by Sidney Bell
They were just two people kissing. It was a regular day, and it didn’t feel dirty or wrong.
Not until Miller realized they were outside.
They were outside.
He pulled back. “Um.”
“That whole thing where I’m noble and doing the right thing lasted about ten seconds,” Church mused, apparently to himself. He squinted, considering. “New record?”
“Um,” Miller said again, and Church stared around at the great outdoors with dawning concern.
“Okay, that’s not gonna work.” Church quickly stood, tugging on Miller’s sleeve. “Up. Get up. Come on.”
“Sorry.” Miller’s cheeks could blister they were so hot, and he stumbled over his words as well as his feet. “I shouldn’t have—I wasn’t thinking.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Church replied, herding him inside and locking the door behind them. “I’m cool with it. If you want to make out on a table in front of the keynote speaker at a Republican fund-raiser, I could go for that. I’m not a fan of that look on your face though, and for the record? You shouldn’t have to think that hard before you kiss someone you like, not when we’re already... You know what? Forget it. Come here.”
And before Miller’s panic could get rolling, Church’s mouth was back on his.
* * *
The problem was that all of Church’s experience in the bedroom was the sexual equivalent of the get-rich-quick mentality: half-frantic gropings spent listening hard for approaching footsteps, like when he lost his virginity on his fifteenth birthday by fucking Mason Rill in an alley, or when he got busy with Tupper Jones after school before he ran away for the third time, or when Whitaker gave him the most terrifying blow job of his life in one of the bathrooms at Woodbury.
Or, more recently, when Church messed around with a man whose sexual acceptance was like a comet with a corkscrew orbit, only visible from Earth every now and then. The tendency to rush hadn’t been a bad thing with Miller so far, because Miller didn’t like to think about what he was doing, and the faster they went, the less likely it was that his brain would override his dick. Not that anything could override the dick, in Church’s experience, at least not for very long.
But right now, Miller seemed content with some high-school making out. They ended up on the couch, mouths sliding, touching tentatively over their clothes, leaning into each other but never daring to lie down. Miller relaxed more and more into the slow pace, and it was different enough from Miller’s previous deer-in-headlights lust-panic that Church kept losing track of the world at large, so he wasn’t sure which one of them was responsible for the transition into the bedroom.
Or which of them reached for Church’s shirt. And then Miller’s.
Eventually the sheets were tangled around their legs, the room bathed in the gray late-afternoon light streaming through the half-open blinds. Miller’s head tipped back on the pillow, exposing his throat, which was red from Church’s stubble and his rough, wet kisses. Miller’s cheeks were flushed pink, his hair standing up all over from where Church had gotten grabby, and he was beautiful.
Church’s chest throbbed once with a lovely, horrible ache. He lowered his head to nibble on Miller’s collarbone, surprised by the strength of the craving, by how badly he wanted to leave fingerprints on Miller’s skin, to leave marks that would last, to have proof that this was his for keeps.
He worked his way down, exploring, learning all the secrets of Miller’s body. He did not like having his belly button played with, and he was ticklish as hell along his lower left side, but he arched and moaned and shuddered helplessly when Church licked his nipples. Church stayed there for a good long while, nibbling and sucking until the soft flesh was pebbled and damp and oversensitive, until Miller was saying, “Come on, come on, touch me, put your hand in my jeans, something.”
So Church tugged off Miller’s jeans. Miller’s cock was hard and blood-hot and already dripping, and he was wonderfully shameless, lifting his hips to thrust into Church’s hands. Church pulled away, trying to slow them down, but Miller grunted a protest and rubbed up against Church’s thigh instead, finally dropping a hand to touch himself until Church slapped at his arm.
“Seriously, dude.” Exasperated, Church shoved his own jeans off as fast as he could. “If you come before I’m naked, I’m kicking you out of this bed.”
“Then I guess you’d better hurry up and fuck me.”
Church went still. After he’d had a chance to get his brain cells moving again, he sat up to study Miller’s face. Miller’s eyes were wide and careful, his pulse visibly rabbit-fast in the big vein in his throat. His light tone could not have been more fake.
“Are you sure?” Church asked.
“Yes,” Miller said, and it was so obviously a lie that Church was tempted to flick him on the nose. He shook his head and started to pull away, but Miller grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “I am.”
“Miller.”
“I am, Church. I’m nervous, okay, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sure.”
Church looked at him doubtfully. “You could fuck me if you’d rather.”
He didn’t mind offering; while it wasn’t his preference, he’d bottomed before, and he hadn’t minded it.
Miller looked away, jaw muscle tightening. “If you don’t want to—”
“That’s not what I said, jerk-face. I will pound your ass into next week if you want me to. There are other ways, that’s all.”
Ways that were maybe less likely to end with Miller politely telling Church that it’d be the last days of the apocalypse before Church got anywhere near him again, which was what happened when the guy doing the banging was used to getting in and getting off in roughly five minutes and had never been with a... Jesus, there had to be a better term for it, but Church had never been with a butt-virgin before, and the possibility for awful was all too real.
“Will it hurt?” Miller sounded like he thought he was being convincingly casual, which he so wasn’t.
Church winced. “Probably? A little, at least? I mean, I’m gonna try for it not to.”
Miller licked his lips. “Go slow.”
“Okay.” Church didn’t move for a minute because he honestly hadn’t expected this when he got up this morning, and he wasn’t entirely sure what went next. Like, he knew what went next, but not—
Miller rolled over onto his belly, which didn’t help Church’s brain get into gear, because Miller’s ass was firm and round and lightly freckled, and wow, he was allowed to touch it. The curve of Miller’s spine was sexy in a way that spine curvature just should not be, and all of that was before he buried his face shyly in the pillow, which struck Church as adorable.
Miller said something. It was muffled, but Church got his meaning when he flapped one hand in the general direction of the nightstand. In a drawer, Church found a brand-new tube of lube and an already-open box of condoms. His brain stuttered again on what that lube could mean, but Church didn’t say anything, because Hey, did you buy this so I could fuck your ass? seemed likely to ruin the moment. Even if knowing the answer could tell him how long Miller had been thinking about this and how certain he was about going forward.
Miller’s shoulders were already tensing at the delay, so Church picked up the pace. After getting some lube on his fingers, Church rubbed his dry hand at the small of Miller’s back, murmuring, “Spread your legs a little more for me.”
Miller’s legs moved in tiny jerks, but soon there was enough space for Church between his thighs. He got into position and trailed his hand from Miller’s back to his ass, feeling the muscle tighten under his touch, and then he brushed his thumb along the crease lightly.
Miller’s entire body went rigid.
“We don’t have to.” Church withdrew his hand.
“I know.”
“We could do other stuff,” Church pointed out. “I could suck you.”
“No—I. I want this. Do it.”
“Yeah, your ass is like Fort Knox right now, dude. It would take a jackhammer to get me in there. You have to relax.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how? You just—relax. I don’t know. Bear down, I guess?”
Miller glanced back over his shoulder, annoyed. “I’m not a pregnant woman, Church.”
“Fuck, dude, I don’t know. Look, um, tighten up as much as you can and then, uh, let go. See if that helps.”
“Tighten up and let go,” Miller repeated flatly.
“Yeah. And breathe. Deep breaths.”
“Have you even done this before? This side of it?”
“Yes,” Church said, a little offended. “Once.”
“Did you have to do all this Lamaze crap?”
“Well, I’m not as much of a tight-ass as you,” Church said smugly, and Miller reached back and punched him hard in the thigh, making him yelp. “Fuck! Jesus. All right.” But Miller was laughing instead of bracing for death, so that was something.
“Just do it,” Miller said finally. He buried his face in the pillow again, and started taking these ridiculous deep breaths, and Church nearly gnawed a hole in his lip trying not to laugh, because that would only get him clocked again. He stroked and teased, trying to get Miller used to being touched there, concentrating on the slickness of the lube and the fragile, crinkled skin beneath his fingertips. It was slow going, but Miller’s breathing eventually became less like a straining yoga student’s, and Church rubbed reassuringly at his buttock with his other hand. He bent forward, kissing along Miller’s spine, tasting fresh sweat, and his finger suddenly glided inside.
“Oh,” Miller said, the word little more than a rush of air.
“Does it hurt?”
“No?”
Church paused. “Is that no spelled y-e-s?”
“Are you going to ask me every question twice?”
“Is my dirty talk not doing it for you, baby?” Church asked, doing a horrible impression of Barry White, and Miller, unsurprisingly, ignored him. He stuck with one finger for a while, thinking that extra time could work only to the good here, and he was rewarded for his patience. He could feel Miller relaxing, so he added a bunch more lube and tried two fingers, in and out a dozen times before he started scissoring gently. Miller grunted, shifting beneath him.
“Okay?” Church asked.
“Keep going.”
So he did. He added a third finger after a while, making Miller’s whole back knot up for several long minutes. His breathing got choppy.
“How we doing?” Church asked. If Miller didn’t like all the questions, he could stuff it.
“Uh, okay, I think,” Miller replied, voice strained, so Church started talking about something ridiculous. He wasn’t sure what, just some stupid babble, and slid his fingertips over Miller’s prostate, a little tease to remind him that this was supposed to feel good, until Miller’s body unlocked.
And then they were ready. Church’s hands shook as he put the condom on. “Okay, on your back.”
Miller rolled, but he looked suspicious as hell. “Is this so we can have eye contact and talk about our feelings?”
“While we make sweet, sweet love,” Church added, batting his eyes sarcastically. “And no. It’s because I want to see if you’re lying when you say it doesn’t hurt.”
“Why would I need to lie? Do you not have enough lube?” Miller asked, a crease appearing between his brows.
“Way more than I need. It’s like a water slide down here.”
Miller’s face couldn’t decide if he was supposed to be offended by that or not, but before he could figure it out, Church lined himself up and pushed forward.
At first he thought it wasn’t going to work. Miller was tense again and way too tight, but then he shuddered and breathed and Church slipped inside. He tried to go slowly, but it was like all the forces in the universe—gravity, leverage, friction, the uncertain, amazingly-good yielding of Miller’s body—conspired to screw him over, and in seconds he was pressed deeply inside of Miller.
The heat and pressure were overwhelming. For a long moment, Church was without thoughts or words. All he could do was feel, and what he felt was terrifyingly right. Miller was clamped tight around him, his thighs trembling against Church’s sides, his eyes closed, his lips pressed together so hard they’d gone white, and he clung to Church’s shoulders with both hands.
“Jesus,” Church gasped. “You okay? Am I hurting you?”
“Feels weird.” Miller sounded choked, and he was shaking, sweat darkening his hair at the temples, but he wasn’t pushing Church away.
“Bad weird or good weird?”
“The you-inside-me part? I don’t know.”
“What’s the other part?”
“You’re on top of me and you weigh a ton. It’s...”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.” Miller paused, licked his lips. More softly, he added, “Good weird.”
Church nosed at Miller’s cheek, feeling shy and a little stupid all of a sudden. No one had ever trusted him this much before, ever, and he loved Miller so much that it hurt, actually physically hurt, deep in his chest. He kissed Miller again and again, because he couldn’t do anything else.
* * *
Having Church up against him, skin to skin, his brown eyes questioning, his hands pressed to the mattress on either side of Miller’s head, his heavy, strong body holding Miller down—those were all good weird things.
The part where there was a cock inside of him, making his ass burn, making his stomach jump? That was more toward the bad weird side.
He wasn’t hard anymore. Giving himself a few tugs might make it feel better, but their bellies were pushed too close together for him to get his hand down there.
“Can I move?” Church asked. There was an undertone of edge in his voice that made Miller shiver, and even though the idea of Church moving was intimidating, Miller nodded. He did still want this. He was pretty sure. Maybe.
Church watched Miller’s face like he thought Miller would freak out any minute as he gently began to thrust. It was all very hesitant and nice and it hurt, but not as bad as he’d thought it would, considering that Church’s perfectly normal-sized dick felt as big as a baseball bat. Not bad enough for him to say stop. It wasn’t bad enough to keep the heat from gathering in his belly either—it did feel good, now that he was getting used to it. He concentrated on relaxing, and the burn faded almost at once. He was never going to come from this, but afterward maybe Church would suck him off, and it’d be fine.
Church picked up a slow, controlled rhythm, and Miller supposed this was what being fucked was. This was what it felt like, having someone thrust inside of you.
It was the most vulnerable he’d felt in his whole life. He didn’t know how the hell women did this—it wasn’t only the weirdness-that-was-anal-sex thing messing with him, although that was there too and it wasn’t a small thing. It was the trusting-someone-else-to-do-things-that-could-really-hurt thing. It was horribly intimate. Whenever Miller had sex with a woman, the intimacy on his end had always felt contextual. If he was making eye contact, for instance, or if there was something emotional going on, like it was their first time together or something. This was different. He couldn’t imagine how trusting someone like this
could be anything but intimate.
There was someone else inside him.
Church was going slow and easy, and Miller relaxed further. He shifted on the mattress, which made Church slide back in with unexpected speed and force. Not painfully so, because it truly didn’t hurt anymore. But the increased sensation did make Miller jump. And clench, which meant Church’s hips bucked in reaction.
Church gritted out, “Sorry, sorry.”
But it wasn’t bad. It was actually sort of—good, so Miller said, “It’s okay. Keep going. Um, you can do it a little harder if you want. A little.”
Church nodded. His arm and chest muscles were corded as he held himself up, his thighs and hips clenching, and Miller decided that was the best part, the feel of Church’s body against his, so lean and strong. Or maybe it was the way Church struggled to stay gentle when he clearly wanted to go harder. Or it could be the fact that it was Miller doing this, taking Church apart with his body.
Yeah, those things were all good. Not even a little weird.
Church abruptly stopped. “Is this doing anything for you?”
“It’s all right.”
Church groaned and pulled out. “Roll over.”
“It’s not bad, seriously.”
“That’s some stellar enthusiasm there. Just roll over.”
“This is unnecessary,” Miller said, sliding onto his belly. As Church tugged him up onto his hands and knees, he added, “And undignified.”
“Spread your legs.”
Miller did, glaring at the pillows. “You better not be looking at anything.”
Church laughed at him as he guided his cock back inside. It kind of pissed Miller off. He’d done this position with women before, albeit only from Church’s side, obviously, and he’d had no idea how exposed it made you feel to know the guy might be staring—
Church began thrusting again, and—fuck.
Jesus fuck.
“Better?” Church asked, sounding strained.
