12. Chapter 12 - Theron #3
Theron’s eyes went bright again. He blinked hard, once, then again, and the light caught on his lashes.
“You trust me that much?”
“I do.”
Theron’s chest tightened around the answer. “I don’t know how to be worthy of that,” he said.
“You don’t have to be worthy of it.” Matt’s thumb swept across his cheekbone. “You just have to be here.”
Theron’s eyes closed. His hand came up, covering Matt’s where it rested against his cheek, holding it there like something precious. “I’m here,” he whispered.
“Good.” Matt leaned in and pressed his forehead to Theron’s. “Then we take it slow. We figure it out together. You show me what you like, I show you what I like, and we don’t rush anything.”
Theron let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You’re very practical about this.”
“I’m very practical about you.”
Theron’s fingers shifted against Matt’s beneath the water, lacing differently, his thumb dragging across Matt’s knuckles in a slow, deliberate stroke.
“Tell me if I do something wrong,” Matt said. His voice came low and steady, but something raw lived underneath. “Tell me what you need.”
“I will.” Theron’s gaze dropped to where their hands met, then rose over Matt’s chest, his throat, his mouth. “And you. Tell me what you need. Even if you don’t know the words for it yet. Show me.”
Matt’s breath caught. His free hand rose from the water, water streaming from his fingers as they found Theron’s jaw. He traced the line of it, like he was memorizing bone and skin both.
Theron’s eyes fell half-closed, and instead of retreating from the touch, he moved closer into it.
“This,” Matt whispered. “This is what I need.”
He kissed him.
It started soft, a brush, a question. Theron answered by tilting his head and opening his mouth just enough to let Matt find the rhythm. Matt’s hand slid from his jaw into his hair, fingers curling in the damp strands, and Theron made a sound that vibrated through Matt’s chest.
Theron’s hand released Matt’s beneath the water and found his hip instead. His palm pressed flat against the jut of bone, thumb sweeping the hollow where hip met stomach. Matt shivered against him.
“Cold?” Theron murmured against his mouth.
“No.” Matt’s laugh was soft, breathless. “Not cold.”
Theron’s hand slid higher, spanning Matt’s ribs, counting each one with his fingertips. Matt’s skin rose in goosebumps beneath the touch, and Theron watched his own hand move as though he could not quite believe it was real.
“You’re beautiful,” Theron said.
Not flattery. Observation. Like he had just noticed something true about the world.
Matt’s eyes went bright. He kissed Theron again, harder this time, hungrier, and Theron met him there, one arm wrapping around Matt’s waist and pulling him flush against his body beneath the water.
Their bodies brushed through the warm current, and both of them stilled.
Matt pulled back just far enough to look at him.
“Okay?”
Theron’s nod came slow. “Okay.” His voice cracked on the word. “More than okay.”
Matt’s hand slid down Theron’s chest, slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of muscle and every scar his fingers found. He did not ask about the scars. He just traced them, one by one, like he was learning a language written in skin.
Theron’s breathing went ragged. His hands found Matt’s waist, holding him steady, grounding himself in the warm solidity of another body.
“You can touch me,” Matt said. “I want you to.”
Theron’s eyes lifted to his. Something raw passed between them, trust offered and trust accepted.
Theron touched him gently at first, almost reverently, and Matt’s head fell back as a sound escaped his throat, half laugh and half moan.
“That’s—” Matt’s voice broke. “God, that’s—”
Theron watched his face closely, reading every breath, every tremor, every flicker of pleasure and uncertainty.
“Like this?”
“Yeah.” Matt’s hand found Theron’s shoulder, gripping tight. “Yeah, like that.”
Theron’s other hand came up to cup Matt’s jaw, tilting his face back down so their eyes met. “Look at me.”
Matt did. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, his breath coming fast.
“I want you,” Theron said softly. The words came steady, like a truth he had been holding for years. “But only if you want that. Only if you’re sure.”
Matt’s hand slid from Theron’s shoulder to his chest, feeling the heart hammering beneath his palm. “I’m sure.”
Theron kissed him again, deep and claiming, but still somehow gentle, as though Matt was something precious he was afraid to break. His hand moved with slow patience, building a rhythm between them.
Matt broke the kiss with a gasp. “Can we—” He glanced toward the edge of the pool, the sand, the shelter of the cave walls. “Is there—”
Theron followed his gaze, then huffed a quiet laugh. “The sandbank. Where we were before.”
He kept one hand on Matt, the other guiding him through the water toward the shallow stretch of pale sand that sloped up from the pool’s edge.
The water was shallower here, barely above his knees as they moved closer to the bank. Theron stepped up onto the sand and turned, offering his hand.
Matt took it.
They stood on the sand, water streaming from their bodies, the cave’s dim light catching the droplets on their skin. Theron looked at him, really looked, from his wet hair to his wet lashes to the way his chest rose and fell in the cool air.
“Lie down,” Theron said. “I want to see you.”
Matt’s mouth curved. He lowered himself to the sand, cool and fine-grained against his back, and looked up at Theron standing over him, water still running in rivulets down his broad chest.
Theron knelt beside him and lowered himself over him, one hand braced beside Matt’s head, his body a warm canopy blocking out the rest of the cave.
He kissed Matt’s throat. Then his collarbone. Then the hollow between his pectorals. Matt’s hands found Theron’s shoulders, gripping as Theron worked his way down, mouth tracing a slow path across Matt’s ribs, his stomach, the jut of his hip.
Matt arched beneath him. “Theron.”
Theron looked up. “Yes?”
“Please.”
Theron’s smile was soft, almost shy in the dim light. “Please what?”
Matt’s hand found his hair, tugging gently. “Please stop teasing.”
Theron’s laugh came quiet, warm, genuine. Then he lowered his mouth and took him in.
Matt’s head pressed back against the sand. His hips bucked once, involuntarily, and Theron’s hand came down on his stomach, firm and grounding.
“Easy,” Theron murmured, the vibration sending a shudder through Matt’s whole body.
“I can’t—” Matt’s voice broke. “I’ve never—”
“I know.” Theron pulled back just long enough to meet his eyes. “That’s why I’m going to take my time.”
He lowered his mouth again, slower this time, and Matt’s hands fisted in the sand beside him as Theron worked him with a patience that felt almost unbearable.
The water lapped at the edge of the sandbank. Theron learned the shape of Matt’s pleasure one slow stroke at a time.
Theron pulled away, watching Matt’s reaction as cool air replaced warmth. Matt’s eyes opened, and Theron saw the dazed vulnerability there, the exposed trust, the way his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
Theron settled back on his heels. One palm rested on Matt’s stomach, a grounding weight that moved with him.
“Matt.” Theron’s voice came low, roughened, and he waited until Matt’s eyes found his. “What do you need right now?”
The question landed in the quiet between them.
Matt’s hands, which had been fisted in the sand, relaxed. He looked at Theron, and something in his expression shifted. Surprise, perhaps. Or the realization that Theron had stopped not because desire had lessened, but because Matt mattered more than desire.
Matt’s throat worked. His hand came up and found Theron’s wrist, fingers circling the bone there.
“I need—” Matt stopped, then gave a quiet, self-conscious laugh. “I don’t actually know how to answer that.”
Theron’s mouth curved softly. “You’ve never been asked.”
“It’s not that.” Matt’s thumb traced the inside of Theron’s wrist. “I mean, yes, that. But also I don’t know what I’m allowed to want. Here. With you.”
“Anything.” The word came simple and immediate. “Anything you want. Anything you need. Tell me, and it’s yours.”
Matt’s chest rose sharply beneath Theron’s palm.
“I need you to touch me,” Matt said. Then, quieter, “I need to know what it feels like when someone who wants me touches me. All of me. Not just the parts that get me off.”
Theron’s eyes went dark, not with hunger alone, but with understanding. He nodded once, slow, and his hand moved from Matt’s stomach to his chest, palm flat over his heart.
“Lie still,” Theron said. “Let me show you.”
Matt obeyed, settling deeper into the sand, letting his arms fall to his sides. The cave ceiling stretched above him, rough stone catching the dim light, and then Theron’s face blocked it out as he leaned over him, one hand braced beside his head.
Theron did not kiss him first. Instead, his free hand found Matt’s shoulder and traced the curve of muscle and bone. His fingers mapped the landscape of Matt’s body with a reverence that made the moment feel less like hunger and more like devotion.
The hollow of his collarbone. The dip beneath his clavicle. The ridge of his chest where muscle met shadow. Each touch was slow and deliberate, as though Theron was memorizing him by feel.
Matt’s eyes fluttered closed. The world narrowed until only the cave, the grit of sand beneath him, and Theron’s hands learning his body by heart remained.
“You’re beautiful,” Theron murmured again, softer this time.
Matt’s lips parted. No sound came out.
Theron’s hand traveled lower, tracing the ladder of his ribs, the soft dip of his waist, the flare of his hip. His thumb circled lower, then drifted through the trail of hair beneath Matt’s navel.
When he touched him again, it was gentle and steady. Matt’s whole body responded, a shiver that ran through him beneath Theron’s hand. Theron did not rush. He watched Matt’s face.
“Is this okay?”
Matt nodded, his voice gone somewhere he could not reach.