Chapter 6 #3
Understandable, right? Because that was a wholeass man on top of Jesse. And that — oh Jesus fucking god — was a wholeass fucking dick in Jesse’s hand. A cock. A penis by any other name that was still absolutely a penis, and a plenty freaking big one at that.
But like, not just big. Not just that. Not anything so simple.
It wasn’t the length that made Jesse’s breath catch. It was the thickness and the length combined, the whole fucking girth. Less zucchini, more eggplant, all Wyatt.
Because Wyatt was Wyatt — a guy with chest hair and a beard and muscles. A guy with a hugeass fucking monster cock. A guy double Jesse’s age. At least double. Fuck, probably more.
“God,” Jesse whispered, because that thought was making him so hot, and it absolutely shouldn’t have been.
All of this was a mindfuck that should have been sparking a freakout of the finest order. But aside from the raging, leaking hard-on currently rearranging his non-existent panties, Jesse was surprisingly chill about the life-altering sexual cataclysm he’d stumbled into dick first.
Like, what the fuck ever. He could be bi, right? He could be gay. He could fuck an old guy. Rules mattered for shit in the apocalypse.
All that mattered was this: Jesse was so fucking turned on that his nerve fibers were singing arias.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Wyatt was flushed, his chest heaving, his belly clenching and unclenching, like he was trying to calm himself down and failing, because his dick kicked frantically, the heavy weight of it swinging out of Jesse’s lax grip.
And Wyatt was beading out precum now too, a glistening string drip-dripping down onto Jesse’s belly and Jesse’s cock, getting everything shiny slick.
“God, bud,” Wyatt rasped out. He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “I gotta—” Ruck Jesse’s little panties all the way off. Grab his socks too. Get Jesse entirely naked except for Wyatt’s old flannel.
“Oh my god,” Jesse whispered, because that was a look.
One that got Jesse where he lived. He squirmed against the sheets, tucking his fingers up under the headboard to stop himself from grasping at Wyatt again.
He needed to, because in that crazy hot moment, he was as ravenous for skin as any freshly turned zombie.
“Touch me,” Jesse begged. “Please, you gotta touch me.”
Wyatt did, dragging his big hands down Jesse’s pecs, grazing over pebbled-up, oversensitive nipples, making Jesse moan, then dragging down more, those big hands spanning all around Jesse’s waist, just like Jesse knew they would, and the fact that Wyatt’s fingers were maybe only a couple inches from touching shouldn’t have Jesse whining the way it did
But Wyatt was so fucking big, and Jesse liked that so fucking much. His hips hitched relentlessly, already out of his control, a painfully turned-on squirm only held in check by the weight of Wyatt’s hands.
“Jess,” Wyatt whispered, rough, like that one little word pained him, then he leaned close enough to set his teeth to Jesse’s hipbone — and to spit on Jesse’s cock
“Fuck,” Jesse bit out. “God, fuck.”
They both went still, a moment too hot to be so frozen, but the trail of Wyatt’s spit slipping down Jesse’s flushed-up cock, mingling with the spill of Jesse’s own precum — god. The sight made Jesse groan, made his cock kick, then made the moment break on the desperate, aching clench of his belly.
No jokes. Jesse had none left. Just a whole lake’s worth of desperation, his longing like a cabin in the middle, just waiting to be lived in, one key to open the lock.
He needed it so bad. Needed this. Needed Wyatt.
“Touch me,” Jesse begged again. “Wyatt, man, please. Fuck. Please touch me. Please, you gotta touch me. Please—”
“I got you, bud.”
He always did. Birth, death, taxes, Wyatt’s insane, self-sacrificing sense of responsibility — he had Jesse way back when and he had him now too.
He had Jesse so much and so good that it honest to god took Jesse’s brain a full ten seconds to come back online, then for the image his eyes were seeing and the crazy good sensation his cock was feeling to merge into one identifiable experience.
Because Wyatt was jerking them both, his cock and Jesse’s cock, frotting them together, Wyatt pressed up against Jesse, wrapped tight around Jesse, hiding Jesse from view either way, and goddam fucking dwarfing him.
“Oh my god.”
And that should have made Jesse want to die, the sheer, raging embarrassment of being cucked by his own cock. But it didn’t, not even a little, because it was another one of those things that was so inexplicably hot that Jesse deadass couldn’t think straight.
Could think gay, though.
Hella fucking gay.
Because everything was slick and sweaty, and Wyatt was on top of Jesse still, and Jesse was wearing Wyatt’s flannel and nothing else, and Jesse was surrounded and overtaken by everything that was Wyatt and Wyatt’s smell and heat and muscle and cock.
God, that huge fucking cock.
“Gonna come,” Jesse choked out. “Wyatt,” he rasped, hardly even a word, just a breaking gasp. All he was capable of in that one single second. “Gonna come.”
He was, way too quick. He was gonna blow his load over Wyatt’s cock, snugged up safe and sweet and small in Wyatt’s palm.
“Want it,” Wyatt ground out. He leaned down and in. Set his teeth against Jesse’s collarbone, breathing wetly there. “Want you.”
That was all it took. The magic words. The rough, broken-up sound of Wyatt’s voice, the breaking edge of any kind of control.
Jesse’s hips hitched up into the tight clench of Wyatt’s grip. The noises coming from his mouth didn’t sound real, all broken, high and pitchy. But they were real, and they were all that was left, after Jesse’s desperation had filtered him down to nothing more than want.
Mewling, crying, pleading.
They tore out of him and then they tumbled out of him, uncontrollable and so pathetic that they turned the corner back to hot. It was too much, and it was absolutely not enough, and it tipped Jesse over the horny edge.
He came in Wyatt’s grip, against the hard, hot line of Wyatt’s cock, his thighs going tight, his asshole clenching around a whole lot of nothing — hole lotta nothing, fuck.
Jesse choked out a delirious laugh as he collapsed back onto the sheets, so stupidly entertained by his own stupid joke and buoyed up by the weird, light feeling overtaking in his chest. It was another kind of syrupy warmth, relief and happiness and horniness and a heap of other stuff that he’d need a dictionary to define.
“Jess, god.” Wyatt’s weight fell to him, pushing Jesse down, Wyatt’s hard cock grinding on Jesse’s spent cock, heavy and hot. “Fuck. Fuck.”
The thrust of Wyatt’s cock, the sliding weight of his balls, his torn-up, rasped-out groan, and then Wyatt was coming too, shooting off into the press of their bodies, into the press of their bellies, his cock pulsing, his cum slicking up Jesse’s skin and his own skin.
And then Wyatt was laughing too, just like Jesse was, still. He tucked his face into Jesse’s neck, the warm puff of his breath spreading goosebumps. “God, bud.”
“Yeah,” Jesse agreed, kinda senselessly, the feeling inside his chest still that same lightness but made even more buzzy by the breathlessness that laughing real hard gave you. “That was amazing. Jesus.”
Wyatt lifted his head as Jesse turned his. They were breathing against each other’s mouths,into each other’s mouths. Not kissing. Not that. But so close to doing it that Jesse’s skin tingled like a live wire for the few seconds that the feeling lasted.
Just until Wyatt tucked his face into Jesse’s neck again, like maybe he wanted to hide. Which was bullshit. Wyatt was the bravest person Jesse knew. He didn’t hide, not from anything.
But maybe even the bravest people needed someplace safe, sometimes.
Jesse wasn’t a safe place. Didn’t have the skills or the strength to keep Wyatt safe, no matter how much he wanted that or wanted to.
But he could do this, at least, all that he could do.
He wrapped his arms around Wyatt’s back, as far as they could go, and he held on tight.
He held on, and Wyatt held on too.