50. Chapter 50 #2
“You need to put your hands back where I can see them.” Beau leaned forward and licked the sweat from Colt’s spine, his breath fanning across the wet hairs at the back of Colt’s neck. “You come when I say. Wanna decide for yourself, you can go home and do just that.”
Colt’s hands flew back out in front of him, and he shook his head. “No, no. I'm—I won't. I'll be good. Don't stop, please, I'll be so good, I promise.”
Fucking shit. Begging. Colt was begging, his eyes burning like he would really, actually cry if Beau stopped, even though some part of him knew he wouldn't. And even if he did, Colt was well acquainted with his toy chest. But…
But it wouldn't be Beau, and Colt had been panting after Beau basically since he was thirteen—something that Beau would never ever learn—and he really felt like if he didn't have Beau’s cum on or in him he might freak the fuck out.
And Beau would be disappointed in him.
Nope. Not going there.
“I know you will.” Sharp teeth bit down on his shoulder, a bright flare of pain that made Colt gasp. “Now prove it.”
Relentlessly, Beau fingered him open until the slide was easy and wet and not enough, but Colt was right on the edge anyway, moaning while he listened to the slick sound of Beau's fingers in his hole. Colt rose up on his elbows and let his head hang, sweat dripping as he rutted backward.
He was close—fuck, so close—and he wanted Beau’s cock, but he was rapidly losing power of speech, and he just. Wanted.
To come. Beau’s fingers circled his prostate as he pulled one of Colt’s cheeks aside so he could watch with a rough, appreciative moan, and shit.
That was it. Colt was done for. He twisted his hands in the sheets, his balls tightened up to his body, and—
Beau pulled his fingers out and held Colt’s hips still with both hands, and Colt let out a choked sob.
“Shh.” Beau rubbed soothing circles into Colt’s skin as he held him still. Pressed stubble-rough kisses against Colt’s back, his shoulders. “You're doing so good.”
“Please. Please?” Colt tugged at the bedding. “Let me come. I can't—”
“You can.” Another kiss, lips parted against Colt's shoulder blade. “And you will.”
No room for argument. Beau said he could keep going, and so Colt would do it. He unclenched his fists.
“Okay.” His voice was ragged. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Good.” Beau pressed his fingers in again, one, two, then three, pausing to drizzle more lube in along with them. “You keep being good for me, and I'm gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name. Alright?”
Colt let out a punched-out breath and nodded, dropping his head.
Beau started moving his hand again, nipping and licking Colt’s back as he did. He sucked a hickey into Colt’s hip, digging his teeth in just as he pressed against Colt’s prostate and circled his fingers, and Colt whined, high-pitched and desperate.
“Not yet,” Beau murmured against his shoulder. “Hold on. Can you do that? For me? Be my good boy and don't come until I tell you to?”
“S-Shit.” Colt was moaning in short gasps that matched the pace of Beau's fingers, his chest heaving as he held on by a fraying thread.
“Yeah, that's it.” Picking up the pace, Beau pushed his cock against Colt's thigh through those goddamn sweatpants and rolled against him. “Feel what you do to me? I can't wait to fuck you. Make you feel so good, boy.”
Colt wanted to agree. Wanted to say a hundred filthy things, tell Beau exactly how he wanted to be fucked. But all that came out was a moan as Colt’s balls drew up again, as his hips jerked and his toes curled.
He couldn't. He wasn't allowed, had to hold on, had to prove to Beau that he was good, so good for him.
“Shit. The way you're clenching around me.” Beau rocked against Colt's thigh. “You close, huh? Holdin’ on so good for me, just like I asked. Such a good boy. You wanna come?”
“Yes,” Colt panted out, squeezing his eyes shut against the overstimulated tears. “I've been so—so good. Please, sir.”
“Oh.” Beau ground harder, picking up the pace with his fingers as his voice hit that low, growling register. “Go ahead. Come for me.”
Colt keened as his vision whited out, his orgasm spilling out of every pore, toes curling, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he came all over them. He sobbed as Beau milked him for everything he was worth.
He'd hardly come down before the lube cap popped again.
Panting, he tried to collapse onto his mess.
Beau caught his hips instead, pulled them back up and shoved a hand between Colt's shoulders until his chest was nearly flat, ass up.
He rubbed his lube-slick shaft up Colt's thigh, dragged the underside against Colt's sensitive hole as he grabbed Colt’s ass and groaned.
“Knew you'd be so pretty like this. Hell, Colt, you should see yourself. Loose and dripping and wrecked.”
Pressure against his hole as Beau pressed his tip against it, blunt and wide, and he didn't wait. He pushed past the first ring of muscle before Colt could take a breath.
“Beau,” Colt whined. “More.”
Beau paused for a heartbeat before sliding in inch by agonizing inch. Not painful except for Colt’s favorite kind of ache, but fucking slow. So goddamn slow, and Colt wanted to do something about it, but his limbs weren't listening to his brain.
When Beau was in so deep Colt felt like he was being rearranged, he stopped.
The waistband of Beau’s sweatpants rubbed against the back of his thighs, and that was fucking hot.
Hadn't even had the patience to get undressed, and now he was fucking Colt in those sweatpants that had been the subject of so many of Colt's filthiest fantasies.
“Tight.” Beau's hips ground forward, a slow circle like he couldn't quite help himself as he grabbed the back of Colt's shirt—oh fuck he was still wearing the shirt—and gathered it up into one fist. “Ready?”
“Yes, fuck, fuck me, fuck me, fu—uuu—”
Beau pulled halfway out and slammed back in, and Colt forgot how to use words.
The hand buried in his shirt tightened as Beau pulled back out, further this time, before yanking Colt back with the fabric as he thrust forward.
It was rough and filthy, and Colt was so sensitive he screamed, hands digging into the bedding.
“Yeah, boy, let me hear you,” Beau growled as he did it again, and again, and again. “You're taking me so good. Such—such a good boy. Fuck.”
Colt's mouth was open against the comforter as Beau fucked him. He panted and moaned and took it, growing hard again, dizzy with it.
Letting go of Colt's hip, Beau reached between his legs and palmed Colt’s dick, wrapped his fingers around it and slid up to the head. “Hard for me again. You gonna give me another one, Colt? I want you to. Want to feel you come on my cock.”
Oh, shit. Beau was so fucking filthy, wasn't he?
Filthy enough to match Colt, maybe, and as he angled his hips so he was dragging against Colt's prostate with every thrust, Colt knew he might never get enough of this.
The thought was wiped from his frantic, blissed-out mind almost quicker than it appeared when Beau pressed against him from chest to groin, panting against Colt's throat as he stripped himself and battered his prostate and Colt was gonna—
“That’s right.” Beau licked the salt from Colt's neck. “I can feel you. Come on, darlin’, give it to me. Let—let me—fuck. Let me feel you. Good boy.”
Colt’s second orgasm ripped through him lightning-quick, tears streaming as he dripped onto the bed, as Beau fucked him through it and kept going.
“Mine,” Beau growled against Colt's neck, his hips stuttering, losing his rhythm. “Say it again. Tell me. Shit. Tell me who you belong to, boy.”
“You,” Colt whined, overstimulated to the point of near-pain, his tongue thick, head spinning. “I'm yours. Yours, yours, yours.”
Beau came with a gravel-rough moan that was going to haunt Colt’s best dreams, pulsing deep inside and digging his fingers into Colt's skin. His chest heaved against Colt's back as he ground himself into Colt's body, savoring it.
Seconds or minutes later, Beau kissed the back of Colt's neck and nuzzled his hair with his nose, still inside him. Colt was crying, rubbing his face into the sheets and ready to collapse.
“Alright,” Beau soothed as he ran his hand up Colt's spine. “Hold on.”
He pulled himself out of Colt with a soft grunt, and Colt whimpered.
“It's okay.” Hands lowered him down, angling him away from his mess, and Beau kissed his shoulder. “Wait, okay? I'll be right back.”
Beau left, and Colt dragged a hand across his face. He hadn't cried during sex since he was sixteen. But he couldn't seem to stop.
A hand slid gently up his leg, and Beau turned Colt’s hips so he could clean him with a warm, wet washcloth. Then the hands disappeared again for just a second before returning to help him sit up.
“C'mere,” Beau murmured after he’d pulled the shirt Colt was wearing over his head and tossed it across the room in the general direction of the laundry basket.
Colt blinked at him, tears sticking to his lashes, and Beau swiped them away with his thumb. “You okay? I didn't mean to—”
Shaking his head, Colt swiped at his eyes again. “S'good. M'good.”
Beau watched him for a moment before nodding and fitting another shirt onto Colt’s body. He squeezed Colt’s shoulders and guided him back against the pillows so he could pull the dirty comforter and top sheet off the bed and drop them on the floor.
By the time Beau was spreading a new top sheet and a midnight blue comforter over Colt’s legs, Colt had finally stopped crying. He sagged against the headboard, eyes lazily tracking Beau while he gathered up the bedding. He was wearing new pants, black ones.
“Don't sleep yet, alright?” Beau said over his armful. “I'll be right back.”