Page 34 of Stroke Rate

“Please,” he said, gripping the back of River’s thighs.

“Please.” As he buried his face in River’s groin, the scent of him, musky and warm, helping to calm Chris’ nervous system.

“Please,” Chris whimpered, lifting his eyes to River’s as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his shorts.

River ran his hand over the crown of Chris’ head and massaged the base of his skull before gripping the hair at the back of his head. He gave it a little yank before folding in half to place a kiss on Chris’ temple, whispering in his ear, “Take what you need, baby.”

His cock was soft and heavy in Chris’ hand as he gave it a light stroke, lifting it to place a kiss on River’s sac, before taking him in his mouth. Rather than sucking, he let the weight settle against his tongue—Chris sank into the smell of his body wash on River’s skin, and the taste of the precum enveloping his mouth. He focused on the distant sound of River’s breathing, of his heavy hand on his shoulder, and the fingers carding through his hair. The softness of his touch mingled with the rough sensation of the pebbled floor digging into his knees, creating a strange feeling of security. Two points of contact on which he could focus.

Chris' nervous system searched for the sensations he needed to regulate itself, the ones he had only felt in the depths of the pool, with the pressure of water pushing in on him from every side. His lungs burned with the need for air, the pressure in his ears, and the weightlessness in his limbs. He needed all of it, and he got the same sensations right then. The hard bumps of the pool floor dug into his knees, River’s cock lodged in his throat, and the rough hair of River’s thighs under his palms—centered him in the same way as when he tried to drown himself at the bottom of the pool.

“That’s it, baby, take what you need. I’m right here,” River’s calm voice lulled Chris farther into a trance. “So pretty, so perfect, just like this,” River said as he cupped Chris' cheek and ran his thumb around Chris’ mouth, tracing the way his lips spread around the root of his cock. River thickened on his tongue, Chris let his head fall to the side and sucked River, short rhythmic pulls like the gentle roll of the ocean.

Chris let himself float away to a place where time no longer existed, a place of no pain or worry. Everything dissolved around them, and only Chris and River remained. He did not know how long they stayed like that—Chris on his knees connected to River by his hand on Chris’ head, his mouth warming River’s cock, and Chris' palms kneading at River’s thigh muscles. Long enough that the buzzing in his skin stopped, long enough that the tightness in his chest dissipated, long enough that the phantom pain in his wrists subsided—and the whole time River’s voice kept him company. His whispers of praise and hums of approval were the white noise that allowed his brain to sink into a safe space.

“Baby,” River’s dick fell from his mouth as he felt hands under his armpits lifting him up. “Baby, help me lift you up. Hold on to my neck. I’m going to pick you up.” He felt River grab him under his ass, grunting as he adjusted Chris’ weight—but everything felt distant and fuzzy. “Shhh, I’m right here. I’m just going to take us to bed,” River said as he pulled Chris’ head to his shoulder and kissed his forehead. “So good, so brave, so perfect,” River whispered to him the entire way to the bedroom. Placing Chris on the bed, River pulled the blankets up. Chris fumbled, trying to grasp at him, but his limbs felt too heavy or too light or too something… “It’s okay. I’m right here. I’m just going to pull the blinds, and I’ll get in with you. Okay?” he said as he nuzzled his face into the hair at Chris’ temple.

“Mmm-kay,” Chris’ voice sounding slurred, more a mumble than actual words. The last thing Chris remembered was the bed dipping, River’s muscular arms pulling him into the safety of his chest, the soft thrum of River’s heartbeat in his ear, and the gentle reassurance that he was right there with Chris and not leaving.

River's voice had been a balm to Chris's frayed nervous system. As soon as they lay down, Chris had snuggled up like a limpet on River’s side, and he had fallen asleep. It had not been Chris' customary restless slumber, the kind that had plagued him for years. It had not been a sleep full of fits and starts, a sleep where his body was always prepared to fight or freeze—no, this sleep had been deep and soul-nourishing. It was as though Chris’ entire being recognized River’s safety, letting him finally let go and feel at ease, assured that no danger lurked in his arms and that River would guard him.

Chris woke, awareness drifting through his limbs. River’s arm cradled him, his leg thrown over River’s hip, and Chris' hand moved up and down with the rhythm of River’s deep sleepy breaths. He took the moment to look at River’s body, he couldn’t get enough—before him was a body defined in a way that only a grown man’s body was. Gone was the softness of youth, but in its place was strength built from a person who liked to move, not a body built in the gym. A body that was long and lean and muscled, with the slightest bit of padding over his abdominal muscles. Chris ran his foot up and down the soft hairs of River’s long, toned legs, and traced the millions of freckles that covered his body. More freckles than skin. He wanted to trace every single one with his tongue. He wanted to know River’s body better than he knew his own.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into the ridges of River’s ribcage as he wormed his way down his body, careful not to wake the sleeping man. He settled between River’s legs, propped himself up to gaze the length of his body, and saw a sea of freckles. So many freckles. He knew they were everywhere, but getting to observe them like this almost stole his breath. Smattering down his chest, his abdomen, his groin: some bigger and some tiny as a pinprick. Some were light tan and looked like a splash of paint on the canvas of his body. He even had a few darker ones on his sack. Those Chris craved to kiss and lick and suck, but his brain was having a hard time focusing—instead bouncing around from one thing to the next. Chris’ eyes dance from River’s eyelids to freckles, his nose to freckles, nipples, back to freckles. All the while his brain played the tune of a circus big top, the one played when a monkey was riding a unicycle, clapping his cymbals. The sheer volume of skin overwhelmed him, a landscape his tongue yearned to explore, every spot deserving of reverence. He blinked to clear his overwhelmed brain and focused on one small dark freckle on the seam of River’s balls. And Chris leaned in and licked it. A tiny flick of his tongue, a sweet kiss, a nuzzle of his nose.

“What are you doing?” River laughed above him quietly, now awake and squirming.

“Did you know you have freckles? Like everywhere?”

River’s response was breathless as Chris continued the vigil he was holding over River’s groin—mapping various spots with his tongue. “I mean, yes? Have you seen me?”

“You have a few darker ones here.” Chris used the sharp tip of his tongue, connecting the spots with spit like a dot to dot. River’s balls pulled up tight as Chris continued lavishing over each one. “You have them here.” He huffed into the crease between River’s thigh and groin.

River giggled as he tried to push Chris' head away. “Jesus fuck. Stop. That tickles.”

“What, this?” Chris did it again, nuzzling the soft skin, breathing out hard through his nose—tickling River with hot, moist air.

“I said stop,” River said, laughing so hard, his whole body vibrated with it. River wiggled and pushed at Chris’ head more. “Get up here,” he said, making grabby hands as he reached for Chris.

“You're so ticklish,” he said, humming as River pulled him into a sweet, slow kiss. The kind of kiss Chris never thought he would get to experience. A kiss full of meaning and emotion he didn't understand, but could feel in the strange clench his chest got every time River captured his lips. “Mmm,” they both moaned into each other's mouths as Chris ground his piercings onto River’s thick cock. He felt the vibrations of River’s moan on his tongue as he gripped his hips, the rough pads of his fingers burning at each point of contact.

“Hey,” River said, breaking the kiss, making Chris groan in displeasure, knowing that River’s pause meant he couldn’t keep avoiding what happened. “Don’t do that, don't give me that look,” he said, stamping their lips together one more time. “We should talk.”

And this was it. This was something Chris knew. This was the point where he was told he was too much or not enough. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had he let himself feel safe, warm, and protected? Why had he let himself think River was something he could keep, or better yet, someone who would want to keep him? He had been weak and pathetic, and scared of his own mother. Chris had always been nothing to no one. No one wants you, the voice had sneered, and Chris recognized its sincerity this time. What the nasty voice in his head taunted him with was the truth. The impending rejection drained him as he crumpled inward. Overwhelmed and unable to process, he tried to push away from River's chest, but River was holding him with an intense urgency. His hold was so tight Chris could barely move as River whispered a gentle rumble in his ear.

“Stop, Chris. Stop,” his voice firm but gentle—soothing the sudden onslaught of emotions trying to drown Chris. “Shh, baby, it's okay. I'm right here—nothing bad is going to happen. I just want to talk. You trust me.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Did he? Chris didn’t have to think the answer was an automatic yes—easy as breathing.

“Fine,” he grumbled into the crook of River’s neck. “But just so you know…this,” Chris wiggled his body on top of River. “Would be a lot more fun than talking. It's a hill I'm willing to die on.”

River huffed a sound against Chris' head; the vibration of it echoed in Chris’ chest. "Agreed. It would be way more fun, but we agreed on slow, and I thought you might need to talk about…whatever that was,” he said, as his large warm hand traced circles over Chris’ back, then over his shoulders, and down his arms—a soothing pattern until River linked their fingers anchoring them together. Anchoring Chris so he wouldn’t float away like a sailboat caught in a gust of wind. River pulled their hands to his mouth, and kissed every knuckle, before raising his face to meet Chris’ eyes. “You’re perfect. Please tell me.”

Before Chris could melt into a puddle of goo at River’s sweetness—he let it all out.

Chapter thirty

River

After what had happened that morning, River needed to know Chris—all of him—not the little crumbs he left scattered about, but every little piece that made Chris who he was.