13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
W aking up in a bed for the first time all week is surreal. I’d gotten used to the couch. The comforting flicker of the TV chased away the kind of still darkness that I always find unnerving. And once Gunnar had started joining me there, it was a done deal. I was actually sleeping.
After last night though, he convinced me we needed to sleep somewhere fully horizontal for a change. He was right, of course. It couldn’t possibly have been comfortable for him to curl up on that thing with me lying on top of him and him still in his fancy-ass street clothes. That doesn’t mean that all this space isn’t a little disconcerting.
As soon as wakefulness begins to filter through my synapses, I make the conscious decision not to open my eyes. I do, however, reach for Gunnar. It’s warm underneath all these blankets, and my face is buried in the soft edges of them. My hands grope around underneath until I find the thick, solid lines of him before shuffling closer.
He’s dressed. He insisted on putting on some buttery-soft sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in last night, even though I told him he didn’t have to. He was undeterrable, though. It’s hard to tell which of his sticking points are about him being weird in general and which are about him thinking he knows what’s best for me, but I decided it wasn’t worth the fight on this one.
I’ll get him naked, eventually. Just the glimpse of him shirtless last night was not enough. I was too in a daze, lost in the struggle between intense pleasure and whatever else I was feeling to put my focus where it really belonged. But everything about him is just as inviting externally as internally.
He’s muscular and strong, probably from years of lifting heavy shit at the bar, but he’s not cut. I like it. Soft skin over a body that’s just… firm. Solid. There. And everything about him contributes to his overall impression of size.
Gunnar seems larger than life to me most of the time, and watching him sweaty and panting in the low light, like a dark, shadowy version of himself that’s all intensity, didn’t do anything to change that.
But the feverish way he looked at me and kissed me had nothing on how he touched me. That was light—gentle, but not like I’m fragile—this incredible counterpoint to the rest of it.
I could swim around in a vat of all those endorphins and images for hours until I drowned, and I’d die happy.
“Are you awake, or are you just burrowing in your sleep?” Gunnar says when I find his arm and thread my head through it, fully ensconcing myself in both his body and the covers.
“I’m not awake.”
“Ah.” His voice is just as thick with sleep as mine, but he turns a little onto his side, throwing his other arm and one leg over me, as if he could pull me any closer. “That’s what I thought. An unconscious burrower. Of course.”
I huff into his warm skin, but then focus on letting his scent wrap around me in exactly the same way his body is.
I never put any stock in the idea of someone ‘saving’ me. I wasn’t the type of person to sit around daydreaming about being swept off my feet by some guy who would keep me safe. Because there’s no such thing. ‘Safe’ is a fragile, fictional concept and people are inherently unreliable.
Even the good ones who want to be there for you. Even Gunnar.
You never know what circumstances are going to hit.
But right now, I feel pretty safe. It’s just not in the way I thought that fantasy was supposed to be selling me. I’m just as scared of Eamon as I was yesterday. The idea of him creeping up the stairs to break in still sends my nervous system into a fractious, incendiary meltdown. And while I know it’s unlikely, if he really did burst in through those doors, I don’t think Gunnar would physically make a damn bit of difference in the outcome.
In fact, it would probably just be worse. I’d have to watch Eamon hurt Gunnar before he finally shoved me back into captivity.
The reality of my existence hasn’t changed, and my perception of it hasn’t changed.
So why do I feel safe?
It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not going to argue, though. I’ll hang on to this feeling for as long as it lasts.
Gunnar is more than that, anyway. I’d want him even if he didn’t make me feel a damn thing other than the same pervasive fascination I’ve always had with him. His understated but obvious intelligence, his gentle brand of strength, his misplaced bleeding-heart compassion. All of it. It sucked me in too hard and I refuse to be spat out anytime soon.
These are the thoughts that work their way through the layers of my sluggish mind as I press kisses and scrape my teeth over every part of him I can reach. Most of it is through the cotton of his t-shirt, but it makes him squirm all the same.
It barely takes a minute to get him breathing heavily, holding me close in the cage of his arms. His erection brushes against my thigh and he doesn’t hide it from me, but it’s not insistent.
I keep waiting for him to freak out. To baby me and tell me that I don’t know what I’m doing, or the age gap between us is unethical, or whatever. Instead, he’s been quiet. Contemplative, maybe. But peaceful. Not fighting it for once.
It seems the obvious choice to seize the moment. At the same time as Gunnar’s big hand finds my face and pulls me into a filthy good morning kiss, I wrap my fingers around his length and stroke him. The moan he makes directly into my mouth is like crack.
After a little gentle groping, I let go of him so I can slide my hand into his pants and put my skin on his. He told me he was fine last night when he didn’t get off. Of course he was, because he’s just that self-sacrificing kind of guy. I was in too much of a daze to really worry about it, but it’s time to make that up to him now.
Immediately, I get down to work. The feeling of his cock in my hand is waking up more of my own arousal that I was beginning to think was desiccated beyond the possibility of restoration. It’s thick and weighty—solid, like the rest of him—but not so big that it’s intimidating. I know there are plenty of size queens in the world who pride themselves on being able to take a porn-star sized piece of equipment, but that’s not for me.
Shocking, I know.
The skin is velvety soft, and feeling the subtle changes in how he continues to firm up under my touch is making more heat pool low in my gut. I take a second to press my free hand to my crotch, because I need something to relieve the pressure, before I go back to stroking him in earnest.
Gunnar is fully on board. I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m here for it. He’s practically fucking my mouth with his tongue, his hands firm around my waist to hold me close. I can tell he’s holding back at least a little, probably not thrusting his hips against me the way his body is telling him to, but that’s alright.
I’ll get him to let go, eventually.
Gunnar breaks off the kiss, panting, and I worry that the stray thought about him potentially freaking out jinxed me. Instead of backing away, though, he slowly finds the waistband of my pants with his thumbs and tugs it down until my aching cock is freed. Then he pushes back the covers so we can both see each other fully and repeats the same action with his own pants.
Once we’re lined up next to each other, Gunnar readjusts my hand, so it’s wrapped around both of us, and then covers my hand with his larger one. He has us both completely enveloped, and the feeling of warmth and pressure when he gives a slow, firm stroke is almost overwhelming.
I groan, and he rolls his hips to fuck his cock into mine as he continues to stroke. He keeps going, his movements slow and sure, just like last night. His free arm circles my waist to hold me close, and also just like last night, I start to come apart in his hands. Occasionally, we exchange open-mouthed kisses, but neither of us can concentrate enough for more than that.
The pressure between us continues to grow until it feels like the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of bitten-off moans and Gunnar’s soft cursing. I’m close. I’m so close. It wasn’t the same battle as it was last night. More of a normal, slow build until I feel like the crest of an orgasm is almost within my reach.
Then Gunnar shifts. It’s not a lot, and I don’t think he’s even aware he’s doing it. He presses closer, but his larger bulk means that I fall back, and instead of lying on our sides facing each other, suddenly I’m mostly on my back, lying under his weight.
Lord help me, I freeze.
There’s no conscious thought of feeling afraid. Nothing connects in my brain from a to b to c that makes me decide to feel this way. It’s like my brain is totally left out of the loop on the decision, and one minute my body is screaming at me on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm, then it’s completely still, waiting to see what will happen next.
I just want it to be over. It was amazing, but now I need it to be done before Gunnar notices so we can move on, and I can pretend this humiliating interlude never happened. These are the thoughts that circle my consciousness as I focus on not letting any of the sudden catatonic terror that slapped into me like a rogue wave show on my face.
But it’s Gunnar. Of course he has to fucking notice.
“Tobias?” His lips are a few inches from mine, and his hand is still wrapped around both our cocks, although he’s stopped moving it. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know if I can say anything. But I can feel my lip trembling, and as much as I want to avoid being seen by him at all, not looking at him right now sounds so much worse. I stare into his eyes, focusing on that little chunk of blue, while his expression crumples and he searches my face for clues.
It’s probably not that hard to put together. I grasp the logic, but when he seems to understand and abruptly pushes away from me, it feels like he’s ripping some of my skin off with him. Like he was the thing holding me together and without him, I’m left even more raw and exposed.
“No!” My voice is louder than I expected, and I hold him when I say it, tugging at his t-shirt that’s already sweaty and stretched out from my grabby hands.
He freezes, then lets out a slow breath through his nose. His eyes are a little wider than they should be, but I can see the wheels turning as he tries to calculate his plan of attack.
He’s leaned back far enough, so he’s not on me anymore, which helps me take a full breath. I concentrate on doing that again and again, and then make myself blink. It’s a weird sensation, having to consciously decide to do something your body normally does without your input. Like all your human parts have been replaced with mechanical ones that technically work, but none of them know how to talk to each other, so you’re just a brain in a rust-bucket begging each body part to do its fucking job.
“Hey,” he says it in a whisper this time, but he isn’t moving farther away from me. “What’s wrong? What happened? Talk to me.”
“It’s, um. It’s okay.” My tongue feels like it’s too big for my mouth, and I’m hyper aware of the fact that my jaw is hanging open in an awkward, unnatural way. “It was just a weird moment. I’m not sure why. My brain went weird.”
Well, those are words. Some of them are kind of in the right order, I guess. It’s better than nothing.
But Gunnar is nodding solemnly, like everything I said makes total sense. Then I can almost see his thoughts turn inward again, like he’s chewing over the situation until he gets to the center.
“Did everything feel good until right at that last minute?” he asks, reaching out slowly to stroke his hand up my side. His touch gets firmer when I push into it instead of pulling away, and it settles some of the anxiety still fizzing inside me.
I nod, and he thinks for a few more seconds.
“Did I touch you somewhere you didn’t like? Or too hard, or do something that hurt?”
I think about it, my mind percolating like sludge, but I can’t think of anything, so I shake my head ‘no’.
More thinking.
“Was it because I rolled on top of you?”
I involuntarily hiss in a breath, and Gunnar nods. We both realize it at the same time. Even as the thought hits me, I can feel the ghost of his body weight on mine, crushing me into the mattress.
Which isn’t right. He wasn’t crushing me; he was barely leaning on me at all. But apparently that part of my brain decided to be way, way, way out of pocket and take its paranoia to the extreme.
“Okay. Okay,” he repeats, almost to himself. “That makes sense. I won’t do that again.”
Gunnar pauses and looks at me—really looks at me, holding my gaze as if he’s trying to inject me with whatever weird zen he seems to be full of.
“What do you want to do now?”
Ugh. Choices. Why is he giving me choices? I’m not good at organizing my thoughts at the best of times. This feels like a punishment.
I can’t gather enough words together for a sentence, so I shrug. Then I make sure to tug at his shirt, so he knows I don’t want him to go any farther away, which pulls a small smile out of him.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Do you want to try to sleep some more?”
I shake my head. Fuck that. Like I need the extra nightmares.
“Do you want to get up and go do normal-people things until you can reset?”
Again—ugh. This time I answer with a whine that I hope is more adorable than annoying, throwing myself toward him and rubbing my face all over his shirt. It’s practically wrecked at this point from all my manhandling and I’m a little proud of myself.
A soft chuckle escapes his lips, and he puts both his arms around me, letting one of those warm palms smooth up and down my back.
“Ok, we’re not getting up yet. I’m out of ideas. Do you wanna just lie here? Snuggle?”
I snort, because the word sounds ridiculous coming out of his beardy, manly mouth. But it’s also pretty sweet.
Climbing up the last few inches of his body, I press my mouth against his. It’s chaste, but I don’t let him pull away. After a few seconds of tension, we both relax into it.
Eventually, we end up exactly where we were before—lying on our sides, clinging to each other while exploring each other’s mouths. His thick leg is in between mine and I’m riding it like a desperate teenager, while he’s making these deep, reality-shifting, mind-numbingly hot moans every time I touch him basically anywhere.
Once the arbitrary panic has finally fled my body, my hard-on is back in force. All my thoughts of embarrassment are gone, and I’m chasing that high from before. Gunnar is hard too, although I notice that he’s being very careful about where he touches me, and to not hold himself too close against my body.
I hate it. I understand it, and the kindness behind it is kind of heart-wrenching, actually. But right now, I just need to come, and I want him to be holding me when I do.
“More,” I beg in between kisses. “Touch me again, please.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod, looking him in the eye as our breath mingles between us.
“Please.”
There’s a flicker of hesitation. Only a flicker.
Then it’s replaced by resolve. Gunnar rolls onto his back, leaving my heart lurching after him like I’m being abandoned. But his hands quickly reach out to grab me. Even from the awkward angle, he lifts me so easily. In a few seconds I’ve been rearranged to straddle his lap, while he scoots up until he’s half sitting, propped against the headboard.
“How’s this?” he asks, while he grabs my ass with one hand and encourages me to grind against him.
“ Hnng .”
It’s not a flattering sound, but it makes my feelings clear. I grab onto his shoulders for dear life while he squeezes my ass with his other hand as well, and soon he’s built up a rhythm. It’s like I’m riding him, but he’s guiding me, controlling the movement with his firm, tender grasp.
It’s incredible. But I still need to feel his skin against mine.
With fumbling hands, I tug down my sweats to tuck them under my balls and then do the same to him, just like before. The elastic is more restrictive in this position, but I kind of like it. Everything feels tight and intense, like I’m being held against him by a rubber band.
Once we’re both free, I use one hand to jerk us off and the other to lean against his chest. He’s still controlling my movements by rolling my hips against his, and it’s all coming together with a synchronicity I never would have expected.
It’s so luxurious. What is really just a quick and dirty mutual jerk off on the outside somehow feels like the most intoxicating, indulgent sex I’ve ever had. I don’t bother to hold back the noises that I want to make, no matter how loud or over the top. I commit every noise he makes to memory.
“That’s it, little one,” he says, his voice strained. “You’re doing so well. Look at you riding me, making me come with your perfect hand.”
I let out a whine, because whenever he says these things, it makes my stomach clench with embarrassment while my dick gets even harder.
“Perfect. That’s it. Don’t stop touching me. Such a good boy to make me come so hard. Come with me.”
The last sentence is said on a gasp, and then I feel his cock pulse against to mine. Thick ropes of cum spurt out, so much more cum and with so much more force than I was expecting. Gunnar is completely tense from head to toe, his fingers digging into the muscle of my ass while I work him through it, his chest and my hand both coated in his load.
He lets out this raspy, broken groan that fucking does me in. With another stroke, I join him. My cum streaks across his t-shirt, mingling with his, and I clutch at the fabric to hold myself up as all the blood in my body floods away from my brain.
I’m panting so hard I can’t think straight. The buzz of orgasm is still in my veins, and I’m not ready to let go. Without thinking, I drop both of our cocks and lean forward.
There’s cum everywhere. Gunnar’s ruined shirt, his beard, the hair-covered portion of his stomach that was exposed where the shirt rode up. I want it.
I start licking at every stripe of cum I can find. The need to have him inside me—like this, not in the way I can’t think about yet—is sudden and overwhelming. Gunnar freezes, but he doesn’t stop me. He moans when I lick across the skin under his belly button, and when I get to his neck, he lifts his chin to give me better access.
It’s perfect. Simple. I lick and suck and devour every drop of him that I can find until I finally collapse on top of him; my spent dick still hanging out and more exhausted than I have any right to be.
Now I might consider trying to go back to sleep.
We lie there for a long time. Cleanup is needed. Food as well, probably. Getting up and doing real-people things. But right now, this feels good, and also like the maximum amount of things I’m willing to handle.
“Tobias?” Gunnar breaks the silence after a long time, his arms still wrapped around me as I lie on top of him, his fingers tracing patterns over my back.
“You know you say my name a lot. I kind of like it. It sounds prettier when you say it, for some reason.”
“It’s a pretty name,” he says.
I shrug. I guess, but I’ve never really had feelings one way or the other.
“It’s Polish. Or popular in Poland, or something. My deadbeat dad picked it, apparently. According to my mom, he was very insistent, which is weird for a kid you have no intention of ever meeting. At least she gave me her last name. I’d look dumb as hell walking around with a Polish last name.”
Gunnar pauses for a while, frowning before he responds. “Maybe he intended to meet you, but then something happened. Or maybe he just changed his mind and started making shitty choices. It’s nice that he cared a little, right? Even if it was only for a minute?” Then he smiles, touching me on the cheek. “I don’t think you’d look dumb with any kind of last name.”
Another shrug. “Whatever. It doesn’t affect me.” Because I have nothing to do with that man, and the fact that he named even a part of me is bad enough.
Gunnar tenses, like he’s about to say something else, but nothing comes out.
“Sorry, wait,” I add. “You were going to ask me something?”
“Oh, yeah. I was just going to say… I’m sorry I pushed against this. I was wrong. And a dumbass. I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
Now I lift my head enough to look him in the eye. It’s hard to keep myself from feeling the storm of emotion forming in my head, but I do my best to push it all down.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “We gotta get you out of all that shit, though. You can’t be trapped up here like a princess in a tower forever.”
We both laugh at that, but it’s forced. Probably because neither of us has any idea how that’s going to happen.
At least Gunnar wants to try. That’s more than I’ve ever gotten from anyone before. It’s a fucking start.