Chapter 6 #3
Ronnie continued to stare up at him slack jawed and wet lipped. Then, he gave a decisive nod and carefully unzipped. It paid to do so when you were negotiating anything with teeth while sporting a boner that big.
Paul wasn’t any sort of cock connoisseur, but Ronnie had a nice one.
Cut, which was a novelty in this landscape.
It was long, but skinny, same as its owner, only flushed an even deeper shade of crimson.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he said. “But I’m good to watch if you want to finish off.
” That seemed somewhat unjust, and he strove to be fair in his dealings, so he added, “Tell me what’s on your mind while you do it.
How does the fantasy of this night end?”
If he’d been a little more sober, he’d have realised that was a can of worms probably better left closed, but he had cider sediment fuzzing up his brain.
Ronnie, naturally, had zero qualms about blabbing his innermost thoughts. He went at it without a second prompt.
“You shove me down among the leaves and rail me. You don’t touch my cock, even though I’m desperate for you to do so.
You just tug me into the position you want and fill me up.
And you make me take every single rung of that ladder.
” He groaned, like it was actually happening.
“I feel every one of them as they slide past my ring on the way in and on the way out. I’m kind of terrified what’ll happen when you start grinding…
whether my arse will survive, but that just makes me even more desperate for you to do it. ”
Horny bugger was well into this. Paul felt a twitch of desire himself. If he hadn’t literally just come, he’d be wanking along to the fantasy, too.
“God, every time you shift even a bit it takes my breath away. It’s like you’re stabbing me in the chest with that monster. I need… I need… But, when I try to touch myself, you slap my hands away and growl stuff about your cock being all the stimulation I need to get there.
“Maybe it is. You up the tempo. God, it is. It’s going to be.
You’re pounding me so hard I lose my balance and face plant into the leaves.
It doesn’t stop you. You don’t even slow down.
I’m pinned beneath you, the whole of your weight on my back, and you’re ploughing me good now, driving me right into the earth.
You’re using my hole, taking what you want, and it’s not about me.
It’s not about me at all. You could be fucking anyone, but you’re not. You’re fucking me. You’re fucking me.”
Ronnie gasped, then came with a cry, spilling joy over his hand and onto the leaf mulch between Paul’s feet.
Spent, he sat frozen, fist still wrapped around his shaft, eyes closed and mouth open until Paul bent to haul his jeans up his legs. He didn’t like awkward moments, and this had the makings of a particularly awkward one.
He ought to have kept his mouth shut, left Ronnie to jerk off against his thighs or offered him the use of his fist instead of inviting him to share his thoughts.
What the fuck had he been thinking? This stuff was going to be echoing around in his head henceforth.
Shit! Bad call, Paul. Words had the power to shape the world.
He knew that. That was the whole basis of the affirmations trend.
Putting it out there was like flipping quantum switches. You could fundamentally alter reality.
He hadn’t needed to know that it was about more than mechanics for Ronnie.
Too late, it was done now. Well, maybe they could bury it in alcohol amnesia.
“You okay?” he asked.
Ronnie shook off his daze and buttoned himself back up. Paul offered him a hand up, which made things weirdly uncomfortable the moment Ronnie regained his feet. Neither of them seemed to know quite what to say or where the lines on physical contact were now drawn.
“What shall we do now?”
“I can see lights,” he said simultaneously with Ronnie’s question.
He could hear voices too. Familiar voices.
Voices that belonged to people he didn’t want to encounter right now, and not because of who he was with or because his skin was still hot from the flush of orgasm.
“This way.” He led them away from the chatter, deeper into the thicket, only realising he still had hold of Ronnie’s hand when Ronnie used that fact to bring their exit to a halt.
“Are you freaked out?”
“No. Why’d you think I would be?”
“You’re just… You’re being weird.”
“Am not.”
“You asked me to tell you what was in my head.”
He shrugged. “I know. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
Were they fine? Something certainly had his hairs on end.
And while it’d been a dumb call to ask Ronnie to share like that, it was hardly a reason to sweat.
He’d fucked guys before, actually fucked them, not just stood and listened to them blurting out a fantasy while they wanked.
They’d been temporary friends, though, the sort he loved for a week or a weekend and then left behind.
Ronnie was rather more long term and present.
Wait, he was sweating over this for no reason.
Spook had tea-bagged him that time on the journey over to Sweden and then had him fuck his lady. He’d never lost sleep over that or worried what he’d got himself into.
Ronnie wasn’t Spook though… and he wasn’t Xane… Ronnie was far more squishy, and he didn’t want to hurt him.
“We don’t have to share the fact that I did it with the others,” Ronnie said, as if that was the issue here.
“They’ll find out.”
Realistically, there was zero chance of it staying under wraps. Ronnie was the biggest security liability going. Forbidding him from talking about something just meant it circled in his head until, generally, at the most inconvenient moment, he’d bark it out.
“Paul? Did I screw up?”
He turned and faced Ronnie. There were leaves caught in his hair as if he had been railed amongst the leaf litter. There wasn’t a trace of his trademark elastic grin on his face. His nose was wrinkled, which put a series of furrows between his eyebrows.
“We’re still friends, right?”
Paul playfully punched him in the arm. “Course.”
“You’re sure?”
“We’re all good, Bushie. Promise.”
Ronnie’s brows stayed knotted, and only slowly unravelled when Paul slung an arm around his shoulder. “What’d you say we get back to hunting ’shrooms, eh?”
“Sure, if you like. I don’t think I’m going to be miraculously better at it though.
” Ronnie patted himself down and finally located a packet of sweets in his back pocket, that he frowned at, but peeled open, nonetheless.
They were squashed and chewy and not even vaguely jelly like.
While his jaw worked, his fingers made spidery movements against his thighs.
“Should we try somewhere that’s more open? ”
“Like… like a field? Good thinking. This way, right?”
He led. Ronnie followed. They eventually found the edge of the wood, and a wide expanse of a moonlit paddock. It wasn’t the field they’d come from, or any of the fields by it. It was occupied, not with tents, but with people. All of them bent over and pacing.
Seemed they weren’t the only ones looking for mushrooms that night. Of course, the presence of so many foragers told him precisely what sort of mushrooms they were likely to find. He started humming an old folk tune. He knew better than to mix booze and ’shrooms. Then again…
“Just talking in hypotheticals, how are you with breaking the law?”
Ronnie shot him a quizzical frown. “Depends on the context. I mean shagging outside is kind of…”
“I wasn’t thinking about that.” He nodded his head towards the foragers. “It’s like totally illegal to pick those things.”
“What? How can it be illegal to pick something that just sprouts naturally?”
They might have got into the ins and outs of it, but he didn’t feel like having a debate. “Snack time,” he announced.