13. Sex Marathon
13
SEX MARATHON
Luke
Yesterday, we tumbled into Tanner’s apartment in a frenzy, tearing off clothes, kissing like a riot.
Tonight, I don’t want a one-hundred-meter dash to the finish line. I’m in the mood for a sex marathon.
Also, I want to go to my pad. I have my reasons. But when I unlock the door, my reasons have to wait a few minutes.
Kickoff is mad at me. She’s waiting for me at the door, her striped tabby tail twitching loudly against the floor, beating a drumbeat of impatience. Her green slitty eyes cast a curse upon my whole family.
“What? I left you food,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes more. “Meow!”
Tanner chuckles. “I believe in cat language she just said fuck you .”
“Those are the only words she knows,” I mutter as I head into the kitchen.
The tabby follows me, jumps onto the counter, and paces like a lion in a zoo. Also, she’s caterwauling. “Meow, meow, meow.”
“I don’t know why you need a second dinner,” I say to the critter who controls me.
With amusement in his eyes, Tanner leans against the doorway of the kitchen and crosses his arms. “She might be onto something. A second dinner sounds good to me.”
“Well, she’s tricked me into giving her, I don’t know, ten dinners,” I say, grabbing a Tupperware container of cat chow and scooping out a tiny amount into her bowl.
With a final vitriolic meow, she dips her face to the kibble and eats. After one bite, she lifts her furry face, stares haughtily at me like she’s saying I still don’t forgive you for missing my ten p.m. snack by an hour .
“Gimme a break. You’re the only cat who gets a late-night snack.”
“Meow!”
“And again, she just told you to fuck off,” Tanner says.
“Cats,” I mutter, then scoop a tiny bit more and set it in another cat dish. “End Zone will show up when she’s done. He’s scared of her.”
“Evidently he’s not the only one,” Tanner says, smirking at me.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “You heard her. She’s terrifying. I should have named her Outside Linebacker.”
A hint of a smile tilts his lips, then vanishes. He steps forward, reaches for my ball cap, and takes it off me, setting it on the counter.
I didn’t know a dude removing my cap would be sexy, but you learn something new every day.
Tanner runs a hand through my hair, murmuring appreciatively.
Wow.
I’m like a candle, melting. What the fuck is he doing to me?
He’s doing what you want .
He inches closer, tilts his head, his eyes gleaming. As he plucks at the hem of my Leopards shirt, his knuckles graze my abs. I shiver.
Another seductive smile comes my way.
But he doesn’t say a word. He talks with his fingers. They travel up and under my shirt, exploring my stomach.
My dick jumps.
My breath catches.
Still, he doesn’t kiss me.
And I don’t move. I don’t want to move. Especially when his eyes lock with mine. It’s weird, being friends, and staring at each other with lusty gazes. But it’s also not weird since right now, he’s not a friend. He’s the man I want.
I can’t wait any longer. On a rough swallow, I grab the neck of his polo. “Just fucking kiss me.”
A smirk. A lick of his lips. And still, he’s silent, answering me with his body. He crowds me against the counter. I can feel the bite of the Formica in my lower back. It’s sharp, the promise of something strong coming my way.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get my mouth,” he says, as he slides a thumb over my lower lip like I pictured at the bar. I part my lips, inviting more. But he doesn’t heed it. Instead, he traces my top lip, and I tremble.
Who knew my good friend could fucking seduce a man like this?
The clip of my heart speeds up. I feel caught in my own greedy desire, in his artful anticipation. I breathe out hard, then take a long hit of him. I’m just smelling that soap again, that shampoo again, and it’s still weaving its magic on me. I crave him so much. When his lips touch mine at last, my mind melts.
He kisses me like a slow, dirty song with a bassline of desire.
I grab hold of his waist, but I don’t move otherwise. I let him take the lead. He wants that. I want that even though I am not used to this kind of kissing.
The sensual kind, where someone explores me thoroughly. It’s a little brain-frying. He’s deliberately slow, lingering on every single moment. Stretching them out with druggy, delicious kisses. Sweeps of his lips. Flicks of his tongue.
Travels of his hands, down my arms, over my abs.
I rarely get this. I never ask for this. But this is why I invited him to my place.
As I lean back against the counter, I take more of what he’s giving me. His body presses against mine, but not in a too-fast grind. More like a hint rather than a pre-fuck.
When Tanner lifts his hands to hold my face, tension unwinds inside me. All that talk of contracts fades away in his touch. My desperate wish for the next thing in my career takes a pause as his lips simply coast over mine, barely kissing me, leaving me with so much want.
My dick thumps hard and insistent against my shorts.
He murmurs as he travels along my jaw. When he reaches my ear, he sucks on my earlobe, then whispers, “What are you into?”
You . Just you right now.
But before I can say a word, someone rubs against my shoulder. Purrs in my ear.
I laugh, breaking the kiss. “Hey, buddy,” I say to End Zone, the big orange boy, who must have jumped on the counter when we were making out.
Tanner lets go of my face, scratches the cat’s chin, then turns to me. “You need to take care of him?”
He asks it with such genuine concern for my cat that my heart beats strangely faster.
“Nah, he’s all good. He’s just saying hello.”
Tanner strokes the cat once more. “Hey, buddy,” he says, and fuck if that doesn’t make me feel good, I don’t know what does.
When he drops his hand from the cat, we both go silent again, and I can tell he’s giving me time and space to answer his question— What am I into ?
We’ve talked about sex countless times. We don’t shy away from details. Tanner and I are friends with a bunch of very sex-positive queer men. We don’t hold back in discussing the things we like, the things we don’t like, what works, and what doesn’t work.
But talking about sex with a group of friends is one thing. Talking about it with a guy you’re about to sleep with is entirely different. And when that guy’s your very good friend, it’s infinitely harder.
I can’t rely on my usual defenses—swagger and jokes. But, as I take a fueling breath, maybe I don’t want to.
Because here’s the other thing—talking about sex with the guy you want is ridiculously hot.
It’s one of my favorite types of foreplay. While I know the answer to the question I’m about to ask, I run my hand up the fabric of his shirt, and ask anyway. “You’re vers, right?”
“I am.” He takes a pause and, in that beat, I can smell his desire. Can tell he wants to talk about wishes and wants with me too. “You?”
He also knows my answer. But I say it anyway. “Same. But I mostly top.”
Tanner blinks. “Oh,” he says, surprised.
Yeah, wait till I surprise him some more.
“That’s what you want?” His tone says he’s willing.
God, I want that too. I want it all. Every single thing. I am more voracious than usual with him. I grab his hips again, tug his pelvis against mine.
The ridge of his erection sends a blast of lust through me, strong, and unstoppable. This is a big next step. And I take it. “Not tonight.”
His lips curve into the most satisfied grin in the city. It’s pure, filthy bliss. “Yeah?”
It’s like he can’t believe his luck.
Maybe I can’t believe mine either. “I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes float closed for a few heady seconds. When he opens them, his lips crash down on mine.
Hard and possessive.
Hungry.
Like something has been let loose inside him too. It’s a chaotic kiss, all grabbing hands and crashing mouths. Bodies slamming, heating up, racing.
But I don’t want to rush to the finish. I want sex the way I never get to have it.
I set a hand on his chest, stopping him, panting as I ask, “Want to know why I want you to fuck me?”
He nods savagely. “Yeah, I do.”
“Because guys usually want me to top,” I tell him, and that feels dangerously vulnerable. “They ask me to top. They assume I only want to top.”
Tanner’s eyes roam up and down my big frame. “I get that.”
“But see, I like fucking. I like everything about it,” I say, coming closer to why I brought him here to my home.
This won’t be easy to say.
The truth is, guys want me to top, but I also never tell them I want to bottom sometimes. I never say it because…it’s easier that way for me.
It’s safer for me to top. To stay in control.
But with Tanner, easy isn’t the only choice I have. I have other options.
“I like fucking and being fucked,” I say, and his gaze is more eager, more excited than I’ve ever seen it. That emboldens me to finish my confession. “But most are afraid to top me.”
“They think they’ll do it wrong? That they can’t handle you?”
I shrug. “Who knows? Doesn’t matter. What matters is this—I want you to fuck me nice and slow and make it last. Can you do that?”
There. I brought him here to ask for what I want in a place where I feel the most comfortable.
He shudders, then breathes out a hot, heady, “Yes.”