7. Les Voyages Immobiles
CHAPTER 7
LES VOYAGES IMMOBILES
Zayn
“ Y ou sure about this?” His quizzical eyes widen. Based on his dilated pupils, he’s 100% on board with my suggestion. I appreciate his concern. “Didn’t you once say you’d never?—”
We’re almost touching, but not quite, until I roll to my side. I thread my fingers through his dark silky hair. Then, my sinful mouth crashes against his for a searing kiss. He opens for me. Our tongues reconnect yet again. Tasting myself on him is such an aphrodisiac. My dick awakens as I lean closer and caress the head of his massive boner.
His guitar-calloused fingers leisurely wander over my sensitive body. A moan escapes; I can’t tell whether it’s mine or his. His greedy tongue makes love to mine, sending a shiver across my heated skin, and his goatee tickles my face. My hand tightens its grip on his hair. We can’t lose ourselves in this just yet. Otherwise, he’ll blow his load in record time, and I’ll follow suit.
I regretfully wrench my insatiable mouth from his. “I’ve never—” I trail off, releasing my hold on his hair “—never been more certain of anything.” The back of my fingers skim his cheek.
I can’t be sure if this is a one-time offer. Only my love for him could spark such a ludicrous idea. Sure, we discussed switching a few times, and my lover voiced his curiosity. We left it at that. For all I know, I might hate it. What triggered my change of mind? I couldn’t say… I’ve always known I was gay. I’ve always known I'd top. I’ve always hoped to get a second chance at love with Dante. All of this turned out to be true. I demand the full experience. All-consuming. Earth-shattering. Toe-curling. And I trust him to deliver it. And just like that, my body hums with need.
My calves cage his. “I crave this connection, Dante, more than my next breath.” To avoid waking up our son, we keep the volume of our voices to a minimum, which lends a surreal vibe to the situation.
My statement is met with a nod, although hurt is written all over Dante’s gorgeous face. We both know that our connection has been lost in translation for a while. Traveling. Adulting. Parenting…
I guess lacking a support system—family, friends, you name it—on both sides magnified our unease. I mostly keep to myself while he’s away, but I’m not sure how much he confides in Melissa.
We both know I stopped trying to initiate things after he shot down several attempts at intimacy. His guilt won’t change anything. It is what it is. Surprisingly enough, Sully’s party was oddly cathartic. Having a local friend that I can trust boosts my confidence.
“Okay, then… Thanks for allowing me to… do this.” I notice goosebumps on his biceps. “I don’t deserve it… I?—”
“Shhh… Don’t! You are everything to me, Dante. Focus on the present.” My fingertips trace his scruffy jawline in a feeble attempt to reassure him. “Look, I want you. I want this. I want us …” His craving matches mine, almost word for word, then he sucks in a breath and adds, “The new us. An us that says we are a family, but that’s not all that defines us. We’re so much more than that, my love.”
“I know… I just feel so fucking bad… for being away from you two… on tours, at the studio, or promoting my music. I should have been there for you, mentally and physically. More, so much more…”
“You’re here now; that’s all that matters… You own me, and I can’t wait to feel you inside me.” My voice is strangled with need. Need that I suppressed to give my boyfriend space to blossom as an artist. Need that I put on the back burner to fully embrace my parent role. Need that I denied to put the other two men in my life first. I regret nothing, despite my occasional inner bitching…
Dante and Jeremy deserve the best. But tonight, Dante’s surprising initiative triggered my irrepressible yearning for the man I love. I want to be selfish for once, or rather need to be, and have him as I see fit. My breathing turns ragged in anticipation of what’s to come, pun intended.
The growl that escapes his parted lips speaks right to my arousal.
Damn, I’m never going to last with him inside me.
Eager for more, I run the tip of my tongue across my upper lip. My desire for Dante is strong, but I should pace myself; his own willpower is impressive. “But first, you’re gonna have to loosen me up.” I swallow the lump in my throat.
Am I nervous?
His smile is part bold, part anxious. Ohhh, yes, he’s as ready as I am. I press my lips to his for a quick kiss to acknowledge his desire. “I love you. I love your dick. And I’m pretty sure I’ll love it even more when I watch it slide inside me and slam against my prostate until I see stars. You keep telling me that nothing else compares. It’s about time I experienced it. I burn so hot for you, baby… Understand it. Feel it. Own it…” Our mouths collide with renewed purpose until we’re out of breath, our hearts hammering loudly. “Now, take me apart, amour , and build me back up.” My plea finally jumpstarts his actions.
“You got it…” His suddenly assertive tone fuels my desire. Then, he clarifies in a subdued voice, “I’m going to stretch you so good, you’re gonna beg.” I delight in witnessing the confidence he has on stage translate to the bedroom. Why hasn’t he allowed himself to express it before? Have I stopped him because I run the show behind closed doors? Who cares? Again, there’s no time to dwell on it. I ought to listen to my own advice and savor the moment.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, my man hurriedly scoots towards the end table next to the couch where he left his wallet. His tall frame contorts to grab it, and my gaze zooms in on his delectable ass. Heat flares. To my utmost joy, his smile turns wicked when he retrieves a hidden packet of lube. Perfect!
Why have we waited for so long? We should look for a two-bedroom house ASAP. His ass, Zayn! Focus. Dante’s ass matters more than a home you don’t have.
Hence, I wet my lips and follow his every move as he squirts a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.
“Now turn around and let me pay my respects to your geeky tats...”
I chuckle at the word geeky. He’s obsessed with the three symbols that adorn my shoulder blades. In between two video game references—the Triforce from Zelda and the insignia from Assassin’s Creed —lies the large gothic L from Death Note , an anime we watched together during his first visit to Seaside. When we rekindled six years later, he used to lick them and cum all over them. That is, before life caught up with us.
I shudder at the memory and comply. Head on the pillow, I close my eyes as his knees press on the squeaky mattress and lodge between my inner thighs, widening my stance. Slowly. Teasingly. Tenderly. My eyes pop open when he croaks, “—while I finger your gorgeous ass.”
Incapable of restraining myself, I wiggle my perky butt and part my legs to allow him better access. His hand slowly kneads my butt cheek. “It’s all yours.”
“Mine.” In between licking, kissing, and nibbling my shoulders, his finger probes my entrance. “Always.” Circling. My ass cheeks strain. Rubbing. My face tenses. Breaching. My hole clenches. I gasp. “I’ll make it good for you.” His words have a soothing effect, and I’m able to relax. He knows this is a first for me as well; I can’t be the only gay guy who hasn’t fingered himself—or let others do it for that matter, right?
With that, he gently enters me. Catching my breath, I slowly adjust to the foreign feeling. “Is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” I huff, making a point to keep my voice low, although he just found my prostate and is rubbing it. The sensation is so intense that I can’t breathe for a second. “Oh, fuck, do that again, please.”
He does. “Told you you’d be begging.”
Again. “Pleeease!” And again. Eyelids fluttering, I writhe under his ministrations as he alternates between scissoring me and continuing his relentless yet sweet torture.
Another finger joins the fun, but I’m already too far gone to really notice. I purse my lips, willing my thumping heart and fidgeting frame to calm down, but it’s fruitless.
He works me quickly and efficiently, yet I hiss when he inserts a third finger. My heart skips a beat.
He’s never going to fit. I discard the fleeting thought. Of course, he is.
I heave a shaky breath, and soon enough, I’m a quivering mess. “More, Dante...” I know the drill, but experiencing it is a whole new ball game. “Ohhh, fuck,” I moan. “Let me turn around so I can see you fuck me.”
“Why don’t you ride me to control how much you take?”
My mouth waters at the prospect, but I remain cautious; bottoming has never been my thing, although Dante kept claiming that I was missing out. Who knows? If we enjoy the experience, I might indulge on occasion to please my lover. “What about good ol’ missionary? I’m not feeling adventurous tonight.”
“I never said missionary was boring. Different positions, different sensations, as you well know.” My lover winks, places a pillow under the small of my back, and licks his lips. His heated gaze takes me in.
Knees bent, skin ablaze, and legs spread, I urge, “Hurry up, please. I can’t take it anymore. Give it to me… Give your dick… now.”
“Always so bossy. I love it!” He positions himself, and a bead of sweat trickles down my temple. “Relax for me,” he cajoles, his hand roaming across my skin. Then, he plunges upward.
I humph. “Holy shit, you’re—” he patiently waits for me to adjust rather than finish my sentence— “big.” I nod to encourage him to proceed. “What’s next?” We laugh nervously at my lame joke. “Well, move, amour. I’m ready… So ready for you.”
So he does. The burn, the fullness, and the novelty sink in. My eyes roll to the back of my head. Displeased when he almost withdraws completely, I clamp harder around him when he drives back inside of me.
Once we find our rhythm, his moves turn frantic. Eager for more, I arch my back and meet him thrust for thrust. It’s the right blend of pain and pleasure. My hands roam over his sweaty skin.
His breathing is erratic. My heart is hammering. Our bodies are trembling.
“Thank you for letting me take control like this.” He kisses me sloppily when burying himself to the hilt, hitting my prostate yet again.
I groan, nodding without breaking the kiss.
In a flash, pleasure coils low in my belly. I’m not ready for it to end, but my balls tighten, and my impending climax follows. The friction of my shaft squeezed between our bodies manages to push me over the edge without either of us jerking my dick. If his goofy smile is any indication, this makes him ridiculously proud.
Minutes later, he bites his lip to suppress the sound of his own release. Some of it shoots on my hairless chest before he collapses on me like a rag doll. “I love you.” My fingertips draw patterns on his damp back. We’re a sticky mess, too spent to move.
“ Je t’aime tellement, mon amour .” I hold him flush to my sweaty self, unable to let go. Still, a part of me feels compelled to capture this unique circumstance. Hence, I extend my arm, snatch my phone from the end table, and oblige, angling the lens so it remains PG-13—above the chest. Warm embrace. Lazy smile. Blissed-out face. It’s perfect, and his knowing smile grows. He pecks my temple.
A few hours later, when we wake up with our limbs intertwined, I force myself to grab my phone and take a selfie to immortalize the blatant happiness of a crazy in love couple. It’s a way to remind us of this milestone. On this very day, Dante took a huge step and showed that we’re still in this together. In turn, I reciprocated and proved my commitment to him as my life partner. About to doze off, I mumble, amused, “I can’t wait to feel my sore muscles later.” Only time will tell if this turns out to be a one-time thing. What matters is that our pledge to one another is a permanent marker. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”