Chapter 7 #2
Trevor just gave him another look, but didn’t say anything else, not until Lane had parked in the garage and they were back upstairs, pulling their coats off and Lane was heading into the kitchen to try to cobble together some kind of meal.
Difficult at the best of times, but nearly impossible when nine-tenths of his brain was still stuck on how uncertain Trevor had sounded when he’d claimed they weren’t the same as Aidan and Levi.
“Dude, what is your issue? Are you really freaking out about your mom and my dad coming?” Trevor hadn’t taken his normal place, perched on one of the kitchen island barstools so he could heckle Lane at his inability to cook, but instead was leaned up against the counter. Right in his space.
Lane stared into the fridge, at the packet of raw chicken breasts. He had some vegetables in the drawer. He could throw together some kind of stir-fry. Maybe.
“Of course I’m not.” Lane pulled out the chicken. Dug in the crisper drawer for some carrots. A pre-washed bag of broccoli that didn’t look too wilted. Why had he even bought broccoli? He didn’t even like broccoli. But Trevor does, an insidious voice reminded him.
“You’ve been off since then.”
He probably had been. But it was more than that too. It was that ever since he’d walked in and Trevor had been talking to his mom, and she’d told them both that she and Tom were coming to Toronto, Trevor hadn’t touched him once. Accidentally or on purpose.
“Sounds pretty fucking nebulous, man.” Lane knew it was useless to argue, but he’d been fighting this for so long, it felt natural to just keep doing it. To just never stop, even when there was a part of him that argued, hey, maybe it’s time.
Trevor made a frustrated noise as Lane pulled a big sauté pan out of the cupboard.
A second later, a hand tangled in his hair and jerked him around.
Hot, his brain thought, and a second later, as he took in Trevor’s flat line of a mouth, and dangerous.
“Come on,” Trevor said. “I’m not stupid.”
“You freaked out.” The words tumbled out of Lane’s mouth.
But Trevor’s expression didn’t flicker. “Bullshit.”
Lane tried to swallow the words back, but instead, they came out in a sulky whine that he desperately wanted to snatch back. “You haven’t touched me since.”
Trevor’s gaze was steady and drifted down to his mouth. His hand tightened in Lane’s hair. And that wasn’t hot at all. Lie. “I’m touching you right now,” he said.
Hard to not hate how calm Trevor sounded, all while Lane was going out of his goddamn mind. But then, that’d been par for the course for the last six years, hadn’t it?
“You told me I could take whatever I wanted, and I thought that was kind of crap, just the kind of thing guys said to get you into bed—”
“It wasn’t,” Lane interrupted before he could stop himself.
Trevor’s hands tangled even more firmly in Lane’s hair, yanking him down until their eyes were level.
“I’m beginning to see that,” Trevor said, and kissed him.
Even as Trevor pushed Lane against the counter, the kiss morphing from harsh—their mouths scraping together like they were finally giving themselves permission to take what they wanted—to hot and then sweet, the grip on Lane’s hair never let up.
“Fuck,” Lane mumbled into Trevor’s mouth. Lane’s hands settled on his hips, squeezing them firmly, digging into the irresistible curve of them, echoing the way Trevor was touching him.
“Kinda the idea,” Trevor said, his lips curving into a smile against Lane’s.
But before Lane could suggest they go to his bedroom—he’d been needing to see Trevor laid out against his sheets again—Trevor released his hold on Lane’s hair, leaving him almost lightheaded with the sudden absence of pressure, and sank to the floor.
If Lane had even had a thought in his head about stopping him, he couldn’t have gotten it out before Trevor took a determined breath and tugged his sweatpants down, and then his boxer briefs.
His cock bobbed out, as hard as it had ever been.
And then he went impossibly harder, because Trevor leaned in, tongue flicking out, tasting him experimentally.
“Oh my God,” Lane muttered. He should say something like, you don’t have to or it’s not required, but if Trevor stopped, he was possibly going to cry about it, so he accepted the selfishness of silence.
Telling himself that if Trevor didn’t want it, he wouldn’t have gone to his knees anyway.
Trevor had always imagined that the view from this position might look—might feel—different than this.
Less like he was in control, but it turned out that he had all the control. Lane panting above him and his eyes wild, like he was blowing not just his dick but his mind, even though Trevor had barely touched him yet.
Considering Lane’s reputation, it was surprising just how affected Lane looked by this. But maybe it had just been awhile. Lane didn’t exactly tend to kiss and tell, but Trevor didn’t think he’d hooked up once since they’d gotten to Toronto.
He settled more firmly on the backs of his calves, trying to remember all the advice he’d sort of inadvertently picked up through the years. All the things he liked.
It was intimidating—Lane was not exactly small—but there was something freeing about how much Trevor wanted to do it, and how Lane kept shaking like even Trevor’s hand curling around his thigh was blowing his mind.
“You gotta tell me how it is,” Trevor murmured, before flicking his tongue out again, tasting the precome beading at the tip. He slid Lane’s cock further into his mouth.
It was hot and salty, the taste and weight of him blowing up Trevor’s own nerves. Making his own cock throb in his sweatpants.
“You’re . . . you’re doing just fine,” Lane mumbled. Then a hand landed in Trevor’s hair. Not grabbing and grasping like Trevor had just done to Lane, but different. Softer. Sweeter. Encouraging.
Trevor had told himself firmly that he wouldn’t go too fast, but the more he took in, every inch of Lane’s cock, the more he wanted. And it wasn’t exactly surprising when he choked a little.
Lane’s hand petted his head, wordlessly reassuring, as Trevor backed up a little, swallowing convulsively. He thought if he looked up, taking in Lane, he’d see his head tipped back, jaw tight, other hand gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles white like he was hanging on for dear life.
It was almost a game; to glance up and see how accurate the fantasy Lane was to the real Lane, and he almost jolted at how identical Lane actually was to his vision. Even more blown apart, if Trevor was forced to make an assessment.
But he wasn’t going to. Not right now. Not when he could continue taking Lane apart.
His own cock throbbed more insistently, and he pressed at it with the heel of his hand, needing to feel some kind of pressure.
Lane groaned deep in his throat at the sight. “Yeah, baby,” he encouraged, “touch yourself. Like sucking me so bad you can’t help yourself.”
Trevor felt an answering moan rise in his throat, vibrating around Lane’s length, and a second later, he was tucking his hand into his own pants, pleasure jolting through him as he stroked once, twice.
It was hard to say what even felt better: the weight of Lane’s dick on his tongue or the grip of his hand around his own.
A constant cycle of bliss, each one building the other up higher and higher until Trevor wasn’t sure his whole head wasn’t going to blow right off.
“Shit yeah,” Lane muttered, voice as rough as Trevor had ever heard. “Goddamn it, so good.”
Trevor wasn’t sure how long he could last—the feedback loop was closing around itself, and he sucked harder, tongue ghosting along the underside, feeling the vein there pulse.
Then Lane’s hand tightened more in his hair and Trevor knew the moment had come.
“Trev, I’m gonna—I can’t—” Lane broke off, muttering a whole string of swear words under his breath. He tried to pull him off, but Trevor wouldn’t budge.
He wanted it, more than he’d ever wanted anything else before.
Sex had definitely never been this good, and he wasn’t about to miss out on the end of it, just because Lane was worried he’d hate it.
“I wanna . . .” Lane exhaled hard. “On your face, baby.”
But that would be even better. Bless Lane for having the best ideas.
Trevor let his hot, wet length slip from his lips and he had only barely gotten his hand around it before Lane was tensing up everywhere and then began to come.
Long warm streaks across his cheeks and forehead and even a corner of his mouth.
He slipped his tongue out, tasting it, and the flavor of it and the fucking reality of it made his own hand tighten around himself, and a second later, he was shuddering too, orgasm crashing over him.
“Fuck, fuck, that’s . . .” Lane trailed off.
Trevor glanced down, at the pool of come underneath him. Then up at Lane, who was staring down at him like he was a priceless piece of artwork in one of those fancy museums.
“Yeah,” Trevor croaked.
Everything they’d done before now had been hot, sure, but that had blown the top of his head clean off.
Were experiments supposed to be that mind-blowing? Trevor didn’t want to admit to Lane that sex had never been like that for him before, that every time they crashed together, each time hotter than the last, the reality was lodging under his skin like a splinter he didn’t even want to pick out.
Lane leaned down over him, swiping at his dirty face with a paper towel. Trevor hadn’t even realized he’d gone to grab one. He was that out of it. That caught up in the questions spiraling through his brain.
What are we doing?
And can we just keep doing it?
After finishing, Lane tossed it down and Trevor tried not to blush as he cleaned up the floor, then tucked himself back into his sweatpants.
Lane extended a hand, lifting him to his feet effortlessly even though he wasn’t exactly small. But then Trevor knew just what all those rippling muscles Lane never seemed to put away were capable of.
“Well,” Lane said, staring at him like he didn’t know what to say.
That made two of them.