He Acts Like We Never Have Met (I Don't Believe You) (THROAM!AU)

3

As we walk back to the two motels that are on the sides of the interstate, Ryan asks me where I'm coming from. Flagstaff, Arizona, I say. In all honesty. He asks me where I'm going. I tell him some elaborate lie that I'm making my way to my grandfather's house, that he's ill, and that I lost the bus fare Father gave me, so I decided to hitch-hike. I don't think Ryan buys a word of it.

The motel isn't the one Norman chose. There are only two options: a shitty motel and a not-so-shitty one on the other side of the road. Ryan has a room in the not-so-shitty one. He has no belongings in the room, and yet he seemed to be affronted by my single backpack. There's a bed. A double bed.

"Shower's that way," he tells me, pointing, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the bed. I watch the sharp angles of his shoulders. Wonder what his skin feels like there.

I don't know if he's giving me a command or a suggestion, but my guts tighten, stomach full of nervous butterflies, and I stagger to the bathroom door. Ryan pulls the faded brown curtains together, and the interstate disappears along with the rest of the world. Now we can do anything at all, and no one would ever know.

I lock the bathroom door.

I hyperventilate in the shower, the hot water running down my skin. In some sleazy New Mexican motel, near the state line of Colorado with a man I don't even know. What about that intuitive survival skill now?

But it's too hard. Trying to keep my head above the water. It's so much easier to just stop swimming and drown.

Maybe he likes me. Maybe he really likes me. He's got a normal life despite being a gay man, and he'll take me home after this.

He won't. I know he won't.

But it doesn't matter. I have to embrace what I've become. What I am.

"I don't have to do this," I tell myself, my voice weak and questioning. It's more like a question: I don't have to do this? He bought me dinner. I owe him now. Norman gave me a lift. I owed him too. I no longer believe that anyone does anything out of the goodness of their heart. He's not a good Samaritan. I'm attracted to him. It has to happen sometime. I'm a fag – I need to act like it. Show that I'm not just empty words and unfulfilled fantasies. I'm a fag, I'm a sodomite, I'm a homosexual, I'm an abomination, and God doesn't love me, and Father doesn't love me, and if I never let myself taste the sinful flesh of another man, then what on earth did I suffer for? What was my passion meant to prove? All of this. This stupid thing, this world, these motels and free rides and weekly jobs and changing names and hiding from the right hand of the law and feeling guilty on Sundays and wishing I could go back, but I can't and I don't want to because I hate so much, I am so full of hate hate hate, and it's so unfair, God, it's so unfair, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry –

A knock on the door. "You alright in there?"

I flinch. I grab hold of the shower knobs until the showerhead only dribbles a narrow trail on my head. "Yeah, I'm okay." I rub my face. I am okay.

I don't have to do this. I can tell him no.

But I think of Ryan and the way he looks at me, his brief touch on my skin, and that's the thing, Father – I don't have to do this. But I want to.

I tug my t-shirt down self-consciously, trying to make it meet my last pair of clean briefs. Ryan's sitting on the edge of the bed. Like he was waiting.

He's placed an ashtray on the floor next to his now bare feet. His shoes with the thick soles are placed by the locked door. Safety chain buckled in. Only one light is on, and that's on the nightstand, casting a dim, yellowy light on us. A round, thin metal box is next to the lamp, and I'm sure it wasn't there before.

I stay by the bathroom door uncertainly, tugging. Ryan's taller than me, older, smarter, more experienced, well-travelled, a lot of everything.

He says, "Come here," his voice smooth and warm. My insides flutter unexpectedly.

His eyes are darker, but there's warmth in his gaze, or maybe something even hotter than that. I remember his laugh from earlier, the way he smiled. I feel flustered and stupid, and there is no way I can be forming a crush on someone I don't even know, some guy who buys me dinner and touches me with more intimacy than should occur between two men – and I am a man, not a boy. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. His lips and his eyes and his laugh. The way he says 'having sex' and how it sounds so good coming out of his mouth. Sinful. Alluring.

I walk over slowly, uncertainly, trying to swallow down the excitement and horror. He drops the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray where it keeps emitting smoke into the air like he doesn't care about that. He sits up straight, looks at me from head to toe, and reaches out with one hand, placing it on my hip and pulling me closer. He parts his legs, and I stand between them. The only sound is my erratic breathing.

He softly places a hand on my stomach. It's warm through the fabric, the heel of his hand resting on the slice of exposed skin. My hands drop to my sides, and I stand still like I'm paralysed. He lets out a deep breath, a sound of contentment. He pulls me even closer.

I stare straight ahead of myself, at the framed painting above the bed headboard, of some mountains and desert, local scenery, nothing special, but all I can feel and think of and breathe and sense is Ryan, his hand on my hip, warm and steady, the other on my lower stomach, moving a little. Touching me.

"Do you want to talk about this?" he asks. He's close, he's so close.

"No." My voice breaks on the single syllable. I quickly add, "I've done this plenty of times." I try to sound as confident as possible.

Ryan's hand slides down, calloused fingertips sliding over my skin as he catches the hem of my t-shirt. "No," he says, "you haven't."

He pulls up my shirt and kisses the skin that's revealed, his mouth making contact, open and wet and hot, and oh, oh, oh. I whine at the back of my throat, my eyes slipping shut. Oh, his mouth, his tongue, sliding over my stomach. This is what that feels like. His mouth places consuming, slow kisses on me. He pushes my shirt up further while his other hand moves to cup my behind, fingers catching the waistband of my briefs.

I've never – Never. Any of this. Sal in Flagstaff, a senior in high school. We just jerked each other off, and I kept watching his face when I used my hands to – And we made out more afterwards, and it was nice, and then he never spoke to me again. There was no nudity. I was fully dressed, just unzipped. Not exposed like this. Not getting caressed like this, the centre of attention, and it's like Ryan wants me more than he can stand.

He groans against my stomach, a pleasured sound. He tugs down my briefs at the back, revealing my ass, and he cups it, rubbing it. The briefs get caught at the front by – but he's making these sounds, and he's touching me and kissing me, his nose pressed against my stomach, and my skin feels too hot to bear, so it's not wrong that my body reacts like this. I can't help it. Never could.

There's no hesitance or shyness in anything that he's doing. He's clearly done this before. Plenty of times.

"You always smell so good after a shower," he says, his tongue licking a hot stripe below my belly button.

"What?" I manage to ask, not grasping his words. I try to reconnect with the real world. What?

He pushes my shirt further up until it catches at my armpits. His mouth travels up, over my ribs, over my wildly beating heart. Oh God, we shouldn't be doing these things to each other.

I step back when he stands up, his entire body brushing against mine. I lift my arms just in time for him to pull my shirt off, the fabric sliding over my mouth and nose, blocking my view. His mouth finds mine before I can see again. He tastes like cigarettes, a taste I'm not used to and don't like, but somehow it suits him. His lips are soft and sensual, his tongue brushing over my lower lip, deliberate and full of intent. His scent fills my nostrils through the fabric, and I kiss back clumsily, wanting to kiss back well but not having the courage to do it properly.

The rest of my shirt gets pulled off the entire way, our lips parting. The room comes back into view, the dim yellowy glow back. I lick my lips and taste him. Oh God, I can taste him. He's shorter now without the shoes, but he's still taller than me, and I'd need to tilt up my head to kiss him but I don't want to assume things, I don't – although I want him to kiss me so badly, if he just –

He crooks one finger under my chin, angling me just so, and he dips down into a kiss.

And he kisses well. Oh god, he kisses so well, in a way that has my toes curling, that has every inch of my skin on fire. His mouth slides over mine, pressure until my lips part. His tongue teasingly sweeps over my lips, licking its way into my mouth, and I groan when his tongue meets mine. The second man I've ever kissed, and so much better than the first. I try to imitate whatever he's doing, tongue, more tongue, oh Christ. He has no shame at all – the kiss is dirty and sexual.

I follow his mouth when he pulls back, almost dipping over. He's breathing hard, warm puffs of cigarette scented air over my lips. Our noses keep touching. I feel a shiver run through him. "Fuck, you're so responsive," he says roughly, like that might be a problem. "Fuck, fuck."

His hands slide into my hair and he kisses me harder. I clutch his sides awkwardly, feeling the shape of him beneath my hands. My eyelids flutter shut, and his mouth covers mine, his lips wet and talented, his tongue exploring my mouth. I moan, and he pulls me closer. My brief-covered erection presses against him, and I expect him to push me away in disgust, but instead he groans, the sound animalistic. He drops one hand to my ass and draws me in further. His hips do this insane, ludicrous, grinding motion, like he's rubbing himself against my crotch, and I choke on my breath so badly that he has to pull back.

I manage to say, "I- I," but then just leave it there because I don't know, this is all just – just too much, his touch, what he's doing, what we're doing. The skin around my mouth tingles, and his stubble, that's the rough feel against my skin – short, coarse hairs, so masculine that my knees feel weak.

He doesn't seem put off by my stuttering. He takes a small step back, his gaze dropping between our bodies, and he places his hands on my hips. His thumbs rub slow, deliberate circles over my hipbones, my briefs ridiculously tugged down at the back, but not at the front where the start of my pubic hair is visible, and then the fabric gets caught by the obvious bulge.

His thumbs slide under the waistband of my briefs. He keeps staring down at what he's doing – fascination or maybe an experiment. But if he pulls them down, I'll be naked. I'll be naked in his presence, in the presence of a man – He will see me naked, and no one ever has, and what's worse is that he'll see me aroused, and that's taking it a step too far. How do I reverse something like that?

The briefs inch down, revealing more dark pubic hair, and he's watching every second of it. My chest keeps rising and falling at a quick pace. The base of my swollen cock comes into view, and he slides the briefs even further over the flushed length – God, it feels sensitive – until my cock springs free. I gasp, my cheeks burning with shame and want. He pushes my briefs down to mid-thigh in one, swift motion.

He chuckles, dark and deep from his chest. I'm small. I'm small? I'm ugly. He thinks I'm ugly, he –

"You're leaking." And then, "God, you're leaking. Fuck, that's so hot."

I let myself look down, and a drop of clear liquid glistens at the slit of my cock. "Fuck." He swallows hard, and his hands on my hips tremble for a split second. "And you always make me goddamn work for it."

"We've never done this before," I say feebly, his 'you always this' and 'you always that' catching at my ears.

"Haven't we?" he asks, his mouth wantonly moving to my neck. He bites on the skin gently, and sudden pleasure radiates through me. Oh. Oh, Christ. Trickling heat flashes over my body, making my cock harder. He's found a good spot, a sensitive spot I didn't even know existed.

"Ngh," I manage, looking up into the ceiling, having been reduced to non-words, oh God, oh Christ, his mouth working on my neck, his teeth scraping the skin just right, tongue flicking perfectly, and this is too much, I'm too turned on, clutching his hips and trying to hold on, oh God –

He fists my hair suddenly. The gasp of pain gets lost when he covers my mouth with his own. My scalp hurts, but the way – the control he takes, like he knows I like that. He pushes my briefs further down until they slide to my ankles, and I step out of them clumsily, but he's keeping our lips attached so he might not be giving points for gracefulness. I'm naked. Naked. His hands roam over my chest and my sides, fingers pressing into the skin of my lower back, like he's tracing me. The kissing is heated, and my clutched fists awkwardly press against his sides. I focus on just responding to the kiss. Trying to make it good.

"I was gonna say," he starts huskily, wet lips brushing against my mouth. His hands come up between us and he starts unbuttoning his vest quickly and impatiently. I feel dizzy, watching his fingers work one button open at a time. He places kisses on my lips, catching my lower lip and sucking on it. Oh wow. I groan helplessly, and he says, "Fuck." He unbuttons the vest even faster. "Was gonna say that we don't have to do anything you don't want to." Vest unbuttoned. He instantly goes for his dress shirt. "But not anymore." His bare chest and stomach come into view, my eyes cast downwards between us, taking in his pale skin. It's more distracting than his kisses. He pulls his dress shirt from his pants, undoing the last few buttons. "And I was going to go slow, just as slow as you want, but – but you know. You knowthat they won't go slow on you." His lips hover over mine, his shirt now hanging open. "I just don't want them to hurt you. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah," I lie. I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Want you to be prepared." He places a tender kiss on my lips, and the skin around my mouth feels raw from his stubble. He lets out a shuddery breath. "Fuck, I don't think I'll be able to control myself. Never can around you. But you'll like it hard, trust me. Taking my cock..."

A wave of heat washes over me, and I know I must be flushed all over by now, my mind soaring at him saying things like – sexual things, to me, such filthy things. He pushes his shirt and vest off his shoulders and down his arms, pulling his wrists through the cuffs until he's left bare. God, he looks amazing: pale, milky skin, and I can see where his ribs end and his flat stomach starts. He grabs my arms, spider-like fingers looping around my wrists, and he places my hands on his waist. I've never touched another man like this. I'm standing naked in front of him, my arousal plain for him to see, and he's inviting me to touch him in return, and God, everything's happening at once, but he doesn't stop to let me process any of this – he kisses me quick and hard before taking a hold of my hips and turning us around. I lose balance when the backs of my knees make contact with the bed, but the sheets feel clean against my back and ass as I move to lie on them, telling me to just lose myself between them.

Ryan's standing by the foot of the bed. His long fingers are now undoing his belt very, very slowly. The outline of his erect cock is visible through the brown fabric, and it looks big, and he looks like he knows it's big. I rest against my elbows, my own erection lying against my stomach, still leaking.

In this motel room. With this man I met tonight. Two hours ago. But he is beautiful, and I love the way he touches me, I love the way he pulls me to him, love the way he tastes. And he's barely touched me but my body feels overly sensitive from his gaze alone.

I try to gulp without him noticing.

He notices.

I didn't know anyone could have this affect on me.

He pops the top button of his pants. Slides the zipper down. Oh Christ, Christ. He's not at all self-conscious – he knows he looks good, that I like what I'm seeing: dark hairs against pale skin, and then – He pushes his pants and underwear down in one go, stepping out of his clothes. My eyes are focused on his crotch, his fully erect cock. He's skinny otherwise, but his cock isn't: it's thick and darker than the rest of his skin. It's longer than mine, and it's not my own but another man's, his, and he's hard because of me, because I turn him on, because he wants me.

I've never wanted to touch something as badly in my life.

His fingers curl around his cock, giving it a casual stroke that he doesn't even seem to be aware of as he takes me in lying on the bed. Staring at me with want in his eyes while I stare at him, naked, about to...

There's always been a small, tiny part of my brain that's thought that when push came to shove, I'd back out. I'd realise that no, I'm not like that, it was all a big misunderstanding. I'm not like that.

Ryan gets on the bed. He crawls on top of me, gazing down with dark irises and hair flipping to his forehead. His hairy legs brush against mine, and he smells of cigarettes and a musky aftershave. I part my legs to accommodate him without even thinking about it. The tip of his cock brushes the base of my own, hanging hot and heavy between us.

I'm like that. Every single part of me, even that part that's still denying it, is so, so like that.

He slowly puts his weight on me, his knees digging into the mattress between my parted legs. I shudder as his crotch makes contact with mine, and then we're stomach to stomach, chest to chest. The weight is comfortable, familiar, almost, for some insane, insane reason. His left elbow rests against the mattress by my head, and he looks at me carefully. My skin is crawling with want, for him to do more, touch me because I like that. Want to throw my head back with 'Just touch me, please,' but I'm scared of all the things I don't know, so I hold his gaze, more turned on than I ever have been.

His other hand comes up and brushes hair from my forehead. He looks pensive – pensive, how can he even think right now, how can he – "What are you thinking right now?" he asks quietly.

Every time I breathe, I feel him above me, on me. Every time I move. The contact is divine, is making my cock throb and my mind spin. I'm caged under him, and somehow his overpowering presence is comforting. I feel protected.

"I'm..." I stop to breathe, organise feelings into words. "I'm thinking that." He shifts, and it brushes against me. Oh God. "That you're really big."

He laughs huskily, but it's the truth – his hard dick is pressed between us, and he feels big, bigger than what I've had in mind in my fantasies. "Well," he says, a masculine drawl leaving his slightly swollen lips. "You're still going to grow some, you know. Get a little taller. Your face will... become manlier. And your cock. That'll get a bit bigger too, I noticed. I'll still win the competition, but..." He grins broadly before he gets lost in looking at me. Fire flares in his eyes. "Does it turn you on?"

"What?"

"My cock."

He wants me to say it? Like it isn't shamefully obvious already?

"Yeah."

"Good." His nose slides over my cheek and to my ear. He breathes me in, like he's inhaling the scent. "The things I want to do to you..." he whispers, and I shiver. Things? What things? His teeth scrape my earlobe, and I try to push closer to him. Get more contact.

He moves down, mouth trailing over my chin and throat, until his lips enclose around a nipple. His tongue licks over the bud, and my back arches as I try to keep quiet. That's nice. That's really nice. I take deep breaths and stare at the ceiling, see lights moving across it as cars keep driving on the interstate by the motel. But in here, on this bed, I'm lying on my back, about to be sodomised by this beautiful, sexual creature.

I'm so far from home. So, so far from home.

He kisses my belly button, tongue swirling around it and then dipping in. It tickles, almost, but even that sensation translates into pleasure, and all of his minor ministrations, the way he's still kissing my belly button, is clouding my mind with unparalleled knowledge of being wanted. Craved. I want him too; I want him to not stop, to keep going.

His mouth now hovers over my cock, his hot breath washing over it. I shift restlessly, wanting so badly for him to touch me where I need him the most. His hot tongue swipes over the crown of my dick.

"Ryan," I whine as a warning. That should not be allowed, that –

"Just relax," he says, the words muffled by his lips now sliding over my length. I stare down at him, seeing him hover there, over my erection, lips brushing against the pink flesh. His pupils are blown and dark, and he looks hungry. Our eyes meet. His fingers curl around the base. He licks his lips. "I want to taste you," he says. His warm, wet mouth encloses around the head of my cock, tongue swiping over the slit, and then he sucks. My hips lift off the mattress, and oh, oh, oh, God, that's too good, that's –

I bring my fist to my mouth and bite down hard, my eyes closing. Don't fall apart, focus, focus on – on something other than his mouth, his tongue, doing such obscene things to my cock, the way he's clearly licking away the pre-come from my slit, milking out more by sucking me, and then licking it off again. The tip of his tongue presses right into the slit and he moans, and my entire body jerks violently. It's too sensitive there, that's too –

"Stop," I gasp. My knuckles are decorated with imprints of my own teeth. "Stop. Oh God, stop." He slowly pulls back, and I gasp for breath pathetically.

"Couldn't help myself," he says, sounding wistful but predatory. His nose rubs against my shaft as he goes further down, inhaling. His hands land on the insides of my thighs and he spreads my legs wide. His mouth places hot kisses on my balls, and then his tongue licks just behind them. It takes effort to keep still, to not moan like a whore because I'm about to lose my mind. I close my eyes and bite on my tongue, but the moans still break through.

His tongue licks lower and lower. I know I'm exposed there, and it's beyond humiliating and wrong, letting him see me there, wanting him there, but it feels too good for me to pull away, even if I know that if he's not careful, he'll –

His tongue moves over my hole slowly and deliberately. A part of me dies, and I clutch the sheets beneath us with both hands.

"What are you doing?" I ask, proud that I manage to form a coherent sentence, but it's panicked. What is he doing? No one told me – when did – "What – Oh God. Oh please. Please."

"Just relax," he says, and then he's kissing me there, wet tongue, soft lips, the stubble of his chin scratching my skin. His tongue flicks over my entrance slowly, and again, and again, and he groans and burrows in further, leaving me wet with his spit. Nothing's ever felt as good. I didn't – Never occurred to me – don't want him to stop when it's so good, his mouth on me feels so good. Pleasure is flashing through me from between my legs, up my backside. He's eating me out – eating out my ass – and my body is in complete overload. Oh God, oh Ryan, he should never stop, please don't ever leave, I'll do anything, just kiss me there, lick me there, Christ–

His mouth pulls back. I groan in protest, through a thick haze of pleasure. No. Why. Wait. "Here," he says, grabbing my hand and leading it between my parted legs. I don't even think; I just push my forefinger into my hole. I groan and my hips shift to get more of my finger. God, I have to touch – so good, so wet from his spit, have to touch myself there –

"Fuck, tell me you do this a lot," he groans, voice heavy with want. "Because you should. Every fucking day."

"I don't," I groan, pushing the finger in me deeper, so badly wanting something inside me. I always feel ashamed afterwards, and still I do it. He's watching me finger myself, working the single digit in and out of me. But God, I need to, can't not do this after what he did.

"Two fingers," he says – orders – and I slip out my forefinger, pressing it tight against my middle finger. My hole's wet from his spit – that's clearly what he intended – and I rub my fingers there to help with the friction. The muscles quiver from me rubbing them, but they want and need to be touched. "Come on," he says, "let me see you do it."

Through half-lidded eyes, I see him on his knees between my legs, staring down between us. His lips are swollen, his hair a mess, and his chest has reddened. His fingers dig into the backs of my thighs hard, calloused fingertips pressing into my flesh. He wants to see me fingering my hole. Wants to watch. I push two fingers in.

"Oh God," I moan, biting firmly on my lower lip as my eyes roll to the back of my head and my hips lift off the mattress.

"That's it. That's good, baby. Shit, you look so hot."

I somehow manage to feel butterflies in my guts. Does he really think that? Does he think I'm hot like this? Somehow, his words drive me even crazier. The intrusion of my own fingers isn't foreign, it's just been a while, but never, never has it felt this good. Never have I turned myself on as much as Ryan now has. A burning sensation circles in my veins – I need to get off, need to come. Oh God, I really need to come.

"Push your fingers in further," he orders. "Go on. Deeper."

I obey blindly, my muscles gripping onto the intrusive digits. I'm hot and tight around my fingers, and it's difficult to penetrate deep.

"Crook your fingers."

I do, not sure why he wants me to, but I do, and it feels good, it all feels good.

"God, you're so young," he says, taking hold of my wrist and pulling at my hand. My fingers slip out, leaving me feeling desperately empty. It's a different kind of need to get off – my cock is throbbing, wanting attention, but the more desperate burn radiates from my slightly widened and slicked up hole. I need it there, right there, and Ryan's – Jesus, Ryan's cock, maybe – no, not maybe. That's what he intends. Oh God, him inside of me, his hot, thick member locked in me, in a way no one's ever been. My mind is spinning, and my body just focuses on getting more, more, no matter how scary that is. "Look at me. Brendon, look at me."

I do because – he's sucking on two fingers, coating them in messy saliva – how did he – "I didn't tell you. How do you know my –"

He pushes two fingers into me, spreading me open. Oh Christ, that's too good. He doesn't hesitate but pushes them in deep, deeper than I could, and my insides feel hot from the pressure. He crooks his fingers.

I've managed to keep somewhat quiet, I think, but then I just can't. White heat engulfs me, my muscles squeezing his fingers. Scorching pleasure suddenly rattles through me. Oh God, that was good, that was so – he does it again, and again, until I don't even care how he knows my name. He's fucking me with his fingers, and my hips try to match the rhythm, to get more, more. It's the most intense thing I've ever felt. I run my fingers over my throbbing cock, leaking onto my stomach.

"Want to see you do it," he says, grabbing my hand again. His fingers slip out, and I desperately push my index finger inside, but it's not enough anymore. I groan, my head pressing into the pillow, my hips shifting restlessly. He slides a finger next to mine, the two pressed together, his digit longer and going deeper than my own. We push our fingers in together, and I moan out into the room, the penetration too good to bear. Then he pushes a second finger in me, and I tense up. The stretch is too much – two of his fingers next to my own – my muscles burning uncomfortably, a sharp pain appearing. He keeps his fingers moving, but I don't dare move my own. I hiss, my eyes screwed shut tight. "It'll subside. Do this. Come on, it'll help," he says, and his fingers beneath my own are crooking upwards, pushing my own. The pleasure from before flickers suddenly. I crook my finger simultaneously with his.

Jesus Christ.

"O-Oh, that's – God, I can't," I breathe out erratically, overwhelmed. My muscles spasm, and when they clench down, I can feel our fingers in me that much better. It wouldn't feel this good if we weren't meant to do these things. Surely. God thinks of everything. God makes things perfect. He intended this. He must have.

The heat washing over me is more intense than before. The spot is sensitive, and God, it feels so good when we rub it, making my skin crawl and my cock pulsate. It burns and leaves me feeling open and full, and I can barely breathe.

"Touch yourself," he commands, and yes, God.

My free hand takes a hold of my cock, the pre-come having smeared the head. My fingers wrap around the aching flesh, and I pump it unceremoniously and quickly because I need to, just have to. Heat balls up in the pit of my stomach, and it feels so good inside where our fingers are. He's determining the rhythm, his hand between my legs pushing in faster, faster, and I feel the friction, feel him penetrating me, the slide of his fingers inside me, and God, God, "God, God," God – "Ryan, I'm about to –"

He crooks his fingers brutally hard, and I come undone. My muscles grip onto our fingers, and it makes the orgasm feel even better. Hot semen splashes onto my stomach, and I fist my cock wantonly, my hips lifting and bucking, my body writhing. I feel my release all the way in my toes, up my thighs, every muscle contracting. Oh God, I didn't know I could ever feel this amazing.

I let go of my spent, still pulsating cock. I gasp for air, like I've come back from underwater. My skin tingles and the world is blurred. Oh God, what have we done, what sweet crime have we committed?

I carefully pull my finger out of my hole, but his remain inside, doing miniscule, miniscule hooking motions, making me shudder. My stomach's decorated with white drops of semen, and only then do I realise that he watched me, was watching the entire time. As we fingered me. As I touched myself. As I came.

"I'm sorry," I manage in a rush, my voice rough. "I didn't mean to, I –"

"Don't be sorry. Fuck, you were so hot like that." His fingers slowly pull out of me, leaving a stinging pain and a throbbing emptiness behind. "Wanted to see you come," he says and leans over my lower half. His lips kiss my left hipbone, tongue swiping the heated skin. "You're making me so fucking hard, Bren."

Am I? God, am I?

His mouth moves onto my stomach, and he starts licking off my come. It's the most obscene thing I've ever seen or even thought of. He's not done with me. Oh. He's nowhere near done with me, is he?

His cock presses against my thigh with a wet slide, and it's the hottest thing I've ever felt. His lean, narrow body pushes against me when he reaches my mouth, my stomach now clean of my spilled semen, but I taste it on his tongue, bitter and obscene. I don't taste good, I don't think, but he clearly thinks so, groaning, greedily pushing his tongue against mine. He wants me to taste it too.

His hips begin to move against me restlessly. I should try and get him off. Do something. Do some of the tricks that he clearly knows, but my mind's fogged up and my body feels sated. I fall into the kissing, the way he holds me close, his hands travelling over my skin possessively.

He snakes a hand between us, and it moves between my parted legs. He sucks on my lower lip as his forefinger runs over my widened entrance, where the muscles feel sore. I shudder, my muscles contracting at the stimulation. He dips his forefinger inside regardless, hot and intrusive. It's clear what he wants.

"Can we –" I start, stopping to swallow hard. His mouth slides to my ear, sucking on my earlobe. I like that. I had no idea I liked that, and it's distracting beyond all measure. His wet lips pull on my flesh, and it's like he's everywhere. Oh God. My heart beats wildly, irregularly, a crazy thumping in my chest from coming down after the orgasm, but then picking up again from everything he's doing. "C-Can we get under the covers?" I ask, my voice hoarse from the shameless moaning from before.

He lifts his head and looks genuinely surprised. "You want to get under the covers?" he repeats. Slight perspiration has gathered at the hollow of his throat. Something inside me caves in from how incredible he looks: locks of brown hair pressed to his sweaty forehead, pupils blown and dark like he's on drugs, his lips red and swollen from kissing, but most of all how his entire body says sex, when he breathes, moves, when he groans. Like he's fallen into what we're doing head first, and all that exists for him is this bed and the things we're going to do in it.

I nod to affirm it's what I want, and though he looks surprised, he just nods. He impatiently tugs at the covers beneath us. I have to lift up my upper body, then my hips, and I make contact with his groin, his hard member. He looks at me darkly when I accidentally grind against his erection. Fire sparks up inside me. Christ, ohChrist. He kicks the covers down before throwing them over us, hiding our naked, aroused bodies from view. Have some sense of shame.

The second he's settled on top of me, he reaches out to grab the tin box I noticed earlier on the nightstand. It says 'Vaseline' on it, and he tells me to twist off the top as he holds the bottom. "Dip your fingers in," he says, and I obey, my fingers digging into the thick, yellowy goo. I look from my fingers to his eyes and then at my fingers again, it all hitting me a bit too fast. "Rub it on me." His voice has dropped an octave.

"You want me to..."

He leans down, our noses pressing together. He stares at me. "Want you to rub it on my cock."

That's. That's what I thought.

Jesus.

I haven't touched him there yet, but I now reach down between us, my eyes locked with his. His mouth drops open a little when my fingers first brush his cock. He breathes shallowly as I try to spread the Vaseline on him, so that he can – can get inside me more easily. His flesh is warm in my hand, and he feels big, my fingers getting smeared with his pre-come as they slide over the head. My hand's shaking, and breathing is difficult, my throat closing in on itself. He bites on his lower lip and groans, pushing his cock further into my hand. The rattling sound he makes causes his body to vibrate against mine.

My hand awkwardly tries to get his dick as slickened up as it can, and I squeeze harder experimentally, try to do some of the milking motions he did before. I tighten my grip as my fist gets to the head of his cock, and he growls and seems to lose his patience.

He snatches my hand, pulling it away and pinning it above my head. He kisses me hard as his hips roll down, his tongue brutally fucking my mouth. The head of his slicked up cock slides between my ass cheeks, and my stomach drops. The kissing is wild, like he can't get enough. He thrusts slightly, his cock dragging between my cheeks. "Fuck, I gotta have you," he whispers, biting on my jaw, my neck, my lips. My body's thrumming with need and nerves, my cock semi-hard again. It's still overly sensitive from the orgasm, but I can't help how turned on I am, how I'm getting hard already.

The swollen head of Ryan's cock presses against my entrance. I lose my breath, my heart skipping a beat. The sheets hang low on us, on his waist so that it can't be seen. White sheets. Wedding sheets. Virginal sheets.

I close my eyes as the world seems to slow down. It'll hurt – it's more than three fingers. His member is thicker and longer, it's several inches of hard cock. I don't think there is any way I can take him, but he doesn't care, and I know that. That he'll take me regardless. His mouth slides across my cheek slowly, more gentle now. He's got a hand between us, holding his cock. He pushes forward, just to add pressure to my entrance. He feels sticky and too big, and I inch up on the bed before I can stop myself. Away from the intrusion.

His hand lands on my shoulder instantly, squeezing too hard and keeping me still. When I open my eyes, he's staring down at me hotly, moving his hips until the pressure's back. More pressure this time, and something's got to give – I will, my muscles will, I know I'll open up for him. There is no other choice.

"You gotta want it," he says. "Trust me, I know."

He knows. He knows what he's doing. Okay. Alright. He knows.

He slowly pushes forwards, and I stay still. I feel myself opening up to accommodate the head of his cock.

"Fuck," he hisses, face flashing in pleasure, and then he thrusts forward, slowly and intently. He doesn't take his eyes off of me, and I can't look away, just can't. The head of his cock pushes inside, and I whine helplessly. His hand moves from my shoulder to my hair, pulling, preventing me from looking away. His hot breath washes over my lips as he leans closer to me, and he inches inside, watching my face as he does so. The drag is hot and painful, and I grab his forearm hard.

"Ryan, oh God. Please," I beg, not even knowing what I'm asking.

He comes to a stop, and I hyperventilate. He's deep inside of me, so deep, and as my hips lift I feel him. It's too much, far too much, I –

"Just a bit more," he says and, without warning, he pushes in the rest of the way until he's buried to the hilt. We finally break eye contact as my head tilts backwards, my hips bucking, no God and please more – "That's it," his words hot against my ear, "I'm in you. It's okay. Baby, it's okay."

It's not okay, it's not. I want to claw his back and fight him off and for him to pin me down and remain inside me like this, no matter what I say or how much it hurts. Because it does hurt, but I like it, I like it. He's inside me. Oh God, all of him is inside me.

I hold on, my fingers slipping up his arm, and soon my nails dig into his shoulder blades, just to navigate the sudden sensations.

His face presses into the crook of my neck, and he shivers against me as I try to recover from the shock of intrusion, get used to him. "God, yes," he groans against my skin, and his hips draw back and he pushes in me again, which is followed by another guttural groan from him. My mind blacks out, and I cling onto him as I cry out. He doesn't let me pull myself together, not at all. He starts a rhythm, starts fucking me, groaning as his hips move.

"You feel so fucking good right now." His mouth presses against mine, tongue dipping in. "God, you've never been this fucking tight." He grabs the sides of my face and deepens the kiss. His hips keep working between my legs like he can't help himself, and my mind spins from him thinking I'm hot, that I turn him on.

He's also right. It is good. Even if it hurts, the feel of him inside me has me melting, making my body burn up in arousal. A damn attractive, older man is barely in control as he fucks me, his groans and sounds, his sweaty skin and his thrusting hips – And I'm in the middle of it all, getting devoured. It's hotter than I can stand, and I can't think or speak, I just hold on and respond to his touch, feeling primitive.

Our mouths crash together, but this time because I kiss him. I kiss him and kiss him and groan into his mouth, my hands in his hair. Take me. Have me. Fuck me. I don't care.

This is what I've been after. This is it. It brings the world into focus, and I'm not so lost and I'm not so alone. He's getting pleasure out of me, and I'm getting pleasure out of him. So much pleasure. So much goddamned pleasure.

His hips pull back almost all the way, keeping only the head of his cock in me, and then he pushes back in at a different angle. I fist his hair hard without meaning to, my body seizing up as I gasp against his mouth, my eyes flying wide open. He does it again, watching me carefully, and pleasure radiates from where he is inside me. I groan, my voice lower. God. God, more of that, that –

"Does it still hurt?" he asks from behind a veil of pleasure.

"Yes." I breathe in hard, trying to control the way my body responds to him sliding into me steadily. "But I like it," I add, the stinging sensation of his cock in me heightening the pleasure of it.

"Of course you fucking like it," he drawls, and fire pools up at the pit of my stomach. "You just, really, really –" He thrusts hard to the melody of his voice, "– love cock. Even now, when you've never been fucked open like this." He groans loudly, adding more force to his thrusts. "Fuck, you should see yourself. Taking me so well... Driving me insane..." His voice fades out as another thrust pushes me closer to the edge. He supports himself above me properly to put more force into his thrusts. My hands slide down his sweaty back all the way to the sheet that's dangerously slipping lower as he moves. All I can focus on is the way he's fucking me, the angle so perfect and hitting the sensitive spot inside me. My cock has hardened again, despite me having come not too long ago. He notices my arousal as well as I do, and his eyes turn even darker. He fucks me harder like he wants to know how loud he can make me.

"I feel so full," I gasp, not ever having known that I was ever empty. He pushes in brutally deep, and I cry out, my eyes screwing shut. "God, Ryan."

Something seems to change in him because he orders, "Say that again."

I don't follow until I do, so I repeat his name. "Ryan. Ryan, oh God, Ry." I don't even know where the nickname comes from, it just appears on its own and somehow fits.

"Christ, Bren," he hisses, heavy breathing against the shell of my ear. "Don't you ever come for them the way you do for me." There's a desperate urgency to his words that I can't understand. He yanks my hair hard, and God, I feel so wanted, so incredibly wanted. "You got that?"

"Yes," I breathe out, his mouth ghosting over my cheek and moving to my lips.

"Yes what?"

Our eyes meet, and it takes effort to focus on him, but his words are strained, like it's taking equal effort for him to form the sentences. "Yes. Ryan."

He seals my lips in a kiss, and this time when he thrusts in, I move to meet him. I freeze up the second that I do, the feel of it consuming me. I tremble beneath him, my cock throbbing already. I won't last. I can't last. "I'm close," I rasp out.

"Fuck," he groans. "Come on." He quickly pulls the covers off of us. Sudden shame hits me from knowing it's all in plain view, our hips thrusting, the connection of our bodies. Just as I look down to see the way the base of his cock is visible between my legs, he pulls out, and so I see him reappearing inch by inch, feeling it. The head slips out, and my muscles squeeze around nothing.

"What are you – Please, want you back inside," I say, the burning need more urgent than the pain I'm more aware of now that he's no longer in me.

"I know, I know," he whispers urgently, his hand grabbing my hip. He turns us around on the bed until I'm on top, trying to balance myself as I hover above him. His cock slides wetly against my pubic bone. He's leaking as he's fucking me. I've probably got come in me already.

His hands slide up my chest and push me upwards, and my knees press into the mattress by his sides as I sit up, my hand on his chest for balance.

"Wha –"

"You know what to do," he says, his hands on my hips, fingers pressing in too hard. He looks fucked beneath me, wet hairs stuck to his forehead. I know what to do? I know what to do. What I want. Him. Inside.

I shift back, his cock sliding against my balls. I keep watching him, trying to make sure I'm doing this right, that I'm not misreading the signs and doing it all wrong. "Christ," he swears, sounding more turned on than before, and his hand slips between us to hold his cock at the base for me.

My chest rises and falls as I breathe fast, positioning myself until my hole is pressing against his cock again. I feel hungry and desperate, a yearning I've never felt, and I sink down onto him. We both gasp as I push onto his cock, as he fills me up again. God, it's good, unbearably good.

"I don't know if – God, I don't think I can –"

"Just stay still," he orders, and I try to, my muscles squeezing tight around him, sending flashes of pleasure up my spine. I can't, I can't –

His hips buck up, and my mouth drops open. Oh God. He starts fucking up into me, his hips moving treacherously slowly. I can't keep quiet when he fucks me just right, and the more sensitive I feel, the more wound up my body gets. Something inside me gets pulled tighter and tighter, so hot I can't stand it.

I wrap my fingers around my cock, my fingers touching my aching flesh. My hips begin to move with his thrusts, slowly at first because I don't know how to move, how to do it, but I just need to. I end up disrupting his rhythm trying to meet it, but his hands on my hips begin to guide my movements, up and down, up and down, as he fucks into me. He's louder now than he's been before, from the husky groans earlier. He's now moaning louder, face flashing in pleasure. He must be close too, because I know I am, my body pushed to the edge.

Soon I'm riding him, actually riding another man, my head thrown back and my hips working fervently. I don't even realise that he's stopped moving until I suddenly do, that he's letting me do the work. His hands are restlessly dancing over my lower stomach and chest, consuming touches. His hips do miniscule thrusts, like he can't help it, and I work my hips the best I can to get his cock as deep as it can go. It takes a while but I find the right angle too, but it's too much so I keep it slightly off the target, try to keep the pleasure bearable.

"We really like this one," he says. I'm not sure who this 'we' is – is he referring to himself in the plural, or is he talking about- about him and I, but – But I do like this one, whatever he might mean. This one's good. Oh Christ, it's too good, and he angles his hips so that his cock pushes into me just right.

"Please don't," I groan when he grabs my hips and won't let me change the angle. It's too much that way, it's too good.

"Let yourself come," he says, now working his hips again. I can't stop riding him, not even when the pleasure makes me feel scared because my body stops being my body, my body starts feeling foreign. "You gotta let go. Trust me."

Those two words again. Trust him.

"Touch yourself."

I obey instantly, and it's that instant that I give up and trust him. Our hips work together, harder and faster, and I fist my cock, my body arched and my head thrown back. The headboard's banging against the wall, and we're too loud for our own good, but the pleasure of it, the pleasure, the pleasure – I thumb my leaking slit, and my muscles squeeze his cock harder and harder, so hard that it hurts, and I can't, I can't, and I pull my own hair, and that's –

I double over, my hand landing on Ryan's chest for balance at the last second. I fist my cock furiously as it jerks in my hand, stripes of come erupting. Ryan keeps fucking into me although I tell him it's too much, too fucking much. He comes inside me, and I have no words, no thoughts, he just radiates life beneath me. I feel him emptying his load in me, our hips grinding together. My cheeks feel wet, and nothing makes sense, not a damn thing.

"Oh. Oh, God," he breathes out, hips bucking irregularly like he can't control the aftershocks. His hips lift off the mattress and push me up, and I hold on, my hand smeared with white semen. I open my eyes, and he looks dazed. Wrecked. Fucked.

I can't imagine what I look like.

His hips move back down onto the mattress. His fingers caress my hipbones absently as he comes down and tries to recover. I remain where I am, with him inside me, my come splattered all over his stomach. I let go of my cock and breathe. Breathe. Shiver. Try to re-emerge from underwater.

"Well," he says, panting. "Now I know you've always been a natural."

The painting above the headboard has tilted to one side, and it looks like the mountains are sliding downwards.

* * *