Chapter 12 #2
“I dunno, maybe I like older guys. Maybe I like Minotaurs. Or I’ve secretly had a thing for jocks this whole time.
” Toying with him is starting to feel cruel, not that I don’t think he could take more ribbing.
I shudder to imagine the years of hockey locker rooms he must have endured.
“Maybe when I was eighteen, I was traveling and downloaded an app that let me see the full spectrum of gay guys, and it gave me a fickle appetite. "
His gaze softens, and a relaxed smile tugs at his lips. “Fickle. With an acquired taste for jocks.”
“Recently acquired, yes.”
We settle, taking the time to enjoy aromatic squash and plain chicken with just enough crisp to avoid it being depressing. Eventually he asks, “Book good? The one you were studying?”
I quirk a brow. “Good in what way? Am I enjoying it? No—”
“Kinda figured,” he shrugs. “Anything on a syllabus is usually as dry as the dining hall’s chicken.”
I snort. “It’s very good chicken, by the way.”
“Thanks. But the book, is it worth reading? You feel your mind expanding while you slog through it?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I see why we’re reading it. It’s one of those texts that inspired other texts. I’ve read worse.” Not really wanting to turn this into a study session I ask, “Do you read much?”
“I read magazines more than books,” he admits sheepishly.
“What kind of magazines?”
“Sports, mostly, but I’ll read anything. I’m probably the only person who actually reads TherapyToday in waiting rooms.”
He averts his eyes like he’s embarrassed but I find this confession endearing. I can’t remember the last time I read a magazine but obviously people still read them.
“Why magazines?”
He shrugs but offers an enlightened answer. “They always teach me something or get me to think about something differently. The interviews are interesting. Guess I like hearing experts be, well, experts in their field.” He chuckles, a bit self-deprecating. “And articles are shorter than novels.”
“Sorry I recommended such a brick to you.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s good. It’s a nice way to unwind.” He points at me with his fork. “And I will finish it.”
“I never doubted that. You don’t strike me as a quitter.”
He gets up, leaving behind his empty plate, but he’s back soon enough holding a mini candy bar. Two, actually. He slides one across the table.
He pops the mini into his mouth before noticing I haven’t reached for mine. “Not a fan?”
“Never been a big chocolate person…”
One of my old rink’s concession stands sold hot cocoa, the kind that was just powder and hot water. My coach made an offhand comment that cocoa makes you fat and slow. I didn’t really understand shame at the time, but I internalized it anyway.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Is there anything I should stock here?”
I purse my lips, an obnoxious voice in my head yelling at me that I don’t need snacks. “You’re plenty,” I say, just to move on.
“Alright.” He gets up again, this time taking his plate and mine.
“Let me help.” I follow him to the kitchen. “I’ll wash you dry? Or vice-versa. Washing, to me, is the worst part so I always offer to do it.”
“Such a sacrifice.” He smirks. “I’ll dry.”
We stand next to each other at the sink, bumping into each other a few times.
His massive arms get in my way causing me to splash soapy water onto the floor.
It makes me wonder what Christos was like on the ice; how hard he threw elbows, if he was an aggressive player like Terrence or more precise like Leroy.
I shake out my hands over the empty sink while he puts the dishes away. Then he sneaks up on me, leaning down and catching my lips. He’s fast, maybe he was more of a sniper, a quick shot. His mouth tastes of chocolate.
Our lips part. When I speak my lips brush against his. “Upstairs? Are you ready?”
He nods ever so slightly. “Yes. I got everything ready before you got here.”
I grab his hand, our palms still a tad moist from washing dishes.
It’s not the most pleasant sensation, but I forget all about it once we’re upstairs and he kisses me again, this time pinning me to the wall.
His body dwarfs mine, bending his back to reach my lips.
I capture his bottom lip between my teeth and tug.
Christos moans, his jaw relaxing so I can tilt my head back and drag my teeth across his lips.
“Desperate?” I grab the base of his horn, tugging so his neck is exposed. I press my face to his jugular. “Have you played with yourself since I was here?”
His throat bobs against my lips. “No,” he chokes.
“So, you’re still pent up from before…” I lick up his neck, his short white hairs bristling against my tongue. He moans some more, melting against my tongue like vanilla ice cream in the peak of summer. I stop at his jawline, the bottom slope of his ear ticking my nose.
“We’re still not in the bedroom.” I nibble at his ear. He responds with a sharp gasp. “You want me to fuck you right here? Make me clean up your mess?” I drop my voice to the faintest whisper, speaking right into his ear. “Daddy’s needy little whore.”
I eye between his legs, admiring the strain in his pants.
“We’re going to walk to the bedroom. Once we’re in there, you’re going to undress quickly for me.
I don’t want a show. Then you’ll undress me.
Slowly.” I stroke the bottom of his ear.
“And I get to do whatever I want to your body while you do it. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
That doesn’t give me the same thrill it did before. “I want you to call me Roderick now.”
“Yes, Roderick.”
We return to holding hands and I lead him to the bedroom.
The moment we pass over the threshold, Christos strips himself.
There’s a bottle of lube and several towels across the bed.
He’s mentioned the mess more than once, but I haven’t actually put much thought into how much mess.
The concern is forgotten as soon as he is naked and on his knees before me.
His hands fly to my belt while I have his cock in my sights. I slip one leg forward, pressing the ball of my foot on his testicles. He strains, but his hands keep moving, drawing my belt from the loops of my jeans.
Instead of pulling my jeans down, he stands back up.
He slips my hoodie off one shoulder at a time.
He touches my exposed forearms like he’s studying the muscles there.
Untill he leans in and drags his tongue across my bicep.
Once he’s satisfied he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it from my body.
He keeps my shirt balled in his hands as he returns to the floor.
“Do you expect to keep that?” I ask. My foot returns to his groin. “Something to keep you company while I’m gone? Something to stroke your pathetic cock with while you think of me?”
I extend my ankle to step on his balls. He pants, “Yes, Roderick.”
My ankle relaxes. He thanks me by wrapping his arms around my waist. His wide pink tongue slips out of his mouth, licking up from my happy trail, dipping and exploring into every crevice of muscle. A shiver runs down my spine, recalling that deftness around my cock.
He kisses my navel before finally fingering the button of my jeans.
Denim slides down my legs, and I’m kicking myself for telling him to be slow.
A single finger drips into the elastic of my briefs, tugging ineffectively, cotton clinging to my hard cock.
I somehow maintain composure and resist the urge to tear off the last of my clothes and fuck him on the floor.
I take a deep breath, speaking on the exhale. “Lay on the bed for me. On your back.”
He keeps steady eye contact with me while he stands up, slow and deliberate. On the bed, he lays back with his hooves still touching the floor. I stand between his knees. His cock is flush with his stomach, the tip resting below his belly button.
“Such a fat cock.” I bring my erection to his, comparing our sizes. “Way too big. It’s honestly distracting.”
I rut my hips, a bit of friction to make him whimper. I do my best to wrap my hand around the both of us but I can’t quite get my fingers to touch.
“Which one of us has the better dick?”
He lifts his head enough to watch my hand work us both. “Y-you, Roderick.”
Oh?” I give us both a few strokes, rewarding his answer. “Tell me how you love this cock.”
“It’s so firm… and the perfect size, just like you.” I stroke our cocks faster. His lip twitches. “And the head is the same color as your cheeks.”
It would be so much easier to rebuff and punish him if he was being difficult, but he’s an angel with white fur instead of wings.
I grab the bottle of lube and fall to my knees to hide my face.
A familiar tail dangles off the edge of the mattress.
I grab his ass, spreading him wide so my warm cheeks press against his.
I tease his hole with the tip of my tongue to start, turning slowly.
Above me, he lets out a deep, satisfied sigh.
The muscle relaxes and I press more of my tongue inside, delighted when his ass tightens around my face.
Louder and louder, he moans till his voice cracks.
I crack open the bottle of lube, slathering two fingers and pressing them inside him.
His hole takes my fingers like his mouth took my cock.
I stand back up, palming the head of my cock so it’s slick with lube. He notices, gasping, “Roderick.”
“You can beg better than that.”
No hesitation. “Please, fuck me with that pretty cock. I need it.”
I slide between his legs, lining myself up with his hole. “Why do you need it?”
“Because I’m a needy whore.”
I press just the head of my cock inside him, delighted by his gasp and subsequent whimper. As I sink myself more and more inside him, I lean over him. “Whose whore?”
He blinks, slowly, drawing out his response. “Roderick’s whore.” My body is flush with his, my whole cock inside him. “Fuck,” he pants.