Slay Bells #5
“Fuck yes,” he whined as I licked across it in the other direction. “Oh god, fuck yes.”
He continued to swear as I worked him over, licking, probing, sucking in circles and stripes, never quite establishing a pattern, just enjoying taking him apart. His moans got louder, and I wondered if this might finally be the thing that woke Walt. Serve him right if it did.
“Please,” Dylan whimpered, his voice high-pitched and needy. “Please, I need more.”
I was happy to oblige, coating a finger in spit and working him open as I licked. He tasted like sweat and heat and the faintest trace of soap. I pushed more of my finger into him, my tongue working around the edges. He rocked back onto my face shamelessly, and a tremor ran through his body.
“Fuck, I need you inside me,” he whined.
I crooked my finger and laughed as he shivered. “I am inside you.”
“You know what I mean.”
I squeezed the globe of his asscheek with my right hand and bit it, drawing a little yelp of pain and pleasure from him.
“I’d like that too, but I don’t have condoms.”
“Don’t care.” His answer was immediate, his voice certain. He glanced down at me, his eyes dazed with sex. “I want you. All of you.”
My cock throbbed at those words.
“I don’t have lube,” I pointed out.
He jerked his chin toward the far corner of the bathroom, where a battered side table held a tragic vase of fake poinsettias, a bottle of lotion, and a sad little sprayer of hand sanitizer.
I eyed the options. “You sure?”
“As long as you’re not planning on shoving a poinsettia up my ass, yes.”
“Still, hand lotion’s a little—”
“Noah, I’m not some delicate flower you’re going to ruin. What I am is horny and asking you to fuck me raw and come inside me. Is that really going to be a problem for you?”
No, no it wasn’t.
I stood, grabbed the lotion, and slicked my fingers.
I brought my hand back to his hole and pushed two fingers inside of him.
He was hot and tight around me, greedy for more.
I worked the two fingers in and out, scissoring and stretching before adding a third.
I gave him time to breathe through it, but he pushed his ass back onto me and glared over his shoulder.
“I said I wanted your cock in me, not your fingers.”
I huffed a laugh. “Impatient.” I leaned in, mouth at his ear, the scrape of my stubble against his neck. “But if you think you’re ready…”
“I’m ready,” he growled.
Then who was I to deny him? I slicked my cock and lined up at his entrance, then pushed in with one long, steady thrust until I was buried. He yelled, deep and involuntarily, and every muscle in his back twitched under my hands.
For half a heartbeat, I felt guilty—it had been too much, too fast—but then he pressed his forehead against the wall and groaned, “Fuck yes. You’re so big.”
His breath was ragged, like he was already on the edge, and I pulled out an inch before thrusting in again. I liked taking him apart.
Dylan moaned in appreciation, so I leaned forward and whispered, “You’re so fucking tight. Gripping me like you don’t want to let me go.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he said and pushed back again, demanding more.
I gave it to him. He didn’t want a slow, tender fuck. He wanted it hard and fast and raw, and so did I. I found a rhythm that punched little gasps out of him, that made his breath come in short little hitches.
Heat built fast between us. I set one hand on his hip to hold him steady and slid the other around to his cock, working it as I thrust into him. He swore and begged, broken and loving it.
“Touch yourself with me,” I told him.
He obeyed instantly, hand closing over mine, adding strength, adding speed. The slap of skin against skin, the slick sounds each time we pulled apart then came back together, built higher and hotter, making me dizzy.
“Gonna—” he warned, voice breaking.
“Do it,” I said, grinding in, pace stuttering as heat curled low in my spine. “Come for me.”
He did—hard and messy, hips jerking, a ripped sound tearing out of his throat.
I kept thrusting through it, the clench of him around me pushing me over in short order.
Pleasure hit like a fuse running to a powder keg—fast, bright, inevitable.
I groaned into the sweat-slicked curve of his shoulder and let it take me.
It was a long moment before I had enough energy to stand up straight and pull out. Dylan looked over his shoulder, that cocky grin of his still in place. He snuck a hand around to his hole, then pulled it away, his fingers slick with my cum. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean.
“Delicious,” he said, and my cock tried valiantly to get hard again.
We cleaned ourselves up a second time, then made our way out to the bar.
Walt was still dead to the world, snoring like a chainsaw.
A soft, whispered rendition of O Holy Night played faintly on the radio.
Dylan surveyed the room and winced. The damage looked even worse now that the adrenaline had left me.
“I’ll help,” I told him. “Where’s your broom?”
We worked together, me with a broom, Dylan following with a mop, until we got the floor clean.
Then I righted the tables as he picked up chairs, pushing them back into some semblance of order.
Luckily, the bar hadn’t been in great shape to begin with, and by the time we were done, most traces of the fight had been erased.
I caught him staring at me as I flipped the last table upright and shot him a questioning look. “What?”
“Just thinking how hot you are,” he said with a grin. “Nothing better than a man who knows his way around a broom.”
I snorted. “You need to get out more.”
“Or maybe I should invite you over.” He leaned against the bar, casual and cocky. “My place is a mess, but I make a mean grilled cheese.”
It was tempting. More than I’d expected. But I shook my head.
“Sorry. I gotta keep moving.”
He didn’t sulk. Just shrugged and grinned again. “I figured as much. You’ve got that whole lone-wolf vibe, ready to ride off into the sunset.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s one-thirty in the morning.”
“Well, the metaphorical sunset. All sexy and tragic.”
“I prefer efficient.” I walked over to the bar and grabbed my jacket, pulling it back on. Dylan walked me to the door.
“Well, thanks for saving my life.” He smiled wryly. “And, you know, for the other thing.”
“Pleased to be of service.” I tipped an imaginary hat, and he laughed.
“Safe travels. And if you’re ever back in this area—”
“I will definitely look you up.”
I gave him a final smile, then walked out to my car. It was freezing when I got inside, and the engine coughed a little before turning over. Snow blanketed the windshield. I ran my wipers and pulled out of the parking space.
Dylan still stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the light inside the bar. He lifted a hand as I drove to the edge of the parking lot. I lifted mine in return, then pulled out onto the street. The snow swirled down around me as I drove away.