He gasped and rocked forward, gripping my shoulder for support.
I smiled and said, "If anything else comes up, I'll let you know."
He tackled me back to the bed, guided my sticky hand downward to rub the remaining lube against my asshole, and applied his mouth to anywhere it could reach. This accomplished, he repositioned just as we had been, front to front. I wrapped both legs around him this time, angling upward while he held himself up with one arm, guiding his cock with the other.
I swallowed a groan, not wanting to alarm him when he first worked into me, stretching hot, sharply painful. I clutched at his shoulder with one hand, his ass with the other, and urged him forward with my legs. With agonizing slowness, he pushed farther inside, the fat slickness of him pulling at me, his breath ragged and hot against my neck. Farther still, and my cock swelled as he hit the spot inside; now, it didn't hurt—or it did, but it hurt good. I couldn't fight it, so I groaned and let one of my legs fall farther to the side, aching for the final push.
"Oh God." He paused. "Are you—"
"Come on, baby." I squeezed his ass and dug my fingernails into his shoulder.
He rocked forward, hit it just right; an electric thrill started at the base of my spine and took me, multiplied by the sensation of being filled up, stretched out, used up—and completely fucked.
By him.
"Fuck yeah, that's it." I hardly had enough air, but I made myself say it, for his sake.
And, okay, so he'd get down to it.
It was all he needed. He fell into a rhythm, getting used to it, but with an added roll to his hips and application of his thighs, his ass, his stomach to the motion that rocked me from the inside out. My dick was hard again, pressed tight into his belly, and I moved my hips under him to get that extra half inch of penetration. He sucked at my neck intermittently, giving me shivers and goosebumps, adding to the building heat of him inside me, unrelenting, almost unconsciously gaining speed and intensity.
The first wave of "here it comes" rolled through me too soon, but I wanted it bad enough that I didn't care. I angled again, dug my heel into his back.
He readjusted, putting all his weight on one arm, and hooked the other under my thigh. This bent me up, my knee nearly pressed into my shoulder, my ass angled upward so he could get in deeper still. He held my leg in position in the crook of his elbow and used that hand to balance on top of me.
Jesus, he was a quick learner. And the way he moved those hips, that pounding hard cock inside me, both demanding and pleasing, working me into a frenzy from the inside. Fuck, it hurt so goddamn good.
The angle must've hit something in him too. He pushed into me harder, with a little double-take when he was all the way inside, then pulled back and started over with renewed passion. The increased pressure, the extreme sensation, rattled me. Before I knew what I was doing, I had one hand at his nape, sending a wash of static electricity down his spine.
He buried his face in my neck, rolling his hips harder and faster still, gasping something that wasn't quite intelligible but said it all anyhow. Sweat pooled in the curve of my hips, slicked our stomachs, and made my fingers slip against his shoulder, his ass. I licked it, salty and sweet, out of the cup of his collarbone, bit at it and made him shudder, slamming hard up into me out of rhythm.
I couldn't have held it back if I wanted to. My cock throbbed, dripping against his belly; my body began to tighten, and I squeezed with my ass. He moaned and reached between us with the arm not pinning my leg, wrapped his hand around my dick. I wound my fingers in his hair, grabbed at his ass, pulled him frantically, harder into me, and bucked against him all at once as it washed over me. For the second time in—fuck, that had to be a new record—I came with some vague exclamation of sublime pleasure and "fuck yes, harder," as that was just what I was thinking.
He provided, muttering sweet things about how good I felt and how amazing I was and how I was the fucking best, as the tide of my orgasm rolled over me, doubled back, tripled, and after long, perfect seconds, subsided. Then he let go my cock, and the hard rhythm of his hips slowed.
Normally, this was where I would've been out. But Kellan, that incredible, smooth, thick cock throbbing inside me—I'd wanted it for way too fucking long to let him go now. I squeezed his ass, gasping, "Keep going, baby. Don't fucking stop."
Riding the rising ache and lingering ecstasy, I rocked with him, worked little groans and sighs out of him as I ran my hands all up and down his back, kissed his shoulders and neck. It was only moments before his hips jerked forward suddenly. I let another shock go, this time so it raced all over his back with one hand, down his leg with the other. I spread myself out and made sure he could get in deep.
He shuddered and came into me hard, gasping. Filled me right the fuck up, wetter and hotter than my wildest dreams.
I kissed his face, wriggled beneath him as he held me still in that half-bent position, him pulsing inside me, riding that first instant after, holding on to it.
He let my leg go and collapsed onto my chest. "Oh fuck, Jamie."
What could I say but, "Mmm-hmm."
Long seconds passed in which the only sound was that of ragged breathing. When his dick stopped doing that aftermath pulsing thing inside me, he pulled out, then came to rest against my chest again. I wrapped him up in both arms—and one leg, still.
Eventually he laughed and said, "The fuck did I wait this long for, anyhow?"
"True love, Princess Buttercup. True love."
His hand flailed in the air before impacting uselessly with my arm. I think he meant to tell me to shut up, but all that came out was "Mmm."
*~*~*
We stayed up all night, drinking and talking and drinking some more. I told him everything, about my electricity, about my childhood, about the weird little power freak-outs he was causing, about my issues and my nightmares. He filled in the gaps in his own life as we went, back and forth. We took breaks for making out, occasionally a little more, but my whole body ached, and he was kissing like he wanted to kiss, so it stayed sweet. In a hot way.
Once when he pulled his lips off mine, he asked, "Ah, was it really…okay?"
I wasn't thinking straight. I just said, "Yes. What?"
"The…thing. Sex. It was all right?"
"No, I expected to come three times in fifteen minutes. Work a little harder next time, Kelly."
"I'm serious. You gotta correct my form."
"I did, you just didn't know it at the time. It was fucking hot."
"Well, if you think getting bent up like a pretzel is—"
"So hot." Another kiss, then I said, "Most poetic sex I ever had too."
"Poetic?"
"Mmm-hmm, that stuff about wanting me."
He chuckled. "Can't believe I said that shit out loud."
"Hey, Kellan?"
He raised his eyebrows and dropped his gaze, running his eyes all over me and smiling crookedly. His hair was still fucked-up from the main event, falling into his eyes or sticking up here and there. "Hey, Jamie."
"I love you."
"Yeah, you mentioned it."
"I've been not mentioning it for a long time. I got some catching up to do."
Epilogue
That was about a year and a half later.
Last month I had a sales call coming up in D.C.—big client, so I had to go in person. We just figured he'd come along and we'd make a trip of it, since neither of us had been since junior high. He could bring me along for his geek-outs at the museums, and I could find us the best places to eat, drink, and be merry.
But a few days before we left, we were in bed. I put down the iPad and rolled over and saw him there, propped up against the headboard, glasses on, shirt off, reading Sherlock Holmes. And it was just one of those moments where you can't explain why, because there's absolutely nothing extraordinary about the time or place, but you suddenly realize you love someone so much that it may very well kill you. Like your heart just swells to this dangerous size, and th
at's going to be the end. Death by sappiness.
I'd thought of asking so many times before. And Washington, D.C. One of the few places in the country it was even possible back then.
"Hey, Kelly?"
He didn't take his eyes off the book. "Hmm?"
"How would you feel about…"
"What?"
"Like, while we're in D.C…"
He looked over the top of his glasses. "We can do whatever you want. We got five days, and it's not that big."
"Make it—" How long would it take, anyhow? Surely you had to be there to apply for a license, and then you didn't get it right away, did you? "At least a week."
Now his eyebrow cocked. "Ah, right. Any particular—"
"Okay, if you don't want to, I completely understand. But I really…I really think the time's right, and I—"
"Deep breath, James. What do you want?" He put down his book.
Deep breath. Then, "Will you marry me?"
His eyes widened.
My heart hammered, and I was already cursing myself for the outburst. The hell kind of proposal was that? Half-baked middle-of-the-night nonsense spewed like some fucking teenager asking his dream guy to the prom on a—
"Jesus, Jamie."
I flushed. "I mean, I know it's not—"
"Of course I'll fucking marry you."
*~*~*
We didn't tell anyone until we came back. For one, that's Kelly's idea of a perfect wedding—it was about us, not anyone else. For another, I didn't want him to have to go through shit with his parents. His dad's always been cool with me but inviting him to D.C. for a slapdash queer wedding at a courthouse would just stress things.
As for my mom, well, I knew she'd understand.
Like I said, it's been a few weeks since then. It's seven in the morning, just now. Kellan can't sleep past eight. His body wakes him up to go running, and I roll over and tell him to get me up when he gets home. But now I'm at the desk in the spare room with Morgan—who's since grown into his giant white paws—curled up beside the monitor. I'm typing like a fiend because I haven't been able to sleep.
Last night, we had a party for our friends and family at the faux-Irish pub. The "sorry we ran off and got married without getting you drunk first" party—you know the one. It was strange to see how the worlds mingled: my mother and our friends (with the notable absence of Margaret, though Mae called to say congratulations) and the whole Shea clan.
At some point it took on the character of a proper wedding reception, or maybe an engagement party or rehearsal dinner or one of those lesser rituals. Everyone was slamming beers and occasionally getting up to put a song in the digital jukebox and dance. Finn, never one to miss an opportunity to entertain, told some stories about Kellan, and Clark stood up and rambled about me, to our embarrassment and the apparent enjoyment of all present.
After which Kellan suddenly chugged the end of his Guinness and picked up the one standing by to settle. And then he stood.
He said, loud enough that everyone noticed and stopped what they were doing to listen, "Okay, so, I made Jamie promise on pain of death that he wouldn't stand up tonight and make a speech and embarrass me. That's what Finn's for."
A little cheer went up around Finn, who raised his glass.
Kellan drank to him before going on. "But Jamie forgot to extract the same promise from me, so, here's a story for you."
I tried to catch his eyes, but he only winked and had another sip—no doubt for fortification. "We were driving somewhere—we'd only been dating a few months—and I got pissed off at him about something or other."
"No!" came a cry of mock disbelief from somewhere within the Shea contingent.
Kelly pointed with his glass. "Shut it, Finn."
"Was Kennedy!"
"Yeah, but Finn was thinking it. So I'm moaning about all the crap I put up with from him, and he finally just asks, 'So why do you?' Instead of going for the obvious answer—"
Now Sarah interrupted with, "What's that?"
Kellan grinned. "Ah, I'll tell you after the kids go to bed."
There was a laugh, including some of the older kids who'd been allowed to come giggling behind their hands.
I raised my eyebrows and smiled but, for the first time in what felt like a long time, had absolutely no fucking idea what he was thinking.
He went on, "Instead I said possibly the shittiest thing I've ever said in a lifetime of shitty things: 'James,' I said, 'I ask God that question every night. I'll let you know when he gets back to me.'"
"Ooh…" went the little crowd, punctuating it with laughs and the odd look of true surprise from those who were not wise in the ways of Kellan's mouth.
His smile went sheepish. "So I'm sitting there in this car, fuming like an idiot. And about five minutes after that, something happens that makes me think about all the selfless shit he does every day and then never mentions again. Doesn't matter what it was; I could give you a hundred examples, but everyone who knows him already has a couple, I'm sure."
"Preach it," Clark said. There was a shout of agreement even I couldn't avoid. I looked out, and Derrick and Mike, those crazy bastards, waved their drinks at me. They were next to my mother. And the smile on her face—that almost did me in.
Misguided fools, yeah. But it's nice to feel loved, even when it's embarrassing, I guess.
Kelly's shoulders relaxed a little. He shot me another quick look. I pleaded silently for him to stop. End it there. Come here and kiss me, goddammit, before I feel like any more of a complete fraud.
"I'm not an easy guy to love." Kellan waved his beer at more howls from the Sheas. "No, not now, guys, let me finish. Jamie, on the other hand, inspires instant devotion. But he's a listener, not a talker—he's easy to love but hard to know. You're just sure he's a really good guy, and you're never going to be sorry you told him all your hopes and fears within five minutes of seeing his face.
"The truth is, I was just being a hateful son of a bitch that day in the car. I never asked God why I put up with him. I thanked God for making him too damn stubborn to give up on me even when I was hateful. And I still do every night."
Unh. I mean, just like that, no air in my lungs.
"Anyhow, the point of the story is that I've always known he was the best man in the world, but now seems like a good time to make sure everyone else does too." And finally, he turned in my direction and held out his glass. "So, here's to Jamie Monday. My fucking hero."
I remember the speech, probably not word for word, but mostly. Sheer mortification burned it into my heart and mind. Yet I don't know what the hell happened right after. I know there was clapping and cheering and drinking, and I know I stood up and grabbed him and kissed him hard. But for a few minutes the world became a complete blur.
And I didn't feel like a failure. I didn't feel like a fraud.
He had it all wrong. I never did anything anyone else wouldn't do. I was possibly the most selfish and childish of all the people in the room right then.
But it doesn't matter. Because that's all I need: to be his fucking hero.
*~*~*
The second we got into the apartment, clothes started flying, and I dragged him into the bedroom and dislodged a few cats. Then I grabbed him, threw him down on the bed, and crawled on top of him, straddling his thighs and sinking two fingers of each hand into his sweet little Jockeys and tugging downward.
He ran his fingers through my hair and pulled me down for a kiss. It's been almost two years since that very first kiss in the elevator at Humphries. At the time, I thought he was incredible. Was so impressed with the way he turned it back on me, kissed me so thoroughly that my knees went weak and my heart pounded hard.
But back then, I had no fucking idea what he was capable of.
He arched his back a little, rubbing his swelling dick off on mine, and sucked at my tongue. He tasted like Guinness; I tasted like Honeyed Fox. I ran my hands up his chest, over his shoulders. "Mmm, baby. You have the sweetest mouth."
He laughed and pushed himself up to sitting with one arm, the other hand still tangled in my hair. This forced me backward, but I kept kissing, nipping at his lower lip, then kissing again. "You're the one, and you know it."
"You're the only one who thinks that."
He grabbed my ass with one hand, my waist with the one that had been in my hair and flipped us over just like that. I found myself sprawled on my back with him sinking into me from above, grinning with that fucking gorgeous dimple and all. My head sank into the pillow; his hips fitted between my thighs, pressing them apart and up until we found that perfect place. He rocked his hips; I rocked mine back. The electric thrill is a little easier to control these days, just because I know what to expect in these situations, but it still amps me hard and fast on him. I sent it fizzling down his spine a little, made him shiver and buck into me. He buried his face in my neck, his chest heaving against mine, all hot and delicious. "No. I'm not the only one. But I love you, Jamie. So fucking much."
And, of course, I was wet just like that. Rock hard and desperate to tear off those underpants—and yet, I couldn't quite escape the question that had been in my mind ever since his little speech. Even as he tugged at my waistband, I managed to gasp, "Why'd you say all that tonight?"
I believed that he loved me. I believed that he thought I was perfect—for him. Kelly would never have settled for less than that. Like I told him ages ago, even just knowing he liked me enough to be with me was something in itself. And now, Jesus, he liked me—loved me—enough to marry me.
But he'd gone beyond that. And I honest to God didn't get how anyone as smart, as honest as him could talk about me like that.
He paused. Pulled his face out of my neck, let his weight bear down on me, let me feel him sinking in, hot, real, sweet, sweat. His face was beautiful in what there was of the moon through the window; his eyes were pure black, deep as they were dark; his pale skin flushed just a little at the cheeks. As I stared, holding my breath, he traced my hairline, ruffled my short-cropped bangs. A long, quiet, hot minute, wherein my electricity began to uncoil down deep in me. My fingers and toes tingled. My skin tightened, pebbled up.
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