by L E Franks
He dropped to his knees faster than a twenty-dollar rent boy. All I could do was forget about my shoulder and reach for the showerhead as FatBoy grabbed my dick, working my length with his hand and mouth and tongue.
Fuck.
He sucked cock like a pro.
God, on his knees, blue eyes fixed and gazing up at me while I worked my penis over his lush bottom lip and into his wet heat, all I could think of was fucking him. Of taking control of all those muscles, of dominating his strength, of keeping him on the edge of pleasure while I bent him over the bar, and…
I popped free, and FatBoy stood, drawing me close. I wanted to yowl in frustration, but his kiss swallowed my protests. His hands moved across my ass, slick with soap, probing, massaging, sliding carefully across tender flesh, and digging his thumbs to ease muscles cramped and tight from hours in restraints.
I handed him my body wash, and he ran the terrycloth across my torso and down my legs. He turned me back to face the cascading water and repositioned himself to rub against me, sliding his very hard cock between my soap-slicked thighs. He swept his fingers across my stomach, washing away the dirt and soap, leaving his other hand free and trailing down to cup my balls from the front, while he nudged them from behind.
I was almost delirious with sensation by the time he reached for the shampoo, running his hands through my hair.
He stopped, carefully fingering my scalp at my hiss.
“Ya gotta couple of cuts here, Princess. I’ll try and be gentle, but I need to clean 'em.”
I nodded. And just like that playtime was over.
* * * * *
We stood side by side in front of my bathroom mirror. FatBoy had carefully toweled me dry, pressing gentle kisses to the bruises and scrapes as he went, which I pointed out were unsanitary, and he ignored.
It took forever, though if pressed, I’d confess the attention and care at his hands was very nice.
I loaned him a fresh razor and we shared a toothbrush, and now it was my turn with a blade against my throat.
“What’s it feel like?” He gently probed my joint as I scraped away the stubble from my neck. I rinsed my face before turning.
I knew what he meant. He was probably more familiar with shoulder injuries from his days playing football than I’d ever be.
“Like three ibuprofen and a bag of ice—” I grabbed his wrist, catching him before he could leave to bring me exactly that. “—later.” Dropping my towel, I pressed against him, running my tongue up his chest to catch a rivulet of water stopping it from traveling farther.
“So that’s how it is,” FatBoy purred in my ear.
“That’s how I hope it is.” I pushed him backward out of my bathroom and down the hall, maintaining eye contact—not that keeping his focus on me was any hardship.
“Little to the left.” I guided him through my bedroom door and did a quick swooping room check. It had been worse.
“Stay.” My command twisted him to remain facing forward, and I slipped around, tossing clean clothes from my bed in the direction of the closet and pulled down the duvet.
My series of wet dreams featuring FatBoy aside, my bed had a longer cold streak than I ever had. Before today, sex was strictly S.E.—Somewhere Else.
“Are ya gonna keep me hanging, Princess? I have other things I could be doing…”
“Besides me?” I challenged, vaguely insulted.
“I said other things, not better,” he tossed over his shoulder.
“So you want to ‘do’ me?” I stood at the headboard, riveted by the flexing of FatBoy's buttocks, wondering if he did that every time I annoyed him.
I should ask him next time his clothes are on.
“What do you think, Nicky? I’ve had my eyes on you since I walked into Frisson. I just wasn’t ready to accept what that meant until now.”
His back was still turned. He was using his obedience to my commands to keep me from reading his face.
Tricky.
I carefully knelt on my bed, crawling to the center. “Come and show me then.”
I’d sat back on my feet, but my thighs were splayed, showing him all my desire.
Even as we talked, the cadence of his speech, his accent flavoring his words, the breaths he took, and the silences he used like accents to underscore his intent—they all filled my heart and my cock.
I stroked my erection and watched him turn slowly, then stop when he saw the tableau I presented. “Don’t know how much longer I can wait.”
“Not long. Not long now.” He came to me, his penis hard and leaking like mine was, and he crawled to me, across the foot of the bed, hand over hand, until finally reaching me.
Briefly, he touched my right knee. Then, drawing back, he mirrored my pose, a hair’s breadth separating us, knee-to-knee, sitting on his heels, hands flat atop his thighs.
I shivered.
Feeling his searching gaze, I raised my chin, meeting it head-on.
Instead of grabbing me, or grabbing his own dick, he used a single forefinger to trace the curve of my uninjured cheek, running it down the bridge of my nose, across my upper lip, snatching it back to avoid capture by my teeth.
He flicked me under the nose with a smile and silently resumed mapping my features with a brush across my chin and a line drawn down my throat. If I was a piece of rock, then every touch of his hand was a sculptor’s chisel chipping away at me. Exposing me, transforming me from hardened stone to living art.
He traced every line of muscle, hovered over each injury, rubbed across each scar until I felt connected to my body in a way I’d never been before. His radiating warmth enveloping me in the wake of each new touch, each new discovery, it covered my nakedness with his regard.
Kneeling bare before this man who had pursued me, had seen enough of me over the months to know my nonchalance was a false wall, and still he persevered until everything I’d kept from him was revealed.
I swallowed dry, terrified.
“Shhhh. Take it easy, Nicky.” He moved, pulling me into his arms, drawing my mouth to his.
We kissed, slow and deep, still matching stroke for stroke, tongue for tongue.
He was languid.
He was tranquil. And deep. Like slow-moving water carrying jungle blossoms downriver, the danger hidden just below its surface.
I felt my breath seize and my body stiffen. This wasn’t what I wanted.
This was wrong.
I wanted sex, I wanted casual, I wanted freedom.
I didn’t want to fall… didn’t want to feel… didn’t…
Panic grew in me.
And just like that, as if he could read my mind and sense the danger, he pounced, driving me backward into my pillows with his body.
“Don’t you do this, Nicky,” he growled into my throat, biting and sucking. Ignoring my pains for once. He began a hard rut against my thigh, his erection sawing at the crease. “Don’t give up just when we got this far.”
He retraced the trail he’d laid before—this time he used his mouth to torment me. He paused in his march south, biting down on my chest hard, teeth digging in without breaking my skin, then sucking all the flesh he could into his mouth, leaving his brand.
He wasn’t going to let me forget, whatever happened next.
Lightning flashed in my brain as he found a nipple, toying it to hardness with his teeth in a delicate counterpoint to what had come before. And I forgot to breathe, or maybe oxygen was no longer required in the universe FatBoy created to hold the two of us.
My brain slid further away, and I heard someone call out to Davis as warmth engulfed my cock. He swallowed around the head, relaxing his throat and pulling me deeper with fingers gripping my hips. The shard of pain as he pressed too close to my bruised flesh turned the pleasure into an intoxicatingly complex mix.
“Ah. Nicky… you taste so good.” I felt his words against my skin, moving to run the flat of his broad tongue along the underside of my dick before teasing the glans and sending my hips b
ucking.
He moved lower, pressing his hands flat against my inner thighs, laying me open to his perusal. I groaned, gripping my cock as FatBoy made his choice, sucking first one ball into his mouth and then the other.
“Goddammit… if you don—” I tried to pull his mouth back onto my cock, but he wasn’t cooperating. All the golden muscle was heavy across my legs, and he refused to move.
His laugh was deep and throaty. “Oh, cher, don’ worry none. I won’t let you hang…” He mimicked his best Cajun, then proved himself right when that wicked tongue of his slid down my perineum and settled against my pucker.
Holy fucking god.
I’d never let a man this close before, and if I’d known a rim job would feel so good, I would’ve gotten religion long ago.
FatBoy licked and sucked, and I kept stroking. Excitement spun me out of control, and I fell into sensation. When he finally slid the tip of his magnificent, gold-plated tongue inside of me, everything went white.
“Still with me?” He looked up from where he’d been cleaning up my cum, a smug smile showing that his concern was just good manners—he knew what he’d done, and he’d done it well.
Bastard.
He eased himself up my body, licking up the last few drops of ejaculate, these landing on my chest. And he kissed me.
Fuck, that was a good orgasm.
I rewarded him with my mouth. Drawing his weight down onto me, I kissed him back, threading my fingers through his hair and wrapping him up in a tangle of our legs, keeping him close to my heart.
“You feel so good…” FatBoy slid along my body in long sensuous pulls, carefully timing his undulations to avoid my overly sensitive penis.
“Ummm… so do you.” I held him loosely, letting him please himself. He reminded me of a competitive swimmer, or a dolphin swimming in the ocean. The mental picture was stunning: gold skin and sleek muscles slicing through blue water…. Someday I hoped to see it live.
Until then, I’d enjoy what I had.
“More…” I heard myself whisper, and FatBoy froze.
“Are you sure?”
“More.”
“I can give you more. Much, much more….”
He didn’t seem to care that I didn’t answer, not that I could with his tongue down my throat. He kissed me deeply one more time, then reached over to my little bowl of condoms and the bottle of lube I’d so thoughtfully left out when I had high hopes for dragging him into my bed earlier in the week.
“Is this okay? Do you mind… I mean, you topped Juan—” He held up a gold foil packet and gestured between the two of us.
Sometimes I wished he’d been raised by wolves.
“You didn’t just bring another man into my bed, then try to punt… did you?”
I couldn’t help myself. He made me laugh. He’d gone from confident deflowerer of rim virgins, to unsure suitor in a matter of seconds. I crawled to where he knelt on the bed, looking anxious.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” I shoved him over backward, then regretted it, biting back a groan as my shoulder retaliated with pain at the rough treatment. I really had to ice it soon.
But not yet.
“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted your nice, hard dick in my ass.” I palmed him as I spoke, a slow jerk to bring the blood back where it belonged. “If you’re still interested tomorrow and you want to switch, we can talk about it then.”
He didn’t require a second invitation, just pulled me down and rolled me over.
I felt him slicking his fingers, breaching me with first one, then another. It had been too long, years actually, and the burn brought back old memories.
“Breathe, cher, just breathe.” He slowed down, kept adding lube, then pulling out to tease and scrape at the sensitive skin surrounding the entrance. He had me squirming, but every time I reached for my own prick, he was there before me.
“Don’t make me dig out my tie.” The warning lit a flame to my imagination.
“I’ve got a couple in the closet.”
I could probably even direct him to them.
He pushed in another finger and found my nerve bundle, which shut me up until he began to move.
“Oh. Yeah. That. That right there….” I sucked in a lungful of oxygen to replace the air I’d lost when he found my prostate. “That’s why…” I sucked in another gulp as FatBoy fucked me with three fingers, his thumbnail dragging across the tender skin under my balls with every other thrust. “Why… you’re doing this—” I was about to burst. “—and not me.”
He could tell I was about to lose it—he’d been there three times already, he probably knew the signs by now, either that or he was a vindictive bastard who liked to torture his lovers.
I bit my lip—I wasn’t actually going to beg him to fuck me, but I wanted to.
The sound of tearing plastic was like a chorus of angels. Dirty fucking angels. Angels who blew things with their mouths and played with stuff besides their harp strings.
“Last chance, Nicky. Last chance to say no to me…”
He’d crawled back up to look me in the eyes. “Last chance to say no to us.”
He was deadly serious when he said it. This wasn’t a game for him.
This was—
“Just do it!” I blurted it out, afraid to think about what this meant.
FatBoy chuckled. “It’s not like going to the dentist, Nick. I’m not gonna pull your teeth, but I am gonna drill you.” He smirked, and I knew he’d done it on purpose—the cheesy lines—to give me cover.
“Do it,” I repeated, softer.
I wanted this.
I wanted him.
“Please.”
He nodded, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of my left hand. They’d been gripping the linens so hard while FatBoy had his fingers in me, they’d become as white as the sheets.
He settled back between my legs, unrolled a condom like an old pro and slicked up so fast I wondered if he was afraid I’d changed my mind—I was at least one orgasm up on him.
He pressed two thumbs in, gently guiding the ring of muscle apart, spreading it just enough to let the head of his penis press in. He kept at it, easing in, slow and steady. His hand lay gently against my abdomen—stopping when a flash of pain made my muscles contract, easing forward when they relaxed. His own little Nick Valentine traffic light.
Each time he moved, he stole my breath and I was overcome with the sensation of weightlessness, like I was floating outside my body, only to be dragged back as he brushed across my prostate. The pace was maddening, and my legs moved on their own accord, wrapping around his hips. His careful control fell apart as I ambushed him with an answering thrust of my own, seating him fully inside me.
The glorious pain.
I started fucking myself on his dick one, two, three times before he got over his shock and took back control.
Yanking my legs over his arms, he started a pounding pace of long strokes angled to drive me crazy.
“Oh… fuck, Nicky, you feel so damn good. Better than I ever dreamed…”
He was a powerhouse, a machine. Every cliché in the book.
He was strong enough to fold me in half and tender enough not to do it—I wasn’t so far gone not to notice he still kept pressure off my shoulder, all the while screwing me near senseless.
I was so close.
I reached for him, sliding first one leg free to wrap back around his waist, then the other. I needed his mouth on me when I came so I reached up for him, my abs burning from the move.
He met me halfway, having risen to his knees, until I was fully seated in his lap, my cock trapped between us, our arms wrapped around each other, with the world dissolving until just the two of us existed.
I finally saw the wisdom of all that gym time people spent, though if sex with FatBoy was a regular thing…
I lost track of the thought as his lips crashed against mine.
“Davis?” I panted as our kisses slowed. His short thrusts continued to scra
pe across nerves, putting me in danger of sensory overload.
“Mmmm?” He used his hands to move me up and down on his cock. I loved the feel of his fingers digging into the muscles of my ass cheeks.
“I think I’m gonna come.” I sucked at his neck.
We would both be covered and marked by the time this was over.
The only answer he gave me was with his body. He propelled me backward, down onto the chaos we’d made of my linens. He dribbled a small stream of slick across my dick before grabbing it to jerk me off, each stroke made in counterpoint to the pounding he was giving my ass.
He kept me there, teetering on the edge of orgasm until I came screaming in his hand, one heartbeat before he followed me with his own.
“Fuck, Nicky.” He laid a sweaty head against my chest, and I trailed my fingers down his back, feeling the echoing pulses in my body.
“Me, too.” I sighed. Sore and content.
We stayed like that, and time stretched on. Darkness pressed against my eyes as I tried to stay awake, to hold on to this moment. I felt my grip on Davis slipping.
FatBoy rolled off the bed, stumbling down the hall to the bathroom. When he returned, he came bearing gifts.
“I brought you water, some ibuprofen, and some ice,” he said, parroting back my earlier words. He tossed something else in the gloom, and I jerked a little by the dampness in the towel I caught.
“How sweet, you brought me a cum towel.” It was, actually. Since it was wet, I took advantage, wiping down my chest before scrubbing away the pooled semen on my belly.
“Now sit up and take these.”
I was glad he hadn’t thrown everything.
The glass of water was cool and sweet down my throat, and the painkillers would probably mean the difference between moving or not, when I tried to get up later.
“Want to ice that shoulder?” He perched on the side of the bed, running a gentle hand across the damage that I could feel, even if it was too dark to see.
“Maybe later. I just want to sleep and forget this day ever happened…”
The quiet that followed was just a little too…. I popped an eye open and saw FatBoy, head in hands.
