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Kennedy’s breathing was deep and harsh. He didn’t say anything, but silence had never been so expressive. His fists punched the mattress above Jason’s head, and Jason could see that his arms were trembling.
Jason relaxed his throat muscles and took still more of Kennedy. Kennedy made a small, broken sound. He tasted clean and sweet, a hint of soap and manly sweat and the salty cream of pre-cum.
“Going to come,” Kennedy warned. Again Jason was reminded of Chris Shipka. The ghost at the banquet.
Sorry, Chris. Jason drew back, kissed the head of Kennedy’s cock, tongued the cleft, took him back in and sucked hard.
Kennedy groaned and his back arched. He began to come in hard spurts of hot sticky wet release. Jason didn’t swallow. He had said the truth when he told Kennedy he wasn’t reckless or careless. Eight months apart and Kennedy considering himself a free agent? No, Jason was not going to lap down Kennedy’s cream. He wiped semen from his chest and brow, wrapped his arms around Kennedy, encouraging Kennedy to let go, and Kennedy collapsed onto him.
Jason wrapped his arms around Kennedy’s back, nuzzling his ear, his hair, his jaw. He tasted a salty trace of wetness on Kennedy’s temple. Sweat? Semen? A tear? He had to grit his jaw against all the silly, emotional things he wanted to tell him.
Don’t let this be the end. Don’t let this be the last time. But Kennedy already knew how he felt. What he wanted. There was nothing he could say that Kennedy didn’t already know.
They rested for a time, holding each other, breathing quietly. Not quite in unison, but not far from it.
Then Kennedy raised his head. “What about you? What would you like?” His breath was warm against Jason’s face, surprisingly sweet despite the bite of whisky.
Jason licked his lips. “I want to be inside you.”
“Yeah?” Kennedy sounded thoughtful. “I didn’t really come prepared, but yeah. I think that can be arranged.”
“Really?”
He must have sounded fairly astonished, because Sam’s voice was amused. “Sure. Why not?”
“No reason. Well, I guess I thought you might have…” Conservative or old school ideas about who got to do what to whom? But really, recollecting how Kennedy operated in the rest of his life, he wasn’t locked into roles or routine. On the job, he was about efficiency and expediency. He took the lead because he was always the expert, the guy with the most experience, and the job was too critical to waste a moment catering to other people’s egos. But on his own time…he had never struck Jason as selfish or stingy.
“I think anything we do together would feel pretty damn good,” Kennedy said, and Jason had to agree.
“Not to mention the fact, I’m not twenty anymore. My recovery time isn’t what it used to be.” Kennedy said it easily, matter of fact, but yeah. Of course.
Kennedy lifted off the bed in a limber move for a man who had been complaining about his back twenty minutes earlier. He disappeared into the bathroom, the light went on, followed by sounds of rummaging around. He exited the bathroom, the crack of light silhouetting his tall, powerful figure as returned to the bed.
Jason had yanked back the bedspread and blankets. Kennedy set something small on the nightstand and tossed him a foil packet. He stretched out on the sheet-covered mattress with easy, unselfconscious grace.
Jason donned the condom with the kind of speed demonstrated by superheroes out to stop speeding bullets and powerful locomotives, and leaned over Kennedy’s back. He kissed the nape of his neck, and Kennedy gave a small, pleasurable shudder.
There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about the softness of Kennedy’s hair and the curve where neck met shoulder.
Jason reached for the small plastic bottle on the nightstand. Complimentary lotion that smelled vaguely of cucumber and cocoanut and something beachy and fresh. It felt cool and slippery on Jason’s fingers.
He parted the taut globes of Kennedy’s buttocks with one hand, delicately probing the tight knot of his hole with the other. Jesus. The feel of that hot little pucker. It was all Jason could do to go slowly, carefully.
He pressed his fingertip against the clenched muscle, and Kennedy tensed, gave a soft, low groan.
That was pleasure, not pain, but Jason murmured, “Okay?”
“You’ve got a gentle touch.”
How often did people make the effort to be gentle with Kennedy?
Jason leaned forward, pressed a row of small, velvety kisses down Kennedy’s spine. He pushed his finger lightly in and out through the ring of muscle.
The fact that Kennedy was letting him do this felt crazy, unreal. But then it had felt crazy and unreal when Kennedy had done it to him too. His cock, already at attention, seemed to grow a couple of inches at the memory of being penetrated so deeply, so fully. He had loved that and he would love this. Kennedy was right. Anything they did together would feel g
reat.
He took his time, and Kennedy preserved a thoughtful, listening silence throughout. When Jason pressed a second finger in, stretching him, seeking that nub of nerves and gland, Kennedy made an urgent sound and pushed back, drawing Jason’s fingers in deeper.
