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“Ye know this would be so much better for both of us if ye just let yerself enjoy it. Iamrather skilled.”
“I don’twantto enjoy it,” Luke seethes. “Ihateyou right now.”
“Fine,” Finlay says coolly, and he sinks to his knees. “Have it your way.”
Luke sheds his blazer and unbuttons his shirt, peeling it off by the sleeves. In a moment of wavering resolve, when this suddenly becomes too real for him, he gazes out to the trees opposite, his Adam’s apple prominent and undulating. In the lantern light, his chest gleams like black sand.
The longer the tension between them is allowed to build, the more I realize that Luke doesn’t have it his way at all. Because you can’t. You can’t pretend to be in control when one of your closest friends is mostly naked in front of you, tugging down your zipper. You can’t pretend to be in control when all fabric is shoved down to your ankles, leaving you standing in front of your closest confidants in nothing but black designer briefs. Youcan’t.
Finlay’s green eyes gaze up at Luke, double-checking, triple-checking. When no protest or change of mind comes, Finlay slowly pulls down Luke’s briefs. Luke’s cock leaps in the air, extracted from the dark fabric. Finlay’s fingers caress the backs of Luke’s thighs as his hand travels downward, the muscles of Luke’s backside tightening.
On the island, Luke’s cock seems like a sacred totem. Like one of the stone statues decorating the island, primitive art designed to be worshiped. Finlay leans back on his heels, admiring the strong, curved length of Luke’s cock as it’s exposed to the night air. The small bead of dampness glossy at its tip. Finlay tilts his head to the side, seeking Rory’s gaze as if for permission.
Still, Rory says nothing, but not once does he look away. His gaze sears at the sight of both of them, a powerful, steady weight. Its existence seems to placate Finlay, who returns to Luke’s front with renewed conviction. His fingers wrap around Luke’s sloping hipbones and, with a last-minute flick of his green eyes, Finlay surges forward.
With his eyes closed, he slowly brushes the tip of his nose along Luke’s curls. Romance might be off the cards but it’s a deeply reverent, intimate act, and for a moment Luke quivers and seems to consider jolting away. But he takes a deep, guiding breath and roots himself to the ground. His hands twitch by his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Like touching Finlay would be far beyond him, beyond the scope of the game the two of them are playing right now.
I have to blink several times, to check what I’m seeing. Because this is crazy. The two of them have never, ever expressed interest in each other like this — but again, it’s not interest. It’s punishment. Or so Luke insists. When Finlay finally, lovingly, seals his mouth over Luke’s firm cock, it doesn’t seem like punishment at all.
Luke groans, his eyes fluttering and then closing. With only one fluid motion of Finlay’s mouth, it’s enough for Luke’s whole body to tremble, for soft, shocked gasps to jolt out of him. The silence of the island is punctuated with raw maleness and mating, of low, throat-caught drags of pleasure, of the filthy wet slickness of Finlay’s predatory tongue.
Because that’s what this is. Luke doesn’t have the upper hand here, and he’s fooling himself if he ever believed he could. This is all Finlay. Somehow, even when Luke is standing with his great stature, looming over this scene of vicious vengeance which he created, it’s difficult to believe he’s the one in control, that it isn’t Finlay with all the power in that hot, silken mouth of his.
When Finlay trails the flat of his tongue along the underside of Luke’s cock, only then do Luke’s palms fall unsteadily to Finlay’s hair. And the vulnerability of this act — the captivated, lost expression on Luke’s face, the tentative trail of fingers against Finlay’s soft hair — causes heat to bloom at my core. Luke finally unshackles himself from theshoulds of duty and gives way to pleasure, the way he and the rest of the world have denied him for too long, the way Finlay insisted he could bring it.
Punishment was never Luke’s to give. No. The punishment is in how much Luke is unexpectedly getting off on it.
Beside me, Danny’s hands fidget against his kneecaps. Rory’s head is slumped against his fist, his gray eyes dazed, his mouth slack in fascination and rapt attention. All I want to do is go over to the two of them, to kiss them both, to witness close up their blown pupils and hung jaws. Finlay’s mouth remakes Luke into a being of joyous tension and clenched muscles. He rolls his hips deeper past Finlay’s lips, his own plump ones parted in awe and raised to the night sky, like nothing could ever feel this good again. No longer afraid, Luke’s fingers bury into Finlay’s hair, tugging his face closer to his cock, until the point of his nose rests naturally against Luke’s curls. This time there is no temper, no face-saving fight. Inside his boxers, Finlay’s cock hardens at the rough treatment. His eyes flick open and up, as though wishing to see the moment Luke caves, the moment he shatters and explodes.
Finlay twines his hands around Luke’s naked thighs, exploring leisurely along the seam of his backside, his fingers toying with the tight muscles of his cheeks before delving deeper inside, his hands gripping at flesh like feral claws. Luke gives a woozy moan, his breath jerky and weak as he cries aloud to the air. Finlay’s hands slide beneath his cock, stroking at his testes. A moment later, his tongue follows, burning a path from the crown of Luke’s cock to the very base. He pulls Luke’s lengthening cock upward inside his fist, his tongue laving attentively at his tightening testes. Luke’s cock visibly hardens, and he leans forward, his fingers clenching at Finlay’s dark mop of hair. Finlay’s fist slopes up and down Luke’s impressive length, suckling him with a tongue turned greedy in its quest for release.
Luke staggers above him, his diminishing breath hitching. Finlay’s mouth reclaims Luke’s cock, nuzzling into it hard and deep like a sheath. Pleasure streams through the air in a series of wanton moans, Luke’s tightened lips unstitching. A gasp — and then a swallow.
Seed spills past the hot liquid seal of Finlay’s mouth. His throat works raptly, choking down Luke’s white-hot release as if to feed his starvation. Even when he pulls away, Luke spurts thickly across the ground, an endless pumping like a valve twisted free. A satisfying gush of liquid heat, Finlay’s mouth catches and feasts on it. He wrings all the pleasure from Luke’s large cock, Luke sagging above him like a clipped marionette as orgasm convulses shakily throughout his leonine body.
Their astonished breaths mingle in the night air. But it’s not just them, though theirs is the loudest. It’s all of us, all of our quiet, affected breaths as we’re struck dumb with the sheer senseless lust and liberty of the last few moments.
Finlay slowly pulls himself away from Luke’s cock, licking his lips clean. Luke stares down at him, dazed. No one says a word, though Finlay leans back on his heels again, looking up at Luke as though he expects praise.
With shaking fingers, Luke only does one thing. He slides his fingers back into the strands of Finlay’s hair — and he holds him in place like a mainstay. His fingers curl and play with Finlay’s hair as if he were a cat to soothe and be soothed by, to be rewarded with long strokes merely for his generous existence.
After a moment, Luke’s attention swings to each of us in turn. He meets Rory’s gray eyes once, his gaze dropping and lingering on his fellow chief’s bare chest, before swiftly sliding across to me and Danny. “You two seem rather overdressed,” he declares, a touch imperious, and beside Luke’s bare feet, Finlay suppresses a pleased smirk. “Why don’t you disrobe?”
I know he’s trying to force attention away from himself, after the insanity of what just happened, but if there’s one thing Luke in all his majesty excels at, it’s attracting attention.
“Why don’t youdisrobeus?” I say defiantly, wanting this game to continue, wanting the real world to be blocked forevermore if this is what happens instead. Beside me, Danny makes a small noise that sounds a bit likengh. Luke’s eyes on me flare with heat. I don’t miss the burning intensity mirrored by Rory, either.
“Disrobe each other,” Rory instructs, cutting in, and the worddisrobegains a strange, fictional quality. He leans back against the tree stump, a cocky expression on his face.
I shrug. “Fine.” Being with Danny isn’t punishment anymore, the way Rory had made it out to be last year when he’d encouraged me to dance for Danny in their dorm. No. We’ve smashed that barrier with kisses and sex. Our sacred connection as best friends has only deepened by allowing ourselves to be who we are in front of each other. I know what Danny looks like when he comes. I know what he looks like when he’s in love. And likewise, he knows the same things about me. For each other, we hold open the things we hold most dear and most private.
Even Danny, who is much less of an exhibitionist than me, climbs to his feet first. He doesn’t once offer a protest, the way he would have done last year. This year has changed us — all of us. I follow Danny’s lead with a satisfied smile. He reaches across to me and, with his tongue poking out, carefully unpicks the knot of my school tie while I kick off my shoes. I admire him for a long moment, the concentration on his freckled face, the gentleness of his fingers, the diligence and care he takes in loosening my tie.
He wants to be here, doing what he’s doing to me, and I’ll never not cherish that. I’ll never not feel privileged to have Danny’s love and desire. He’d confirmed it once, in purple painted words and cum striped across my belly.
I do likewise, unknotting his tie and popping the button of his collar, our fingers skimming the other’s throat. And for me, I don’t flinch, and maybe that’s remarkable nowadays. The healing process itself is remarkable — and Danny’s been such a significant part of it.
Our shirts flutter to the ground and we’re standing facing each other, totally composed and self-confident in our increased nakedness. His eyes focus on my breasts, at my nipples hardening in the air. I caress the scatter of light brown freckles along Danny’s chest, the galaxy of them positioned at his shoulder blades.
I smile at him softly, my heart tender and filled with love.
And then, when we take too much time appreciating each other, Rory’s voice drawls, “Keep going.”
