6. Chapter 6 Alex
Liam leaned in and kissed me.
The kiss started softly. His hand came up to the side of my neck, thumb along my jaw.
His mouth tasted like cocoa and cold air and I leaned into it, and for a minute it was just that.
Gentle. The lantern made the inside of the plastic glow gold.
The heater ticking. His thumb moving small circles below my ear.
Then his hand tightened on my neck, and the kiss changed.
He pulled me in harder, his tongue finding mine, and the sound I made into his mouth was the one I can never plan for, the one that comes up from somewhere below my spine. His other hand found my thigh under the blanket and gripped hard, and I felt the whole feeling of the evening tilt sideways.
Good. Let it tilt.
"Liam."
"Mm."
"We're doing this. Here."
It wasn't a question. He pulled back an inch anyway, checking, his eyes dark, his pupils eating the color, and whatever he saw on my face gave him the grin.
"I set up a boat with blankets and a heater in the middle of December, Alex. What did you think was going to happen?"
"I was hoping for this."
"You were hoping." His hand moved higher up my thigh. "The entire drive up you were hoping."
"The entire drive. The entire week. I've been thinking about this since Saturday night."
He pulled back and looked at me. Steady. Serious under the grin.
"I want you," he said. Simple. The way Liam says everything that matters. "I've wanted you for eight days, and if you think I'm going to let you leave in that peacoat without — "
"Take it off me, then."
His eyes glowed. He unzipped the peacoat and pushed it off my shoulders. Then the hoodie. He pulled it over my head and dropped it on the bench. Then the flannel underneath, one button at a time, his fingers steady, his eyes on mine.
"You put on four layers," he said.
"You said dress warm."
"Warm. Not climbing Everest warm."
The flannel came off. Then the thermal, and the cold air hit my skin for half a second before his hands replaced it. Palms flat on my stomach, sliding up over my ribs, warm and rough with calluses.
"God," he said, low. "Come here."
He pulled me onto him. His back against the cabin wall, me in his lap, my knees on either side of his hips on the bench, and the angle put us face to face, chest to chest, and I felt all of his dick through his jeans.
God.
He kissed me deep and rolled his hips up once, slow, deliberate, and I grabbed his shoulders.
"Off," I said, pulling at his shirt. "This is — you have to — off."
He stripped his shirt one-handed, grabbing the back of the collar and his chest was there.
Broad, dark hair trailing from his sternum down, the shoulders I'd watched pull a boat for years before I was allowed to touch them.
I put my mouth on his collarbone and felt the sound he made vibrate against my lips.
His hands went to my belt. Undid it with the efficiency of a man who'd been thinking about this step. Button. Zipper. His hand slid inside and wrapped around my dick through my boxers and my forehead dropped to his shoulder.
"Liam."
"Yeah?"
"Anything you want. Whatever you want tonight."
His hand stilled. I felt his breath change against the top of my head.
"You mean that?"
"I always mean it with you."
He was quiet for a second. His hand started moving again, slow, stroking my dick up and down, and I bit down on his shoulder to keep the sound in, and he said, into the top of my hair, in the voice that drops below his normal register.
"Get on your knees."
I did what he told me.
The blanket was soft under me. The heater was warm against my back. Above me Liam looked down with those dark eyes and his jaw tight and his chest bare, and his hand came to the side of my face, gentle.
"You're sure," he said.
"Anything."
That got the grin. Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and the grin softened into want, and he undid his jeans one-handed and lifted his hips, and I helped pull them down, boxers with them, and his dick was right there, hard, the head slick, and I wrapped my hand around the base and looked up at him.
"Tell me how you want it."
"Slow," he said. "Start slow. Take your time."
I took my time.
I kissed the inside of his thigh first, because I'd learned it made him twitch, and then the crease where his hip met his leg.
His hand tightened on the back of my neck but he didn't push.
I ran my tongue flat along the underside of his dick, base to tip, slow, and the sound he made filled the whole cabin, low and rough.
I took the head in my mouth and his hips came up off the bench. I could taste his salty pre-cum and it made my dick throb.
"Fuck — "
I'd gotten better at this. Weeks of practice in a twin bed, learning what he liked, the specific rhythm that turned Liam from a person with opinions into a person with one syllable. I found it now and held it, and let the sounds he was making tell me everything I needed to know.
His hand stayed on the back of my neck. Not pushing. Holding. Fingers in my hair, tight enough that I could feel the want, loose enough that I could pull away.
I didn't want to.
I wanted to be here. On my knees in a boat with his hand in my hair and the taste of him in my mouth. Happier than the study. Happier than the folder. Happier than any version of myself my father had ever put on a shelf, because this was the only version I'd ever chosen.
"Alex." His voice had gone ragged. "Look at me."
I looked up. His chest was heaving. His stomach muscles pulled tight. He was watching me like I was doing something sacred and filthy at the same time.
"Don't stop," he said. "God, don't stop."
I didn't stop.
His free hand moved. Found my jaw, traced down my neck, and then, slow, reached lower.
His fingers trailed down my spine, past the waistband of my jeans, still half-on and loose, and his fingertips slid under the elastic and down and found my hole.
Pressed, slow, just the pad of one finger against the tight muscle, circling.
My whole back arched. I moaned around his dick, loud; the vibration making his hips jerk, and his finger kept going. Slow circles, no penetration, just pressure, patient, maddening, while I worked him with my mouth and tried to keep a rhythm while my nervous system reorganized itself.
"You like that?" Low. Almost a whisper. His finger circling, pressing, backing off.
I pushed back against his hand. He took the hint.
More pressure. His fingertip dipping in, barely, just past the first ring, and holding. My hips rolled back onto it and the sound I made was desperate, and I didn't care.
He was close. I could feel it in the way his thigh muscles went rigid, in the stutter of his breathing, in the way his finger pressed deeper, matched to a rhythm only his body knew. His hand in my hair tightened.
"Alex — I'm gonna — "
I pulled off. Wrapped my hand around him, tight, stroking fast, and pressed my tongue flat against the underside of his tip, circling, tasting, my mouth open and waiting.
His hand fisted in my hair and his hips started moving, thrusting up into my grip, and I watched his face come apart from six inches away.
He came with a sound I will hear for the rest of my life, and I felt him pulse in my hand and the first hot streak hit my tongue and I kept it there, mouth open, licking slow across the head while it came, thick and warm, spilling over my lips, and I didn't pull away.
I licked it up. All of it. Traced my tongue through it, because the taste of Liam was the only thing I had ever wanted, and I wanted every drop.
His hips were still moving, small involuntary jerks, his abs clenched, head tipped back against the cabin wall, mouth open, and the sounds coming out of him were wrecked, barely words, and then one of them was a word.
"Good boy."
It came out half-whispered, half-groaned, like it had slipped past whatever gate usually kept it in, and it hit me somewhere I didn't have a name for. Below the ribs. Below everything. The place where composed and controlled and correct all went silent at the same time.
I looked up at him. Held there. His cum on my lips and my hand still around him and his eyes looking down at me with pride and possession.
"You like that," he said. Not a question.
"Yes." My voice came out rough. Wrecked. "Anything for you."
"Yeah?"
"Anything."
His hand moved through my hair, slow, and his thumb traced along my jaw, through the mess on my chin, and he pressed the pad of it against my lower lip.
"Then clean it all up for me."
I took him back in my mouth. All of him, softening now, sensitive, and he hissed through his teeth and his hips twitched, but he didn't pull me off.
He watched me do it, his hand in my hair gentle now, and I worked my tongue over every inch of him, thorough, patient, tasting the last of it while he made sounds above me that weren't words anymore.
My own hand found myself. I was so hard it hurt, had been the whole time, and I got my hand around myself with his cock still in my mouth and the taste of him everywhere and his fingers in my hair and anything for you still the truest thing I'd ever said.
It took almost nothing. Four strokes, maybe five.
I came so hard my vision went white at the edges, my forehead pressed against his thigh with his dick in my mouth, and my breath coming in sounds I didn't recognize.
We stayed like that. My head on his thigh, his hand in my hair, the heater ticking, the lantern burning low, both of us breathing like we'd just finished a 2K piece.
"Come up here," he said. Soft.
I climbed up and he pulled me onto the bench beside him and wrapped the blanket around both of us and put his arms around me, and I put my head on his chest, and his heartbeat was still going fast under my ear.
His hand moved slow down my back. Up. Down. Tracing patterns on my skin that I don't think he knew he was drawing.
"You good?" he said.
"I'm good."
"Was that — "
"Liam." I tipped my head up. His face was open, and a little stunned, like he couldn't believe any of this was his. "That was everything."
He kissed the top of my head. Pulled the blanket tighter.
Outside the plastic the lake cracked and boomed, rolling shore to shore, and inside it the two of us lay tangled on a bench seat in someone else's boat with the heater running and the lantern dying down and four miles of frozen water between us and every person who wanted to tell us how to live.
"Alex."
"Yeah."
"I'm really glad you stuck the throttle."
I laughed into his chest, and his chest shook with it, and the boat rocked gently on its stands, and for a while there was nothing else. Just the gold light and the warm dark and his heartbeat under my ear, and nowhere in the world we had to be.