Darren’s hand returns to the back of my head, and he uses it to bring me into a kiss while I’m buried deep inside him. I take what’s being offered, this chance to get trapped by things that weigh nothing and won’t leave me hurting tomorrow, and once my tongue is moving against his, I’m able to move my hips, too. He’s good enough at this to read me, and if this was supposed to be as quick and distant as our gallery escapade, I’ve already flipped us upside down, and Darren’s already caught us there. His arms are wrapped around me—his legs too, actually—and there’s no sign he has plans to stop one kiss from rolling into the next. Friend or not, I need this chance to adjust to something that’s only ever meant more, and he lets me have it.
Then, when he arches to meet one of my gentle thrusts, he groans. “I haven’t been slow-fucked like this in forever.”
In response, my next thrust is harder or deeper or more intense, and both of us seem to tremble, my mouth falling to his sweaty neck. I start to apologize for something, even as I try to meet new demands, but he clings to me, and the pressure of his body around mine causes my rhythm to stutter when Darren goes on.
“Hey, no. That wasn’t a complaint. Not even a little,” he says. “Everyone else can fuck me however they want. You should fuck me like Jake.”
I suck at his skin before leaving him there, and he relaxes his grasp on me because, once again, he must’ve known what I would do before I did. Back on my knees, I pull out and reach for him like I had before, relishing in the sound he makes when my fingers slide forward. He’s still plenty wet, and I take my time with him now, practicality traded for pure pleasure while I watch. When I meet his eyes, Darren nods, and I don’t think it’s about anything but what I’m doing now and the hundred possibilities of what I could do next. I want to give him what he’s asked for, though—whatever accidentally slow thing felt a lot like me—and I leave him empty only long enough to get some clumsy grip on his waist before I’m inside him again.
To fuck him, even if I’m not likely to say it that way.
This time, I don’t move closer, not even to kiss him. Instead, I watch myself like this too, every sublime second of sex with a man—thisman—something I never want toforget. I’m glad he and I know this isn’t about romance because I left my heart behind a while ago, and I’m trying so hard not to look in that direction tonight. The way he clenches around me when I rock into him helps too, and eventually I let my eyes fall closed and my head fall back, his body’s hold on me a sensation I absorb into my damn marrow.
I finally drop my head to look at Darren again, his hand up and down his shaft quickly enough for me to want to catch up, and I fall forward to brace myself over him as I stray from the languid pace he’d encouraged minutes ago. Any attempt at conversation is becoming close to ridiculous, our eager breathlessness and a dozen broken moans interrupting most of what I think I’d say.
Still, I find a few words as I drive into him again and again. “What do you need from me?”
“This,” Darren says. “So much of this.”
“This?”
“Anything. Everything.”
It’s a lot—the freedom to do whatever I want after years of wanting nothing—but I catch his wrist mid-stroke and pin it next to his head, the gorgeous groan I earn one I’ll remember long after we’ve moved on. I grab his other wrist next and let every instinct carry me through the next several seconds of having him at my mercy, Darren left hard and dripping against his stomach when I close the short distance between us.
I could kiss him, but I'm struck by the memory of what Darren had done on the balcony and overcome by the scent of him here. He doesn't have as much body hair as I do, but I want to press my faceto it anyway, this brand new desire unlocked and utterly untamed. With his arms stretched above his head and my body curled just the right way to keep myself moving, I nuzzle his armpit and moan softly and breathe and breathe and breathe until I've abused his patience long enough and lift my mouth to his ear.
“Can you come without either of us stroking you off?”
“Probably.”
A shiver rolls down my spine, even when I’m sweaty and warmer than I was all summer, and I haven’t stopped rocking into him. I don’t know that I could even if I wanted to. The sounds made by the collision of our bodies are pulling me forward as much as anything physical, the absolute filth of the noise something I hadn’t realized I’d missed. With Darren’s wrists still pinned, I finally kiss him again, though that ends up being just as filthy when neither of us is still long enough to keep it under control. His legs are wrapped around me like before, and we’re mostly panting against each other as I slam into him, unforgiving—and unforgivable—except for how greedily he takes everything I offer.
“Warm. Wet. Tight. Beautiful,” I rasp.
I could be talking about anyone, but Darren’s the only one on my mind now, and I pause on my next thrust to feel him around me. And maybebeautifulis all wrong here, for this thing we’re doing and what he is to me, but I can’t be anything but honest, and sucking on his neck again is the only thing that keeps me from saying anything more.
Darren struggles in my grip. “Let go of my wrists.”
There’s a moment in which I panic, worried that I’ve read something wrong, but our bodies remain in sync and Darren’s breath is still perfectly heavy at my ear. I relax my fingers but don’t make it any further than that before he’s threading his between them, giving both of us a way to hold on. We’re kissing loudly and pleading more quietly, and somewhere between each slide of his length between us, I feel him twitch or imagine something close.
“Please.”
He understands that it’s all I’ve got left to say, and he nods as well as he can. “Gonna come all over us while you fuck me through it. Wanna make you come, too.”
It’s a given, but I enjoy hearing him say it, and when Darren’s hands clutch mine and he growls something vulgar and my chest becomes almost shockingly sticky, there’s no chance of me doing anything else. I’m thoughtless in the most literal sense, and then I feel myself tighten and unravel, the echoes of my orgasm leaving me jerking into him until I collapse entirely. I think I try to roll to the side, but he hasn’t fully let me go, and we’re a tangled mess I don’t mind at all.
We stay close while our breathing slows to something normal, and then Darren’s reminding me about the condom, and I’m half delirious when I stumble to the bathroom, though I think he would’ve taken those steps for me if he could. As it is, he’s not far behind me, helping himself to a washcloth right after I do, the double sinks a wasted luxury when he stands at my shoulderinstead. We meet each other’s eyes in the mirror, and something so unexpected hits me that I duck away from the view and return to my bedroom to grab clean boxers.
“Do you want to borrow shorts again?” I ask.
Darren comes close enough to shut my dresser drawer. “Nah, I’m good. I’m, um—I’m gonna get dressed and head home in a minute.”
“You’re not—you don’t want to stay?”
He kisses me then, his tongue almost demanding I take my question back and apologize for getting it all wrong. Darren wants to stay, maybe. He just won’t.
It’s probably not how any of this works.