by Clare London
Jerry groaned in the background, pressing his ass back against Vincent’s thrusts. He lifted one hand away from the wall and grasped his swollen, flesh-red cock. He pumped in perfect time with the rocking of their joined bodies.
“Or do you want to be the one taking him, Scot? Plunging into him? Your cock, pressing past that first, tight muscle—its aching head, squeezing through, only to be gripped as you force your way in. Embedding your thick, greedy shaft deep into that hot channel, then pulling slowly out, only to thrust back into its hungry depths. Making your lover cry out with the sensation—”
“Stop it! I’ve never done that!” Scot instinctively lifted a hand as if warding off Connor’s words.
“You didn’t do it!” cried Oliver gleefully. “Until now.”
Scot hadn’t registered Oliver back beside them. But the vivacious little body crept up closer, Oliver’s innate sensuality reaching out in response to Scot’s desperate frustration.
“Hush, Oliver.” Connor regained the control. “I told you, Scot, that I would give you what you want. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
The awful, fabulous thing was that Scot knew it was. Desire surged inside him; the thrill of the dream, the speeding beat of anticipation in his veins.
“Jerry,” he groaned. With Vincent….
“There’s no need to feel betrayed, Scot,” murmured the voice that surrounded him. “Don’t be angry with him, it’s only physical pleasure. It’s nothing compared to your feelings for him. Nor his for you. It’s just fun.”
“For us!” Oliver laughed.
“For me.” Connor sighed. He cradled Scot’s face as if drawing Scot’s bemusement into the depths of his own gaze. He touched Scot’s aching lips. “Understand, Scot.”
But Scot was beginning to realize he understood far more than Connor suspected. Over Connor’s shoulder, as their mouths sought each other out, he watched Jerry’s face—the anguished joy of being filled, stretched, invaded. He saw Vincent’s look of adoration as he lay close against Jerry’s back; heard the shudder and cry as he came inside him; felt Vincent’s gentle, soothing touch on Jerry’s back as his body calmed. It made Scot’s heart ache, not for the first time tonight.
He realized he wasn’t jealous of Vincent with Jerry, nor did he blame his boyfriend for seeking such pleasure. He saw Jerry’s face, twisted with satisfaction as he came, knowing he’d never seen that look before; never inspired that in Jerry by himself. That’s it. That’s what I want.
“Yes,” he whispered, hardly remembering Connor’s questions. “When?”
=soon= The voice, if it were even possible, smiled. =but first, there’s more=
Scot didn’t understand why Connor was no longer speaking aloud, until Connor stepped away from him again. Scot almost fell and had to put a hand against the wall to steady himself.
=Vincent, Jerry. Come to us=
The two named men slipped apart, each still touching the other’s body, still gasping with the delicious aftershocks of climax. They straightened up, stretched cramped muscles and laughed at each other. Then they moved toward Connor, delight on their faces.
***
Scot watched with shocked fascination as Connor slid a hand around Jerry’s neck, and pulled Jerry’s face to his. Connor’s gaze remained on Scot as he plunged his tongue into Jerry’s mouth. They held each other for a time—Jerry gleamed with the sweat of being fucked by Vincent, and Connor’s own flesh was flushed after caressing Scot. They kissed, open-mouthed, murmuring words into each other’s mouths that no one else could hear. Connor dropped to his knees on the nearby blanket, and drew Jerry down beside him. He gently turned the pair of them so that he faced Scot over Jerry’s shoulder—so that Scot could see his hand as it slid possessively over Jerry’s smooth ass.
Jerry’s head turned, showing his profile. He was gazing into Connor’s dark eyes and there was communication between them that Scot didn’t understand. Scot was suddenly, irrationally—and hurtfully—excluded.
Connor’s laugh sounded from deep inside his throat, an animal sound. He stroked at Jerry’s buttocks almost as if he were considering what to do next. His tattooed hand splayed on the pale skin, the fingertips creeping their way to Jerry’s crease. Jerry made a noise of frustration, arching his back, and his legs spread wider apart on the blanket.
Scot’s body felt frozen in place. He was a column of pure emotion. Emotion that wanted to slap Jerry away—emotion that told him he wanted to be under Connor’s hands himself. And another, less familiar emotion, that told him he wanted to watch, to see the gorgeous bodies together.
And he somehow knew Connor understood all this.
He tensed up, a sharp pain stabbing through his head. It was as if he caught an echo of the connection between the men on the ground. He sensed Jerry’s pure, simplistic happiness and felt the fast beat of his heart. And if he concentrated really hard, he could hear Connor’s breath and the words he was murmuring to Jerry….
=he’s mine now, Jerry. I only ever allowed you to borrow his love=
Scot’s chest tightened. And Connor’s mine!
Connor’s eyes opened wide to stare at Scot.
=You heard us?= His expression was awed. =You speak to us?=
Before Scot could think of a response, Vincent’s arms slid around his waist. Scot had forgotten the existence of anyone else for that moment. But he slipped into Vincent’s arms without even thinking about it. He needed to be touched. He needed attention of his own! When their mouths met, Vincent’s was hot and eager, and Scot thought he could taste far more than a single pair of lips. The sensation was unfamiliar and very erotic, and his tongue thrust back at Vincent, diving into his mouth, sucking at the wet, warm muscle that met him.
Connor was watching him, now. Scot could feel the deep blue gaze like a knife between his shoulder blades. He knew he and Connor were teasing each other, tormenting each other. Scot wondered who the hell had initiated this game, let alone who would win.
“Yes.” He sighed. Vincent’s hands ran over his chest, teasing at his nipples, and when he twisted cruelly at one, Scot felt an immediate, fierce response. He’d always craved a rough touch there and Vincent seemed instinctively to know this. He slid his free hand down Scot’s naked stomach, reaching to caress his aching shaft. The touch was sure and insistent. Scot’s desire was a blazing physical need now, and he was damned if he was going to resist any comfort, whoever offered it. He’d never known his stamina to be so good—his libido to be so eager and resilient. He pressed into Vincent’s hand and thrust his hips jerkily inside the closing fist.
Harder. You hear me? That’s how I want it!
Suddenly the pain in his head was back. He tried to shake it away, because, dammit, he wanted to come. He was so close…
But Vincent drew away. Just as the coiling ecstasy throbbed in Scot’s groin, Vincent’s pumping hand stilled and the fingers opened up, releasing Scot’s cock back to the air. Scot moaned with the loss and his hands reached, uselessly, for Vincent’s grip.
Vincent was still smiling at Scot, but his face was fading away from view.
Not fair!
Then Scot felt other hands at his ass; soft, damp, slipping through the cleft, to caress the pucker. A slim, damp fingertip, pressing eagerly into him—thrusting lightly, stretching, preparing him. He heard a soft, musical laugh. Of course, he groaned to himself. It was Oliver, the young man’s deft fingers touching and driving him insane with need. He’d always suspected that was Oliver’s specialty. No one else’s slim fingers would feel so mischievous. Every touch was confident, insistent, and maddeningly hot. Oliver pressed his chest against Scot’s back, and nudged Scot up against the wall. His rich little lips reached up to kiss Scot’s shoulder, and lap at his neck. Scot felt Oliver’s erection, hot on his ass, rubbing against his buttocks with almost savage little stabs.
“Want you, Scot Salvatore,” Oliver whispered. “Want to feel you.”
He took Scot’s shoulder and turned him so they faced each other.
It was Oliver’s turn to twist around, exposing his back and ass to Scot, panting quietly. He wriggled deliciously, up and down at Scot’s groin, the soft, warm buttocks plumping against Scot’s skin.
Scot groaned. His cock sprang up even farther, prodding at Oliver’s flesh, seeking a home there. Shocked at his lustful response, he looked toward Connor and Jerry.
They were still kneeling together on the blanket, now facing each other. One of Connor’s hands was around Jerry’s waist, and the other was buried deep between the valley of Jerry’s buttocks. From the movement of Connor’s wrist, Scot could see that he was fingering Jerry. Jerry’s breath rasped out as he clung to Connor, trying to keep his balance. His lips dipped to Connor’s time and again, then his head rolled back, his mouth opening with a soundless cry of joy and exhortation. He gripped Connor’s hips tightly, trying to rub their cocks together, trying to bring relief to them both. From the tension across Jerry’s shoulders, Scot could tell that Jerry was close to climax.
The tension was across his, Scot’s, shoulders too.
Connor’s eyes were wild and wide but they were still fixed on Scot. His cock was hard, Scot could see it between Jerry’s thighs. It was as if Connor’s body registered the mutual fondling with Jerry, but his mind was still with Scot.
Scot knew the whimpering sounds Jerry made near coming, but he couldn’t have said with any certainty how close Connor was to climax. The man’s skin glistened in the night air, the muscles flexing as he played with Jerry. His mouth was willing enough every time Jerry nipped at him, begging for him, but his emotion remained like a dark, deep ocean bed in his eyes. His control didn’t seem to falter.
=Scot? It’s fun for me. Enjoy it with me=
“Scot?” Oliver’s voice whispered against Scot’s leg, though Scot hadn’t seen him sink to his knees in front of him. “Want you, Scot,” he repeated, a little petulantly. “Want to taste you!” The last words were muffled because Oliver gripped at the skin of Scot’s thighs, and went down on his cock.
Scot gasped with pleasure and the anticipation of relief. The pain in his head gave a nudge, but he ignored it. He looked at the blond head below, and leaned back against the wall, his legs shaking. At last! He’d told Jerry when they arrived that he’d thought the motel would be a ‘heaven’ for them. He’d been joking, of course, just trying to lighten their frustrated mood.
With a shudder of dread, he wondered if it mightn’t be exactly the opposite.
Then Oliver’s lips tightened, his tongue licked at the taut thread of skin below the head of Scot’s cock, and Scot’s climax overwhelmed him. His seed spurted out, escaping into Oliver’s eager, waiting mouth. He shouted—he cried out some unintelligible sound, wrenching at Oliver’s hair, not caring if he hurt him. He thrust his hips against Oliver’s face, asking to be milked, to be sucked to completion, demanding more and more!
The pain in his head became a deep sigh.
***
Scot sank to the ground, his legs collapsing beneath him. He was still panting heavily and his cock felt so over-sensitive he didn’t dare touch it. Embarrassed, he’d gabbled some apology to Oliver, afraid he may have ripped out his hair, or bruised his chin, or just generally made a fool of himself with coming so fast and so desperately.
“Never apologize, never explain,” chuckled the light voice at his ear. Oliver knelt down beside him, and his sweat-slicked torso shook with gentle laughter. “You are gorgeous, Scot Salvatore.” His mouth reached to suck on Scot’s lips with a hungry, grateful, appreciative flavor. Scot could taste his own come on Oliver’s tongue, warm and musky. He’d never had such an experience in his life. Wickedly, he wondered why the hell he’d not begged for it long before.
Oliver sighed and licked his lips. “You do taste sweet, just like he says. Your come deserves to be savored… and it was good to taste it yourself, wasn’t it? All of you deserves to be savored, Scot. I’ve known that since you arrived. You’re a delicious treat. I wish….” He bit his words back and sighed, ruefully. “No, that’s not for me, is it? But plenty of other things are. And there’s always time for us to enjoy them all.”
He rose to his feet easily, stretching limbs that were young and lithe, and he stood above Scot, toying with his own, half-erect cock. As naked as the day he was born, but considerably more mature, gazing down at Scot’s exhausted figure at his feet. And grinning. His wide, blue eyes gleamed with pleasure at his appetite being so deliciously whetted.
A hand landed on Oliver’s shoulder and he suddenly tensed.
=Scot’s not for you. Not for now=
A brief moment of frustration and temper flashed across Oliver’s expression, but then he turned with a half-smile to take the embrace of the man who’d moved behind him. “Connor. Your taste now, I believe?”
=enough mischief!=
Oliver pouted and stepped away.
Scot was dazed from his climax and disorientated again. When Connor’s strong arm slid around his torso, he allowed the other man to help him to a sitting position. A blanket was spread underneath him and Connor offered him another glass of cool water. As he drank thirstily and clumsily, Connor’s fingertips wiped away the small excess drops that dribbled from his lips. “Scot, do you understand better? The joy? The release?”
The affection in Connor’s voice seemed for him alone. When Connor tilted the glass to his mouth again, Scot impatiently waved it away. Instead, he reached a hand around Connor’s neck and tugged the other man’s head down. They kissed deeply and slowly. Scot tasted lemons again, but also other fruits. Other liquids that he couldn’t describe or identify. All sweet… all rich.
There was no pain in his head anymore. No nagging, no warning, no interference.
This is so right.
Connor spoke aloud again, or at least, Scot couldn’t find any evidence of the sounds in his head. All of his fascination was concentrated now on the man’s face in front of him; the firm, mobile lips; the very human body, laid against his own.
“I want you, Scot.”
Connor’s hands slid down his sides and around his ass, laying him back onto the blanket. The smooth woolen fabric was another sensation on his naked back—another sensual experience. Connor lowered himself down on top of him, their limbs entwined—and still the kissing, still the caressing. They were touching all the way down, their mouths, their shoulders, belly, hips and thighs. A fabulous body, thought Scot, in the midst of a fog of frenzy and desire. And it will be all mine.
“Let me have you, Scot. You have no idea what pleasure I will give you.”
Connor knelt up between Scot’s legs, and Scot stared up into his deep, expressive eyes. There may have been some nervousness there, but Scot suspected it was a reflection from his own. Connor’s hands pressed firmly at his inner thighs, but Scot let his legs fall apart easily. He bent them at the knees; felt the grip of Connor’s hands, as he took hold of them, and forced them further up against Scot’s chest. Scot was exposed to his view—completely defenseless. His exhausted cock twitched gently with returning interest.
How the hell can that be? I came only minutes ago.
Connor chuckled.
Listening to me, are you?
But Connor was the first to speak. “Ask me, Scot.” Connor’s voice was very hoarse—he’d never sounded like that before.
Scot wasn’t surprised to hear his voice sounded the same. “What do you mean?”
“Ask me for what you want.”
We’re alike, Scot thought, a little startled. Both scared; both needy. They were the same. They could come together as equals. Scot wondered if Connor was going to say please. He didn’t want to wait to find out. “Have me. Fuck me.”
He registered the warm touch of other skin, and the breath of a laugh. Oliver was beside him again, but Scot didn’t care who was there now. He had eyes only for Connor; eyes only for his dark gaze and his delight and his eagerness. Ears only for his moans, and his murmurs of pleasure, as he stroked at Scot’s dark pink hole, and slippe
d a long, slim finger inside. Nerves only for Connor’s fingers pinching at his flesh; for the fire in his veins; for the sensitivity all over him. He felt as if he he’d been flayed alive and the skin only just laid back down.
Oliver knelt beside him, stroking his taut stomach, holding his legs back in place. Then he bent his blond head down to Scot’s cock, which was throbbing softly with the excitement. He licked the tip so that it bounced up a little, then he started to lick up the sides with slow, enthusiastic strokes. Scot sighed with the pleasant feeling, but his eyes remained locked on Connor’s.
They spoke without words.
=do you want Oliver to make you come again, Scot?=
No.
=he’s good=
“No!”
Oliver let the slowly swelling cock slide out from his mouth, a silver thread of pre-come on his lips. He was puzzled, looking from Scot to Connor. Awaiting instructions.
Scot knew he couldn’t explain all of this properly. He thought that he probably didn’t need to. “Not you, Oliver. I…”
=say it, Scot=
Connor…just you…. Scot struggled to speak aloud, but he couldn’t make his voice work properly at first. Every muscle, every nerve throbbed with his need. He stared almost angrily at Connor, forcing out the words. “I want you to make me come. Stop teasing me!”
Connor gave the soft laugh that was all his own—it could never be mistaken for anyone else’s. It danced with amazement and joy and was embroidered with a rich tapestry of desire and triumph and need. In that moment, they were the only two people alive to each other.
=my very sweet one. I’ve been waiting for this. I never thought you would come=
“No one else,” Scot gasped. His mind was opening for Connor, alongside his body. His muscles flexed, asking for his caress. Impatient for him.
Just you.
Connor nodded, dismissing other speech. He had two fingers in Scot now—they were wet and hot, pressing excitedly against his prostate, in a way so different from Jerry’s touch or Oliver’s, that Scot felt as if he was being roused for the first time. He saw colors; he heard moans of welcome all around him. He groaned aloud.