Page 40 of Maybe (Mis-shapes #1)

EZRA

Outside Jonty’s bedroom door, we shared another bacon-cooking style hug.

Isaac made a pathetic attempt at suggesting he find some spare blankets and sleep on the sofa, but we both knew his heart wasn’t in it.

Neither was my dick after so much kissing.

I gave him a prod with it, just to remind him what he’d be turning down, then unhurriedly placed my mouth on his.

As my tongue licked along the seam of his lips, a small whimper sounded in his throat.

“Still time to stop,” I whispered into his cheek as I pressed against him again. “Say the word, and if it’s not for you, I’ll stop.” My fingertips walked a path across his chest. To emphasise the point, I thumbed a nipple through the cotton of his neat polo.

“No, aahh, fuck, this is good.”

I returned my attentions to his mouth, rapidly discovering that Isaac kissed like a porn star. I steered him backwards towards his room, drinking down all of those kisses until his knees hit the bed.

“Should we lock the door?” he asked breathlessly.

“Are you suggesting we’ll need to, Dr Fitz-Henry?” I thumbed his nipple again, scratching my nail cross it.

“Um…” Isaac gasped as I gave it a sharp pinch. “Yeah.”

He squirmed when I pushed his T-shirt up and over his head to get my mouth on his bare chest and belly. “Ticklish?”

“Embarrassed.” He hesitated. “I’m not exactly toned. And I’ll warn you now—I’m about as flexible as a cricket stump.”

Thank God this man would never again need to swipe his thumb across a hook up app.

Isaac’s body wasn’t put on this earth for some random fuckers to critique.

They didn’t know what he did with it. How it held him strong through cot deaths, traffic accidents, and heart attacks.

How it carried him through a parent’s death, exam failure, and propped me and Jonty up when we needed him the most. His body was put on this earth to save the lives of others and for me to worship.

It didn’t need to go to the fucking gym or contort into a pretzel to be perfect. It already was.

“Well, I love it. And if you’re not ticklish, then I’m going to kiss it everywhere.”

The touch of him was achingly familiar yet at the same time new.

Like repositioning a favourite armchair from by the window to nearer the fire, presenting a different view of a much-loved room.

My solid younger brother. My responsive lover.

I wanted to gather my hands around him like a necklace and never let him go.

I pushed down his jeans, wriggled out of mine too.

I ran my fingertips along his wispy trail and gave it a little tug.

Dipped my hand beyond the waistband of his boxers to cup his firm arse.

Knocked him back onto the bed, roughly, and clambered on top of him, manoeuvring my skinny thighs into the gap between his bigger, hairier ones.

“Want me to stop now?” I grinned down at him.

“No.” He pulled my face closer to his so our foreheads touched. Our dicks touched too, through the fabric of our boxers, heat coming off them in waves. “No. I just want you.”

We kissed, his mouth on mine hard and perfect. Delicious strokes of his tongue met the delicious grind of his hips as he pushed up into me. I broke off, but only to slide down his body, shove his boxers aside and taste his dick.

“Ez…” he panted, “that’s… yes… like that. Oh fuck.”

He was thick and veiny and swollen and wet, like he was about to come.

I sucked him down until my nose was buried in his pubes and he blocked up my throat.

Like a starving man eating to stay alive, I devoured him, sucking at the tangy, bitter heat.

His hands pulled tight on my hair. The noises he made semaphored his need to come as urgently as the salty precum I swallowed down.

And kept swallowing, all through his release, not stopping until he exhaled in a long shuddery breath at the end and pushed me off.

“Ez… fuck, Ez,” He didn’t get a chance to say more as I straddled his chest. Framed by my shoved down boxers, I roughly guided my straining dick and balls towards his still gasping mouth.

As he took me in, I thrust against the roof, his teeth grazing my shaft like he was dining on it.

He gripped me tight so I didn’t need to, so I could grab the headboard and pound into him.

The sound of it—oh fuck, the glorious sound of it.

Four, maybe five thrusts if I was being generous, and then I pulled out to coat his face and neck.

And he laughed and ducked and pushed me away, the fucker, until we were wrestling and kissing and loving and fooling around like lovers and brothers.

And, yeah, like he was my wonderful, perfect Isaac.