Contains: 4x1 Lemon (NC-17)
We’ve been standing pressed together for some time. He hasn’t moved and neither have I. Just as he noted, I’m hard. And, just as I have noted internally, he’s also hard. I can feel him against my thigh. His heat is my heat. Our breathing is in sync. His hand is still at my crotch, cupping me. Not a stroke, not a slight squeeze, his hand hasn’t moved.
Then, suddenly, he breaks the silence. “What time is it, Heero?”
“12:56 a.m.” The ‘a.m.’ was unnecessary. We both know it’s after midnight. Then it occurs to me, slowly and casually...it was an odd question. It was too normal, almost artificial, even if it didn’t feel that way. I close my eyes. Maybe it’s the wine, but, strangely, I’m amused.
He’s moving slowly, as though he’s stuck in molasses.
I feel his breath against my skin and then his tongue on my neck. My eyes spring open.
He’s sucking at me steadily, draining me. The blood, hot and full, courses away from my brain under the pull of his lips. It suddenly pauses, lured but ambivalent, and he sends it away with a lap of his tongue. It flows back to my head in a dizzying rush.
He’s too close, encroaching first with his scent and then with his lips. They leave my neck. His nose is tracing a path across my cheek to my mouth. His lips are at the side of mine. I stiffen. He pauses and then backs off.
I feel his hands on my chest. His touch is light and explorative.
He’s being careful, what I would call ‘tender’ if the word didn’t disgust me. It’s disarming…to associate such a bearing with another man. It’s unnatural and so is he because he’s talking to me about the mundane when he’s taking me somewhere I’ve never been.
“How tall are you, Heero?” he asks as he’s undoing my shirt.
I tell him.
He makes a low noise of surprise before saying, “It seems like more.”
He’s behind me and pulling off my shirt. “Perhaps, it’s your shoes. You should take them off.”
Nonchalant. He’s making suggestions, but I understand them as carefully phrased commands. And I realize, as the last of my shirt is pulled from my hands, that he knows I know and is not concerned that I know.
I remove my shoes.
“The socks,” he murmurs without saying anything more.
The socks are off.
He’s taken my shirt, my socks, and shoes hostage. He’s moving through his quarters, through passages. I trail behind. He pauses briefly when he hears my footsteps slow, but he doesn’t look back. All I have is the inclination of his head and his posture to tell me his intent. He wants me to follow, even if he can’t or won’t bring himself to ask.
I look around at our destination. I let the realization sweep over me before it hits home.
He took me to his bed, and I let him.
I watch him deposit my captured attire on an arm chair.
His bedroom is big, but I’m not looking around as much as I’m looking inward. I approach his bed. I take a seat. The mattress yields under my weight and he yields to me, seemingly. He’s kneeling before me, undoing my belt. He undoes my zipper, carefully pulling it over the bulge in my pants. And then, without a word, he gets me to lift my ass from the bed. I support my weight on my arms. I feel my pants slide away. I’m seated again.
I let him pull off the rest of my pants.
His hands are on my thighs and they’re moving upwards. “Briefs,” he murmurs to himself as his hands make their way to my crotch. I’m so hard and nothing has happened.
He’s tugging at my underwear with a finger. He’s trying to get my attention. I take off my briefs.
He told me to lie down. He didn’t ask. He didn’t suggest, and now I’m on my back and he’s looking at me from the foot of the bed. He does a series of motions with his legs and I realize that he’d just removed his socks without the use of his hands.
As I watch him crawl onto the bed, I realize something else. He’s not taking anything off. He’s remaining clothed. I keep watching him. He’s kneeling and fixing his shirt. All he’s doing is making sure his sleeves are rolled up and will stay that way.
He’s at my side feasting on me with his eyes. I take in the bulge in his pants. It’s like show and tell, except he’s showing and not telling. At this point, I would prefer his prattling over the quiet attention he has focused on me.
My breath is uneven.
He’s too comfortable, as though this is commonplace, as though he expected this to happen.
He begins to move before my accusations reach full swing. He’s beside me resting on one arm. His other hand is on my abdomen.
As I feel his hand making its way over me, each caress causes my insides to swell. My body is slowly defying me, trying to greet each small motion of his. I was watching his hand. I lean back and try to calm down. My efforts are thwarted. I’m staring back at myself. I close my mouth and watch it happen. There’s a mirror above me, on the ceiling. He has a mirror over his—
“It’s not just over my bed, Heero.” He was and is watching my face. “It covers most of the ceiling and this is not the only room with this feature.” He traces my left nipple with a wet finger. I’d watched him lick that finger and, as I’m looking upward, I watch him swirl his saliva on me. He’s talking. I feel his breath sweep over my face as he says, “I hired an architect with some strange predilections.” His hand is moving up my chest. It’s on my chin. He tilts my head towards him to break my mirror gawking. He’s looking at my mouth as he says, “It was a good lesson. Always examine your employees, thoroughly.”
Arrogant words in a joking and slightly embarrassed tone. He’s odd and I’m...enraptured.
His breath is hot on my lips as he brings his mouth close to mine. The wine from earlier, the wine that had spilled from the glass he’d offered...it’s sticky on the side of my mouth. I feel him sucking and licking it off before he attends to my lips. I take in his wet heat without a complaint, but with a low murmur. The desire is sudden and daunting. I’ve never been so hungry for another person’s tongue. I wanted it the very moment he slid it over my lip.
It was a writhing wet messenger that made me want to attain more. And I do.
I’m sucking on his tongue.
My hand is at the back of his neck, holding him where he is. He’s sweating. I feel his wetness under my palm. My other hand is clutching his arm. His bicep is tight under my hold. He’s not going anywhere.
But there’s a difference of opinion.
He suddenly turns his head to the side, taking that delectable tongue of his away. His lips are at my ear as he says, “Let go of me.” He barely managed to utter the words. He was out of breath, as though something shocking had just occurred.
He pulls his arm free from my grasp. He partially sits up.
It takes me a second to realize that I haven’t pissed him off.
I watch him lick. He’s licking himself. He’s taking his tongue and bringing it across his palm and then up each finger. I don’t know why, but just watching him....there’s something primal nudging me from within. It’s there...tingling at my fingertips, causing my digits to curl forward in a greedy motion, a motion meant to seize him.
I watch his hand descend but he blocks my view as he offers his mouth to me. I take it, and that’s when I feel it: a slick hand grabbing my cock.
It’s a sure grip and I go with it.
As I move with his hand, I know he’s turned on. It’s in every hot stroke, the way he’s sucking on my bottom lip, and the noises he’s making...the kind of noises that seem to be echoes of my own. He’s feeding off of me, feeding off my reaction, feeding off my urgency. I’m aching for more speed, for more of his hand and what he’s doing. I’m panting. I’m thrusting into his hand. On each upstroke it swivels over the head of my cock... it’s good...it’s...
“Heero...”
The vibration of my name from his mouth to against my lips... I have to get him off me. If he says it again, I’m going to come all over his hand. I want to hold out for more.
There’s an understanding passing between us. He pulls his hand away from me. His lips leave mine. They’re on my chin briefly and, as he backs away, I feel the saliva he left behind. The air cools it, but I’m hot all over. I burn as he begins to kiss his way down my length.
I feel his tongue on me, around one of my nipples. He’s licking it, toying with it with the tip of his tongue. I never considered the area of any interest. He’s proving me wrong. He’s got my nipple between his lips. He’s pressing his lips together, causing a firm grip and I feel this sensation...a pull, as though there’s a winding rope from his lips to my groin. My cock pulses. He leaves that nipple and goes for the other one, giving it the same treatment. He hasn’t thoroughly abandoned the other one. He’s using his mouth to torture one nipple and his wet fingers to squeeze the other. He has me contorting under him and whispering obscenities...obscenities that are meant to urge him on.
He’s moving downward, taking time to suck on my skin. I have a handful of sheets clutched in my grasp. My other hand is hovering, wavering. It wants to grab him by the hair and push him lower. I urge it against the sheets and take out my frustration on the fabric.
He’s sampling me as though I’m a buffet and he can’t decide which part of me to take more of.
I’m arching toward each wet congress with his lips. I have to get him to move down faster. He’s ignoring me, letting his tongue dally against my eager flesh.
He takes pity on me. He’s got me in hand and is brushing my cock across his cheekbones, as though he’s encountered a dear, lost friend.
I’m at the corner of his mouth. He’s still holding me as he licks his lips and brings them to the root of my cock and rubs them upwards. He takes another run, this time with just his tongue. I feel a warm wet trail that quickly cools. I experienced it doubly. I made the mistake of watching him. I close my eyes but am reliving it as a visual echo. There’s an image celebrated in color on the backs of my eyelids. I turn my head to the side and shudder in profane delight. Watching him with that curious expression on his face made me feel depraved and powerful, as though I was stealing his innocence.
It was a lie, a complete lie.
The things he’s doing with that affluent mouth of his... He’s a dirty whore in an unassuming billionaire’s clothing.
And he continues to transgress.
I feel him slowly taking me into his mouth, into his tight wet entrance.
He tastes me, getting his lips around the head of my cock, wrapping them around me, testing me, gauging my reaction, seeing what I like. My body gives in. My ass tightens as I barely restrain an upward thrust. I want more of his mouth, more of that hot, encompassing wetness.
He takes me out of his mouth. He’s toying with me, moving my cock side to side with his lips. He’s nuzzling it. He’s bringing his lips back to it. He’s kissing it as though they’re alone and I’m not even in the room.
He’s making me feel like a voyeur.
Out of nowhere, he engulfs me, bringing me back into the action. He deep-throats me. Such heat...such tightness...such depth...There’s an open-mouthed gasp from me.
I can’t help but push, move with him. His head is bobbing and I’m trying not to thrust too hard.
I’m clutching a handful of his hair. It’s damp in my grasp. I force myself to let go.
I’m biting my lower lip. I feel no pain, only his mouth and how full I am in it.
His lips are sliding over my cock, giving the right heat and pressure. The head of my cock pops in and out of his mouth. I keep reliving each tight entrance. The first burst into his mouth...I’m aching for him. I’m gasping desperate things.
“More...more...in your mouth...”
He engulfs me again, but he’s not finished torturing me. There are noises coming from the back of his throat. They move down my shaft. The vibrations of his wanton moans...I can’t take them... Hearing him derive pleasure, feeling him... I can’t...I can’t...
I can’t think about how tight his lips are around me. I can’t think about his grip on my cock. I can’t think of that tongue of his.... I can’t...I can’t...
But my mind is weak.
He knows just where to touch me. He knows how to lick, to suck, to orally ride me.
I’m so hot. I’m melting. Every motion is molten. I’m egging him on with my gasps. I want him to kill me with pleasure. I want him to finish me off.
If I could die in his mouth, I’d have no regrets.
But there’s still life in me. I feel it as my hands are first clutching the air and then the sheets. I can’t control my movements. My body is rolling, spasming. It’s tingling and hot all over.
I hear myself cry out.
“God…”
Tight, so tight...the muscles around my groin and lower abdomen. In his mouth, I’m so swollen. I—
It feels like an endless ream of hot silk is unraveling within me. My body jerks and everything lets go. I have no will, no control. I’m possessed, being yanked by pulsations that are pulling a stream of hot fluid from me, in spurts.
My heart is clamoring. My breath is coming short. I feel my chest rising and falling erratically. My eyes are shut. My hands are curled inward and then unfurled outward. They’re clutching blindly, helplessly.
It’s over. My breathing is still irregular, but I’m slowly returning to something close to normal.
I open my eyes. I’m still dazed in the aftermath. I see him. He’s sitting at my side. I realize something. He didn’t swallow, but he didn’t dodge. My cum is in his possession.
He stares at his hand for a bit, as though he’s counting change. He got more than he expected and returns it by smearing it on my stomach.
He watches his hand as it spreads my stickiness.
He suddenly gets up and walks away, out of the room. My cum is drying on my stomach.
My breathing is finally back to normal.
I manage to look up at the mirror. From my pose, I’m road kill. I think he broke me. I’m so sated I can barely move.
I hear a noise. It sounded like a failed attempt to suppress a moan. There’s a flush. He went to the bathroom to shoot his own load.
I hear water running and then the sound is interrupted, as though he’s stuck his hands under the faucet.
After a while, I hear him return.
Blearily, I look his way. He made no attempt to pull himself together. His shirt is partially unbuttoned and is no longer tucked in his pants. His face and hair are wet. Undoubtedly, he’d slapped some water to his face to cool himself down. He has towels in his hands. I realize they’re for me as he sits on the bed and begins to move one in my direction.
He’s using the towel to wipe away the jizz from my stomach. The towel is warm and damp. It throws me further into torpor. Whatever remaining energy I have is slowly dissipating. My limbs are like lead. My lids are getting heavy.
He puts the sullied towel aside and takes a smaller one out. He’s wiping my face. My eyes move to his.
He’s whispering to me. “The wine...it was alcohol-free, Heero.”
My eyes are still on his face. There’s something burgeoning at the corner of his lips. He’s fighting it, trying to appear unaffected.
It’s fine...his reaction is fine...I knew about the wine... I just didn’t
want the knowledge and chose not to accept it. I finally allow my eyes to close.
The cloth is gone from my face. As I drift off, I only feel his hand.