Chapter 5: The Whisperers
After the Uncle Richard incident, Jason and I settled down, living together as lovers and partners. Sarah was a regular visitor, and we, too, were regular visitors for lunches and dinners at her cottage, and I remained quite overwhelmed by how she accepted me and my relationship with her son.
I knew that Sarah was a nurse, and from her career experience, she was beyond being shocked, but she seemed to actually enjoy the freedom we shared with her and strangely, she liked our informal approach to what we would wear when at home, recognising that sometimes, minimal clothing changed personal perspectives about relaxing in private. On occasions, we would turn up and find her still in a nightie, electing to enjoy the freedom of minimisation against, perhaps, convention, while we sat at the kitchen table in our dayshirts, she would busy herself in her nightie, with the same partial transparency afforded to us by our attire.
Jason and I spent a month as hermits, for want of a phrase. I found my mojo again, and Jason was a changed young man, his happiness quite obvious. Our relationship was good. We were in love. I also resumed working, getting closer to finishing the manuscript, and Jason had taken to reading my work, interjecting the silence with the odd, “That’s interesting,” or “Didn’t know that.”
The day arrived, though, when we had been forced to plan a trip to town for supplies, having lived simple lives for a month, eating and drinking everything in the process. Supplies were critically low when the town beckoned us with urgency.
Going to town, though, was the acid test regarding our relationship. We both felt nervous, knowing that the town might not accept us as the first gay couple from a religious, perhaps even a puritanical standpoint. Townsfolk were not known for their liberal approach, and even I wondered, silly as it was, “Do they still burn people at the stake?” as Jason held my arm as we parked the pickup.
Walmart’s automatic doors hissed open to reveal Mrs Peabody in her usual tweed twinset, her spectacles sliding down her nose as she gaped at Jason's bare knees as we walked in. Jason had taken time to ensure he looked his best. His kilt sat properly. His dayshirt underneath his polo shirt, offering an acceptable colour contrast. A hush fell over the canned goods aisle and then, with deliberate slowness, old Tom Henderson tipped his flat cap and said, "Fine day for it, lad."
Jason flinched when the Preacher's wife touched his arm near the dairy case. "The kilt is perfect for you, Jason. Perhaps we can expect you and Mr Davis at church soon," she murmured, her gaze dropping to where his kilt swayed with each step. I bristled, but Jason surprised me by smiling, that new, unguarded grin, replying, "Thank you, and please give my regards to your husband. I appreciate his forgiveness and working tirelessly in the community."
She smiled in response as I whispered, “Nice touch, nice touch indeed.”
By the butcher counter, whispers slithered like eels, but Mr Greeves just handed over our large order for the freezer without comment, and when I arrived with Jason at the checkout, we had a substantial order to bag up as an assistant approached asking if we needed help.
"Morning, Maggie," Jason said to the baker's wife, standing behind us in the queue, "Lovely morning, isn't it?" he said rather loudly for folks to hear.
“Yes, dear, it’s a lovely morning, and I adore the new look. It looks very comfortable,” Maggie responded.
Outside, we put the shopping in the trunk of the pickup, and I suggested, “Let's have a coffee at Gossip Central across the street. Something is going on. They’re all being too nice, and we need to find out why, if we can.”
“So hand in hand, we walked across the street into Mabel's Diner, which was a community hub and centre for all gossip, rumour and scandal and for Jason and me, it presented a real test of townsfolk's reactions to our relationship.
The bell above the door jingled with cheerful malice as we stepped inside, every head swivelling toward us like sunflowers tracking daylight. Jason's grip on my hand tightened, his knuckles pressing white against mine as we navigated the checkerboard floor towards an empty booth.
The waitress, Lizzie, materialised with laminated menus and an assessing glance at Jason's kilt. "Nice kilt, Jason," she said. "You look good in it," as her pencilled eyebrows arched slightly when Jason ordered a pot of tea, but she scribbled it down without further comment.
"Thanks, Lizzie," Jason responded as her retreating footsteps coincided with the scrape of chair legs across the floor as Sheriff Watkins settled at the edge of the booth, with the quiet authority of a man who'd parked his police cruiser out front for maximum visibility.
"Good to see you, Mr Davis. How's the writing going?"
"Not too bad, Sheriff. Did have some writer's block, but Jason here has become my muse for new ideas, thank God."
"Good, good," he responded, taking a pause. "I have to share with you the darndest thing from a couple of weeks ago. I was on patrol, and a real-life Ben Hur passed me doing a crazy speed. By the time I caught up, I clocked him at over one-hundred when he pulled over. The darndest thing was, he was naked when he stepped out of the car, and his ass was covered in bleeding welts and cuts from a thrashing he’d received. Never seen an ass like it in years. And boy, did he smell."
I immediately was on edge, uncertain where the conversation was going as Jason remained very quiet.
The Sheriff continued. "He was stammering about being attacked and humiliated, and of course, I took the situation seriously, offering him the support of the police to investigate. It was then that he changed his mind when I asked about the circumstances behind his predicament, suggesting it looked more like punishment to me than assault.
"And....? Why are you telling me all this?"
"Well, that’s the darndest thing. Sarah Blake arrived in her beat-up old pickup, seeing I had pulled this guy over, and she was very, well, let’s just say, upset, identifying the man as her brother and screaming at him, accusing him of, well.... You know what. Anyway, I de-escalated the situation, taking Sarah to one side, only to hear what her brother had tried to do and what you had done to him."
"Okay," I said. "And?"
"And nothing," the Sheriff responded. "Folks around here don't like men like him, and I told him he'd better think twice about coming back to this town. At that, I let him carry on his way. Sarah had calmed down and was happy to see him go, as I explained, nothing wrong with a bit of country justice. Probably deserved it, and well, word got around and.... you've become a bit of a hero around here. Just wanted you to know that's all and that the townsfolk are behind you."
"Well, thanks Sherrif for letting me know. Indeed, an unfortunate tale, but sounds as if you handled it correctly."
"Sure did, Mr Davis, and it's good to know we are on the same page. Perhaps I can even rely upon your vote at election time."
"Worry not, Sheriff. The town needs a man like you."
The sheriff chuckled as he stood, adjusting his holster with a satisfied nod before returning to his table with his chair in tow.
The diner's usual clamour resumed, but now with a different tenor. Old Man Wilkins from the feed store caught my eye as he lifted his battered Stetson in a slow, deliberate motion. The mechanic two booths down mirrored the gesture, fingers brushing his grease-stained cap. Even young Billy Peabody, flushing crimson with nervousness, managed a jerky nod meant more for Jason than me before hiding behind his milkshake glass.
"Well, Jason," I whispered, "It appears the whole town knows, and we have just experienced their way of accepting our relationship....wow. I wasn't expecting that I had to say."
We finished our tea and coffee, and as Jason squeezed my hand, we stepped out into the late spring sunlight as a pair of sparrows darted between the maple trees lining Main Street, their chirping somehow louder now, more deliberate. The butcher's delivery van slowed as it passed us, the driver, a grizzled man with tattoos peeking from his rolled sleeves, giving us an approving nod before accelerating away.
The drive home would be uneventful, I feared, lasting at least forty-five minutes. Just the hum of tyres on asphalt and the occasional burst of static from the radio, interrupting the local station. Jason's hand rested on my thigh, his fingers tracing absent circles through my jeans as fields blurred past. "Thank you, Steve," Jason said, "for protecting me and loving me."
I moved my right hand to rest on his kilt, my fingers playing with his exposed thigh. I could tell that Jason was feeling horny as he responded by moving his hand towards my belt.
The truck's engine hummed steadily as Jason's fingers fumbled with my belt, his knuckles brushing against the growing tightness in my jeans. "You're really going to do this while I'm driving?" I muttered as I lifted slightly to help him tug the leather and denim free.
Jason wasted no time popping the buttons of my jeans to reveal my Hanes briefs. "Eyes on the road," Jason breathed against my ear as his hands tugged on the denim. "Lift yourself again," he asked.
I did exactly that, allowing him the chance to tug my jeans lower until they rested by my knees. Then his hand slipped inside my briefs, fingers curling around my hardening length. I gripped the wheel tighter as he began stroking me slowly, his thumb swiping over the head with teasing precision.
"This won't do," Jason muttered as he pulled my cock through the fly hole of my briefs. My distraction was clear as the truck veered slightly onto the rumble strips before I corrected our course, earning a breathless chuckle from Jason as he played with my cock standing proud through the fly hole.
Outside, golden afternoon light slanted across fields of barley, the occasional farmhouse flashing past in my peripheral vision. Jason's movements grew more confident, his wrist twisting in that way he'd learned drove me wild. My breath hitched when he suddenly ducked his head, his tongue flicking out to taste the precum beading at my tip.
Somewhere near halfway, Jason took me fully into his mouth just as we hit a pothole. The dual sensation of his throat constricting around me and the jolt of impact nearly made me lose control right then. "Jesus, Jason," I growled, my foot easing off the accelerator as my free hand tangled in his hair. He hummed in response, the vibration travelling straight to my groin as his fingers found and teased my balls through the fabric of my briefs.
The music on the radio was drowned out by my groan as Jason worked me with lips and tongue, his free hand hiking up his own kilt to stroke himself in time with his ministrations. My knuckles whitened on the wheel, torn between watching the road and watching Jason's flushed cheeks hollow as he sucked me deeper. The scent of our arousal mixed with the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, heady and primal.
By the time we reached the turnoff for the home stretch, I was gripping Jason's shoulder with one hand, the other white-knuckling the wheel as pleasure coiled tight in my gut. "Gonna...oh God," was all the warning I managed before cumming down his throat with a curse that fogged the windshield. Jason swallowed greedily, taking everything I had to offer until the sensations became distracting. Jason sat back up, licking his lips, his own arousal tenting the front of his kilt obscenely.
"Pull over, Steve, here, now," Jason demanded.
"Here? On the highway? I asked.
"It's not the highway, we left that ages ago. We're on a beaten track with no one around, and I can't wait. I want you."
I barely managed to park, pulling off the road. Getting out of the truck proved tricky as I almost fell over with my jeans around my knees and my cock softening but protruding from the fly hole of my briefs as Jason followed me across the bench seat, the buckles of his kilt already free, the leather straps swinging wildly as he scrambled after me.
The afternoon sun painted the grass gold as we stumbled into the meadow, Jason's kilt hanging from the open driver’s door, as I struggled to get my jeans and briefs off, leaving a tangled trail of shoes and clothing on the grass as he chased me with his flushed, straining, enormous erection.
"Here," he gasped, pushing me face down onto a fallen log, the rough bark biting into my stomach as he stood behind me, his knees sinking into soft earth on either side. His fingers pushed my shirt up my back, his nails scraping my back in his urgency. "I just can't get enough of you, Steve," he declared, feeling the tremble in his muscles as he positioned himself behind me, his cock brushing against my buttocks.
"I'm yours, take me," was all I was able to say, as the scent of crushed wild thyme rose around us, as Jason sank slowly into me, using his spit mixed with my cum as lube, with a groan that echoed across the empty field.
His hands braced against my hips, as he stretched me wider, the burning sensation only temporary, I kept reminding myself as his fingers dug in as he began to move, his rhythm frantic and unpolished. I could feel the dampness of my sweat-slicked back under my palms, the way his breath hitched each time our bodies connected.
Above us, swallows wheeled through the sky, their shrieks mingling with Jason's sharp cries as he fucked me with abandon, in a field at the side of the road. My pain was replaced with sensations I loved, and I was in heaven, feeling every thrust of his enormous cock, relishing the fact that I had found someone who sexually satisfied me, all round.
His thighs trembled violently as he neared climax, his movements growing erratic until suddenly he stiffened, his release pumping into me as his muscles clenched around me, pulling me over the edge with him.
We collapsed sideways into the long grass, breathing hard. His head rested heavily on my shoulder as my cock continued to pump the last of my release onto my stomach while his release created a nice dribble down my thigh. His heartbeat gradually slowed against my ribs as sexual calm settled over the field as Jason played with my cum, stirring it on my skin into little blobs.
Jason suddenly sat up, peeling off his sweat-damp t-shirt and flinging it toward the truck with a wild laugh. He did the same with the dayshirt to stand gloriously naked in the golden light, arms outstretched as he turned a slow circle, his erection still glistening from our coupling. "We're free!" he shouted, his voice ricocheting off distant hills. "Actually free to be us!"
The echoes faded into birdsong as he dropped back down beside me, his fingers immediately seeking mine. I turned his palm upward, tracing the calluses from wood chopping and the faint scar from our first kitchen mishap together. His skin smelled of sex and crushed grass and something indefinably Jason, a scent that now meant more to me than anything I had ever felt.
Somewhere beyond the hedgerow, an engine sputtered to life, the sound fading down some distant lane. Jason tensed momentarily before relaxing against me with a contented sigh. "Let them look," he murmured against my collarbone. "Let the whole world see," as his hand drifted possessively to my thigh. "You can take that off by the way," tugging at my shirt, which he started to unbutton, eventually slipping it from my shoulders.
"Let's run," he said as he got up again and started to sprint through the long grass of the meadow. I watched him as he ran, his body always beautiful to behold. I decided to stand up and walk slowly into the long grass as Jason sprinted back towards me, leaping at the last minute, only for me to catch him in a hug as he wrapped his legs around my waist.
"I have never been happier," Jason said, kissing me with a confidence I had never felt before.
"You've certainly changed my life, Jason. I never thought I would be happy again after all my personal shit, but, strangely, we found each other and now look at us, naked in a field."
Jason kissed me again, his fingers tracing my jawline before sliding down my chest. He paused over my nipple, pinching it gently, watching my reaction with dark amusement. “Did I accidentally volunteer us to attend church?”
“You might have done but… I don’t think they’re expecting us so soon,” I replied.
Jason laughed as the late afternoon light caught the sheen of sweat on his collarbone, highlighting the faint freckles scattered there like constellations. I pressed my palm against his ribs, feeling the rapid flutter of his heart beneath his warm skin, and there was nowhere else I would rather be, including church.
I carried Jason to the pickup, placing him on the tailgate, allowing myself a second before joining him. We sat on the tailgate, both smoking, our minds linked, gazing across the fields for miles and miles. Jason broke the moment by asking, "Did you see Billy Peabody's acknowledgement in Mabel's?" as he exhaled a plume of smoke that curled lazily between us.
I chuckled, flicking ash onto the dirt road. "His ears turned the same shade as his mother's jam preserves." I declared, as the memory of the Peabody boy's crimson flush made my chest tighten with unexpected fondness. Jason's thumb brushed against mine, where our hands rested between us on the sun-warmed metal. "I think he fancies you, Jason," I said.
The silence stretched comfortably until Jason stubbed out his cigarette on the truck's bumper and turned to face me fully. His knee pressed against my thigh as he leaned in. "Do you realise," he murmured, "this is the first time in my life I haven't felt like I needed to hide?" The raw honesty in his voice made my breath catch. "Not just the kilt or...us. Everything. Freedom."
A hawk circled high above the barley fields, its shadow darting across Jason's bare shoulders. I cupped the back of his neck, pulling him closer until our foreheads touched. His breath smelled of tobacco and the spearmint gum he'd stolen from my glove compartment. "You shouldn't have had to hide in the first place," I said quietly.
Jason's answering smile was brilliant in the fading light. He kissed me again, slow and deep, his hands sliding up my back, each ridge and valley as familiar to him now as the land we called home. When we broke apart, the first fireflies of the evening blinked to life around us like scattered embers. "Steve, why do you think Billy Peabody fancies me. What gave you that idea?"
Jason's question lingered between us as twilight painted the fields violet. I traced the curve of his ear with my thumb, still pink from sunburn despite the cooling air. "The way his hands shook when he gave you, not me, that jerky nod," I murmured. "Kept looking at you and your kilt."
Jason frowned slightly, but his fingers kept kneading the nape of my neck like I was a cat he was trying to soothe. "Oh," he responded at last. His thumb stilled. "I only knew him at school as a junior. Never even spoke with him. Isn't that strange?" as a moth fluttered past. "Anyway, we should go," Jason announced. "We have to put the supplies away before settling down for the evening, hopefully to watch the new series of Stranger Things on Netflix."
The practical words contrasted sharply with our nudity. I snorted, gesturing at our discarded clothes strewn across the meadow. "Perhaps we should dress?"
Jason grinned, sliding off the tailgate with a wince, his thighs still sticky from our coupling. He scooped up his kilt with exaggerated care, shaking out grass seeds. "Fuck it, let's stay like this," as he collected all our clothes, throwing them in the back. There's no need to watch Netflix clothed, is there?
The movement made his shoulders flex in that way I'd come to adore, confident and unhurried, as I stood. "Why not. Let's live on the wild side for a while."
The pickup's cab smelled of warm leather and the faint musk of our earlier activities as I turned the key. Jason sat with his hand on my flaccid cock as I engaged the gears and reversed onto the road for the final stage of our journey.
Jason suddenly stiffened beside me. "Steve, I was just thinking, maybe Billy hasn't found his personal freedom yet if your suspicions are right. Do you think he's gay?"
"Hard to say, but I think he might be. Why?"
"Maybe we should help him. It's hard living around here, as you know. Maybe he just needs support with his sexuality, as you helped me," Jason suggested.
The truck tyres crunched on gravel as I considered what Jason had said. Ahead, our farmhouse windows glowed amber against the gathering dusk. "You want to mentor Billy Peabody on being gay in rural Colorado?" I asked, "That's bold even for you."
"Perhaps us gay guys should stick together?" Jason suggested.
The dashboard lights painted his earnest expression in soft greens and blues as we pulled up to the house. He didn't wait for my answer, already hopping out, grabbing the grocery bags with the enthusiasm of someone who'd forgotten he was still naked.
I wasn't much different as I grabbed the discarded clothes and the rest of the groceries and followed Jason into the house, and between us, we finished all the chores and settled down in the lounge, the fire already warming the room as I pondered Jason's suggestion that gay guys should stick together.
My thoughts were interrupted when Jason asked me something out of the blue. "What do you know about urethral play?" he said, flopping onto the couch beside me, one leg casually thrown over mine like he hadn't just dropped a conversational grenade between us. The firelight flickered across his bare chest, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat still lingering from our meadow escapade.
I nearly choked on my whisky. "Jesus, Jay," I coughed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "That's.... pretty random."
My brain short-circuited between the sudden mental image and the way his fingers were now tracing idle patterns on my thigh. "Where the hell did that come from?"
Jason grinned, rolling onto his side so his head rested against my shoulder. "You left your sounding rod in the bathroom a while ago," he murmured, breath warm against my skin. "I had to look it up on the internet, wondering what I had found. I sort of get it, but.... don't get it."
"Oh, I see," I replied. "Which part don't you get?" I asked, Jay.
"All of it." He said, chuckling softly. "I mean, I understand the mechanics, but not the why."
"Oh," I said. "Well, it's an art, that's what it is. Urethral play involves inserting smooth, body-safe instruments, known as sounds or penis plugs. You know, penis plugs, I guess?"
"Of course I do, Jason responded.
"Well, you insert them into the urethra for sexual pleasure. This process awakens nerve endings that rarely receive direct attention, making even subtle movements feel incredibly stimulating and amplified when introduced directly through the urethral canal. What I like most about it is that it heightens my body awareness and opens me to sensations that feel new, intimate, and intensely pleasurable. For me, sounding is a way to understand my body on a deeper level while enjoying intensified arousal, sharper sensitivity, and profoundly powerful orgasms."
"Orgasms? You can get orgasms from playing with your cock that way?" Jason demanded.
"Yes, of course you can. For some, urethral play becomes a way to explore vulnerability, connection, and shared desires on a level traditional sexual activities rarely reach between partners and lovers."
I could see that Jason was hooked as I took a pause before continuing. "One of the most exciting aspects of playing is how dramatically it can intensify my orgasms. I carefully slide the rod in-and-out to stimulate the urethra rhythmically. As the sound glides back and forth, it presses against sensitive nerve endings, building arousal in a slow, controlled, and deeply pleasurable way. This rhythmic movement amplifies sensitivity across my entire cock, and my resulting orgasm feels more powerful, as a wave-like surge radiates through my hips and lower abdomen."
"Wow," Jason declared. "That's fucking crazy. Can I try?"
I hesitated, glancing down at his flushed expression. "It's not something you just jump into," I cautioned, but he was already sliding off the couch onto his knees, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.
"Ta-da!" Jason said in delight as he produced the slender stainless steel rod from the coffee table drawer with a magician's flourish, my sound, polished and gleaming under the firelight.
"Been practising?" I asked dryly, recognising the telltale sterile lube packet tucked beneath it.
Jason's grin was all mischief as he climbed back onto my lap, legs straddling either side of my thighs. "Maybe....," he murmured, pressing the cool metal against my sternum while his other hand traced the outline of my cock under the cotton fabric of my nightshirt, already half-hard from his proximity. "Maybe, I have,” said Jason, “and I want to try it on you."
I exhaled sharply through my nose. Shock prickled down my spine, but beneath it, beneath the sudden rush of vulnerability, was a deeper pulse of trust. Jason had never steered me wrong before. So when he lifted the hem of my nightshirt, exposing me to the firelight, I didn’t stop him.
"Teach me, Steve," he whispered, and something in his voice, part curiosity, part hunger, made my stomach clench. And, so I did.
"Jay, this sound is sort of special because it's hollow and 11mm in diameter, so, if all goes according to plan, you'll enjoy the result of your labours," I advised as my fingers closed over his around the sound, guiding its tip to the slit of my cock.
"Lubrication is key, and you must be slow," I cautioned, as Jay applied a healthy amount of lube.
Jason's breath hitched, taking my erect cock in his left hand, holding the sound in his right, when the tip breached me, his fingers trembling against mine as he eased the 150mm rod deeper. The initial stretch burned, that familiar, delicious sting, but the way Jason's pupils dilated, his lips parting in silent awe, made my cock twitch around the intrusion.
"Jesus," he breathed, watching the metal disappear inch by inch, his free hand instinctively stroking my shaft in counterpoint. "Does it, do you feel....?"
"Every millimetre," I gritted out, arching as the sound grazed that bundle of nerves inside. Jason's thumb swiped over my slit, smearing pre-cum along the protruding rod, and I groaned. "Fuck, Jay, just like that...."
His answering grin was wicked. He twisted the sound experimentally, and lightning shot up my spine. My hips jerked, driving it deeper, and Jason's laugh was breathless against my neck. "You're so fucking responsive," he murmured, nipping at my pulse point. "Bet you could come just from this, huh?"
I could...I would, if he kept teasing the sound in shallow thrusts, if he didn't stop dragging his teeth along my shoulder, but then he paused, frowning. "Wait. Hollow, you said?" His grip tightened. "Steve. Are you telling me I could watch you cum or piss through this thing?"
The raw fascination in his voice undid me. "Yeah," I admitted hoarsely. "If you, ah, if you want."
Jason's answering kiss was bruising. He wrenched the sound out abruptly, ignoring my choked protest, pulling me off the sofa, shoving me onto my back, the rug offering me comfort. "Next time," he promised, climbing over me, his own cock dripping onto my stomach. "Right now, I need you to fuck me."
The fire popped, casting shadows across his flushed skin as he impaled himself on me in one smooth motion, his moan echoing mine. No finesse, no patience, just heat and hunger and the slick slap of flesh as he rode me, his fingers digging into my chest hard enough to leave marks.
"You're gonna ruin me," I gasped, thrusting up to meet him, and Jason threw his head back with a broken laugh.
"Already did," he panted, as I brushed against his G-spot as he rode me.
To my surprise, he came untouched, his release stripping my torso as his muscles clenched around me. He continued to ride me as his cum flowed in more spurts, forcing me to... follow almost instantly, my vision whiting out at the edges.
I shot a huge amount of cum into him as he laughed out loud, saying, "Definitely doing that again," he declared, "After hot chocolate later."
Jason lifted himself off me with a wet, obscene sound, my seed dripping down his thighs as he collapsed onto the rug beside me. The firelight caught the sheen of sweat between his pecs as he stretched lazily, utterly unconcerned with the mess. I propped myself up on one elbow, dragging my tongue along his softening cock, salty, musky, with the faint metallic tang of pre-cum still clinging to his slit. He shuddered but didn't pull away, fingers carding through my hair with absentminded affection.
"Finished for now?" I asked against his skin, grinning when his stomach muscles twitched. Jason hummed, eyes half-lidded as he gazed at the ceiling, blissed-out and sated.
"Where's the TV remote?" he murmured instead of answering, pawing at the coffee table blindly, crawling over my body, trying to reach. His bottom was perfectly positioned when I slapped his bottom in perfect sync to, "You very naughty boy. You are taking advantage of an old man."
His fingers knocked over an empty whisky glass before finally closing around the device, feeling the sting of my hand, giggling like a child. “That hurt, you beast,” Jason answered.
“That’s nothing compared to what I could do,” I responded, as the sudden blare of Stranger Things' synth soundtrack made me jump.
Jason chuckled at my reaction, tossing the remote onto my chest before rolling onto his side to face me. His knee slotted between mine, still sticky with our mingled fluids, but neither of us cared. The heat from the fireplace wrapped around us like a second skin.
"You're ridiculous," I told him, thumbing the volume down. Jason just smirked, trailing his fingers down my sternum to swirl in the mess on my stomach.
"And yet you love me." He said it lightly, but his gaze held mine, testing, vulnerable beneath the bravado.
I caught his wrist, licking his fingers clean one by one. "And yet I do," I agreed, savouring the way his breath hitched. The credits rolled onscreen, forgotten. Outside, an owl hooted in the woods, and the wind rattled the old farmhouse windows.
Jason's smile softened. He leaned in, pressing our foreheads together, and for a long moment, we just breathed, shared air, shared warmth, shared everything. Then his stomach growled violently, and we both burst out laughing.
"Hot chocolate," he reminded me, nipping my lower lip. "Then round two."
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