Kleenex. Dylan made a small triumphant noise when the safe-sex paraphernalia were finally in his eager hands. He rushed back into the bedroom—but came to a full stop at the sight before him.
During the time Dylan had been in the bathroom, Chris had managed to strip off every thread of clothing. He was now splayed on his back atop the blankets, heavy-lidded, his legs spread wide and one hand lazily stroking his cock. His other hand was at his chest, the fingers tugging and pinching at an erect nipple.
He lifted one eyebrow at Dylan, who was still goggling. “You gonna fuck me, or what?”
Dylan dropped the stuff in his hands. He didn’t bother to unbutton his shirt—he simply tugged it over his head, along with his T-shirt. He kicked off his Converses and fumbled at his belt, nearly tripping as he attempted to get his jeans and boxers off as quickly as possible. That left only his socks, which he tugged off impatiently.
Chris’s eyes brightened as Dylan undressed, and he licked his bottom lip and smiled. “That’s more like it.”
After retrieving the lube and condoms from the floor, Dylan crossed to the bed. He desperately wanted to touch, but he spent a minute or two simply staring. Chris’s shoulders were wide and his hips narrow. He had kanji characters tattooed on one calf. His muscles were solid and heavy, but as he shifted they moved fluidly beneath his skin, and his nipples were perfect brown peaks. He seemed to enjoy the admiration, because he stopped jacking himself and folded his arms beneath his head. The reddened crown of his cock dripped clear fluid onto his taut belly.
Dylan knelt between Chris’s legs. He dragged his palms down the flat planes of his chest, across the ridges of his abs. Chris arched up slightly into the touch so that Dylan half expected him to start purring. He liked the way Chris’s hair was flopping into his face, half screening his eyes. But then Dylan’s gaze caught on the dark tufts of hair under Chris’s arms. He leaned forward, blanketing Chris’s body with his own, and nuzzled deeply at one armpit, filling his head with Chris’s scent.
Suddenly smelling wasn’t enough—he needed to taste. So he licked at smooth skin and wiry hairs. He traced his tongue down to a rib and then across, stopping to nibble slightly at one brown nub of flesh and then the other. Chris gasped a little at the pressure of teeth but didn’t protest. He tasted good, Dylan decided. Warm and slightly salty, like bread fresh from the oven.
It turned out that Chris was ticklish—he wiggled slightly as Dylan worked his way down the center of his torso. But that was fine. Wiggling was good, especially when it made Chris’s trapped cock slide against Dylan’s chest.
Chris moaned and canted his hips upward when Dylan scooted down to lick at the tender crease between leg and body. But Dylan chuckled and pushed him back down. “Greedy,” he said.
“Tease.”
When Dylan urged Chris’s thighs farther apart, the man obligingly bent his knees and folded his legs to his chest, leaving himself fully exposed. And that was exactly what Dylan had hoped for. With a happy little hum of approval he nosed deeply at the root of Chris’s thick cock, at his heavy balls, at the tender bit of skin behind them. His head swam from the musky, sweet odors. He briefly wondered if it would be possible to come just from scent and taste alone. But then the thought reminded him that he could taste, and he did, lapping delicately at the perineum and then just at the edge of the tight little pucker.
“Jesus Christ! You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, Dylan.”
Oddly enough, although his own untouched cock was throbbing, Dylan was in no hurry. He smiled at Chris’s groans and swearing, and he lapped and tickled around the rim of Chris’s twitching hole. When he finally inserted his tongue, Chris let out a long, relieved, “Fuuuuck.”
Chris’s channel was smooth and silky against Dylan’s tongue, and Chris was
During the time Dylan had been in the bathroom, Chris had managed to strip off every thread of clothing. He was now splayed on his back atop the blankets, heavy-lidded, his legs spread wide and one hand lazily stroking his cock. His other hand was at his chest, the fingers tugging and pinching at an erect nipple.
He lifted one eyebrow at Dylan, who was still goggling. “You gonna fuck me, or what?”
Dylan dropped the stuff in his hands. He didn’t bother to unbutton his shirt—he simply tugged it over his head, along with his T-shirt. He kicked off his Converses and fumbled at his belt, nearly tripping as he attempted to get his jeans and boxers off as quickly as possible. That left only his socks, which he tugged off impatiently.
Chris’s eyes brightened as Dylan undressed, and he licked his bottom lip and smiled. “That’s more like it.”
After retrieving the lube and condoms from the floor, Dylan crossed to the bed. He desperately wanted to touch, but he spent a minute or two simply staring. Chris’s shoulders were wide and his hips narrow. He had kanji characters tattooed on one calf. His muscles were solid and heavy, but as he shifted they moved fluidly beneath his skin, and his nipples were perfect brown peaks. He seemed to enjoy the admiration, because he stopped jacking himself and folded his arms beneath his head. The reddened crown of his cock dripped clear fluid onto his taut belly.
Dylan knelt between Chris’s legs. He dragged his palms down the flat planes of his chest, across the ridges of his abs. Chris arched up slightly into the touch so that Dylan half expected him to start purring. He liked the way Chris’s hair was flopping into his face, half screening his eyes. But then Dylan’s gaze caught on the dark tufts of hair under Chris’s arms. He leaned forward, blanketing Chris’s body with his own, and nuzzled deeply at one armpit, filling his head with Chris’s scent.
Suddenly smelling wasn’t enough—he needed to taste. So he licked at smooth skin and wiry hairs. He traced his tongue down to a rib and then across, stopping to nibble slightly at one brown nub of flesh and then the other. Chris gasped a little at the pressure of teeth but didn’t protest. He tasted good, Dylan decided. Warm and slightly salty, like bread fresh from the oven.
It turned out that Chris was ticklish—he wiggled slightly as Dylan worked his way down the center of his torso. But that was fine. Wiggling was good, especially when it made Chris’s trapped cock slide against Dylan’s chest.
Chris moaned and canted his hips upward when Dylan scooted down to lick at the tender crease between leg and body. But Dylan chuckled and pushed him back down. “Greedy,” he said.
“Tease.”
When Dylan urged Chris’s thighs farther apart, the man obligingly bent his knees and folded his legs to his chest, leaving himself fully exposed. And that was exactly what Dylan had hoped for. With a happy little hum of approval he nosed deeply at the root of Chris’s thick cock, at his heavy balls, at the tender bit of skin behind them. His head swam from the musky, sweet odors. He briefly wondered if it would be possible to come just from scent and taste alone. But then the thought reminded him that he could taste, and he did, lapping delicately at the perineum and then just at the edge of the tight little pucker.
“Jesus Christ! You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, Dylan.”
Oddly enough, although his own untouched cock was throbbing, Dylan was in no hurry. He smiled at Chris’s groans and swearing, and he lapped and tickled around the rim of Chris’s twitching hole. When he finally inserted his tongue, Chris let out a long, relieved, “Fuuuuck.”
Chris’s channel was smooth and silky against Dylan’s tongue, and Chris was
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