Moving Day Heat
Two weeks had slipped by in the kind of haze I used to think only happened in movies. Steph gave notice on his Georgetown lease the Monday after Valentine’s. We spent the next fourteen days in a quiet frenzy: packing boxes between gym sessions, laughing over his ridiculous collection of protein shakers, stealing kisses while taping cardboard shut. He kept saying he wasn’t moving in... not officially, not yet.... just “crashing indefinitely until I find my own place closer.” We both knew it was bullshit. His toothbrush was already by my sink. Half his wardrobe had migrated to my closet. The last box of books got carried up the elevator this afternoon.
The apartment smelled like cardboard and his citrus body wash. Late-afternoon sun slanted through the windows, turning the living room gold. We’d just finished stacking the last of his dumbbells in the corner I’d cleared for him. Both of us were sweaty, shirts clinging, breathing a little hard from hauling shit up three flights when the elevator decided to take a lunch break.
Steph straightened, wiped his forehead with the hem of his tank, exposing that smooth, carved stomach I still couldn’t get enough of. He caught me staring. Grinned slow and filthy.
“Like what you see, consultant?”
“Always.”
He stepped closer... close enough I could smell him, salt and clean sweat and the faint trace of the cologne he’d started wearing just for me. His hand slid up my chest, fingers curling into the dark hair peeking above my collar.
“Shower?” he asked, voice already dropping.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
I grabbed his wrist, tugged him toward the bedroom. “Not yet.”
The door clicked shut behind us. I didn’t bother with lights; the golden hour was enough. I pushed him back against the wall: gentle but firm, caged him with my arms. He tilted his head back, throat exposed, green eyes dark and hungry.
I kissed him hard. No preamble. Tongue deep, tasting the faint salt of his mouth, swallowing the small moan he gave when I pressed my thigh between his legs. He was already half-hard, thick length straining the front of his gym shorts. I ground against him once... slow roll of hips and he bucked, fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Fuck... Avie!”
I dropped to my knees.
His breath hitched. I yanked his shorts and briefs down in one motion; his cock sprang free: uncut, flushed dark pink, already slick at the tip, foreskin partially retracted. I wrapped my hand around the base, gave one slow stroke, watched the foreskin slide back fully to reveal the glistening head.
He groaned, head thunking back against the wall.
I took him in my mouth: slow at first, tongue swirling around the head, tasting the bead of pre-cum, then sinking deeper until my lips met my fist. He was thick enough to stretch my mouth, hot and velvet-hard on my tongue. I sucked hard, hollowing my cheeks, bobbing in a steady rhythm while my free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently.
“Shit! Oh god... your mouth...” His hips jerked, shallow thrusts he couldn’t quite control. I let him fuck my face for a minute, relaxing my throat, taking him deeper until my nose brushed the trimmed blond hair at his base.
When I pulled off with a wet pop, a string of spit connected my lips to his cock. He looked wrecked already. Chest heaving, pupils blown.
“Bed,” I rasped. “Now.”
He scrambled onto the mattress, kicking off the rest of his clothes. I stripped fast: hoodie, shorts, briefs... cock springing up heavy and leaking. Cut head flushed dark, veins standing out. Steph’s eyes locked on it, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
I climbed over him, kissed him filthy, sharing the taste of him while I reached for the nightstand. Lube. Condoms. But he grabbed my wrist.
“No condom,” he whispered against my mouth. “Just you. I want to feel you raw.”
My cock throbbed at the words. “You sure?”
“We’re both negative. Tested last month. Haven’t been with anyone else.” He looked up, eyes steady despite the flush on his cheeks. “I trust you.”
I kissed him deep: grateful, possessive... then slicked my fingers.
I worked him open slow. One finger, then two, scissoring, curling until I found that spot that made his back arch and a broken “fuck... there...” spill from his lips. Three fingers... stretching him wide, watching his cock leak steadily onto his abs, untouched.
When he was trembling, begging: “Please... need you inside...” I pulled my fingers free, slicked myself with more lube, lined up.
I pushed in slow.
No barrier. Just heat: tight, velvet, perfect. He gasped, nails raking down my back. I sank deeper inch by inch until my hips met his ass, buried to the root. We both stilled, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“You feel…” He swallowed. “So fucking good.”
I started moving... slow, deep rolls at first, letting him feel every inch dragging out, then pushing back in. He wrapped his legs around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me harder.
“More,” he panted. “Fuck me harder.”
I did.
The bed creaked under us. Skin slapping skin. His moans grew louder... raw, unrestrained. I angled up, hitting his prostate on every thrust. He cried out, cock jerking against his stomach, smearing pre-cum in shiny streaks.
“Gonna come!” he warned, voice wrecked.
“Not yet.” I pulled out suddenly... slow, deliberate, making him whine at the loss.
Before he could protest I flipped him onto his stomach, tugged his hips up. He arched beautifully, presenting himself, ass up, hole flushed and slick from me. I spread him open with my thumbs, watched my cock slide back in: deep, one long stroke until I bottomed out again.
“Fuck... yes!”
I fucked him hard now. Hand on his neck: not choking, just holding, grounding him. The other wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. He pushed back to meet me, desperate, babbling... “Avie! fuck... right there... don’t stop!”
I felt him tighten, flutter around me. His whole body locked up.
“Come,” I growled against his ear. “Come my boy.”
He did... shouting my name, cum shooting hot and thick over my fist, splattering the sheets. The rhythmic clench of his ass around me was too much. I buried deep, hips stuttering, and came inside him... pulse after pulse, filling him until it leaked out around my cock.
We collapsed together: sweaty, shaking, breathing ragged.
I stayed inside him a minute longer, softening slowly, kissing the back of his neck, his shoulder. When I finally pulled out he whimpered at the sensation, a trickle of my cum slipping down his thigh.
I rolled him onto his back, kissed him soft... slow, tender. He smiled against my mouth, lazy and sated.
“Welcome home,” I murmured.
He laughed... breathless, happy. “Best moving-in present ever.”
I cleaned us up with a warm towel from the bathroom. We didn’t bother dressing. Just climbed back under the covers, naked, tangled. His head on my chest, my arm around him, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine.
Outside the sun had set. The apartment was quiet except for our breathing.
He pressed a kiss to my collarbone. “I love you.”
The words landed soft. Simple. True.
I tightened my arm around him. Kissed his forehead.
“I love you too.”
... To be continued
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