Page 125 of The Villains of Winter

Elliott pressed him into the wall, kissing him hungrily.

Elliott felt stronger to him than he was before, his movements more firm and sure of himself. His anxiety melted in every collision of their mouths together.

His roguish smirk stretched as James let out an impressed sound. Grasping at the drawer clumsily, James threw folded clothes aside, socks tumbled out, drumsticks hit the ground, as he tugged open the oak drawer. Elliott’s ears pricked at the crinkle of plastic. The crease of synthetic material in his hand. James tore open a condom.

“A condom?” Elliott breathed.

“We should be safe.” James rummaged for something, anything, his hand a slur of movement. He settled for all-natural aloe vera on Elliott’s desk. Elliott realized belatedly what James wanted. He wanted to consummate their proclamations of love. He was going to fuck him.

He would seize every moment from then on.

Elliott couldn’t help it, he glanced down at the sturdy length of James. Shock electrocuted through him as it dawned on him. All of James was expected to somehow fit inside of him. Bewildered, Elliott mumbled, “How…will it be possible…?”

“I will fit.” Then James’s head tilted. “Haven’t you had sex with women this way?” You’ve never had anal sex before?

To appear rugged, Elliott thought briefly of lying, but he shook his head. He’d certainly never been on the receiving end before. He tensed.

James laughed, “I promise, I will fit.”

“Will it hurt?” Elliott winced.

“It shouldn’t.” James instructed him to remove his clothes, and Elliott obeyed. Elliott climbed onto the bed, uncertain of how to position himself, before it occurred to him that it was the same position as backshots. His mind was slippery.

Elliott gazed back down at the rough thickness of James. “It really won’t hurt?”

“A little pain never killed anyone, Elliott,” James teased, and Elliott relaxed half an inch, knowing his humor.

James kissed the back of Elliott’s shoulder, promising he wouldn’t let it hurt. Although, it occurred to James as well that he wouldn’t know if penetration hurt, he hadn’t ever been on the receiving end, either. He was finely skilled, he determined, therefore he’d find a way to make it pleasurable. He set ground rules to protect him. “If you need me to stop, tell me ‘red.’ If you want me to slow down or change it a little, signal me with ‘yellow.’ When you’re ready, give me the ‘green’ light.”

A tremble of excitement shot through Elliott. The air rose with electricity. “Green.”

James delivered a gentle kiss to his jaw. He leaned over Elliott. All at once, the sensation of cold aloe vera jolted Elliott. It was expectedly cold, but James warmed it against his end with experienced circles until the sensation felt more natural. Even though it took a few minutes, James kept his steady pace, until the compression of Elliott’s taut muscles decompressed.

With his free hand, James stroked himself with aloe vera. As Elliott acclimated to the new movement in parts of his body, he felt streaks of fire light across his skin as James’s voice entered the dangerously hot atmosphere. “Breathe slower, Elliott.”

“Right.” Elliott remembered to even his breath. Elliott closed his eyes to concentrate. Measuredly…the rigid head of his cock entered him.

It was a foreign rush, and his body expected the pain to set in. Then…there it was. The pain was intrusive, pervasive, enough to make Elliott wince for a few heartbeats more.

A field of wildflowers outside of his window breezed in their scent as the wind picked up at last in the oppressively humid summer. In the distance, squirrels chittered in the swampy heat, and bluebirds lazily soared through the brightly vivid sky. The scalding sun burned onto his knuckles as Elliott gathered the sheets into knots. He focused on nature, desperate not to overthink and ruin the moment.

Suddenly, James was a quarter way inside of him.

He paused, letting Elliott get himself used to the sensation, the pressure of him, the breadth of him. Elliott quivered slightly as James retreated, then pressed himself in deeper. A sound came out of James’s throat. “Elliott…”

James’s aroma of twigs, dirt, outdoors, and sweat only further spun Elliott under his spell. The pain felt welcome, easing into pleasure. Slowly, James began to pound into him and, all at once, his tip hit a spot inside of him that flooded Elliott with vivid color.

“Please…” Elliott arched, his spine a perfect curve. Elliott quivered his name. “James…”

James smiled down at him, wild with desire.

“There?” He asked.

“There.” Elliott tried to stifle himself. He didn’t need all of Winterthur Hall–with the harpists strumming through the walls beside them and the political science students annotating historic autobiographies beneath them–to hear what he sounded like when he was grasping the bed frame and gasping for air. He tried not to imagine everyone freezing, wondering what that sound was and where it came from.

Elliott whispered, “Don’t say it.” He hated the desperate, wanton sounds that spilled out from himself. Awash with need.

“I won’t say a word.”