Adopted Twilight characters, ALL HUMAN FANFIC. Gay-slash: Edward is an unabashed pleasure-seeker, one of the club kings of the Seattle gay community. One night at his favorite club, he meets an enigmatic man who rocks the world he has created.
The dance floor is a seething mass of flesh, swaying in sync with the bass that shakes the club to its foundations. Topless boys gyrate with the heavy rhythm, reflecting the colorful club lights that dance over the sheen of sweat glistening on their smooth bodies.
From my vantage point on the mezzanine, I can see most of the club: the beefy bartenders in their standard uniform – tight black pants and little else; the DJ in his booth, ignoring those who tap on the glass in an attempt to request their favorites; the club dancers, their rolling hips all clad in tonight's matching outfits of white briefs, and topped with sparkling silver halos and downy wings.
But mostly I see the boys. We're men, really; well, most of us are, anyway. But when we're here, we're boys. Twinks, bears; tops, bottoms, and switch-hitters; the odd leather daddy has strayed from the leather bar down the street. And then, there are the beautiful ones. The ones who could take home almost anyone in the club, from the front door to the back room. The ones who've been around for more than a couple of years, have gone home with almost everyone at one time or another.
Tonight they're all here, each sweating and pounding out the beat in one long, continuous movement. My eyes sweep across the faces I've seen here so many times before; and I wonder whether I, too, have already been with every bottom here. Not that it matters all that much; a few were actually decent fucks. In the absence of other options, I decide to seek one out for a repeat engagement, something I rarely grant.
I spy one of them on the dance floor. He's already looking up at me, and when we make eye contact he smiles and licks his lips. Subtle as a sledgehammer, even for a meat market like this place. I manage to stifle a sigh by reminding myself that he gave great head, an art in which many boys are woefully unskilled. I acknowledge his flirtation with a slight thrust of my chin and a lift of my eyebrow; and I turn to make my way through the crowd, to the stairs that will lead me to the dance floor.
I start down the stairs, passing an acquaintance on the way. "Hey, how's it goin', Edward?" I nod and continue down the stairs, not interested in conversation. I look again to the dance floor, to be sure of the location of my conquest before I'm submerged in the heaving sea of bodies. He's waiting for me, out in the middle of the floor. I'm about to step off the bottom step when something catches my eye on the far side of the club, across the dance floor.
The club lights are glinting red and blue off a mop of curly blonde hair. The hair belongs to a tall boy who stands at the edge of the writhing mass of the dance floor. He holds a drink and appears to be unaffected by the music's pounding beat as he observes the activity on the dance floor. He's new here; and not some underage twink who came out of the closet yesterday and just hit the clubs for the first time – this boy is 25, maybe 26. Around my age.
I stop for a second, weighing my options. I'm easily one of the better-looking tops here, but this boy is an unknown; definitely not a sure thing. I decide to hedge my bets, and gesture to my waiting conquest on the dance floor, that I'm going to grab a drink and be back with him. He smiles broadly and returns to dancing, confident that I'll return.
I move in the direction of the bar, thinking a drink isn't a bad idea. I order my usual double Glen Livet, neat, keeping an eye on the boy at the edge of the dance floor. He hasn't moved from the space he's been occupying since I first spied him. It won't be long till the sharks here smell fresh blood and start to move in. I pick up my drink and move in his direction, debating the best method of approach.
I take a wide berth around him. He hasn't yet made eye contact with me, and for now I'm glad; I don't want to have my hand forced before I'm sure. I slowly approach him from behind. I take in the dark blue jeans that cover his long legs and slim hips; the soft-looking grey sweater that fits snugly, showing off his broad shoulders; and the way his blonde curls tumble towards his chin, tucked softly behind his ears, ending in a shorter cut at the back. As I near him, I can see that he's a couple of inches taller than my 6'1".
I decide that if I'm going to have this boy in my bed tonight, I need to pull out all the stops. I step in close to his back, lift my chin a bit to meet his ear, and deliver the line that has never failed me.
"I want to make you sit on my nine-inch cock."
I take a small step back to allow him room to turn to look at me. He does turn, much more slowly than I'm hoping for; and finally looks at me. My breath catches and I'm looking into the most beautiful, finely-featured face I've ever seen in my life. He has high cheekbones, a small cleft in his chin, and sparkling, deep-set eyes ringed with a fringe of dark eyelashes. His mouth is wide, with delicate, exquisite lips. I feel my cock twitch as my eyes trace the lines of that mouth.
All of this I process before realizing that his splendid face is registering no emotion whatsoever. He is regarding me with utter calm, and my cards are now on the table. Worse, he hasn't spoken. I make a valiant effort to mirror his lack of expression, though I have no idea whether he finds me attractive, repulsive or even mildly amusing. We are standing only inches away from each other, and the long seconds are ticking by.
From the corner of my eye, I see the twink from the dance floor. He's clearly been looking for me; and he's found me, in this bizarre stand-off with the impassive blonde. And now he's coming towards us. Inwardly, my confidence is beginning to wane, and I'm not sure how much longer I can maintain a fa?e of outward calm.
The twink is standing beside us now, looking between me and the blonde. Neither of us have moved or made any effort to acknowledge his presence beside us. Dance Floor Twink finally whines, "Edward, I thought you were coming back to dance?"
The blonde blinks, and slowly turns toward the twink, breaking our gaze. He casts his eyes deliberately downward, to meet Dance Floor Boy's gaze, at least six inches below his own. "Fuck off," are the only words he spares to let the twink know he's not welcome in this small gathering. He then returns his gaze to me and for the first time, his eyes move downward over my body. My body responds to his appraising eyes, and my cock begins to lengthen and harden.
Dance Floor Boy hesitates a moment, as though he might protest the loss. The blonde doesn't bother to look at him again as he calmly says, "Don't make me say it again." The twink accepts his defeat and departs – in which direction, I can't say.
The blonde's eyes return to mine. For the first time, he directs his words to me. "Nine inches, Edward?"
I'm not confident that I can speak without losing the demeanor I'm desperately trying to maintain, but I realize I can't remain mute indefinitely. "Nine inches…," I trail off, not knowing his name.
"Jazz," the blonde supplies.
"Nine inches, Jazz," I confirm.
He steps to close the very few inches between us. His free hand circles my waist and pulls me towards him. His body is angled to mine and his upper thigh presses against my cock, which is now uncomfortably hard in my slim jeans. For the first time, his face registers interest as his eyes widen slightly and one eyebrow rises.
"I hope you aren't exaggerating. I hate to be disappointed," he cautions. I don't respond. I'm certainly not used to being challenged on that question, I suppose because most of the boys here already know I'm well-endowed.
Instead, I offer, "My place?"
He nods and says, "Mine isn't unpacked."
As much as I suspected. We head towards the front door, setting our glasses the bar as we pass it. "You're new to Seattle." It's not a question. He's never been to this club before, at least not in the four years I've been here.
"I'm from Seattle originally, but I haven't lived here for years." This is all he volunteers, and I don't push. I'm looking for a fuck, not researching a book.
We reach my Volvo. I'm grateful for the short trip to my apartment, as we spend it in complete silence.
Not bothering to wait for the elevator, we climb the two flights of stairs to my loft. I unlock and open the large, heavy industrial door, holding it for Jazz and then closing it behind him. I wait for the inevitable, "This is a great apartment," but this time it doesn't come.
I ask, "Do you want a drink?"
"No, thanks," he replies curtly.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and chug half of it before the headache from the cold water forces me to stop. He is still standing near the door, watching me.
"Bedroom's that way," I gesture with my head. He kicks off his shoes at the door, and heads in the direction of the bedroom. I follow, taking in his lithe, graceful movements as he casually crosses the room and mounts the two steps to my room. The lighting is better here than the foggy, pulsing lights of the club; and I can better appreciate the muscular definition of his thighs and shoulders through his tight-fitting clothes.
He turns to face me, still regarding me dispassionately. I reach out to trace the deep V neck of his soft grey sweater, crossing the smooth, pale skin of his chest. My fingers continue down towards the button of his jeans, sliding over the six-pack I can feel through the thin knit. Down, crossing the waistband of his jeans and gliding the back of my finger towards the base of his zipper. His face may be calm; but his hard cock betrays his excitement. I'm tiring of his cool demeanor now; it's time for this boy to realize what he's got here. I grasp his hard cock, firmly through his jeans; and I'm rewarded as his eyes close, his head lolls back a bit and his exquisite lips part slightly.
I need to taste those lips and what's behind them. I grasp the waistband of his jeans and pull him, hard, towards me; my other hand goes up to tangle in the soft curls at the back of his head and I pull his face to mine. His still-parted mouth opens wider and a soft moan escapes from him as I trace his lips with my tongue. His tongue comes out to meet mine, and they tangle together.
His hands slide over my back and down to my ass, kneading and cupping it as he pulls my hips to his. I break our kiss and my lips and tongue slide down his neck, sucking and nibbling towards his collarbone. He moans again, louder and huskier, and grinds his hard cock against mine. I need to see more of him, and my hands hook under the bottom of his sweater and push upwards. He releases my hips to raise his arms. When he's free of his sweater, my own follows quickly, and we're skin-to-skin. He's smooth, only a few hairs decorating the small valley between his pecs, and a small trail leading south from his navel and disappearing under his jeans.
My head dips down and I suck on his nipple, pinching the other between my fingers, and they both turn to small marbles under my touch. He allows me to continue for a few moments, resting his cheek against the top of my head; then he pulls away and drops to his knees in front of me.
He's panting as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down over my hips. My boxer briefs follow quickly, and my cock finally springs free, rock-hard and aching with need. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, and it's clear that his earlier warning about disappointment is unnecessary here. My cock twitches as this realization takes hold, and in impatience, my hands cup his face and I stroke his cheeks with my thumbs, encouraging him to take me into his mouth.
Finally, his tongue snakes out and he licks the underside of my shaft from the base to the tip, collecting the small drop of pre-cum that has gathered there. He smacks his lips a bit and, finally, I see a beautiful smile light up his face as he tastes me. He has deep dimples in his cheeks, and his mouth is impossibly wide in his grin. He doesn't make me wait again; he opens wide and sucks the head of my cock into his mouth. I groan as his tongue swirls around the glans, and when he increases the suction my knees buckle and I realize I won't be able to take this standing up.
I break contact for a brief moment, moving onto the bed and pulling him with me. We each quickly shed the rest of our clothing; he pushes me onto my back and, leaning over me, resumes his attentions to my stiff cock. He quickly takes my entire length down his throat; I gasp as I feel his lips brush against my pubic hair, and my hips involuntarily thrust forward. Slowly he slides his lips back up towards the head of my cock, holding there for a moment as his tongue dances around the glans, then quickly plunges downward again. He is an exceptionally talented boy, and I'm realizing very quickly that he can work magic with that beautifully wide mouth.
One of his hands comes up to grasp the base of my cock, the other goes to my balls and starts to stroke them. He establishes a rhythm, sliding my cock in and out of his mouth. His lips are incredibly soft and smooth. He keeps a steady vacuum of pressure, and the sensation of fucking his mouth is unbelievable. After only a few moments of heaven, I can feel the tension building in my balls; I won't last long under his adept ministrations.
He senses my impending release and, unbelievably, he stops. I groan as he pulls his head away from my cock and grins wickedly at me. "Not yet," is all he says, and tugs on my legs to indicate that I should raise my knees, my feet flat on the bed. He lies on his stomach with his head between my legs, and leaning in, slurps one of my balls into his mouth. The sensation is sublime as he rolls it around his mouth, massaging it gently with his tongue, lightly pulling the sac away from my body.
"Fuck!" I groan loudly, and in response, he brings one finger to his mouth, moistening it; then slides it down to my ass and massages the puckered opening. I pull away slightly at first; I'm firmly a top, and the very few times I allowed myself to bottom, shortly after coming out, were rough and very painful. I haven't done it since; it's been years.
He releases my balls from his mouth. "Shh," he soothes. "Gentle – I promise." I bite my lip; this is not something I ever allow, and many have tried to convince me to let them. This boy, new to the community, obviously doesn't realize this. I should enlighten him.
Instead, I find myself reaching to my nightstand, where a bottle of Wet is always at the ready. I hand it to him and he applies it liberally to his fingers and to my ass. I relax into the sensation as he resumes his massage of my asshole; the lube both eases and heightens the motion as his fingers glide over the sensitive tissues. My mouth is open, panting as he inserts one finger, then two. Slowly he starts to finger-fuck my ass, easing his fingers in and out, massaging my prostate as his fingertips move past it. Soon my hips are bucking in response, and I'm astonished at my own reaction. I lift my head to look down at him, and he's grinning widely back at me, clearly enjoying the sight of me getting off on his fingers in my ass.
He winks and his mouth returns to the head of my cock, sucking it like a lollipop, before again taking my entire length down his throat. He establishes a steady rhythm between my cock and my ass, sliding his fingers out as his head bobs down, then thrusting his fingers back in as his lips glide upwards. I put a couple of pillows under my head so I can watch his beautiful mouth work over my shaft.
My senses are overloading with the incredible combination of both feeling and watching what he's doing to me. In just a few moments, my entire body tenses and I shout my impending release. The orgasm takes hold of me, and I have never experienced something so intense. My entire body is racked with spasms as the waves of pleasure wash over me again and again, and the beautiful boy sucking my cock takes every drop of cum I give him. Watching him swallow my load is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life, something I know I'll relive in fantasies for a long time to come.
As my climax finally subsides, he releases the hold he has on my body, flashes that impossibly dazzling smile, and slides his body up so that his head rests beside mine. I grab his face in my hands and pull his lips to mine, invading his mouth with my tongue, tasting myself in him; wordlessly thanking him for the gift he's just given me. His hands slide into my messy bronze hair as our tongues do a slow dance.
Gradually we break our kiss, and my breathing starts to return to normal. He leans into my chest as he reaches toward something on my nightstand; I hear him fishing around in the bowl of condoms that never leaves my bedside. Jesus, I think, what does he think I am? A machine? He can't possibly expect me to be ready to put on a condom yet, mere moments after one of the best orgasms of my life.
I arch an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors my expression back to me, as though asking what I could possibly object to. He's going to make me say it.
"You're hot, Pretty, but even I can't get it up again that quickly," I say, trying to be nonchalant. It comes out as more of a sneer than I want it to, and his face hardens slightly.
"It's not going on you, Pretty," he hisses, and raises his body to kneel on my bed. I experience a moment of confusion, then dismay as I realize what he's implying. He confirms my suspicions as he slowly strokes his own cock, his eyes never leaving my face. He expects to fuck me. My post-orgasm glow evaporates rapidly as I silently curse myself for allowing him to put his fingers anywhere near my ass.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do I look like a bottom to you?" The sneer is no longer unintentional – I need to adjust his expectations, and quickly.
He leans forward, hands palm-down on the bed, his face hovering over mine. "What you look like is a gay boy who just had a mind-blowing orgasm thanks to the fingers that were stretching your ass and massaging your prostate. You think you'll ever come like that again if you don't let anyone near your ass?"
"I'm. Don't. Bottom," I repeat slowly, trying to leave no room for misunderstanding.
"You've never done it?" he asks, looking highly skeptical even as the words leave his mouth.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It's something I'd rather not think about, but he's just not going to let this go. "Yes, fine. A couple of times, when I was a 16-year-old twink and didn't know any better than to let some middle-aged closeted asshole tear my ass to shreds."
I open my eyes again and he's still inches away from my face, looking unwaveringly into my eyes. "So you were na? when you were a teenager. Join the club. You're going to allow yourself to miss out on the most intense physical sensation you'll ever have, because you made a few bad decisions a decade ago?"
I vaguely register that his eyes are nearly the same color green as mine, even as I wonder what his motivation is in this. There's no way he could have mistaken me for a bottom – I came on to him and made it clear that I intended to fuck him. And yet he came home with me; he must have known that I, like most tops, would reject attempts to get near my ass. It doesn't make sense. By now, most boys would have given up and stepped back into the Prada shoes that would carry them back to the club, where there would be at least twenty boys waiting with open mouths. Certainly for this boy, it wouldn't be difficult for him to just get his rocks off with some nameless twink who would be happy to spread his ass wide. What the fuck kind of game is he playing with me?
There's no way he could have mistaken me for a bottom – I came on to him and made it clear that I intended to fuck him. And yet he came home with me; he must have known that I, like most tops, would reject attempts to get near my ass. It doesn't make sense. What the fuck kind of game is he playing with me?
"So you're just a model homo citizen doing a good deed," I sneer. "And this is entirely for my benefit." Sure it is.
"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do," he intones softly. "But don't short-change yourself because you're scared."
Jesus Christ – who did I bring home, a fucking sex therapist? I bristle, and my words are laced with venom. "Thanks for your expert opinion, Doctor. You've managed to flawlessly dissect my psyche after we've exchanged fewer than fifty words. Your powers of analysis are truly dazzling." His expression hardens a bit at this and he starts to speak, but I continue, "It's admirable that you're so concerned with my experience, Jazz," I stress his name mockingly. "But it doesn't seem fair that this 'intense physical experience' should be mine alone, does it? I couldn't let you make that sacrifice." I'm being every bit as insincere as I believe he is; and I feel confident that I've called his bluff now.
His beautiful face, which earlier tonight was so entirely devoid of emotion, has flashed at least three different emotions at me in just a few seconds. First persuasion; then annoyance as I mocked his intentions; and now, infuriatingly, he actually looks amused. His voice is even and deliberate as he says, "You give me credit for more selflessness than I deserve, Edward. I have no intention of missing out, believe me. I promise, you'll have the same pleasure – or rather, you'll be giving me the pleasure. Tonight." With those words, he sits back on his heels and resumes slowly caressing the length of his cock, his eyes never leaving mine.
Unbelievably, I find myself actually considering his words. It's true that I've been afraid to bottom – not just because of the physical pain of my first experiences, but because of how the experiences impacted me emotionally. The men I'd been with were the kind who would never be able to admit openly that they were gay. They were the kind who tucked their wedding bands into their pocket as they came through the door of the gay bars, trolling for a receptacle so they could get off before they headed back to their nice houses in the suburbs. They were ashamed of themselves, and projected their shame onto me – treating me as though what I was doing made me weak and disgraceful.
Those first few times had scarred me more than I had ever admitted to anyone. It took me a long time to get over it. I'd been horrified by them; I was angry that I allowed myself to be used by nameless men who didn't even have balls enough to admit their sexuality. I promised myself I would never again allow anyone to put me into that submissive role. I've been absolutely unwavering in my decision, and never have I had reason to suspect that I might be wrong. I'm Edward fucking Cullen, for god's sake. I'm the boy everybody wants to blow, who everyone wants to get fucked by.
And now this beautiful, enigmatic boy is kneeling in front of me, with his green eyes and his curls and his sweet mouth; and he's telling me that the rules I've put in place are restricting me instead of protecting me. And I'm considering his words. And he's stroking his cock, and god, it's such a beautiful fucking cock; and I'm getting hard again at the memory of his fingers in my ass; and fuck, I actually miss having them inside me.
The blood is pounding in my ears as I sit up to bring my eyes to his level. I know what I'm going to do, and I'm absolutely fucking terrified. But I know what I'm going to do. I slide my ass closer to him, between his knees which are still pressing into the surface of the bed. I bring my legs up so that they're on either side of his body, my thighs resting on his thighs, my feet resting on his behind him. I look at the bedspread beside him, where the condom he'd held is lying. My hands are shaking as I pick it up, tear the packet and pull it out. My eyes return to his, and I know what I'm going to do.
He's smiling now, not the wide grins he has flashed me before, but a soft, warm smile that illuminates his entire face. I place one hand on top of his on his cock, and squeeze gently as we stroke together. Even over top of his hand I realize that he's exceptionally well-endowed, not only in length but in girth as well. The realization strikes a brief pang of fear into the pit of my stomach, and I shudder lightly with anticipation and arousal. With my other hand I place the condom over the head of his penis. He brings his free hand to my face and gently, gently, he strokes my cheek, looking into my eyes. He whispers soft words of encouragement to me as I unroll the condom down to the base of his cock.
This night has become nothing like I've ever encountered, and when I approached this beautiful boy at the club, I could never have imagined what would unfold for me. I don't love – I fuck. Unequivocally. I have never apologized or regretted the life I have. I have never experienced, nor have I sought, tenderness in my liaisons.
But this boy, this nymph, has somehow cast a spell over me, with his hair and his eyes and his lips…but most of all, with his words. He's broken through the walls I have so carefully crafted for myself. I can't explain how – I'm bewildered to fathom it. I find that I have not only considered his suggestion, but I actually desire it. I want him to possess me in a way that, an hour ago, I'd have considered an unspeakable violation. Somehow, in the midst of the hazy confusion of my brain, I know unmistakably that this act will not be one of humiliation or domination. He is going to delight as much in sharing my pleasure as in receiving his own.
He gently pushes me back to lie down on the bed, and lifts both my legs up beside his head, to rest on his shoulders. He again retrieves my bottle of lube, and generously coats the condom. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other on the front of my thigh, hugging my leg to his chest. His cock is pressing gently against my opening, and my breath catches as I realize afresh what's about to happen. Sensing my apprehension, his hand moves again to gently stroke my cheek. Softly he whispers, "Is this okay?" And the fact that he's asking is the sexiest fucking thing.
I smile and nod, and he says, "Okay, beautiful. A little bit of pain now; it'll only hurt for a minute." And he pushes just the head of his cock into my ass. He's right, it does hurt for a moment; but the pain is nothing compared to the horrible experiences of my youth. He remains motionless to allow my body to adjust to accommodate the foreign body; and as he waits, his hand drifts down from my thigh to gently trace around the rim of my cock head with his fingertip. The feeling is absolutely sublime, and very soon I find myself sliding my body marginally downwards, pressing him a bit deeper into me.
He's big, and the pressure is intense as he slowly slides his cock in. Gradually, deliberately, he presses deeper and deeper, until he is seated fully inside me and his groin is pressing against my skin. I groan as he presses his body into mine, holding his position; my entire body feels like it's on fire. I'm panting and sweating from the combination of pressure, arousal and anticipation. "Still okay?" he checks in, and I can only acknowledge his question with a nod and another groan. "A convert," he chuckles softly. "Good."
Slowly, he starts to rock his hips back and forward, gradually expanding the arc of his movements until he's withdrawing as far as the head of his cock, then descending again to sheath himself fully inside me. Now that he knows I'm okay, he relaxes into his own experience; and his pleasure is evident as his eyes close and his head lolls back. I watch as his lips part and soft moans escape. His body is lithe, graceful even in this most basic and instinctual of acts. He increases the pace bit, and I'm no longer able to think about his graceful body. The only thing that exists in my world is our mutual pleasure, and the organs and orifices involved.
My hand goes down to my cock, rock-hard from the anticipation and the luscious sensations. I palm the underside of my shaft, stroking slowly up and down. It's so sensitive that the contact of my own hand sends shocks throughout me, and my entire body twitches in response.
Jazz pauses his smooth rocking motion, and lifts my legs down from his shoulders, guiding them around his hips. I hook my ankles together and pull him towards me. He allows his body to fall forward, catching himself with his palms on the bed, on either side of my shoulders. His head dips to my chest and he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. My hands move to his head and I bury my fingers in his soft curls, stroking and riding out the movements of his head. His lips leave my nipples and travel up my pecs, leaving a trail of wet, sucking kisses up across my collarbone, up my neck and finally finding my mouth. His tongue traces my lips, and I suck it into my mouth, caressing it with my own tongue.
Finally, I can no longer stand to let him remain still, and I rock my hips against his, grinding, wordlessly begging for him to keep fucking me. He understands and quickly obliges. One of my hands goes down to rest on his muscular ass, feeling it flex as he pumps in and out of me; the other hand remains in his beautiful curly hair, stroking and fisting as the excitement of our coupling builds. His chest is pressed against mine, his elbows resting on the bed and his hands hooked up over my shoulders, pulling me closer as he pushes deep into me. Everything is breathing and cursing and moaning, sweat-slicked bodies and pressure and intense pleasure. My cock is bursting, captured between my abs and his as our whole selves press tightly against each other, seeking every possible point of contact.
The intensity is reaching a breaking point, and I'm very close to my climax. As though reading my mind, he pulls his face back from mine slightly and hoarsely whispers, "Fuck, you're so beautiful. I want to watch you come." He looks deep into my eyes, and it's all too much. The realization hits me afresh – he's fucking me, and it's simply the best thing I've ever done. My body tenses, I dig my heels into his ass to draw him as deeply inside me as possible, and I shatter. My body thrashes and twists in the intensity of my orgasm. I'm flying, soaring on another plane, a level of pleasure I've never known. I want it like I want a drug.
The uncontrollable spasms of my climax around his cock bring him over the edge, and finally, his careful control is abandoned. His eyes roll back and he roars his exhilaration. The knowledge that he's lost control because of me, is an accelerant on the flame of my orgasm. We ride the waves of ecstasy together, for an impossibly long time. This boy has brought me here, and it's a drug. It seems as though it'll never end, and I don't want it to.
Of course, eventually it does, gradually subsiding, and finally my mind and body are able to re-converge to their rightful place in the here and now. We're gasping deeply for breath, each unwilling to release our grasp on the other. Jazz lays his head on my shoulder, his face nuzzling into the base of my neck. We relish the feel of our bodies still pressed so tightly together, as our breathing slows and our heartbeats return to normal.
Finally, he lifts his face to mine, kisses me gently on the nose, and then, grasping the base of the condom, pulls out. I'm loath to let him, but I know he has to, or risk the condom slipping off his softening cock. He disposes of the condom and then returns to my side, tucking himself under my outstretched arm and lying on his side with his long, muscular arm stretched across my chest. I hold him close to me, burying my face in his deep curls. I inhale deeply and his hair smells like musk and chai spice. I stroke the arm that rests on my chest, feeling the definition of his forearms and cupping my hands around the sinuous bicep.
I'm afraid to speak; I don't know what to say, having been proved so completely wrong. It's not my habit to concede a point, but I'm breaking all the rules now. I sense that any future with Jazz will depend on my actions in this moment; and this singular boy has made me want that option. I want him in my future. I have to tell him he was right; admit to him that, somehow, he saw me more clearly than I saw myself.
"Thank you," I say simply, figuring it's the best place to start. He raises himself onto his elbow, resting his cheek in his hand, and grins at me. His smooth cheeks have a pink flush from our pleasure and exertion, and the stain of color makes his sparkling green eyes brighter.
"So…I guess it went better than you expected," he teases softly.
"I don't have words for how amazing that was," I whisper. "It was…miraculous."
"That's a very good word," he concurs. "I completely agree."