7. The chill of the grave #2
He bobs his head, his movements erratic in the dark, and I wish my body could wake the fuck up so I could bury my cock down his throat. But, even though I feel better, I’m still numb to the core. The ghost did a number on me.
He stops long enough to take a breath, and I stroke my finger on his warm tongue.
The wet tip of his erection is touching my stomach from time to time as he jerks himself off between our bodies. My free hand is gripping his waist, numb fingers digging in the fabric of his overalls.
Two coworkers, jerking it in a bed, my brain singsongs.
“Come on, baby,” I say. “Give it to me. Fuck...”
I’m so horny, but my body isn’t cooperating. I grab my cock through my boxer briefs, it’s only half-hard. My blood has abandoned my extremities to try to save the rest of me from the chill of the grave.
Ewan is shaking as much as me now, but not for the same reason. He’s getting close.
“Yes...” I whisper in his ear before sucking it.
He gasps, then bites down on my fingers as I feel his cum hit my chest under the comforter. I groan, loving every second of it, and pulling him closer to me with my hand on his waist. His moans are music to my ears.
When, at last, his movements stop, he’s lying half on top of me, and our bodies are glued together in the mess he made.
He releases my fingers, and I pull my left hand away and place it on the back of his head as he buries his face in the crook of my neck.
His hair is soft and I can’t help but stroking it.
He’s shaking deliciously in my arms. He’s so much bigger, and yet he fits perfectly.
“Are you... okay?” he asks eventually.
I hum. “Yeah... I’m still cold, but I feel better... thank you. This was one of the hottest moments of my life... Although I feel like I might pass out now...”
My feeble erection is gone. The traitor.
He stays quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry... I’ll get you cleaned.”
I mumble something incoherent in the dark.
Ewan leaves my side, and I immediately start shaking again, missing his warmth. My skin is clammy and cold. Distantly, I feel him pat me down with something, probably tissues.
“Hurry...” I say between chattering teeth.
As soon as he’s back in bed, I wrap myself tightly around him, basking in his heat like a lizard.
Before falling asleep, I hear him whisper, “James, are you gay?”
I laugh. “Yes. What gave it away? The fact that I talked about burying my cock down your throat?”
I feel him shiver. “You know... just checking...”
“Yes, Ewan. I’m gay. And you?”
“Ye—yeah.”
“Good.” I tighten my embrace around him and I’m lost to the world.
When I wake in the morning, I feel deliciously warm and alive.
I open my eyes and find Ewan sleeping by my side, his large body against mine under the comforter.
This close, I notice the discreet freckles scattered over his nose and cheekbones.
His chestnut hair is falling over his forehead, and I want to feel it between my fingers, but my arms are stuck.
Then my eyes zero in on his generous lips.
Just last night, they were wrapped around my fingers.
How good would they feel around my cock?
We didn’t kiss, I realise. That’s a crying shame...
I try to extricate my arms, but there is a heavy weight on my chest. I look down and come face to face with the calico cat, lying on my chest.
“Holy shit,” I whisper as not to spook it and risk getting clawed.
The cat purrs and slow blinks at me.
“Ewan,” I call. Nothing. “Ewan!”
“Hm?” He opens heavy-lidded eyes. “What?”
“Help me,” I say between gritted teeth. “The cat.”
He finally wakes fully and stares at the both of us, a blush creeping on his face. He must be remembering the events of last night. I'd love to reminisce, too, but I’m a little busy panicking about the feline inches away from my face, close enough to gouge my eyes out if it wishes.
“Oh hello, Mouche,” he says to the hell-spawn creature. “Are you helping James feel better?”
Mouche meows.
“You know, there's scientific evidence suggesting that purring can have a healing effect. The frequency at which cats purr can promote tissue regeneration and bone healing,” he says to me. “Mouche probably felt that you needed a little help after last night.”
I sigh shakily. “That’s great, Ewan. And don’t get me wrong, I love the whole athletic nerd package you have going on, but can you get it away from me before I have a heart attack?”
He blushes again, probably at my unexpected praise, and grabs Mouche off my chest with a shy “sorry”.
As soon as I’m free from the demon, I jump out of bed and shake myself to get rid of its evil influence. I’m still only wearing my boxer briefs, so the effect must be quite something. But when I look at Ewan, he’s devouring me with his eyes.
I open my mouth to say something. What? I’m not sure. Can I suck you off for breakfast? Can you get on your knees again? But a knock at our door stops my dirty thoughts in their tracks.
Ewan and I share a glance, and I say, “Yes?”
“It’s Shirley,” comes a voice from outside. She opens the door, and stares at us both for a moment. “Am I interrupting something?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Yes,” I growl, pointing to the cat now on Ewan’s lap. “This monster is invading my space. Did you let it in? The door was closed.”
Shirley shakes her head. Today, her purple hair is loose and she has braided colourful beads in it. “No. The cats come and go as they please in this house. No door can stop them.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”