5. No Grabbing #2
While he spoke, Jonathan dropped his hand to the front of Connor’s pants and traced the shape of Connor’s stiff cock up and down, up and down, until Connor didn’t want that hand on his face anymore. He really wanted it right where it was. Only no pants.
He needed to have no pants.
But he shouldn’t take his hands off the door, so he had to wait.
The pressure on his cock where it was trapped mirrored the way he felt, pressed against the door, and he wanted to writhe, wanted to explode, but he’d wait, even if it almost broke him.
He didn’t move.
Not until he felt the waistband of his pants open, heard the sound of his zipper, and felt the loosening of the constraint on his cock. That shattered his control.
He wrapped his hands around Jonathan’s waist and lifted him to his toes.
They would kiss. Now.
“Connor.”
The command in Jonathan’s tone seized him.
“Hands.”
Without thinking about the command, without telling himself to obey, his palms slapped back against the door and he heard the soft thump as Jonathan’s heels hit the carpet.
“You listen so well.” Jonathan’s voice changed to a low purr and what was this, why was he this fucking hard and leaking before his bare dick was even touched and why was this was so hot he was going to come in his briefs, fuck.
Jonathan returned to Connor’s clothes—good—and he focused on how Jonathan lowered his pants, but only his pants, not his briefs—not good—to somewhere around his knees.
He felt the glide of the ironed fabric on his legs, smelled Jonathan’s yummy lemon dessert-scented hair, heard the hitch in his own breathing as Jonathan slid down Connor’s body, fully clothed but with his graceful arms lifted over his head, trailing behind the pressing weight of his chest as he sunk downwards.
Sunk towards Connor’s cock. Slunk. Slinky. No brain thoughts. Just Jonathan thoughts.
He could feel the stretchy fabric that separated him from Jonathan growing damp. Jonathan must know it, too.
Jonathan sucked and licked the skin over his ribs, his arms like beams rising across Connor’s chest and his fingers pressed into the base of Connor’s throat. He used his weight, nothing Connor couldn’t lift, to pin Connor’s pelvis to the door.
If Connor spread his legs wider, he could trap Jonathan. He could catch Jonathan’s body between his thighs and hold him in place, thrust his hands into Jonathan’s hair, take everything that right now Jonathan limited him to receiving.
He could take. Touch. Taste.
He didn’t have to stand here.
He wanted to stand here.
Jonathan kept sinking, and his hands left Connor’s throat and trailed to his nipples, then lower, low enough to toy with the waistband of Connor’s briefs, a good thing rapidly becoming a thing so great that his briefs were strangling him and needed to come off.
Jonathan wasn’t doing that. Instead, he sucked at a spot low enough on Connor’s stomach that when his hips thrust, his cock nestled in the curve of Jonathan’s throat, but with the fabric barrier still between them.
He needed to be out of his clothes because then maybe Jonathan would suck him and that was going to be it, one minute, not even one minute with this man’s mouth, and he’d be so gone.
Finally, he pulled the waistband away to suck a spot on Connor’s hip while he snaked a hand behind Connor to grip onto his ass. And his mouth, his teasing-everywhere mouth, was flirting with the inside of Connor’s thigh where his briefs had hiked up.
Connor spread his legs as far apart as his tangled pants allowed. He needed them gone. He needed to be naked so he could thrust against Jonathan and then maybe Jonathan would take his cock in that mouth.
Jonathan stood again, and Connor groaned. No cocksucking.
But Jonathan finally slid the briefs down Connor’s thighs and drifted his fingers across the aching length of his cock, and that was so intense that Connor couldn’t repress a shudder.
From just Jonathan’s touch on his shaft.
His hips knew what they wanted, and thrust into the space between their bodies, seeking more. The rest of Connor didn’t move from the door.
“Mmm.” Jonathan made a sound similar to the ones he’d made at dinner, maybe coming from deeper in his chest, and Connor understood that he was enjoying playing with Connor.
Good, because Connor was super-fucking enjoying being played with.
Then Jonathan’s thumb crossed the tip of Connor’s cock, found the precum there, and spread it. Recrossed. Circled.
This time, Connor’s whole body quivered, but he didn’t lift his hands. He would be Jonathan’s toy, as Jonathan wished.
Jonathan abandoned the game.
When Jonathan had put two steps between them, and Connor knew it wasn’t repositioning, it was leaving, he heard himself whine. He was a breath away from begging, even though he suspected that wouldn’t make this man give him anything, would probably make him take longer.
He squeezed his eyes closed.
“Connor.”
Connor’s eyes flew open.
“Watch.”
Jonathan touched himself over his clothing.
Holy fuck.
Connor imagined it was him tracing the path of the buttons on that black shirt, his hand spreading across the concealing fabric, his palm stroking down the bulge in the front of the white pants.
“Do you want to mess up my clothing?”
“Nooo.” Connor whispered, watched, and yearned.
“I think you’re lying, aren’t you, Connor?”
He nodded.
“Stay there.” He’d moved out of the narrow strip of light coming from the bathroom. Having a dark and indistinct blur tell him exactly what to do, and what not to do, made Connor feel light-headed.
Then Jonathan adjusted the bathroom door to angle the golden light toward Connor, illuminating him before he stepped closer and wrapped his fingers lightly around Connor’s cock, with such perfect pressure that Connor shuddered against the door.
“I could make you come just like this, couldn’t I?”
“Yes.” The word was barely a sound, or maybe not a sound, only a thought. Fuck, his breathing was louder than his answer.
“Would that get on my clothes?”
Jonathan traced slow half-circles across the base of his cock, and one of his rings caught in the hair, pulling Connor’s gaze away from Jonathan’s face and down to his own body.
The only movement was Jonathan’s thumb, tracking left and right and back again, and again, while Connor watched the dark gleam of polish swipe slowly through his hair.
“I know you would be messy.”
“Nooooo, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He would promise to be very careful, very good, he was one breath from babbling, agreeing to anything, if only Jonathan would tighten his fingers. Move his wrist. Go faster.
“Maybe I should wrap this and make you come into a condom right here.” Even though he was quiet, Jonathan’s voice wasn’t soft. It made Connor think he could be more than a little bit strict, and fuck, that also made him shudder.
Jonathan putting a condom on him. Jonathan standing there stroking him. Jonathan watching him. Jonathan telling him when to come.
Finally, he got what he’d been wanting for so long he couldn’t remember not wanting it, and Jonathan rotated his hand and slid his fingers underneath Connor’s cock, lifting him and then sliding closer to cradle his balls.
Connor felt his shaft rub across the inside of Jonathan’s wrist, the catch and bump of his bracelet on Connor’s sensitive skin somehow as erotic as a full grip.
The sliver of light illuminated their point of connection like artistic porn, creating an otherworldly space inhabited only by his need, his cock, and Jonathan’s hand and wrist. He thrust, trying to push into Jonathan’s grip or nudge farther along Jonathan’s forearm, anything to deepen this feeling. Anything to make Jonathan speak again.
But Jonathan released him and stepped away.
Connor took one step to follow.
Jonathan held up his hand, palm out. “Did I say you could move?”
He thudded back into the door.
“Good boy.”
Oh. That was…
He was going to be a good boy. He was going to be the best boy he knew how to be. So he said nothing, and watched Jonathan walk to the desk at the other side of the shadowed room with no idea why, and that was also fucking exciting.
He wanted to plead with Jonathan to take off his own clothes or let him take them off but that was a lot of words to use right now. A lot.
Then Jonathan dragged the chair toward the door, and that was even more fucking exciting, at least according to Connor’s aching cock.
Jonathan could fuck him while he leaned on the chair.
Or he could sit in the chair and Jonathan could straddle him.
Or Jonathan could stand on the chair and Connor could suck him, although that might be dangerously unstable. He could—
“Look at me, Connor.”
That was easy, because Jonathan was unfastening his buttons, a thing he could watch for a long time.
They were black and glinted in the dimness while Jonathan slowly revealed the skin that had teased Connor through the mesh.
He slipped out of the sleeves with a grace unlike any that Connor had ever witnessed, folded the shirt neatly down the middle, and laid it carefully on the chair, all while Connor waited and watched.
His brain fuzzed at the sight of Jonathan’s tattoo, something large and botanical twining around his upper arm, but then Jonathan turned sideways, putting his arm on the far side of his body. He didn’t mind, because Jonathan immediately ran a hand down the center of his bare chest. So smooth.
Then Jonathan let his shoulders drop backward past all possibility, until his body created a curve that Connor wanted to follow in both directions.
If he allowed, then Connor could hold him in the small of his back and let him bend away just like this, presenting his stomach and the ladder of his ribs so that Connor could lick and suck on each indent and rub his weeping cock all over him.