Chapter 39 #2
Hungry after all the physical exertion I order takeout, and we eat on the living room floor.
Part of me is worried I might wake up and discover this is all a dream, so I don’t take my eyes from Bren, nor can I keep my hands off him.
How can this be happening? Are all my dreams really coming true?
I try not to overthink it too much and enjoy the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with him.
He’s happy and playful and I can’t believe how stupidly in love I am.
It's a warm night, so after eating we sit out on the front porch, sipping beers and sharing a smoke. We don’t talk much, preferring to eye fuck each other instead, the sexual tension abundant now there’s nothing to hold us back.
By the time Bren finishes his second beer, his eyes are hooded, and his scent says sex.
My eyes sweep down his body and settle on the bulge tenting the shorts he’s borrowed.
When I look up, I find him watching me intently, his stare darkening until it’s thick with hunger.
“I really like the short, trimmed beard,” he murmurs. “You turned out fuckin’ hot, Davies.” He palms his dick.
“Fuck baby, you’re making me so damn horny.” I mirror him and squeeze my hardening shaft. “Tell me why you like the beard.”
Bren chuckles, looking up at the stars before returning his gaze to mine. “Well, for one, it looks good on you.”
“Uh huh, and…” I say, lifting one eyebrow.
This is unfamiliar territory for us, because Bren always found it hard to put his sexual desires into words when he was young. But a long time has passed, and I know he’s no longer ashamed of who he is.
“It feels good against my skin—masculine, rough. And…” He pauses, stubbing out the cigarette, the anticipation sending me wild.
“And…?” I slip my hand into my boxers, and Bren groans at the sight. “Baby, tell me.”
“And I’ve been thinkin’ about what it would feel like between my thighs.”
I sink down onto my knees in front of him. “And what would I be doing between your thighs?”
I spread Bren’s knees wider, his face blushing a deep rose.
“You know what you’ll be doin’,” he replies.
“But baby, I want to hear it from you.” I nudge the hem of his shorts higher, then kiss and bite my way up his inner thigh, nuzzling my face against his cock.
“You’re suckin’ me off and your mouth is so wet and warm.”
“Hmm,” I groan, marvelling at the wet spot appearing on his shorts and the needy little pants falling from his open mouth.
Slipping my fingers under the waistband of his shorts, I start tugging. He lifts his hips, and I strip them down to his ankles, his cock slapping back against his stomach. “Glad you didn’t bother with your briefs.”
It’s late at night, so it’s unlikely someone will walk past, but it adds to the thrill, nonetheless. Pre-cum glistens at the tip of Bren’s cock, his fingertips dancing across his pecs.
“Tell me more,” I encourage, blowing hotly over his balls.
“I wanna squeeze my thighs around your face and rub them against your beard. Fuck, Ky, please.”
Bren lifts his hips, desperate for my mouth. Fuck, I love him like this, asking for what he wants, allowing me into his fantasies.
Rubbing my beard against his inner thigh, I slide my hand up over his abs and pinch the hard nub of his nipple.
Then, without any warning, I grab hold of Bren’s ankles and yank him forward in the seat, settling his thighs over my shoulders.
He gasps and I bury my face in his groin, rubbing my beard all over his cock, balls, and taint.
Even though we’d showered after round one, I can still smell sex on him, along with the citrus scent of my body wash. I hum approvingly.
“Ky, oh Ky,” he chants, threading his fingers through my hair.
Finally, I sink down over his shaft, taking him all the way to the root and swallowing, my throat tightening around his thickness.
“Jesus, fuck!” Bren exclaims, hand fisting my hair.
I pull off slowly, sucking hard, then swirl my tongue messily around the head, letting my saliva dribble down his length.
I repeat the action a few more times, then set a languid pace sliding up and down.
Bren squeezes his thighs around my face, so my beard rubs shamelessly against his inner thighs with each bob of my head.
Within minutes he’s thrusting up while he holds my head in place.
It turns me on, Bren taking what he wants, and I groan, sending vibrations up his cock.
Unable to ignore my own throbbing dick, I slip my hand into my boxers and stroke myself.
When Bren approaches his orgasm, I double down on the pressure and speed, and he comes in my mouth with pleasured cries that pierce the night.
Back inside with Bren in my arms, I’m too distracted to follow the plotline of the movie playing in front of us.
His fingers delicately glide over my hand—the palm, the back and then between my fingers—over and over again.
Something about it is so sensual, my muscles turning to mush and my dick hardening yet again.
I feel like a teenager. How can I be ready to go for round three at my age?
We rarely held hands when we were boys—partly because we feared getting caught, but also because Bren struggled with intimacy outside of sex for a very long time.
Being with him again without that anxiety and shame is perhaps the greatest gift of my life.
Which leads me to ask, “Bren, do you wanna have a bath together?”
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation.
“Really? Okay, stay here and I’ll run the water.” Immediately, I’m on my feet and rushing down the hall to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, I call for him, holding my breath as he steps into the room. I’ve probably gone overboard—lighting candles and adding bubble bath. “It’s not too much, is it?” I ask.
“No, I like it.”
We quickly strip naked then step into the water. I lower myself first, then Bren settles between my legs, leaning back against my chest. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pull him closer and kiss his temple.
“Damn, this feels nice,” he says. “It was a shame we never did any of this romantic stuff when we were young.”
I snort. “You’ve certainly mellowed over the years. I never thought I’d see Brendan Young enjoying a romantic bubble bath, that’s for sure. You’ve gone soft.”
“Fuck off.” There’s no real heat in Bren’s words and I can tell he’s smiling. “I could still kick your ass,” he goads.
“Oh really? I doubt that, but I will happily eat your ass.”
Bren hums. “No one eats ass as good as you.”
I love this new side of him—so open about his sexuality and what he enjoys. “I’ll happily accept that compliment. Your ass is sexy as fuck.”
“Don’t get me goin’ again just yet, my ass is still recoverin’.” Bren tilts his head back, finding my mouth. The kiss is languid, my body melting, drunk on the taste of him.
When he pulls away, he caresses my cheek. “I love you, Kyle Davies.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I love you too, Brendan Young. But no fuck ups this time. This is it, Bren. You and me ‘til we’re old and grey.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Once we’re dry, I take Bren back to bed. I’ve always been the dominant one in our sexual relationship, taking control and setting the pace. I like to focus on giving him what he needs, and for Bren, that’s always been to surrender and submit. To let go.
His childhood had been so traumatic and cruel that it forced him to be vigilant and guarded in order to protect himself.
I knew, even as a teenager, that the one place he felt safe to be himself was in bed with me.
In the short time we lived together, we were able to explore what that looked like just a little.
He liked being held down and tied up, spanked and fucked roughly.
But there were also times when he needed me to go slow and take good care of him, worship and praise him.
When we return to the comfort of my bed, I take my time.
My hands gently explore his flushed pink skin, pressing the softest kisses to his sensitive curves and muscular ridges.
I cradle him in my arms, cherish him, and whisper loving words.
Every time our tongues touch, sweet little whimpers fall from his lips.
It fills me up to the brim, until I’m overflowing with love.
When I cannot restrain myself any longer, I slowly sink inside of him.
“Oh Ky, oh Ky,” he moans, opening for me.
“Baby,” I sigh.
His lids flutter at the overwhelming sensation of being stretched, then his eyes connect with mine and his hands reach for my face. I love him so damn much like this; lying under me, chest-to-chest with nothing between us and nothing to hide.
He wraps his legs around my waist and slides his hands down to my ass, encouraging me to go deeper. I drive into his body with long, deep stokes, swallowing his gasps with my kisses.
Our bodies move together in perfect sync, Bren pressing his hips up to meet my downward thrusts.
His steel-hard cock is wedged between us, evidence of his desire leaking onto our stomachs.
I whisper against his mouth all the things I never had the courage to say twenty years ago: how beautiful and flawless he is, how brave and strong, and how much I truly love him.
Bren is breathless, his eyes wide with wonder, giving me all the encouragement I need: “Ky, you make me feel so good,” and “You’re perfect for me,” and “Yes, I love you, too.”
We make love for the longest time, finally falling over the edge together, our emotions unguarded and laid bare.
I wipe the tears from his cheeks then he brushes away mine, our bodies trembling under the weight of what has passed between us.
It’s the most intense sexual experience of my life, made evermore meaningful now that we are finally back where we belong. Together.
When I gather enough strength to separate from Bren, I clean his body with a warm facecloth and bring him a glass of water.
I know sometimes he doesn’t feel worthy, so my heart swells when he accepts my small offerings without any objections.
I intend to take care of him this time around.
There’s a lot to make up for, but I’m more than ready.