“Come drive us home,” Young-gi commands. “And get me some fucking napkins.”
A pause. “Y-yes, sir.”
That. Is. Hysterical.
I melt against him, laughing my ass off, until I run out of air and end up gasping for breath.
“You feel good, Tommy?” His deep voice vibrates through me and I groan. “Did you like what I did?”
“Yeah,” I confirm with a smile. He smiles back at me, and I think something inside me is literally glowing. I feel like I’m lit up from within. “So good. Thanks. Best ever. So toppy. Dirty hot, love that shit. Not like Bruce at all. Wait, shit, not supposed to talk about him.”
He pauses. “Tell me about Bruce.”
“Ooooooh,” I look up at him, and he’s so fucking intense and scary and I love it so much. My neck goes weak and I lay my forehead against his shoulder with a happy sigh. “Sexy. A threat? Hot. Tell me what you’d do to him if I said he hurt me or some shit.”
“Tommy.” My name is a stern warning, and I moan and grip my half-hard cock between us. The sensation of my hand on it is like fireworks and it completely derails my focus.
“Whoa, holy shit.” I rub it through my pants, grinding against him, and my eyes roll back. “I’m already almost hard again. Fuck, I feel so good, I can’t even think straight. Fuck, Da–mph, haha, not supposed to call you that.”
“I think you might be higher than I thought.”
“Nah,” I deny, even as he pulls my head out of the crook of his shoulder so he can inspect my pupils, and puts fingers on my throat to check my pulse. “I know this feeling. Molly makes me talkative. I’m not out of it, I just lost my filter. No disruption between my head and my mouth. I’m just really Tommy right now, you know?”
“What does that mean?”
“Just Tommy,” I shrug.
A long silence stretches between us.
“You’re so interesting,” I say, proving that I’ve got no filter. “I could look at you all day. I love it when you look at me, I think. Maybe I hate it. It’s a lot. Nobody’s ever really looked at me like that before. Not even Bruce. Shit, wait, I’m not trying to talk about him right now, ya know?” I giggle. “Can’t seem to stop, though. You guys are so different, but something about you is the same. It’s the–well, alright, I’ve got to keep that quiet. Not trying to talk about that. That’s personal. More personal than letting you help me cum? Eh, maybe not, but–” He puts his hand over my mouth, stopping my word vomit.
“Who was Bruce to you?” he asks darkly, getting back on track. He releases my mouth so I can speak.
“Not telling,” I comment with a lazy grin, watching him through half-closed eyes as I crawl off him and lay back down, putting my head in his lap. With my legs spread as much as they can go in the tight confines of the car, I press my palm against my cock through my jeans and writhe against my palm. “Fuuuck, I love taking Molly. Feels so good, so easy. Doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Do you take it often?” He sounds distracted, and I look up at him to see that he’s watching, unblinking, as I spread my legs and do my damndest to get myself off again through my pants. His lips part, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wants me as much as I want him.
“Nah,” I huff out a laugh between my tight moans. “Just when I really need to get off. Can’t do it sober, even when I’m dying for it. You’ve been fucking killing me, Young-gi. Can’t stop fucking thinking about you.” I roll onto my side and press my face against his crotch, and he pushes me roughly onto my back again.
“Stop,” he commands.
“Your dick is hard. Let me suck on it, I want to suck it so bad, been wanting to suck you off since I first met you, goddamn.”
“Tommy, don’t push me, or I’ll gag you.”
“Gag me on your cock. Okay, okay, wait!” I squirm away as he presses his palm against my mouth again, and I scramble to the other side of the seat. “Fine, fine! I’ll be good, alright? Geez.”
I pout there for a minute, but right as I’m about to cave and crawl back over to him, the driver door opens and I squeak in alarm.
But it’s Yosef, and he keeps a stoic expression on his face as he hands a wad of napkins to Young-gi before buckling himself into the driver’s seat.
“Here,” Young-gi holds them out to me. I lay myself right back down on his lap and put my hands under my spine, looking up at him teasingly.
“Go right ahead,” I say sweetly.
“Tommy.”
“Yes, Da–haha, no, wait, that’s not right.” I snatch the napkins from him and shove them into my pants. The car starts to move as I try my best to clean myself up, or at least dry everything off enough that my jock isn’t glued to my dick by the time we get home. That’s a funny image, and I giggle while I work on my task, until I finally just give up because the sensation of the napkins scraping across the skin of my cock is distracting as hell. I toss the soiled trash to the floor, uncaring.
