Chapter 8 #2
Jesse was deadass fucking engulfed, his cock disappearing, lost in the tight heat of Wyatt’s mouth, just like he’d disappeared in Wyatt’s fist.
Gone, entirely.
Jesse couldn’t look away. He’d be crazy to look away. Crazier. And he couldn’t, besides. He just couldn’t.
So he was watching in the exact moment when the head of his dick touched the back of Wyatt’s throat, the hot clutch of it. He was watching when Wyatt didn’t flinch, not even at all, just swallowed around Jesse and took him in, and down, every inch, all the way.
“Fuck,” Jesse whispered, the word all cracking and slipping. “Fuck, Wyatt, you’re so fucking good at this.”
Wyatt pulled back. He held Jesse’s dick against his stubbled cheek and let Jesse feel it. Let Jesse see him do it. “Lotta practice, bud.”
Jesse groaned out loud, as opposed to the previous internal groaning. He groaned like he could groan his horniness down a notch or two. Didn’t work, not even at all.
Because the mental slideshow hit with the force of an apocalyptic yet weirdly horny asteroid. Wyatt on his knees, sucking cock. Wyatt stretched out in bed, sucking cock. Wyatt leaning over in the cab of a truck, sucking cock. Wyatt and cocks and the sucking thereof, ad infinitum.
Fuck. “Wyatt, dude, what the fuck? You can’t just—”
Say shit like that, and do shit like this: swallowing Jesse down again, taking Jesse like breathing, shutting Jesse up in the most crazy-hot way possible.
Jesse had to bite down on his knuckles just to keep himself from going insane. His dick pulsed in the sweet-soft-hot-wet clutch of Wyatt’s throat, a fresh flood of precum, Jesse slipping closer to the edge.
Because god, fuck, whose cock had Wyatt been sucking?
Some ex-military buddy, maybe? A guy as big and tough as Wyatt.
Or maybe some dweeby little shit like Jesse.
Someone smaller than Wyatt, some twinky dude Wyatt could manhandle, do whatever the fuck he wanted with, or to, like swallow his cock down whole and fuck him full and leave him dripping.
“Oh god,” Jesse said, not even a whimper. A deadass fucking whine, broken up and shattering. He croaked it out on each steady bob of Wyatt’s head. “God, god, god.”
Wyatt watched him go through it, like he knew exactly where Jesse’s head was at. He drew up extra slow, ramping up the suction, curling his tongue all the way.
The visual got Jesse gasping. He reached out and grabbed, like that would anchor him in his buzzing, lit-up body.
Wyatt’s hair was long enough that Jesse could wind his fingers in, get a really good grip and hold on. That was all he wanted, just to hold on. He wasn’t trying anything. He wouldn’t do that.
But when Wyatt worked the head of Jesse’s cock with the indulgent flat of his tongue, Jesse just couldn’t help the instinctual thrust — he needed the heat, needed that perfect, practiced suction.
But thrusting up into Wyatt’s mouth, grabbing tight at Wyatt’s hair, when Wyatt let his head be moved, Jesse went too deep, too quick.
“Fuck.” Jesse froze when he realized what he’d done. Then he unfroze. Yanked away his cramped-up fingers and dropped his butt to the bed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Nothing to apologize for.” Wyatt was smiling the way he did, from the side of his mouth and all up in the dark warmth of his eyes.
The burning cyclone of arousal in Jesse’s groin took out another few mid-size cities. “You mean… Do you mean…”
Kind of a mindfuck the way Wyatt’s eyes got even darker. Even more of a mindfuck when he said, “I want it, bud.”
“Want what?” Jesse prompted. He didn’t need to.
He knew. He got it, even as stupid horny as he was right then.
But to hear Wyatt say it would legit be the hottest thing that had ever happened to Jesse.
Especially to hear him say it like that, his rough, low voice gone even rougher from swallowing Jesse’s cock.
“I need— Fuck, you gotta say it. Please.”
Wyatt ducked his head. He kissed up the length of Jesse’s dick, with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He kissed the flushed-up head, mouthing soft around it, all tongue. Then he said, “Want you to fuck my throat, bud.”
And who the fuck was Jesse to argue? “God.” So he grabbed at Wyatt’s hair again and thrust up into Wyatt’s waiting mouth. “Oh god.”
Wyatt took him easy, so Jesse did it again, deeper. Again. Fuck, again. Over and over until Jesse was seeing stars in his freaking balls. They’d gained self-awareness, somehow, and vision, and they were seeing their own goddamn Wonder of the Testicular World.
Wyatt was drooling now. Jesse was probably drooling too.
But fuck, the noises.
They were what tore Jesse up and ground him down, turned him into some weird kind of hamburger patty, no meat, all horn. But the feel of it — god, fuck, the feel of it — that was extra cheese, extra pickles, all the freaking add-ons, order up. Service, fucking please.
Jesse came, no warning.
Maybe if he’d been there, in the echo chamber his brain called a skull, then maybe he would have felt bad about that.
But Wyatt’s head skills had transported him to another plane of existence.
And in that new reality, there was no enlightenment or saving immortal souls — just blowing his load into Wyatt’s fucking perfect mouth.
So that’s what Jesse did.
His hips levitated up off the bed, chasing heat. And Wyatt just let him — fuck up into his mouth and into his arms. Jesse came in that weirdass position, a kinky, fucked-up yoga bridge. Came right down Wyatt’s throat, pulsing heavy on Wyatt’s tongue.
One crazy, hauling breath, and Jesse fell back down onto the bed, his muscles gone as limp as overcooked noodles.
He was shaking from clenching his glutes so hard, shaking from the force of his monumental nutting, shaking from the oncoming edge of overstimulation, with Wyatt suckling at him still, intent on draining out every last drop, as he licked soft and relentless over the tender head of Jesse’s dick.
“’S so good,” Jesse slurred out. He sounded wrung-out, even to his own ears. Pained and cum-dumb and floaty. “Hurts so good.”
A firmer press of Wyatt’s tongue. Jesse’s belly sucked in on instinct. He flinched away then pressed right back on in, like his body couldn’t decide if it wanted more or if everything was just too much.
Pretty lucky, then, that Wyatt made the decision for him.
He kissed Jesse’s softening cock one last time, kissed his trembling belly, then Wyatt tucked Jesse carefully back into his panties, smoothing the satin into place. He set a kiss to the inside of Jesse’s knee, and then Wyatt slapped Jesse on the thigh and stood up.
“Get dressed, bud,” he told Jesse, his voice rough, like his throat was rough — god. “We got a helluva lotta work to do today.”
Jesse’s brain couldn’t compute the opposing inputs. Wyatt was getting out of bed. Wyatt was out of bed, already. But Wyatt’s bulge was bulging obscenely, pulling his jeans so tight it had to hurt.
Jesse wobbled up onto his knees, reaching for Wyatt, grabby hands on lock.
But Wyatt swatted him away. “I said, we got work to do.”
Jesse pouted. Came outta nowhere, no precedent, but Jesse was legit pouting. A fully grownass man deadass pouting and not even slightly ashamed.
Wyatt didn’t cave. Just barked out a laugh, his eyes gone all sparkly and shit. “Later, if you behave.”
Jesse narrowed his own eyes. “That better be a promise,” he said, a dirty kinda callback, an even dirtier guilt trip.
But Wyatt still didn’t cave. “Later,” he said again, “if you behave.”
Pretty big if, right? But Jesse knew some other pretty big things, and if he wanted to get up close and spit-slick personal with a certain one of them, he had to play ball.
Or pretend to, at least.
So kneeling on the rumpled bed, dressed in nothing but his little satin panties, Jesse threw out a shit-eating grin and an even shittier salute. “Yessir.”
Wyatt shook his head. “You’re a goddamn menace.”
And Jesse grinned some more. “You know it.”
“Yeah, bud,” Wyatt said, nothing but warm. “I do.”