43. Butter On Toast #2
Jonathan’s mouth consumed his senses. He could feel the strong tip of his tongue swirling and prodding, and then Jonathan was slowly taking more of his cock, until he wanted to lose himself in the dark hole of desire that was in front of him, but that was a feeling inside him, not something in the mirror.
“Your cock. It’s red and hard and hot.”
Jonathan should have two mouths, one for sucking and one for talking, because he wanted both things at the same time and he couldn’t have them like that and nothing was fair.
Then Jonathan blew on him and he shuddered and his nipples, God they must be nail heads on his chest, he could see them standing up in the mirror.
“Is your skin all pink too?”
“Ye-es.” It sounded like too many syllables.
Jonathan moved fingers on his length, wetting his fingers, and then his mouth was taking his cock again but the fingers were stroking his balls, pulling on their weight, and then everything shifted and his balls were in Jonathan’s mouth and the wet finger had moved farther and oh fuck that was so perfect, that little wet touch, like the electricity on his stomach had moved to center itself there and he was fucking zapped.
He bucked and his cock grazed Jonathan’s forehead because he was still sucking his balls and he had an image of his cum in Jonathan’s hair and dripping on Jonathan’s face and him rubbing it in like lotion and this was so good so good so good.
The finger slipping inside him, also so good.
Jonathan’s mouth pulled off.
“Nooo.” In the mirror, his mouth was a circle, open, panting or begging, he didn’t know.
“Tell me what you see.” The words vibrated against Connor’s leg, and the punctuation came from Jonathan’s teeth, a scrape on the inside of his thigh that he could feel from his soles to his neck. “Tell me.”
The mirror. That’s what Jonathan wanted him to focus on, so he started there. “I see. The mirror. Me.”
He took Connor’s cock back in his mouth.
Yes, fucking hell yes.
Connor knew it was bad and rude, but he drove deeper and heard the air come out of Jonathan’s nose, but Jonathan didn’t stop him, didn’t pull off, pulled him deeper and he knew he must keep talking. Had to keep Jonathan happy. Do what Jonathan wanted him to do.
“Eyes.” His had gone big and wild. He’d never seen himself like this, looking like a storm of wanting, but his reflection bounced between the mirror and the shine of his own eyes looking in the mirror and it made an infinity of Connors, tinier and tinier, in his eyes.
He could swear he saw Jonathan there, too, which wasn’t possible because he was on his knees, but Connor knew he saw Jonathan everywhere, so why wouldn’t he be in his own eyes, too.
“I see you.”
Sucking. Licking. The finger, just a little, just what spit and pre-cum made easy, but it was shaking through him.
He was here. He was good. This was good. He needed air, more of it, because he could hear the breath heaving in and out of his chest and knew he needed more.
“My mouth.” He was panting. His tongue and lips felt dry but looked glistening in the mirror. “It’s open.”
He could hear Jonathan too, wet and sloppy sounds that filled his ears and dripped through his veins like sweet jam. His words were matching the rhythm of Jonathan’s mouth, Jonathan going deep on his cock.
His cock was so wet, so deep in Jonathan’s mouth. And now Jonathan’s finger was wetter and deeper and there.
There. Fucking there.
His mouth was open, but he couldn’t hear anything, and he maybe could see in his own throat, but he could feel in Jonathan’s throat, and that was making his head spin.
The light came up fast at the edges of his vision and he reached the back of Jonathan’s throat and then pushed deeper, and he couldn’t hear but he must have said yelled some version of Jonathan’s name stretched out as long and chopped as he felt.
Jonathan.
“Connor, sweetheart.” Soft fingers trailed against his cheek.
Somehow, his naked butt had landed on the couch wrapped in the fuzziest of the blankets, the blue ombre one, with Jonathan’s body weighing it down. He turned his head to kiss those fingers.
Jonathan looked like a cat. Not a grumpy one.
“You are really very good for my ego. Very good.”
There was a compliment for him in there, so he made a rising hum in his chest that should convey approval without having to open his mouth. Words themselves, making them or choosing them, he wasn’t ready for that.
“Honestly, I sucked your brains out your cock and that is not an exaggeration. So yes, good for my ego.”
“Silly.” He felt very cuddled and that answer was enough.
“Your eyes are beautiful.” Jonathan traced a finger across his eyebrows and down his temple, looping lightly over his skin. “Like topaz or that top shelf liquor with the light behind it in an upscale bar. Such pretty eyes.”
No need to repeat that Jonathan, who was definitely the pretty one here, was clearly also the deluded one. But it was nice to be called pretty.
He tried to regret closing his eyes, because Jonathan was still looking at him, but he was warm and sleepy. Also, Jonathan was stroking just underneath his eyebrows with magic fingertips as if he was casting a spell to make Connor’s eyes flutter closed, so.
He woke when Jonathan bounced on the couch. He’d changed into his double-breasted formal pajamas, all crisp cotton and mother-of-pearl buttons, and he held a plate with two pieces of nice-looking toast. Buttered, with sea salt and sesame sprinkles.
“You need a snack.”
Jonathan was always very serious about making him eat snacks and drink water after certain types of sex and that was reason two thousand, four hundred thirty-five that they were just right.
The toast was crunchy and he was really hungry.
“I am frankly astounded at your self-restraint. Or maybe it’s obliviousness. I must really have addled your brains along with everything else.”
“Don’t be smug.” He should be. That had been an epic blow job, and he wasn’t prepared to think about it, or he’d close his eyes and roll back up in the blanket. Epic.
“But have you even noticed?” That was the trickster smirk coupled with one of those through-the-eyelashes flirty glances, but Connor couldn’t do anything about it right now, not until he finished this excellent toast. And maybe not for twenty minutes after that either.
Honestly, thirty.
“What am I supposed to—” Then he noticed the two stacks of presents on the coffee table. “Whoa.”
Jonathan bounced again.
“We have personal presents here.” He pointed to the left stack of three presents, wrapped in three shades of blue and tied with white ribbons.
The one on the bottom looked like a clothing box, and then two small packages rested on top.
“You can open those tonight, but the ones on the right are party presents, and I require you to wait until tomorrow. We’re having Hank, Emma, Lily, Lauren’s family, and most of the team. ”
He freaking clapped, so cutely that Connor wanted to nuzzle him, but he also wanted to shake boxes.
“Why can’t I open them all tonight? They’re mine.” The toast must be hitting his bloodstream because he was feeling absurdly energetic and suspected he could reach straight off the couch to sweep both stacks into his arms.
“Because I said you cannot.” Jonathan snatched Connor’s forearm and pulled it against his waist.
“Oops.”
“I fully expect people to marvel at the party presents, and your impatience will not deprive me of that.”
“But they’re my presents. For me.”
“Are they?” He raised an eyebrow and that was Connor’s bossy duke, back where he belonged. “Is that how we do this?”
Connor considered the white blouse he’d given Jonathan which had absolutely been a gift for both of them, and dropped his head to his boyfriend’s shoulder. Half the boxes tonight, half tomorrow with their friends, but all of it was built of love.
“As you wish.”
“Fuck right off with that damn movie.”
“You’re my happy ever after, you know that?”
That got him a gaspy noise and another kiss. A top five great kiss. And he’d get these from here on out because Jonathan was his happy ending.
And he was Jonathan’s.
Thank you for spending your time with Connor, Jonathan, Ribby, and Pawsley.