Page 156 of Beneath the Stain

He’d been hard when they’d gotten into the shower. Now, with Mackey’s hands on his skin, kneading his thighs, Trav’s abdomen clenched so tightly with arousal that the muscles in his legs shook.

Mackey’s hands disappeared, slid around to Trav’s ass, and Mackey leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Spread ’em, Trav. I’m gonna wash you.”

Trav braced his hands on the wall and complied.

Torturous, rough, practical,insane—the washcloth left nothing secret, from the crease of his groin to the inside of his knees to his—oh God—now bright and squeaky clean cock, balls, and asshole. Trav’s body parts got scrubbed, rinsed, scrubbed again, which felt worse than Mackey playing with him on purpose. Trav leaned his head against the wall, groaning.

“Mackey—”

“My turn,” Mackey muttered. “You take care of us, you make us all into a family—someone’s gotta take care of you sometimes, Trav. If this is gonna work, you gotta have faith that I can.”

Mackey balanced one hand on the small of Trav’s back while he reached outside the shower. He came back in with the bottle of waterproof lube they stashed in their luggage, and Trav closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.

“Your ass is trying to make shit into diamonds,” Mackey snapped, flicking Trav’s buttock with the tips of his fingers. “You either trust me or you don’t!”

“It’s not the same—God!” Mackey grabbed his cock and grasped hard, gliding long and slow, sliding the skin from the shaft over the head when he got there. His hand was slick with lube, and the pressure/pain was…exquisite.

“Yeah, it is,” Mackey whispered over his shoulder, stroking, stroking, squeezing. He rubbed circles around Trav’s backside with his other hand, and a particularly hard shiver rocked Trav,forcedhim to give up the control that kept him clenched.

Mackey rewarded his faith with a finger in his asshole, and Trav shuddered again, his muscles melting, sagging into that single lubricated, dominant finger penetrating him while Mackey kept stroking, stroking, stroking….

“I’m going to fall,” he confessed thickly, his knees going weak.

“Bend over,” Mackey said mercilessly. “Over the toilet, knees on the side of the tub. Grab a towel.”

Awkward as hell, but Trav grabbed a towel and dropped it on the edge, just like Mackey said, Mackey’s finger—fingers, two!—still in his body, his hand still stroking Trav’s cock.

“Mackey,” Trav rasped as he fumbled for the curtain. He stumbled, ripped the curtain off the rod, then found the towel with his knees by chance and rested his hands on the top of the toilet. The water spattered around them, and Mackey spared a moment from that insidious, hard-gripped stroke around his cock to turn it off.

Silence descended, punctuated by Mackey’s harsh, muttering breaths behind him and Trav’s own tortured breathing.

And someone was making little breathy, moaning sounds, grunts, tiny, giving mumbles of reluctant pleasure… was that… was it really….

Mackey kept finger-fucking him hard, harder, with two—four, oh God, four, it felt like a fist. Trav buried his face against the unyielding plastic toilet lid, slipping with the water dripping from his shoulders and hair, and heard those sounds echoing back at him through his crossed arms.

He was making them.

He was making those sounds as his lover took control of his body, stroking one end, penetrating the other. Trav was incoherent, begging, pleading,screaming—

“God, Mackey, fuck me… fuck me…oh please, baby, fuck me!”

Mackey’s fingers disappeared and Trav gasped, missing him, invasive, larger than life, a pain he couldn’t exist without.

And that quickly Mackey was inside of him, cock to ass, throwing his slight body, his stringy weight, against Trav’s backside with the force of a runaway train.

Trav groaned, the sound bouncing around the tiny bathroom, becoming a roar, becoming timpani, becoming Trav’s breathless need.

“Yes! God! Keep… need…. Mackey, fucking need…oh please!”

Mackey adjusted his angle, pushing up, probably standing on his toes, but he pegged Trav’s gland hard enough that Trav saw stars and made a sound that should have shorted out the lights.

“Yes!”

Mackey let go of his cock, which seemed like madness, but it let him keep up that angle, keep driving into Trav hard. Trav closed his eyes tight enough to see explosions of red sparks with every thrust.

“Grab it, Trav,” Mackey commanded. “I like it when you grab your cock!”

A year. They’d had a year, and they’d done almost everything they could think of—except for this. Mackey had seen Trav half-asleep as the sun came through their hotel window, palming himself into a sleepy orgasm, not sated, not even close, from the lovemaking the night before. He wasn’t sated now, would never be sated after this, would always need Mackey,cravehim, scream for the touch of Mackey inside him, the feel of Mackey’s come saturating his skin.