Chapter 12 #2
Jesse got what he wanted. Wyatt hooked his panty string to the side. Then heat became pressure, pressing in, pressing against the slick resistance of Jesse’s rim. Too much. Way too much. God. Jesse clawed his hands in the rug. His thighs were shaking. “Fuck.”
“Breathe, bud.” Wyatt stroked slow down Jesse’s spine, then down his side. He set his mouth to Jesse’s shoulder and kissed him there. “You gotta let me in, sweetheart.”
Jesse tried. He tried so hard. He reached around, clumsy, got Wyatt’s belly, dragged his fingers down the trail of hair there to the inevitable conclusion: Jesse’s rim stretched tight and slick and so fucking wide around Wyatt’s hugeass cock.
Wyatt was maybe an inch deep. Felt like a whole lot more, because the stretch was crazy. Wyatt was just so fucking big. Just— god, thick. So mind-blowingly thick.
Except it wasn’t actually mind blowing, none of it was, because it was happening, right then, to Jesse. Wyatt was fucking into Jesse, so fucking careful, so slow and so slippery, crazy slick with lube, and Jesse was so full.
He was so full.
“Fuck.” He cried out with the feeling inside. It was a pathetic sound, a broken-up, needy, cracking moan. “Fuck, it’s too much.” Jesse shook his head against the rug. “I can’t—” But when Wyatt stilled, when he started to pull back, Jesse grabbed for his thigh. “Oh my god, don’t fucking stop.”
So Wyatt didn’t.
He fed his cock into Jesse’s body. Too slow and gentle to call it a thrust, but unending either way. Jesse was full up. Cock from his ass to his eyeballs. There was nothing left to give.
“Are you—” Jesse didn’t recognize his own voice. Who even was that speaking? He sounded fucked up, fucked out of his mind. “Is it— fuck, Wyatt. Is it in?”
Wyatt was so still, holding so still. “That’s the tip, bud.”
Jesse shook his head, because his ears weren’t talking to his brain and he needed to wake them up. “What?”
“Just the tip.”
Jesse snorted. He laughed out loud, and that laugh sounded as hysterical as he felt “Just the tip,” he echoed.
His hard-on had wilted in his panties. He was slick with lube, dripping with it, slippery under the pad of Wyatt’s thumb as Wyatt circled Jesse’s stretched-out hole, a touch meant to be soothing, but it just made Jesse shiver.
“Want me to stop?” Wyatt asked.
“No.” Jesse shook his head again, with real intent. “No, I don’t want that at all.” He didn’t. Because he wanted this so bad. All of it. All of Wyatt. “I can do it.”
“Okay, bud,” Wyatt murmured. “Okay.” His touch shifted to Jesse’s waist, a steadying hold. “Gonna move now,” Wyatt told him in a rough whisper.
Jesse swallowed down a spike of panic, concentrating on the hot hit of his arousal instead. “Just— only a little, okay?”
“Only a little.” Wyatt dropped a kiss to the apple of Jesse’s hot, hot cheek. He braced his arms over Jesse’s and let his weight carry him forward, hardly even moving.
The gentleness was kinda undoing Jesse, honestly.
If Wyatt was just using him — his body, his hole — taking what he wanted and leaving Jesse to deal, then maybe that would be kinda hot in a twisted way.
But Wyatt wasn’t making Jesse take it. Wyatt was being crazy gentle and patient and slow, and Jesse was falling the fuck apart. “Oh god.”
“That’s it, Jess. You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” Wyatt kissed a path down the knobs of Jesse’s spine. Kissed right back on up to nuzzle at Jesse’s bent neck. “So fucking good for me.”
“For you,” Jesse agreed, voice gone thick — because Jesse was crying. Not sobbing. Not freaking weeping. Nothing hysterical. But he was absolutely crying, tears chasing messy down his cheeks. Everything was crashing over him, this overwhelming, flooding wave.
“Bud,” Wyatt whispered, sounding torn up.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Jesse reassured him, a rush of words. It didn’t. Wyatt had prepped him to good for it to hurt. He was being too gentle for it ever to hurt. “Just— fuck. It’s so much.”
“Too much?”
“No. Just. God, it’s a whole lot.” Wyatt’s breath fanned warm and a little amused across Jesse’s damp cheek. Jesse rolled his eyes, and that overwhelmed feeling retreated just a little. “Don’t gotta sound so smug, big guy.”
“Look at how good you’re taking my cock,” Wyatt countered. “How hard you’re trying. I got a right to be smug.” Wyatt eased in a half inch, no resistance. Another. More. “Because I’m so fucking proud of you, bud. You’re doing so good. You’re my good—”
“Your what?” Jesse was breathing hard again, in wet little pants. The longing inside of him matched the longing in his panties, growing harder by the second. He wanted Wyatt to say it. He needed Wyatt to say it. “Please.”
“My— my good boy.” Wyatt sounded rough, suddenly, the gravel falling thick, but he pushed through. “That’s what you are. You’re my good boy, Jess. My perfect, perfect boy.”
Something broke open in Jesse’s brain. A real weird kind of subdural hemorrhage, because it flooded him with heat instead of any of the bad stuff.
The heat was a rush and a roar, turning him to taffy, clumsy and floppy and open now, so open, and Wyatt was so deep.
Jesse didn’t have to ask this time, to know. He could feel the bulk of Wyatt’s belly pressed flat to his ass, the sweaty span of Wyatt’s thighs braced hard against his own.
Wyatt was in him now, all the way, buried deep. Jesse was all cock, filled up, not a single inch left to give.
And then Wyatt moved.
He pulled back and he pushed in, still set on that slo-mo speed, but one uninterrupted slide this time, and Jesse got to feel every long, hard, crazy thick inch.
“Oh god,” Jesse choked out. “God, god, god.”
There were probably words to describe it, that feeling.
Like, Jesse could go find the zombie of some Nobel Prize winner, give them a typewriter, let them moan and screech and whack at the keys.
And then maybe, like those monkeys and Shakespeare, Jesse’s zombie would eventually hammer out the words Jesse needed to adequately describe the feeling of being fucked open by Wyatt’s cock.
That was a thing Jesse could do.
But Jesse wasn’t a writer, and monkeys were immune to the virus, and who the fuck knew where he’d find a working typewriter in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
So he couldn’t put it into words, not at all. But he could feel it instead. Getting fucked open and fucked full and fucked through it by Wyatt’s stupid, stupid big cock.
There wasn’t room to clench. That was the reality that Jesse kept coming back to. There just wasn’t room for anything except cock. That’s it. That’s all Jesse was. A tidy little cock sleeve, a tight, wet hole for Wyatt to fuck — and god, Jesse loved it so much.
It was all he could do just to gasp wetly against his own fist, teeth pressed to his knuckles, the sting keeping him grounded even if nothing else could.
“God, Jess, look at you.”
Jesse wished that he could. He wanted to see it all, swivel his vision freecam-style around the room and take in the sight of his own fucked-open hole gripping tight to Wyatt’s thrusting cock, Wyatt’s big hands spreading Jesse’s cheeks, so they both had an even better view of where Wyatt was buried to the hilt.
Jesse bit his knuckle harder as his dick pulsed in his panties. “Fuck.” The breath chased out of him on the crest of each punishing thrust. “I need— I need—”
“What do you need, bud? What can I give you?”
Jesse rolled his head just enough, twisted around a little, awkward, but now that he’d thought it, he needed to see it. Wyatt was lit golden by the fire, sweat dripping down the swell of his pecs. His hands spanned the width of Jesse’s cheeks. “Your cock,” Jesse gasped out. “Need it.”
Wyatt’s eyes did some melting shit. And Jesse couldn’t figure how Wyatt could look so fucking fond in the middle of fucking Jesse raw. “You already have it, sweetheart.”
“Need more,” Jesse babbled, senseless — made senseless by Wyatt’s cock. “More. Just— more.”
“You want more?”
“Fuck, yes. Give it to me,” Jesse demanded. “Want it bad.”
Wyatt stopped. Right at the edge of pulling out, he stopped, with Jesse’s rim stretched out around the barest tip of his cock. He stopped there, fingers kneading into Jesse’s ass cheeks.
“Then maybe you should learn some manners first,” Wyatt said.
The shiver that raced white-hot across Jesse’s skin was a full-body reaction. It made him shake just a little, legs gone to jello. Anticipation flared. He fixed his glare on Wyatt, with shiny, tear-wet eyes and heat burning wild across his cheeks. “Don’t wanna,” Jesse said.
“But you’re gonna.” Wyatt’s grip flexed. The flat line of his mouth softened at the edges, like he was fighting against a smile. “What’s the magic word, bud?” Wyatt prompted.
Jesse shook his head. He wasn’t gonna. He didn’t need to—
Wyatt spanked him, hard.
The sting bloomed, sharp and perfect. It made Jesse clench, and he couldn’t clench — fuck, he just couldn’t — and Jesse didn’t ever, ever want it to stop.
“What’s the magic word, Jess?” Wyatt asked again. He gripped Jesse’s cheeks tight, where Jesse’s skin was flaring red and hot. He soothed the sting with his thumbs. “I know you know it.”
Jesse did. And he was too far gone, too deep in it and way too fucking close to the edge to keep on playing his bratty little game. “Please,” he begged, the word spilling out of him. “Please. I’ll be good. I want it so bad. Please, please, please.”
One breath, one crazy heartbeat, and then Wyatt was caging Jesse in, all up over him and on top of him and around him. In him, deep as could be, mounting Jesse like he owned him.
“Oh god.”
It took Jesse’s breath. He was beyond turned on. Everything tumbled together and narrowed down — the rough pant of Wyatt’s breath and the painful throb in Jesse’s panties, the unending thrust of Wyatt’s cock and the crazy, wild whine spilling out of Jesse’s mouth.
Because he felt wild.
All of it felt wild, kinda primal, two cavemen fucking in front of the fire, rules and lines forgotten.