by J. P. Oliver
My hands ran appreciatively, encouragingly over his thighs. I watched his face as he felt along muscle lines and the coarse hairs leading down beneath my sweats (leading to what was becoming a very quickly pitched tent). When I thought he might try to touch me in earnest, his fingers turned upwards again, brushing experimentally over my nipple.
I hummed my approval. His hands were soft and it sent chills down my spine.
Ace’s eyes found mine, the ice in them melted, thoughtful.
His head bent slowly, but quick enough that it was still a surprise, lips brushing against the same nipple on an inhale. In a display that was both unfairly innocent and sexy, his lips parted delicately and his tongue flicked out in a kitten-kiss, the cool wetness of it enough to drive my hips up in an accidental search for friction, erect cock brushing against Ace’s ass.
I felt his whole body go tense, eyes wide as he glanced up at me.
An apology was on my lips, but with the flutter of his lashes, Ace wiped it away.
He kissed me just shy of my nipple, sighing as he made his way lower, mapping out invisible trails with his mouth over my heated skin. It was gentle and slow—a lot of things I hadn’t had in a long time, most of my prior hookups hot and fast.
My hands trailed over his back as I whispered soft words of encouragement, which only made his lips bolder, going so far as to nip just shy of my navel.
I groaned, low and rough, my fingers threading through his hair—messing up what was usually so neat—and in my grip, his head followed, tipping back to look at me.
Maybe it was something I’d thought before, but it was the first time I realized it myself: I wanted to mess Ace up in the best way possible. To take all those straight and narrow lines he always walked and break them, see him writhe and shake and melt in my fingers.
I watched his kiss-red lips move as he asked, “Will you kiss me?”
It was as sweet as it was sexy.
I smirked. “Only ’cause you asked so nicely.”
We hadn’t done this properly before this moment, our lips colliding. We’d skipped over the shy pecks and slow steps; Ace proved to me the moment our lips touched that he was ready for more than that. His mouth opened to mine, submissive and happy to be devoured.
I heard him gasp through his nose, legs squeezing at my hips as my tongue flicked into his mouth, brushing wet and hot against his.
I could have smiled. That wasn’t my only trick.
I tilted his head and deepened the kiss, our tongues brushing until I’d decided to take control of his, sucking it slow and delicately and he moaned outright—a soft and muffled “Ahh….” the move making him tremble. I could feel it where it came from his core; was it because he was still nervous? Or was it that he was letting himself get excited? The anticipation, I knew, could kill you.
My hands were bigger than his. Rougher. They moved down to his ass, caressed each cheek over his sweats. I felt him tense again—was that too far?
“Is this okay?” I asked, eyes barely open.
His were screwed shut still, breathing shallow, as he nodded and—just to show me how okay he was with it—ground his hips down against my cock, stifling a whimpering sound at the release of friction.
Holy shit.
We kissed absently, messily, my attention drawn to the natural way our bodies moved against each other. It wasn’t perfect in this position, but fuck it was something. I guided him slowly with my hands until he got into it good enough to move with his own rhythm, and, fuck, each press down took the breath out of me.
“You sure you haven’t done this before?” I hummed, nipping at his bottom lip, letting it snap back against his teeth.
“Actually, yeah,” he said, punctuating with a particularly indulgent roll. “I was a stripper full-time before Harlan. Never actually went to the academy. Did I forget to mention that?”
I laughed, a low rumble in my chest.
“No, conveniently you forgot to mention….”
When he was lost in our kiss, I angled for my own surprise—I gripped his ass hard and maneuvered us both to lie on the sofa, his body tense when it thought it was falling. I liked having him beneath me, but this was good, too. His hands were pressed to my bare chest, warm and soft.
Our kiss broke, a little string of spit still connecting us in the second after.
Ace’s tongue flicked out over his lips and it broke.
We’d only been kissing, moving slowly into petting, but his eyes already looked kind of fucked out: hazed and dark and lidded.
“It’s easier like this,” I told him, bending a leg between his where he straddled me, my thigh pushing hard against his tented sweats and swollen cock.
His face twisted in pleasure, biting down on a sound he apparently couldn’t bear to let himself make.
“I wanna hear you,” I told him, guiding him to return to grinding—not that he needed to be guided. I was reminded very quickly that Ace was a fast learner.
With every grind he made against my thigh, he slid his tented cock against my own, the fabric impeding the kind of silky, slick slide that I knew would blow both of our minds—but it was too good to stop. Our kissing grew frantic as our pace quickened, a simulated mutual fucking that was as rough as it was new. My fingers slid beneath the band of his sweats, skimming over the smallish dimples over his ass, knowing with very little prodding I could find a place that would drive him wild—knowing I didn’t need to this time.
It was clear Ace was close, lips wet and gliding, an unstoppable stream trickling out of him: “Yes… yes—I… don’t stop, please, d-don’t, Ryder, I—”
He was deep into the pleasure hole, and I was there with him, less coherent than last time.
Last time had been about his pleasure. About keeping control for Ace’s sake.
That wasn’t the case now.
It was about getting each other off. About feeling good for both of us.
“You’re good,” I groaned. “So good. Think about this next time you’re alone—”
“I….”
“When you’re touching your little hole and wishing it was me doing it to you.”
Ace moaned and it took every ounce of self-control not to tear him out of his clothes and make this all last—draw it out for hours until he finally came with wet eyes and limbs like jelly.
“You’re close,” I said.
Ace nodded. “Y-yeah….”
“Let go for me,” I murmured. “Let that control go—I want you to come for me.”
“I want it,” Ace said, repeating it, mumbling it.
And how could I deny that?
Holding his hips tight, I lifted my hips to match his searching pace, hard and pointed rolls that had him finishing moments later, head bowing and body tensing. He wasn’t a loud climaxer, I was finding out. He could make plenty of noises throughout, but when it all built up to be too much for him to hold back anymore, he was silent, mouth open and face tight as he lost himself to the momentary spike of pleasure.
Seeing him come had an unexpected effect. Seeing people come had rarely been enough to make me finish before, but with Ace, I felt it build up fast, still grinding against one another, against his spent cock until the little noises were back, his face red from the overstimulation.
“Ryder,” he begged.
It was his voice that brought me crashing down—or flying high—whatever. The static formed in my fingertips, and I felt the tightness in my abdomen.
“Fuck, fuck…!”
I came hard with Ace’s bodyweight collapsing on top of me, his face pressed kind of sweetly against my chest.
We both stretched out on the sofa like that in silence, collecting ourselves, our minds, before I cracked a grin that Ace, with his shut eyes and post-orgasm mind, couldn’t see.
I couldn’t believe we’d both come from dry humping like it was our first time in high school or some shit.
It only made the prospect of what it would be like to actually fuck him more exciting.
>
12
Ace
I thought my first two weeks had gone fast, but it was nothing compared to the following month.
An entire month since we’d started this thing—these late nights together spent exploring boundaries and bodies, after work and on the weekends—and what I’d known to be true on my first day in Harlan was still true a month later:
I was screwed.
In that time, I knew more things about Ryder than I had planned to—and not just in a sexual way. I knew that he had a standing lunch date with his mother, Nori, every single Tuesday and it was unbreakable, no matter the circumstances. Even if Hell had come to Earth, he would have taken the hour to make sure they had their weekly chat in. I knew that Nori was a certified flower power hippie and that she loved her son to pieces.
I knew these things among other little things. What kind of music he listened to and what kind of food he liked. What kind of adult beverages he preferred.
I also knew that he was an incurable charmer.
It flowed off of him like it was part of who he was—which, I supposed, it was. I myself had been charmed, despite my best efforts and intentions. I just didn’t realize how much I minded it until it was directed at someone else.
It was innocuous, probably. We’d all gone out to the Vista Eatery one night for dinner—myself and Ryder, Gavin, Eli, and Ty, who were becoming the usual crew of people I went out with. Vista was a nice place with nice booths and carefully rolled silverware. And the comfort food was a slam dunk.
Too bad the waiter obviously flirting with Ryder put a bad taste in my mouth.
Watching their light and easy banter struck a new sort of fear in me that I tried to bury quickly: I was treading thin ice with this…thing Ryder and I were doing. I grimaced a little at my own internal dialogue; jealousy wasn’t a good sign. Jealousy meant wanting that attention exclusively. Meant hard feelings that went beyond attraction.
I felt a foot nudge mine under the table.
Glancing up at Ty across from me, his innocent expression was enough to tell me it wasn't him. Besides, he was wrapped up in talking to Eli. So it must have been—
“Hey,” Gavin said beside me, nodding his head. “They’ve got a jukebox in this place. Come check it out with me.”
I didn’t want to, but the knowing look in his eye told me this wasn’t about music.
“Okay.”
Gavin and I had gotten close enough in the past month for me to know a few things about him, too. Coffees on my days off at the Sit and Sip afforded more insight into what they’d all been like in high school as well as how Eli and Ty had gotten together, the story surprising. I also knew, from those chats, that Gavin was a good guy and probably one of the closer friends I had in Harlan thus far.
We slid out of the booth, nobody protesting, and loitered by the jukebox on the far end of the restaurant. I let myself flip through the selections, Gavin waiting for me to say something.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m about to be lectured?” I muttered.
“You’ve got feelings for him.”
Okay. Guess we’re just jumping into this…
I gave a shrug, resisting the urge to look back at our table—at Ryder.
Gavin shook his head. “Listen, man…something’s going on with you two. It’s pretty obvious to me—not to freak you out. I just know him and I’m getting to know you, and, well…bottom line is, if you can’t do casual, then you’re gonna need to end whatever it is you’ve got going on with Ryder. Ryder doesn’t date. Ever.”
I looked at the music and grimaced.
Most of them were love songs.
“Why?” I asked eventually, hating how disappointed I sounded.
Gavin shrugged, fishing out a quarter. “That’s not up to me to talk about.”
“C’mon, man,” I started.
The quarter rattled as it dropped into the jukebox. Gavin nudged a few buttons and the music wound up inside, increasing in volume.
“No, I mean…it’s not my story to tell, Ace. You’re gonna have to talk to Ryder about that, but he’s a free spirit, bottom line. Always has been, always will be. And he likes to be just that.”
“Just what?”
“Free.”
I felt sort of like I’d been hit. Not in a serious way; more like a schoolyard fight. The pain of it was dull and pulsating in my chest. I rubbed at the back of my neck, nodding slowly.
“Right.”
“Just…thought I’d say something before you got yourself hurt,” Gavin said, and I could tell he meant it, the honesty clear in his eyes and voice. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he might have been too late.
“Thanks.” I swallowed, thumbing towards the bathroom. “If you want to head back to the guys, I’m just gonna—”
“Say no more.” Gavin waved his hand. Before he disappeared, he gave me a hearty, almost apologetic pat on the back. “We’ll be waiting for you when you get back, bud.”
Once Gavin’s back was turned, I made a beeline for the bathroom.
Thankfully, it was empty. I stood in front of the sink, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, thoughts swirling in my head as I tried to fully recognize the face staring back. I knew it was me, but I was different. How did I look different when that conflicted feeling in my chest was the same as it had always been?
I had feelings for him. I had feelings for Ryder Mueller.
And if I didn’t want to lose what we had, I’d have to tamp down on my feelings.
Again.
But those feelings were getting harder and harder to ignore. It wasn’t like before, when I had to hide every real part of myself from everyone around me. No, I could be myself here and people liked me for it—and I couldn’t lose that.
I thought about Ryder.
We’d progressed so much. In our friendship and our partnership at work and—my face warmed a little—sexually. We’d progressed from dry humping with our clothes on to doing it without. I could still remember the feeling of being fully naked in front of him, spread out on my couch and feeling salacious for it, his eyes drinking me in. I could still feel the dull burn of arousal, knowing I’d never had anything better than a naked Ryder grinding against me, his mouth on my ear telling me how good I felt. How perfect it was.
I thought about taking it further.
I wanted it.
I wanted more than that.
Slowly, to my personal dismay, I was starting to find out I was a relationship guy.
Not a casual guy.
I wanted my first time doing anal to be with someone special to me. Somebody important because this was important.
Sighing at my reflection, I knew we were both in a boatload of trouble because I wanted that person to be Ryder.
To say I was grumpy was an understatement.
We’d gotten a one-off lead from a local store clerk, calling in to report their suspicion over someone who had been spotted shoplifting on the security cameras two days after the fact. It was petty crime and didn’t fit the profile, and was probably as big a lead as Mrs. Peters’ had been, but it was our duty to follow through on every one.
We were building a profile on the shoplifter, because even if he wasn’t our perp, he was still caught shoplifting and that counted for something. Profiles meant interviews: family, coworkers, friends. The last of our interviews was with one of his apparently very close friends.
“Thank you for your time,” I told the interviewee, a young and stupidly beautiful man in his twenties. Ryder tugged on his jacket beside me. “We’ll call if we need anything.”
The interviewee leaned coquettishly against his door frame. His shorts were criminally short, and when he pushed his hair out of his face, the bottom of his shirt rode up enough to expose some of his stomach.
“Anytime,” he said, voice lilting.
Obviously flirting.
I bit back a disgusted scoff. The whole interview had been like this.
Since the moment we entered, the
interviewee had practically been drooling over Ryder, who had kept it professional throughout our questioning, focusing on the task at hand. And the man had answered every question, but he would do this thing every time he answered; he’d lean forward a little and lick his lips to draw attention to them, his intention unspoken but clear: they’re wet and pliable and ready for you to put your cock in.
Like I said, Ryder kept it professional, ignoring the blatant advances—but I knew him well enough by now to see the spark of interest in his eye before he looked away to scribble down some notes.
By the time I stepped foot out of the house, I was fuming.
“Ready to go?” Ryder asked, the door shut behind us.
“Yeah.” Curt. I strode down the front steps without waiting for him.
When I pulled on the car door handle, I was even more annoyed to find it locked, and it was with barely there patience that I waited for Ryder to follow and unlock it, his eyes watching me curiously, though he said nothing until we were both in and the thing was turned on.
I reached for the radio, happy to have something to fill the silence.
Ryder’s eyes followed. We didn’t drive away.
“What?” I asked, knowing full well what.
“Are you all right, man?”
I could have said yes, or literally anything else besides what came out of my mouth, but I wasn’t thinking straight. “So, what? Do you want to fuck that twink, or…?”
We stared at each other for a long, hard minute, Ryder’s eyes wide and alight with something I’d only seen once before in the conference room: anger.
After a second, he almost scoffed as he turned back to the wheel.
“I never fuck anyone involved in a case,” he said, which made me automatically feel like shit for snapping at him. “But even if I did, that’s really none of your business and I can happily fuck whoever I’d like.”