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Jake stood, and Micah whined again. A part of him worried at how needy he sounded, but a bigger part didn’t care. He was needy. He ached and shivered at the loss of Jake’s tongue and hands, but then Jake was behind him, his firm chest pressed against Micah’s back, pinning him to the wall, and Micah loved it. He loved the strength of Jake’s body, hard muscles lined up against his slightly smaller, lighter frame.
Taking Micah’s hands in his, Jake raised them over Micah’s head, pushing him flat against the wall, hands trapped, cock settling into his crack. Micah tensed, his breath stuttering even as he groaned at how hard and hot Jake felt against his ass. A tremor ran through his body, and the firm hold Jake had on his wrists turned to a soothing caress as Jake closed what little space remained between their bodies. He licked his way up Micah’s neck, teased along the shell of Micah’s ear. Micah trembled.
“Trust me, Mi,” Jake whispered, then bit down on the soft part of Micah’s ear with just enough pressure for him to feel it.
He was so turned on, so fucking hard, he couldn’t form words, just gasp and nod.
“Talk to me, Mi,” Jake’s hot breath caressed Micah’s neck.
Micah’s hips bucked forward, his hard dick rubbing against the tile. Jake closed the space between them again, leaving Micah nowhere to move. He had to turn his head to the side to keep from smashing his nose against the wall and couldn’t move his hips forward or back. His breath was rapid, shallow, his anxiety rising.
“I’m not trying to fuck you. I promise. And I’ll stop if you want me to. Do you trust me?” Jake’s voice was a seductive purr, the length of his cock pressed hard between Micah’s cheeks.
Micah took as deep a breath as he could, let it out slowly. “Yes. I trust you.”
Transferring Micah’s wrists to one hand, Jake reached for the body wash with the other, and pumped a generous amount into his palm. He slicked Micah’s crack and his own cock before crowding against Micah’s back again.
Jake pressed the length of his cock between Micah’s cheeks and rocked his hips back and forth, rubbing against him. Micah relaxed. He knew what Jake was doing, and it was sexy as fuck. Especially as that hard-as-steel length rubbed against his rim, teasing at the tight knot of muscles without pushing inside. He moaned, and Jake chuckled, a low, dirty sound as he bent his knees slightly, then rocked forward. He did it again and again, maddeningly slow. Each time Jake thrust forward, he groaned in Micah’s ear.
Micah lost himself in the feel of slick and slide and hard heat against his most sensitive skin, the sound of Jake’s exertion, the brush of his lips against Micah’s neck. It was both too much and not nearly enough. Words started to fall from his mouth. Nonsense. Begging. Micah didn’t know, didn’t care. All he wanted was friction on his cock so he could come.
As if reading his mind, Jake pulled him back enough to slide his free hand along Micah’s hips and grasp his cock. Micah was an incoherent mess, his voice a ragged tangle of sounds, every nerve ending in his body focused on his dick and the climax beginning to build again within him.
Jake’s hand tightened, twisted as it rose up his length, then changed direction, his hips keeping time until he froze, groaning deep, and Micah felt liquid heat filling his crack, pooling between his cheeks and dripping down the backs of his thighs. It was hot and thick and so fucking sexy, Micah lost it. His climax slammed into him, and he came on a shout, spilling over Jake’s hand.
They were both panting hard, Jake leaning against Micah, Micah pressed against the wall to keep himself upright. Jake let go of his hands to wrap both arms around him, but Micah kept his arms extended as he floated, unaware of anything but the feel of Jake’s body against his.
* * * * *
That evening, Jake introduced him to another first when they went into the City. Jake had found a gay club that allowed eighteen-to-twenty-year-olds in as long as they wore a wristband to indicate they shouldn’t be served alcohol. The idea of it scared and thrilled Micah, and he spent the whole time getting ready trying to calm his nerves. Jake had been going to clubs like this for years and had promised not to leave his side until Micah felt comfortable.
“If you need me there all night long, that’s where I’ll stay,” Jake told him. “But really, just remember not to drink anything anyone but me gives you, don’t let anyone shove anything under your nose, and don’t go into the bathrooms without me.”
They took the train into Penn Station, then switched to the A line and came up at Washington Square, walking toward Christopher Street. Jake stopped dead as soon as the Stonewall Inn came into view. He gaped like the worst kind of tourist and waved Micah off when he tried to drag him away.
“This is so cool. So seriously cool. Like, there it is. This is where it all began. Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson were right here.”
Micah stared at the unassuming brick facade. He knew the history, of course, but if it weren’t for the pride banners and fairy lights, it wouldn’t look different from any other bar in this neighborhood. A number of men lounged outside the entrance. They were talking, smoking, and eventually took notice of Jake and him, calling out to them. Micah pulled on Jake’s arm, trying to get him to walk on.
One of the guys, a big muscle bear at least fifteen years older than them, pushed off the wall and walked their way. “Looking for something tonight, boys?” His voice was deep and gravelly, both commanding and menacing in a way that made Micah take a step back.
Jake slid an arm around Micah’s shoulders, then looked the older guy up and down. “Sorry, Daddy, not tonight. I promised my guy a night on the town.”
Jake’s voice had a teasing lilt to it Micah had never heard before, but he saw the effect it had on the bear, who stood a bit straighter and hooked his fingers in his belt. He looked them both over and licked his lips. “Could be a good time for both of you boys.”
“We don’t share, Daddy.”
“Shame.” The guy shook his head, then shrugged. “If you change your mind…”
“I’ll know right where to find you.” Jake laughed as he turned Micah and guided him down the street. When they were out of earshot, Jake took his hand off Micah’s shoulder, but trailed it downward and entwined their fingers. He leaned close and said, “Next time you visit me, I’ll take you into the Castro.”
Micah tried not to put too much importance on Jake’s statement, tried to remind himself the next time he went out West, it wouldn’t be to visit Jake. He’d be visiting his best friend again, same as he had in April. Just like Jake hadn’t come East to visit Micah, but to see Alex. They weren’t a couple, and Jake had only called him “my guy” to turn the muscle bear down. It didn’t mean anything, Micah knew that; now if he could just make himself stop wishing it did and enjoy the feel of Jake’s hand holding his for what it was.
He glanced down at their entwined hands and gave Jake’s a squeeze. Jake reciprocated, which gave Micah a thrill. Was it possible Jake wanted something more between them? He studied Jake’s face but couldn’t find any clues one way or the other, so he decided to push these thoughts to the back of his mind. He’d puzzle it out later. Tonight, he was out with Jake and about to visit his first gay club.
The place turned out to be pretty cool with three stories of dance floors, each with a different vibe. The below-street level had music pounding out a steady bass rhythm and pulsing strobe lights that cast the corners into dark shadows. Guys about his age or slightly older undulated on platforms and in cages. They were half-dressed, or less, in spandex shorts that left nothing to the imagination or jocks and leather harnesses that completely eliminated the need to imagine what the guys were packing. Everywhere Micah looked, men writhed against each other on the dance floor and off. He swore some of them were actually having sex, and he hid his face against Jake’s shoulder.
The ground floor was more his style. When they entered, Cher’s “Strong Enough” was playing, and he immediately relaxed. Most of the guys were dressed like them, in jeans and T-shirts, and a few wore leather pants and vests, but everything was tight or bared to show off muscles and bulges. The dancing was just as dirty, guys grinding against each other, but without the darkness and that pulsing beat, it didn’t seem as dangerous.
