by J. P. Oliver
I stayed like that, bobbing shallowly, before it was too much for my throat to take. As I slid off, Curtis let out a whimpering noise before covering his own mouth.
“Don’t,” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t. I wanna hear you.” I stood and guided his hand away from his mouth. With a kiss to his cheek, I told him, “Turn over for me. I wanna take care of you.”
With a shiver, Curtis let me maneuver him so that he was leaning over the edge of the sofa, dripping cock kept from destroying the sofa by the towel. His ass was up, and over his shoulder, I could see his face was red. The exposure was undeniable.
His entrance was on full display, presented like a gift. All I had to do was take it for myself.
But first, I needed to take care of him.
I took each of his cheeks in my hand, kneading softly. Cheek pressed to the sofa cushion, Curtis moaned, sounding half relaxed and half hopelessly turned on.
“Let me know if it’s too much,” I said.
Curtis made a questioning noise, muscles tensing in preparation for something. They tensed even harder when he felt my tongue prod experimentally at his hole, a teasing brush with my tongue-tip.
“Z-Zach,” he gasped. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I said. “I want to. If it’s okay with you—”
“Yes,” he blurted. “Yes, it’s very okay.”
With a laugh, I pushed his cheeks apart with my thumbs and let myself get lost in the task at hand. It was hardly a job when he was enjoying himself, hips rutting in little undulations: caught between fucking back onto my tongue as it nudged inside of him and seeking friction by grinding against the towel.
I let spit collect on my tongue and used it to lave over him. It wasn’t the same as lube, obviously, but I couldn’t leave him alone long enough to grab it from upstairs. It would be enough; I’d make sure of it.
“Zach,” Curtis panted, toes slipping on the floor. “I’m—please, just—”
I sucked at his entrance, earning an absolutely animal sound back.
“Please,” he whispered.
As I drew off of him, I sighed. “You have no idea what you sound like.”
“Mmh—”
I sucked over my finger, coating it before letting it work inside of him. His voice jumped an octave, cracking. He sounded like he almost might cry. His entire body shook.
My own cock was in pain, begging to just be touched. With a fumbling spare hand, I pulled myself out of my jeans and began pumping, moaning at the relief.
“A-are you—?”
“Yeah,” I huffed, the sounds coming out of both of us—our voices and bodies—obscene; wet. “You just have that effect on me.”
“I want it,” he mumbled. “Your cock….”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes,” he gasped, and I could hear the smile in it. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
He didn’t need to be asked, and I didn’t need to be told twice. I stood, pushing my jeans down just far enough to make it a comfortable fit, to make sure the clothes wouldn’t get in the way. I tossed my shirt—somewhere.
Slicking myself with my own precum and spit, I let myself fuck up between his cheeks, pressing and dragging; teasing. Curtis ground back to meet it, but it was tough with the angle. He was sort of at my mercy.
I flushed; the thought was hotter than it should have been.
This could have been enough. I could have come pressed just shy of where he could swallow me whole, my hand smoothing over his shivering back. But that wasn’t what either of us wanted.
Slowly, I guided myself into him.
The heat was indescribable. I’d been with other men before but being with him was overwhelming and intimate. His body was yielding itself to me, and as I went in slowly, searching for that place inside of him, I couldn’t help the moan that ripped out of me.
“Ahh—there!”
My hips stuttered to a stop, and I drew out to push back inside him.
Curtis sounded wrecked. His fingers gripped at the towel, bunching it in his hand as I picked up a rhythm. The sound of skin slapping lightly against skin filled the living room, mixing with heated sounds of passion.
His voice was pitching.
I felt the tensing in my abdomen and groin; I was close. And by the sounds Curtis was making, he wasn’t far off either.
“Fuck,” I moaned, pushing into him deeper.
“Faster,” he gasped. “Please, Za—ahh, ah…!”
The difference between our orgasms was a matter of a handful of seconds. I fell first, the long plunge into overwhelming, agonizing pleasure. Lost in the swirling feeling of it, pressed deep inside of him, I only knew he had finished by the sound of his voice and the spasm of his walls around me, clutching tightly.
Blinking the rush away, I bent over him, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.
“You’re—so good,” I breathed.
Curtis laughed, tired and happy. “Not so bad yourself.”
Our skin stuck together, damp and not wanting to be apart.
“Will you stay?” he asked.
I was silent a long and contemplative moment, before I nodded, forehead pressed against his spine. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
12
Curtis
Waking up with Zach beside me was surreal.
A long time ago, I would have taken that simple thing for granted. I’d only ever caught pieces of him like this—not so tough, relaxed, his face soft in his sleep—after sleepovers as kids, and in all the sneaking moments we could steal in high school, climbing in through each other’s windows in the dark to spend the night when our parents’ rules made it clear it was out of the question.
I’ll stay.
Those words were on my mind when I fell asleep and when I woke up, clear as if I was hearing them in that very moment.
I’ll stay.
He was moving in. I didn’t know how long it would stay just like this—this perfect, sunlit morning, our bodies naked and sleep-warm and heavy—but I would take it.
There was always the possibility of his unpredictability though. Zach could always leave. He could still reenlist out in Virginia. And then…what? Would it be the end of all this? Of us, again?
I shoved those thoughts away. For now, I was allowed to be on cloud nine, VIP section. For now, it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to go into the clinic unless I got paged in for an emergency.
Which meant I was free this morning to have a little fun.
I didn’t mean to wake Zach up outright; that was just an acceptable consequence of my wandering hand, brushing under the airy comforter along his chest. I felt it rise and fall under my hand. I felt his heart beat slow and steady, where its pulse reached below his ribs.
Zach sighed in his sleep, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.
God, he was sexy. I’d always known that to be absolutely true, but he was capable of so many different kinds of sexy. He could punch a man—that rough and tumble sort of gritty appeal—one minute, and then in the morning, he could be like this: all soft and affectionate.
I tipped my head up to press my lips against his shoulder, featherlight.
My fingertips skimmed over his nipple.
He made a small, low noise.
I thought hard about dipping below the covers to help rouse him awake—maybe with my mouth, maybe with a sneaking hand—but before I could get that far, he groaned, groggy and thick. Blue eyes fluttered open slowly, squinting at the light shifting in through the curtains. I saw the thought in them as he remembered where he was. His gaze dropped down to me and softened.
“Morning,” I hummed.
Zach shut his eyes again and sighed loudly, burying under the covers deeper, until I could only see him from the chin up. “Mmmh… morning.”
“You look like you slept well,” I chuckled.
He made an affirmative noise. “I’m still sleeping well. I had a dream about you.”
“That rig
ht?”
“Mm-hm.” With great willpower, Zach opened his eyes again to grin sleepily at me. “Just now. I had a dream there were two of you, actually. Exactly the same. And you were both trying to get in my pants.”
I laughed, rolling onto my side to face him, almost nose-to-nose. “That sounds like something I’d do.”
“It does, right?” He leaned forward to capture my lips in his. “Cloning yourself just to have a threesome. That’s prime Curtis Walker behavior.”
“Please. If I could clone, I’d clone two of you.”
“Evil,” he said.
“And I’d get you two to spitroast me.”
Zach’s eyes twitched a bit wider, surprised. “You’re kinda twisted.”
We studied one another before we both burst out laughing. My face warmed as I pressed it to his shoulder and let him drag me closer, our bodies aligning on their sides with very little space between us.
“Shut up,” I said. “You’re the one who actually dreamt it.”
“Yeah, but I never got as far as the two of you really doing shit to me. And I wasn’t consciously thinking about it—unlike some people.”
I chuckled, pushing my leg between his. The point was just to tangle in and cuddle, but I was happy to feel his morning wood press itself against my thigh. Unembarrassed, Zach hummed, toes skimming my shin.
“I don’t know,” I teased. “You seem pretty into the idea now.”
“Yeah, well….” We drew apart just enough to look at each other. I twitched as I felt his fingers glide from my hips over my ass, tugging a little at the fabric, tightening it. “I wouldn’t say mine was as graphic.”
“Okay, you win.” I grinned, eyes dropping to his mouth. “I’m the more twisted out of the two of us. Happy now?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Yes.”
With a roll of my eyes, I let him kiss me, and this time it was steady. There was no rush to be someplace else; we had the whole morning to ourselves, and no one would be bothering us out here, where the trees grew in thick around my house.
It was just making out mixed with a little light petting.
But I’d be lying if I said that kind of thing didn’t turn me on. The slowness, the skimming fingers; his nails scratching lightly over all over my sensitive skin.
“What were we doing?” I asked, whispered against his mouth. “In this dream of yours.”
“Pretty much this,” he murmured. His hand curved confident and slow around my ass, using it to pull me impossibly closer. My cock, stiff and flushed after fooling around, rubbed insistently against the juncture of his hip and leg.
I moaned, slow and happy. It was too good—all of this. My brain kept lagging behind, and when it caught up to the reality of being in bed with Zach like this, it was always pleasantly surprised.
“I can get behind that,” I laughed. “There’s only one of me, though.”
With a small push, Zach rolled us gently until my back was to the mattress. Above me, his bare chest pressed against mine, the heat trapped under the blanket with us.
“That’s enough for me.”
He kissed me slowly, kissed me all over. It was a long and meandering trail painted down my neck, my chest, a damp flicker of his tongue, swirling around each nipple—and a light pinch with his teeth, peaking it and drawing a soft gasp from inside me—before going down again.
His tongue flicked into my navel; he sucked little marks to that same juncture, torso becoming a long, spreading thigh. The short crop of his hair almost disappeared completely beneath the blankets, nothing more than a lump, as he slid between my knees, took me in his hand, and pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to the base.
My breath hitched, head tipping back into the pillow.
The soft sound of his lips making love to my weeping cock and the breathy noises his ministrations drew were all that filled the room, except for the sound of trees in the breeze outside the open window.
He licked a stripe down my cock, from head to my balls, sucking softly at the skin of them.
“Za… Zach,” I breathed.
Blindly, I felt along the bed, reaching for the nightstand drawer. My shaky fingers found the little bottle of lube, and, with it clutched in my hand, I crooked my leg and said, “Wait.”
Curiously, his head reemerged from beneath the comforter, hair a mess.
I laughed, affection curling in my chest.
“What?” he asked. “Did I do something weird?”
“No,” I said, pushed up on one elbow. I flashed the bottle of lube. “I just want to take your dream a step further.”
Mischief was born in that smile of his, all dimples and filthy ideas.
He took the lube from me, coating his finger with it. A bit of it dropped on my abdomen, and I shivered, stretching my arms overhead to grip the headboard. I wasn’t bracing for this to be rough—I don’t think either of us wanted it to be that way this time; it was just… an act of submission, of vulnerability. Of trust.
Zach’s fingers slid into me slowly, and I shivered at the feeling of them. Not just because they were good, but because the feel of them inside was becoming familiar again. Rough and strong. Steady where they pumped into me, curling against my prostate, finding it easily.
My hips wriggled and he held them down, tongue tracing into my mouth as he fingered me. Bit by bit, I relaxed around him, until each press had me keening for more.
“Do it,” I whispered, licking the taste of him off my mouth.
Sure and slow, he slid into my damp heat, the burn of him radiating through me from inside. The pleasure came in pulses, body attuned to the tempo he set. The sheets shifted under us as I slung an arm around his neck, fingers scratching into his back.
I felt like I was on fire when I closed my eyes. It wasn’t a raging kind; it was soft and steady and all-consuming; the kind I’d happily drown in.
“I love this,” I said, gasping as he pushed all the way in, before starting that slow process of dragging out, licking friction between my shaking thighs.
“What?” he asked, lips pressing against my collarbone.
“This.”
He pushed in deeper, grip tight on my hips.
“I love the feeling of you inside me,” I whispered, voice strained in its pleasure. “I’ll never get tired of it—it doesn’t feel like this with anyone else.”
Zach moaned, thrusting inside.
It was slow and by all outside accounts, boring morning sex. Missionary and pressed beneath the covers. But it didn’t matter with him—with Zach, he could be bending me over my couch or pulling my hair or taking me simply like this, and it would always feel perfect.
The only time his pace picked up was when he was getting close to his own end. Waking up with a hard-on probably helped push him over first, and when he came, it was with my name in his mouth, possessive and soft.
I felt him fill me, hugging him close, just as I felt him take me in his hand and ride out his orgasm, thrusts coming quicker to drag me down with him. The burn pressed out, tight in my abdomen as I fucked my hips onto him, back arching, mouth falling open, panting, and—
“God,” I gasped.
Eyes screwed shut, the world didn’t exist. It was just him and the feeling of him inside of me—of him drawing out of me, grabbing the corner of the blanket to wipe off.
I peeked an eye open. “Did you really just use my comforter to clean your dick?”
He hummed, flopping down next to me, lips curled in a content smile. “I’ll clean the whole thing later today. It’s your day off, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking him up and down. “But we should still take a shower.”
After a late morning of showering, making breakfast, and stuffing my comforter into the washing machine, we were on the road. The sun was out in full force after the night’s rainstorms, a bit muggy and sticking to your skin. The air that rolled in through the windows was sweet and perfumed, all petrichor. Zach’s hand only untangled from mine as we drov
e to answer his phone, which pinged in his pocket.
“What’s up?” I asked, feeling the thought radiating off of him.
“It’s from my uncle,” he said. “He says to meet him at town hall if we can.”
“Right now?”
Zach nodded, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Says its important.”
One three-point turn later, we were headed in the opposite direction, taking the main road toward the clinic, town hall and the main drag. When we got inside, Mayor Savage wasn’t alone. He stood in the clean marble lobby, talking with an interesting group of folks. They looked like librarians, in the sense that librarians could be sort of eccentric; there were three of them: two older women and a younger man with a messenger bag that looked mighty heavy.
“Mayor Savage,” I called.
He turned to us, grinning. “Perfect! Just on time.”
“What’s going on?” Zach asked. “You said it was important that we come right away?”
“Yes,” Anthony said, clapping. “Boys, I’d like you to meet Alice, Jennifer, and Wallace—these three dropped by to surprise me with some fantastic news.”
Alice, the oldest of them, with spiraling gray hair and hand-crafted metal earrings, nodded. “We’re with the Southern American Historical Society. Paperwork was submitted to us regarding a handful of areas in North Creek.”
“We’re very interested,” Jennifer said, voice very mouse-like.
Wallace flipped open a Steno pad. “The Speakeasy here is one of them, along with several other businesses. Rocco Carlino is also mentioned here several times—that his body might be buried here?”
“That’s right,” Zach said.
“Family legend,” Anthony said, laughing. “Well, not so much legend as it is a family secret. We’ve just found evidence that strongly suggests Rocco is buried here, and lived here before he died, under an alias.”
“That’s amazing,” Wallace said.
“Do you have a minute to chat about it?” I asked.
Jennifer smiled at us, pushing up her comically big glasses. “We’ve driven all the way here to chat about it. There any coffee shops nearby?”