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His nails scratch against the tile as I go in deeper, making my way past his tight ring of muscles. I slide in and out a few times before adding a second finger. His skin flushes, almost matching his hair, and he looks back at me with glazed over eyes. “More. Keep giving me something good to replace the bad.”
I sink my fingers deeper, twisting and exploring until I hit his sweet spot. He spreads out his fingers, rubbing his face over the wall and shaking with need.
“I like being your good thing.” I lick along the shell of his ear, curling my fingers inside him.
“Then don't stop being it and come feel good with me.”
It's all he has to say for me to slip out my fingers and shove my cock inside him. I don't go slow this time, driving in and out and making him shake with each thrust. Holding on to his hips, Ispeed up my movements, sparking a light inside me I haven’t felt since last time I had him like this. His inviting warmth makes it hard to stop and I want to see if I can make him come from my cock alone.
This is what I needed—to feel good. It's a temporary fix, like everything he's asked me to do has been. I've helped him get through the bad days and he's doing the same for me. I touch him and I forget the rough edges of my life. I kiss him, our lips locking tightly together, and the blood on my hands feels worth it. I fuck him, grinding our bodies together, and right now I'm not a hitman, planning to help transport drugs tomorrow. I'm simply living a normal moment with someone else.
I kiss him hard and his tongue surrenders to mine. The water has gone cold but neither of us care. I only notice because my skin is growing hot from the imploding pleasure building inside. In and out. I lift upward when I'm all the way inside, skin rubbing skin like a match creating enough friction to ignite. Muscles tensing, a warm smoldering feeling bursts inside me, and watching his cum hit the wall is enough for us to set fire together.
Holding his heated body tighter to mine, I come inside him, reveling in the beautiful sensations taking over me. He sags against the wall and I bury my face in his hair, shutting off the water. “How are you, burrito?”
“Good. So fucking good.”
Breathing him in, I kiss his ear and neck before lifting him in my arms. He barely keeps his eyes open while I dry him off and tuck him into bed. I leave his clothes off and snuggle in behind him, lifting the covers to our shoulders. “Figures you'd fall asleep during another movie. Third time this week.”
“Being a third grade teacher is exhausting.”
I stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I imagine it would be.”
“Mhm,” he says sleepily, pressing his cheek to my chest. “Let's go to sleep now so we aren't late for brunch with my mom. She won't be happy if we're late again.”
“Of course.” I trace his spine with my fingers as I listen to his breathing. It's steady and soothing. If this is really nothing then why does it feel like it could be everything?
Eleven
Antonio
Phillip is still asleep when I wake up. It takes me longer than usual to get out of bed too. Especially with him latching on to me every time I try.
“I have to get up, burrito. You can sleep for a little longer though.”
“Mph,” is the only sound I get from him as he tosses the covers over his head. Smiling, I shake my head and dress for the morning. Washing my face and brushing my hair does nothing to help me appear less exhausted. These last few weeks I've stayed busy, doing odd jobs, including ones I hate more than babysitting. I wanted them to prevent me from thinking about Phillip but they didn't.
If anything, everything reminded me of not only him but Lucian too. My infatuation with someone else has the guilt rising again, so high I'm drowning in it. It's bad enough he died and I lived. Now I'm sharing things that once only belonged to himwith someone else? It's not fair. It's never truly felt like I was moving on without him until now. Is that what this is?
Phillip's pink hair sticks out of the blanket and he grumbles in his sleep. I want him to look wrong in my bed. For his hand to feel wrong in mine. For his voice to hurt my ears. For his touches to be comparable to barbed wire. If I keep waiting for all that to happen, I'll be wasting my time. What else am I supposed to do? The alternative doesn't work either. Getting attached isn't an option for me anymore. Not when I'm not the only one at risk of losing.
I slide the blanket over his hair so no part of him is peeking out. So I can pretend for a little while how much I hate seeing him where he is and won't spend other days picturing him there even when he's not. Not wanting to wait for a part of him to peek out from the covers again, I hurry to the kitchen and start on breakfast.
As I'm setting the food on the table, Phillip walks out of my room wearing one of my T-shirts. It's long and baggy on him, pooling around his slender hips. “Morning,” he says, as if greeting me this way in my kitchen is something he does regularly.
“Morning. I made breakfast, but if your stomach is feeling uneasy—”
“I'm fine. I at least want to eat a little. Who knows when I'll be able to have food again today.”
“I'll make sure you don't go too long.” I pull out one of the chairs and sit down when he does. I finish my food first and place my dishes in the sink. As I reach for my mug to pour myself more coffee, Phillip steps in front of the coffee pot, smiling.
“What are you doing?”
“What I do for you every morning.”
Swiping his tongue over his lips, he drops to his knees and undoes my pants. I don't stop him and run my fingers throughhis hair, helping him pull my cock free. Fuck, he looks good on his knees. Another image I'll picture from here on out. It's like he's marking every space in the house with his scent, sounds, and him.
He laps at my crown, teasing the tip the way he does his lollipops. The long drag of his tongue is antagonizing. His pink lips wrap around my head, staying still for way too long before finally sliding down halfway, his tongue swirling around me.
