8. Vincent #2
Kissing for the camera is one thing. If I kiss him here, while we do this, there is no way that I will be able to separate it. My heart and brain will twist themselves up in knots, and there will be no recovery for me.
As much as I want to kiss him and to fuck him—or hell have him fuck me—I can’t go there and recover from it. He is putting himself on a platter for me, and I am not strong enough to withstand it, but no intimacy. No home run. No, I can’t do that… but other things? Oh, fuck yes. That I can do.
I kiss down his neck, pausing to nibble on his earlobe, delighting in the groan that echoes around the room and vibrates through me.
I run my hands from his knees, over his thighs, and onto his abs.
His muscles tense beneath my fingers as I pull back from his neck, looking down at his body as I raise the hem of his t-shirt, touching his warm skin.
He has a shadow of a treasure trail that I have noticed in the locker room before, but seeing it up close? Touching it. Fuck, my cock hardens in my pants as I bury my face in his stomach. Placing more kisses everywhere that I can reach.
I don’t know what I planned to do when I crawled to him, but I don’t think it was this. I should ease him into being with a guy, but the nagging voice in the back of my head is warning me that this could be the only chance that I get to taste him. To truly be with him like this.
And I must be selfish and pathetic enough to take everything I can while I can.
Tate stutters out a groan as I tease his belly button with my tongue, my teeth dragging across his firm v.
“I’ve admired these cum gutters for months now,” I moan, pulling his shorts lower.
“Wh-what?” Tate pants. “What are cum gutters?”
“I’ll teach you,” I murmur, nibbling lower and lower.
Curling my fingers into the band of his underwear, I look up at him, needing to confirm one last time that he wants this.
His eyes flaming with lust, jaw clenched tight, hands fisted at his sides.
“You know, you’re allowed to touch me too, right?” I say, slightly teasing him.
As if that was all he was waiting to hear, his hands are in my hair, and his lips are on mine.
Holy fuck.
This was not the plan.
I needed…
Fuck what I needed.
Tate’s hot mouth is on mine. Our bodies flush together as he all but pulls me into his lap.
He fists my hair, angling my head to kiss me deeper, his tongue invading my mouth.
I suck his tongue, just like I planned to suck his cock.
His cock, which is pressed rock hard against my stomach, my fingers still hooked in the edge of his boxers, trapped between us.
Tate’s mouth takes me to another realm. One where I let myself fall into the fantasy that this is real life.
Allowing myself to forget the fact that he is a straight guy, probably just taking advantage of a quick and easy orgasm—I mean if someone confessed their feelings to you, you knew they were a sure thing and had nowhere else to go for a fuck, wouldn’t you take them up on it?
Shaking that thought from my head, I inch my hands down, pulling Tate’s boxers until his cock is free. I break the kiss, needing to see his cock.
The pink head is flushed and weeping pre-cum already, he is cut and standing straight up. He flexes as I just kneel there staring at him, and it leaps me into action. Fisting his cock, I relish the hard, warm length finally in my hands.
“Fuckkkkk,” we groan in unison.
I can't believe that I'm actually experiencing this with him. I can't believe that he is here, allowing me to touch him this way, willing, wanting this, wanting me. At least wanting the reaction that I can give him. wanting the release that I can give him. wanting the essence that is this moment.
I don't know where this will go. I don't know if this will come a regular thing.
I don't know if this is the step I can take to actually be with him. I can’t let myself hope that he would ever want this for real. But I know that right now I'm going to take what he's offering me because I need to touch him as much as he needs to be touched by me.
I pull down his shorts, watching as his cock springs free.
I've seen him naked a lot of the time when we walk around the locker room after training and after games. But I've never allowed myself to really look. It's just something you don't do in locker rooms.
It's engrained in you from childhood if you're around a bunch of naked guys, or if you're standing at a urinal, you don't look, you keep your eyes to yourself.
And whenever he had his jocks off, I didn't look.
I've seen him shirtless so many times, seen him down into his jocks so many times and his tight arse.
Oh my god. His arse is something that I could build a religion on. But his cock, no, this is the first time I've really allowed myself to look at his cock.
He's long, thick, and hard. He’s uncut, and so hard that the head is already pulling the skin back itself.
It's flushed pink against his tanned skin, and I just… I need to lick it. I need to kiss it. I need to touch it more.
I fist his cock and take groans in pleasure as I finally make contact with his throbbing dick. He sinks further into the couch, and fisting his cock, I meet his eyes.
“Are you sure you're okay with this?
Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask, nervous energy pulsing through me.
“You couldn't stop me even if you tried at this point,” Tate replies confidently. “I need this. I need—”
“What do you need?”
I ask when he cuts himself off.
He looks at me with this sheepish, shy look in his eyes. But he maintains eye contact with me, then says, “I just need you.”
His words send a jolt through my whole body as if I've been struck by an arrow. Probably from Cupid, if he has anything to say about it.
But to hear Tate just openly admit that he needs me—me. Fuck, I just… I can't stop. I can't hold back. Self preservation be damned.
I stroke his cock up and down, watching his eyes as he absorbs the pleasure that I'm giving him, as he feels that build, that crescendo, that wave that's coming to collapse over him.
I feel timid as I touch him. Like I don't know what I'm doing. Excitement and uncertainty war within my head at the thrill and suspense of not knowing how he will react. It’s not his first time having a hand job, but it’s the first time it’s a guy, and I’m relishing the ecstasy I see taking over his features knowing that it’s me that’s doing this to him.
That it’s me who is giving him his pleasure.
The more I stroke his cock and listen to his moans, the more I feel like I'm back to being a pubescent boy, touching a cock for the first time, and the thrill that went through me then, mirroring the one I have now.
I stroke his cock and a little bit of pre cum weeps from his dick. Unable to control the moan that escapes me, I give in to my own desires. I’d planned to go simple this time. To just ease into this without taking it too far. But I can’t. I need it.
I need him in my mouth. Leaning down, I lick the pre cum off his dick and feel him shudder beneath me. I stuck the tip of his cock into my mouth with a hard slurping noise. It's been a while since I've given a blow job. But it comes back to me like writing a bike, I guess.
My hand stroke is a unison of the descent of my mouth, making sure that his whole cock is stimulated and covered at the same time. I groan as his dick pulses on my tongue, and I can feel the veins on his skin pulsing as he hardens further against my tonnage.
“Oh, Vince,” he groans, his hands fisting my hair.
Holy fuck.
I moan, leaning into his hand, realising that I needed him to touch me back, to show me just how much that he needs this too.
I quicken my pace, sucking him harder and deeper into my mouth. I've never been able to deep throat somebody, but fuck, Tate makes me want to try. With my other hand, I reach down and gently cup his balls, alternating between massaging them and pulling them away from his body.
I feel my own pulse in time with his, feeling the same pleasure that I'm giving Tate just by giving him pleasure. My cock has never been this hard in my life.
Never felt the strong desire to thrust against a couch just to get any friction that I can get, just to bring myself closer to orgasm.
This was meant to be all about Tate experiencing a man’s touch for the first time to make this ‘relationship’ real. I wasn’t planning to get off myself, but fuck.
I need friction on my cock. I’ve been on edge the whole time Tate has been in my mouth.
Having him in my house—at my mercy in the place where I fantasise about him while sitting in the same spot—has my mind reeling.
Honestly, at this point I think I'd almost cum untouched with the groans and noises coming out of his mouth. My scalp prickles as he fists my hair tighter, and I melt into him further. And while it’s not normally my thing, I'm tempted to tell him to fuck my throat. I want him to, fuck, I think I need it.
Pulling off his cock, relishing in the slight whimper he releases.
“You should fuck my throat,” I ask, barely refraining from begging him.
His eyes widen as he looks at me, as I continue to stroke him. “What, what?
You serious?”
“Yep,” I say, decision made, unable to think of anything else now. “Fuck my throat.
Fuck my mouth, make it yours. Take your pleasure from me.”
Fuck, when did I get so good at dirty talking?
As I lean down to put his dick back in my mouth, I quickly pull my cock out of my shorts, needing more friction than my clothing can offer me.
I’m seconds away from coming when his cock hits the back of my throat and I gag, causing more saliva to pool in my mouth as I choke on his cock. I've never done anything hotter than this, never thought of something that I wanted more than the taste of Tate’s cum coating my throat right now.