“What would make it a nightmare?” I ask, taking advantage of the way the drug in his system is making him more talkative.
“If I can’t–if I let you down, if I can’t cum.” His eyes water, and his breathing picks up. “It feels good though, I feel so good already.”
“Good,” I praise him as he squirms on my lap, his fists unfolding hesitantly as he gives in to the urge to stroke the fabric of my shirt. “Very, very good boy, Tommy.”
“Touch me,” he breathes, leaning down on me hard, panting in my ear. “Touch me, please.”
“Where?” I ask. “Here?” I run my hands up his back, over his shirt, and he groans and grinds down against me, using my body to put pressure on his clothed dick.
“Yeah, everywhere,” he pants, rising up and then practically giving me a lap dance. He slides a hand down to his crotch, shivering all over. His impossibly dark eyes glisten and he looks like he’s about to cry from the pleasure, and that makes my dick twitch, too.
It’s dark at our booth, and the crowd on the dance floor isn’t paying any attention to us, but even if someone saw, they wouldn’t see anything obscene. I’m not taking his clothes off.
His eyes keep falling to my mouth, and he groans, the high taking away his verbal filter. “Wanna kiss you so bad.”
That makes me pause. I assess myself and my reaction to his words. I expect to feel some kind of denial, some kind of sign that it’s going too far, but instead, all I feel is heat. I want it.
“You like kissing, Tommy?” I purr at him as he writhes in my lap, in my hands. I run my palms across his back, over the curve of his ass and down his legs, but not anywhere else, not yet. “You were kissing those men on the dance floor, and I wanted to rip you away from them. I’m the one you should turn to if you need something like this. Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Goddamn,” he gasps, clutching the back of my neck. “I don’t think you’re straight, Young-gi.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“Yes, please, kiss me, oh fuck, I feel so good. So fucking good.”
I pull his mouth to mine, and we collide.
I press in immediately, eager and claiming. He groans into my mouth and shudders run all down his back.
His kiss is messy, uninhibited and enthusiastic to the extreme, probably from being high, but he moans into it and he’s so turned on that I enjoy it anyway. The uncoordinated, raw way he’s kissing me is endearing, kind of filthy. Suddenly, I realize that I’m more than halfway to getting hard myself.
Huh. Guess it is desire that I feel for him. I suppose I’m not perfectly straight after all.
At least, not where Tommy is concerned.
He shivers so hard, groans so loud, that I think he might’ve cum, but he didn’t, and he keeps whimpering and twitching and grinding on me desperately. I soothe him, kiss him, let him kiss me, pet him, try to calm him down so he doesn’t get in his own way, emotionally speaking. But his desperation is blatant, even with the drug making him feel good.
“I want it,” he cries at one point, face buried against my neck, writhing against me. “Ineedit.”
God, he’s art. Beautiful even in this acute, sensual pain.
“I know you do,” I murmur, moving his hand out of the way so I can be the one cupping and stroking his dick through his pants. I feel extra fabric in the way, and realize he wore a jock so he could do this in public without making a mess. Smart boy. “I want to give it to you. But it’s alright, either way, even if you can’t.”
“Easy for you to say,” he says on a long, jagged moan, rubbing against my hand, writhing in my lap.
I know it’s cruel, and I don’t like to see him suffering, but the way he’s so desperate for it but can’t quite get there is doing something really dirty to my libido. Twisted, but I’m into it.
Maybe I like the way he’s so clearly in need, need for me and what I can give him.
“Whether you cum tonight or not, I’ll keep helping you,” I say into his ear, nipping the lobe until he gasps.
He has noideawhat he’s done. This? Yeah, this part of him? Desperate and vulnerable and open and raw? It’s mine now.
I pull him in for another kiss, and realize that he doesn’t just like kissing; he loves it. Tommy isloudwith his pleasure when he kisses. The drug is lowering all his barriers and letting him express his needs freely. Kissing makes him turn on those moans of his constantly.
I kiss him just to kiss him, just to make him feel good, just to connect to him. He’s leaning into it almost too hard, our teeth clacking, dirty and all consuming. By the time we part again, I’m so dizzy and breathless that I feel like maybe I’m the one who got high.
He groans, but it’s tinged with a sob. We’ve been here for almost an hour, both of our lips are swollen from kissing, and I know he’s hit the peak of the drug already. Soon, he’ll start coming down. It will be a slow comedown, sure, and he’ll feel pretty good for another two hours or so, which means we have more time, but he seems disappointed as he continues to struggle in vain.
