Worship in the Afterglow
Derek’s hips rolled once. Twice. A slow, circular grind that dragged a sound from my chest I didn’t recognize - something between a groan and a plea.
“Yeah,” he breathed, palms flat on my sternum. “You like watching me take it?”
The moonlight caught him from behind, silvering the edges of his shoulders, the sweat already starting to bead along his spine. My glasses had fallen off somewhere during the first round. Everything was soft focus, but I didn’t need perfect vision to see the way his body worked above me - the ripple of muscle, the deliberate rise and fall.
My hands found his thighs. Thick. Solid. I squeezed.
“I asked you a question.” He stilled, lifting until only the tip remained inside him. The sudden emptiness made my hips buck involuntarily. He tsked. “Uh-uh. Answer me.”
“Yes,” I managed. “I like watching you. Fuck.”
He sank back down. The heat of him - still slick, still impossibly tight - swallowed me whole. His breath shuddered out.
“Good.” He started moving again, a metronome of pleasure, his ass slapping softly against my pelvis each time he bottomed out. “Because I like being watched. I like you watching me.”
My thumbs traced circles on his skin. I couldn’t look away. The curve of his back, the dip of his waist, the twin dimples just above the swell of his ass - every detail burned itself into memory. Here was Derek Gallagher, the man who’d graced three Sports Illustrated covers, the man whose grin made sorority girls forget their boyfriends’ names. Here he was, riding my cock like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
His rhythm changed. Slower. Deeper.
“You know how many times I imagined this?” His voice had gone husky, almost raw. “After practice, when everyone else hit the showers, I’d stay on the field. Just me and the floodlights and my hand on my dick, thinking about that nerdy guy in the back row. Thinking about how big they said you were. Thinking about what it would feel like.”
His nails dug into my chest.
“This is better. So much better.”
I reached up and palmed his ass. Both cheeks filled my hands. He moaned and pushed back into my grip, grinding down harder.
“You like my ass,” he said. Not a question.
“I like your ass.”
“Tell me why.”
The demand caught me off guard. He kept moving, kept taking me, kept watching me over his shoulder with those dark, hungry eyes.
“It’s…” Words felt clumsy. Inadequate. “It’s the shape of it. How round it is. How it barely fits in my hands.” I squeezed for emphasis. “How it looks when you’re sitting on me like this. How it looks when you’re on your stomach and I’m inside you.”
His breathing quickened.
“Tell me more.”
“I’ve stared at you in class for months. I knew exactly how many seats were between us. I knew what days you wore the grey sweats. I knew the way your ass moved when you walked, the way the fabric pulled tight when you bent over to grab your backpack.”
“Jesus.” His rhythm faltered. “You really did memorize me.”
“Every curve. Every angle. I’d go back to my dorm and jerk off thinking about it.”
The confession spilled out before I could stop it. Six months of fantasies, of stolen glances, of shameful late-night sessions with my hand and the image of Derek Gallagher’s ass burned into my retinas - all of it pouring out while he rode me in the dark.
He stopped moving.
For one terrifying heartbeat, I thought I’d said too much.
Then he leaned forward, bracing his hands on my shins, and lifted. My cock slid out of him with an obscene wet sound. Before I could protest, before I could even form words, he swung one leg over my body and turned around.
Facing away from me now. His back a wall of muscle in the moonlight.
“I want you to see it,” he said. His hand reached back, found my slick cock, positioned it beneath him. “I want you to watch everything.”
He lowered himself.
The angle was different this time. Deeper. The visual was devastating. My cock disappeared between the perfect hemispheres of his ass, and I could see everything - the way his entrance stretched around my girth, the way the cheeks parted to accommodate me, the way his whole body clenched and released as he took me to the root.
“Oh, god.” The words punched out of me.
Derek laughed, low and dark. “Yeah. That’s what I wanted.”
He planted his feet on either side of my hips, knees bent, and began to ride me in earnest.
Reverse cowgirl.
The position was pornographic. Obscene. His ass rose and fell in my lap, the cheeks jiggling slightly with each descent, and I had a front-row seat to the show. My hands found his hips automatically, fingers digging into the hard muscle there, but I didn’t guide him. Didn’t need to. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Up. Down. A slow, torturous glide that made my toes curl.
“Look at that,” he murmured, half to himself. He reached back with one hand and spread his right cheek, giving me an even better view of my cock buried inside him. “Look at how much of you I can take. The whole thing. Every inch.”
I made a sound that wasn’t words.
He clenched around me - a deliberate, muscular squeeze that made stars burst behind my eyes.
“You feel that? That’s me. That’s my body, milking your cock.”
“Derek -”
“You’re gonna watch. You’re gonna lie there and take it, and you’re gonna watch my ass swallow your dick until I’m satisfied. Understand?”
I nodded. Then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
A beat of confusion.
He slowed to a stop, just the tip inside him, and looked back over his shoulder. The expression on his face was unreadable in the dim light, but his voice carried an edge I’d never heard before. Commanding. Expectant.
“When I ask you something, you answer properly.”
My brain scrambled. What did he want? A title? A name?
“Yes… sir?”
The word felt foreign in my mouth. Ridiculous. I was three inches taller than him, probably thirty pounds heavier, and -
“Good boy,” he purred.
The effect was immediate. Electric. My cock twitched inside him, and he felt it - I knew he felt it, because his smile widened.
“Oh, you like that. Don’t you?”
My face burned. “I don’t -”
“Don’t lie.” He squeezed again, a rhythmic pulse that made me gasp. “You just got harder inside me. I can feel everything, remember? Every inch. Every vein. Every little throb.”
He started moving again. Slow.
“You like being called a good boy. The nerdy guy with the monster dick, the one who corrects professors and takes notes like his life depends on it - he likes being called a good boy by the quarterback.”
I couldn’t deny it. My body had already betrayed me.
“It’s okay.” His voice softened, just a fraction. “I like it too. I like being the one on top, even if you’re the one inside me. I like controlling the pace. I like knowing that with one squeeze of my ass, I can make you fall apart.”
His tempo increased.
“This is what I wanted. Why I came here. I didn’t just want your cock - I wanted to own it. I wanted to take it and make it mine.”
The declaration sent a jolt through me. Possessive. Hungry. The campus god, the man everyone wanted, claiming ownership over my body. The reversal was dizzying.
He lifted himself until only the crown remained inside. Held there. The muscles in his thighs quivered from the exertion.
“Watch.”
I watched.
He dropped.
The impact traveled through my body - his ass slamming against my pelvis, my cock driving deep, the wet slap of skin on skin. His back arched. A cry tore from his throat, high and broken, and his rhythm shattered into something urgent. Desperate.
“Yes - fuck - right there -”
His hand shot between his legs. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but the sound was unmistakable - the slick, rapid rhythm of him stroking himself while he rode me.
“Don’t come,” he gasped. “Not yet. Not until I say.”
Every muscle in my body locked down. The pressure was immense, a tidal wave held behind a cracking dam. I focused on breathing. On the ceiling. On the way the sheets twisted around my ankles.
“Good boy. Hold it.”
His pace quickened further. The bed groaned beneath us, a rhythmic counterpoint to the slap of flesh. My fingers gripped his hips so hard I was probably leaving bruises. He didn’t seem to care.
“You want to see something?” The question came between gasps. “Want to see how you look inside me?”
Before I could answer, he reached back with both hands. His palms pressed against the small of his back. Then he spread his cheeks wide, opening himself completely to my gaze.
The sight was -
Devastating.
My cock, thick and flushed, slick with lube and precum, disappearing into his stretched pink hole. The way the skin moved with each thrust. The obscene wetness. The slight bulge visible just above his entrance when I was fully seated.
“Fucking look at it,” he demanded. “Look at how big you are. Look at what you’re doing to me.”
I couldn’t look away. My hips bucked involuntarily, and he moaned.
“That’s it. Fuck up into me. Use my ass.”
Permission. The dam cracked.
I planted my feet on the mattress and drove upward. The angle shifted - deeper, somehow - and he collapsed forward, barely catching himself on my knees.
“Jesus -”
“You wanted me to fuck you.” My voice came out rougher than I’d ever heard it. “You came to my door. You got on your knees. You begged for my cock.”
“I didn’t beg -”
He cut off with a sharp cry as I thrust into him again, harder.
“You said please. You said slow, please. That’s begging.”
His laugh was strangled. “Fine. I begged. I wanted it. I’ve wanted it for months, okay? Every time I passed you on campus, every time I saw you in the dining hall, I got hard. I’d have to go back to my room and fuck myself with a dildo just to get some relief, but it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough.”
The confession spilled out of him like water from a broken glass. I kept moving beneath him, a steady counterpoint to his words.
“I’d lie in my bed with a silicone cock inside me and think about you. About your face. About your hands. About what it would feel like to have the real thing.”
His voice cracked.
“And now I have it. And it’s better. It’s so much better than anything I imagined.”
Something shifted in my chest. Not just lust - something warmer. Stranger. The thought of Derek Gallagher, the untouchable campus god, alone in his room, fantasizing about me. The same Derek who could have anyone, choosing to chase a nerdy nobody who sat in the back row.
I slowed my movements. Gently, I reached up and pulled his hands away from his ass, twining my fingers through his.
“Come here.”
He twisted, confused. “What?”
“Lie on top of me. Facing away.”
A pause. Then he stretched his legs out, settling his back against my chest, his ass still firmly impaled on my cock. His head fell back against my shoulder. In this position, we were almost the same height.
My arms wrapped around his chest.
“I want you to feel everything,” I murmured against his ear. “Not just the fucking. I want you to feel me. My hands on you. My breath. My heart beating.”
I splayed one palm across his sternum. The other slid lower, past his navel, until my fingers brushed the base of his cock.
He shuddered.
“You were right. I’ve been staring at you all semester. I memorized the way you move. The way you laugh. The way your ass looks in those grey sweats.” My hips rolled slowly, barely moving, just enough to keep the sensation constant. “But I also memorized other things. The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. The way you run your hand through your hair after a bad play. The way you look at the professor like you’re terrified of being called on.”
His breathing grew uneven.
“I saw you, Derek. The person. Not just the quarterback.”
A sound escaped him - small, almost wounded.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered.
“You know now.”
My hand wrapped around his cock. He was thick - not as long as me, but substantial - and slick with precum. I stroked him slowly, matching the rhythm of my hips.
“You’re beautiful,” I said. “Every part of you. Your shoulders. Your thighs. The way you move. The sounds you make.”
Tears slipped from his eyes. A couple drops splashed onto my arm. He didn’t sob - wasn’t even sure he knew he was crying - but the salt tracks gleamed in the moonlight.
“No one’s ever -” He stopped. Swallowed. “It’s always ‘great game, Derek’ or ‘nice throw, Derek’ or ‘your ass looks amazing, can I hit it from the back, Derek.’ No one’s ever said they saw me.”
I kissed his shoulder. Kept stroking. Kept moving.
“I see you.”
His hand came up and covered mine on his chest. Held tight.
“Then watch me.” His voice steadied, the vulnerability receding behind that familiar confident mask - but softer now. Transformed. “If you really see me, then watch what I do for you.”
He reached down with his free hand. Two fingers slid alongside my shaft, where we were joined, tracing the stretched rim of his entrance.
“Feel how open I am for you. How much I’ve taken. I’m going to take more.”
His hips began to move in earnest. A slow, circular grind that made us both gasp.
“Every inch. I’m going to take every inch of you, and I’m going to love it, because this is what I’ve wanted. This is what I’ve needed. Someone who sees me. Someone who fills me. Someone who isn’t afraid to be gentle and then fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”
The words washed over me. My hand kept working his cock. My hips kept pushing up into him.
“You’re going to come inside me again,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’re going to fill me up, and then you’re going to hold me. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.”
“And after that?”
His rhythm faltered. “After?”
“After tonight. After this. What do you want then?”
Silence. The only sound was our breathing, the wet slide of my hand on his cock, the creak of the bed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t think that far. I just… I wanted this. I’ve been thinking about this for so long, I never let myself imagine anything after.”
“Then let’s find out.”
He twisted to look at me, and the expression on his face was - open. Unguarded. The mask had completely fallen away.
“You mean that?”
“I’ve been watching you for six months. I’m not going to stop now.”
A beat. Then a smile - not the confident grin he flashed at press conferences, but something smaller. Sincere.
“Okay.”
He turned his attention back to our bodies. My hand still wrapped around his cock. My shaft still buried inside him.
“Okay,” he said again. “Then watch.”
His hips lifted. Fell. The rhythm built slowly, deliberately, each movement precise. His free hand moved to my thigh, nails biting into the muscle.
“I’m going to ride you until you come. I want to feel it. Every pulse. Every drop. I want to feel you lose control inside me.”
The pressure was already building - a low thrum at the base of my spine that radiated outward.
“Don’t hold back this time,” he added. “Don’t try to last. Just let go.”
His body clamped down. The sudden tightness stole my breath.
“Derek -”
“Let go,” he repeated. “I’ve got you.”
Something unraveled inside me. The tension I’d been holding since the moment he’d walked through my door - the shock, the disbelief, the desperate hope - all of it dissolved. There was only him. Only his body. Only the rhythmic clench and release of his ass around my cock.
I thrust upward, chasing the sensation, and he met me with equal force. Our rhythms synced. The bed hammered against the wall. His moans filled the room, punctuated by my grunts and the obscene sound of our joining.
“Yes - yes, like that - give it to me -”
My vision narrowed. The pressure crested. I buried myself to the hilt and came.
The release was blinding. I emptied into him, pulse after pulse, my cock jerking inside the tight heat of his body. He cried out - a sound of pure pleasure - and I felt his own release spill hot over my hand, coating my fingers, dripping onto his stomach.
We stayed like that. Locked together. Shuddering through the aftershocks.
Minutes passed. The sweat cooled on our skin.
His hand found mine and squeezed.
“I’m going to lift off,” he said softly. “It might be -”
He didn’t need to finish. I knew what he meant. He lifted himself gently, and my cock slid free. A rush of liquid followed - my release, warm and thick. He shivered at the sensation, then collapsed against my chest.
We lay there in the dark.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“That was…”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Silence. The moon had shifted, casting new shadows across the room. My textbooks still sat open on the desk. My laptop had long since gone to sleep. The world outside the door - midterms, football, the casual cruelty of campus gossip - felt impossibly distant.
His thumb traced circles on my knuckles.
“Can I stay?”
The question was tentative. Almost shy. A far cry from the commanding presence who’d ridden me with such confidence minutes before.
“Yeah,” I said. “You can stay.”
His body relaxed. The tension I hadn’t even noticed melted from his shoulders.
“Good.”
We shifted, arranging ourselves on the too-small mattress. My arm wrapped around his waist. His back pressed against my chest. The curve of his ass nestled against my softening cock.
“Hey,” I murmured into his hair.
“Mm?”
“I’m still going to stare at your ass in class.”
He laughed - a real laugh, warm and surprised and utterly unguarded.
“Good,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
His breathing evened out. The rhythm of it lulled me toward sleep.
But something stirred. A familiar heat. A knowing.
I was already half-hard again - pressed against the cleft of his ass, slick with the aftermath of what we’d done.
His hips shifted, pressing back.
He felt it.
“Already?” The word was thick with sleep and disbelief and something that sounded like wonder.
“You can’t just show up at my door and expect me to be satisfied after two rounds.”
His laugh was breathless.
“My legs are shaking,” he said. “I don’t think I can ride you again.”
“You don’t have to.” My hand slid down his stomach, over his hip, between his thighs. “You said you wanted me to see the real you. Let me see. Let me take my time.”
I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the small bottle of lube from the drawer. Clicked it open. Coated my fingers.
“Let me worship you.”
His breath caught as my slick fingers found their way between his cheeks.
“Slow,” I promised. “Deep. Just like you wanted.”
My first finger slipped inside him. He was still loose from our fucking, still wet with my release. The sound he made was almost reverent.
“You’re so open,” I murmured against his shoulder. “So ready for me. You took all of it - every inch, just like you promised. And you loved it.”
“Yes -” The word escaped him like a prayer.
A second finger joined the first. I moved them slowly, exploring, feeling the heat and the slick and the way his body gripped me.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Not just my cock. You wanted this. The intimacy. The slowness. Being held.”
His hand clenched on my forearm. “Yes.”
“Then let me give it to you.”
I withdrew my fingers. Coated my cock - hard again, aching - with fresh lube.
Then I pressed against his entrance. Slowly. So slowly.
The head slipped inside.
He gasped.
I stopped. Let him adjust. Let him feel.
“More?” I asked.
“More,” he said.
An inch. Another. The heat was overwhelming - wetter now, slicker, but still tight. Still perfect.
When I was fully seated, I stopped moving.
“Feel that.”
“I feel it.”
“This is what you do to me. This is what you’ve always done to me. Every time you walked into a room, I’d get hard. Every time you laughed, my heart would race. Every time you looked at me, I’d forget how to breathe.”
“I didn’t -” He swallowed. “I didn’t think you noticed me.”
“I never stopped.”
I began to move. Slow. Deep. A gentle rocking that kept him full, kept him connected, kept me buried to the hilt.
“This isn’t just fucking,” I said. “This is me showing you. This is me proving it. Every inch. Every moment.”
His hand found mine again. Threaded our fingers together.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered.
“I won’t.”
The pace remained slow. Deliberate. My arms wrapped around him, my chest pressed against his back, my lips brushing his shoulder. Each thrust was a conversation. Each breath was a promise.
He turned his head. Our mouths met. The kiss was softer than before - not hungry, but something deeper. Something that tasted like the beginning.
I kept moving inside him, slow and steady, while our tongues explored, while our hands intertwined, while the night stretched on around us.
His whimper was muffled by my mouth.
“I’m close again,” he breathed.
“Then come. I’ll be right behind you.”
His body tightened. His release was quieter this time - a shudder, a gasp, a whispered name that might have been mine. The clench of his muscles tipped me over the edge, and I came inside him with a groan, spilling deep, my hips pressed tight against his perfect ass.
We lay there, still joined, breathing hard.
The moon had traveled across the window. Dawn was hours away.
His ass was still stretched around me. Full. Taking every inch.
Just like he’d wanted.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“I think I need to stay the night.” A pause. “I don’t think I can walk.”
My laugh was quiet. “The bed’s small. We’ll make it work.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
His breathing slowed. His body relaxed. Still inside him, I felt every tiny movement - the flutter of muscle, the beat of his heart, the warmth that promised more.
I pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.
“Sleep,” I said. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”
His only answer was a soft, contented sigh.
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