5. Four
I pulled my own shirt off. Nothing after that was mine to decide. The second it cleared my head, Coyote hooked his finger deeper into my waistband.
I caught his wrist. "The dressings can't go in the spring."
He looked up at me from somewhere near my belt. "I know."
"Natural water and fresh sutures don't mix."
"I know."
"And the puncture needs to stay dry."
"John." He pointed past me. A showerhead and a faucet stood against the far wall over slatted cedar, well clear of the spring. "Well water. I'm strange, not stupid."
"I didn't say you were stupid."
"You were winding up to it."
He took my wrist, moved my hand away, and opened my jeans. "Sit."
My knees locked.
Coyote looked up. "You want me to stop?"
"No."
"Then sit."
I sat on the cedar bench.
He crouched and peeled my jeans down carefully, working them over the dressing on my thigh without touching the wound. His knuckles skimmed the inside of my leg, and my cock stirred before the jeans cleared my knees.
Coyote sat back on his heels and looked at me without pretending not to notice. His eyes moved from my face to my chest, down my stomach, and stopped between my legs.
"If you're waiting for me to cover myself, little one, I don't have it in me."
"Good."
He pulled my boots off, worked the jeans down over my ankles, and stood.
Then he undressed.
His shirt hit the bench. His boots followed.
Then he opened his jeans and pushed them down, and there was nothing to do but look.
Narrow hips, hard lines at his stomach, more scars than I'd counted at the river.
His cock stood dark and hard against his belly before he'd finished stepping out of the denim.
He caught me looking.
"Something on your mind, big man?"
"More than I want to say out loud in here."
"Keep them there."
He turned on the shower and tested the water against the inside of his wrist. When it warmed, he wet a cloth, soaped it, and stepped between my knees.
I reached for the cloth, but he slapped my hand away.
"I can wash myself."
"I know."
"I've been doing it for years."
"Today it's mine to do."
He started with my face. Dirt came off my jaw and darkened the cloth. He rinsed it and worked down my neck, under my beard, over my shoulders. Every pass stopped at the edge of a dressing and worked around it, clear of the stitches and the broken skin.
I held myself rigid while he washed my chest. He dragged the cloth through the hair on my chest and took his time about it.
When he reached the bruises along my ribs, his other hand came up behind me to brace my back.
"You can lean on me," he said.
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask. Lean."
He pushed until some of my weight came forward into his palm, and my throat tightened.
I'd spent years washing other people. I'd washed men in tents and kids at the clinic, and I'd washed Little John through that last week, when standing up in a shower took more than he had left.
I knew where to put my hands when somebody else needed me.
Sitting naked on a bench while Coyote washed me, I couldn't find a place for them, so I settled them on my thighs.
He cleaned my arms, then knelt to wash my legs, using his palm to shield the dressing at my thigh from the spray. When he finished, he rinsed the soap away and turned off the water.
With the shower off, the spring behind him was the loudest thing in the room, and my own breathing came in under it.
Coyote put the cloth aside and leaned between my knees, pressing his face against my throat. His nose dragged up the side of my neck, over the pulse, behind my ear, back down to my shoulder. Then his tongue took the same path, and I shuddered under him.
A low groan came out of me.
"Mm." His lips moved against my skin. "Better."
"What are you doing?"
"Checking."
"For what?"
"You smelled like blood before." He licked the hollow of my throat. "Now you smell like you."
His hand slid up my chest and closed lightly around the front of my neck. My pulse jumped against his palm.
"You like me touching you," he said.
"Yes."
He climbed into my lap, knees settling on either side of my hips, careful of my ribs. He hooked his arms behind my neck and pressed his nose to my pulse again, breathing slowly.
My hands closed around his hips and my thumbs nearly met over his stomach. I could have lifted him one-handed, but he sat on me like I was the smaller man.
My cock filled between us. My face warmed, and I started to lift him off. "Hang on. I don't want to make this weird."
Coyote looked down between us. "Your cock is against my ass."
"I'm aware."
"I climbed up here on purpose."
"You brought me down here to wash me, not—"
He grabbed my face and made me look at him, his hands on either cheek. "I brought you down here to get the blood off. Then I got naked and sat on your cock." He rolled his hips, dragging himself along the length of me. "That part was also on purpose."
He'd told me at the river I'd have to heal first, and he'd meant it. I kept my mouth shut about it, and so did he.
My fingers tightened on his hips. He took one of my hands from his hip and wrapped it around his cock, and I let out a small groan. He fit my fist perfectly.
"Feel that?" he asked. "That's what you do to me. So quit apologizing for what you're doing under me."
He moved my hand once, showing me the pressure he wanted, then let go. I stroked him. His eyes stayed on my face while he rocked into my fist, easy at first, then harder. The head of his cock slipped through my palm, wet enough to make each pass easier.
My own cock pressed between his cheeks. Every time he rolled his hips, the heat of him dragged over me and pulled another breath out of my chest.
"Before this goes further," I said.
He stopped moving.
"Anybody before me?"
"No."
I frowned. "Nobody?"
His eyes narrowed. "I know what I like. I didn't need another person to figure it out."
"Hands?"
"Obviously."
"Toys?"
His mouth curved. "Several."
I tightened my grip before I meant to.
Coyote shoved up into my fist.
"It's been a long time for me," I said. "My last screening was negative."
"Always the doctor." He rolled his hips and started moving again. "Quit worrying."
"You're sure?"
"I've been sure since the pit." He rolled his hips down hard enough to make both of us groan.
I kept my hand moving on him, base to tip, thumb over the head on every pass. His breathing changed, coming quicker against my neck.
He reached down and put his hand over mine, moving it faster. "There. Like that."
I followed the pressure he gave me. He shuddered and bit my jaw.
Then he sat back enough for me to watch my hand work over him.
The sight of his cock in my fist, his thighs spread over mine, made my mouth water.
Nobody had touched him like this before me.
It settled warm and heavy low in my stomach.
I slid my free hand up his back and into his wet hair.
His mouth hovered close to mine, wet and open. I wanted it around my cock. I wanted it on my mouth more than that.
He leaned in, resting his head on my shoulder. "What? You want something, big man?"
"Kiss me."
Coyote stilled. For all the certainty he'd carried into the room, that stopped him.
"I mean." My hand stopped on him. "If you don't want—"
He put a finger against my mouth. Then he took my face in both hands and kissed me. He came in too hard and our teeth knocked. He pulled back, adjusted, and tried again slower. I opened for him and let my eyes close.
His lips softened. His tongue touched mine, retreated, then came back when I followed. I tightened my hand around his cock and felt the sound he made against my mouth.
When he pulled back for air, I followed his mouth before I could stop myself. That almost broke me. Not my cock, not the sounds he'd dragged out of me. One kiss wasn't enough, and that was the part that got me.
His eyes met mine. Then he kissed me again, and I took all of it. My eyes started to sting. I kissed him deeper before he could notice.
He learned fast, and he learned on me. One hand slid into my beard. The other closed in my hair and held me where he wanted me. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, bit carefully, then licked over the place.
My hand kept working him. He rode my fist and rubbed himself against my cock, all of it wet and hot and close enough to ruin me.
"Little one," I said against his lips. "I'm going to finish if you keep doing that."
"Not yet." He ground down onto me and held there.
"Coyote."
"You make me come first." He caught my wrist and pushed my hand tighter around him. "You don't touch yourself. You don't come until I say. Understand?"
I got harder under him, and he felt it.
Coyote looked down between us and smiled. "Look at you. All that size, and you're waiting for me to tell you when you can come."
"Yeah."
"Say it properly."
"I don't come until you say."
"Good." He kissed me again.
I gave him everything he asked for. Harder when he pushed into my fist. Slower when his breathing caught. My thumb dragged over the head, and his thighs tightened around me.
"There." His nails dug into the back of my neck. "Don't stop. Feels so fucking good like that."
His hips started thrusting into my hand. His forehead dropped against mine, mouth open, every breath breaking warm across my lips.
"John."
I had never heard my name sound like that.
His cock pulsed in my fist, and he came with a rough groan, spilling hot over my fingers and across my stomach. His whole body tightened, then folded forward against me.
I kept my arms around him and let him ride it out against my chest.
When his breathing slowed, he lifted his head. "Good job," he said.
I laughed, and my ribs punished me for it. "Glad I met expectations."
"You haven't yet."
He climbed off my lap on shaky legs, and I nearly complained about it. Then he crouched over his jeans and pulled a tube out of the pocket.
"You came prepared."
"I came knowing exactly what I was going to do to you."
He put one foot on the bench beside my thigh and squeezed lube onto his fingers. Then he reached behind himself, and his hand disappeared between his legs. One finger, then another. His eyes half closed and stayed on mine the whole time.
My cock jerked against my stomach.
"Enjoying the show?" he asked with a mean little smirk.
"More than I should."
"There's no should in here."
He added more lube and worked himself open until his breathing changed again. Then he pulled his fingers free and came back to me. He settled over my thighs, wrapped his hand around my cock, and slicked me.
"Just the head," he said. "The rest of you isn't happening today."
"Coyote."
"I know my body."
"You also said I'm the first person who's touched it."
"First person isn't the same as first thing." He positioned me against him. "I know what fits. All of you doesn't. Not yet."
He lowered himself, and the head of my cock pressed against him. He breathed out and took me in, and stopped the second he closed around the crown.
Every part of me locked. He hissed through his teeth. I grabbed his hips, but I didn't push.
"Look at me," I said.
His eyes opened and his forehead dropped to mine. "Stay there."
I did as he asked, even though it took every ounce of willpower I had. He was so tight around me that I couldn't think. Barely any of me inside him, and it felt like everything.
His breathing steadied. Then he clenched around me on purpose.
My head dropped back. "You cruel little bastard."
He grinned. "I told you."
He did it again, and my thighs shook under him.
"You held it for me." His mouth moved against my ear. "You followed the rules."
"Barely."
"But you did." His fingers slid into my beard. "So now you give it to me."
"Coyote."
"Come inside me, big man."
He clenched down on the word, and I came with the head of my cock inside him. Every muscle pulled tight at once. A broken sound came out of me, too close to a sob, and he stayed right there and took it.
"That's it." He worked his hips against me for more friction. "Give it to me."
I held his hips and emptied into him in long pulses I lost count of. He clenched around every one, saying mine into my mouth over and over until I was shaking too hard to hold myself upright. Sweat ran off my temple into my beard. He stayed where he was and took all of it.
When it was over, Coyote wrapped both arms around my neck, and for a while neither of us moved. Then he lifted off me carefully. He winced and covered it.
I caught his hips.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Let me check."
"You're a doctor when somebody is hurt. I'm not hurt."
"You're sore."
"I wanted to be."
He kissed me before I could argue, softer than the first time. Better too. Then he settled into my lap sideways, tucked his head under my chin, and put one palm over my heart.
I tightened my arms around him at the thought of him standing up and putting distance between us. I wasn't ready for the room without his weight in it.
He made a quiet sound and folded closer.
I waited for the guilt. It usually arrived after anything good. Sometimes ahead of it. I should've been thinking of Little John's face or his empty side of the bed.
I counted Coyote's breaths against my chest.
Nothing came.
There was only the voice I'd been hearing for five years. About time, you big idiot.
My throat tightened. I pressed my face into Coyote's wet hair and held him closer and didn't let him see how close I was to tears.