Chapter 30 Canon
Canon
Gemiah
Josha is exhausted and grumpy by the time he makes it back to the trailer, no doubt feeling the effects of a long day with the welder after his decidedly rocky morning.
He perks up when I ply him with kisses and the large pizza I brought home from Frankies, though, making me glad I thought of it.
Even though sausage and onions and cheese are not part of the Ultimate Bottom diet, and I’m now desperately low on cash.
Two Advil, three slices, and one of his disgusting mint matés later, he’s smiling as I regale him with a slightly redacted version of my day.
“…says if we call him with a parts list for Bonnie, he’ll let me pay them off in installments.
And I stopped in at the surf shop to see if I could pick up a few shifts.
They put me on the sub list and said they might even throw me a few lessons.
They always need extra coverage during tourist season, so as soon as I get the bike running, I can start making some cash.
Enough to get me through until tour. Then I guess I’ll have to see what kind of bone my mom is willing to throw me.
I’m good enough to work concessions with the apprentices, at least.” Looking up from my picked-apart pizza, I catch him with a careful look on his face.
Choosing to forestall any well-meaning comments, I pretend to misinterpret.
“Not what you expected from a shopping day with Ellis?”
“Not exactly,” he admits, letting me off the hook.
“What were you imagining? Booty shorts and butt plugs?”
He snorts, his ears going pink, and I grin, thinking of the bag I stashed under the sink in the half bath.
“Or maybe something like this?” Opening my phone, I navigate to my email and slide it across the table. He glances at the screen, then does a double take and picks it up.
“You got yourself tested?” Some unnamed emotion passes over his face, heated and tender and maybe a little scared.
I almost confess that sitting in the closet-sized room at the clinic was the first time since we’ve been back that I really wanted a drink.
I almost describe the weird mix of shame and hope I felt at realizing I’d never cared enough about myself or my partners to do this before.
But then he slides my phone back and drums his fingers nervously on the tabletop.
“I didn’t…I mean, I’ve never—”
“Had sex? Been tested? Pretty sure being a virgin means you’re safe.”
He blushes even harder, making my cock twitch, then scrubs his hand over his face with a sigh.
“Do you think we can maybe watch a movie or something tonight?”
“Still got that MacBook?” I tease, and the smile that blooms on his lips, warming his eyes with affection, makes everything worth it.
He makes everything worth it.
Besides, I have homework to do before we get to the main event.
He’s asleep before we’re halfway through Thor: Love and Thunder. It’s not nearly as good as Ragnarok, so I turn the volume down on the laptop and let it play in the background while I watch the day drain from his face and the slow rise and fall of his chest.
I should be equally exhausted, considering I barely slept last night, but my body is still wired to the witching hour, and my fourth wind kicks in before the end credits.
I’m smart enough this time to shoot him a quick text that says “Still here” before slipping out from under his arm and creeping my way to the bathroom.
Retrieving my purchases from under the sink, I lay them out on the counter—the douche kit with its dauntingly graphic instructions, the extra-large dispenser of silicone-based lube, and the blown-glass anal plug with its flared base.
In the store, next to some of the other options, the latter didn’t look nearly as intimidating as it does now, sparkling on the cheap laminate counter.
I should have listened when Ellis suggested I go for one of the starter sets.
Instead, I insisted he hadn’t seen the size of Josha’s cock and laughed when he muttered “Lucky bastard.”
I decide to start with a finger.
It takes a few tries to find an angle that works, leaning with one elbow on the counter and teasing my hole with an aggressively lubed digit.
It’s awkward as fuck, until I sink into the memory of Josha behind me on the porch, and then a rush of blood swells my cock, and I stop fighting the pressure enough to slide in to the first knuckle.
It’s tight as hell, which gets me thinking about what his ass would feel like, and then the whole thing cascades into a flicker of fantasies until my cock is frantic and I’ve got two fingers buried in my ass, scissoring and probing for that magic button.
I want to be able to hit it on the first try when I get my chance at Josha so I can blow his fucking mind.
Then my middle finger brushes over a different texture and—jackpot—I light the fuck up. With an extraordinary display of willpower, I drag my fingers free before I make myself come. I still want to try the plug, and that means no curling up on the floor in a puddle of cum for a post-nut nap.
I add a generous helping of lube to the glass bulb, then push the tip carefully against my rim.
The first half slides in easily—after all the fingering, my ass feels weirdly empty and eager to be filled again—but I have to slow down and breathe into the burn when I get to the thickest part.
I widen my stance and adjust my grip on the base so I can pump it in and out a few times, stroking my cock with my other hand and picturing Josha’s thick dick doing the stretching.
My harsh breaths echo in the small space, and a low whine rises from my throat.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.
Out of nowhere, a tip from one of the instructional articles I read earlier appears in my head, and on the next thrust, I bear down on the plug.
The thick teardrop slides past the ring of muscle with a sucking pop I feel in my teeth.
Immediately, it sits heavy and cool on my prostate, and I stiffen, one hand flying to the mirror, while the other clutches the base of my cock.
I’m a mess—pupils blown and high spots of color darkening my cheeks.
My lip is puffy from gnawing on it, and I’m about two seconds from hollering at Josha to wake the fuck up and come do something about me right this fucking instant.
Why the fuck didn’t I do this in the bed?
I’m afraid to move—if I do, I’m going to come, or pass out, or possibly explode into a million overstimulated pieces for Josha to find in the morning. If I had any lingering doubts about taking his dick, they’ve been blown to smithereens.
After an eternity of barely breathing, I manage to relax enough that the mind-blowing pressure subsides, and I get brave enough to straighten up and take a tentative step.
How the hell do people walk around with these things in?
Thank god I talked Ellis out of the vibrating one with the remote control.
Although…maybe I’ll go back next time I’m flush and get one of those for Josha.
He’s always had a fetish for electronics.
I could make him wear it on the lot. The image of all the pretty colors he’d turn, fighting for control while bent over his workbench or lying under an engine, sends me stumbling down the dark hall.
He’s still asleep when I enter the bedroom.
It seems impossible that he hasn’t woken up when the whole trailer feels charged with the sheer volume of my wild need, but he’s starfished belly-down on the bed, snoring lightly, with the blankets tangled around his legs and his round ass on full display.
Carefully, I creep up to the foot of the mattress and rest a hand on his ankle.
When he doesn’t stir, I stroke up his calf, admiring the texture of the springy hair under my palm.
I’ll admit that all those nights alone in Albuquerque, when I imagined him under me, I pictured him smooth—lithe and supple like the Rocket in my memories.
Like my brain hadn’t quite caught up to the idea of being with a man.
But now that I’m living the reality, I’m obsessed with this grown-up version of him, broad shouldered and dusted with tawny hair.
I love that he’s learned to stand up for himself without losing his capacity for vulnerability, and that this Josha could toss me around—something I never guessed would be such a turn-on—but didn’t hesitate to drop to his knees.
Crawling onto the bed sets the heavy plug shifting inside me, and I stifle a whimper.
I should really let him sleep.
I want to wake him up so we can do ungodly things to each other.
I think of him sucking vodka from my ass on the porch, and the need to taste him, too, hits me so violently that I have to muffle a moan against the back of his sheet-wrapped thigh.
Compromise.
Nuzzling gently, I exhale, heating the thin layer of cotton between his skin and my lips.
When he doesn’t stir, I drag my chin up his thigh and rest my cheek on the bare slope of his ass.
His skin is warm with a scent like sunshine and meadow grass and fresh-turned earth.
Made brave and borderline desperate by the unrelenting weight on my prostate, I bury my nose in his crease and drag it down until my chin nudges his balls.
He makes a small, sleepy noise and spreads his thighs, and I leak precum onto the sheets.
“I’m gonna taste you, Rocket,” I whisper against his taint. “If you don’t want it, you’ll have to wake up and stop me.” His breathing hitches slightly as my words tickle the sensitive skin, before settling back into an easy rhythm.
There’s something incredibly sexy about exploring him like this, safe from the doubts and fears that plague his waking mind. In dreams, we are unburdened, and I can be his perfect guy with the perfect cock. Or in this case, the perfect tongue.