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His body is burning against your skin, his sloppy cockhead and the little, sticky patch of pre-cum rubbing against your belly.

He’s always so soft. You don’t know if it’s the way his skin is naturally, or if it’s all those high-dollar potions he uses on it, but it’s sinfully sweet.

He brackets your ribs with his knees and presses into you like he wants to share your skin.

“Don’t…” you say, exactly half an instant before he grabs your jaw in his hand and presses his bitten lips against yours.

Your protests die in his mouth as he kisses you.

His hair falls all around you both, and his fingers are steady under your chin when he sucks on your tongue.

You could physically remove him from your space; it’s not li ke you aren’t exponentially stronger than him.

So there’s no good excuse but lack of willpower, and how good it feels to have him all over you.

He trails his scalding, wet mouth down the column of your neck.

When he bites the space behind your ear, you grip his arms hard—probably too hard—and pull back.

The headboard has no give, so you have to push him forward a little.

“Tell me to leave, Ster,” you say, low-voiced. “Tell me to go upstairs to our bedroom, or you can go, and I’ll stay here. Whatever you want. But we can’t do this.”

“Why?” he asks. He tilts his head, considering you with his pretty, pretty eyes.

“I’ve never not wanted to sleep with you.

I think about it all the time; I just don’t tell you.

In bed, in the shower. At rehearsals. When I’m in conference calls and I have a free second.

I don’t understand why now is any different. ”

It’s logic from a stoner, but damn if the logic isn’t sound.

Or maybe you’re just a weak man after all.

Because, when Sterling’s fingers creep to the waistband of your underwear, you still them, but don’t remove them.

“I’ll help you get off,” you hear yourself say, before your brain can catch up.

“But you don’t touch me, okay? This is about you. I’m going to take care of you.”

He hums a bit, and you don’t know whether it’s in agreement or discontent. Leans back in and kisses you some more.

Between your bodies, you stroke him the way he likes, tight and with a twist. You can hear and taste how much he likes it as he mashes his mouth against yours, feeding you little cries.

It’s not like you don’t know how to get Sterling off by now.

You’re good at it, usually, and you’re applying every trick in the book to get him to fucking come.

Under the cradle of his thin hips, your poor, neglected cock aches.

You curl your toes, bite Sterling’s lip, rub your thumb over his slit. Anything but listen to your own body.

Eventually, this, too, frustrates him. He disengages from kissing you, and pulls back. You can’t help swiping your thumb through the generous slick of pre-cum he’s exuded and popping it in your mouth. Sterling looks at you, eyes glassy.

“I need you inside me,” he says.

You groan. Behind Sterling, the TV has gone to the screensaver, a glowing blue light. You hold onto his hips. He bounces on your lap, mindlessly generating friction. Just a horny ball of need running on fumes.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” you grimace. It’s a fucking great idea, actually. Maybe the best all year. “Sterling,” you say gravely, “you can’t consent to this shit.”

“I consent,” he breathes. He looks straight into your eyes, and it’s like he’s just broken a window and crawled into your brain like a cat burglar. They’re so blue. “I consent to everything and anything you wanna do with me. To me. Just… stop. Stop overthinking this.”

Your hand finds its way back to his dick, jacking it slowly. Your body is a goddamn traitor. Sterling closes his eyes and tosses his hair back, moaning in a way that should be illegal. His hands run over his own throat, his chest.

“We could do it without the condom,” he continues. “You could fuck me raw.”

You are positive that you misheard him, so you ask him to repeat himself.

“You could…” He looks down, and his cheeks flush. “Breed me.”

The words hit you with blowtorch efficiency.

Your cock, already painfully erect, actually throbs.

Who the fuck is this man? You’ve known him for a year, and he’s been hiding this freaky side?

For a moment, you lose yourself in the thought: nothing between you two, pumping his tight asshole full of seed.

It’s a heady, intoxicating thought: Sterling was maybe a secret cum slut this whole time. Fuck your actual life.

It’s a step too far.

He’s eroded your standards, but you won’t cross this line.

Before Sterling can say anything else with that persuasive, filthy mouth of his, you reach into the bedside drawer.

There are condoms and lube in there, and almost you have to laugh at the thought of Sterling’s housekeeper stocking them in every bedroom.

You toss him the lube. “Finger yourself,” you tell him.

He listens, lying back on the bed and making a sloppy mess with the lube, but immediately filling himself with two fingers.

It’s impressive, even considering the fact that you guys have been having sex almost daily, and you topped him just two days ago.

While he’s occupied, you shove the covers off and finally—finally—get a hand on yourself.

You have to restrain yourself from jerking yourself too much, because your arousal is a runaway train and you’re pretty sure you’ll finish yourself off before you deal with Sterling’s little problem.

Sterling’s teasing a third finger around the ring of his asshole, thrashing his head, his hair hanging over the foot of the bed.

You consider the foil strip of condoms in your hand.

Once again, you are in the deep end of a pool of desire and unsure if your next step is going to put the water over your head.

Honestly, it’s more than a little ridiculous that you guys have been in a closed relationship for this long and are still using protection, but you always chalked it up to another of Sterling’s foibles, maybe some more mild hypochondria.

You’ve been tested, and you would bet a lot of money that he has, too.

The conversation about not using latex never came up, and you didn’t push it.

This is not the moment, you tell yourself. Soon. But not now.

You sheath up and crawl over Sterling. Grab his face, and sink your fingers into the soft meat of his cheeks. He looks up at you, open and trusting and more gorgeous than any human has the right to be.

“You want me to fuck you?” you ask him. “You’ve only been begging for it like a little whore for over an hour.”

It’s a risk, but it pays off richly. Sterling moans, and his mouth drops wide open. His eyes just about roll back. You move your hand slowly down his neck, splaying your big fingers over his breastbone. He’s still scissoring his fingers inside himself, nearly drooling for it.

“You gonna move your hand?” you ask. “Sooner you do, the sooner I can get inside you and fill you up.”

He gets with the program real quick, extending his arms at his sides.

His wingspan is almost as wide as the bed, and he’s as open as Jesus on the cross, his knees drawn toward his chest. You position yourself between his thighs.

Unwilling to make either him or yourself wait any longer, you slide in.

The heat of Sterling’s insides is nuclear. He keens when you bottom out inside him, balls against his ass, hands on his ankles.

“You like that?” you say, starting to move. “That what you need?”

“Oh god,” he whimpers. “Oh Jesus. God. Kai.”

You fucking wish you’d been enough of an asshole to skip the condom. To feel him raw around you, no barriers, just his body and your cock. As you thrust, your vision starts to shimmer a little.

“Couldn’t get off, poor thing,” you say. It’s like the words are being pulled from your guts with fishing line, the filth just spilling out of you. “Needed my big cock. Had to get fucked. Wasn’t going to accept anything less, were you?”

Sterling’s quickly gone post-verbal. He’s in a place beyond logic and dirty talk right now, an evidently wonderful dimension of feeling. His long lashes flutter. His hands clench the duvet.

With every stroke, his cock slaps his stomach. You wonder if he needs to be touched, but something makes you hold off. Hold off even as you thunder closer to an expansive crimson peak, a fullness radiating through your lower back.

“You done whining?” you grit out. “Now that you’re so fucking full? You shoulda just told me, Ster. Just said that you’re so hungry for this dick that nothing can fix you anymore. Say it. Say that my cock’s the only thing that can get you off.”

“Kai…” he breathes. Between his lids, his eyes are hazy. You’re not even sure what he’s looking at. Around you, he’s tensing rhythmically.

You need to slow down if you aren’t going to come soon. But the signals his body gives you tell you harder, faster . You just know it, the way that you know the sun will rise in a few hours and the way you know your own name. He’s almost there.

“Getting so close,” you rasp. “Gonna come so hard. Gonna put my fucking babies inside you.”

Sterling gulps and sputters. Gasps and tightens up head-to-toe. Orgasms. Untouched, he cums on his belly. It pulses and pulses, rope after rope. He closes his eyes tight. Tears rolls down his cheeks.

It’s too much. Exhausted, high, a little drunk, and completely over-stimulated, you grab his legs hard enough to bruise and explode inside him as you chant his name like a prayer.