Chapter Fifteen Caravaggio, dir. by Derek Jarman #4
I guess it’s called a “happy trail” for a reason , Eli thinks, letting the costume fall further and further. He’s faced with the bush of Peter’s pubic hair, before he finally
lays eyes on the base of Peter’s erection, tucked into the right leg of the costume until it eventually springs forward.
He takes him slowly, opening his mouth wider and wider, care ful of the graze of his teeth while also desperately trying not to overthink it. Eli wants to lose himself in the action, inviting Peter to put his hands back in his curls, pushing him further and further down, inch by careful inch.
“Fuck.” Peter sighs as Eli takes half of Peter’s cock. “Eli... you’re perfect.”
“Haven’t heard that one before.” Eli lets a laugh slip past his smile as he takes a breath. His lips go to Peter’s tip, licking
at the precum there before he dares to go deeper and deeper and deeper with each swallow.
He hates how good Peter tastes; how he smells after being stuck in a spandex costume for the last four hours.
Peter pulls, urging Eli on until Eli is met with his bush of pubic hair. He has to stop there, his gag reflex triggering.
He’s careful, though, pulling away from Peter’s cock slowly, his tongue running down the hard length.
“We could do more. If you want,” Eli offers.
“I, uh...” Peter’s fingers trace Eli’s cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind Eli’s ear. “I don’t have lube, or condoms.”
Eli grins. “There are other ways to get off, Peter.”
“Right, yeah.”
“Have you ever had sex with a vagina?” Eli already knows the answer to the question before Peter shakes his head. “Right,
I can show you.”
“Please,” he begs.
Eli scoots back onto the bed, unlacing his shorts and pulling his T-shirt over his head to throw in the corner. For a moment
he considers being self-conscious about the jockstrap that he wore all night, but there was literally no pair of underwear
that he owns that wouldn’t show through the leg of the shorts. And unlike Peter, he wasn’t willing to go commando in front
of a bunch of strangers.
Peter climbs onto the bed, helping Eli pull down his shorts. “Oh...” Peter whispers when he sees what Eli’s wearing.
“Not a problem, right?”
“You know how you definitely don’t have a costume kink?” Peter says to him.
Eli smiles. “Yeah?”
“I definitely don’t have a thing for jockstraps.”
“You meatheads and your jockstraps. Maybe I’ll wear a football jersey next time or something?” Eli reaches for Peter, ignoring
that he’s presuming there will be a “next time.” He urges Peter forward and captures him in another kiss, maneuvering himself
carefully so that Peter can continue to pull his shorts down and toss them into a random corner of the bedroom, totally forgotten.
There was a time where Eli was embarrassed of his body, of the changes that came as a result of his testosterone, his clitoris
growing to be almost like a penis. His gynecologist had assured him that nothing abnormal was happening, that bottom growth
was a normal reaction, just that Eli might be more sensitive than usual.
Eli takes Peter’s free hand as they continue to kiss. Peter’s fingers find the fabric crotch of the jockstrap, damp with Eli’s
arousal, pulling it down just enough to give him the space to maneuver while Eli still has it on.
“I don’t, uh...” Peter says with bated breath. “I don’t really know what to—”
“It’s okay,” Eli promises him, his grip on Peter’s wrist firm. “Can I show you?”
Peter nods enthusiastically. Eli bites at his bottom lip as he feels Peter’s fingers trace his folds carefully. It’s been
too long since fingers that weren’t his own played with the shape of his vagina, tracing the fine line of skin there as Eli
slowly begins to open for him.
There’s no stopping the hitch in his breath, the way his body wants to pull away at rediscovering the sensation.
“This is okay?” Peter asks, an adorable concern washing over his face.
“Yes.” Eli can’t hide the wanting in his voice. “Peter...” Eli gasps, urging Peter’s fingers deeper and deeper.
“Eli.” Peter’s breath is warm against Eli’s neck, his teeth grazing the skin and sending a shudder down Eli’s spine.
Eli isn’t sure when he lets go of Peter’s hand, his body going so pliant and loose that he can’t even keep a hold on Peter’s
wrists, his hands gripping the sheets instead; it doesn’t matter, though, it’s easy enough for Peter to figure out, to follow
the subtle movements of Eli’s body underneath him, to listen to the sweet mewls that slip from Eli’s lips as he urges Peter’s
fingers further inside, pulling Peter in for a kiss as he traces along Eli’s clit and rubs softly in a way that Eli deems
torturous.
And when Eli dares to open his eyes as Peter’s fingers hit him just right, he can see the focus on Peter’s face, that wanton
determination, and it’s so obvious to Eli that Peter only has a single goal in mind.
To make Eli come.
He’s so close to saying the words, begging Peter to just fuck him, condom be damned, but he resists. It’s a line they can’t
cross, not without testing, not without actually talking about it first, not without Eli spending an hour shooting water up
his ass.
Not yet.
But he can’t stop himself from taking Peter’s cheeks in his hands, from kissing him over and over again as he lets his body
fall onto Peter’s fingers, urging as he feels a puddle of Peter’s precum gather on his calf.
“Are you close, Eli?”
“Yeah, yes.” Eli nods, chasing that relief that seems to slip just past his fingers.
“You can come, Eli.”
Eli pleads with Peter silently, wanting nothing more than to give him exactly what he says. So...
He does.
With one final, only mildly embarrassing broken groan, Eli’s knees knit together almost automatically, like he can’t handle
the release that comes, that wets Peter’s waiting hand, Eli’s back arching off the bed as Peter steals one final kiss.
“God...” Eli feels himself being pulled back to Earth, fully expecting regret to slap him across the face.
But it never arrives.
Even as he stares at Peter’s face and waits for the realization that they crossed a line they can’t come back from, he only
sees Peter’s smile, the man out of breath as he looks at the mess in his hand.
“Sorry about that.”
“No, no. That was...” Peter looks at Eli again. “Amazing. Thank you.” He reaches up with his other hand, tucking a strand
of Eli’s hair behind his ears and leaning down to steal one more kiss, this one just as slow, just as calm as their first
all those weeks ago. “I guess I should get you a towel.”
“Well... you didn’t get to finish.” Eli doesn’t have to look down to feel Peter hard against him, leaking precum on Eli’s
thigh.
“Yeah, but... I mean, you don’t have to, it—”
“Peter?”
“Mm-hmm?”
Eli captures Peter’s cheek, pulling him down once more. “I want to make you come.”
Peter grins like an idiot. “Yeah, okay!”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Well, you can... I mean, if you want, you could jerk me off?”
“Now say that like it’s not a question.”
“Jerk me off.”
“Now say it like you’re not some closeted frat bro.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Peter says, and Eli can’t resist a laugh.
“Can I try something with you?”
Peter swallows, his voice quiet. “I think I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me.”
Eli can’t even begin to explain how dangerous that is. He thinks of wearing a strap-on, fucking deep into Peter until he’s
a whimpering mess. Of riding Peter within an inch of his life, controlling his movements carefully enough to keep Peter from
coming until he’s begging for it. Eli imagines eating Peter out while he edges him, his back arched, skin sweaty as he begs
for release. He wonders if Peter would like to be tied to the bed so he can’t touch himself. If he might like being spanked
or degraded, or if Peter would want to try being more demanding, more in control. He pictures a thousand different ways to
make Peter come undone underneath him, and he wants to explore all of them.
But for now, he picks himself up, his legs still feeling like jelly as he sits closer to the wall Peter’s bed rests against,
propping himself up with one of the discarded pillows. “Sit between my legs, here, with your back to me.” He rubs his hand
on the sheets, and Peter does exactly as he’s told.
It’s an odd feeling. Being the big spoon was never Eli’s preferred role. He likes having that warmth, that comfort around
him, almost as if he could suffocate underneath another person at any given moment. And with Peter’s wider frame, it’s a little
tough to find the position he wants, but they both manage.
“Now...” Eli’s able to whisper in Peter’s ear, the angle right when Peter finally relaxes. “I think I want to go a little
slower.”
Peter hisses when Eli touches his leaking cock, the precum providing enough lubrication for what he has planned.
“Is that okay?”
Peter bites at his bottom lip, almost letting it go white. But he still nods.
“Say it, Peter. Tell me if it feels good.”
“It feels so good, Eli.”
“And you tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Mm-hmm... good.” Eli continues to stroke. “You know who follows rules, Peter?”
“Hng, I—”
Eli doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Good boys follow rules.”
Peter swallows.
“You’re a good boy, right, Peter?” Eli whispers, unable to stop himself from nibbling at the skin of Peter’s neck. “I saw
the way you blushed when I called you that before. I meant it as a joke, but...” Eli twists his wrist carefully, pulling
his hand to the tip and rubbing his thumb along the wet slit of Peter’s leaking cock. “You like being called a good boy, don’t
you?”
Peter bites at his bottom lip. “Mm-hmm...”
“Say it,” Eli pleads. “Tell me.”
“I like it.”
“Like what?”
“Being a good boy.”
“That’s it, that’s my good boy.” Eli continues his motion, up and down Peter’s length, drinking in the whines that spill from
Peter’s lips. “Now, I want to try something else, okay?”