks fall out of my filthy, French mouth, his hovering hotness descends too; one long lick flattening over my balls before he holds me whole – stuffing me in – and suddenly I’m so fucking happy . So happy, in fact, I have to stop myself thanking him for the privilege.
Merci.
Mercy?
I don’t know, or fucking care, anymore.
All this hapless begging is surely worth it to feel the humming vibration of his wet moans around my balls. Sure, it's almost as tease-y as all the build-up breathwork, but my spine nearly sags in relief as his hands finally join in on the action; sliding up through the back of my thigh hair and turning into a double-handed kneed.
My eyelashes flutter shut as he squeezes my glutes indulgently together and the tension changes – my semi becoming heavier and harder between my legs – and this pressure becomes almost all I can think about; consumed by the so close but not close enough. Part of me wants to just release it, let it fly like a catapult and just be satisfied in the same kind of blowjob I’ve always been on the receiving end of before, but we’re so nearly there – almost at the part that I’ve been imagining – and it must be worth holding on for just a little fucking longer?
“Mmmmmmm.” Charlie’s sloppy sucking finally stops and he kisses me hard and firm on both arse cheeks. “God, you taste so fucking good. Right, hang on a minute…”
The heat of his body drifts away and that inner proximity-alarm starts to siren again, oscillating so hard it feels like it’s going to shatter into fragments. I can see him in the mirror like a fleeting shadow, hear the sound of crinkling plastic travelling closer, before the soft thwump of the pillow lands by my feet.
Charlie’s now back, a grinning reflection from behind my shoulder. “Come on.” He smacks my arse – far lighter than I’d like to be fair – and the air's displaced from my lungs as his provocative eyebrows rise, and he places a singular sweet kiss beneath my ear. “Get comfy.”
Kneeling on all fours, with the pillow cushioning my knees, the swelling pressure lessens as I part my thighs just enough to feel the benefit of the extra blood flow. Charlie's behind me, naked and serene – skimming my cheeks, my balls and the back of my thick, upper thighs with a transfixed look upon his face – and I take a few moments to enjoy all the attention; I don’t even care that he must be able to see my ridiculous smile reflected back at him.
From his gratified noises, and that fixated gaze, it seems as if he’s loving me all exhibited in front of him too – imparting a firm, massaging squeeze between each slow caress – and I can't lie, this is a big part of what I had envisaged in the first place; to experience being his, enjoyed and explored at his every whim.
“Fuck. What a gorgeous sight,” he says eventually in a low murmur, and I feel him give my flank another light, playful smack. “The view of you waiting patiently for more… it really makes me want to see you in a skirt, one day.”
I trap the moan under my teeth as I picture it, visualising him lifting up the fabric to admire me from behind and all the perverse places that could go. “I’d wear one for you…” I manage, words catching in my throat and my face visibly reddening as I eye him brazenly in the mirror. “Would… would you, for me?”
“Hell yes.” The flash in Charlie’s face is immediate, unfaltering, as he continues to explore, revelling in the rise and fall of my flesh. “I’d let you sodden me seven ways in a skirt any day of the week, Nick Nelson…”
And, of course, I’m groaning again as I imagine it all; him, and then me, and then him again – ad infinitum – until our faces and bodies become blurringly interchangeable as we merge into one, on every single fucking level.
My brain is telling me that I shouldn’t find the idea a turn on – how it’s wrong and shameful and fucking disgusting – but I’ve managed to ignore the voice before and it’s surprisingly easy to ignore it now. Instead, I replace it with a memory of my reflection from mere minutes ago, with how freeing it felt to cast that bullshit aside, in the knowledge that I want to experience it all, but most of all, I want to experience it all with him.
“You look so fucking good, Nick.” He sweeps a hand around to my stomach, running up my abdomen until his fingers are fighting to get under the fabric, and he pulls the crop top up firmly to expose my top half. As he pinches and pulls, I try to hold his unwavering stare but it’s too hard, too explicit, and I clamp them shut to just feel until I hear a light sucking sound that I can't place.
On opening, I see Charlie’s thumb in his mouth, lascivious lips glistening wetly, and I instinctively hold a breath as he lowers his gaze to where he runs it down between me, one quick slick sweep over my rim, until he reaches my bollocks, squeezing once again. God, I want his hands on my shaft so badly. The lessening pressure has made me so fucking hard that I can feel it straining against the inside of both thighs.
“Mmmmm,” Charlie’s hands and eyes have paused in their roaming, murmurs seemingly caught up in possibility, “where the fuck to start…”
Hand having now abandoned my nipples, the plastic crinkling sound is back, as well as the short, sharp popping of a cap, and I watch as he tips the bottle upside down and flickers cool zigzags over my arse. I can feel it dripping – running in rivulets between my cheeks and collecting in my crevices – before both his hands are back on me, gliding and alternating, once again, in sensual rubs and random squeezes.
Without warning, heavy pressure is suddenly all around my cock and a singular, slickened slide over my tip gets me gasping, the unexpected pleasure firing up in a plexus of nerves.
“Oh, fuck me Jesus...”
Charlie grins knowingly, and then after a thousand breaths it happens again, and then, after another painful pause, again, in singular slow motions – the long wank – and in the forestalling gaps he purrs happily whilst I pant.
My whole body quivers once I see him lower, his soft mop of curls dragging downwards between my thighs as his hand pulls my dick back further into his open mouth in a blissful, swirl of tongue. I grunt my gruff expletives into the air as all the tingling ignites, running up my spine like flaming tinder, and Charlie stops my fractious fidgeting by keeping my hips held firmly in place, sucking me in the same torturously slow manner as before.
I’m guessing he can tell, from the low groaning sounds echoing around us, that I'm far closer than I have any fucking right to be. After popping his lips off the head of my dick, he milks me one more time with a dirty laugh, eyes dark and lusty whilst my lower-half flinches in sensitivity. If I had the presence of mind to be fuming about that, I would be – concocting several ways I could inflict some kind of sweet and sexy revenge – but, right now, his hands tightly cupping both of my arse cheeks is proving to be somewhat of a happy distraction.
“Can I taste you here?” Charlie looks at my reflection coyly, his thumb back in another slickened rub around my rim, at the beginning stage of testing out the resistance. Despite my dick being diamond-fucking-hard, turned on like fuck at the thought and the feeling, my relief is even stronger; relief that it's his tongue that will be exploring me before his fingers do, and his heavy eyebrow rises, questioningly. "Can I eat you out, Nick?”
“Yes.” I can see the overwhelm lined in my face, and, from his smug smile, I’m sure that he can too. “Yes…” He doesn't hesitate to drop down once again – a hot, wet muscular lave travelling quickly up my seam – before he starts in on me.
All the repeated rippling and the indescribable sensations that arrive with it gets me gasping unlike anything that’s come before. It feels forbidden, exposing, as well as utterly divine, and my leg muscles tremble as he slows and speeds – kisses and kitten-licks – his deft fingers prising my mounds apart.
The tongue-fuck shouldn’t have been unexpected but, for some reason, it still catches me by surprise when he works me open just enough to edge through after a few delicious flicks. I breathe in deeply, letting the dark draw of my open mouth in the mirror pull me with it, watching as the flecks in my widening eyes flash in what little light remains as Charlie’s noises of satisfaction reverberate through my skin.
“Fuck, Char…”
As his chin lifts, the firm spread holds and the vocal approval at the sight of it renders me frozen; anticipation and suspense ramping up to a whole new level of fuck me that I'm now having to consider this all for real; beyond all fantastic fantasy.
I imagine it again now his finger has returned to toy at me. I imagine, as I have done more than a few times before, how it would feel to relinquish control. How it could feel to be full of him, in the same way as he’s been full of me. How it might help to unearth the inner contradictions that have been layered for so fucking long, compressed between slabs of false dichotomy, finally getting a chance to live and breathe above the surface.
The slippery drizzle is back, down my cleft and over the underside of my dick this time, and I pay attention to Charlie’s face behind me as he lines our erections together – mine pointing downwards and his straining up – watching his eyes roll once he starts his one-handed double wank. The slick feel of us squeezed tightly together – combined with his free thumb’s lingeringly sweet ‘will I? won't I?’ pressure – is mind-blowing, and after a few indulgently quick strokes, I can see him worrying at his bottom lip in thought as his hand around us starts to slow.
“How are you doing?” Those incredible blue eyes are tentative again, and we hold each other's gaze in the mirror as his thumb continues to gently test me out a little further. “Do you want to keep going?”
I can only swallow my squeak as I nod, his eyes observing my reactions and I brace for more, but nothing happens, apart from his grin growing, and I taste disappointment laced in relief. “Open your legs, Nick. I want to watch your cock spring out.”
Of course, like a good boy , I do as I'm told, bringing my knees further apart – elongating my spine so I’m no longer on all fours – and the release of my dick as it slaps firmly against my stomach feels fucking heavenly. The warmth of Charlie’s chest now hovers a hair's breadth behind, so close I can feel his excitable junk graze me again as he straddles either side of my right leg. Resting his chin upon my shoulder, he replaces his thumb with a moist finger, continuing his slow circular motions as he kisses lovingly behind my ear.
“Look at us,” he whispers, his right hand strokes up through my belly hair, and I do; soaking up the mirror image as a whole. His dark, curly head bobs behind my auburn one, the olive hue of his face and hand compared to the freckled milkiness of mine, his slight, toned body to my breadth in all their gorgeous contrasts. “We look so good together, don't you think?”
“Yeah.” I thread my fingers through his, on the hand that is resting on my stomach, pulling it underneath the stretch of fabric and over my heart. I want him to feel the pounding of it, the desire and love and overwhelm all pumping through my body. “We really fucking do.”
Eyes locked, he continues to kiss along my shoulders and my hairline before edging back again as his index finger gets bolder, pressure building into a slow, tight burn and, instinctively, I tense.
“Breathe, baby. Play with yourself; that’ll help…”
Lungs filling and muscles loosening, I allow my free right hand to drop, fisting lightly round myself in a barely-there tug; now is not the time to go to town, that's for fucking sure. His eyes dip from my reflected face to my dick every so often, watching, and after a moment I notice he's timing with my pulls. It doesn’t take too long before he's breached me past the first knuckle, the brief smarting now dulled to a satisfying ache, and I’m struggling to work out if its an ache of too much or, of not-a-fucking-nough.
“You're doing amazing,” Charlie's voice brings me out of it, eyelids opening from a close I can't even remember, “but we can stop anytime, you know that?” I nod, swallowing to create some moisture in my arid mouth, finding words unreachable right now, and he looks concerned. “We should probably stop…”
Brain lagging, my ‘no’ takes too long to emerge, his finger almost all the way out of me before it echoes in my ears. “Please, Char. Don't…” With hips bearing down, in spite of myself, I keep a tight clutch of his hand that's resting still on my heart. “I need…”
Him, this, us.
All of the above.
The relief as he refills me once again, slicker and easier this time, is dizzying. That sweet ache is now sadly missing as he works in and out, slowly then, as the resistance lessens, slightly quicker – his own hardened girth frotting against my outer right hip reminding me of what could be to come – and I murmur my unintelligible mores at our entangled reflection upright in front of us.
A lingering kiss on my shoulder blade drops along with a hovering second finger, and, soon enough, that slow, blissful ache is back – my spine arching, mouth parting – and his expression intensifies as he inhales every eyelash flicker of my reaction.
I'm aware of Charlie's hips skimming sideways, cock dragging against the cheek of my arse as his pace and angle adjust to my panting, and I get caught up when the fullness of his fingers knock a knot of nerves. This unexpected volt of pleasure gets me trembling in a rush of ‘fucks’ and I immediately drop my dick – just in-fucking-case – getting my breaths under control, as he giggles depravedly against me.
“Found you.” Charlie raises an eyebrow as he clips me, deliberately, again. I clamp my hand down over his – the one that is still hovering over my heart – once I feel it threatening to edge towards my nipple; there’s just no fucking way I could cope with that on top of everything else, right now. “I wonder if I'll be able to find it again with my dick...”
The word dick, paired with the swollen scuff of him against my leg, gets my heart racing; fear, excitement and overwhelm cocktailing powerfully together in my bloodstream and going straight to my fucking head.
The scales seem to see-saw, weighing up the desire vs the discomfort, the validation vs the vulnerability. It turns out that I want this and I’m scared… and it’s strange to find that the two are not mutually exclusive; that to find one, I need to accept the other…
All of a sudden, I'm not sure if what I want – what I’ve been craving – and what I'm ready for, quite matches up.
Charlie’s low voice feels like a million miles away rather than the aligned whisper in my ear. I see his face beside mine, the confusion growing whilst his fingers slowly leave me and the disappointing hollowness throws me, yet again.
“Are you okay?”
I don't know how to answer that.
Charlie
It’s like his heart stopped.
“Are you okay?”
Nick’s still and silent, and I can feel the subtle tenseness emit from him like a radio signal; an SOS, quiet, intermittent, and yet undeniable. Something isn’t quite right anymore, but he doesn’t say a word. It’s not until I slide my arms around his waist, encasing his warmth and surrounding his back with my body, that I realise I must have pulled my fingers from him by instinct.
“Nick?”
His chest expands in a short sharp inhale, as if his head just broke the surface of the thoughts he’s been drowning in. I let him float there, listening to his swallows whilst kissing my way up his cheek until, finally, the brown meets me in the mirror. I can see it – the uncertainty, the pressure, the fear – and I give him a small smile; whatever this is … it’s okay, darling.
“Can we… can we lie down together?”
The quietness of Nick's question tears my heart in two and I squeeze him again, sinking my breathy assurances into the back of his ear and nuzzling my nod in the nape of his neck.
I’m on my feet first, pulling Nick up off his knees to meet me and I envelop him in the kind of bear hug that I usually find myself on the receiving end of. Scattering his throat in light quickfire kisses, I patiently wait. It might have been a long time or less than a second, but I feel a sigh of relief pour out of me when a part of his wall crumbles – his body relinquishing, softening against me in a slump – while his lips begin their mime of silent sorrys, but I shake them away with a hush. I don't fucking need them.
Colliding on the mattress in a clash of arms and legs, our groins pressing into one another's stomachs, I find myself in awe of how naturally we just fit ourselves together; fingers entwined and our faces at equal height, every part of us slotting into place without trying, without thought.
Nick's amber eyes have never looked so apprehensive and they flit across my face in search of something I cannot fathom. I keep the gaze going, my right hand drifting up to the dampness in his hairline, running my thumb behind his ear, the entire time beseeching him to open up.
Suddenly, his lips are back on mine in a mad flash of fervent feeling, avid tongue pressing his ardency up and into me, and I respond in kind – keen hands back to roaming, searching out the highs and lows of his hips – that is, until I taste the salt rolling into the corner of our parted mouths.
I break us slowly apart, head leaning back to take in the whole of Nick’s face, but his trembling lips try to follow mine, wayward hands pulling me towards him to avoid the visual scrutiny. I manage to stay firm, holding his face to make a point of drying that solitary tear-streak with the pad of my thumb. “Talk to me?”
Nick’s eyelashes are squeezed together in wet spikes – mouth opening and shutting impotently – and there’s this nagging desperation in me to understand it all; the stop and start, the tongue and the tears. “Nick, if you’re not into this anymore, you only have to say…”
“No, I AM…” It comes out strong and strangled before it stutters off in frustration. His fingers find mine, thumb rubbing hard along my knuckles with a harsh sigh that blossoms hotly beneath our chins. “I want this, and you, and everything we've been doing, but… but...”
Time stretches on and, as I wait, it's clear enough that he’s really struggling. Eventually, I bring our entwined fists to my mouth and kiss his wrist, letting my head drop sideways onto the pillow so I can observe his response to my best guess. “Too much, too fast?” The tremulous tension around his mouth confirms it and I bring him in even closer, hooking his bare thigh up and over my hip so I can wriggle in. “That makes sense.”
And I mean it. Nick has, somehow, managed to fast forward his way through the last twenty-four hours on some bi-sexual-kink-crash-course.
It’s really no fucking wonder he’d stumble at some point.
Swallowing, I open the fist that we’ve made, our fingers spreading automatically apart. I can see a timid brown eye watching me between our middle and ring finger, as I try to think of how to word it all.
“If someone had told me yesterday morning that you’d follow me to a gay bar, that we’d spend the night together, wake up to have mind blowing sex, become boyfriends and then get outed by Harry Greene in Boots, I’d have had them drug tested. But everything, so far, tonight? Well, it’s so far beyond anything I'd ever expected so… maybe I’m the one on hallucinogens.”
He smiles sadly, stroking the back of a finger along the inside of my forearm, eyebrows furrowed in thoughtful concentration. “I’m not deliberately trying to rush into stuff... I wanted to wait, remember?”
“Oh, I fucking remember!” I snort, and he pushes me playfully away with a loose fist. “Worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“Hey!! I just didn’t want you to think that’s all I wanted,” Nick smiles, rolling his eyes at himself. “Not that I’ve done a good job of proving that either…”
I close my eyes as his travelling finger ascends up my throat and brushes past my temple, breathing out my reply in a sigh of contentment. “It’s never really felt that way to me, anyway.” And then it’s my turn to smile, nose scrunching as he plants a stubbly kiss between my eyebrows.
I spend some time reassuringly rubbing over the heavy thigh that is draped over mine, searching out the pound of his heartbeat beneath his hairy chest, enjoying the smooth protrusions of his clavicle creeping out of the collar of my crop top, until I notice his lingering eyes on me.
He seems to be stargazing, examining the constellations of my face with an awe I’m starting to recognise in the pink lap along his lower lip and, as he fidgets, the head of his shaft presses into my stomach with a renewed enthusiasm.
I look down between us and he follows my eyeline, a honey-sweet shyness in recognition that we seem to be here, yet again, at this tentative tipping point. I can hear my laboured breath in my ears as I try to do all the sex maths; dividing by doubt and times it all by tears, finding the square root of his raging boner, only to be flummoxed.
“Is this a case of slow? Or, stop? … Either is fine, Nick. I just need to know.”
A calloused hand finds my face again and he pulls me into his kiss, brow furrowed and hardness frotting firmly against my hip. “Slow.” His left hand drops, taking mine back down with it, between the heat of his opening legs in nonverbal guidance and moaning gently into my mouth as I massage my way underneath.
There's a gentle tug through the back of my curls as his right hand strokes them with his fingertips and, with our noses together, we nuzzle; my heart expanding exponentially as I consider all the nuances, the depths and polar opposites that he naturally embodies.
Nick is seemingly capable of every kind of complexity. Tough and sweet-hearted. Impressively dominant yet keen to submit. Attracted to men, women and possibly those who stride between the two. Stunningly confident in his masculinity and yet seemingly able to explore his own distinct version of femininity on a whim.
Nick’s not either/or, but beautifully both. Entirely whole in a way that I don’t think I’ll ever have the ability to fully appreciate . Never has the prefix Bi felt so apt and applicable to a person; give him a spectrum and I remain convinced he will curve those ends and make you a circle.
I feel so fucking lucky.
My own tears start to threaten as I drop my forehead onto his, sweeping over his rim and slowly playing in tentative pulsing presses until I feel him relaxing around me. My desire to know Nick inside out was strong before but now, well, it feels like I would die to be inside him – his head, his body, his heart – to intimately know every single atom that makes up this man and peel back every layer.
Our kisses intensify, growing with my gentle exploration, and I’m knuckle deep when he starts smiling against me, gasping his happy, little kisses along my jawline until we are finally where we left off at the foot of that mirror. The weight of his hefty thigh over my hip is heaven and his hand, around my shoulder, coils to grasp my upper bicep to bring me further in, our dicks pressing desperately together.
Nick’s abdominals quiver against me as I find it again, the sensitive swell inside that gets him tightening, and suddenly I’m so fucking thankful that we were able to navigate our way here, back to my bed. I can appreciate him even better this way; see every ripple of desire in the creases by his eyes, get to feel every fluctuation and experience every single one of his minute expressions up close. His exhales are my own, and I don’t need a mirror to see the depths of intimacy reflected back at me from his irises.
Don't get me wrong, I love the kink we’ve been sharing. It has its place – and I’m sure we will dabble around in its deliciousness again, and again (like, tomorrow?) – but this? This is just everything.
As Nick’s waist wriggles, his other hand grasps me suddenly by the elbow as he pants, holding me still despite the fact he can’t seem to stop himself gyrating on my fingers. “Char.” His eyes are engulfed, all brown blotted out by blackened burning need. “I’m ready, I think… for you, I mean.”
Raising my eyebrows at him in earnest, I put on my firm voice. “You don’t have to–”
“I want to…” He kisses me hungrily, tugging at my lower lip with his teeth as he writhes. “I really want to, just… just take it slow.”
I try to assess his face through all the urgent kissing – hoping beyond hope that he’s not doing this for my benefit – and I think he must be able to count up all of my doubts as it takes less than a second for low, murmured words to rush past my cheek. "Je te promets. Je te veux. J'ai besoin de te ressentir tout entier, mon amour, centimètre par centimètre... S'il-te-plaît, Charlie."
This intimate kiss-mumbling feels entirely different from all the hapless, dirty begging from earlier, more like a desperate reassurance, and this – as well as the relaxation in every muscle and the fluid movement of his hips – helps me to believe it.
Plus, who am I to refuse anything in French? It's his superpower, I swear to fucking God.
“You have to tell me if you want to pause, or stop, or if you’d prefer to swap back to top…” His big brown eyes are sincere but I find myself adding a solid caveat nevertheless. “And, if I have any doubts whatsoever, it's game over. Deal?”
Nick nods in breathy approval and yet immediately whines like a bitch once I begin to extract myself from in and around his flesh – it’s like he’s forgotten about the small important details of lube and protection – but once I’m back with my Boots bag of delights, he seems to have made the most of this brief opportunity to get himself comfortable.
Those muscular biceps are splayed upward, hands cushioning the back of his head to expose his trailing triangle of armpit hair in a way that gets my saliva glands working overtime. My crop top is still straining over those impressive pecs, slightly displaced from all the foreplay, and I swear that toned midriff could easily be cast in marble and stuck on a plinth in the fucking Louvre, it’s that bloody beautiful.
The coarse auburn hair that courses through his middle is a hypnotising stream of gold, curling at his base before travelling to his taint, and I thank every dead queer icon in gay heaven above – from Judy Garland to George Michael – that we have an abundance of boyfriend time stretched out ahead of us. I long to celebrate every freckle and follicle over the coming weeks, leaving no fold of flesh unloved.
It seems that I’m finding the sight of him laid out for me like this distracting as fuck. As I make a sorry attempt to sort myself out in an unravel of wrapping topped with a pump-squeeze of pliable plastic, I end up with only half an eye dedicated to what I’m doing with my dick.
“You’re so fucking pretty… I know I’ve said that so many times tonight, Nick, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I can't get over it…”
He blushes at that, breath hitching with a lip-bitten grin, all whilst looking up at me now, seemingly, as relaxed as a lord. Dropping his bent knees further outwards, Nick opens himself up in a way that could almost pass for confidence; only the over-frequent expansion of his ribcage could be read as apprehension… well, that and the total lack of blinking.
“How you can say that to me, I have no fucking idea, Char.”
I find myself to be the one overcome this time, overcome that this could actually be about to happen, and I force myself to swallow the nervousness. Not only is there the fact that I’ve never topped – and now I’ve had time to overthink it all, I’m not convinced I have the fucking stamina – but there is this fear of generally being a bit shit, or hurting him and putting him off this entire thing for life. I manage to ground myself by aligning my breaths with the rise and fall of his chest, holding out my hand and concentrating on the feel of his sturdy fingers interlaced with mine.
We can navigate this together.
“Char?” Nick’s other arm stretches out toward me and I realise he’s noticed my sudden insecurity and is offering another cuddle and, with a smile, I let myself flop down, giggling as my weight winds him. The warmth of his freckled body banishes the cold fear; bulging thighs either side of me, encasing my legs and his strong arms wrapped around my back with his heart-eyes out in force. “You know, I really can’t imagine doing this with anyone else…”
This makes me think of all the terrible lays I've had in my time – the inconsiderate, the selfish and damn right vile – and suddenly the fear of being an amateur top evaporates; if anyone understands what's needed here, it's me. I could probably write a book about what not to fucking do.
“Well,” I drop close to his ear, dropping my temple onto his and grimacing in distaste, “from experience, most people are utter fucking crap… so, personally, I wouldn't bother! ”
Nick’s laughter rises up and hits me in the throat. “Oh, don't worry. I won't.” His fingers grasp the back of my neck, pulling me down to his lips whilst his legs wrap around me harder. Every pulsation of his cock presses in alongside mine and I grind back as his hips start gyrating impatiently, the yearning noises in his throat becoming too obvious to ignore. “I only want you.”
We kiss messily for a few more minutes, all tongues and arms and writhing bodies rising up off the mattress until I seem to find myself back on my knees with Nick propped up on an elbow beneath me. He sinks his head upon the pillow, waiting expectantly, and I help guide his thick thighs backwards, exposing the pink winking tightness beneath his balls.
Holy fucking fuck.
This is it.
Lining up, I hover there, drinking in the submissive sight of him, marvelling at how he's opened himself up to me in more ways than one tonight.
“Remember to breathe...”
I’m not overly sure if I’m reminding him or myself at this point.
Nick’s ribcage expands as I test out the very outer resistance, gently stroking his own cock with those guileless brown eyes and his sex-fucked hair as he waits for me between bated breaths. After throwing one last questioning eyebrow up to check in, I begin the gradual breach of his heat, watching the fluttering of lashes, the fresh pinking of Nick’s freckled cheeks. His delicate mouth, shaped in a silent Oh, surely must be the twin of mine as the searing tightness consumes us at our very edges.
My prettiest boy.
Nick
Fear and excitement must be two sides of the same coin.
It's the same circular swoop of nerves rolling along your stomach lining. The exact spike in heart rate that produces this undeniable rush of blood in your ears.
It all spends the same; it just depends how it lands.
And, honestly? I feel just as het up from when the penny dropped in front of our reflection earlier compared to how I do now, with my knees splayed and Charlie hovering above me, cock in hand. The only difference, I think, may have been the odds on the gamble, and there was a small part of me – I'm ashamed to admit – that wasn't sure how he might react to my miniature gay-sex crisis.
It was all my idea, after all.
I was the one who instigated this impromptu kink-party – the one who led him down the garden path with my dick tucked like a tail between my legs – and who could say if he'd be less than understanding about the sudden spasm of uncertainty that held me hard by the heart.
But, really, I should have known that he’d be exactly what I fucking needed. That, in all likelihood, he had experienced the throes of doubt himself a time or two before and, as he held me hard – soothing me with his soft words and wandering hands – the reassurances soon gave way to a rekindling; fervour returning faster than how it had been snuffed out.
I really fucking meant what I said. I can’t imagine sharing this kind of intimate vulnerability with anyone else.
How fucking lucky, am I?
“Remember to breathe...” The lamp behind Charlie is lighting up his hair like a halo, his silhouette outlined above me whilst his spare hand massages the tenseness from my calf. His other hand clasps around his base – position fully poised – and I nod, lightly stroking myself and filling my lungs, to the unspoken question in his face.
Are you ready?
A slow bracing sting instinctively has me tensing but I try to focus on every perfect feature of his face – his cheekbones, the dense, dark lashes, the tip of his nose – and continue my inhale to loosen every stretching muscle as best I can.
Charlie pauses, blue eyes freezing over, so I swiftly bring a hand up to guide him down towards me, clasping his cheek and attempting to kiss that worry away – the last thing I want is for this to be over before it's even fucking started. Thankfully, he interprets the meaning of my mouth well enough, undulating his tongue over mine whilst his hips continue to crest up into me in one long drawn-out wave.
Yes. This.
This must be what it feels like to Charlie when I'm sinking into him.
Tender and aching but oh, so fucking fulfilled.
As my lashes open, I take in Charlie’s parted mouth, marvelling at the obvious overcome in his heavy-lidded eyes, and wonder if he likes feeling what it's like to be me – if he likes trying me on, living and breathing the tightness around, rather than from within – to be on the other side of the looking glass for a change…
With hot gasps intermingling, we ebb there gently together in the trough of it all. There's longing lapping up the centre of my spine – longing to still, longing for more, longing to feel the crashing of him break over me again and again – but I know full well that I need the pause.
“Oh fuck, you feel…”
Whatever it is that I feel must be too much for words, and Charlie’s voice carries off into nothingness whilst his eyes return to gauging my face. It's clear that he's searching for discomfort or signs of uncertainty but, surely, intensely happy must supersede all of that.
Can he read all of my ridiculously deep feelings for him whirlpooling just below the surface of my skin?
I'm hoping not. I’m not quite ready to reveal the extent of how gone for him I've become. Well, at least, not yet.
“How are you doing, love?
A breathy yeah is all I've got in me – it didn't answer the question exactly, but it will have to do. It's hard to put into words just how thankful I am to be this close, how happy it makes me to be filled by him and how dreams could be made up of the way he's looking at me right now.
At this stripped down moment, it seems entirely plausible to believe that, one day soon, he might be able to return all these ridiculously early loved-up feelings that are surging their way through my body; serotonin on steroids.
“Char?” Everything now seems to be softening, adapting around him, and suddenly I'm impatiently pivoting against his pelvis. I'm desperate for another long, slow fuck, to feel that slow, sweet stretch breach me all over again. “Please…”
Charlie’s unintelligible moaning reverberates through my hairline, sending a tingling up my spine as he mimics my movements back at me for a few moments before pulling his way out. Immediately, the sad absence of him makes me whine and he gives me a small, smug smile at my clinginess before lubing up for a second time between my open legs. “I'm coming back.”
After grabbing a pillow from beside my head, he hooks both arms under my thighs and drags my body a few inches down the bed towards his cock, as mine throbs from the thrill of being heaved about. I totally get what Charlie was talking about earlier; it’s kind of fucking hot to be manhandled a little, even when you’re my size.
“Lift your hips… that's it.”
After the pillow is stuffed unceremoniously under my arse and he’s massaged all the excess lube from his fingers in and around my rim, he sidles right up against me once again. His thick tip tests and teases whilst his free hand snakes around my dick to gift me with a few generous tugs.
“Keep talking to me, Nick. I need to know how you're feeling…”
My eyes flutter shut as he slowly pushes his thickness inside of me again. “God Charlie, that already feels good...” It may still be slow going, but it’s easier – the second coat of lubricant doing a grand job – and the filled-up feeling of him, alongside all the slickened pulling over the head of my dick, elicits a grateful groan from the depth of my core as his bollocks graze mine. After a prolonged pause, he thrusts that little bit further, squeezing them tightly up against me. “Fucking fuck….”
This long dicking feels incredibly deep, and he rocks his pelvis against me until we’re both whining into one another. I look up at Charlie as he pulls out half way once again, his free hand forking through my leg hair as an eyebrow lifts.
“Again?”
“Do I need to beg, or something?”
Charlie grins but his face swiftly softens as he looks over me with a shy shake of his head. “No baby, I'm just checking.”
I lift his free hand off my thigh and lace my fingers through them, pulling him back over me so I can nip my way along the smooth skin of his throat up to his earlobe. “Then again, and again, and again, love…”
Lower lip trapped beneath his teeth, he gives me three, deep fucks in a row and my legs tremble around his waist as I keep him tight to me; right now, I can't imagine ever letting him go.
The pleasure is rippling over his face, the intensity of his gaze as penetrative as the sex itself, and I find it amazing how he seems to be some kind of sexual chameleon, easily adapting to the kind of intimacy that he can sense I'm craving. Charlie's been upfront and honest about how, so far, sex has been pretty casual for him – nights spent for fun with no fucking feelings – and yet, here he is with those blue earnest eyes and that gentle mouth, lovingly edging me open and ensuring I'm okay; it's a bit like he's giving me that piece of what he’s always been missing.
He finally lets go of my sweaty fingers, hooking an elbow under the back of my right knee to raise it to my chest, adjusting his position in a new angle that stretches me further, those full feelings displacing any remaining oxygen from my lungs in a hissing yes. I return to fondling, pulling and stretching at myself, but it swiftly becomes a bad idea because as soon as my hand finishes the third or fourth stroke, everything internally writhes around in a fizzing burst of feeling. With my blaspheming blending into one fantastical made up word, a filthy stream of consonants and vowels cascading into his neck, Charlie drops his lips to mine in a breathy kiss-smile.
“Found you… I didn't think you could feel any tighter before but boy, was I fucking wrong.”
He keeps thrusting at this same sweet angle that has me swearing, my stomach, thighs and glutes tensing together in tandem as I teeter along the tightrope of my tautly held orgasm. “Jesus Christ…”
How?
How has this man already got me hanging off the very edge by my fucking fingertips?
Speaking of fingertips, his have now thankfully abandoned my throbbing knob but, instead of a reprieve, they're advancing nimbly up my abdomen, stretching underneath the tightness of my top until they reach the apex of a stiffened nipple.
This is … Worse?
Amazingly, full-body-shudderingly, worse in the best fucking way, and I know he knows it, even before I've thrashed myself beneath him in full anticipation of what is to come.
Instead of the hardened rubs and pinches I was expecting, the almost-touch is a fuck off level of teasing – a circular sweep as light as a breath. This, combined with him repeatedly hitting that swelling and his wet moan-like kisses against my neck, I feel the seams inside of me start to slowly snap.
“God, Charlie, I’m gonna – fuck – I can’t…”
“So fucking close…” His hot weight seems to pin me in place, all perspiring limbs and damp curls in my face as he descends in one last delicious lick between my lips. “Let’s let go, love. ”
His fingers finally flex upon my sensitive nipples, tweaking and tugging torturously hard in one last fail-safe attempt at getting me to succumb to my unravelling. And, of course, it works – as he knew it would – neurons lighting up like fucking Christmas, pleasure imploding from all sides, at all angles, whilst he loses all elements of his self-control. His hips take over, animalistic and finally frantic in his fucking as I spurt, hot and helpless, between our stomachs.
Whilst the quickening subsides in irregular quakes, the heat of his hand claps my clammy face against his – moist breath mingling between slick, satisfied kisses – until every last drop of sticky spend is utterly drawn out and we find ourselves floating in the gentle lapping bliss of it all.
Our fingers find one another as the guttural groaning levels out to heavy gasping, heartbeats in pounding sync until, suddenly, he’s unexpectedly giggling against me.
“Did all of that just fucking happen, or did I dream it?”
I kiss his temple, delighting in the euphoric feeling of him still hardened inside my body, and throw both arms around him just in case he feels like extraditing himself from my flesh. I’m not quite ready for him to leave me; not just yet.
“Felt pretty fucking real to me, Jesus, that was…”
Life changing?
A religious experience?
Fucking transcendent?
“Yeah. It was definitely…” He digs his chin into my collar bone with a mischievous smile matching the spark flinting in his eyes. “Illuminating.”
“Yeah, okay, get fucked now…”
“IN THE BEST WAY! You’re even more complex and interesting than I ever thought possible…” His fingers ping back the elasticated fabric of his top to snap upon a nipple and I was not fucking ready.
“Who knew you were this sexual pioneer? You’re wearing this for me again soon, just so you know… hot as fucking fuck! ”
“You’re not… disappointed?”
His dark heavy brows furrow, a sudden propping up upon an elbow as his jaw drops. “What the fuck are you talking about? We came together, it was fucking magic… have you any idea how rare that is?”
“I… I just mean…”
What do I fucking mean?
Swallowing, I grasp at his fingers, leading them to my mouth so I can press my lips against them. “Well, it’s just that it started out one way and ended up in an entirely different direction… and there was that stupid spiral in the middle that threw us–”
“Hey!” He snaps his neck upwards, eyes blazing intensely. “I loved it! I loved getting to connect with you – share that first-time vulnerability; explore how your fantasies and fears overlapped – and I feel bloody honoured to be trusted with any of it, fucking hell, I–”
I cut him off with a passionate kiss – more to stop the fresh onslaught of tears that are threatening than anything – and I've decided that I'm not going to mention how I've realised he was right all along; that sex can also be a beautiful conduit in getting to know someone. Connective and bonding in the best fucking way, and, as our lips slide over one another in a delicate dance, my heart swells at the thought of all I’ve learned about him tonight, heart bursting at all this new-found knowledge.
“Who knew you had such a soft soul, Charlie Spring. The Kink-King easily turning into some romantic, love-making–”
He dry heaves theatrically into the crook of my neck. “Please don’t use that word…”
“Romantic?”
“Love-making…” Body juddering, he snorts, curls cascading across my shoulder as he succumbs to laughter. “I’m a bad-ass bitch, Nelson… remember that.”
“A bad-ass bitch that makes love like a pro…”
“Fuck offfffff.” He pummels me with his fists in a state of deep-seated cringe until he manages to digest the last part of that sentence. “Hang on, a pro?!”
“I’m going to live to regret that statement, aren’t I?”
“Yes, definitely. From now on, you can refer to me as The Master… and I’m going to write that little roleplay out in detail in my book of kink for future escapades, just so you know…”
“Yup, write it out below all the sweet, sweet love making...”
“I hate you.”
“Nah, I think you like me… a lot, actually. ”
“Let’s just say, it’s lucky you’re so fucking pretty.”
Grinning into his hair, I squeeze us into one another and breathe him back into my lungs. He smells delicious – of sex and peppermint and perspiring skin – and, as he softens inside me, the aching dispersing into warm blossoms of post-coital bliss, I silently come to terms with the fact that I think I might fucking love him already.
And how's that for a discovery?