little t&a

like a spider

It was a pretty good time overall. Paul hadn't expected to feel much—the groupies he'd done it with had definitely never gotten off during the act—but he did get twinges of warmth whenever Gene groped and pressed his breasts together himself, just enough for some squirming. It'd been oddly intriguing to watch Gene, intriguing and a little intimidating. Gene wasn't really trying to bear down on him any more than he had to, but his physicality and heft hadn't ever been more obvious than while Gene was straddling him, dick between his breasts. Paul wasn't petite, either, even now, so he couldn't quite picture what a real girl, someone little like Carol, must've thought while fucking around with him.

It hurt to consider someone else in his place. But someone else was going to be there. A whole bevy of interchangeable girls that Gene could get to do just anything at all, instead of someone too scared to even let him get in a proper lay yet.

He let Gene come across his cleavage and neck, undoing the point of the shower earlier, instead of sucking him off to finish. He started to get up after, to at least get a towel for himself, but Gene eased him back down by the shoulder, shaking his head.

"You stay. I'll get you cleaned up."

"My hero," Paul quipped dryly, but his face felt warm. Gene got up and retrieved a damp washcloth from the bathroom. Gene wasn't delicate about it, didn't treat him like he was fragile, but he was thorough, careful. Surprisingly so, for a guy that was so remiss with his own personal hygiene. The rub of the cloth against his skin, more what it signified than how it felt, was enough to get Paul's heart pumping, nipples stiffening up long before Gene teasingly traced a clean edge of the towel over them.

"Turn your head a little. You've got some of it in your hair."

"That's your bad aim."

Gene laughed softly.

"Turn a little more."

Paul hesitated, barely inching his head a bit further to the right. He knew instinctively that his hair was covering up his ear, that Gene wasn't able to see anything from his angle, but it didn't keep his tension at bay. If Gene noticed, he didn't mention it, wiping the smear of semen out of his hair without a word. Just as kindly as he had wiped away the vomit last night. Paul felt so warm, so full. Undeserving of any of it. Gene leaned in, probably trying to make sure he'd gotten it all—but then their lips met instead. Paul couldn't help himself, reaching out to grasp the sides of Gene's face, urging him in closer. Within a few seconds, the washcloth ended up abandoned on the side of the bed, Gene going from leaning over him to pressed against him, their bodies flush. His skin was hot against Paul's. Gene wasn't hard again yet, but a little more time and teasing and it wouldn't be long, not at all, it wouldn't—

Paul was about to give in. Just on the verge of it. His legs felt like jelly, and he was wet again, almost embarrassingly so. It was only when Gene started to pull back that he remembered himself again.

"You ready?" Gene said.

"I..."

"You don't have to be."

"I've got to be sometime." It felt like he was trying to convince himself, like the mumbled words of prayers he'd never memorized. "I know I've got to. I know we can't keep on like this."

Gene didn't say anything for a few seconds. His brows were furrowed as he started to sit up. Paul grasped his arm.

"What do you want to do, Paul?"

Paul hesitated.

"I don't know." He watched Gene's face carefully, expecting to watch it cloud with disappointment, and then he added, "Maybe we should stop for tonight."