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I nip his lip as they fall on mine again, grumbling a “green, fucker,” as he laughs so hard I feel the vibration in his dick that makes me whimper.
“I love you,” he says through a wide grin as he kisses me again, thrusting one final time into my hole as it clenches around him. He swells and pulses inside of me, lips breaking off mine with a pleasured cry. “My galaxy. My lover. My A.”
Every nerve in my body lights up. It’s not an orgasm, but it’s a satisfaction one could never imitate. Feeling Blair tremble all around me, hot and husky moans breathed straight into my ear, knowing that his arousal is sated—this is what heaven feels like for me.
He pulls out slow, still flushed and out of breath, and he pinches off the condom with a cheeky grin. “One last thing.” He takes the condom and presses the opening to the tip of my dick, slipping it on just over the head, and when he tips it up his own cum dribbles down my length, coating it and pooling onto my balls. Once it’s empty, he tosses the condom into the trashcan by the bed.
Brown eyes flick to mine, and I nod so enthusiastically there’s no room for misinterpretation. His smile widens, and he drops down to lap and slurp at my cum-coated cock.
Never would I have guessed that Blair has a fetish for his own cum, but if licking it off of me was a professional sport, Blair would be a gold medalist.
“Do you want to come?” he asks, and even though there’s so much blood pumping through my veins and into my dick, seeing his blissed out, flushed cheeks and satisfied smile, the need isn’t there.
I shake my head, and he dips his to run his tongue through the cum covering my balls and sits up, running a hand up my chest to cup my cheek.
“I love you,” he says, and I cradle his palm in mine.
“I love you too. Now get up here so I can see the damn tattoo!”
Blair laughs—a sound of pure joy—and situates himself beside me on the bed. He’s on his stomach, arms crossed under his head with his cheek resting on them, facing me. The bandage is above his right ass cheek and wrapping around his side, situated at the bottom of the tree trunk on his back.
It’s been a couple of hours since he got back from the tattoo shop, and he wouldn’t let me go or see the design until it was ready, and to say I’m impatient would be the world’s largest understatement.
I gently peel the sticky gauze back, and it takes all of my self control not to immediately trace the image with my fingers, to not cover it with my mouth the way I’ve done to all the others.
There’s a collection of stars interwoven with the tree’s roots, a ball of light with rays that bleed into the stars like the galaxy swirls on his shoulder. In between those are the Hangul characters he wrote out for me weeks ago. The lettering that would be the base of the tattoo.
The stars twist around the branches and thorns that cover his side, and touching the skin just around the redness and feeling Blair shiver under my hand, my eyes begin to sting.
“You made this one?”
He nods, looking over his shoulder even though there’s no chance he can see it and eyes landing on mine when I finally tear my gaze away. “My artist improves on my designs, but he lets me bring the ideas to the session.”
“Do I get to know what this one means?”
Blair pushes onto his knees, reaching over and grasping the back of my neck and pulling our heads together. “My galaxy. My sun. Atlas. My spark of hope in the pain.”
That’s it. The tears I’ve been fighting spill over as I try to laugh it off. His other arm wraps around me, and his nose brushes my cheek, tracking through the wetness.
“I love you.”
I take in one deep breath and then another. I swallow a sob and kiss his cheek. His nose. His lips.
“Love you, Bumble B.”
A FEW WEEKS LATER
“Atlas, you have a couple of shirts in the dryer.”
“Thanks, Noah,” I say, running around Blair’s apartment like a madman, collecting all the things I’ve brought over these last two months.
Noah is sitting at the little kitchenette counter, and as I go to pass he hooks a finger in the waistband of my shorts. Those pleading little Bambi eyes get me every time, and I throw my autopilot on pause to bend down and drop a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you, Panda.”
He beams up at me and half stands on his seat to press his lips to mine. Though I have the urge to laugh, I hold it back and let him have this kiss since I won’t be around for ‘casual kissing lessons’ anymore.
It started as a joke whenever he’d walk in on Blair and I making out, but it’s kind of become its own thing. Blair says Noah must be happy with the arrangement because he goes to Knockout way less. Says he has his own ‘make out orgy’ at home, so why go out for it?
It’s not the same for the two of us as it is for him and Blair, but it’s still nice. Sweet. There’s a sense of normalcy we all seem to have fallen into, and the way I’ve been rushing around packing and preparing to bring my shit back to mine and Shiloh’s dorm has made things feel a little stilted all day.
