Chapter 10 #2
They kissed gentle and a little shaky and a lot hesitant, like they were learning each other all over again, but in a new way, all the torn-up, creased-up pieces somehow slotting into perfect place.
Jesse slipped his hands out from under the blanket to cup Wyatt’s cheeks.
Wyatt’s beard was an instant prickle against his palms — because Jesse was kissing someone with a beard, with stubble.
Kissing a man, point of fact. A wholeass man with a wholeass cock.
And that cock was so hard under Jesse’s butt that it had to hurt.
So time to go pay his neglected friend a visit.
Jesse shrugged out of his blanket cocoon. He pushed back a little ways, just enough to give him the space he needed to slide to his knees on the shaggy rug.
“Jess, what—” Wyatt began, but Jesse made his intentions extra clear. He palmed at Wyatt’s dick, deliberately gentle. Still made Wyatt moan.
Jesse looked up at Wyatt, biting his lip. He was kneeling between Wyatt’s spread legs, dressed in nothing but his messy panties, if that even counted as dressed, hooked around his ankle. The heat inside was nuclear. “I want—”
“What?” Wyatt prompted, instant. “What do you need, Jess?
“I need…” Jesse tugged a little at Wyatt’s waistband. “Can I?”
Wyatt’s thumb rocked an arc along Jesse’s cheekbone. “You can have anything you want, sweetheart. Anything at all.”
Pretty lucky then that Jesse only wanted one thing.
He worked the buttons loose, one, two, three, four. Wyatt was doing his part by freeballing, so it only took Jesse yanking a little at the waistband of Wyatt’s jeans to ease him loose.
“God,” Jesse whispered.
Because, like, he’d seen it from afar. He’d seen it last night from the vantage point of their spit-slicked grinding, bobbing and twitching and offering up an unflattering yet somehow disturbingly hot comparison to his own perfectly below-average dick
But from eye-level and inches away?
Man, Jesse couldn’t fight it, the twinge of envy, that pissy little coil of jealousy. No helping it. A guy was always jealous of a bigger dick. That was just evolution. Survival of the dickest, right?
And Wyatt’s dick was pretty much as big as dicks got outside of porn. Wasn’t the length, so much. Wyatt was plenty long, but it was the length and the girth together that made Jesse’s breath go sticky, thick from the head all the way down.
“So fucking big,” Jesse whispered.
And something about that must have got Wyatt where he lived, because his big cock had been minding its business, laid out heavy on Wyatt’s stomach. But it twitched hard as Jesse’s spoke, trying to flex up on the helpless flex of Wyatt’s abs.
Couldn’t though. Too heavy for that.
Too big and too thick and too heavy and, “Fuck,” Jesse forced out through his clenched-together teeth. The mean surge of his jealousy gave way to the heat throbbing deep down low. Wyatt was so much bigger than him, and that got Jesse so hot it hurt.
Jesse reached out. The dick matched the dude. Big and thick and straight down the line. He could get a hand around it, just, but it was a squeeze, and that squeeze got Wyatt groaning, and that groan got Jesse groaning, a circlejerk with only one dick involved.
Wyatt wasn’t cut, and that was new, the slide of extra skin, the head playing peekaboo when Jesse got brave and jacked Wyatt real good a couple times without stopping.
“God,” Wyatt ground out. His knuckles were pale, where his hands were clawed up in the couch cushions.
He didn’t need Jesse’s spit to get things slippery. The precum and turtleneck were slicking the slide in a way that did legit make Jesse jealous.
Jesse tipped closer, watching his hand work, watching the head of Wyatt’s cock growing shinier with every pass. Jesse tipped closer still, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, an almost unconscious instinct.
“Fuck,” Jesse mouthed. His asscheeks were throbbing in time with his pulse, and his pulse was sprinting toward a personal best. “Fuck.”
“Jess.”
Jesse dragged his gaze away, an actual, physical effort. He looked up at Wyatt, still panting with it. He didn’t know what his eyes were saying, only that whatever it was, it made Wyatt’s dick pulse hard in his grip.
Wyatt reached out, his thumb to Jesse’s burning-hot cheek, the cup of his palm before he dropped it. His voice was rough, real graveled, when he said, “You don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”
Jesse almost snorted. Bit down on it with his one last molecule of self-restraint.
No surprise, right? Even with his dick throbbing in Jesse’s grip, Wyatt just couldn’t help it, that urge to let Jesse take the easy way out, to keep him safe, even if the only thing he was protecting Jesse from was his own damn monster cock.
Jesse grinned, and he let it slide real dirty, just like the slide of his hand as he tipped Wyatt’s cock toward his mouth. “Good thing I wanna then, huh?”
He started slow. Needed to, just to calm the crazy shit his heart was doing, just licking at the head, little kitten licks, locking in, cocking in.
Wyatt let out a moan, kinda ragged.
Jesse flicked a glance up at him. Found Wyatt’s gaze low-lidded and intense, his eyes fixed on Jesse’s mouth — and yeah, okay, Jesse could work with that.
He wrapped his lips around the head of Wyatt’s cock, a lewd, wet kiss, then he let his tongue loll as he sucked.
“Fuck, Jess.” Wyatt’s big hand carded into Jesse’s hair.
Jesse hummed his appreciation, and Wyatt liked that, precum welling on Jesse’s tongue. Jesse lapped it up and lapped it down.
Didn’t taste of much. Just salt.
Just like Wyatt’s cock — salt and clean skin. Mostly skin. Which seemed a kinda zombie-adjacent thought to be thinking, so Jesse stopped thinking it.
Stopped thinking period. Just fell into the feel of it all. Sucked on that sucker like an ice pop, more enthusiasm than talent, definitely more eagerness than experience.
Everything got a little too wet. Jesse’s jaw was stretched wide, aching, and there was a drool issue, and Wyatt was really putting the cum into precum, pooling and spilling, slicking up Jesse’s chin and his hand and all down his throat and his chest.
Jesse had to take a breath. He pulled back enough that just the tip of Wyatt’s cock balanced on his tongue. But it was a heavy weight, still, a blood-hot throb, and Jesse shaped his lips around it, looking up at Wyatt the whole time, Jesse on his knees, in his ruined panties.
He let Wyatt see all of that, then he hollowed out his cheeks, a hit of unforgiving suction, jacking Wyatt good all the while.
“Fuck.” Wyatt’s grip flexed. He tugged at Jesse’s hair. “Bud, fuck. Gonna— Gonna—”
Jesse took the warning. Swallowing on his first time around the dick-sucking track seemed like a shortcut to not medaling at all.
He pulled off but kept jacking Wyatt, a long, slipping slide from the root all the way up to the resistance of Wyatt’s foreskin, everything messy and slick, spit and precum and Jesse’s sweaty palm.
“Like that. God, Jess, just like that.” Wyatt’s grasp tightened in Jesse’s hair.
Got a little too tight, honestly, but Jesse didn’t hate it. Kinda liked it when Wyatt got rough, when he threw his weight around — threw Jesse’s weight around — and the faint sting of Wyatt’s grip was keeping Jesse in his head, right there with Wyatt, right where Jesse wanted to be.
So Jesse tightened his grip on Wyatt’s cock in turn, and Wyatt gritted his teeth, hips stuttering. A moan punched out of him, and then Wyatt came in five hot pulses, splashing sticky-thick across Jesse’s chin, his cheeks, his lips a little, too.
“God,” Jesse breathed. His own cock, spent and soft, was throbbing so good it was like he’d just come too, or like Wyatt had come long enough and hard enough for both of them, a dedicated sympathy nut. “Jesus.”
The temptation was too much to resist. Jesse peeked out his tongue and lapped up a drop. And hey, not the best taste in the world but worth it, to see the blown-open look flash across Wyatt’s face.
“Fuck.” Wyatt said it like it hurt. Maybe it did. Maybe it was so good that it hurt.
Jesse knew all about that. He licked away the salt of Wyatt’s cum, maybe a little more theatrically than necessary. Then he let his grin trend shit-eating, readying the call back. “Needed that, huh, big guy?”
The obvious joke. And that was Jesse’s thing, right? Always find the joke. Always make the joke. Talk shit and run his mouth and never, ever take anything too seriously, because wasn’t like anyone was ever gonna take Jesse seriously in return.
Self-fulfilling fuckass prophecies.
Except Wyatt didn’t fuck with prophecies, didn’t fuck with any of that woowoo shit.
A man makes his own luck, choice over chance, bravery is the mastery of fear — that’s the kind of shit Wyatt would say.
Or wouldn’t say. Would just do, while being noble and self-sacrificing and all the honorable crap.
So maybe that’s why he didn’t let Jesse joke his way out of it this time. Didn’t laugh. Not even the eye smile. He just gazed down at Jesse, something still real blown apart in that look, but lit up too, and wondering, and way, way too reverent for a dedicated loser like Jesse to deserve.
“Needed you, bud,” Wyatt said at last.
And then he drew Jesse up into his lap and down into a filthy-hot, painfully soft kiss.