Chapter 6 - Jacket #2
"You've obviously got something you're struggling against," Dylan said in that same low, commanding voice.
"That's alright, but it's not my problem.
What is my problem is all these can'ts, won'ts, don'ts — anything that sounds like a no or stop?
I'm the kind of guy that likes to be all in, and ?Ay Dios mío!
but there's so much I'd love to do to your bobo little ass.
It kills the mood for me, not being able to tell if you're serious.
So: pick a serious word. One you'll remember, and won't accidentally shout out while I'm busy blowing your mind. "
"Uh…" Hasilty, Ashton wracked his brain. "Byline?"
"Alright, byline it is," Dylan nodded. "Mine's Beethoven."
Ashton blinked. "Beethoven? Why?"
"Who's gonna say Beethoven during sex?" Dylan shrugged. "Safe words don't have to come with a story. In fact, it's probably better if they don't. The point is, I say it, you have to stop — right?"
"Sure, I guess…"
"No guessing," Dylan snapped, the warning clear. "This is about being clear. So?"
"You say Beethoven, I stop," Ashton repeated obediently. "Got it. So, uh… what now? Because I — I don't think I'm, um… that I'm ready for all the things you… uh, said."
"Mmm, me neither," Dylan murmured, as he found the zipper to Ashton's pants again, driving Ashton to madness with how slowly he slid it down. "Want you in a bed, for one. If I'm taking your cock, I believe I'd like to ride you. If you're taking me, then I'd want to take my time."
Oh hell.
Ashton gasped when Dylan shoved his hand inside Ashton's pants, warm and firm as he palmed Ashton's cock through the thin cotton of his briefs.
Breath shuddering at the touch, Ashton groaned, thrusting, deliriously grateful for even that much relief. He wasn't certain what he should be doing with his hands, what would be wanted or allowed; gripping and kneading at Dylan's shoulders, burying his face in Dylan's neck.
"Shouldn't rush it, your first time,” Dylan continued as the backs of those knuckles brushed along Ashton’s shaft in sweet torment. Exploring the shape of him, the curve of his — hng — his balls. “Take a few weeks, train you up on some toys… Do it right, y'know?"
Ashton nodded, so wound up he couldn't have said what it was he was agreeing to — Train me? What? And with…toys? — but fervently in need of it all the same.
"Have you so wound up and needy."
Needier than this?
"Begging me to fill you up with cock."
Oh, God.
"But I wouldn't."
Wait, but why — ?
"Not until you’re nice and ready."
Dylan squeezed him gently, carefully, making Ashton's world go magnificently bright. His knees were shaking; how weird was that? Most of his weight was braced against Dylan's frame, clutching at him and holding on for dear life.
"Even then, I'd go slow with you, Ashton."
Yes.
"Be so careful."
Yes.
"Make it good."
Yes.
"Gotta have you coming back to me."
Yes.
"Just me."
Yes, please.
There was something about the tone of his voice. Something about the free hand he had pressed so securely to the small of Ashton's back, that…
Ashton could almost believe him. Could almost believe that Dylan would let Ashton come back. That this could be more than another in a long string of brief encounters; that here was someone who actually wanted to —
Stay.
A sound escaped Ashton then; not a moan, not a groan, not a grunt. It'd been perilously close to a sob, he feared; desperate hope clawing its way through the ragged panting of his throat, that somehow Dylan hadn't noticed even as Ashton thrust against Dylan's hand.
Please stay.
"They don't treat you right, do they?" Dylan murmured, the concerned note in his voice confirming he'd heard everything Ashton would prefer to ignore. "Whoever you've been seeing; they don't give you what you need."
They don't stay.
They never stay.
"But I will."
Yes.
"You hear me?"
Yes.
"I'll give you everything and more."
Yes. Everything.
I want everything.
Just don't stop, and you can do anything you want.
Take anything you want.
"I'll take care of you, Ashton; I will."
Oh.
Slipping his hand under the elastic waistband of Ashton's briefs, Dylan wrapped his fingers around Ashton's cock; so warm and sure and solid. Ashton couldn't help but curl into him, a thread of need underscoring his harsh panting as he buried his face in Dylan's neck.
"What if someone comes up here?" Ashton asked against the safety of Dylan's skin.
"They won't," Dylan assured him; thumb stroking over the crown of Ashton’s cock and smearing his own pre-cum around and around in slick splendor that set Ashton's thighs to quaking.
"It's eight thirty at night on a Friday.
Everyone's at the game, or partying. No one’s ever up here this late. It's just you and me, Ashton. Just us."
"But — "
"Trust me. If someone opens the door at the bottom of the stairwell, we'll hear it echoing all the way to the top and have time to hide. They'll think we're up here smoking or something. Unless… You want to stop?"
Ashton vehemently shook his head no.
"Words, Ashton," Dylan taunted. "Use your words like a big boy."
A laugh bubbled up from Ashton's chest then; filling his chest with a warm and tingly delight that multiplied the currents surging through his cock.
"Fuck you," he huffed out around it.
"Man, I am trying," Dylan chuckled with a wide-eyed earnestness that helped ease Ashton's racing heart. "But you gotta work with me here, right?"
"I…don't want to stop," Ashton told him honestly, cupping Dylan's jaw in his palm. Sweeping his thumb just under Dylan's eye, he…
But Dylan ducked away from Ashton's hand, eyes flattening as he cleared his throat roughly. "Keep going then?"
Hesitantly, Ashton nodded, unsure what he'd just done wrong. Biting his tongue on what he'd been about to say for fear of ruining it again. Instead, he watched Dylan intently, waiting for his cues.
"Alright. You like my hand, or want me to blow you and stuff?" Dylan asked as simply as if he were asking what Ashton wanted on his pizza.
"Oh holy fuck." Ashton said, nearly swallowing his tongue. "Um. Would you?"
And Dylan's grin would be etched in Ashton's memory forever; he was sure of it. And the sight of him dropping — fucking dropping — to his knees in front of Ashton's straining dick.
"Are you kidding? Just look at this cock. I'll bet you taste so good," Dylan told him, already tugging Ashton's pants down to his knees. "You're big enough to wreck my throat, make it ache for days. Maybe I'll even let you. But you'll be good and hold still for me until I say, won't you?"
"Yeah," Ashton replied automatically, ready to agree to anything as Dylan took hold of his cock again.
Except —
“What’s uh, mmm…" Oh good God did Dylan's hand feel good. And the way he was staring down the length of Ashton, like a tiger about to pounce? Distracting didn't even come close to it. And yet, Ashton urgently needed to know — "What’s ‘stuff’?”
“Hmm?” Dylan hummed quizzically, eyes locked on Ashton's cock, pink tongue flashing as it darted out to lick his lips.
“You s-said," Ashton swallowed. Hard. "‘Blow you, and stuff'… W-what’s that mean?"
“You tell me,” Dylan teased mischievously, further shredding Ashton's sanity with all the possibilities that could mean.
The cropped buzz cut at the sides of Dylan's skull tickled Ashton’s palms as he slid his hands up; steadying him, grounding him. He needed —
"Don't," Dylan warned sharply, and Ashton instantly froze.
"I don't like having my hair played with," Dylan said brusquely. "Grip my shoulders and brace against me instead."
And even if Ashton couldn't feel how the man's entire body had gone rigid, humming like a live wire under Ashton's hands? His tone alone was enough proof there'd be no use arguing the point, even if Ashton had wanted to.
Whatever Dylan might call him, there were times Ashton wasn't a fool. This, mercifully, was one of them.
He set his palms against the firm muscle of Dylan's shoulders; bracing himself as instructed and trusting Dylan to take control.