Chapter 19 #2
Tate sat up and straddled his stomach. “Let's not pretend, Pilot. I know why you asked me here. Yes, you were being kind and you wanted my company, but you also wanted sex.”
Pilot started to deny it. The way Tate put it sounded ugly and there was nothing ugly about this thing between them.
“No. Pilot. It's okay. I wanted the sex too. Hell, having sex with you for a week is a hella better way to spend this stupid holiday.” His shaggy hair bounced around his head and his eyes stared down at him from his open face. Pilot thought he was entirely too lovely.
He reached up and circled Tate's neck with his hand, his fingers wrapping around the back and his thumbs brushing along his face.
Tate had just a little stubble around the edge of his jaw and chin, but his cheeks were smooth.
He slowly pulled Tate to him, and leaned up to plant his lips on Tate's again.
He didn't think he could even begin to define the lust that bubbled up in him.
If Tate felt it too, then he'd not apologize for it.
The kiss turned hot as they exchanged tongues.
Tate's hips rolled forward, rocking his cock harder into Pilot’s stomach.
Pilot's hands traced down Tate's shoulders and back to find that ass again.
Tate's skin was soft and smelled fresh, faintly of oranges and warm spice.
His throat tasted like hot skin, slightly salty, and all Tate.
He wanted that moment to last forever, naked bodies sliding together, luscious skin under his tongue, but his own hips started bucking without finding any friction.
Tate's legs rubbed beside his own. “There's lube and condoms in there.” He pointed at the side table, and groaned as Tate leaned over him to get at them, squishing his dick hard into Pilot's stomach with a grunt.
After grabbing them, Tate laughed, that smile lighting up the room and Pilot's own dark heart. “Give me your hand,” he said, holding up the lube bottle and shaking it. He flicked open the cap and squirted the sticky goo all over Pilot's fingers.
“Come here,” Pilot growled and Tate knee walked up his body. Pilot repositioned Tate's knees on either side of his head. He licked under Tate's balls and flicked his tongue against his taint.
“Oh, God Da—Easter Bunny! Come on!”
Pilot couldn't help but chuckle at Tate's comment and his smart-assed way of covering up his cursing.
“Hey, are you like Catholic or something?” Tate asked, just before Pilot slid his finger into that puckered hole. Tate squatted down farther, opening himself up. “God more! Fuck.” He moaned, giving up all pretense at not cursing, as Pilot slowly fucked him with his finger. “So damn good.”
Pilot loved seeing Tate squirm down on his hand; wanted to give him just what Tate begged for.
The position was odd and he needed more lube.
Reluctantly, he shifted Tate around again, tossing him on his back and then flipping him to his stomach, grabbing his hips to lift them off the bed.
Tate giggled at all the shuffling around, so Pilot swatted his butt before grabbing the lube.
“Hey!” Tate protested, but it sounded like a half-hearted protest to Pilot.
“What?”
“Feel free to do that again.” He giggled. So, Pilot did it again before dumping more lube on his fingers.
He licked at Tate's balls, tasting the excess lube, as he push two fingers inside his hole. Tate groaned and wiggled and Pilot felt it quivering in his gut.
“Hey, you know. I play with a dildo. A lot. So, I'm ready. Please.”
Pilot snorted. “I'll tell you when you're ready.” He didn't want to rush it, but it wasn't just about not hurting Tate. That was definitely part of it, but the other was the joy of seeing Tate like this, coming undone from just his fingers and tongue.
He continued his fucking and licking until Tate was practically screaming, “Fuck, please-please-please!”
“Put this on me,” Pilot ordered. His hands were covered in sticky lube.
Tate huffed, but shifted around and grabbed the condom off the bed and ripped it open, dropping the wrapper over the side of the bed.
His adept fingers rolled it over Pilot's hard cock.
When he finished rolling the rubber down, Tate splayed his fingers over Pilot's thighs.
“How do you want me?” he whispered, voice husky with desire.
Pilot's answer was a grunt as he hauled Tate up over him, but he got the message and grabbed Pilot's cock, aiming it perfectly. Tate set his own pace as he sunk down until he was seated all the way on Pilot's dick.
“Wait,” Pilot said. He leaned over, almost unseating Tate, and flicked the bedside lamp on. Tate blinked at the unexpected light, as Pilot re-balanced him with hands on his hip and thigh. “Okay?”
“Why the light?”
“I want to see you...clearly.”
Tate smirked down at him and lifted up with his thighs a bit, only to sink back down. He repeated the action, raising up a bit higher with each new stroke. Pilot watched his face, as the different shades of ecstasy played across it. “God, you're gorgeous.”
That earned him an eye roll and another smirk before Tate continued fucking himself on Pilot's cock.
The heat and pull of Tate's asshole was incredible and had his damned brain short circuiting.
He'd thought the heat had been scorching with just his fingers as he'd remembered the last time they were together, but with Tate riding him and controlling the pressure and pace, it felt more like a nuclear reaction.
“Your hole is going to set my dick on fire,” Pilot murmured.
Tate laughed and pushed his hands into Pilot's upper thighs as he moved.
Pilot couldn't keep his hands off of Tate, rubbing them up and down his thighs, through that golden hair, and tracing a finger up his hip bone as he flexed. Tate rotated his hips a little on the down stroke with a deep moan that seemed to come from his chest and bubble up through his throat. Pilot could see the intensity on Tate’s face, his eyes, the way he licked his lips.
It made him want to do so much more. He watched, his cock begging for release, until he thought he was going to lose his mind.
He grabbed Tate's waist and flipped him over, trying not to break the connection, but he slipped out anyway, his cock slapping back against his hard stomach.
It only took a second for Pilot to shove Tate's legs back, exposing his ass. He shoved his cock in and snapped his hips forward.
“Fuck, Sean!” Tate called out.
Pilot didn't want to hurt him, but his real name rolling off of Tate's lips and tongue, did something crazy to his head.
He never let people call him that. He'd left Sean behind when he joined the military.
During basic, Sean all but disappeared. Now, only family could get away with it, and sometimes not even them.
Yet...Tate could call him anything and particularly Sean, especially when he made that deep-throated groan with it. “You okay?”
“God, yes. Fuck me.”
Pleased with Tate's answer, Pilot let his body take over, rolling his hips, and fucking into Tate hard and fast. He knew he'd worried for nothing when Tate squeaked and called out, “More, more!”
Yes, Pilot could give him more.
“Sean!”
Yes, again. Pilot fucked hard and fast. The noises Tate made assured him that he’d jabbed that special place, bringing Tate with him.
Tate's hole clinched like a hot glove, squeezing him so hard, he had to stop moving.
When he tried to move again, the orgasm hit him all at once like a ton of bricks.
No slow build up for this one. It slammed him, bursting out and filling the condom as his vision flickered to white.
It took a moment, but when he started to breathe again, his concern was for Tate.
He glanced down. Tate's legs had fallen to the sides, spread apart and the lamp light glowed on his ripped abs, making them look golden brown and sticky, covered with come.
His eyes traveled up Tate's body and back to that wonderful face.
Tate's eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open with the tip of his tongue sticking out. “You look satisfied,” he said.
One eye peeked open. “Mmm...”
Pilot wanted to capture that moment forever. He needed to hold it in his heart and never let it go. The strange thought had his throat closing up. He couldn't breathe. He moved and his cock slipped out, making Tate grunt and hiss. “Sorry,” he choked out.
“Oh, no, bunny. Don't be. Not. At. All.” Tate's voice was all sex-rough and adorable.
Pilot wanted to keep him. He'd never wanted to keep anyone.
Why was the first one someone like Tate?
He was wild and free. He lived his life on a dirt track, following the Supercross series, not settling down with someone.
Those facts were obvious—blatant. Tate didn't even have a home.
He'd said he was either at the race camp or in a hotel room.
A nomad, his Tate was a gypsy. And Pilot?
He never wanted to let the man out of his bed.
Pilot scooped rocky-road ice-cream into two bowls on the counter and then squirted chocolate syrup over the top.
Tate walked into the kitchen, halting the yummy construction, and Pilot turned to look at him.
He was barefoot, wearing track pants slung low on those sexy hips and a long sleeved t-shirt with the outline of a fox face on it.
He scrubbed a towel over his wet hair. Freshly showered and looking cozy, Pilot wanted to cuddle up to him.
Instead, he tossed a handful of mini-marshmallows into each bowl.
“Here,” he said, stretching out his hand with one of the bowls.
Tate cocked his eye. “Uh...guess we didn't talk about food. I can't eat that.”
“A couple of bites won’t kill you.” Pilot shook the bowl.
“I can tell you're going to bad for me. Is that frozen yogurt? Low fat? And chocolate?” Tate bit his lip and tossed the towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.