24. Matt
twenty-four
Matt
T he backpacking trip was incredible, but the whole time, there was an empty space where he should have been. And when I returned, muscles aching from three days of guiding teenage campers through mountain trails, the only thing I wanted to do was to go to his cabin and get him. But first, I needed a shower. And a change of clothes.
I frowned as I unlocked my door, because something was different. A pair of neon green sneakers—unmistakably Casey's—lay haphazardly by the entrance. My exhaustion evaporated instantly. Had he used my keys after all?
The backpack slid from my shoulders and hit the floor with a dull thud. I winced at the noise, worried about waking him if he was sleeping. I scanned the main living area—Casey's guitar leaned against my couch, the one I'd impulsively bought him for his birthday. Sheet music was scattered across my coffee table, along with an empty mug that still held the dregs of what was likely green tea.
I glanced up toward the loft and caught sight of his duffle bag at the foot of my unmade bed. The soft sound of snoring drifted down, confirming my suspicion. Something inside me uncoiled, a tension I hadn't realized I was carrying.
He was here. Despite all his protests about not needing my keys, despite his constant reminders that he was heading back to Oregon at summer's end, despite the careful line we were supposed to be maintaining—Casey Kim was in my bed.
I wanted nothing more than to climb up that ladder and wrap myself around him, bury my face in his hair, and breathe him in. But three days on the trail meant I smelled like sweat, campfire, and teenage drama. No way I was subjecting him to that, especially if I wanted the kind of welcome I was hoping for.
The bathroom beckoned. I kicked off my hiking boots and peeled off my socks, leaving them by the door. My clothes followed a trail to the bathroom—a habit Casey routinely mocked me for, but I was in a hurry, and I wasn't about to waste time folding laundry.
I turned the shower on, and while waiting for it to warm, I caught my reflection in the mirror—three days of stubble, hair looking wild after being stuffed under a cap, and a lingering flush across my cheekbones from sun exposure. The hot water was a blessing on my sore muscles, but I rushed through my shower routine, eager to be up in my bed. With him. The thought of Casey upstairs was magnetic.
I shut off the tap and dried quickly, running a hand through my damp hair. I brushed my teeth, threw on a clean pair of boxer briefs, and padded quietly to the base of the ladder that led to my loft bedroom, heart pounding as I checked again, hardly believing that he was there.
Pausing at the bottom rung, I listened. The soft, even sound of Casey's breathing made me smile. My grumpy, opinionated summer fling, so peaceful in sleep. It was a rare sight—Casey was usually vibrating with energy, arguing passionately about queer rights or the arts or telling me why my music taste was "tragically hetero-normative."
I climbed the ladder silently, each movement careful and measured. When my head cleared the loft floor, I froze.
The sight before me punched the air from my lungs.
Casey lay sprawled across my bed, one arm flung overhead, the other resting on his stomach. He wore only an oversized t-shirt—one of mine, I realized with a possessive thrill—rucked up to expose his lower half. His pale thighs were splayed open, his soft cock resting against his stomach. And between his legs, unmistakably, was the base of a silicone dildo, the toy disappearing inside him.
A single bedside lamp cast the scene in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the curve of his hip, the smooth expanse of his thighs, the contrast of the blue toy against his skin.
My mouth went dry. Blood rushed from my brain directly south.
I finished climbing into the loft, my movements still quiet but no longer from fear of waking him—now it was to prolong this unexpected gift, this intimate discovery. He'd prepped himself for me. I approached the bed, taking in every detail: the slight parting of his lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks.
This beautiful, complicated man who pushed every one of my buttons—who challenged me, frustrated me, and made me feel more alive than I had in years—had missed me.
He'd never admit it, of course. He'd have some acerbic explanation ready, something about my bed being more comfortable than his camp mattress or the cabin being too noisy with his brother Oliver staying there. But his body told a different story. The toy. The position. My t-shirt.
Casey had been thinking about me.
A half-smile tugged at my lips as I lowered myself carefully onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight, but Casey didn't stir. Up close, I could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on his brow. I wondered how long ago he'd fallen asleep, how long he'd fucked himself before with the dildo before exhaustion took over.
I wondered if he'd made himself come.
Without overthinking it, I leaned down and pressed my lips against his. A gentle kiss, but insistent—enough pressure to register, to pull him back to consciousness. His lips were soft and warm beneath mine, and I felt him stir, felt the moment awareness began to seep into his body.
Casey made a muffled sound against my mouth, something between a groan and a whine. His eyebrows furrowed as consciousness returned, and I pulled back just enough to watch his eyes flutter open.
Recognition dawned slowly across his features—first confusion, then awareness, followed quickly by his trademark scowl.
"You're late," he grumbled, voice thick with sleep. He shifted and then froze, clearly remembering the toy still inside him. His cheeks flushed darker. "Like, super fucking late."
I couldn't help but laugh softly. Three days in the wilderness, guiding teenagers through rapids and over mountain passes, and this was my welcome home—Casey Kim, naked and toy-filled in my bed, annoyed that I'd had the audacity to be late to my own house.
"Sorry," I whispered, not feeling sorry at all. "The trail was muddy from yesterday's rain. Took longer than expected." I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "But looks like you found a way to entertain yourself."
Casey's scowl deepened, but I didn't miss the way his pupils dilated or how his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Shut up," he muttered. "I was bored."
"Bored enough to use the keys you said you wouldn't need?" I asked, unable to keep the amused affection from my voice.
He rolled his eyes but didn't pull away when I traced a finger down his cheek. "Your place has better water pressure. And you have streaming services. And decent food." A pause. "And no Oliver snoring in the next bed."
I nodded solemnly, as if these were all perfectly reasonable explanations for why I'd found him naked in my bed with a dildo inside him. "Of course. Very practical considerations."
He narrowed his eyes at me, clearly catching my teasing tone. "Don't get fucking smug about it, Blackstone."
There it was—last name usage, the sure sign Casey was feeling defensive. It only made my smile widen. Because beneath the prickly exterior, despite the sharp words and the rolled eyes, Casey had missed me, maybe as much as I'd missed him.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said softly, and leaned in to kiss him again, this time with intent, with the hunger that had been building since I'd first spotted his shoes by my door.
I broke our kiss and began a slow, deliberate trail down Casey's body. His skin was warm beneath my lips, tasting faintly of salt and that expensive body wash he insisted was the only thing preventing him from "smelling like a camp counselor tragedy." My hands mapped the familiar landscape of his chest, fingertips tracing the subtle definition of muscle beneath soft skin. Casey huffed an impatient breath, but I felt the way his body betrayed him—arching into my touch, seeking more even as he feigned annoyance.
"What the fuck, Matt?" he grumbled as I reached his navel, my tongue dipping briefly into the shallow depression. His voice lacked conviction, especially when my hand slid beneath the bunched-up t-shirt to expose more of his torso. "I've been waiting for—ah!"
The complaint died in his throat as I wrapped my fingers around his cock, which was rapidly hardening under my attention. I looked up the length of his body, taking in the flush spreading across his chest, the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"You were saying?" I asked, my voice low and rough with desire.
Casey glared down at me, but the heat in his eyes had nothing to do with anger. "I was saying you're an asshole who's late to his own—fuck!"
My tongue flattened against the underside of his cock, a long, deliberate lick from base to tip that had his hips bucking upward. I repeated the motion, savoring the taste of him, the way his body responded so honestly even while his mouth continued its barbed commentary.
"Three days," he gasped as I took him deeper, my hand moving to gently cup his balls. "Three fucking days of jerking off in your bed and—shit—thinking about you."
I lifted my head and met his eyes. "Fuck, baby. I like that image." Lowering my mouth, I hummed around him, the vibration making him squirm. There was something addictive about reducing my articulate, sharp-tongued lover to incoherence. Each lick, each subtle shift of pressure was calculated to drive him closer to the edge, to make him forget his practiced nonchalance.
My free hand slid between his thighs, fingers tracing the place where the silicone toy disappeared inside him. I applied gentle pressure to the base, pushing it a little deeper, rotating it in a subtle motion that made Casey's entire body jerk.
"What's this?" I asked, pulling off his cock with a wet sound that made him whimper. "You started without me?"
Casey's eyes, dark with arousal but still managing to convey exasperation, met mine. "You were supposed to be back hours ago," he said, voice cracking as I continued to work the toy inside him. "I got bored. And horny. Sue me."
I laughed softly, planting kisses along his inner thigh while my fingers played with the dildo. "Is that what this is? Just killing time?"
His legs spread wider in silent invitation, contradicting his words. "What else would it be? You think I—fuck!—you think I was desperate for you or something?"
I twisted the toy again, angling it toward that spot inside him that I knew made his toes curl. "The thought never crossed my mind," I lied, watching his stomach muscles tighten, his cock twitch against his belly. "This is just... what? A convenient way to pass the time? You weren't prepping so you could have me inside you as soon as possible."
Casey's eyes narrowed, recognizing the trap in my words but too far gone to care. "Exactly," he said, breathless. "Just like you're a convenient fuck for the summer."
The words should have stung, but I knew better. This was Casey's defense mechanism—sharp words to maintain the illusion that his heart wasn't involved. But his body told a different story. The way he'd prepared himself for me, the way he arched into my touch, the way he'd waited in my bed instead of his own.
"Such a brat," I murmured, withdrawing my hand from the toy. Before he could protest the loss, I delivered a sharp, stinging slap to the side of his ass. Casey's reaction was immediate and unexpected—a broken moan tore from his throat, his back arching off the bed. His eyes flew wide, pupils blown with shock and arousal.
We both froze, equally surprised by his response.
"Did you just..." I began, my voice thick with newfound desire.
"Shut up," Casey whispered, but there was no bite to it—just naked vulnerability and want.
I raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at my lips. "You liked that."
It wasn't a question, but Casey answered anyway, rolling onto his stomach, presenting his ass to me in a way that left no doubt. "Do it again," he said, the words muffled against the pillow but unmistakable. "Harder."
The sight of him—face pressed into my pillow, back curved in a perfect arch, the blue base of the dildo visible between his cheeks—nearly broke my self-control. I stripped off my underwear and straddled his calves, my cock hard and heavy, ready for him. Then I pushed his shirt up, running my hands down his back.
"Ask nicely," I said, palming the smooth globes of his ass, spreading him slightly to better see the toy stretching him open.
Casey turned his head, one eye visible, glaring at me with mingled defiance and desperation. "Fuck you."
I chuckled, leaning down to place a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. "That's not very nice at all," I murmured against his skin.
"Matt," he whispered. "Just a little."
My hand came down again, harder this time. The sound of palm meeting flesh echoed in the quiet loft, followed by Casey's choked cry. His body jerked beneath mine, seeking friction against the sheets.
"Want to try again?" I asked, rubbing the reddening handprint I'd left on his pale skin.
Casey's breathing was ragged, his voice barely audible when he spoke. "Please."
"Please what?" I prompted, delivering another spank to his other cheek, watching with fascination as his body clenched around the dildo.
"Please spank me again," he gasped, pride forgotten in the face of raw need. "Please, Matt. I need—I need more."
Something primal and possessive unfurled in my chest at his words. I'd never seen Casey so unguarded, so willing to ask for what he wanted instead of hiding behind sarcasm and deflection. It was intoxicating.
I established a rhythm—firm, measured slaps alternating between each cheek, watching as the pale skin flushed pink, then deepened to a rosy red. After each strike, I'd pause to soothe the heated flesh with gentle touches. After a moment, I slipped the dildo out of him, and kissed his gaped hole, running my tongue over the edges. He was clean and completely prepped, and the lube he'd used tasted like strawberry candy. I shoved my tongue deeper, listening to his gasp as I gripped his ass roughly, then gave him a hard swat.
"Matt," he whined. Just fuck me.
"This is mine," I whispered, slapping him again.
Casey's reactions were a symphony of pleasure—gasps, moans, and broken curses that dissolved into pleas. His hips moved constantly, grinding against the mattress, pushing back against my hand, seeking more sensation. His hole clenched around my tongue, a hypnotic sensation that had me rock hard and leaking pre-cum.
"Look at you," I murmured, delivering a particularly sharp spank that made him cry out. "So pretty like this. All spread out for me, taking your punishment so well."
"Not—not a punishment," Casey managed between harsh breaths. "Feels too good to be—ah!—punishment."
I laughed, low and warm, as my hand came down again. "Then consider it a reward for waiting for me." My fingers traced the puffy rim where the dildo entered him, watching how it fluttered and gripped the silicone. "For getting yourself ready for my cock."
Casey moaned, pushing his ass higher, a wordless demand for more. I obliged with another series of spanks, each one drawing a more desperate sound from him. His skin was hot to the touch now, marked with my handprints, a canvas of my desire for him. Then I leaned down, gripping his hips as I devoured his hungry hole, fucking him with my tongue in quick, rough motions. He whimpered, his fingers digging into the sheets.
When his thighs began to tremble with the effort of maintaining his position, I knew he was close—close to coming, close to begging, close to that beautiful moment when all his walls came down.
"Please," he whispered, voice cracking. "Please fuck me now. I need you inside me."
I leaned down, pressing my chest against his back, my lips against his ear. "Is my tongue not enough?"
"Not the same," he panted. "Need you. Need your cock. Your piercings. Please, Matt."
How could I resist such an honest plea? Casey whimpered, and I fingered him, adding more lube and making sure he was nice and slick, his hole glistening, clenching around nothing. I reached for the bottle on the nightstand, slicking myself generously.
"Turn over," I said softly. "Want to see your face as I fuck you."
He complied, rolling onto his back, legs falling open in invitation. He reached out and grabbed his legs under the knee, looking for all the world like a sexy little slut, spread open and ready for me. His cock lay hard against his stomach, leaking and neglected. I grabbed a pillow and shoved it under his ass, raising him up so I could fuck him good and deep.
I positioned myself between his thighs, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance but not pushing in yet. "Been thinking about this," I admitted, running my hands up his sides, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. "Every night in that tent. Thinking about coming home to you."
Something flashed in Casey's eyes—vulnerability, maybe even affection—before he covered it with his usual snark. "Yeah, well, you took your sweet fucking time about it."
I smiled, recognizing the defense mechanism for what it was. "I'm here now," I said simply, and pushed forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle. "We can survive being apart if we know this is what we're coming home to, can't we?"
"I don't know about––" he cut his own words off with a moan as I sank deeper. The heat of him was overwhelming after days of only my own hand for relief. I sank in slowly, giving him time to adjust to each of my piercings as they slipped past his rim. Casey's eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as I filled him inch by inch.
When I was fully seated, I paused, giving us both a moment to adjust. His legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my lower back, urging me deeper even though there was nowhere left to go.
"Missed this," he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. Then, louder, with his typical bravado: "Now move, Blackstone. Some of us don't have all day."
I laughed, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than finesse. "So impatient," I whispered against his mouth as I began to withdraw, the ridge of my piercing catching on his rim.
Casey's fingers dug into my shoulders as I established a rhythm—deep, measured thrusts that had us both panting. Each stroke was a rediscovery, a reminder of how perfectly we fit together, how his body welcomed mine as if designed for it.
I angled my hips to hit that spot inside him that made his back arch off the bed, made his cock twitch and leak onto his stomach. The noises he made—half-curses, half-pleas—drove me wild, urged me to move faster, thrust harder.
"Touch yourself," I commanded, voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Want to see you come on my cock."
Casey's hand moved between us, wrapping around his length, stroking in time with my thrusts. The sight was erotic beyond words—his flushed face, his hair wild against my pillow, his talented fingers working his cock while I fucked into him.
"Feels so good," he gasped, the other hand grasping at my bicep, feeling the flex of muscle with each movement. "Your piercings—fuck—so good, Matt."
I increased my pace, feeling the familiar tightening at the base of my spine that signaled my approaching orgasm. Casey's breathing grew more erratic, his strokes faster, clumsier. He was close too.
"Come for me," I urged, grinding deep, making sure my piercings dragged against his prostate. "Let me see you, Casey."
His body tensed beneath mine, his back arching impossibly higher as his release hit him. Hot stripes of cum painted his stomach and chest as he cried out—a sound so raw and unguarded it pushed me right to the edge.
"Missed you," he choked out in the midst of his orgasm, the words clearly escaping before he could censor them. "Missed you so fucking much."
The admission, more than the physical sensation, sent me over. I thrust deep one final time, holding myself there as pleasure crashed through me in waves. I emptied myself inside him, marking him in the most primal way possible, claiming him even as I knew our time was limited.
As the intensity faded and our breathing began to normalize, I carefully lowered myself beside him, gathering his sweat-slick body against mine. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, content to exist in the afterglow, in the simple fact of being together again.
Casey's head rested on my chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns through the light dusting of hair. I stroked his back, feeling each vertebra, marveling at how someone so sharp-edged could feel so soft in my arms.
"I didn't think you'd use the keys," I admitted finally, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
He stiffened but didn't pull away. "Yeah, well. Your place is warmer."
I smiled against his hair, recognizing the lie for what it was—a shield against vulnerability. "Of course. Very practical."
Casey huffed but snuggled closer, contradicting his own performance of indifference. And in that moment, with his warm weight against me and the scent of sex hanging in the air, I admitted to myself what I'd been avoiding for weeks: I was in love with him. Completely, utterly in love with this prickly, brilliant, beautiful man who would be leaving at summer's end.