Chapter Seven #2
“Are you okay?” Sebastian asked between breaths, his own hands falling back to his side.
Marcos closed his eyes and nodded once. Then twice. “Yeah. I’ve just never done this.”
Sebastian raised his eyebrow. “At all?”
“With a guy.”
“That makes more sense.” Sebastian chuckled, and Marcos met his gaze. “Do you want to stop?”
Marcos shook his head. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
Sebastian smiled, taking a step forward and placing a hand on Marcos’ chest. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“Won’t you be shortchanged?” Marcos questioned, and Sebastian tilted his head.
“Short—did you mean ‘disappointed’?”
Marcos paused. “Probably.”
Sebastian’s grin grew wider, and he bit his lower lip. “Trust me.”
A gentle pressure pushed against Marcos’ chest, and he didn’t fight it, letting Sebastian slowly push him backward, guiding him across the living room.
Marcos’ calves soon hit the couch, and he let himself fall back on the couch, his legs spreading wide naturally as he did, and his shorts riding up his thighs.
Marcos eyes flicked to Sebastian standing over him, his eyes trailing down his hairless, muscular chest, and over the obvious bulge straining against the fabric of the sweatpants.
“Consider this an apology,” Sebastian said, slowly getting to his knees and resting his hands on Marcos’ thighs. “For hitting you.”
Sebastian’s touch sent chills rushing through Marcos’ body as he kept his eyes locked on the other man now kneeling in front of him.
“I’m gross,” Marcos started as Sebastian’s hand ran up his thighs and over his shorts. “I can shower if—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sebastian said, voice low, and Marcos obeyed.
Marcos’ pulse thundered in his ears, breath catching sharp as Sebastian’s hands settled heavier on his thighs. The pressure was firm, fingers splaying wide over the thick muscle there, thumbs pressing divots into the fabric of his shorts.
Sebastian settled between his spread legs. The television threw blue light across his glasses when he glanced up. His eyes stayed there, pinning Marcos to the couch without a word.
Hands slid up the inside of his thighs, slow and deliberate enough to make his legs tense under them.
The touch moved over the fabric first, with barely any pressure.
He was already hard, cock straining against his shorts, the ache of it made worse by the way Sebastian acted like he had all the time in the world.
His fingers reached the waistband and hooked there.
Then stopped.
Marcos let out a rough breath, his hips shifting. Sebastian’s mouth turned up. He leaned closer, breath warm through the fabric, and Marcos’ cock twitched hard enough for both of them to notice. Sebastian’s gaze dropped, smug and focused, before his fingers dipped beneath the waistband.
Marcos’ head tipped back against the couch as his shorts and underwear started sliding down.
The other hand pushed his singlet up, knuckles brushing over his stomach, fingers trailing lower through the hair beneath his navel.
Cool apartment air hit his skin, and he swallowed around the sound trying to work its way out of him.
The fabric caught, and Sebastian tugged again, firmer this time, and Marcos’ cock came free, heavy and leaking against his stomach.
His hips lifted, but Sebastian didn’t hurry. He pulled the fabric the rest of the way down, past Marcos’ knees, letting it fall away before his hand returned to Marcos’ thigh. His fingers moved up slowly, then wrapped around the base of the cock.
He stroked Marcos once, thumb dragging over the slick head before easing the foreskin back. Pleasure ran through Marcos, and his mouth opened around a moan.
Sebastian leaned closer. Warm breath touched the head of Marcos’ cock, and he watched Sebastian’s mouth, seeing his tongue come out and touch him lightly underneath first, dragging upward in a slow line that made his thighs tense.
“Fuck.” The word slipped out before Marcos could hold it back.
Sebastian hummed. The vibration was barely there, but Marcos still felt it. His toes curled against the floor, and his hips tried to follow Sebastian’s mouth before he had even taken him in properly.
Then his lips closed around the head. His tongue slid across the underside of the cock. Marcos wanted to thrust, but Sebastian’s hand stayed firm at the base, while his mouth worked over the tip.
His tongue circled the head each time he pulled back, his hand moved in a steady rhythm where his mouth didn’t reach.
Marcos looked down and immediately wished he hadn’t, because Sebastian glanced up through his lashes at the same time, lips stretched around him, glasses sitting slightly low on his nose.
Marcos’ hips jerked.
Sebastian pulled off just enough to breathe, mouth wet, lips shining, then went back down with a smirk. This time, he took more of him, slow and steady, until Marcos felt the tight heat of his throat.
Sebastian didn’t pull away. He hummed again. The vibration went straight through Marcos, and his grip tightened.
“Fuck.” The word came out rougher this time, followed by a ragged breath.
Sebastian kept going. His tongue dragged up the shaft each time he rose, circled the tip, then he took him down again. Deeper and faster.
Marcos couldn’t work out what to do with his hands and decided to grab the couch cushions. The whole room had narrowed to Sebastian’s mouth and the slick pull of his lips, the wet pressure of his tongue, the tight drag of his throat when he took Marcos all the way down.
Every part of Marcos seemed to gather at the same point, pleasure building too fast.
Marcos looked down again. Sebastian’s nose pressed into him, his eyes half-lidded behind his glasses, and the sight was enough to push Marcos right to the edge.
“I’m gonna come,” Marcos moaned.
Sebastian answered by going faster.
Marcos’ hands unclenched from the couch and found the back of Sebastian’s head, fingers tangling in the hair.
“Dios,” Marcos whimpered as his body arched and balls pulled tight.
His cock pulsed as hot ropes shot down Sebastian’s throat, and he kept Sebastian’s head held down at the base of his cock until every last drop was spent.
Marcos’ hands slipped from Sebastian’s hair, and slowly Sebastian worked his way up the shaft until the head slipped from his lips and slapped against Marcos’ body.
The high went with it.
Not all at once. Just the edges first, where his hands were suddenly too aware of themselves, open and useless on the couch.
Then his thighs, still spread. Then the cool air on his skin.
Then his cock, exposed and wet against his stomach.
His singlet bunched up. His shorts and underwear useless on the floor.
Sebastian kneeling between his legs with wet lips and his glasses crooked.
Marcos’ mind felt like static as he watched Sebastian get to his feet, wiping his mouth as he did. His brain started to fight through it all to replay pieces of what had happened.
His gut dropped, hard and heavy, and his chest felt hollow as though everything had been sucked out of it. His eyes met Sebastian, seeing the grin resting on his face, and he had to look away.
Marcos knew this feeling. He’d felt it before for many other things, but not like this. Not this sharply.
Shame.
It hit fast and kept hitting, insistent enough that he couldn’t breathe around it.
His skin was too hot and too visible. The room had too much light in it, even though most of it came from the television.
He could still feel Sebastian’s mouth on him, and instead of settling into something good, the memory turned over and pressed somewhere under his ribs until he couldn’t sit still.
He was too exposed now. The pleasure and freedom vanished completely, and he scrambled to cover himself again, getting to his feet as he did.
His fingers were clumsy on the waistband, pulling his underwear and shorts up too quickly, fabric catching.
He kept his eyes down, because if he looked Sebastian properly, Sebastian would see all of it.
Or maybe he already had.
“You good?” Sebastian asked.
Marcos kept his eyes on the ground. “Fine. Yeah. Uh, thanks.”
The words came out wrong. Too casual and too stupid, but he couldn’t find anything else that didn’t make the feeling worse. He tugged his singlet down, wiping one hand down his face.
“Is there—”
“It’s late. I should get back to my family.”
Marcos stepped past Sebastian and walked toward the hall, hearing footsteps behind him.
“I know what you’re feeling,” Sebastian stated, his voice careful and soft. “You can talk to me about it.”
Marcos pulled his shoes on, shaking his head. “It’s…” He shook his head again and reached for the door, swinging it open. “I’m sorry.”
Then he left.