Chapter Seventeen #6
When they had sex before, Kilian’s main focus had rarely been on his own cock. Finding the right position to angle himself and sink into Damir lit up bright new pathways in the animal part of Kilian’s brain always on the hunt for pleasure.
It reminded him of the night in his awful San Francisco apartment when Damir had sucked him off so good he’d come in two minutes flat. The constriction of Damir’s hole around Kilian left him lightheaded and panting as he bottomed out.
“Are you okay?” he remembered to ask.
“Fine,” Damir said tersely.
“Damir—”
“Just give me a moment.”
So, Kilian gave him a moment, silently counting backward from a hundred in steps of five as he clung to sanity.
A small eternity later, Damir said, “All right, you can move.”
When Kilian did, Damir drew in a sharp, shaky breath, and Kilian stilled immediately again.
“No, keep—keep going.”
Kilian slowed his movements, a gentle rocking instead of the crazed thrusts his body tried to goad him into. God, it felt amazing, but he was so glad he didn’t usually do this; the control it took was breathtaking.
“Does it feel—”
Damir smiled up at him and stroked Kilian’s hair out of his eyes. “Good. You feel good.”
Kilian lost control for a second and thrust harder, forcing a stuttered breath out of Damir’s lungs. “Sorry, sorry.”
“No, that was…that was…”
So Kilian did it again, a little harder, a little more intentional, and Damir made a pleased, guttural sound Kilian wanted to put on a loop to reward himself with every time he finished an exercise at the gym.
Kilian’s pulse thrummed in his balls. The elastic band of the underwear stretched tightly enough between his shaft and his balls that he managed to hold on, but he knew he was living on borrowed time.
“You should touch yourself,” he managed. “I can’t…” Kilian held himself up on his wrists and knees with no hand free to help Damir out. If he were better at this, more coordinated, he could find a way, but without the necessary experience or, like, a playbook, he had no chance.
Damir grunted in displeasure, then put a hand on Kilian’s shoulder. “Stop.”
Kilian stilled.
“Pull out.”
He wasn’t proud of it, but Kilian sobbed when he did, the loss of heat and friction nearly unbearable. The cool air bit painfully against the overheated, oversensitive skin of his dick.
“On your back,” Damir demanded. He pushed Kilian down into the sheets when he didn’t move fast enough, then straddled his hips. He groped for Kilian’s cock behind himself. The seams of the underwear made a tearing sound, but Kilian couldn’t care less when Damir sank down on him.
He was glorious, all his muscles standing out in sharp relief as he fucked himself down on Kilian’s cock, sweat beading on his chest.
“Touch me,” he demanded.
Kilian wrapped clumsy fingers around Damir’s cock, his big, thick, dripping cock. “I love your body,” he said, half to Damir and half to his cock. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I missed it.”
“Good.” Damir’s voice was breathless. “I want you to have me all the time. I want you to have this, have me whenever you want. Come on, give it to me, Kilian.”
Kilian’s hips jutted upward, and Damir groaned. Kilian’s fist pumped unevenly. A thick burst of precome dripped into the condom, and for a moment, Kilian thought he was done, his balls surging up tight. The band of the panties strangled the orgasm back, and he cried out in denied pleasure.
When he could breathe again, he renewed his efforts on Damir’s cock.
“Yes,” Damir hissed. He tilted his pelvis a fraction forward, and Kilian thrust his hips. Suddenly, Damir made a shocked sound as come shot from his cock all across Kilian’s chest up to his chin.
He slumped down in the aftermath, some of the tension leaving his body, and the movement dragged the seam of Kilian’s underwear until it snapped.
The sting of pain in an ocean of pleasure was enough; Kilian fucked up once more and filled the condom with a series of helpless sounds he really hoped no one else could hear.
Afterward, he got his wish. Damir lay heavy against him, his head on Kilian’s shoulder, and Kilian stroked through his thick, dark, sweat-damp hair.
“I knew you’d be good at riding,” Kilian said. “You have this energy about you.”
“There it is.” Damir yawned.
“Hm?”
“You always have some sort of postcoital commentary. Usually, it’s more random. Should I start expecting performance reviews?”
“Shut up.” Kilian tugged at the strands in his hand. “Some of us like to make conversation. Sorry if that’s a novel concept for Mr. Grunts-A-Lot.”
“Mm. No conversation. Sleep now.”
Sleep sounded good. Sleep with Damir curled up beside him in the crisp hotel sheets with a tentative, possible future stretching out before them sounded even better.
Kilian wanted to say something about it, something not too sappy but maybe a little bit romantic.
But before he found the words, Damir’s breath evened out against his collarbone.
Kilian stroked his hands through Damir’s hair one last time, breathed in against a swell of emotion so big it would have knocked him over if he hadn’t already been lying down, and let himself relax into sleep as well.
When he woke up, Damir was gone.