He pulled me down onto the mattress on the floor. We landed sideways, half-clothed already from the moving day, my t-shirt riding up, his sweatpants slung low. He laughed again, this time the gym-loud version, and I caught it on my mouth.
We undressed each other on the floor mattress, no rush, the kind of slow that came from knowing every inch. The streetlight from outside laid yellow stripes across his chest. The barbells warm under my palm. The geometric sleeve a dark line against his pale skin. His cock came free hard already, the curve, the head a deep pink, the slit slick. Mine came free a beat after, the brown of my shaft a clear contrast against the pale of him when he pressed close.
“Whose mouth first?” He asked it like a coin toss.
“Yours.”
“Bossy.”
“Always.”
He moved down. Stopped at the Libre tattoo. Kissed it the way he alwaysdid. Kept moving. Hip. Inside of thigh. The metal got the slow attention he’d learned over time, tongue first, then teeth, then the rhythm I’d taught him. He took me into his mouth slow, the wet warmth of him familiar now, the way his tongue dragged on the underside of my cock, the way his lips slid down the brown of my shaft, the way he held the base of me with his hand while his mouth worked the head and the metal. The streetlight caught his cheek every time he breathed. I watched the line of him, the way his hair fell forward, the way his free hand spread on my hip the way it always did now.
But he didn’t take me there. He pulled off before I could go over the edge, lifted his head, and kissed the inside of my thigh. A thread of spit connected his lower lip to the head of my cock for a beat before it broke. He licked his lips, slow, the taste of me on his tongue.
“Not yet.” He grinned. The crooked one. “We have time.”
“You’re evil.”
“I’m your boyfriend. Maybe one day your husband.”
“Eventually.”
I tipped him over onto his back and went down on him in return. I knew his tells now; knew the second his thigh tensed, knew the small inhale that came two strokes before the edge. The curve of him fit my mouth like it belonged there, the head of him pressed to the roof of my mouth on every push down. I’d memorized the slick taste of his pre-cum. Tonight he was leaking steady. I pulled off when his thigh tensed. A wet sound. A thread of saliva and his slick that broke between my lips and the head of him.
He laughed up at the ceiling, wrecked. “Two can play.”
“We’ve been playing for months, Ellis.”
“And we’re still bad at finishing efficiently.”
“Efficiency’s overrated.”
He pulled me back up the line of him and rolled us. The mattress moved. He pinned my wrists above my head, gentle.
“I want you to have me first,” he said. “Then I want it the other way.”
“Both of us.”
“Both of us. New apartment. Christen the place properly.”
I laughed. The laugh broke when he reached past me and pulled the lube out of one of the still-taped boxes labeled BEDROOM ESSENTIALS in his handwriting.
“You labeled this box?”
“I labeled all the boxes, and I planned for tonight.”
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
He kissed me through it. He let me work him open the way I’d learned worked best. I slicked my fingers warm and pressed one in slow. He took it the way he always did now, body familiar with the stretch, the soft breath catching at the press. Two when he was ready. Three when he asked. He let me have him under the streetlight, slow, his hands flat against the wall above the bed because there was no headboard yet, his mouth open against my throat, his voice cracking on small words I’d learned to listen for.
I slicked my cock. Lined up. Pushed in slow. The head of me passed the tight ring of him, the metal pulling that familiar small breath out of him, the same one it pulled the first time. I bottomed out. My hips against his ass. My cock buried to the base. The wet sound of slick and stretch.
“Like home,” he said at one point. Half-laugh, half-something I couldn’t name. “
“Like home.”
