We ended up against the doorframe of his bedroom, my back against the molding, his thigh between mine, his mouth at my throat. The golden light from the slatted blinds striped his face. The candle by his bed had only been burning long enough to push sandalwood into the room. His plants cast soft shadows across the floor.
“This isn’t the bed,” he murmured.
“Beds are overrated.”
“They really aren’t.”
I pulled his shirt off. The barbells caught the candle. The Libre tattoo flexed under his hand. We took the rest of our clothes off in pieces against the doorframe, jeans landing in the doorway between his bedroom and the hall, neither of us bothered. My cock came free with the metal at the tip already wet. His came free a beat later, longer, leaner, the head already flushed dark pink where he’d been hard for the lasttwenty minutes through his jeans.
He pressed his forehead to mine. His hand wrapped around me without ceremony, slow, the heel of his palm dragging up the underside of my shaft. His thumb caught the bead at the tip and dragged through the pre-cum there, slicking it down. The metal warmed under his palm.
“I want to do something tonight I haven’t done with you yet.”
I went still.
“Tell me.”
“The conversation.” He swallowed. Touched the underside of me, gently, where the metal sat. His thumb pressed against the bead on the bottom side, the one most people never knew was there, and a slow heat banked low in my stomach. “The longer one.”
Heat pooled low. I didn’t answer right away.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve been reading about it.”
I laughed. “Of course you have.”
“I take research seriously.”
“So I keep learning.”
He took my hand and led me to the bed. Climbed up onto the duvet with knees folded under him and pulled me up with him. The sheets were warm. The candle on the dresser drew a wedge of light across his collarbone and down across the lean line of his stomach, where his cock stood hard against him, a curve up toward his navel, a bead of pre-cum catching the light.
“Where do you want me?”
“Up against the headboard. I want to look up at you the whole time.”
I climbed up and settled back against the headboard, pillows banked behind me. He crawled between my thighs and rested his palm flat against my chest, over my heart, the way I’d done for him the first time. His other hand wrapped loose around me. The candlelight turned the wet at my tip into asmall bright thing.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Take your time. Slow. Not the metal first. Skin first. Mouth.”
He listened in the way he listened to everything that mattered. Bent his head. Mouth at my hip first. Then the soft inside of my thigh. Then the base of me, his lips closing around skin only, his breath warm. He worked his way up to the head slow, the way I’d told him, his eyes finding mine for every check-in. His mouth was soft and hot and a little wet, his lips dragging against the brown of my shaft, his tongue running shy up the underside vein. Pre-cum kept coming. He licked it off without lifting his head.
“Good?”
“So good.”
“The metal. Now?”
“Yeah. Tongue first. Don’t.” My voice broke. “Don’t lead with teeth.”
He nodded. His tongue found the ring slowly, traced it to the way you’d trace a word in another language, learning the shape before you tried to say it. The wet of his mouth warmed the steel. His tongue dipped between the bead and the head of me, finding the spot where the bar passed through. I exhaled, and the exhale broke. My hand found his hair without my permission.
“Like that,” I murmured the words like instructions to a careful student. “Just like that. Yeah.”
He hummed. The vibration around the metal sent a pulse up my spine that landed in the back of my throat.
