Long seconds passed.
Mickey trembled, grounding himself in the twin sensation of Benito splitting him open with his massive cock and tenderly stroking his face.
He was still clutching the metal bottle. Benito pried it from his hand and screwed the cap back on. “All right?”
Mickey nodded. “I’m good.”
“You’re better than good. You’re fucking everything.” Benito rubbed Mickey’s hip in warning, then slowly thrust his own, hitting every spot that made Mickey’s nerves sing.
“Fuck.” Mickey raised his leg, taking Benito deeper, and the shifted angle sent white lights pinging through his vision. Sweet madness descended. He flailed a hand back and found purchase at the nape of Benito’s neck, anchoring himself to the solid warmth of him, then gave himself up to the ride.
Benito fucked him steadily, whispering dirty things in Mickey’s ear, but as the heat rose, his words fell away, replaced by harsh gasps and growled curses.
His ruined sounds sent Mickey soaring. He jacked himself, almost afraid of the pleasure building inside him, but unable to turn away from it. “Benito.”
“Do it.” Benito tightened his death grip on Mickey’s shoulder. “Fuck, I need to feel you come.”
Mickey groaned and clenched Benito tighter with one hand, the other a blur as it flew over his cock. He shook. Fresh sweat coated his skin, and his body clamped down on Benito of its own accord, lost to the beat of his surging cock.
Rhythmic.
Hypnotic.
Orgasm flared inside Mickey, unfurling from a part of him perhaps no one else had ever reached. It hit hard and deep. He yelled out, digging his fingers into Benito’s neck, and his dick erupted, coating his fist with wet warmth.
Behind him, Benito’s breath grew ragged. He stilled, burying his face in Mickey’s neck. Then he jerked, and a rough moan rumbled out of him. “Fuck.”
Mickey fought for breath, reeling from every swelling pulse of Benito’s dick inside him. Beautiful tension seized every part of him, every nerve, muscle, and bone, and he couldn’t see how he’d ever move again.
For long moments, Benito didn’t move either. Then he sighed and unhooked Mickey’s arm from around his neck. “I’ll be right back.”
He slipped out of Mickey and left the bed. True to his word, he was back a few seconds later with a flannel.
They cleaned up, then sprawled out, staring at the ceiling, still flushed and breathing hard.
“I don’t usually fuck people,” Benito said into the darkness.
“Coulda fooled me,” Mickey retorted with a smirk. “You didn’t seem out of practice.”
Benito snorted softly. “Six years.”
Mickey rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. “For real?”
“Yeah. I had a girlfriend too. I haven’t fucked anyone like that since her.”
Mickey took a second to process. Had they talked about this before? Nonsensically, he couldn’t remember—he rememberedevery momenthe’d spent with Benito, right?
Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe obsession was a state of mind, not a reality. “Did you love her?”
Benito nodded. “I think so.”
“What happened?”
“She was clever, with prospects and dreams, and I was a road boy. I left her so she’d go to uni and be someone instead of drowning in my bullshit.”
“How long were you together?”
“Years. Can’t remember how many.”