12. Sean #3
I twist my body, suddenly feral, and shove him off balance. He stumbles, then I turn fast and crawl over him, pushing him down onto the mattress.
Emiliano lands on his back with a surprised grunt, then grins like he’s proud.
“Someone wants to play rough,” he says, breathless. “You gonna fuck me, baby?”
I straddle him, hands on his chest, hair messy, heart pounding.
“You wanted me to stop running,” I pant. “Fine.”
“Fuck, yeah.” He groans. “Dame lo que quiero, nene.”
I lean down and bite his lip, hard enough to make him hiss.
“It’s my turn to fuck you, baby.”
He laughs, breath catching. “Okay, okay… your turn, pretty boy.”
“Cobre,” I correct, smug despite myself.
Emiliano’s eyes widen slightly, pleased. “Oh? You like it now?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
He smirks. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
I slide off him and push him onto his side, guiding him where I want him. Emiliano goes willingly because he’s not scared of being wanted.
He’s been waiting for it.
My hands grip his hips and pull him back toward me, positioning him the way I want. I coat my dick with the lube, then his ass, slowly teasing him so he relaxes for me. He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark.
“You sure?” he asks, his voice rough.
The question hits like warmth.
I swallow. “Yes.”
Emiliano nods once. “Okay. Then fuck me, hermoso.”
Heat flashes through me so hard it makes my hands shake.
“Shut up,” I mutter, but it’s not real. It’s just… us.
He wiggles his hips slightly. Teasing me.
“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Show me you can take control without panicking.”
I growl and smack his ass, and it makes him laugh.
“That all you got?” he taunts.
“Guess that wasn’t hard enough,” I fire back.
Emiliano’s laugh turns into a low moan when my hand slides between his thighs, slicking him up carefully. He’s warm, already open, and already receptive in a way that makes my chest ache.
He’s not ashamed.
He’s not afraid.
He’s just… here.
Wanting me.
“Dios,” Emiliano breathes as I notch the crown at his hole. “Así… just like that…”
I lean down, mouth to his ear. “Tell me you don’t want it.”
He laughs, wrecked. “Can’t… I’d be a liar.”
I press in slowly, and my new favorite sound is the way Emiliano exhales. His fingers curl into the sheets.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Sí… sí… that’s it…”
I thrust carefully at first, letting him adjust, then deeper, finding the rhythm he likes. Emiliano moans into the pillow, and hearing him undone like this is a different kind of power.
He turns his head slightly, cheek pressed to the mattress, eyes half-lidded.
“Look at you, Cobre,” he breathes. “So fucking good at this…”
“Yeah,” I pant, thrusting a little harder. “You like the way I fuck you?”
“I fucking love the way you fuck me.”
I thrust deeper, and Emiliano makes a sound that goes straight down my spine.
“Say my name,” I demand, my voice shaking.
Emiliano’s mouth curves against the pillow. “Sean… fuck… Sean…”
Hearing it like that, on his tongue, wrecked and real, almost ends me right there.
I grab his hip tighter, my pace quickening. Emiliano gasps, Spanish spilling out between moans like prayer turned into something filthy.
“Así… mi pelirrojo… qué rico… no pares… por favor… right there…”
I’m breathing hard, sweat slicking my back, control slipping fast.
Emiliano’s hand reaches for mine at his hip, fingers weaving with mine.
A tether, and it turns everything inside me to liquid.
“Mili,” I choke out. “Fuck, I’m close.”
He moans, his voice coming out broken. “Inside. I want you to come inside me.”
The words slam into me like a command I’ve wanted my whole life.
I thrust deep, hold him there, and come hard, spilling inside him with a ragged groan that feels like confession and victory all at once.
Emiliano shudders, lets out a string of curses, and comes not even a second later, cum covering his stomach and some of the sheets.
For a second, the room is nothing but breath and heat and the sound of us falling quiet. I pull out carefully, hands gentle now, and he collapses fully, completely boneless.
Then I tug him into my arms like I need him close. Emiliano turns his face into my neck, breathing hard.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, dazed. “You flipped the script.”
I huff a laugh, still shaking. “Yeah.”
“Was it good for you?” I ask, not sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.
Emiliano kisses my cheek, slowly. “Good. Really good, baby.”
My throat tightens, and he doesn’t let me spiral. He just slides his hand up my back and holds me, steady and warm.
Then he shifts into caretaker mode like it’s automatic: grabs the wipes, cleaning us up gently, making sure I’m okay, making sure he’s okay, with no jokes in his eyes now. When he’s done, he crawls back into bed and pulls me against his chest, tucking me in like I belong there.
My body melts into him before my brain can fight it. The city outside is still loud, still hungry, still waiting for us to give them the story it’s after. In here, it’s just breathing and warmth and Emiliano’s hand moving slow circles on my back like he’s teaching my body what safe feels like.
My mind tries to sprint ahead anyway, because it always does.
Distance. Schedules. Easter.
Emiliano must feel the shift in me because his fingers press a little firmer, grounding me.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “I’m—I’m scared it’s going to be hard.”
Emiliano’s gaze holds mine, steady as the mound. “Then we put in the work,” he says simply. “We plan. We don’t disappear on each other and we don’t punish ourselves for not being perfect.”
He pauses, his voice dropping softer.
“And when Easter comes,” he adds, “I’ll hold your hand the whole damn time. Under the table or where they can see.”
I nod, pressing my forehead to his collarbone. “Okay.”
Emiliano kisses the top of my head. “Okay.”
We stay like that a while, the quiet settling into something that doesn’t feel like guilt.
It feels like rest.
Then Emiliano shifts just enough to lift my chin, eyes dark but gentle.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
My stomach flips. “Say what?”
His mouth tilts like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “The word.”
I huff a small laugh, a little embarrassed. “Boyfriend?”
Emiliano’s smile softens, and he leans in until his lips brush my hair.
“No,” he murmurs, voice warm as a promise. “Mine.”