Tell Me Our Story

Piece by piece, their clothing came off, falling softly onto the carpet.

He walked David backwards to the bed, settled him gently onto the fresh cotton and stretched himself over him, hot skin and cool sheets. A flood of undulating warmth at his core. David’s fingers clutched at his shoulder blades, shifted lower, to the small of his back.

He’d pressed against David before, but always clothed, with his walls up. Or with a careful distance from the waist down. Jonathan held him tightly now, heat pooling at his centre, while David shivered under him, wide eyed and breathless.

“I didn’t know. Every time I jumped into your bed . . . I just wanted your attention.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

Jonathan shifted against the taut lines of David’s body. “All my attempts to shake you off were . . . half-hearted.”

David dimpled.

Jonathan stared at the small groove cupping those lips; how many times it had beguiled him growing up. How much he wanted it directed at him. “I didn’t admit it to myself right away, but I wanted you to pair up with me.”

Delicate laughter, like flowers unfurling for the first time in spring. David was the brightest thing in the room.

“I made it my mission to crack through the walls you’d thrown up.”

Jonathan arched an eyebrow. “By teasing me relentlessly?”

“Of course.”

“And flirting in front of me?”

David frowned. “The only person I ever flirted with was you.”

“That fan at the pub?”

“Your fan.”

“Right. You wanted to see if I was interested—”

“I needed a catalyst, Jonathan! Something to catapult over those walls! You were jealous. I needed that.”

A sudden thought. Jonathan pressed David’s hands to the pillow above his head, the leather band singing a line across his palm. “Did you leave your window open in the rain on purpose?”

“ . . .”

Jonathan laughed against him, quivering. “Cheeky.”

“Your eyes are darkening, Jonathan.”

“Have you figured out what that means yet?”

A whisper, “Show me?”

A nip at David’s jaw, the softer skin below his ear, the pulse at the base of his neck. Soft, wet tongues sliding together. David’s chest rose and fell sharply under his lips. The pebbling and tightening of delicate skin; the taste of a hiss, a soft moan. Hands slid through his hair, pulling at the tips, pushing.

He let himself be steered, kissed the taut landscape that narrowed as he descended. Lean muscles undulated under his touch, suggesting the hundreds of hours of David in his arms, twisting, twirling, dipping around a mirrored ballroom.

David’s thighs stiffened around his arms as he curled a fist at his hottest point. Jonathan glanced up; he was propped on his elbows, eyes black, lips parted, cheeks delicately flushed under amber light. Slowly, Jonathan lowered his mouth. Closed heat around his head and slid down his shaft, tongue sliding over the slit.

David dropped to the pillow, body arching toward Jonathan like an offering. Jonathan held tighter; he’d take everything David would give him.

He sank down, and a moan vibrated into his throat. He pulled back, a teasing wet line to the tip.

I’m waiting until it means something.

Gently, he cupped David’s hips and pushed deeper. He closed his eyes and tasted the salty warmth. No one had seen David like this before. A secret language only Jonathan was allowed to read. Translate. Respond to.

Moans caressed his ears. Sharp gasps. Jonathan’s name, broken on the last syllable.

Thighs shook and parted and tensed. Hands combed through his hair, gripped at his shoulders. Sheets crumpled under tight fingers as David sought more and more of his throat; uncontrolled, sporadic bursts, all the curiosities of new sensation. Of wanting to make something so intimate last, and not knowing how to.

Jonathan feathered calming hands over his skin. It’s okay. We can do this again. As many times as you like.

A cool foot curled over his waist, heel at the curve, pushing at the rise of his buttocks. A sharp thrust and Jonathan absorbed every fierce tremor, drank every drop of his moaning release, then pulled back slowly. A shiver visibly wracked David and Jonathan anchored him with his warm weight, threaded their fingers together and squeezed.

“Are you okay?”

“Okay?” Laboured breathing turned into a laugh. “Try liquidated.” David pushed up onto his forearms, eyes widening with fright. “God, if this is like that, what will it be like if—”

Jonathan straddled him and pulled a sex-mussed David the rest of the way up into a sitting position. He cupped his cheeks, a thumb brushing away a stray eyelash. “We don’t ever have to do that, if you don’t want to.”

David leaned into his palm and kissed the base. “What if I do want to?” He smiled softly and looked Jonathan in the eye as he closed warm fingers around him. “What if I’ve been dreaming of you inside me since I was eighteen?” Jonathan’s breath hitched as a thumb pressed knowingly into the tight folds at his head. “What if every time I’ve touched myself I’ve thought of you?” A long stroke.