13. Theo #2
“Been hard since the bar?”
“Before.”
He huffs a laugh against my stomach. He bends and kisses the line of hair below my navel and I close my eyes because if I watch him do that I'm going to lose control of my breathing.
He gets my jeans open. He gets them down.
He puts his mouth on me. This is the first time I’ve been inside him.
I think I expected him to be fast and rough at all things, but this isn’t that.
He slowly takes me all the way in and holds my cock in his mouth for a moment before pulling back and flicking his tongue along the underside like he's got all night for this one thing.
I put a hand in his hair. He makes a low sound. I take my hand back.
“Hand stays,” he says, coming off me wet. “I want it there.”
I put my hand back. His hair is soft and thick and damp at the roots. He goes back down.
I come in his mouth in under four minutes. I come so hard I see white at the edges of the ceiling. I come saying his name, not Maddox, just oh god oh god oh god, and he stays down and takes all of it and when he comes up his mouth's wet and he's smiling like he just won something.
“One,” he says.
“What?”
“That's one. We're not done.”
I can't talk. My body's a ringing bell. I've never come that hard before and never in anyone's mouth. I didn't know I could.
He stands up and strips his sweatshirt off over his head in one motion and drops it on the floor.
He's bare above the waist and I've seen him bare above the waist fifty times in a locker room and it's never looked like this.
This isn't the Maddox who shares a room with twenty other men.
This is the one who lives here alone. He's lit from the side by the one lamp.
He's all shoulder and abdomen and a bruise coming up on his ribs from the fight. I reach for him.
“Bedroom,” he says.
The bed is low. The sheets are grey. There's a window at the head of it with the city light coming in dim and blue.
He walks me to the edge and pushes me gently down before he strips me the rest of the way and I let him.
He takes my shoes. He takes my socks. He takes my jeans and my briefs together and pulls them off in one long motion.
I'm naked on his bed and my cock's already stiffening again.
I've never been this exposed in my life.
He stays standing at the edge of the bed and looks at me.
He takes his time with the looking.
He starts at my face. Works down. My throat. My chest. My stomach. My cock. My thighs. My knees. My feet. And all the way back up, slower.
“You,” he says. And then nothing.
He undoes his jeans. He steps out of them. He's naked and he's hard and he's bigger than I let myself remember. He reaches to the nightstand drawer and pulls out a bottle and a foil square and he sets them on the bed beside my hip where I can see them.
“That,” he says, tapping the bottle, “is for you. That,” tapping the foil, “is for me. You're going to watch me put this on. You're going to watch me work it in. You're going to tell me if anything is too much. You got that?”
“Yes.”
He waits. Two fingers under my chin, tilting my face up to his.
“Say it back.”
“Tell you if it's too much.”
“Good.”
He climbs up on the bed over me. He settles between my knees. He cups the back of my thigh and lifts it. He uncaps the bottle one-handed. The click is loud in the room.
And then his hand's wet and warm and he's touching me there.
I flinch and he stops and waits, just his hand resting, until I breathe out.
Then he starts again. A fingertip. Just circling.
Not in. He leans down and he kisses the inside of my knee while he does it.
He's being careful in a way I didn't know he could be careful.
“Breathe.”
I breathe.
His fingertip works in to the first knuckle and my whole body clenches, and he waits. He kisses my knee again. He waits until I go soft around him and then he goes in further.
It doesn't hurt. It's strange. It's a pressure I've never felt and a heat I've never felt and my cock's leaking against my stomach and I can't keep my eyes open.
“Look at me.”
I look.
His face above me isn't the face from the bench. Not the face from the closet. It's focused and dark and intent and absolutely on me.
“Stay with me.”
“Yes.”
His finger eases a fraction deeper. My whole body loosens.
“Say my name.”
“Maddox.”
He shakes his head. One slow shake. A smile underneath.
“Try again.”
I know what he wants. I've been waiting for him to want it. Half the team calls him it and I've said it to myself in the shower and I've never said it out loud to him.
“Mad Dog.”
His eyes go darker.
“Again.”
“Mad Dog.”
His thumb strokes the inside of my thigh. Once.
“Again, when I do this.”
He adds a second finger and I gasp, “Mad Dog,” and he makes a low rough sound against my knee and works me open on his hand slow and patient and methodical until I'm loose around two fingers and then three and I'm begging without knowing I've started begging.
“Please.”
My hips chase his hand.
“Please what?”
His fingers curl and I see stars.
“Please, please, I need...”
“You need what?”
“You.”
His hand stills inside me. He waits me out.
“Say it right.”
“I need you to fuck me. Please.”
He pulls his fingers out. The sound of the foil. The sound of him rolling it on. The click of the bottle again. His hand on himself, slicking.
Then his hand on my hip. Then the head of his cock nudging me.
“Breathe out.”
I breathe out.
He pushes in.
It's big. It's bigger than his fingers. For one second, I think, I can't, and then I breathe the way he told me to breathe and my body opens around him and I can. He's sliding into me an inch at a time and watching my face the entire time, and he stops when my eyes go wide.
“Stay.”
“Okay.”
“Breathe through it.”
I do.
He slides the rest of the way home and he stills. He is inside me. He is all the way inside me. His forehead drops to mine. He is breathing through his teeth.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
His chest is wet where it meets mine. His hips are shaking, held.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me when.”
I breathe. I wait for the pressure to become something else. It becomes something else fast. It becomes a deep, warm pulse that runs up my spine and under my skull and out through my hands.
“Now.”
He starts to move.
He moves slow. Long strokes. Nearly all the way out, all the way in, and every time he bottoms out, he hits something inside me I didn't know existed and my cock jumps against his stomach.
“There?”
“There.”
His jaw works. He adjusts the angle by a fraction.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah... yeah...”
He angles and he hits it again and I cry out and he does it again and again, and I am unraveling under him.
I say his name, Mad Dog, Mad Dog, mindlessly as I clutch his shoulders.
Suddenly, without warning, I’m clenching around him and I’m coming.
I am coming untouched with his cock inside me and his mouth on my throat and I have never come like this.
He fucks me through it. He doesn't slow. He rides the clench and the shudder and the wet on his stomach, and he leans down and whispers into my ear—you're mine, you're mine, I've got you, good boy, that's my good boy, and I am nodding against his throat; I am, yes, I am his.
He comes inside me with a sound I've never heard out of a man. A low broken rough sound. His hips stutter. He bites the skin where my neck meets my shoulder and holds it in his teeth, and I feel him pulse and pulse and pulse.
We don't move for a minute.
He is still inside me. His body is heavy on me. His breath is in my ear.
“That's two,” he whispers.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“I...”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Ten minutes.
He pulls out slow. He ties the condom off. He gets up and he comes back with a warm cloth and he cleans me, carefully, patiently, and I lie there and let him; I feel wrecked and I feel new. He gets back in the bed. He pulls me in against his chest. His hand is in my hair.
Ten minutes.
True to his word, in ten minutes he's hard again.
Surprising myself, I'm hard again. He rolls me onto my stomach and takes his time again, working me open, and he fucks me again, slower this time, deeper, his chest against my back and his hand flat against my stomach holding me tight against him, and he makes me come before he lets himself go.
I'm sobbing into his pillow from how good it is, from how much, from the fact that this is happening to me, that it's him, that he chose me, that I chose him back.
The next time is mine.
I don't know where I find the courage. Curled against him with his arm under my head, I put my hand on his stomach, slide it down, and wrap my fingers around him. He makes a surprised sound, a half-laugh, and says, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Show me.”
I slide down his body and I put my mouth on him like he did with me, slow, patient, all the way in.
He groans. His hand finds the back of my head and he doesn't push, he just rests it there.
I do to him what he did to me for as long as I can and then I speed it up, squeezing his balls, and sucking him harder into my mouth.
His voice breaks above me as he encourages me to keep the pace.
Just like that. Take it. You have such a good mouth, baby.
I reach down and stroke my own cock with urgency. His head is pushed back against the pillow as his cum fills my mouth and seconds later, I come in my hand, entirely spent.
We lie in the dark.
His ceiling is textured. There's a water stain in one corner shaped like South America. I'm cataloging it because if I stop cataloging things I'll start crying, and I don't want to cry. Or I do want to cry but not yet.
He finds my hand. He threads his fingers through mine.
“You alive?”
“Yeah.”
He huffs a laugh into my hair.
“Still a virgin?”
“No.”
He huffs a laugh.
“No.”
I turn my head. He is looking at the ceiling too. His profile is hard and soft at once in the blue light.
“Maddox.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He turns his head. He looks at me. Something goes across his face that I don't have a name for.
“Don't thank me for that.”
“Why?”
“Just don't.”
I don't.
I roll into him. He puts his arm around my back. His hand splays flat between my shoulder blades and he breathes out slow into my hair.
Outside, somewhere, there is a city. Somewhere, my father is watching tape. Somewhere, a clock is running that will eventually run out on us.
In here, it's dark and warm and his chest is under my ear and for the first time in my life I don't want to be anywhere else.
I close my eyes.
He's still awake when I fall asleep. I feel him still awake. His hand on my back doesn't move. His breath doesn't slow.
I don't know what he's thinking.
I know what I'm thinking.
This is mine now. I'm keeping this.