Chapter 18 #2
Jesse could. He wanted it, and Wyatt wanted it too, so Jesse could. He breathed through the conscious effort it took to relax. And that worked, kinda. So did wriggling his hips, rocking up into it, meeting Wyatt’s tiny, controlled thrusts.
Jesse dropped his legs. He couldn’t hold the stretch any longer and he needed the leverage besides. He scrabbled at Wyatt’s shoulders instead, nails catching on old scars. “Gotta— fuck me,” he managed. “Need it. Need you.”
Wyatt rasped out a sound too low to be a groan. He shifted between Jesse’s spread legs, pressing Jesse down onto the sheets. The weight of his body eased him deeper before Jesse even thought to clench.
“God, it’s so fucking big,” Jesse slurred out, the thought overwhelming every other thought so totally that Jesse had to think it out loud. “So— god. Fuck, Wyatt. You’re so big.”
“I know, bud.” Wyatt’s big hand stroked through Jesse’s hair. “But you’re gonna be good and take it, sweetheart.”
“Gonna be good,” Jesse agreed. He nodded like a bobblehead, Wyatt’s certainty making him certain too. “I can be good.”
Wyatt made a noise, almost pained. “God, I know you can, Jess.” He pushed Jesse’s hair back from his forehead, kissed Jesse there. “Always such a good boy for me.”
The feeling unfurling low in Jesse’s belly was a spark, gasoline waiting to ignite.
Wyatt kissed him again, on the chin, on his cheek, on the lips, lingering. “All the way, Jess.”
So, all the way. Jesse tipped back his chin.
Tears chased down his cheeks, a weird rush of relief.
He stared at the depressingly blank wall behind him, seeing stars.
He clung tight to Wyatt’s shoulders, fighting the urge to clench down, because he couldn’t anyhow, not even if he tried. Wyatt had him stretched so wide.
“Fuck,” Jesse whispered, and Jesse took it, all of it.
He wasn’t in his head by the time Wyatt bottomed out. He was somewhere else, a little above, floating there, a ball of horny feeling.
There were tears in his eyes again, spilling free.
Nothing hurt. None of it hurt. But being with Wyatt was so overwhelming — especially like this, Wyatt on top of him and inside of him, and all around him, everywhere and everything Wyatt.
And all of it proof, undeniable, that Jesse was good and he was safe, and Wyatt was here.
Wyatt was alive.
The throb of Wyatt’s pulse told Jesse that, plain and clear. Jesse had taken all Wyatt had to give, and now Jesse was keeping Wyatt safe too, snugged up deep inside.
“So fucking proud of you, bud.”
“God.”
“I am,” Wyatt insisted. He chased Jesse’s gaze, made Jesse hold his.
“I’m so proud of you. For holding on. For making it here.
For doing everything you did.” Wyatt ground his hips, the rocking rhythm making Jesse whine.
“For taking my cock so goddamn well.” He mouthed a kiss across Jesse’s lips, whispering, “So proud, bud.”
Jesse was whining still, incessant. He couldn’t stop. The feeling was a buzzing in his ears, a prickling over his skin, a throb down deep and growing. The anticipation was like burning.
“You need me to say it?” Wyatt asked, his voice so close to Jesse’s ear now that those little hairs were tingling. “You need to hear it, sweetheart? Is that what you need?”
Jesse shook his head, like the deadass shitty liar he was.
“Nah.” The smile was warm in Wyatt’s voice. “I think you do, bud.”
Jesse did. God, he needed it so bad. “Please.”
So, “You’re a good boy,” Wyatt told him, and he fucked Jesse while he did, took Jesse apart with his words and his cock. “You’ve been a good boy. So good for me, bud.”
“Fuck,” Jesse gasped out. He pushed back, met Wyatt’s next thrust, everything pulling tight.
“My good boy,” Wyatt whispered. “Mine. That’s what you are.” He chased Jesse’s gaze, a searching edge almost lost in the liquid heat.
Jesse found it, though. He knew. “Yours.” Wyatt’s breath was unsteady against his lips, and the heat in Jesse’s belly burned like a gasoline trap. “I’m your good boy.”
Wyatt hid his face in the crook of Jesse’s neck. “God, bud.”
And maybe it was some gooey, horny, romance novel shit, coming in unison, tag-teaming that sappy nut, but Jesse couldn’t hate it.
Not the kick of Wyatt’s cock, not the flood of warmth, not the smearing stickiness spreading between their bellies, not the spent weight of Wyatt holding him down.
He couldn’t hate any of it, and he got to have it, all of it.
* * *
Jesse woke to a shift in the sheets and the faint wobble of the mattress under him — Wyatt hauling himself out of bed.
It was dark out and dark inside. Not that Jesse’s fuckass paper shades had anything to do with that. No street lights these days. Only the light of the moon casting Wyatt’s profile in silver.
“What’re you doing?” Jesse asked.
Wyatt startled, so tiny a movement that Jesse almost didn’t catch it. Wouldn’t have caught it at all, if he hadn’t been watching so close. But he did catch it, and Wyatt did flinch, and Wyatt never flinched.
“Wyatt, what—”
Wyatt ducked his head. “You know what I’m doing, bud,” he said, and he sounded so straight-up sheepish that Jesse’s brain legit stalled a second.
But only a second, because all at once — yeah, Jesse did know what Wyatt was doing, and he knew exactly why. Jesse didn’t bite down his grin, not even a little. “Maybe I do know, but I still wanna hear you say it, big guy.”
Wyatt let out a heartfelt, defeated sigh. “Checking that the door’s locked, is what I was doing.”
Jesse snorted out a really stupid-sounding laugh, a deadass honk. He grabbed Wyatt by the wrist and yanked him back down onto the mattress. Wyatt let himself be yanked, let himself fall face first just the way Jesse wanted, so that Jesse could haul back his arm and line up the whack.
Bullseye on that butt.
Jesse smacked Wyatt’s muscled ass hard enough to make it ripple, then he did it again, cackling the whole time. “How do you like them apples, huh?”
Wyatt let Jesse get one more in, then he rolled Jesse and pinned him down, and spanked Jesse’s ass, his big hand landing firm over the bottom curve. “I’ll show you apples.”
“That makes no fucking sense.”
“Turn up for the fuckass books, bud.”
“Jesus.” Jesse hid his face in a pillow and tried to hide his laugh too. Didn’t work. Wyatt was onto him. He spanked Jesse one last time, loud and indulgent, then he kissed Jesse between the shoulder blades.
Tumbled him over and kissed him again, and again, tangling his hand up in Jesse’s hair and angling Jesse’s face just right, kissing like kissing was breathing.
And it was — to Jesse, in that moment, that perfect, untouched bubble in time.
Because who knew how long it would last. Jesse sure as fuck didn’t. Maybe Paradise would fall tomorrow, or next Tuesday, or a year from now. Or maybe the geniuses in the Lab would invent a cure and humanity could stop living in the apocalypse and finally make it through.
Whole lotta maybes. One certainty.
Just one.
Jesse and Wyatt, like this, always.