Page 51 of Stroke Rate

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just go slow.”

Slow and steady, River pushed himself in, pausing to press a kiss to the inside of Chris’ knee, his thigh, until he fully seated himself. Once his groin nestled against Chris' ass, they moaned in unison.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” River grunted as Chris clenched around him. “If you keep doing that, I’ll nut in like two seconds.” So Chris did it again, giggling when River pinched his hip. “God, I love that sound,” River said as he gave a tentative thrust. River took Chris apart with gentle movements, pulling out halfway and easing back in, treating Chris with tender care. Caressing his legs, kissing the arch of his foot, and whispering how perfect he was with each tender touch. Once more River lowered his head, pressing his lips against Chris’—a soft stamp of skin that turned hungry, both on the edge.

River pulled out until only the head of his cock was still inside Chris, before thrusting the full length of him back inside. Chris sucked in a breath; the sudden intrusion was shocking. He fought to relax, commanding his body to yield to the stretch. Just as he neared his limit, River shifted position and reapplied pressure. A slow press, a slight rock of his hips as the head of his cock brushed over Chris’ prostate, and his vision whited out for a moment. “Right there. Fuck yes, right there,” Chris groaned.

River's movements were unhurried, the roll of his hips almost sluggish as Chris wrapped his legs around him, digging the heels of his feet into the muscle of River’s ass. Urging him to go faster, deeper, harder.

“More,” he begged, grabbing his cock, playing with the piercing at the base.

River batted his hand away. “This is mine,” River said as he took Chris in his hand and stroked him in the same leisurely tempo as his thrusting. “One day I want these in my ass,” River said as he dug the end of his finger into Chris’ slit, making him mewl and squirm—the feeling was as strange as it was mind-melding.

"Again," Chris grunted as he thrust harder into River’s fist, making the finger stretch open his slit a bit more. He couldn't understand the insane pleasure he felt as River pushed into his slit—why it felt forbidden and naughty, and why that aspect turned him on even more. And why every single time River did it, he would be right on the brink of blowing. He heard the ‘ah-ah-ahs’ leaving his mouth as he chased his release. As River started pounding into him, hitting his spot, and pressing his nail harder and harder into his slit. River wiggled the tip of his finger once, and that was all Chris needed. Chris came with a relieved groan; thick white ropes covered River’s hand and his own chest. “Fuck,” he screamed as River pounded into him at a relentless pace, before he found his own release.

“Fucking god,” River groaned as his rhythm stuttered and slowed. He lowered his full weight onto Chris, taking his mouth in a slow, sweet kiss, nudging Chris’ nose with his own and telling him how perfect he was. As their breaths evened out and River’s cock softened, they intertwined their bodies so desperately close and they felt like one. Chris thought, I’m finally safe. As River kissed his chest and hummed, “I love you,” before falling asleep.

Chapter forty

River

Time seemed to do that thing where you felt like you blinked, and all the sudden two weeks were gone. It had always been like that at the cabin, and River was grateful that this place was still full of magic. When River had closed it up four years ago after Coop’s funeral, he had wondered if he would ever be able to go there again. He had feared the cabin would be forever stained, but as he stepped onto the front porch, River felt so consumed with gratitude that the cabin was as it always had been.

It was home.

The morning was still young, warm bright sun glinted through the trees. The air, crisp, carried scents of damp earth and pine sap—bringing back memories of his childhood at the lake—and of summers here with Coop. All of their memories were still here, and maybe, just maybe, this place held Coop’s memories even though he was gone. The air still smelled of sunscreen and sun-warmed pine tar. The deck, rough and splintered, felt the same under his feet. And the birds sang the same song he heard the first and last time he had sat on the very same step.

“Me” by The 1975, played low from the speaker as Matt Healy’s haunting voice mingled with the early birds chirping throughout the forest. River allowed the music to take him back to his first morning at the cabin as he sipped his coffee. He and Coop were so young, just nineteen and twenty; the craziness of the swim season finally over. Coop and he were still just friends then. They hadn’t told each other how they felt about one another and they were awkward and fumbling with each other.

Studying one night, Coop ‌looked over at River, his light green eyes creased at the sides, his mouth stretched in a flat line. River remembered the ache in his chest seeing how unsure Coop was—he wanted to reach over and cup his face and kiss the worry from his mouth. He had always hated seeing the look Coop had when he was uncomfortable, doubting himself.

River smiled his most reassuring smile and poked Coop with his elbow, “What’s up?”

“Umm, do you have any plans next weekend?” Coop asked.

“Nope,” River said.

“Well, I have a cabin. It’s about two hours into the mountains. Would you want to go? With me.” River remembered the way Coop turned away, the way he twisted his fingers and bit his lip, waiting for River to answer. River waited a bit too long, and Coop tried to backtrack. “Never mind. It’s dumb,” Coop had squeaked.

River leaned over and rested his head on Coop’s shoulder. “Yeah, I want to go. Alone? Just you and me?”

Coop hummed. “Mmm hmm.”

“It’s a date then,” River said, squeezing Coop in for a hug. Their first real hug was the first time River smelled the warm, clean scent behind Coop’s ear. The scent that felt like home from that moment on.

That weekend had been the beginning of what River thought was his forever. But life had other plans, and Chris, who was still curled up in the warm bed Coop and River had shared for so many years, now held his future in his hands. Chris' presence at the cabin felt odd at first, but having him there offered River some solace. Sharing a space with him, a space that held so many memories and emotions, a space so tangled up in Coop, felt right. Even though Coop's joyful face appeared at every turn and his silvery voice sounded with each slammed screen door, it wasn't painful. It was almost comforting. River still yearned for Coop, and he wasn’t sure the feeling would ever fully ease. But having Chris there was helping to fill the endless void in his chest.

Every day seemed easier.

Every day, he felt lighter.

Every day, he felt a little happier.

Holding his coffee mug to his chest, he whispered a little thank you to Coop, because something told him Coop had led Chris to River.

A warm hand scuffed his neck, as a soft mouth pressed against his temple, pulling River from his thoughts. “Morning, baby.” Chris’ morning-gravel voice made goosebumps erupt over River’s skin. He sat down next to him on the stoop, dressed in River's ratty old sweatpants and Coop's ‌threadbare hoodie. The sight of it—of Chris in their clothes—made River want to cry; he just loved him so much.