Making love to Steven had been a revelation. Or rather, Steven making love to him. Alcohol giving him the courage to approach the other boy. Craving something. Knowledge maybe. The experience.
Knowing hands and kisses bringing back memories of the other. The one who had awakened this within him. Danny. But only for the merest instant. Intensity of sensation swamping reason.
Much of that first time was a blur in his memory. He’d get sensory flashbacks: their bodies sliding together, heat, sweat dripping from his lover’s forehead on to his chest as Steve straddled him, the incredible unnameable sensation of his cockhead pushing against Steve’s balls, Steve sucking his nipples, his ears, god, his ears! Who knew? Steve, sober, determined. Tender. And himself, free from guilt, finally, and free to hand over control, to allow himself to be overwhelmed; even dominated.
But the morning… Expecting to wake to guilt and the confusing sense of panic and despair that had dogged him all week. Instead, he found himself cosy and surprisingly comfortable, considering the octopus-like way Steve’s limbs were spooned around him, and the need to pee, which had dragged him from sleep. Disentangling himself from the other boy with difficulty, creeping naked across the hall of the unfamiliar house, the chill of the early morning air raising goose bumps. Growing uncomfortable with the strangeness of the situation and still waiting for the panic to set in. Watching the other boy sleep, covers half off, dawn light spilling around the edges of the curtain, a thin beam of light falling across eyes, Steve mumbling and burying his face deeper into the pillow. Reluctantly considering getting his clothes and leaving before Steve woke. Knowing that’s what he should do: leave and pretend it didn’t happen.
The cold that was starting to make him shiver giving him the excuse to bury back under the covers, edging closer to the incredible heat Steve generated. Feeling slim arms wrap themselves around him as the other boy snuggled up behind him, something warm and hard pressing against his backside, lips pressing against his neck and the side of his throat as Steve murmured, “I’m glad you decided to stay.”
He’d known. Not let on that he was awake and waiting for John to decide. Now the guilt, but fading fast and barely a memory as Steve began to sleepily thrust against him, a slow hand caressing his chest and nipples, which started to tingle immediately. Then, the hand sliding down to stroke his belly, carding through the rough hair on the way to his cock, which had already begun to sit up and take notice. Bypassing to slide over his hip to his thigh, gentle pressure applied. John’s leg sliding forward obediently, without his conscious decision, but immediately aware of the result of the change of position. Steve’s cock, now incredibly hard and feeling huge, sliding between his buttocks, a trail of moisture now easing the way.
Anticipation. Not breathing now. His body tense. Only now aware that his own hand was wrapped around his erection, because it had stilled as realisation of what might happen flooded through him.
Steve murmuring still into his neck, love words, reassurance, who knew, there was a roaring in his ears. Steve’s hand covering his own on his cock, starting to move and the blood still pounding through him, starting to pool in his groin, mental processes starting to shut down, barely aware that he’d bent his leg, granting access: permission. Feeling Steve shudder against him as he convulsed, Steve’s hand tightening over his own. A moment of disappointment that it wasn’t to be taken up, and he was joining his lover in orgasm, spilling his seed over their joined hands.
Drifting for a while. Basking. Being held. Sweaty. Sticky. The scent of sex permeating the small bedroom.
Opening his eyes as the covers were thrown back. Steve sitting up, leaning over him, his grin wide and joyful. Infectious. Easy to grin back. To stretch languorously, watching Steve’s eyes darken and his cock stir. Easy to reach out and touch another boy’s penis for the first time, wrap his fingers around it, satisfaction as he watched it; felt it harden. His own matching it, still untouched.
Varying the pressure, the strokes, looking up at Steve’s gasp, the boy’s head thrown back as he gasps for air. Faster, now. Rhythmic. Steve’s hips jerking a little, his breaths coming faster. Little whimpers amidst the panting breaths. His attention drawn to his hand again as moisture starts to spill over it. Milking him until the body over him relaxes; collapses forward.
Steve seizing him in a hug, his mouth claiming John’s fervently, deeply. Owning him it feels like. He, returning the kiss hungrily, his own arousal still surging within him, his erection pushing against Steve’s damp and semi-hard organ. The weight of his lover welcome, relaxing his embrace reluctantly as Steve sits up, crouches over him. Then Steve is inching backwards. John is confused for a moment, and reaches for him, looking up pleadingly.
Steve’s smile is wicked. Slowly he leans forward. His hand wraps around the base of John’s erection and lifts it away from his belly. Slowly, his eyes never leaving John’s as he leans closer still. John is riveted. His eyes flicker from Steve’s knowing amused ones to the mouth getting closer still.
His back arching, the sensation unfuckingbelievable as Steve deep throats him in one move. His head thrashing on the pillow, He can’t think, he can’t do anything but concentrate on the incredible feelings the mouth and tongue and throat working him are provoking.
Exploding into an orgasm that seems to turn him inside out. Taking a long time to come down.
Realisation setting in that there’s no going back. Wishing he could, almost. Because nothing else has ever felt this real.