Page 41 of Tribute Act

For a long moment, we stared at each other, then I said, knowing it was a terrible idea. “Do you want to come to my room?”

His answering smile was slow.

Just like on that first night, Mack shed his clothes quickly, not waiting for me to begin. He discarded his stuff on the floor of my bedroom and paced towards me, loose-limbed and lean. I envied his ease with his nudity. For my part, I was glad of the closed blinds and the low evening light.

My gaze snagged on the surgery scar, and I reached out, tentative, barely grazing the purplish edges with my fingertips.

I said, “Are you sure you’ll be okay with—” only to break off at Mack’s chuckle. When I glanced up, his dark eyes were dancing with wicked amusement.

“I’m in full working order,” he assured me with a grin. “I’ve experimented.”

The image of Mack experimenting as he lay naked on the bed in my spare room made my mouth dry up.

“Okay,” I said hoarsely. I stepped closer to him and sought his mouth again. He didn’t reject me but his answering kiss was a mere brush of his lips before he started nibbling his way down my throat.

It felt too good to complain about the loss of his lips on mine. Instead, I let my head go back, encouraging him, while he fumbled with the buttons at the neck of my polo shirt, then drew it over my head.

The stab of embarrassment that hit me whenever I first got undressed melted away at the expression on his face. It was obvious he liked what he saw. He ran his hands up my sides, dark eyes heavy-lidded as they greedily took me in.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muttered, his Scottish accent more pronounced than usual. He bent his head to kiss my shoulder while he played with my nipples, brushing them with his thumbs, then pinching them tightly, making me moan and my cock jump.

“Gotta taste your cock,” he said, lowering himself to his knees. He kissed my belly as he started working my jeans open, tonguing my belly button and rubbing his cheek against the slight softness there.

I stroked his head, tunnelling my fingers gently through his hair. I loved the colour of it, as dark as brown gets before it’s officially black, and the silky feel of it, cool against my fingers. I remembered how much he’d liked me tugging on it that first night, and tangled my fingers in it again, just enough to hint at what he wanted. He moaned in answer and yanked my fly open, carefully working my cock free before taking me down his throat.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “That’s so good.”

He sucked me eagerly, expertly. I could’ve come in about thirty seconds with all that wet heat and perfect clasping pressure on my swollen dick but I didn’t want this finishing anytime soon, so instead I tightened my fingers in his hair warningly. He came off me with pop, sitting back on his heels to gaze up at me with a molten, dazed expression.

“Let me do you too,” I pleaded. “We can sixty-nine.”

“Okay,” he murmured, clambering to his feet.

I shed my jeans en route to the bed, my shyness burned away by the lustful way he looked at me. Mack laid himself down with his head at the pillow end, so I lay down the other way and reached for him.

I fucking loved sixty-nining—I could do it for ages, edging my partner over and over—and it seemed Mack liked it too, if his eagerness was anything to go by. He swallowed my dick down to the root, his slick tongue working my shaft, before I had even tasted him. I arched against his mouth for a long, blissful moment before galvanising myself into action, sliding my fingers over his sharp hip bones, then curving my hands over his buttocks to pull him closer to me.

He smelled amazing: clean and musky at once. I was conscious of him as a healthy male animal and it felt good—right—to push my cheek against his shaft and turn my face to lick his warm skin.

I licked him without using my hands, without taking him into my mouth yet, painting every millimetre of his shaft with my tongue, till he was groaning around my own dick, his lips losing suction as he reacted to my attentions. Only for a second, though, and then he was sucking me desperately again.

I moved off his cock, dipping my head further down to explore with my tongue the tight wrinkled sac that encased his balls, urging his legs to part. He shifted obediently to give me more access, gasping as I tongued and sucked the tender spheres of his testicles, gently mouthing, then releasing them. He gasped as I moved lower still, nibbling my way slowly down, past the silken patch of his perineum, till I found the very edge of his entrance, pink and tight and mostly obscured from view, but close enough to just graze with the tip of my tongue, if I stretched.

At that first glancing touch to his rim, he gave a cry that was part protest, part astonishment, part surrender, and I grunted with satisfaction at his reaction, pushing his thighs wider to open him up to me.

I lifted my head, saying hoarsely, “Keep sucking my dick,” before dipping back down to my own task.

He resumed blowing me, but already his technique was growing sloppy as I distracted with him with the opening bars of what I’d now decided was going to be the best rimming he’d ever had.

I don’t know how long we lasted in the end, him sucking me in a desperate, messy way that made me feel like a fucking king while I dismantled his sanity with a relentless rimjob that had him sobbing and begging around my dick. At last though, he pulled off me to gasp, “Gonna come—can’t hold off.”

I retreated and finally gave him the prize I’d promised him at the beginning, taking his delicious cock into my mouth, while sliding two fingers into his now soft and relaxed hole.

He cried out and started coming almost immediately, coating the back of my throat with a spray of salt like a breaking wave. With a groan of gratitude, I let myself go over an instant later, giving up the iron control I’d been exerting to keep my pleasure in check, surrendering to the wrenching, pulsing orgasm Mack dragged out of my guts with his incredible mouth.

Afterwards, Mack flopped to his back, gasping, “Fuckin’ hell.” And I burst out laughing, giddy with the joy of sexual release. A moment later he joined in, and we lay there, head-to-crotch, splatters of semen drying on us as we laughed breathlessly at nothing in particular. It felt like relief and amusement and happiness all wrapped together, a reaction, maybe, to the suppressed sexual tension between us finding its ease.

Eventually, I sat up, turned myself the right way round and looked down at him.