Chapter Fourteen #2
“I’m all yours,” he teases, albeit with a wistful tone, never letting his eyes wander from the constellations above. “Research away.”
I guide him over to me and hover over him as he lays prone in the water, like it's a liquid bed. I let my hands wander over his body, reveling in the way he reacts to my touch. Like he’s treasuring it—savoring it.
When I work my way down to his hairless thighs, massaging and caressing my way there with my exploratory grazes, I part them and guide his legs around my waist, sitting him up slightly.
“Do you shave these?” I ask him, running my hands reverently up and down his smooth legs, a far cry from mine, which are covered in a fuckton of dark, coarse hair.
He nods. “I used to have to for swim team. It did grow back once I stopped swimming competitively, but it never grew back thick. So, I just keep ‘em smooth. It’s the little bit of self-care I allow myself, with what little free time I have. Feels amazing bare on silk sheets… not that I have any.”
I reach forward and pull him towards me, my hand cupping the back of his neck. Wordlessly, he allows me to bracket his jaw with both my hands, pulling him in for another kiss. This time, I’m not so ravenous. No, this time I know he wants me to practice this. To explore this.
I move in slowly, parting his lips with my tongue. I’m really tasting Brooks, as I slip in past his lips, tangling together in a sensual give and take; and I really fucking like it. He tastes like a forbidden sweetness—something you crave, and once you have it, you want more.
He must really like it too. I feel him growing hard between our melded bodies, our lengths brushing together with every kick I make to keep us afloat. It’s like our hips are connected by those magnetic forces.
He moans, the deeper we kiss. It’s deep and guttural, like he’s on the verge of going full-on animalistic if I don’t give him more. And I want to give him more. The nagging voice in my head is drowned out by the need to give Brooks more of me—the real me.
“Touch me,” Brooks pleads after many minutes, pulling back to suck in a breath. “You can, if you want to try…” he urges, backpedaling when he must realize how bossy he came off.
With Brooks still wrapped around my waist, I kick us over until I can just barely touch.
With one hand still holding him steady by the nape of his neck, I bring the other one between us and grip his cock at the base and give it a couple slow, steady pulls.
His hips rock into me, as his back arches and his body appears to lift at the touch.
“Gah, your hands are deliciously rough,” he sighs, pressing his forehead to mine and worrying his lip. “Working man’s hands, that’s for sure.”
“Not like Kai’s, I presume,” I snark, still lazily pumping his dick—testing out the feeling of having another man’s cock in my hand for the first time—swiping my palm over top and teasing his glans.
Since he’s given me permission, I take time to admire his dick—which is a little more than a perfect handful, really.
Longer and more slender than mine, it curves slightly to the right.
It’s just like everything else about Brooks. Real. Modest. Charming.
“Please don’t compare yourself to my ex while you’re jerking me off. You’re nothing like him,” he replies with a slight snarl, snapping me out of my dickmatization.
That statement causes the caveman in me to thrash around in my chest, like I’ve just clubbed my first sabretooth tiger.
“Good,” I murmur, leaning in to nip at his earlobe as I stroke him with more vigor.
“Speaking of, however, you should know something, Brooks. I’m a possessive man.
If I’m practicing on you, I want to be the only one who gets my hands”—I nip at his neck—“my mouth”—I work my way lower, licking a line down to his collarbone—“all over this body.”
“Only yours,” he sighs, rutting into my hand as I squeeze and release rhythmically along his shaft, just the way I do it when I jerk off. “Oh, and I’m clean. I promise,” he adds, before groaning again. “Probably should have brought that up before, mmph, be-before… ohgod, you feel so good.”
I grin. “I’m clean too,” I tell him.
He nods, whooshing out what sounds like ‘good’, before moaning again. “Harder, Evan. Please.”
I give him what he wants, picking up the speed of my stroking. I feel one of his hands trying to work its way between us, so he can return the favor, but I buck it away with my hips.
“No,” I tell him, “I’m exploring you right now. If you take over, I won’t be able to memorize everything about you. I want to know what to do to make you whine for me, to know what drives you crazy. I want to know what’s going to make you come for me, Reckless. Do you think you can give me that?”
He nods, biting his lip. “Keep talking like that, and it won’t take much.”
“I need you to hold on as long as you can,” I urge him. “I plan on taking my time with you.”
I need to take my time. This, right here, is the only thing that’s keeping the voice at bay. Keeping this man writhing and whimpering, as I give in to the urges I’ve suppressed for decades, it’s keeping the negative thoughts from creeping in.
In fact, it’s giving them a true Viking funeral.
The more I stroke him, tease him, feel him come untethered in my hold, the more I can envision those negative thoughts on a flaming boat, being swept away from shore.
My dick isn’t even getting attention, and I’m about to come, just on Brooks’ sounds alone.
They’re distinctly male. Sounds I’ve only ever yearned for, and never thought I could have.
I think that, because they’re his and not my own, makes me want them more.
No, I’m sure, actually. I haven’t been touched in a long time—by anyone except Handy Palmer and her five sisters, that is—so when I do jerk off, I’m not quiet.
The sounds that are coming out of him right now, though, are definitely the ones unravelling me here.
They’re like a siren’s song.
“I’m gonna—” he pants, “Evan, oh!” His muscles become taut, stomach dipping inward as he bucks against my hand with disjointed effort. “Oh my god, I can’t h-hold out any l-longer. I’m so s-s-sorr—”
“Don’t apologize, baby,” I soothe, capturing his lips with mine as he whimpers into my mouth.
“Mmph!” he whines—it’s the sweetest of all the fucking sounds.
I release him, so that he can pull himself tighter to me, rubbing our dicks together under the coursing water.
His hands clasp together behind the back of my neck, and he buries his face into the crook, when suddenly warmth envelops us both.
I feel his cock twitching hardily next to mine as he softly moans out his pleasure.
Finally, his movements slow to a stop, and he sighs, slumping and putting his full weight in my arms. As his legs unfurl from around my waist, he bumps my erection and takes note of that.
“Thank you,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“Would you like me to take care of this for you?” he asks, gently cupping my straining dick.
His hand is careful, like he’s not sure if he’s touching a live-wire or not.
I’m probably going to regret the hell out of this, but—I shake my head. “It’s cute that you think that I’m done learning everything about you with just one handjob,” I tell him.
He pulls back a little, cocking an eyebrow up at me. “It’s cute that you think I have the stamina of a twenty-something year old,” he rebuts.
It’s meant to be a joke, suggesting that we’re in our thirties, that we’re not as young and virile as we may have been a decade or more ago.
But I’m aching for him to be ready to go again, to see him come again.
I’ve never craved intimacy like this before, and the feel of him clutching me, whimpering out his release. Goddamn—
It’s fucking euphoric.
His kisses alone send shockwaves through my body.
My palms still burn bright, alight with need, from the way I greedily explored his body before and with the memory of the way his cock felt seared into my skin.
The way my brain singularly wants more—more of whatever Brooks intends to let me use him for.
I want all of it. I want all of him.
I want him inside me, and for me to be inside him.
Now, one thing strikes me as painfully true with that statement, after what we just did—maybe I’m a little late in having this revelation about myself, being in my thirties, but my attraction is definitely being with a man…
and only a man. Never did I experience such blinding need like this ever when I was intimate with Miranda—before she gave up on me entirely, years ago.
Here it is—my truth, I’m certain of it now: I am one hundred percent a gay man.
This defies every preconceived stereotype I’ve ever known about gay men, ones that society—or at least the little bubble I’ve grown up in—has taught me to believe.
Ones that shitty, niggling voice in my head has ingrained into me since I hit puberty.
I always pictured being gay as being someone like Kai—a flamboyant himbo.
But Brooks seems hell-bent on proving to me otherwise.
He’s proven to me already that gay can present differently with different individuals—because no one truly is a carbon copy of anyone else.
I never would have guessed that Brooks used to be on a swim team, a cheerleader, a voluntary girl-dad, a cat daddy, or enjoyed photographing butterflies.
Hell, as hard as it is to rewire my brain to continue to admit I’m gay, having suppressed the truth for years—from the outside looking in, I would never have guessed someone like me was, because I don’t feel like I’ve presented that way.
In fact, I’ve done everything in my power to emulate masculinity.
I became really fucking good at creating a facade.
Makes me wonder just how many times I’ve misjudged others who are doing the same exact thing.
Makes me feel like an ass for comments I could have made, trying to cover up my truth, that could have hurt other people—or worse, repressed them.
How many times have off-handed comments driven me further into the hole of feeling like I’m nothing more than trash for having the thoughts, the feelings, I do? Too many times to count.
“Evan,” Brooks sighs, nudging me from my mental spiral, concern etched all over his gorgeous face, “what’s going on in that head of yours?
Talk to me. I can help you. Whatever you were thinking about, just now, it looks painful.
Are you having second thoughts about what we just did? Was I too much?”
I shake my head. “That was perfect. You’re perfect.”
He scoffs. “Hardly. Then wh—”
“I said you’re perfect,” I cut him off, repeating myself to make it clear. I hate the way Brooks talks down about himself. He can’t accept a compliment, I’ve noticed.
“I’m not,” he tries to rebut again, but if he had anything more to add to that, he doesn’t get to say it, because I staunch any chance he gets to spew more self-deprecating bullshit by sealing his mouth with a kiss.
His eyes widen with surprise, before he gives in and returns it.
I plant my feet on the rocks below, and with my mouth never leaving his, I pick up each of his legs and guide them to wrap around my waist again.
He locks his hands together behind my neck, and while still making out like horny teenagers, I walk us out of the water, up the shore, and over to our tent.
Dripping water everywhere, and consequences of that be damned, I tear into the tent with so much force I nearly rip the zipper off its track.
As if he’s weightless, I haul him over my shoulder, and drag him in with me, caveman style.
He chuckles lightly, until he adjusts himself up on his elbows and finally regards me.
When he sees my heated gaze, the levity dies.
“Evan,” he whispers, “aren’t you worried about moving too fast?”
I shake my head. “I’ve already lost too much time denying how I truly feel. If you’re giving yourself over to me—if we only have tonight—I’m going to make the most of it. Show me everything.”
He tilts his head, certainly confused by my sudden desire to maul him, but that only shows me an opening.
On my hands and knees, I advance, my mouth lured to the column of his neck now exposed to me.
I nip and lick my way down it, down his bare chest with just the tiniest smattering of hair, and stop when I get to his dusky, pebbled nipple.
My mouth hovers as I shoot him a daring look. An unspoken request for approval that what I want to do is right. The heat from my breaths has his head arching back. “I told you to use me however you want me, Evan. There is no right or wrong here.”
On that, my tongue flicks at the bud, before I wrap my lips around his nipple.
I suck, lick, nip and lavish it with attention, all while massaging his other pec.
Getting a feel for just how this doesn’t feel like what I’m used to—it feels better, because the moans and groans I’m pulling out of him flood me with desire.
I feel wanted. Truly fucking desired. I feel worshiped, even though I’m the one doing the worshiping.
My eyes flit down to his lap, and I watch as his cock refills, stretching to face me.
I keep my eyes glued on the sight as my mouth travels down his ribs, licking and tracing the lines of his barely there abs on his soft belly, until I get to his navel and I start peppering kisses down the trail of thin tract of hair that leads me to more.
His breath hitches when I hover over his veiny, practically purple with need, cock.
The smooth head glistens with a bead of pre-cum that forms—a shining temptation for me to try more.
I alternate blowing cool air and puffing warming breaths on it, just to watch and see if it twitches, the way my own would. It does, and Brooks groans. “Such a tease,” he huffs out. “Are you going to suck me? I mean, only if you want to try it, that is…”
I grin. He wants me to. He’s just too shy to blatantly ask for what he wants.
Me. A complete novice, he wants me to suck his dick. He wants me just as badly as I’m craving him—maybe if not more. To feel this needed, it’s foreign. It’s foreign, but I really fucking like it.
I want nothing more than to watch him writhe and whimper some more. I want to watch the way he lets go and comes for me again. I want that more than I worry about my inexperience. I’m here to practice, after all.
Seeing as though there’s only one way to find out if I’ve got any talent with my mouth, I go for it. I open, flattening my tongue, and lick a broad stripe up his long, delicious cock.