7. Fabián #3
I crook my fingers, rub that spot, and he whines—high and broken and nothing like his usual clever voice.
“Please,” he breathes. “Please, I need you inside me. Te necesito, carajo.”
I pull off his dick with a wet sound. He’s dripping precum onto his own stomach, a thin trail of it glistening in the light, and I want to lick it up. I want to make more. But he’s pulling at my shoulders and my arms, dragging me up his body.
“Now,” he whispers. “Now, por favor.”
The head of my dick presses against his hole, and I can feel how open he is, how ready, but I’m shaking so hard I can barely line myself up.
What if I do this wrong? What if I thrust like I’m straight—too hard, too fast, all rhythm and no finesse?
What if I hurt him? What if he realizes I have no fucking idea what I’m doing with a man’s body, that I’ve only ever—
“Hey.” Elías catches my jaw. “Look at me.”
I do. He’s flushed, sweaty, and wrecked. His legs are spread wide around my hips. His dick lies heavy against his stomach, still leaking, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes are so soft I could drown in them.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that. I might—I don’t know how to—what if I—”
He pulls me down by the neck until our foreheads touch.
“Escúchame,” he breathes. “Me vas a coger tan rico, papi. You hear me? You’re going to feel everything, and I’m going to feel everything, and it’s going to be perfect because it’s you.”
My throat closes. Nobody has ever said me fucking them was going to be perfect. Not my ex or any other woman I’ve fucked in my life… this is different.
“Now stop thinking,” he whispers, “and fuck me.”
I pause, squeezing more lube into my palm before tossing the bottle aside, coat my dick, then press in. Slow. So slow I can feel every inch of myself becoming someone else.
No.
Not someone else.
More myself.
Elías’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His hands fly to my shoulders, his short nails biting hard enough to bruise. His legs tighten around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I feel it—the moment the resistance gives, the slick heat of him surrounding me, the impossible tightness.
And the metal.
He feels it. I know he does—his eyes go wide, shocked, and his whole body shudders.
“Wait,” he gasps. “Wait, I can feel—the bar—”
I freeze, worried that it’s too much. “Stop?”
He shakes his head fast, hair messy against the pillow. “No. No, it’s—” He clenches experimentally, and we both groan, too loudly, freezing again. “Fuck. It’s there. Every time you move, I can feel it.”
“Is that bad?” I ask, looking down to where I’m buried inside him. “Should I take it out?”
His laugh is breathless, broken. “No. Fuck, no. It’s—” He arches his hips, taking me deeper, and his head falls back. “It’s perfect. Perfecto, carino. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I hold still, and every muscle in my body screams. The piercing makes everything sharper.
Hotter. Too much and not enough. The feeling of him around me is unreal.
Tight and slick all in the same stroke. Elías beneath me.
Elías has me inside him and looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m feeling and wants me to feel all of it.
I thought I would panic, and maybe I am a little. But not the way I expected. I’m not scared because he is a man. I’m scared because it feels good.
It feels right.
My body’s finally telling the truth so clearly there is no way to pretend I misheard it.
Elías opens his eyes. “You’re shaking again, carino.”
“So are you.”
He laughs, quiet and breathless. “We keep doing that.”
“Yeah.”
His hand slides to my cheek.
“Eres mío,” he whispers.
Something inside my chest breaks.
I kiss him, and he moves his hips. I choke on a sound and bury it against his mouth.
“Quiet,” he breathes, smiling because he is evil.
“You first.”
“I’m doing a great job.”
“Mentiroso.”
He clenches around me on purpose, and I let out a low growl as my arms nearly give out. “Elías—”
His smile turns wicked. “What?”
“You’re going to wake your mom.”
“I’m not the one growling.”
I press my face into his neck and laugh silently, shaky and helpless. Then I move just a little, and his smile disappears.
Good. I do it again.
His head tips back into the pillow, throat working around a sound he refuses to make. His hands grip my shoulders, nails biting. I go slow because he told me to, because the bed creaks if I move too fast, because every inch of him feels like something I am learning with my whole body.
“Así,” he whispers. “Just like that, papi. Eso es todo.”
Inside, I keep waiting for shame to show up.
But it never does. There’s only heat.
Only skin.
Only Elías whispering in my ear.
“That’s it.”
“Slow.”
“Me encanta cómo me coges,” he breathes.
I kiss him to keep us both quiet. He bites my lip, and I swallow his gasps. His legs hook higher around my waist, pulling me deeper, and the angle changes enough that we both freeze.
“Oh,” he breathes.
I stare down at him, and his eyes are wide. “What?”
“Do that again.”
I do, and his hand slaps over his own mouth. That shouldn’t be the hottest thing I have ever seen.
It totally is. I take his wrist gently and move his hand away.
“I wanna hear the pretty sounds you make for me,” I whisper, hoping that comes out sexy and not weird.
His laugh comes out broken. “My mom is asleep.”
“Then be quiet loud.”
His eyes flash. “That makes no sense.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
He pulls me down by the neck and kisses me hard, then whispers against my mouth, “Hands under my knees.”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice turns soft and commanding. “Put your hands under my knees and lift me up a little.”
I do what he says because apparently my body now takes orders from Elías Cárdenas.
He hooks his legs over my arms, opening himself deeper, trusting me with his weight.
The position brings us chest to chest, face to face, his thighs high around me, his body curved under mine.
I can kiss him like this. I can feel everything.
Every breath. Every tremor. Every filthy little shiver he tries to hide.
The bed creaks again, and we freeze.
Nothing.
Then he looks at me and whispers, “Slow.”
I move slowly. Then deep, controlled only because he tells me to be. His mouth falls open and mine does too.
My piercing drags in a way that almost makes me lose my mind. Every thrust catches, sparks, pulls sensation through me until my vision blurs at the edges. Elías feels it too—I know he does because his eyes flutter and his fingers claw into my back.
“Jesus,” he whispers.
“Hey, don’t bring him into this.” I pant, thrusting hard once just to feel him clench. “I still got to go to Mass tomorrow morning with my tía.”
He chokes on a laugh, then turns his face into my shoulder to smother the sound. I hold him tighter, and he wraps himself around me.
Everywhere.
Legs and hands.
My fucking heart.
I’ve never been this close to anyone, and that thought punches through the pleasure so hard I almost stop.
Elías feels me falter.
“Hey.” His hand slides to my face. “Mírame”
I do and see that he’s flushed. Sweaty. Wrecked. Mine in ways I don’t know how to describe.
“Stay,” he whispers.
One word.
He doesn’t say it because I’m trying to leave the room but because he knows. Elías knows some part of me keeps looking for the emergency exit.
“It just feels unreal,” I say. Then I kiss him.
The rhythm changes after that. He talks me through it, mouth against my ear, voice shaking.
“You feel how tight I get for you when you do that, don’t stop.”
“Right there, papi.”
“Yeah. Yeah, like that, you feel so fucking good.”
My whole body goes tight. “Elías.”
“I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”
His hand slides between us, and I catch his wrist. He looks at me with confusion.
“Let me,” I say.
His eyes darken, and I wrap my hand around him. He’s slick, hot, and heavy in my palm. I stroke him in time with my thrusts, and he bites my shoulder to muffle the sound.
Pain sparks and pleasure answers. I lose the rhythm for half a second.
He laughs against my skin, breathless. “Sensitive?”
“Shut up.” I grunt softly, picking up a little more speed, chasing the tingles that are traveling down my spine.
“Make me.”
Alright… So my hand moves faster between us. Sure as shit that makes him. His hips move slow and deep, taking every inch of me inside his perfect ass. Then his thighs start shaking around me, and his mouth opens under mine on a moan.
The first sound slips out when I angle my hips the way he told me to and stroke him at the same time. A small, wrecked noise that breaks against my mouth. Then he smiles, filthy and tender, because apparently he can be both and ruin me twice.
“I want to see it.”
That is what breaks me, not the pressure of thinking it has to be perfect. Or the undeniable heat between us. Not my piercing dragging through his impossible tightness.
That.
Elías wanting to see me feel good.
I thrust once, deep, and his body locks under mine. My hand tightens around him, and he comes first.
It starts with a shudder—his whole body arching, spine curving off the bed, mouth falling open in a silent cry.
Then the sound comes, ragged and choked, buried in my shoulder as he shakes.
Hot white stripes spill over my fingers, his stomach, and his chest—thick and obscene in the lamplight.
He keeps pulsing in my hand, his body clenching around me in waves, and I feel every spasm, every aftershock, milking me toward my own edge.
“Fabián,” he chokes, “Fabián, vente, carino, vente para mí—”
I thrust into him—once, twice, deep and uncontrolled—and then I come too.