9. Jake #2
Jake obliged because he was a good boyfriend, grinding in deep circles now, his hand slipping around to palm Allen’s cock through the lace front. The material was stretched over Allen’s length, damp with precum, and Jake knew they would be ruined after this, but now he had every excuse to buy more.
He stroked Allen’s dick over the lace, chuckling when Allen moaned and bucked into Jake’s next thrust.
“Oh, fuck you,” Allen growled. “I can’t believe I like how it feels. I hate you for this.”
Jake didn’t take his words seriously because he was too busy focusing on stroking Allen in time with his thrusts to stop him from talking.
Allen’s moans swiftly filled the room, muffled into the pillow, his body trembling as Jake’s kisses turned to sucks along his shoulder, leaving faint marks. The slow build had them both sweating, skin sliding slickly, and Jake’s balls drew up tight as he fought to hold back.
He released Allen’s cock to yank the panties down just enough to free it, then wrapped his hand around the bare shaft, pumping faster. “Come for me,” Jake murmured against Allen's ear.
Allen arched with a cry, cum spilling over Jake's fingers in hot spurts, and his ass clamped down hard enough to pull another loud moan from Jake’s throat. “Oh god, Jake. Are you trying to kill me?”
Jake was too far gone to hear the question because the sensation of tight heat around his cock had dragged him over the edge, too. He spilled deep inside Allen’s body, burying his face in Allen’s hair as his hips jerked erratically through the aftershocks.
Then they collapsed together, Jake still half-inside with his arms wrapped around Allen's waist. He kissed the back of Allen’s neck one last time, fingers idly tracing the rumpled lace now tangled around Allen’s thighs.
“Good morning,” he said softly, smiling as Allen turned in his arms, sated and glowing.
“That’s a fucking word for it,” Allen grumbled, but he smiled and leaned up to kiss Jake’s chin. “Have you been...going all night?”
Jake was about to boast about his accomplishment when Allen winced, and panic seized him. “Are you okay?
He didn’t wait for the answer. He carefully pulled out and jumped from the bed, hurrying to the bathroom to fill the tub and get a cloth. Jake was back before Allen had a chance to think of moving, and he wiped up the cum as best as he could and untangled the lace from his legs.
“I’m fine,” Allen said when Jake returned from disposing of the dirty clothes in the hamper. “I feel well-used and exhausted, but I love it. I’m not in pain. I’m just sore.”
Jake frowned, unconvinced. “Sore is a type of pain,” he said.
Allen rolled his eyes, like Jake was somehow the one being ridiculous. “You’re not listening to me, Valero. I said I loved it.”
Nope. That wasn’t going to cut it for Jake. He needed to get his boyfriend cleaned up and soaking in a warm bath before his panic pushed him into one of his episodes.
Thankfully, Allen had no complaints as he was lifted from the bed and carried into the bathroom. He endured Jake fawning over him while he washed the rest of his body and shampooed his hair, laughing quietly at the serious faces he was making.
Once they were both washed, dressed, and he had Allen wrapped in blankets, Jake carried him to the living room and set him down on the couch.
“I’ll make breakfast,” Jake told him. “You stay here. Don’t move.”
Allen grabbed Jake’s shirt before he could walk away, pulling him close enough that their noses brushed.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said quietly.
“The sex was amazing, and you were good to me. So please, stop worrying about my aches and accept my praise, because there aren’t a lot of guys who I would let fuck me all night and then dress me in panties. ”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Not a lot of guys?”
Allen scowled and tightened his grip on Jake’s shirt. “Okay, you nosy bastard, there are no guys I would have done that for. You happy?”
Jake was, and the smile on his face proved it.
Allen huffed and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. “You’re a fucking dork.”
His gaze trailed over the bruises on Allen’s neck and his swollen lips, wondering how someone could look so beautiful while dressed only in one of Jake’s shirts and drowning in blankets.
The way Allen’s brown eyes filled with warmth when he smiled at him was driving him crazy. Everything about the man was temptation disguised by soft skin and a sly smile, and Jake had never fallen for it before, but—
“I love you,” said Jake. “Marry me.”
The words had slipped out again. Jake normally had more control over himself, but with Allen, it was impossible.
Allen let go of Jake’s shirt, blinking rapidly as he processed what he’d heard, eyes wide with what Jake could only describe as abject terror.
“Here? Now?” Allen unfolded his blankets and looked down at himself. “Jake, I don’t even have underwear on.”
Jake straightened and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning miserably. “Forget it. I didn’t mean to propose. It just slipped out.”
“That’s a pretty big slip,” he heard Allen say. “But at least get some breakfast into me before we have that talk. I’m so wrung out now, I don’t think I could carry on a conversation if I tried. I feel like I came a thousand times.”
Jake dropped his hands, eyes locking with Allen’s. “Not a thousand. Just ten.”
Allen’s mouth fell open.
Jake waited, unsure if he was about to get yelled at or congratulated. But then Allen shook his head in disbelief and slumped against the arm of the couch.
“Ten fucking orgasms? No wonder I feel drained—I’m literally dehydrated.”
Jake turned and went to the kitchen, fetching the orange juice from the fridge to pour Allen a huge glass. When he handed it to his boyfriend, it earned him a grateful smile that made Jake’s heart ache.
“I’m good now,” said Allen. “Go make breakfast for us like I know you want to.”
Jake did want to make them food to replenish their energy, but he also hated the thought of leaving Allen on his own when he could have been…massaging him or something.
His hesitation had Allen glaring at him until he gave up and went back to the kitchen, and Jake quickly got to work on making bacon, eggs and toast so he could return as soon as possible.
Allen had put the TV on to play a Christmas movie and was napping by the time he was finished. Jake gently shook him, kissing Allen on top of his head when he grumbled in protest before taking his plate, and Jake took the spot at the other end of the couch so Allen could stay stretched out.
Well, as stretched out as it was going to get on the tiny piece of furniture.
“What do you want to do today?” Allen asked between bites of his toast. “Now that the gift-giving is over, I assume you just want to relax?”
The petulance in Allen’s tone was cute, and hearing it made Jake grin. He had all kinds of plans for today, but the majority of them depended on Allen and his tolerance for the festive spirit.
“Your present is under the bed, by the way—”
Allen didn’t finish the sentence before Jake slammed his plate onto the coffee table and sprinted back to the bedroom. Allen’s laughter chased him around the corner, but Jake was too excited to be embarrassed by his over-the-top reaction.
He dove under the bed, smacking his head on the frame before he was able to get low enough in time, and grabbed onto something wrapped in green and red paper. He dragged out the large box, brows furrowing as he lifted it and tested the weight, trying to guess what was inside.
“The other one is behind the door!” Allen called out, and Jake whirled around, eyes locking on the bedroom door that was open against the wall.
The box didn’t give away any obvious clues about what was inside, but when Jake moved the door to find his other wrapped gift, it wasn’t difficult to tell that it was a hockey stick.
Curious, Jake brought both presents back into the living room and fell onto the couch, mind whirling a mile a minute as he braced himself for what was inside the box. He could feel Allen’s gaze on him, but the man offered no hints as Jake set the stick down and began unwrapping the box.
Inside was a jersey from a team he didn’t recognize, until he saw the name Monroe in bold letters, and then he understood exactly what he was looking at.
“You seemed overly interested in my hockey-playing years, and I have no interest in keeping the stuff,” said Allen, sighing. “Truth be told, I was going to throw it out because I was tired of moving it every time I switched apartments, so do whatever you want with it.”
Jake had never hated his size so much. He wanted to put the fucking jersey on, but there was no way he would ever manage it—he doubted he would get his arms in if he tried.
He set it down, making a mental note to order a frame so he could hang it on his wall instead, and then went through the other contents of the box.
Most of it was memorabilia, like the puck from Allen’s first goal, a few medals and signed posters by him.
But the most interesting object was the pictures and cards that came with stats on the back.
Seeing Allen geared up for a game definitely did something for him, but Jake could see the sadness in those brown eyes staring back at him, and it made him want to pay a visit to Allen’s parents and get some answers.
How could they push Allen into playing a sport he hated, even if—damn, his stats were amazing.
Good enough to go pro, maybe earn himself a spot on the line of an NHL team and hit a streak that would turn him into a solid player.
Had that talent been nurtured instead of demanded, Allen could be enjoying the last of his prime years as he slowly worked his way to a well-earned retirement, not resenting a sport he was obviously gifted at playing.
“The silence is a little unnerving,” said Allen, and the sound of his voice was so jarring that Jake’s head snapped up in surprise. “Is it weird? Oh fuck, this was too weird, wasn’t it?”