“I can't, I can't...”
“Yes, you can. You don't even need a hand. You can, look at me, look at me...”
He looks at me.
He comes.
He comes between us with my eyes on his eyes and his cock trapped between our stomachs with my cock inside him and his fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. He comes and doesn't make a sound. He just opens his mouth and nothing comes out, and his whole body locks around me and Ifuck him through it three, four, five, six strokes and then I lose it. I lose it completely. I come inside him with my teeth in his shoulder over the mark I left last night, and I come, and I come, and I come.
We don't move.
His forehead is on mine.
Our breath is the same breath.
His cum is between our stomachs and my cum is inside him and the sheet's halfway off the bed and the gray light on his face is the softest thing I've ever seen.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He huffs a laugh against my mouth.
“We should…”
“Yeah.”
His breath is still against my mouth.
“Paul.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
I kiss him. I kiss him slow. I kiss him how he kissed me ten minutes ago, and I kiss him how he's going to need it when he walks out of this apartment and back into a house where a man is waiting to tell him who he is.
“Listen to me,” I say against his mouth.
“Yeah?”
I cup his jaw in both hands.
“You're mine.”
“Yeah.”
I tilt his chin up.
“Do you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
My thumb strokes his cheekbone. Once.
“Say it.”
“I'm yours.”
