by Vivica Dorn
Sam didn’t need any more invitation than that.
His mouth met the side of Michel’s throat hungrily, moving up towards his elegant jaw then back down, sucking and nipping. He was floored by the onslaught of desire pounding through him, almost ominous in its intensity. He didn’t bother trying to control it, didn’t bother trying to hold back. There was no way he could have, anyway; he was sure of that. He growled, and his kisses became ferocious, his teeth seeking and taking, the beginnings of bruises blooming under his ardent mouth. Michel was panting, his hands still gripping the edge of the cubby, his head tipping to one side to give Sam easier access to his sensitive skin.
Sam slipped his large hands beneath the cashmere-soft fabric of Michel’s sweater, running his hands up and down his abdomen and chest. The absence of breasts didn’t deter him whatsoever. But rather the taut stomach, the exceptionally smooth skin, the hardening of small nipples, inflamed him. Michel cried out and squeezed his thighs together, his back arching. Sam circled back to stroke those nipples again and again, enthralled as Michel tensed and bucked beneath his touch.
“Sam, Sam!” Michel whimpered, voice reedy and weak, “It’s too much, I can’t, I-”
Sam’s gaze darkened and his stomach tightened. Without a word he gripped Michel’s hips and half stood, spinning the TA around and seating him on the cubby’s table so they were facing each other. His hands moved quickly at Michel’s belt, confidently and deftly, like they had that day on the beach, taking control of the situation and of Michel’s body. Somehow, Sam noticed darkly, the situation felt almost as dangerous, this time his own desire scaring him more than the water or the waves. He opened Michel’s belt easily, and as he was about to undo the button and zipper of Michel’s jeans, the TA grabbed his wrist, imploring, “wait!”
Sam looked up to meet Michel’s eyes, breathing hard. The TA was leaning back against the wall of the cubby, his cheeks crimson, his eyes glassy. A single tear rolled down Michel’s cheek and something snapped in Sam. He groaned, gripping the TA’s hips, and stood more, forcing the chair back and clattering to the floor. He tasted the sweet salt of that tear, his tongue moving against Michel’s supple cheek.
“Oh my God, my baby, my baby,” he murmured between kisses, his hands coming up to cradle Michel’s face, his voice sounding broken and raw. He felt the other boy gasp beside him, and he moved his mouth to meet Michel’s. Michel opened his mouth to Sam wordlessly and without hesitation, sagging back against the cubby, losing himself in the embrace. He whimpered into Sam’s mouth, his hands coming up the swimmer’s shoulders, then he wrapped them around his tanned neck.
His mouth still locked on the older boy’s, Sam’s hands returned once again to Michel’s crotch, undoing his jeans and pulling down his underwear, releasing Michel’s twitching erection. Michel tensed, trembling and taut, and arched his hips involuntarily into Sam’s huge grip. Sam didn’t know what the hell he was doing – he had only ever been with girls – but he did his best to imitate the technique he used on himself on the shaking boy below him now. Sam began to stroke that slim hardness, his thumb coming up and circling the wet tip. Wet. Holy shit, Michel wasn’t just hard, he was wet, his head practically dripping. Sam stopped kissing Michel for a moment to look down between the TA’s tensing thighs, fascinated by the vision of his hand moving up and down another cock. Nothing about this felt strange or wrong. Nothing felt the slightest bit out of place. At all.
Michel squeezed Sam’s shoulders, throwing his head back against the cubby wall, his hips arching and moving with a clenching, not-quite-abandon. Sam’s jaw tightened as he realized Michel was trying to hold back with some internal sense of modesty, trying not to move but failing, his breathy cries making Sam’s mouth water.
Knowing that Michel was beginning to give in to him, to accept this, and that he was so unbearably aroused made Sam feel like he was on the edge of losing his mind. He wanted to totally own this fair boy, wanted to do unspeakable things to him. Desperate now, keeping one hand working, somewhat clumsily, on Michel’s erection, he undid and lowered his own jeans and underwear with the other, pulling out his aching cock. It sprang forward, incredibly hard and red, and Michel opened his hooded eyes, staring at it, sucking in a breath.
A moment of tense silence passed as the two boys stared at each other’s arousal. Then, with a growl, Sam leaned forward and pressed his pelvis against Michel’s, taking both their cocks in his large grip, stroking hard and fast. Michel closed his eyes, a beautiful, almost pained expression on his face, then opened them again, starting at the meeting of their cocks, as if he couldn’t look away.
The way Michel was watching him jerk them both off sent waves of dangerous fire through Sam’s pelvis. His entire body burned and his breathing hitched as he stared at Michel’s lovely, panting mouth.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Sam said, his voice so low and rough he didn’t recognize it. He thought back to their last encounter in the pool, how he had gripped the flesh of Michel’s ass so tightly, how he had sensed the other boy about to come, untouched, against him. Sam swallowed and leaned further forward, one hand planted firmly on the desk just behind and beside Michel, the other stroking faster and faster, his hips beginning to move in time with his hand movements.
“I wanted you so badly the other day, in the pool. I thought I was going crazy.”
Michel whined and his hips bucked. Sam moved his hand from the table’s surface to hook his thumb under the edge of Michel’s sweater, pushing it upwards, exposing that smooth, flushed and heaving chest. He mouthed the next words against Michel’s pink-tinged ear, delighting in the frisson he felt run through the boy who lay panting beneath him.
“You’d better let me make you come this time, I swear to God...”
With a strangled cry, Michel’s hips arched up off the table, his knuckles gripping and white. He spurted over and over again onto his bare stomach and chest, before relaxing back against the cubby again, completely spent.
Sam stopped, jaw working, frozen by the image before him. Michel’s flushed face, his wet mouth panting, eyes glazed, skin covered in cum, was so glorious that Sam couldn’t control his next movements. He ripped Michel’s jeans and underwear further down his legs then pressed the boy’s knees together before forcing them up to his chest. Michel’s eyes went wide and panicky.
“It’s ok, just your thighs,” Sam murmured hoarsely. Michel’s chest heaved, his eyes still wide as anything, as Sam positioned the thick red tip of his cock between the tops of Michel’s beautiful thighs.
“I fantasized about touching you here when I saw you walk up to me today in those fucking jeans,” he practically snarled, pressing in and out of the tight, soft space between Michel’s legs.
“What are you talking about?” Michel whispered helplessly, his eyes once again focused on the place their bodies met. Sam, too, looked down, watching his cock disappear in and out of those legs, his tip pressing maddeningly against Michel’s softening cock with each thrust. He grunted then forced Michel to straighten his legs straight upward towards the ceiling before placing both of Michel’s ankles over his right shoulder. His hands moved downward again, gripping Michel’s hips as he rocked faster and faster, beginning to lose control. Michel reached back and over his head, gripping the top of the cubby wall behind him for stability as Sam pounded against his body, in and out, over and over and over.
The sensation of Michel’s smooth, soft skin pressed around Sam’s cock was heavenly, but he had to admit he wanted more. He wanted to be balls-deep in a tight, wet opening. He wanted to be inside the other boy, wanted to feel Michel clench, hot and slick, around him. What would it be like to suddenly spread those gorgeous thighs and push himself inside that heat? The mere thought of it made Sam’s mouth go dry and his cock exploded all over Michel’s abdomen, mixing with the creamy white that had already been spilled there.
Panting, Michel let his legs fall from Sam’s shoulder, splaying them as if he has no strength left in
him at all. Seeing him with his legs parted, one on each side of Sam’s hips, made his sensitive cock throb, and if he hadn’t just come with everything he had he would have gotten hard again that instant. It was an intoxicating sight. Sam trailed lazy fingers over Michel’s stomach and chest, mixing their cum together and spreading it over that fair skin. Michel flinched under his touch and struggled to sit up, swiping furiously at his stomach with his sleeve. He yanked his sweater down and stumbled off of the table, redressing quickly and running a shaky hand through his mussed hair, his back to Sam.
Fuck, this isn’t good, Sam thought as he pulled his own jeans back up, watching how silently Michel adjusted his clothing, how diligently he kept his back turned. Seeing him turn away like that felt like a punch to the gut, and Sam reached out, brushing his fingers gently against Michel’s hand. Michel pulled his hand away as if he hadn’t felt Sam’s touch and grabbed his jacket from the hook on the door.
“This shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake, a slip in judgment on my part. I’m your teacher and I shouldn’t have let things get this far. I apologize.”
“What? You can’t be serious,” Sam muttered darkly, taking a step towards the shorter boy’s back.
“Look at me!”
Michel turned then, his green eyes narrowed and stony, his mouth set firmly. He met Sam’s gaze without hesitation, the flush from earlier gone from his cheeks, replaced with a stern pallor.
“Our relationship isn’t appropriate. We can’t keep doing things like this.”
Desperation pierced Sam’s ribs with a hot, serrated blade. He had to think of a way to make Michel stay. He had to.
“I’ll drop the course.”
Michel’s nostrils flared, his voice quiet but sharp.
“You will do no such thing.”
Sam stepped forward, their chests almost touching, forcing Michel to tip his chin up to maintain their fierce eye contact.
“And why not?”
“Because! It’s a good class and it will be beneficial for your education. You shouldn’t take things so lightly, you need to think more about your words and actions. You need to be more serious.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. The words were painfully familiar, something he’d been hearing for years from his parents, teachers, and even from his friends. But it was the last thing he wanted to hear from Michel. Sam felt incredibly serious, more serious than he’d been about anything in his life, when he looked at that proud, beautiful face. How could Michel not understand that?
“Fine,” Sam snapped miserably, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he fought not to touch the other boy. “I’ll prove that I can be serious. I’ll complete the course with more than just a passing grade. And I’ll get you swimming properly on your own before the semester’s done.”
Michel’s brows contracted. Fuck, he looked gorgeous when he was pissed.
“I’m glad you’ll continue the class” he said stiffly, “but I don’t think we should continue our swimming lessons.”
Sam wanted to clutch the TA by the shoulders, lock the door, and never let him go. But instead he said, slowly and softly, “if that’s what you want we can stop. I think it’s good for you to face your fear of the water, and I really think I can help you with that. But if it’s really, truly what you want, I’ll let it go.” He knew what those last words really meant. I’ll let you go.
Michel’s face softened and he looked down, pursing his lips.
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s ethical and appropriate. I’m your teacher.”
“Teaching assistant,” Sam corrected, realizing that he was clutching at straws but not particularly caring.
Michel pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter. Close enough.”
Sam straightened his shoulders and looked out above Michel’s head, breathing out heavily.
“So you’re saying that you want to keep seeing me, but that you feel like you have to stop because it’s not appropriate?”
Michel hesitated, then so quietly Sam almost didn’t hear, said “oui.”
Sam stepped back, putting distance between himself and Michel though everything in him screamed and railed against the action. The space between them opened up and bled like a wound, causing Sam a keening, physical pain. Despite this, he smoothed his expression into one of distant professionalism and met Michel’s gaze again. Michel looked taken aback by the sudden shift in expression, his eyes betraying hurt, his mouth pulling downward. Ignoring the urge to brush his lips against that sad little mouth, Sam maintained his detached position.
“I think we can continue our swimming lessons and our studying in a normal, professional way. I need your help and you need mine. I promise to keep my hands to myself. I swear.” Sam didn’t actually know if that last part was true. He hadn’t exactly had the intention of jerking Michel off then fucking his thighs today when they had entered the library. He would really have to fight for control going forward. But it wouldn’t matter as long as Michel said yes. He would do anything he could to be able to keep seeing the boy.
At least, he’d do his level best.
CHAPTER 10
Michel still couldn’t believe he had agreed to continue their swimming lessons. What was it about Sam’s stunning blue eyes, wide smile, and sculpted jaw that made it so difficult to pull away? Michel’s face flushed as he remembered their encounter in the library last night. It had been so wrong, so furtive and filthy, so absolutely out of character for him.
And he had loved it.
He shook his head in frustration as he approached the athletic centre, cold wind whipping at his clothes and hair. His reactions to Sam’s body and words, his unyielding want, still felt foreign and surprising to him. He had never experienced such a fiercely physical desire before, had never had another person give him such an earth-shattering orgasm. And, he admitted worriedly to himself, in the library it had felt more than just physical when Sam had cradled his face and called him his baby, when he had fucked his thighs looking at him like he was the entire heaven and earth. Michel shivered, remembering Sam’s ravenous gaze. It had somehow been both immensely tender and savage at the same time. And he was afraid to admit what it might mean.
He arrived before Sam, he realized, for the first time. He had gotten used to the tall blonde waiting for him. Always waiting for him. He wasn’t sure why the fact that Sam wasn’t there threw him so off-guard. He shook it off as best he could, looking around sulkily. He remembered their last lesson, when Sam had asked him to change first, and he decided to go ahead into the change room.
Except he hadn’t gotten there first after all. Sam stood at a locker inside the change room with his back to Michel and was pulling his T-shirt off over his head. Michel’s breath caught in his throat as he watched each thick muscle in Sam’s back and shoulders ripple and tense with the motion. His back was so broad, so strong, and Michel remembered the exhilaration of having that body over and against his, pressing him into the hard edges of the library tabletop. He remembered the feeling of Sam’s exceptional hardness, pulling in and out between his legs, he remembered the want, the need, the heat and heavy breathing, the way Sam’s whole body contracted when he came, staining Michel’s skin with desire.
Sam undid his jeans and let them crumple to the floor, bending to pick them up, and Michel allowed his gaze fall to his muscular golden thighs without really meaning to. He felt his face begin to burn, felt his gut clench, and the beginnings of arousal stirred between his legs. Just from looking at the American’s back. What the hell is happening to me?
As Sam hooked his hands into the waistband of his boxers, Michel cleared his throat and banged his bag against the door, trying to make it seem like he had just walked in. Sam stiffened and then turned, an easy smile on his face.
“Hey, Michel. Bonjour.”
“Bonjour...” he replied, uneasiness unfurling in his chest. Sam was smiling, it was true, but there
was something... off. It wasn’t his usual affectionate, stunningly sincere expression. It was a painted on smile, one that didn’t meet his eyes. No, those eyes were definitely not smiling – they looked stormy, probing, and dark.
It was the least happy smile Michel had ever seen.
“Sorry, I’ll be done in just a minute.” Sam turned his back to Michel again, quickly slipping off his underwear and putting his speedo on in one liquid motion. Michel awkwardly turned away as he did so, chest on fire, but he couldn’t help but watch from the corner of his eye. That body had become so deeply and poignantly familiar to him now, but he felt like he was standing in the room with a total stranger. Sam was being perfectly professional, perfectly appropriate. But he wasn’t being himself. And Michel wasn’t sure he liked it.
Sam rinsed beneath the shower head for less than 30 seconds before heading towards the pool door.
“See you in there,” he called without turning back.
The door swung shut, taking with it any hope Michel may have had about going back to a somewhat normal relationship.
There was nothing normal about this.
~
Over the coming weeks Sam maintained his cool distance, to Michel’s surprise and, he had to admit, chagrin. They had swimming lessons twice a week and they studied together every Friday evening. At Sam’s insistence, they studied in public places, in coffee shops and cafes, despite the noise and myriad distractions. Michel actually found that the noisiness did little to disrupt them, though – when Sam put his mind to it, he was an excellent student, grasping concepts quickly, asking intelligent questions, and wolfing down the material. Michel was a strict and demanding instructor, but Sam met all his expectations and surpassed them, leaving Michel rather astounded. He had never thought Sam was stupid, but he always played the cool guy card, ever the joker, and seemed to glide through life and his classes without much thought or care. But perhaps Michel had been wrong. He wasn’t often wrong, and he was thoroughly impressed by just how wrong he’d been. Sam’s focus was totally different from when they had met before in the library. He kept his eyes on his books, his chair at least a foot from Michel’s. He did not joke or waste time, and when he smiled it was the same smile as before, from the pool change room, the smile that left Michel feeling cold deep down in his bones.