15
Noah led me down one of the long hallways.
The lights were off, but he moved like he knew every inch of the place.
The whisper of his steps on the rug. The click of a latch.
And then he pulled me through a doorway, into a dark room.
Not entirely dark, though, because the curtains were open, and the light reflected off the snow outside, just enough to let me get a sense of the space: a dresser, a bed, a nightstand.
I closed the door behind me, and when I turned back, Noah kissed me.
One kiss turned into another, and then his mouth was on my neck, his hands yanking on my sweater and then sliding up under my shirt to run across my stomach, over my chest. I walked him backward toward the bed.
His sweater came off easily enough, but then I got stuck trying to undo the buttons on his shirt.
They were small and smooth and kept slipping out from between my fingers.
“Rip it,” Noah said, breaking a kiss to my neck long enough to say, “Just get it off, I don’t care.”
Well, I could do that.
The buttons popped free, and then I was pushing the shirt over Noah’s shoulders.
The snow-light made him look even paler than usual, with black stripes of shadow: along his shoulder, following his collar bone, between his ribs.
He was so soft, too. He shivered when I ran my thumbs over his nipples, and they stiffened in response.
“Take this off,” he said, giving my sweater a tug; he’d already gotten it halfway there, and as I started to turn myself out of it, Noah dropped to his knees. He snaked my belt free like he was doing a magic trick, and then he undid the button on my waistband and pushed my trousers down.
Then he groaned.
“What?” I asked with the sweater still over my head.
“Halloween?” Noah said and he snapped the waistband of my trunks. “Good God, Howie, I didn’t think I was going to be running into Frankenweenie.”
I finally managed to get free of the sweater. “Well, I didn’t know—”
But Noah just shushed me and, before I could finish my sentence, shoved the trunks down and took the head of my dick in his mouth.
I forgot whatever I’d been trying to say.
Warm. Wet. The texture of his tongue as he swirled it experimentally once, as though checking everything out, and then—apparently satisfied—rubbed against that sensitive spot just below the head.
“Shit,” I breathed, and I grabbed his head in both hands.
Noah used to like it when I did that—if his feelings had changed, he didn’t give any sign.
He let me pull him forward, not quite fucking his face, but filling his mouth until I started worrying about hitting the back of his throat.
I pulled him off, then forward again, and he let me.
One of his hands played with my balls. The other hand was between his legs, rubbing himself through his trousers.
For a few minutes, Noah let me use him like a fuck-sleeve. And then he wrapped his hands around my wrists, and I let him go. Instead of pulling off, though, Noah leaned forward. He took my dick as deep as I’d pushed him, and then glancing up at me from under long lashes, he took me into his throat.
I grunted as he swallowed me inch by inch. His eyes stayed locked on mine, even as he started to tear up, and the tears glittered in his lashes.
Then he gagged, pulled back, coughed, shook his head.
“You okay?” I ran my hand over his hair.
“Been a while,” Noah said. His voice—well, it wasn’t wrecked. But it did sound a little scratchy. And when he looked up at me again, there were still tears in his lashes, and his lips had that puffy rawness I remembered. He leaned forward and licked the tip. “Need more practice.”
“We can do that.”
But Noah shook his head. He rubbed his cheek along the length of my cock. He buried his nose in my pubes. His hands found my thighs, and he stroked lightly, kneading the muscles there.
It took me a moment. And then I squeezed the back of his neck. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”
Eyes closed, he nodded.
I opened my mouth. And then I hesitated.
On the apps, guys liked to talk a big game.
They all wanted eight, nine, ten inches of dick.
And then you met up, and they saw what that looked like, and they weren’t so sure.
There were always size queens, sure, but a lot of guys didn’t know how to prep to take something that size.
A lot of them didn’t have the mind game for it.
And a lot of them, frankly, just freaked the fuck out when push came to shove, so to speak.
When Noah and I had been together, we’d figured out what worked for us. But that had been over two years ago.
As usual, Noah must have had some sort of idea of what I was thinking. He leaned back, and an embarrassed smile crossed his face. “I might have…hoped something would happen tonight. With us, I mean.”
I couldn’t help myself; I laughed.
He slapped my thigh hard enough that I yelped, “Jesus Christ, Noah!”
“You’re a pig.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Never mind,” Noah said, getting to his feet. “Forget it.”
But I didn’t forget it. I wrapped my arms around him as he tried to slip away from me, and it turned into Noah trying to escape—mostly giggling, while I kissed him everywhere I could reach—and me tightening my hold until his back was to my chest, where I could suck and bite his neck while he shivered and made helpless noises.
I palmed him through his trousers, letting him rut up against my hand.
And then I pushed him face-down onto the bed.
His shoes and trousers came off easily, and then I had a moment to look at his ass: smooth, tight, round.
In the weak light reflected off the snow, I couldn’t make out the color of his underwear, but it was another of those lacy pieces that was basically a thong.
I squeezed his ass in both hands. I curled the waistband of his underwear around my fingers until that little string pulled tight between his cheeks. And then I ripped them off him.
Noah let out a shaky breath. He tried to sound mad. “Those were seventy dollars.”
“Get up there,” I told him.
He made a soft sound, but he scooted up the bed and pressed his face into the pillow.
I undressed. Shoes, set neatly together next to the nightstand.
Socks folded neatly inside each shoe. Noah, ass up and face down, was trembling—the cold, probably partially.
But not only the cold. I stepped out of my trousers and boxers and hung them over the back of a chair.
It’d be nice if I kept my own room this neat.
Maybe I just needed a twink to fuck before I went to bed every night.
When I moved behind Noah, he gave a bigger shiver, a full-body one. I could see his dick in the gap between his thighs—stiff, tucked up against his belly, ready. I settled on my knees, spread his cheeks with my hands, and went to work eating him out.
Noah let out a thin sound—pleasure, but also distress, like it was too much and not enough all at the same time.
It had been a while since I’d done this, but it came back to me quickly enough. When to lick. When to stiffen my tongue and drill into him. When to use my fingers. When to bring my chin up and scrape stubble across sensitive skin. When to bite.
Noah’s moans alternated with panting, alternated with “Howie” and “Oh fuck” and sounds that were almost words but got caught in his throat.
When he was boneless, when he jolted every time my tongue touched him because he was almost raw from it, I sat back on my heels.
My jaw ached, but in that good way, and my face was sloppy from the job I’d done.
But with Noah, it was always worth it. We’d never tested it because the fucking was too much fun, but I was pretty sure Noah could come like this if I let him.
Maybe another night, because I said, “Lube?”
He mumbled something that I thought, maybe, was “Drawer.”
Sure enough, plenty of lube.
“Shit,” I said. “I don’t have a condom.”
He turned his head on the pillow. He had sleepy, fucked-out eyes, and he was still breathing fast. “You said you hadn’t hooked up.”
“I haven’t.”
The snow-light made it hard to tell, but it looked like color rose in his face. “I don’t…it’s not like I do it a lot. And I get tested.”
So, that was an offer. And it was an offer I hadn’t expected.
“I can check Marty’s room—” Noah began.
“No,” I said. And then, more gently, “No.”
I got on the bed behind him. I rubbed his lower back until Noah buried his face in the pillow again.
The bedding rustled when I shifted my weight.
The lid on the bottle of lube clicked when I opened it.
I did myself first. And then, more carefully, I worked some into Noah.
One finger. And then two, and Noah groaning.
Three, and he moved one leg like he was twitching.
Which, maybe he was. I was careful not to touch his spot until I bore down on it suddenly, hard, and Noah screamed.
I laughed. I shushed him. I did it again, and Noah’s hole gripped my fingers like a vise as he screamed a second time.
“There you go,” I said. “You’re all set.”
“Why are you so mean?” Noah mumbled around a mouthful of wet pillow.
“Because you like it, baby.”
And before he could argue with that, I pressed into him.
Just the head, but that was enough. Noah tensed.
I held myself still. Then I rubbed his back again, made gentle noises, waited.
It took more willpower than I expected; it had been so long, and he was like velvet—this crushing velvet heat that I wanted to bury myself in.
“Okay,” Noah said. His throat sounded dry, and his fingers were curled into the mattress.
And that’s how we went. Another inch. Pause. Another inch. Pause. Until finally, I was settled inside him, and Noah’s back was arched, and he was panting into the pillow.
“Good job.” I palmed his hip, steadying him, holding him against me. “You took me so good, baby.”
“Fuck, you’re so big.” He sounded half-disbelieving, half-drunk.
In answer, I started to move. Slowly at first, because he was still getting used to me. But steady. Dragging him back by the hips. Forcing the angle of his body to shift. Listening for the shuddering, punched-out noise when my cock nailed that spot.
He didn’t loosen so much as…accept me.
And then I fucked him. Hard. Fast. Long strokes. Shallow ones, hammering his prostate. Then slow again, gathering him against me, his half-hard dick swinging against my hand.
The pillow muffled some of the sounds he made, but nowhere close to all of them, and one thing you could say about Noah: he never tried to hide who he was.
He screamed. He moaned. He begged me, “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” And when he started getting too mouthy, I’d rabbit-fuck his little spot until all he could do was open his mouth in an O and let out thin, breathy noises, head half-raised like he didn’t even know where he was.
It had been a long time, and I’d forgotten—or let myself forget, or wanted to forget—how different it was from jerking off with soap in the shower.
Not just the feeling of him. Of being inside him.
But knowing him. Hearing him. Changing one thing, and watching it ripple through his body.
Changing another, and feeling him clench.
And all of a sudden, I wanted to look into his eyes.
I pulled out of him and cracked one hand across his ass. “Up.”
Noah rolled over. Even the low lighting couldn’t hide his flush, or the drool at the corner of his mouth, or the way sweat stuck some of his hair to his forehead. For a moment, he looked confused.
“Get up,” I told him, and I moved over to the window.
It was colder here, but I barely noticed because it was so fucking satisfying to see Noah climb out of bed and try to walk, his legs folding like he was a foal. He caught my look and laughed and said, “It’s not my fault! You broke me!”
“Hmm,” I said, and I gathered him in my arms and pushed him against the wall. A quick dip, arms hooked under his thighs, and I lifted him.
“Oh God, Howie,” he murmured.
“I got you,” I said, and to my surprise, it caught in my throat, like I was thirteen again.
The mechanics of it were simple: he was pinned between my cock and the wall.
If you wanted to get technical, I guess between my arms and the wall.
Like that hotel in Bali. I slid into him.
The angle wasn’t as good for me as when I’d fucked him from behind, but to judge by the gargling noise Noah made, the way his head thumped against the wall, it was better for him.
And right then, I wanted it to be good for him. I wanted it to be perfect.
Just like in Bali, he screamed. A lot.
I didn’t care. I was past caring. Fuck Jonathan. Fuck Tracy. Fuck Marty. Fuck all of them. For one night in his life, I wanted Noah to feel taken care of, valued, important. If the best way to do that was to core him out while he screamed his fucking brains out—well, I could do that.
The change happened so suddenly—and I was so caught up in the rhythm—that I didn’t even realize what was happening until Noah said, “Howie, oh fuck, oh fuck!” And then he groaned, and his feet curled.
His dick, which had been half-hard and slapping against his stomach, twitched, and a fat glob of come landed on Noah’s belly.
He groaned again, more deeply this time, and he bore down so hard it was like he was trying to push me out.
Two more of those quarter-sized drops of come splashed onto his stomach, and he shuddered and breathed out funnily, and I realized he was coming.
It knocked me off the edge. I made a sound and started hammering into him. For a few seconds, that was all there was: my dick, the velvet of him, the friction between us.
And then it was over, and I was slumping forward, my head on his shoulder, my chest rising and falling with my ragged breaths.
The bleachiness of his load mixed with the smell of my sweat.
My skin was stuck to his skin. All the walls were down, and in the whole universe, there was only the two of us, and I wanted to cry.
Then Noah scruffed my buzzed hair, and he made a pleased sound, and I remembered who he was and who I was and everything else. I blinked a few times against his shoulder. I peeled myself away and eased him down.