Page 17

“Yeah, well. I’m a noble guy.”

“I like that about you.” He takes a step forward, so you two are standing closer. “Lately, though. I’ve been wondering…”

You lean out and cup his elbows with your hands. Lightly. Taking a step even nearer, so there’s just a breath between your bodies. “Mm-hmm? ”

“I’ve been wondering what you’re like when you’re not as noble.” When Sterling looks up, his blue eyes have gone dark.

You’re only touching his upper arms, his elbows sharp against your palms, but your fingers are itchy where they touch the nubbly knit of his sweater. Underneath it, the warmth of his skin is bleeding through. “How, umm, not-noble are we talking about here?”

He laughs, and it’s low. Smokey. “How about we just get going, and I promise that I’ll tell you if I don’t like it?”

Caution flickers through your caveman brain, cutting through the thick, soupy haze of arousal. Careful. You have to be careful. “Yeah,” you hear yourself saying. “That sounds good.”

Sterling pushes up on his toes, and your hands are already in the perfect position to support him as he slants his mouth against yours.

Your eyes drift closed. When your lips touch, he surges against you, pressing his torso and hips into you.

Almost immediately, your dick springs to attention, and you groan against his mouth.

A smile breaks over his face, one that you feel rather than see as your tongue traces its outline.

He opens up for you, and you explore the hot cavern of his mouth, the points of his sharp little teeth.

Your hands under his arms tighten incrementally.

He’s pushing you like he wants to get inside your skin.

His arms wrap around your neck, and one of his hands fuzzes your scalp.

You could die happy like this, you think, kissing this person as the contrast between the cold night air and the heat of the crackling fire hit you in alternating currents.

“On the bed,” he murmurs.

It’s just a few steps before you two are stretched out on the soft duvet.

You laugh a little as Sterling haphazardly throws pillows on the floor—there are just that many.

Little ones and big ones. Even after five or six get chucked, there’s still a couple for you to rest your head on as you lie on your side.

Sterling cozies right up beside you, his head on the same level as yours, his cold toes pressing into your shins.

In the breadth of a second, you are kissing again.

You pull him closer with one arm over his back.

The other hand, you tangle in his hair because you literally dream of doing that sometimes.

His strands are silky between your fingers, the curls tangled by the wind on the Cliff Walk.

Sterling gets adventurous, running his hand up the length of your side from your hip to your underarm.

Then he pushes your t-shirt up and repeats the movement against your bare skin.

Goosebumps break out under the path of his hand, and not just because his fingers feel like little blocks of ice.

Using the hand in his hair, you (gently) tilt his head back and start mouthing his jawline.

Without being told, you can guarantee that he doesn’t want you to leave marks.

So you use just your lips, no teeth, and press hot kisses down the side of his face, dipping into the hollow behind his ear, and make your way down his neck.

He whines a little and shifts when you meet the spot where his shoulder starts, so you linger there.

Sterling isn’t being shy about feeling you up under your shirt, his hand tracing your pectorals and abs and outlining the waistband of your shorts.

You’re hard inside of them, and trying not to make that obvious, but then Sterling throws his leg over your hip.

You freeze up a little, and he must feel it, because he pets your stomach and kisses your forehead.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “Everything is okay. Don’t stop.”

The permission makes you groan, a rumble deep in your chest. Sterling lifts his head a little.

“Can I take your shirt off?”

You don’t wait for him to do it, pulling it over your head by the back of the collar and throwing it on the floor.

He chuckles a little at your impatience, but pulls off his sweater as well.

This, he drapes over the foot of the bed before scooting right back into the same position he was in before.

Your chests are skin-to-skin, and your cock is pressed into the crook of his hip, throbbing hard even though the layers of both your bottoms. You’re not sure if it’s the wine or this unprecedented closeness to Sterling, but you are feeling a little lightheaded.

You try to ground yourself with the immediacy of your lips on his collarbones, the tiniest tang of salt on his skin.

Pressing your hand against his chest, you can feel his heartbeat going fast-fast-fast. There’s a play of muscle and sinew when you touch him, of him arching into your touch.

You are focused on the moment, on the taste and touch and sounds of the moment, when Sterling gets his hand between your bodies and palms your dick. You almost shoot up off the mattress.

“Fucking Christ ,” you mutter.

There’s a flush on Sterling’s cheeks, a pretty pink that trails down his chest. “You’re huge,” he comments. “Figured you had to be.”

“Warn a guy,” you reply. It sounds like a complaint, but you are trying not to fuck his hand through all the layers of clothes between you two.

Sterling Grayson has his hand on your cock.

The room is spinning slightly. All of a sudden, all you can feel is the crackling fire.

It’s inside your veins. It’s entirely too warm in the room.

Sterling’s eyes are all pupils in the low light, his mouth slightly open.

You focus on trying not to squeeze him too tight as he continues his exploration, rubbing the length of your shaft over your shorts .

“Do you like to top or bottom?” he asks.

“Huh?” It’s the most coherent reply you are capable of, as any brains you possessed ten minutes ago are currently leaking out of your dick.

“With sex,” he clarifies. He twists his wrist, and it makes his hand swivel around your girth. Fuck restraint. Your hips start to move, only as little as you can manage, but you are thrusting into his hand. Sterling goes with it. “Top or bottom?”

“Uhh.” Answering the question seems unfathomable. “Depends.”

It does depend. It depends on the person, the place, the feeling, and any number of shifting, interrelated variables specific to the moment in question. Happily, Sterling doesn’t press for clarification.

“Me too,” he says. “I consider myself vers.”

You are half-ready to tell him that you’d consider yourself anything he wanted if it meant that he would just stop teasing you. Your boxer briefs are sticky with pre-cum, and the friction of Sterling’s hand is starting to fall on the wrong side of the pleasure-pain line.

“I don’t think we’re going to worry about that tonight, though,” he says.

You have already forgotten what he’s talking about. Oh. Penetration. Worrying about different types of sex seems an ocean away compared to your certainty that you are about to embarrass yourself and come in your pants.

“Can I… can we take our clothes off?” you ask desperately. “We don’t have to. But if it’s okay, I mean…”

Sterling looks amused. The color is high on his face, and he’s breathing ever-so-slightly harder, but he’s in control, which is clearly where he wants to be.

“My gentleman,” he says softly. “You’re so sweet. Yeah. Get undressed.”

Your hands are unsteady, and you send up a little thank you to the Almighty that your basketball shorts have an elastic waist. You’re not sure that you could have coped with a button and zipper.

You shove your shorts and underwear down in one motion, and you kick them to the floor somewhere.

Sterling has stood, and is gracefully doffing his funny red shorts.

Beneath, he’s wearing a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs.

They ride low on his hipbones. In your lust-addled haze, you think about removing them with your teeth.

He looks a feast, all his pale skin and compact muscles, his hair falling over his eyes.

“Like what you see?” he teases lightly.

“Fuck, Ster.” Your cock is rigid against your belly, your balls aching. The sight of him has you fisting yourself in agitation, just to get some relief. “You look… fuck , you look so good. Is this okay?”

He stands on the side of the bed. His own hard-on is visibly tenting his briefs, but he’s not thinking about it, clearly. He’s watching you with something akin to wonder, your hand stroking your dick. It’s dry, and it kind of hurts, but you’ll put up with it.

“I have lube around here somewhere,” he says, doing that thing again. The one where he reads your mind. “Just gimme…”

“Uh-uh.” You hold out your free hand, the one that’s not jerking yourself off. “C’mere. Spit.”

Sterling looks at your palm for half a second before bending his head and dribbling saliva onto it, somewhat tentatively.

“Like you mean it,” you say roughly. “Make it wet.”

He clears his throat and really spits this time, making a plosive noise that goes straight to your balls.

You cup his saliva in your hand, resisting the disgusting, horny urge to dip your tongue into it.

Instead, you hock into your palm as well, your own drool making a slick, wet mess.

You slap it all over your dick, your combined spit mixing with the copious pre-cum you’ve exuded.

It’s deliciously slippery, and it makes your hand glide easily over your prick with a sloppy sound .

Sterling’s mouth has fallen open a little more. He’s clearly in some kind of horned-up stupor. You imagine sliding your cock between his lips, and you moan a bit, your fist going faster and clenching yourself tighter.

As you stroke yourself, he comes back to himself a bit, and rummages through the top drawer of the bedside table. He produces some Gun Oil, and holds it out.

“Don’t need it,” you grit out. “You gonna join me?”

“I’m enjoying the show for right now,” he says.

He’s absently rubbing his stomach, which is smooth and hairless save a thin trail of fuzz disappearing into his briefs.

Oh god, he must have gotten waxed recently.

Your mouth waters at the thought of touching his dick, still sight-unseen.

You think that it’s a good thing that he’s out of arm’s reach. You’d eat him alive.

“Let me see it.” There’s a begging note to your own voice, which is… interesting. The dynamic here is not what you would have expected. The vibes are a little weird. But you’re digging it. “Please.”

He cocks his head, the tangled length of his long hair falling over one eye. He doesn’t stop watching you, though. In fact, his eyes are locked on yours as he complies, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and skimming them off gracefully .

Sterling Grayson’s got a nice dick. Maybe six inches, good and fat. Not cut, unlike yours, with a pretty pink blush to it that matches the one on his cheeks. It’s hard, and it springs up against his taut lower belly when he kicks the Calvins under the bed.

You barely resist making grabby-hands in its direction, gesturing for him to come over to your side of the bed. His hips are at the perfect height. “Come here.”

“You first.” Sterling shakes his head slightly. His restless hand on his stomach dips lower, like he’s going to touch himself. But he doesn’t. The man must be part monk or something.

For your part, you are getting embarrassingly close, embarrassingly fast. The heat in your gut is a spreading pool, spilling over into your lower back. There are little, choked noises that you don’t recognize at first as coming from your own mouth.

“Are you going to come for me, Kai?” Sterling asks.

You nod furiously, gone to a place beyond words.

It’s true. The heat spreads through you.

Your hand moves impossibly fast; you no longer care about trying to stop it.

As Sterling watches, you groan deeply and splatter your stomach with hot streaks of cum, stroking yourself through it.

Some of it spills over your fist. You arch your neck, sinking your head even deeper into the soft pillows .

He doesn’t even give you a chance to come down. He lies down beside you, and uses his left hand to collect as much of the cooling spunk on your skin as possible. With this, he starts to stroke himself off.

You return to Earth slowly, feeling slightly like you got hit by a truck.

Your orgasm was that good, and the wine is still making things fuzzy.

For a few prolonged, dumb minutes, you just breathe in and out, absorbing the sight of your boyfriend jerking his dick.

As soon as your head clears just enough for a semblance of coherence, you roll to your side.

Sterling’s eyelids are at half-mast. You bring your hand to his mouth, the one covered with spit and cum.

He doesn’t need to be instructed; he puts out his pink tongue and laps you clean.

You push two fingers into his mouth, not hard.

He sucks them assiduously, making breathy little noises around the knuckles.

The sound goes to your cock, which is too tired for Round Two just yet, but appreciates the situation nonetheless.

You wrap an arm around him and crowd his face, kissing him deeply.

His tongue tastes like you, and you hum into his mouth.

Sterling makes needy noises against your lips until you relent and let him breathe.

You grab the lube, which is forgotten by his side, and slick up your own palm.

Covering Sterling’s hand in your much-bigger one, you help him stroke himself in the spaces between his fingers.

Eventually, Sterling lets you take over, throwing his arm over his face and pulsating his hips with every jerk of your fist. His lithe body is a revelation, something that you aren’t entirely sure you deserve.

With your mouth next to his ear, you spill filth into it: telling him how fucking hot he looks, how good his cock looks in your hand, how good you want him to feel.

It doesn’t take long. Your whispers and the clasp of your fingers bring him up to the edge and then over it; Sterling comes and comes.

Outside, the Newport wind is a susurrus, and the fire burns hotter and brighter.

Eventually, you kiss Sterling goodnight and pad across the short hallway to your room, where you fall headlong into a dreamless sleep.