Adam’s getting back on his feet. It’s a struggle but he’s doing it. The hard work it takes to climb the mountain will be worth it when he finally gets to see the view from the top.
He’s been on his own for almost a year now, ever since his wife decided she couldn’t deal with marriage any more. They tried half-heartedly to fix things for a while, but it soon became apparent that she didn’t want him touching her, and in all honesty it was understandable. Adam thinks a lot of the hurt is over Nathan rather than his own unfaithfulness. He’s pretty sure she had a major crush on his (fuck) buddy for a long time. She was most likely as heartbroken over Nathan as he was after she found them in bed together and the world crashed down around their ears.
Strange thing is that they get on surprisingly well now they’re divorced. He gets to see the kids as often as he likes and is more of a hands on dad now than he ever was when he was at home. Crazy how some out of control fucked up situation could end up repairing his life.
The apartment he lives in is too small for his big frame. He’s claustrophobic as hell there, but property in Los Angeles costs a lot and he’s not a rich man. Most of the money came from her family and her business, and his earnings were more like pocket change in comparison. Adam thinks if he asks her for alimony she’d pay up with a snide smile of victory. He’ll never give her that pleasure.
Since the break up of his marriage there’s been another canned T.V. show, another never-to-be-released movie and a pilot that wasn’t picked up, but now that he’s free from commitment, failure doesn’t seem to matter so much. The pressure’s off and he has renewed self-belief that he’ll climb that fucking mountain in the end, even if he’s as old as Methuselah when he reaches the summit.
Right now he’s working on a movie with Morena. It’ll go to straight to T.V. and certainly won’t win him an Oscar, but at least he gets paid and doesn’t have to grub around in garbage cans looking smelly. That particular movie ranks as the lowest point of his career, even when he compares it to being stark naked in late night erotica. Even better news on the work front is that he’s been cast in a pilot that’s getting some good industry buzz. He’s overjoyed at no longer having to ply his wares, trying to pick up the last few crumbs as the slave auction season comes to an end.
The buzzer jerks Adam out of his contemplative state and he answers the intercom with a grouchy, “Yeah?” whilst refastening the towel that’s slipping off his waist.
“’S’me,” says a familiar drawl and without a word Adam presses the door release button.
The intercom buzzes once again. “You come down,” insists the voice and Adam scrubs his fingers through his hair in frustration. He could do with a good hard fuck. Nothing complicated: just beer, bed and sex, and the way his cock is pushing through the folds of soft towelling seems like it’s in total agreement with him. It stands upright, thick, solid and ready for work, and Adam strokes it a couple of times while he thinks about the man who’s waiting on his doorstep.
“I’ll be there in ten,” he says curtly, knowing it’ll be more like three. They’ve both been busy working and haven’t screwed in over a month. Adam hasn’t even had the time or the inclination for anything more than a quick jerk in the shower, so right now he’s needy all over and tingling with anticipation.
Pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, he slips into some loafers then grabs a sweatshirt in case it gets cold, remembering on his way out the door to pick up his wallet, keys and phone. Then he’s racing down the stairs, heart working overtime, as he misses two out of every three steps in his eagerness to get laid.
James is lounging against the wall, leg bent at the knee, the sole of a Nike pressed flat to the brickwork and Adam’s so worked up he wants to fuck him right there. Fuck him hard.
“Ow,” James says, examining his finger then showing it to Adam.
It’s not the greeting he expects. He sees a tiny balloon of blood that’s inflating as James squeezes it then the bubble bursts and the redness escapes, following the lines and grooves of James’s fingerprint.
“How d'you do that?” Adam asks, fascinated by the trickle as it runs riot over pale pink skin.
“On this,” says James, producing a rather squashed red rose from inside his leather reefer jacket.
Adam blinks. He looks at the wilting flower with its tight cluster of claret petals and stained burgundy edges.
“Valentine,” explains James, offering Adam the rose with a glimmer of a smile. Then he gestures impatiently and stamps his feet. “Come on.”
Adam follows, climbing in to the junk heap of a Corvette convertible that’s parked outside his apartment building. It seems as if James has a thing for vintage playthings that have seen better days.
Placing the rose carefully on the wide ledge above the dashboard, Adam watches as James studies his wound. “I doubt it’s life threatening,” he says then takes James’s hand and sucks the blister of blood away, cleaning the fingertip with long leisurely licks. His mouth is filled with metallic tang and floods with saliva when James begins to make these rhythmic grunts of pleasure. Sucking a little harder, he swirls his tongue around the plump tip then once again suckles fiercely like a baby at the breast.
“Enough of that,” breathes James, pulling his finger away with a popping sound. “Unless you want me to come in my pants.”
Adam looks across at James with a dirty smile as he remembers whispered public phone sex where they’ve worked each other up to fully clothed orgasm.
“I’m right here,” says James mind reading in spectacular fashion. “Can have me whichever way you want. And as often as.”
They buckle up and James takes a route that heads north east towards the forest.
“It’ll be cold at this time of year,” Adam says.
“I’ll keep you warm,” replies James with a look that could melt glaciers.
Adam tunes the radio in to some A.O.R. station for oldies then slings an arm across the back of the seat and thinks about Valentines. Maybe he should have remembered. Should he have remembered?
They stop for something to eat at a roadside shack that sells Jamaican food. The jerk chicken burns Adam’s mouth but its good. He wolfs it down then lies on the bench seat and basks in the sun. It’s not cold yet. Far from it. Freakish goddamn weather.
“You look good enough to eat,” says James, straddling Adam and thrusting a hardening cock against his.
“I’m replete,” Adam says sleepily, pulling off his tee shirt and using it as a pillow.
“You’re what?” asks James, looking down at him over the top of his shades as he circles his hips and ratchets up the grinding to a new level of eroticism.
“Full. Satisfied,” explains Adam, closing his eyes and tingling even more as James plays with his nipples and runs his fingers through Adam’s body hair.
“Not yet I hope.” James leers all sinful and sexy. He’s busy now, unbuckling and unzipping, scrabbling to get his hands on their cocks.
Adam shakes his head and relaxes.
Time passes lazily as he bathes in the sun and the sex and begins to feel like a volcano that’s about to erupt with molten lava.
James mutters something, his voice all thick and throaty, but Adam’s too busy drowning in pleasure to catch the quiet words. He looks up quizzically and James repeats it for him, his voice even huskier by now. “That dude’s watching us,” he says.
Adam squints sideways. The guy in the food shack is looking out of the open doorway at them, eyes dark and lustful as sweat trickles down his coffee brown skin. He’s no more than twenty feet away and must be able to see everything. Adam lifts his head a little and wonders what it must look like to a stranger seeing James with a prick in each hand, playing with them and squeezing the hard flesh. Do they look good together? They feel good, that’s for sure.
The sound of tyres on gravel spoils the moment. James zips them back up and Adam picks up his tee shirt then they bolt back to the car, laughing like teenagers.
“Later,” shouts James to the jerk chicken guy. He winks at them then gets on with serving a customer who has no idea what he may have ruined.
“Would we have fucked him?” asks James, as he revs the engine fiercely and drives off down the road, pushing both car and speed to well over their limits.
Adam pulls on his shirt and thinks about the muscles displayed under that tight orange wifebeater. He imagines grabbing a handful of dreadlocks as he bends Jamaican guy over and powers into him. “Wouldn’t’ve minded playing,” he says in a noncommittal way, pretending that his cock isn’t on fire at the idea.
“Me either.” James looks at him and grins, his tongue curling upwards teasingly.
This whole day is making Adam hotter than hell.
“Gotta take a piss,” he says a while later when Money finishes playing on the radio. You can’t miss out on a Floyd song no matter how desperate you are.
James pulls up, the car skidding slightly on balding tyres and they narrowly miss ending up in roadside shrub.
“Ever think of getting a new one,” asks Adam, tugging in vain at the door handle then giving in and vaulting out onto the long grass at the side of the road.
“Happy with what I got,” answers James, and for a moment Adam’s not sure if he’s talking about the car or something entirely different.
The forest is dense and cool; a complete contrast to where they stopped for food an hour earlier. Adam chooses a tree and leans a hand on the rough bark as he hefts his cock out of his open fly.
“Let me,” says James, shooing Adam’s fingers away.
His bladder is aching badly and in some ways he wants nothing more than to get it over with as quickly as possible, but something about this is intriguing. James holds his prick with a firm grip and Adam closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and then lets go. He’s never relinquished control of his urination before and it feels like the ultimate act of submission.
James directs the stream, waiting for Adam to squeeze out the last few drops then he shakes it a few times and tugs insistently, pulling Adam a few strides away from the tree.
Adam’s hard just at the sight of James kneeling before him. He’s even harder when James begins to lap at his erection with baby-swipes of his tongue.
“Jack yourself off,” he orders, feeling a heady rush as James does this full body shiver then fights to release his own hard-on. Pushing his jeans down to mid-thigh, James spits in his palm and begins to masturbate then leans in toward Adam, stroking his balls with a fingertip as he swallows his cock in one glorious mouthful.
“Fuuuck,” sighs Adam. “Fucking love the way you do that. Wanted to see you on your knees for Jamaican guy.”
“Wanted to see you screw him,” says James. He’s most of the way off Adam’s cock now and is speaking with just the swell of the knob between his lips. It makes his voice come out childish and lispy and all of Adam responds with arousal, from the crown of his head right down to his toenails. With one pump of his hips, his cock slithers back down into the coil of that throat and James whimpers and starts jerking hard into his fist, the wet slapping noise echoing loudly in the stillness of the forest.
It’s good but it’s not quite perfect. Adam unfastens his pants, pushing them down as far as they’ll go then he licks his palm and strokes himself off into James's mouth. Still not quite it. Wetting a finger with spit, he spreads his legs as wide as he can manage and reaches behind him into his crack, rubbing his hole with slow circling movements until it pulses and then gives a little. It’s awkward, but he manages to scrape a nail over his prostate and the sensation from this, along with the slow deliberate throating from James, is the perfection he’s been seeking.
As Adam looks down into those wide blue eyes his insides throb and his balls swell with pleasure. Fucking James’s pretty mouth as hard as he can, he jabs at his sweet spot and howls, pulling finger and cock free then wanking himself off with fierce strokes until he bathes James in a deluge of come.
Grunting with effort as his fist flies up and down his shaft, James reaches up and pulls at Adam, dragging him down until he’s lying bare-arsed on the damp forest floor. Straddling his chest James rubs the shiny wet head of his cock over Adam’s mouth.
“Suck me,” he says through clenched teeth as he leans over and thrusts his knob insistently against slowly parting lips. Adam takes it all, licking and suckling at that cock the exact same way he was fellating James’s finger earlier in the day.
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” sighs James as he pumps in and out of Adam’s mouth then comes with a groan of absolute satisfaction.
Adam swallows mouthfuls of spunk then licks his lips and laughs up at James’s messy face. “You’ve got my jizz in your hair,” he says affectionately.
James pouts then leans down and kisses him with slow fucks of the tongue. By the time he’s finished Adam is breathless and also covered in smears of cold come.
After the sex Adam goes all quiet, but it’s only because he’s busy being introspective. They clean themselves up with the paper serviettes given to them by jerk chicken guy then Adam watches James piss with a bizarre longing to be the one holding that prick. He thinks about Valentines and the gift doesn’t seem quite so strange now. When they get back in the Corvette Adam picks up the rose from the dashboard and squeezes the stem until the single thorn almost breaks his skin then he asks, “Where we going?” thinking that maybe he should have raised this subject a while ago.
“Just for a walk,” shrugs James. “Thought it would be something different.”
They drive eastwards in the direction of the San Gabriel Mountains. The incline is steady and even though they’re still a long way away from the peaks the weather feels much colder.
Adam grabs his sweatshirt from the back seat and pulls it over his head.
“Poor little Malibu Boy,” smiles James, turning off down a marked track.
“I’m from Chicago,” Adam informs him.
“Well, you should be tougher then,” says James as he parks in what could be a designated area if a person closed their eyes and squinted hard.
Adam looks around him and then back at James in surprise. He sees the markers indicating the trails and the map board with directions on it and is shocked that the guy actually does want to go walking.
“I like hiking,” says James sheepishly, taking out his pack of Marlboro and lighting up.
‘And I like you,’ thinks Adam. Fuck! What is he doing almost saying shit like that?
Adam knows James well enough by now to realise that he mostly smokes when he’s nervous. Snatching the cigarette away, he stubs it out on a rock feeling pretty shaken up himself since that near miss stupidity.
‘And I like you.’ God! That would have been death to his ego.
They take the shortest route, one that’s suitable for wheelchair users and six month old babies. There’s no one on the path which doesn’t come as much surprise seeing as there were no cars here either. When he’s sure that they’re completely alone, Adam runs off a little way ahead then veers off to the left and back tracks, sneaking up behind James and wrapping his arms around him then laughing hilariously when the man jumps out of his skin.
“Bastard,” says James, turning inside the circle of Adam’s arms. They kiss and kiss and kiss some more and it’s sensual without being overtly sexual. Have they ever kissed without sex being number one on the agenda? Adam thinks of wilting red petals with crinkled purple edges and kisses James again.
Bored by the overly simple trail, they cross over onto a different pathway as soon as they reach a junction. This other hike involves clambering over rocks and dealing with quite a vicious incline and by the time they get back they’re sweaty and exhausted.
“Fuck,” says Adam, resting his butt on the hood of the car. “I’m tired.”
James lights up and passes Adam the cigarette and he breathes in a wicked, but life giving, hit of nicotine, doubling over from coughing as it burns the back of his dry throat.
“And thirsty,” he adds once he’s able to speak.
“We could stop somewhere,” says James as they get into the car. “There’s gotta be some kind of restaurant close by. It’s a tourist trap an hour out of L.A. for christsake.”
The sky is darkening rapidly now with just a faint glow of illuminated smog in the distance. They kiss again, but this time it’s long and intense and Adam breaks away before he ends up wanting more. He relaxes in his seat as James heads back the way they came, following the signs for La Canada. Adam spots the blinking neon of a crappy backwater motel and it reminds him all too much of their squalid history. He doesn’t want that. Not today. Once again James reads his mind and drives on without even a second glance at the gaudy pink and green nightmare.
The next place is okay in a Davy Crockett kind of a way. They pull up outside the cosily lit restaurant and Adam breathes in the smell of wood smoke, or chargrill or something along those lines. Whatever it is it makes his mouth water. The hotel is quiet as the grave. After washing up in the restroom they slide into a restaurant booth, trying to ignore the large buck who’s staring at them from his position of power above the fireplace.
Without looking at the menu Adam orders steak and salad and waits anxiously for the pitcher of beer to arrive. When it does he pours some into both glasses and gulps his down. James is a little slower, but not much. The great outdoors is hard work and they both have voracious appetites after experiencing it for a couple of hours.
“We could stay here,” says James waving a piece of steak around on his fork. “They have cabins.”
“But we haven’t brought anything with us?” Adam’s kind of a shocked in an old fashioned way. His mother’s voice echoes inside his head telling him to shower daily and always change his underwear. She’s also berating him about having sex with men, but she can go to hell as far as that’s concerned.
“What? Like clean shorts?” says James, working Adam’s zipper down with his barefoot and sticking a toe in to explore the nakedness. “You don’t wear any shorts.”
“I used to. Before I met you.”
Adam likes this Valentine edition of James too much. Normally the man has an image he wears like a second skin. He wants to be loved and he’ll do anything to make that happen. Adam knows that it’s camouflage, but has long since has given up trying to break through the barrier. Once or twice James has gifted him with a quick snapshot of his soul, but usually it’s been linked to hurt and anger and Adam doesn’t like to think about those times. Today, James is genuine and thoughtful and he’s far easier to like this way. Should Adam tell him not to try so hard all the time?
They eat their food communicating with ease and it’s almost as if they’re lovers, or friends even. After a few more beers and a dessert, James goes to reception to book a cabin for the night whilst Adam climbs into the car. No point in drawing attention to the fact that they’re…
He picks up the rose and studies it, wondering exactly what he and James are.
Together?
No. Adam’s alone (a loner) now. He’s done with commitment for good.
James bounds out of reception, wrapping his jacket tight around him to ward off the night air. He swaggers towards the Corvette in that liquid sex way of his then vaults into the car, even though the driver’s door actually opens.
Adam takes the key from James, turning it over thoughtfully in his hands. It’s a real key, attached to large chunk of wood with the word Ridgeway carved into it. Adam hasn’t seen anything but those small electronic cards for years. Real is good. Today has been that way from start to finish.
Mindful of having too many beers, James sets off at slow pace, following the lane as it twists through the trees and comes to an end in a clearing. He parks out front of a large cabin that’s set away from the rest with a wraparound deck that has a hot tub built into it.
“Do we give the locals a thrill?” laughs James, waving his hand at the Jacuzzi.
Adam shakes his head. He’s done with exhibitionism for the time being.
James opens the door of the cabin with a flourish and Adam steps inside, surprised at how tastefully it’s decorated. He’s expecting fake Chumash memorabilia and bearskin rugs and instead he gets modernist chic. As he explores the bedroom he’s embarrassed to discover that he still has the rose clutched in his hand. Dropping it hastily on the night stand, he takes refuge in the bathroom and strips off his dirty clothes, wishing he had clean ones for morning.
Twisting the faucet lever, he stands underneath the showerhead letting the water blast him clean and ease his aching muscles. He’s not surprised when James joins him, lathering him up with lemon scented shower gel and shampooing his hair until he’s close to purring.
He’s not surprised and that’s all manner of wrong.
Adam is still of the opinion that there’s been some kind of body swap and that his James, the self-centred narcissist, is screwing up innocent peoples’ lives somewhere else. ‘Are you for real?’ he wants to ask as the water rinses away the lather and most of the worries. He wonders whether it would be okay to wash James in return, but while he’s busy considering this, his hands take over, and soon he’s rubbing a slick trail over of gel over James’s back and front, kneading muscles hard until James moans softly and leans into him.
It’s a mutual decision to head for the bedroom and Adam is more relaxed than he can ever remember as he lounges on the comforter, drying himself off with a towel.
There’s a tray on the nightstand and on it is a cooler with champagne and six or so bottles of beer.
“They do room service,” explains James when he sees Adam puzzling over how it got there.
The rose has been moved to the bed. It’s becoming like a textbook seduction and Adam feels slightly sick as he remembers the way James has set him up in the past.
Sitting up, he takes the flower from the pillow and stares at it. “What’s with this?” he asks angrily, throwing it at James who’s lying beside him.
James frowns and picks up the rose from where it landed on his stomach, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Is this another of your games that’s designed to screw me over?” shouts Adam, twisting the cap off a beer and grimacing in annoyance as the foam spills over and lands in a white dollop on his thigh. “I’m doing good now. I don’t want to get caught up in your freak show world again.” He downs the beer in a series of long desperate gulps then drops the bottle on the bed. “We fuck sometimes and that’s it.”
James remains silent: preoccupied with squeezing his finger and scratching at his arm and apparently taking no notice of the outburst at all. The guy’s a complete nut job. Adam’s made up his mind. He’s gonna stay away for his sanity’s sake. No more sex however fucking good it is. “Jesus Christ! Are you even listening to me?” Adam shouts. “I’m trying to tell you something here.”
James is still staring at his right bicep as if he’s discovered an image of the Madonna engraved there. Then he looks up and blinks. “Ow,” he says showing Adam his finger which is smeared with blood.
Hating himself for his reaction, Adam instinctively goes to kiss the wound, but before he can get his mouth around that finger James turns and shows him his right arm. On the swell of the bicep is a skewiff heart with ‘Adam’ written in wonky reddish-brown letters.
“My heart is on my sleeve today,” says James, softly spoken and as nervy as a colt. His eyes flicker over towards the pack of Marlboro on the chair.
Adam’s own heart starts doing strange things inside his chest. It hurts. Bad. Maybe he’s going into cardiac arrest. While he’s busy dying, James is leaning over him and reaching for the bottle of wine.
The cork pops and flies across the room. “It’s domestic,” says James, “so it’s not real Champagne.” He pours a splash of cold wine over Adam’ chest, soaking each nipple in a puddle of icy fizz.
‘Real,’ thinks Adam. This is more real than anyone could ever know. He wants to say a million different things, but it’s hard to concentrate when James is leaning over him and lapping at his nipples.
More wine flows, pooling in his navel and forming droplets on his body hair. Adam whimpers as James bathes him with his tongue because this is too fucking good. He can’t think of the things he needs to say. His mind has gone; it’s been turned to champagne flavoured jello.
When James pours the liquid over his burning cock, it’s almost too much to bear. Adam arches up from the bed, moaning and begging, desperate for release. His erection is full to bursting point, hard as granite, molten on the inside and aching from the build up of pressure.
And Adam thought that the pressure was all gone.
James crawls up between his legs, breath coming fast in quick aroused pants, his blue eyes dark to the point of being colourless. He’s licking his lips and scratching his bitten down nails over Adam’s thighs and Adam’s heart does that weird miss-a-beat thing once again when he sees how much he’s wanted.
When James’s tongue glides over his balls Adam waits for his cock to be encased in that hot mouth, but instead he’s bathed in more champagne. James is pushing his legs apart and raising them and he’s licking downwards and not upwards, and the tip of his tongue is slithering over that taut strip of skin and then heading lower.
“Oh God.”
There’s more icy wine and more hot licking and then Adam howls and bucks up from the mattress. James is tonguing his arse, circling and teasing the tiny hole with gentle licks until all of Adam is so intensely aroused that he can’t even see any more.
Lifting his legs higher Adam strokes his fingers through James’s soft dark hair, encouraging him to carry on. It feels so fucking amazing. So hard to describe. Liquid silk, liquid sex, soft velvet tongue working away at that taboo place turning him into a pool of pent up arousal.
“Oh God,” he moans once again as James probes deeper. He wants to touch himself so badly but knows he’ll be done with one stroke, so instead he grips the leather headboard with both hands and tries to think of sexless things to stop himself from shooting.
When the rimming is over, Adam feels shamefully abandoned, but relieved at the same time. Any more of that and he would have died from an excess of arousal. His cock throbs painfully and he looks down as it pulses and twitches, but still he hangs on to the headboard.
James sits back, resting on his haunches as he swigs from the bottle of champagne, feeding droplets into Adam’s open mouth. He pours another splash onto Adam’s cock, smiling with delight when Adam arches and thrusts his hips, then he leans over and picks up his pants from the floor, hunting in the pockets for something.
Lube. Of course. James always comes prepared. Adam laughs at the thought.
“’Nough of that,” says James, flicking open the tube and squeezing out a dollop of slick into his palm. “Now close your eyes.”
Adam’s not sure about this. He stares at James trying to communicate his uncertainty, but his cock is eager to oblige and throbs insistently.
“Close your eyes,” says James in that melted butter voice that works its way deep inside Adam to the parts he doesn’t want anyone to reach. “Trust me.”
James rubs his palms together warming the lube.
Adam does as he’s told. He’s usually the one to do the fucking, but he’s quite willing to take it. Hard. He loves it hard.
With his eyes closed, his legs raised and his hands gripping the headboard, Adam feels incredibly vulnerable. He senses every little movement, and when the bed shifts prepares himself mentally for James’s cock. What he gets is more than unexpected. A hot mouth encompasses his erection at the exact same time a cold hard chill works its way inside his guts.
Adam’s eyes are open wide now but he can’t see what’s going on. James is bent over him working magic with his lips and yet there’s this cold thrill inside him, slick and smooth and not too thick and it’s … fuck… it’s deeper now, banging against his sweet spot until he’s near to flying. What in hell’s name is it?
James sucks harder and Adam yowls like a wild animal. It’s so fucking strange but it’s a good strange and he’s near crazy wanting to know what he’s being shafted with.
“Watch,” says James sitting up on his haunches.
Adam misses the blow job, but looks down to see James fucking him with the neck of that spent beer bottle. “Oh fuck,” he mutters. It shouldn’t be sexy but it is. He watches the movement of the green glass in James’s hand and shivers with pleasure at the cold slickness inside. “Oh God.”
“So gorgeous,” grunts James, fucking Adam with the glass dildo and working himself off with a glazed look that matches the moment perfectly. “Gotta…” he says then gulps. “Gotta…”
Lost for words, James throws the bottle down onto the floor and tugs at Adam ‘til he slides over to the edge of the bed. Taking in deep controlling breaths, he slicks himself up and thrusts his cock into Adam’s stretched hole and they both cry out in unison at the relief.
Adam feels the sperm surge building and grips the base of his cock, wishing he had a ring to slide onto his dick. He doesn’t want to come yet. This is too good to end. The contrast of James’s burning hot erection pushing its way in to his cooled insides drives him crazy in the best way ever.
“Fuck me,” he groans. “Harder, fuck, harder.”
James obliges then, totally out of the blue, he bends almost double and swoops down on Adam’s cock, holding it out with his fingers and taking the head into his mouth.
He’s getting fucked and sucked! Adam’s seen it in porn but he’s never had it done to him. Drifting away to a heightened level of arousal, he lies back and finally hands over the reins to James. Trusting him to make everything good.
Trust.
Is important.
James forces himself lower and takes the full length of Adam’s cock in his mouth then grazes his teeth up the shaft and over the ridged head. He’s close now; Adam knows from the telltale erratic thrusts and the low whimpering sounds. He strokes the sleek dark hair then rubs the back of that neck until James shudders and lifts his head, arching his whole body and grimacing as his orgasm hits him hard.
‘I like you a lot,’ thinks Adam as James crawls onto the bed and lies down for him, spreading his legs ready.
Adam slicks his cock, but he’s too worked up for much prep. Quickly stretching James open with two fingers, he embeds himself with a sigh of relief. He’s been close to coming for what seems like hours and has teetered on the edge so much that he’s trembling with need.
Busy thinking about himself as usual, Adam looks down at James’s arm and sees the heart. The bloody writing is erased slightly from sweat and sex, but it’s still evident.
“James,” he grunts, “God, James.”
Orgasm begins in his toes and travels up through his body until he comes with a roar like a fucking waterfall.
With a final shudder, he collapses in exhaustion on top of the smaller body. As soon as he recovers his breath he kisses James, but something feels different from usual. The kisses aren’t as deep and bruising, so maybe that’s all it is.
It’s an effort to go clean up but a very necessary one. They shower fast and crawl limp and boneless into bed then Adam wraps his arms around James who’s curled up on his side hugging a pillow. The heart on his sleeve will be gone by now and Adam wonders if it was strictly a Valentines Day deal.
He’s beginning to hope not.
DONE