11. Daniil #3
“Just take what you can,” I manage to get out as he sinks down on me again, his throat working around my length. “I’m so fucking close.”
One of his hands wanders down, sliding past my balls to my taint. He pops off suddenly and frowns at me, and my stomach drops… He’s going to say he hates it, that this was a mistake, that we should stop.
“Can I touch you there?” he asks, and his finger ghosts over my rim.
Oh.
“Y-yes,” I say, breathless.
He takes me back into his mouth, and the wet heat surrounds me again. His finger circles my hole slowly, teasing the sensitive rim, and the dual sensation makes me groan.
He pulls off my cock just enough to gather drool from where it’s running down my shaft and brings it back down, pressing his wet finger against my entrance. The pressure there, combined with his mouth sinking back down on me, pushes me right to the edge.
“I’m going to come,” I gasp.
He pops off and wraps his hand around me, jerking me fast and messy while watching my cock with pure fascination.
My cock goes impossibly hard in his grip, and then I’m coming, hot spurts shooting across my stomach and chest. He pushes his finger in slightly, just past the first ring of muscle, and the added intensity makes everything too much.
More cum sprays out of me, coating my abs and the mattress beneath me, and I can’t stop shaking.
He crawls back up my body and hovers over me, his mouth finds mine again, slow and consuming this time, lazy kisses. When he pulls back, he rolls onto his side and lets out a shaky exhale, dragging me against him. His hand comes up to grip my chin.
What did we just do?
He’s going to have his freak out any second now. He’s going to push me away and never speak to me again, and I’ll have ruined the one thing that matters most to me.
I keep staring at him, and he looks back at me in confusion.
“You’re not panicking?” I search his face desperately, looking for hesitation, for regret, for the inevitable rejection.
“Are you?” he counters, studying me with those blue eyes.
“Yes.”
“Stop it.” His hand tightens on my chin. “We forget about everything else while we’re here. No pulling away.”
“I—I—” I try to sit up, but he pushes me back down, pinning me with his weight and his grip.
“Stop freaking out, alright? Jesus.” His voice softens slightly. “Let’s just talk about it instead.”
“I just—we were raised as brothers.” My throat feels tight. “What we did is—”
“I know,” he cuts me off. “But I enjoyed it. A lot, in case you couldn’t tell.”
I blink up at him in surprise. “You did? You’re straight.”
“I’ve never thought about another guy before.
Ever.” He pauses. “I’ve never been attracted to them.
But I had fun. Your mouth destroyed me.” He leans down and kisses my forehead gently.
“I mean, yeah, I still think I’m straight.
But I don’t know, I’m not going to overthink this.
Overthinking things makes people go crazy, and I’m already halfway there, so why speed up the process? ”
My mouth falls open, then closes again.
He’s always been like this, jumping headfirst into things without thinking about consequences.
Everything he does is impulsive with no filter and no control.
Once when we were kids on a trip back to Russia, we were at this lake, and Yulian dared me to dive in.
I was too scared. Mikhail jumped first to prove it was safe and broke his arm and got a nasty concussion.
“You said something about loving the size difference in guys,” he says suddenly. “What did you mean?”
“I don’t know,” I say, because there’s only one specific guy I like and he’s lying here right now.
My eyes drift down to take him in. His eight-pack, the scars scattered across his body, his muscular frame, the tattoos covering his skin.
My thumb comes up and traces along his family motto tattooed on his throat.
“I just want someone who can manhandle me.”
“Manhandle you?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Someone stronger than me,” I say, feeling embarrassed.
I watch his face process that information. He goes quiet for a moment, and for a second, I think I see something sad flicker across his features, but it’s gone before I can be sure.
“Well. I can definitely do that.”
My breath catches.
“Misha—”
“I’m not saying I understand what this is,” he interrupts me. “Or what it means. But I know I don’t want you pulling away from me again. I liked what we just did. And I know I want to do it again.”
“You want to do it again?” My heart hammers against my ribs.
“I do,” he says, and leans down and presses his mouth to mine, soft and claiming. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. “Do you want that?”
“Yes.” The word comes out breathless. “But what about after? When we go back home?”
His jaw clenches. “We’ll figure it out.”
“That’s not a plan…”
“I know. Can that be enough for now? Just while we are here?”
I’ll take whatever he gives me. “It’s enough.”
“Good. Now stop panicking. We have a few days to just be us.”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Believe it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
I manage to suck in a breath. I need him so badly it hurts.
I’m pathetic enough to accept any scrap of attention he’s willing to share, any stolen moment or touch or kiss. If he asked me to crawl over broken glass just to stay near him, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would let him use me up until there’s nothing left if it meant he never walked away.